((Hello everyone! First chapter of 'Ghost of Chance'! Hope you enjoy and please review and let my know what you think!))
Ron Chandler was sitting in a booth placed near one of the diner windows so he could see out onto the dark street. Rain was falling in sheets, coating the pavement in a river that was constantly being disrupted by a taxi or a pedestrian. Even though he was in the diner, he shivered under his thick coat. Matters were grave, making even the warm air turn icy. Any other night he might have been in bed at this late hour, sound asleep in his pent house. But everything was going wrong. Sighing, he picked up the mug in front of him, sipping down some of the hot coffee.
A beep came from his phone and he jumped, reaching down into his pocket. He shouldn't have been surprised. He was getting calls from agents nearly every ten minutes, as well as the back drop builders, lawyers, chorus contractors and choreographers. Not to mention the board, who were hassling him on the budget.
It had been nearly twenty years since the economy had started back up. The second depression, which has seemingly spread around the entire globe, had left its mark. No one could go see plays, let alone an expensive musical. Rebirthing one of the most successful musicals the world had ever seen was not an easy job. And with its initial creator passing away, everyone had given up hope on "Phantom of the Opera". Ron didn't like to think about Webber, as if just thinking about him would conjure up his ghost to torture him on his initial struggle with the musical. But as he looked down at his phone with the caller ID flashing across the screen, he realized that Webber's ghost was not the one he would have to deal with.
"Erik." Ron said after sliding his thumb over the screen and pressing it to his ear. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, tone sour and not at all considering the phone call to be a pleasure.
"You don't look at all well Monsieur Chandler." Erik's voice masked by the background noise on the phone make the hairs on Ron's neck stand straight at attention. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he peered outside the window. He hated how Erik always seemed to be able to see him. As if he didn't have enough to deal with.
"Well, under the circumstances I don't really expect to be looking my best." He said, actually sitting up to scan the scene outside.
"Have you received a time frame?" Erik asked. Ron's fingers clenched around the phone's frame, making a plastic creaking noise. The rebirthing of the musical "Phantom of the Opera" was so far a failure. Investors and patrons were threatening to pull out, and Ron had basically begged for time. Webber had left the rights to him, and he felt like it was his duty. But with the depression still in the memories of everyone in the world, finding the spirit was harder than anyone had expected. And that made finding the right voices even harder.
"We have two years." He said; face falling into his open hand.
"I honestly do not see the problem Monsieur Chandler," Erik said in something bored drawl. "I have written multiple operas in a smaller time frame."
"Then why aren't you helping?!" Ron yelled, slamming his hand on the table top in anger. The passing waitress jumped, putting a hand on her curved hip and glaring at Ron. Turning his face away he ran a hand through his hair. "Two years to get everything together in the state of this economy, finding sets, finding an orchestra, finding the goddamn voices for this production is not easy." He snapped, whispering this time.
"Do you honestly believe I do not know that Monsieur Chandler," Erik said, voice as cold as the rain outside. Ron closed his eyes, trying to control his temper.
"Then help. Sing. Or at least help me find the right voices to do it all justice." He said, not admitting to himself that he was practically begging him.
"Justice? As if anyone could do my story justice," Erik spat. Clenching his fist, Ron was seconds away from hanging up if he hadn't turned his head and spotted a figure standing out in the rain that had most definitely not been there before. Sitting up straighter, Ron swallowed. "I have however, considered your offer and am inclined to accepting." Erik's voice said. The figure removed his hand from his ear and hung up. Ron hung up as well, eyes following Erik as he walked across the flooded street and into the diner.
It had taken a while to integrate the idea of phones, technology and modern fashion into the Phantom's head, but Ron had no choice. It was not like he could let him run around in a cape and suit. The mask however, was unavoidable. At least he had a scarf to cover his nose and mouth and a black hat to hide the questionable white accessory. Erik, in his black waterlogged trench coat, entered the diner, a bell ringing as the door swung open. The blonde waitress skipped over, overly cheery for someone who was working so late a shift.
"Hello sir may I take your coat and lead you to a seat?" she asked with a grin. Erik however fully ignored her, pushed past her and headed over to Ron's booth. Obviously irritated, the girl flipped her hair and flounced away into the kitchen.
"What are you doing here?" Ron asked, leaning back in his seat as if to get as far away from Erik as possible. Erik sat himself neatly in his seat, cold grey eyes boring into Ron's blue ones.
"To talk over my part of course." He said. "And my conditions."
"Your conditions?" Ron hissed, grabbing the edge of the table. "Erik, the fact that I am allowing you to be in this production, which by the way is the debut of my producing career, is condition enough!" Erik removed his gloves, throwing them down on the table before inter lacing his fingers and looking skeptically at Ron.
"I wish to be in charge of who plays Christine Daae." He said. Ron tensed at this.
"Why on earth should I let you do that?" he spat. Erik's eyes seemed to be on fire at this.
"Because I have a right to it. If you are so damned insistent on a rebirth of this accursed story than you will want the best. And who can be a better judge than me, I, who raised her voice to its panicle of talent? I taught her, I nurtured her-"
"You loved her." Ron cut in. Erik did not move, hardly reacting to this obvious statement.
"I…have a right to her." He said slowly. Ron breathed in, leaning in a little to look bravely into the Phantom's eyes.
"I may be bringing back your story Erik…but I am not bring back Christine. No matter what girl you think is good enough for the part, she won't be her. She's dead. They are all dead. And these people are only playing pretend." Erik glared in response.
"As if I will actually find someone to match her voice." He said, voice cutting through Ron with the purpose of killing vocally. "Do not fool yourself Monsieur Chandler that I am so sensitive and naive as if to believe this is some 'second chance', or that I will find a Christine. I consider this my own personal Hell. To relive my story over and over again until it finally dies out and everyone forgets."
"But why?" Ron asked, "Why would you take up the role in your own story?" Erik leaned back, looking out the window at the falling rain.
"What else am I to do? I have no inspiration or energy to compose or to enjoy music any longer. It is not as if I can kill for pleasure, you of all people should know that." He said, cat like eyes flashing at Ron. "My…ghostly situation is unique. I may as well accept my fate and move along with it. There was never a place in heaven for a 'man' like me." He said, gaze returning again to the window. Ron remained silent at this, his chest giving a twang of guilt. He couldn't believe that he felt any pity for this monster. The first time they had met, Erik had tried to kill him, rope around neck in his most classic choice. But by some heavenly blessing, or in Erik's case curse, the rope had passed through him. That was only the beginning of their story. Sighing and once again running a hand through his golden hair, he contemplated for a few minutes. Erik remained silent, allowing him to think without interruption.
"Alright. Alright," he said in defeat. "You may help with casting Christine. But I have a say on it as well." He said in a parental tone. Erik nodded his head, giving him something of a smirk.
"I hardly doubt that once you hear a voice that I have picked, you will have any disputes." He said. The blonde waitress came out of the kitchen, plates in hand. Walking over she placed one in front of Ron while shooting Erik a glare.
"Your omelet sir," she said. "The best in New York!" She added a smile before walking over to the counters and starting on wiping them down.
"New York," Erik muttered, watching as Ron delved into his food. "Your city is crowded and tasteless. How do you expect to find any talent here?" he asked. Ron swallowed, Erik's bad mood not enough to spoil his favorite comfort food.
"I don't intend to. Auditions are to be held in Paris. If we ever do make this two year time limit, I hope to have the grand re-opening at the Opera House." Erik seemed to perk up at this.
"I must admit that is an excellent choice," he said, pride flowing though his veins. "I shall enjoy returning to France. Your language here is so guttural. French is a language that I would enjoy hearing again." He said thoughtfully.
"And hopefully," Ron continued, not really paying attention to Erik's comments, "we will find our Christine."
"What did you say?"
Both men turned to see the waitress standing at the head of their table, cloth in hand with a sparkle in her eyes. Ron instantly recognized the look and held up both his hands.
"Listen miss-"he peered at her name tag, "Miss Geni, but I don't take auditions just on a whim." 'Miss Geni' as she had called her (her first name was Meagan) threw back her head and laughed.
"Audition? Me? No!" she said laughing, placing a hand on her hip carelessly. Erik ignored her, nonchalantly taking Ron's cup of coffee for himself. "I want to suggest someone!" she said, excitement in her voice.
"I highly doubt you could submit anyone with any real talent." Erik said coldly, still looking out the window, his mind somewhere else, refusing to apply any manners to the waitress. Meagan glared at him with hatred.
"She had loads of talent!" she snapped, twisting the cloth in her hand, trying to resist giving the man a hard whip with it. "We grew up hearing about how amazing Phantom of the Opera was and she had always hoped that it would come back just so she could audition!" Ron turned red at this. He didn't want news about his attempts at bringing back the musical to leak out just yet. Not with the way it was going at this point.
"We can't just pick girls up off the street for auditions," he said, standing with only half of his omelet eaten. "Thank you for the food but-"
"If you don't listen to her, I'll tell everyone about your little project." She suddenly said. She had heard most of the conversation, at least the part about the rebirth of the musical, and had read Ron's expression perfectly. He didn't want anyone to know. Erik turned his head, raising an eye brow that the waitress.
"Ah, threats. The only way to get what you really want," he said calmly, chuckling into his mug. He didn't like the waitress, but he didn't like Ron either. So to watch it unfold was pure entertainment. Ron was now a dangerous purple color. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was stuck. Sitting back down, he began stabbing at the omelet with his fork.
"Fine. Where is this girl?" he snapped, hating the feeling of being trapped in a situation. Meagan squealed, making both men flinch with irritation.
"She'll be here in a few minutes! She has the night shift!" she said, looking at her watch to see that it was almost midnight. "You won't regret this!" she said, taking Ron's hand and shaking it violently. Turning away without bothering an attempt at shaking Erik's hand, she ran into the kitchen, leaving both of them feeling like they would regret this.