First off, I don't own Phantom of the Opera, I only wish I did…(and naturally, characters might be ooc at some point, terribly sorry, just send me a message complaining if that happens and I'll try to fix it.
Secondly, my fic takes place in present day, and the Phantom is immortal (there's more about that to be revealed later…much later). If you don't like that/don't agree with it/don't want to read it, well, you've been warned.
Thirdly, if I make a mistake, be it in history or contradiction with something from the movie/musical and/or book, let me know. I don't mind being told I'm wrong, that way I can fix it and not look like a huge idiot. This bit also applies to French phrases. I will be using them. In most cases, they're very common phrases, or they will be explained shortly after they are said. If it is not explained in the story, I will put a little section at the beginning to tell you what the phrase(s) means (unless it is purposefully meant to be unexplained, which will be a very rare thing).
Lastly, reviews will be much appreciated. They will encourage updates, for as long as I can manage it. I regret to say that I'm a college student, and when I'm home for summer and other breaks, I can't update as regularly (I may not be able to update at all) due to limited internet access. But I will get your messages over the summer, and will try to reply to everyone. Thank you so much, now on to the story.
Shoving her glasses further up on her nose, Lenore Parker looked out the window of the taxi at the Opera Populaire. Her first thought was that the Opera House was enormous, but she quickly banished the thought and tore her blue eyes from the beautiful building. It won't do to have myself gawking like a tourist, she told herself as she extracted enough money from her wallet to pay the cab driver. After handing over the money, she readjusted the position of the man's white dress shirt she was wearing.
Getting out of the taxi, her suitcase in hand and her laptop in its bag over her shoulder, Lenore approached the man who was waiting on the steps of the Opera House. She had to lift the ankle-length, black skirt up an inch or so; tennis shoes peeked out as she ascended the stairs. She resisted the urge to stare at the building once again, instead focusing on the man. He was barely taller than her height of five feet four inches, and his gray hair was beginning to thin. The man had a good bit of weight on him, and his glasses were thick. Monsieur Pierre Beaumont seemed pleased to see her.
"Good day," she greeted. "Monsieur Beaumont, I presume?"
"Bonjour," he replied, his voice overflowing with excitement. "Mademoiselle Parker, correct?"
"Yes, that's me," Lenore answered, stating the obvious. Why are you so excited? It's natural for you to have that fake smile on your face, hoping to sell me a building this large, but…Something's not right. You shouldn't be this pleased. She offered her right hand to Monsieur Beaumont with her own fake smile, though very few would ever know it was false.
Monsieur Beaumont took her hand and quickly kissed the back of it. "I hope the day finds you well, Mademoiselle Parker," he began, trying to make a good first impression. "We should move inside; there is much to see."
Once inside the door, Lenore set her suitcase and laptop down, deciding to leave them by the door rather than tote them around with her through the Opera House. The entrance hall was most certainly breathtaking; the marble floors were in almost perfect condition, and the statues were like new.
"The last owners did an extensive amount of repairs," Monsieur Beaumont explained, noting her surprise at the building's excellent condition. "The worst problem you'll have with this building is dust," he chuckled. His laugh was a nervous one, and made Lenore curious as to what was being hidden from her. "Let's move along, there's much to see."
Lenore tucked her dirty blonde hair behind her ears so that it wouldn't fall in her face and obscure her view. It fell down her back to right above her shoulder blades, but the moment she turned her head to look to around, her hair stubbornly slid over her shoulder and she threw it back to its former position. She repeated the process for several minutes, finally conceding and deciding to just let it hang wherever it wanted, provided it stayed out of her eyes.
Monsieur Beaumont led her first to the manager's office, followed by the ballet dormitories. A laundry room, used for washing out costumes, had been remodeled and had a row of washers and dryers installed. Lenore began to lose herself, being led from one hallway to another.
"This, Mademoiselle Parker, is the entrance to the vaults and cellar. I doubt you'll have any use for it; I'd avoid it if I were you. Very dark down there, and with all the passageways, it's easy to become lost," Monsieur Beaumont advised.
"What if I did need to use it? Aren't there lights down there?" she inquired.
"No, Mademoiselle," the man said quickly. "Come along, there's more to see."
"Could you please just call me Lenore instead of Mademoiselle?" Lenore asked. It was more of a command than a question. "Why aren't there any lights down there?" she persisted.
"I do not know," Monsieur Beaumont answered nervously. "I was merely told that there were no lights in the areas below the Opera House when the previous owners asked me to sell it for them."
"Well, that doesn't make any sense. Why wouldn't they have put in lights down there?" Lenore puzzled aloud, putting a foot on the first step leading down into the infinite darkness.
"Mademoiselle, it's dangerous," the man cried, grabbing Lenore's arm and pulling her back up off the stairs. "You could slip and break your neck on those dark stairs."
"It's Lenore," the girl harshly corrected him; she was not at all pleased that he would not comply with her wishes and call her by her first name. "And I want to know what's down there. Is there something down there you don't want me to see?"
"Mademoi – Lenore, I fear for your safety. I do not wish to have to call an ambulance because you fell down the stairs and injured yourself," Monsieur Beaumont assured her. His eyes looked too nervous for Lenore to believe him, but she did not press the issue.
"Alright, let's continue then," Lenore said calmly as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired over the past few minutes. Monsieur Beaumont gave an almost inaudible sigh of relief as he proceeded to lead her on.
"…easy to become lost," the foolish Monsieur Beaumont was saying to the young lady.
The man cloaked in the darkness on the stairs leading below the building smiled. It seemed they had found another poor soul who desired to buy his Opera House. The girl was rather tiny, it seemed, but her loose clothes hid too much of her frame for him to be certain. Her blue eyes studied the darkness, as if she hoped to see everything it concealed. Her hair swayed forward, slipping over her shoulder as she put a foot on the first stair.
Beaumont grabbed the girl's arm and yanked her back into the corridor, telling her it was dangerous. "You could slip and break your neck on those dark stairs," he lied.
You mean she might run into a ghost down here and have her neck broken by him, the man thought with another smile.
"It's Lenore," the girl snarled, obviously desiring to be called by her first name. "And I want to know what's down there. Is there something down there you don't want me to see?"
No, girl, there's someone down here he doesn't wish you to see. The two continued on, and the man in the shadows decided to follow them; this girl might prove to be amusing.
"…replaced all the old ropes and such," Monsieur Beaumont was explaining as they stood in the house, looking at the stage.
"Well, let's go backstage and have a look at it then," Lenore sighed, tired of his long explanations. It seemed he was trying to keep her from going backstage, just as he had kept her from going down below the Opera House.
"In a few moments," Beaumont assured her before continuing to ramble about anything he could think of that related to this room. "Also, the previous owners had a large LCD screen installed. They intended to turn this place into a private movie theater. Speakers have been installed, hidden very well in the artwork and walls so as not to destroy the look of the room. All you need to do is to hook up a computer or DVD player backstage."
"Really?" Lenore inquired, finally interested in what the man was saying.
"Yes, Mademoiselle, and then you flip a switch, and the screen descends over the stage. Now, if I could direct your attention to"-
"Let's go backstage," Lenore insisted, taking a few steps down the aisle. If the only way she was going to see behind the stage was to vault over the pit area and climb onto the stage, so be it.
Beaumont sighed. "As you wish, Mademoiselle. Please follow me." He led her backstage, nervously looking around as though he expected to see a ghost.
"What's wrong, Monsieur?" Lenore chuckled. "Afraid of the Opera Ghost?"
Beaumont whipped his head around to look at her, staring at her a brief moment before giving a chuckle himself. "So you know about that," he said, sounding relieved.
"Who doesn't?" Lenore scoffed.
"I assure you, it's only a story, though, Mademoiselle," Beaumont responded.
Only a story? Then why are you so tense? Lenore bit her lip, as she always did when she was trying to piece together puzzling words and actions. "Think he's still around?" Lenore said, hoping to gain a few more pieces for her mental jigsaw from his answer.
"Well, it's been over a hundred years from when the story originated," Beaumont said vaguely.
"In other words, you don't want to answer my question," Lenore muttered under her breath.
"Don't worry yourself about it, it is just a story after all," Beaumont told her, giving her a polite smile.
"If you say so, Monsieur."
Beaumont was choosing his words carefully. Standing right behind them in the shadows, the Opera Ghost was looking over Lenore. She was a bright woman, already putting pieces together to figure out what Beaumont was hiding.
"Think he's still around?" Lenore inquired.
Right behind you, mademoiselle. The Phantom was tempted to speak to this woman. He wondered if he would get a rise out of her; she seemed calm, but perhaps, deep inside, she was afraid of the Opera Ghost.
"It isjust a story after all," Beaumont assured her.
"If you say so, Monsieur." The comment was meant to sound sincere, but the Phantom detected disbelief lurking behind her words. He trailed along behind the two as they toured the backstage areas.
"So what are your plans for the building, mademoiselle?" Beaumont finally asked her.
"Reopen it. As an Opera House," Lenore returned.
That was exactly what the Opera Ghost wanted to hear; he was sick of owners trying to turn it into a museum or a private residence. It was rather bothersome to have to rid his Opera House of such pests. Deciding Lenore would be an acceptable owner, he retired to his lair.