A Wanted Man
Chapter One: Out of the Ashes
The next morning's headlines after the catastrophic incident at the Opera Populaire:
Chandelier
Crashes, Opera Populaire Burns!
Death, Mayhem, Chaos; The Opera's
Phantom Blamed
See 1A
Famous
Tenor Found Strangled On the Set
Young Ingenue Abducted
Witnesses
Say It Was The Phantom
Story on 1B
The
Viscount de Chagny Interview:
"He is Nothing But a Man!"
See
3C
The Opera Populaire did not burn down into an ash heap, even though the fire brigade was slow. In fact most of the fire had already dissipated into a few scattered pockets when the first fire truck arrived; the in-house firemen had all but quenched the fire. Not that there were no casualties. Four are dead and seventy are injured, six in critical condition.
The building inspector has placed notice as soon as the chaos and the fire had died down:
"Under no circumstance is anyone allowed to enter the building until it has been inspected by the corps of engineers."
He has asked law enforcement to place a garrison of uniformed men to keep out the opera residents wanting to re-enter, the staff wanting to evacuate, the casual passersby, the nosey busybodies, and the souvenir-seekers.
During the Police Commisionaire's absence the Chief of Homicide, Det. Roussin, has taken up the helm and places his own men to investigate the incidents surrounding the murder of M. Piangi, the abduction of Mlle. Christine Daae, the attack on the Viscount de Chagny, the fire, and the strange mystery of the Opera Ghost and his involvements with the above. There's also the death of Joseph Buquet several months earlier which he concluded was connected with all the recent events. He begins to interrogate those who had given chase to the Phantom. He gets the same conclusion: they chased him down into the cellars but find only an empty lair. They are also emphatic that it was a man they have seen and heard on stage and not a spectre, with half his face twisted and deformed and yet with a voice so beautiful it sent many into rapture.
The managers relate to him a story of blackmail and intimidation from this Opera Ghost, or "O.G.", in the form of notes passed onto the ballet mistress, Mme. Giry. She in turn has been reticent to talk and has given only vague, general answers, making him suspect her of being somehow complicit. He orders a detective to watch her, and he places the entire building under tight security. The perimeter and entrances are to be heavily guarded, in matters of public safety as requested by the building inspector…and to catch him .
Earlier this morning, the corps of engineers has made their first of a series of inspections and has deemed most of the the support structures sound. They give the general staff notice to evacuate beginning this afternoon, but to use the front and left side entrances only, to work swifty but with caution, and to go in assigned groups escorted by security. The back entrances are relegated for the evacuation of the main floor, the elevators in use for the heavier equipments and props and all the musical instruments from the store rooms. The cellars are left alone, simply because the fire did no damage there, and more importantly to allow for law enforcement to do their investigating unimpeded by workmen traffic and to leave what evidence there may be, undisturbed.
Shortly after midday, the theater comes to life. Within two hours the stone steps are covered with various parcels, luggages, pallets, crates, and furniture. Carriages line the boulevards. Hundreds of people mill about either talking to each other, or rush from the theater onto the sidewalks, carrying more luggages and personal belongings, and packing the carriages. The day is hazy and grey from the lowlying clouds which threaten rain. The humid air is heavy and nauseating with ashes stirred by feet and blown by each gust of the wind, and with the odor of burnt wood and leather and tapestry.
MM. Firmin and Andre arrive, their carriages just minutes apart. They both look at the Opera Populaire; the partly-charred right wall with its doors akimbo, the first and second storey windows broken, glass everywhere, many statuaries fallen.
"Damnable, I tell you Firmin, this is damnable! First our scrap metal business, now this!" exclaims M. Andre as he rushes out of his carriage to meet M. Firmin.
"Shhh! Andre, don't shout!" says M. Firmin. He sees twisted props and various statuaries littering the sidewalk. "Looks like we may be back to dealing in junk."
"Scrap…" M. Andre replies reflexively. "…err…yes…junk," he sighs, "but maybe, with the Viscount's help…maybe we can rebuild? Non?" he asks M. Firmin, trying to convince himself that the theater in which they had sunk their fortune down to the last franc might still be worth saving.
"I'm not sure that our patron will be willing to undertake such a venture in light of what has happened. Four people trampled to death, seventy people injured, M. Piangi murdered, Mlle. Daae almost forced into an ignominious marriage and the Viscount de Chagny himself almost hanged," M. Firmin replies, shaking his head. "We should be so lucky we don't get sued!"
M. Andre's countenance fell. Sued? He and his business partner have not been allowed to go into their offices, therefore have not been able to look at their financial ledgers since the unfortunate disaster. Surely the salaried staff will need to be paid for work due. Sued! Will they even have enough to start another business, even if it is in scorched…err…emm…junk? Even after paying "O.G." the twenty-thousand francs he extorted from them? And what of their responsibility to the students? They have a fatherly obligation in making sure the conservatory is home to the students. And now, if not for the Viscount's largesse, these students would have been homeless. What next? SUED!
Oh, his blood pressure!
"Any news from the authorities about that dreadful creature? Any sign of him?" he asks, hoping to relieve his aching head of the thoughts of lawsuits, only to replace them with aching thoughts of what this Phantom has been doing to them.
"No. We won't know until a more thorough search is done inside. It's doubtful that he ever left the theater. That is, no one can definitely say if he had gotten out or not. It was pure chaos that night. But, neither has there been any sightings since. An all-points bulletin has been issued and the whole of Paris knows by now, judging from this morning's headlines. It's a sure bet that NO ONE in Paris will be walking around unnoticed in the next several weeks!" answered M. Firmin.
"Opera Ghost. I didn't realize. If we hadn't been so dismissive. If we had taken him more seriously. If we had acted sooner…"says the dejected M. Andre.
"I know," M. Firmin replies with equal guilt and sadness.
They round out to the front of the theater. The frontage is unmarked and the gabled roof intact, the two Pagasus on each end, and the Apollo Lifting His Lyre in the center still standing as sentry to thunder and lighting. The columns and walls are uncharred, the numerous ornate doors in place. But they shudder to think of what damage may be within! The famous frescoes! The enormous gold-leaf mirrors! Monolithic columns of Sarrancolin marble and onyx! The fine leather seats! The satin and velvet upholstery! The expensive tapestries!
They proceed around to the left and to the pavillion at back. Mme. Giry stands amidst luggages reading with concern a handful of letters, while her daughter Meg is in the courtyard busily packing their belongings into a carriage and helping what's left of the ballet troupe. The managers approach Mme Giry.
"How goes it, Mme. Giry?" asks M. Andre.
"Our prima ballerina assalluta, Titania Federovna, gave notice. So did Maria Berevski the prima ballerina, two soloists, many more from the corps de ballet, and many students," she replies shaking her head. "It's all well and good. They have their own good reputations before coming here and can still go back to their previous companies. But what of the rest of the corps? Our remaining students? I worry that they have been stigmatized."
She throws a worried look at Meg as the carriage approaches. The managers can only sigh. The entire situation looks bad.
"All set, Maman. Good day, messieurs," Meg says, giving a small nod to the managers as the carriage slows to a stop. Both men tip their hats.
"Good day, messieurs. We'll see you at Piangi's funeral," Mme. Giry says before following Meg into the carriage.
The carriages depart for the de Chagny Estates.
The courtyard is jammed thick with carriages and horses, backdrops and props. The pavilion is filled with carriers, horsewranglers, carpenters, and day laborers. They weave their way through, inspecting and noting damage. After thirty minutes of taking inventory, they see a bench in one of the stables and sit to rest.
"Piangi's funeral. I received the note that it would be Wednesday, day after tomorrow." says M. Firmin.
"Yes. I payed La Carlotta a visit last night. I met Bernardo, Piangi's younger brother and attorney. He made all the arrangements. Mass will be at the Basilica de St. Jacques" answers M. Andre.
"How is she?"
M. Andre shakes his head. "She is still in shock and is unable to do anything. Just keeps to her apartment. Good thing Piangi's brother lives in town to deal with the necessities, not that he wasn't affected. It broke him up, arranging the burial of his own brother."
"And Mlle. Daae?"
"Miss Daee is under the viscount's protection. She stays at his family estate. She might not even attend the funeral if the viscount can help it. For her safety, she is to be kept away from Paris until this Phantom is caught," answers M. Firmin.
One of the stage foremen comes out of the theater and approaches them.
"Messrs, I'm glad to see you. The detectives are inside the theater. They wish to speak with you."
"Thank you, Henri," replies M. Andre.
"Well, Andre, let's look inside and see what this Opera Ghost has done to our theater," M. Firmin, resolute, says.
They make their way through the courtyard, unaware of a pair of blue-grey eyes watching them through a crack on the beams high above; tragic and weary eyes that glow in the semidarkness of the hayloft.