MISSION OF THE GOLDEN ANGEL
(This is a Mission: Impossible/Phantom of the Opera fiction written in the early 1990s. It was a crossover zine but I am uncertain if the zine was ever published. It's been awhile. I know it sounds a little odd but if you stick with it you just might think otherwise. Hope you enjoy it! Becky)
[1]
1970.
As in the past, it was the music which started his quest. Beautiful. Calm. Melodic.
Up until this date, March sixth, he had stayed away from the opera house and everything it represented. There were too many painful memories and they, those who owned the opera house now, no longer played The Phantom's favorite music.
He saw it slowly creep away after 1910 to be replaced with other forms of entertainment. First, there came the blasphemy of burlesque acts. Then, there was that Jazz music. Big Band eventually came and went to be followed by the ultimate humiliation: A movie theater! The Phantom had been pleased when the cinema, after a successful ten-year run, closed. It was rumored that the theater would be refashioned. But -to his horror - a new music came. It was nineteen fifty five and they called it: "Rock and Roll".
Young men and women would come to his opera house by the hundreds and listen to performers, many atrociously dressed and most untalented, strum stringed instruments and beat on drums and tambourines. The Phantom thought he would go mad yet again -particularly when, in the early nineteen sixties, an electronic sound system had been installed. There was absolutely no way to remove himself from the sounds that came from the stage every night! He eventually resorted to ear plugs but there was a time when Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, seriously thought about making his presence known again. He wanted desperately to frighten these children away. These ignorant young fools who knew nothing of true music.
But, he had made a promise to Christine...
Now he heard an old and familiar sound. Two beautiful voices raised in song. One was female. A soprano. The other a tenor male.
They were singing songs to an opera he thought long dead. How was this possible? They were singing to the music of The Phantom's Don Juan Triumphant! His opera! His first and last opera. The opera he had written specifically for Christine.
Erik couldn't hold back. He had to investigate!
The Phantom of the Opera, considered long dead (as he thought was his music), prowled once again. His sojourn to the top, where normal men lived, awakened so many memories. He could hear the orchestra playing the notes he'd created... and that sweet voice, almost as clear as his first love's had been ("Christine, is that you?").
He immediately felt the change from those earlier days as he slid his body through a secret panel and passed undetected through the upstairs lobby to his cherished Box Five. All was still intact. Everything was new yet somehow the same. The velvet curtains had changed from blood red to navy blue but his bronze angels were still present, if somewhat updated. The very air he breathed seemed new yet also belonged to an earlier era... when young ladies held lace fans and parasols and gentlemen wore top hats and white gloves. He had come home!
Now, who was this on stage? Erik's heart sank a little as he watched the attractive black woman sing to a handsome, if somewhat overweight, Italian gentleman. No, this wasn't Christine. How could he have suspected otherwise? She was dead, as was her legacy. Still, this couple, mismatched as they were, sung quite well together. A woman of color singing opera... Who would have ever thought such a thing could happen?
The Phantom was happier than he had been for years. Someone must have journeyed down into the opera house vaults and found Don Juan Triumphant. Would they give The Phantom his due or would the opera simply be credited to an unknown genius?
The woman, as she sang, looked up at his box and Erik stepped back. It would not do for her to see him. It would pain Erik to frighten a songstress with such talent. Why disturb the rehearsal with her screams?
He sighed. The owners and managers of the theater had fallen back on tradition and he could not approve more. Who were they? What could he expect to hear in the future? The Phantom suddenly felt a bit disillusioned. Why was he torturing himself again? None of the questions he was asking himself would be answered by another person. Who did he know? No, he would have to be a common thief once again, as he was in 1880, and snatch a program booklet without the knowledge of anyone present. They would be down in the front lobby, he assumed.
Erik moved with the stealth and grace of a panther until he reached the grill connected to the ventilation shaft, which was positioned in the lower lobby. He had a good view of nearly everything, including a table where the theater pamphlets were laying. He nearly detached the grill when he heard a noise. People were entering the lobby from the lower theater.
This was where he first saw Cinnamon Carter.
At first, it was the glint of her golden hair that caught his attention. He had seen fair haired women before but this, along with her great beauty, made The Phantom stare. There was something more to this female than an expensively tailored suit, the skirt fashionably short for the time period, and a striking elegance. The Phantom had picked up on her psychic vibrations right away. Her outside confidence was shielding something ….
Erik connected with very few people but this young woman was exceptional. Although she didn't show it, she was nervous about something. He sensed danger. She was smiling but there was a hidden fear behind that calm exterior.
"Darling," she said, moving close to the man not, The Phantom thought, worthy of her, "you know how I feel about this opera... It's charming and has an air of mystery to it. But Louis, as long as you're turning a profit, who cares about scruples?"
A chill ran through Erik's body. She was lying to her associate. He did not know why this lady was being forced to act in a way that was cheap and foreign to her but the performance was good enough to convince the fool she was much like he. Erik sensed she was a very moral female and, somehow, felt she was in trouble.
Laughing, the man took her in his arms and kissed her, "You American women are so wise," he said, "I do not know why I failed to see your good business sense before, Claudia."
He embraced the woman and Erik carefully watched her expression over his shoulder. She was not smiling. The Phantom could see the concentration on her lovely face. Her beautiful green eyes, once soft, had grown hard. What was she up to?
Then those eyes, which Erik had so admired, focused on the grill. She was looking directly at him! He moved back but it was too late. He could tell by her searching gaze that she had beheld the masked ghoul, although her body language hadn't disturbed her suitor.
"Claudia, my love ..." Louis Limoise pulled her back, "Don Juan Triumphant premiers tomorrow evening. I will pick you up at your hotel..." He escorted her to the doors which led to the outside of the building, "By Monday, we shall see how many millions of francs are possible with our latest acquisition ..."
The woman barely listened to him, glancing over her shoulder to look at the grill once again, as she was being steered away.
Millions of francs? What was that buffoon talking about? The Phantom had become agitated. Not only had this Claudia woman seen him but there was definitely something unsavory afoot. He had to go see her. Erik shivered at the thought. He would be exposing himself to the outside world once again but if this union between he and the woman, his Golden Angel, might mean saving the opera house and, possibly, his music, then he had to take action.
He would make his move tonight. Erik would go to her hotel room and talk with her. He could be making a big mistake, but he doubted it. She was special (like Christine . . . ) and could tell him many things. He now had a purpose in his accursed life!
[]
As he prowled the night, The Phantom had to confess something to himself. He still cared about people. Why else would he be going through this? Yes, there was the opera house and his music to think of, but that had made little difference to him over the past one hundred years. Because of his "wounded heart" he hadn't really cared what happened to the building or Don Juan Triumphant. Both had been a part of a past misery.
But now this woman... He did not know her (but then he hadn't known Christine either ...) but he feared for her. Erik felt she might be getting herself involved with something she was ill prepared to discard if such an attempt became necessary. She was pretending to be ruthless and was easily swayed, as was the nature of the female, by her companion's words. She didn't realize what could happen. She couldn't see what type of a treacherous man he really was. The Phantom had to save the woman from herself. He couldn't allow this virtuous American to make the mistakes he had made in the past.
And there it was. By rescuing her he might be saving himself... (From the wrath of God? Was it too late for that?). He might be saving his own soul.
Earlier, back at the opera house, The Phantom had crawled further into the ventilation shaft and took a turn which brought him to a barred window. Again, he watched the couple as the man hailed a taxi and told the driver to take the lady to the Hotel Le Demur. The woman, Claudia, (the name simply didn't suit her, Erik thought), presented the man with a key to her room.
There was a promise of a late night supper at some future date. The key had the number 312 on it.
That was five hours ago, and now he stood - in the dark of night - below her window. His first thought was of scaling the outside wall. The room was only three floors up and he had no worries. How often had he scaled the walls of his underground dwelling without ever fretting he might fall? But, as an afterthought, he decided to make his way into the hotel through their heating ducts. He knew this building. Opera divas had stayed here during the late eighteen hundreds. It was old and the shafts, like the opera house, were huge.
Determined, Erik pulled his cape comfortably over his shoulders and headed toward the hotel's back entrance.
Cinnamon Carter lay on the bed in her elaborate suite and thought about what she had seen at the theater. She vainly tried to push the face from her mind. After all, she was on a mission and it wouldn't be right, allowing her thoughts to be clouded with an incident unrelated to their current assignment.
She had to be sharp. Jim kept punching that phrase into his team. Had he noticed how distracted some of them were lately? Cinnamon tried to hide it but, perhaps because they had worked so many years together, Jim Phelps knew she was thinking of retirement. She just wished she could tell him why. As exciting as all of this was, working with the IMF wasn't a job for a woman who wanted the longevity of a secure relationship and family. Yet, so many people were depending on her Was she being selfish?
Miss Carter's mind drifted. Who was that man at the theater? Did he have something to do with Louis Limoise? She hadn't told Jim or any of the others about him yet. She didn't think it important. Maybe she should have. But something was there... A strange voice to the back of her brain which told Cinnamon to hold back. He wasn't involved. This was something for her to explore when the mission was over.
If all worked as planned, that would be tonight. She would have some time off and instead of flying back to the United States, she might stay awhile longer and do a little research.
Cinnamon smiled when thinking of what Rollin might say about that. He would insist on staying with her and he might also tell her she was being silly. Why did she really care about this masked man who was staring at her from behind a wall? And he would be right.
She had more important personal problems to think about and, of course, there was work.
Was it those rumors about The Phantom? She nearly laughed at the idea. Really, she hadn't thought about that foolish French fairy tale since she was a little girl.
Cinnamon closed her eyes when she thought she heard a noise in her suite. Was someone there? She didn't move a muscle.
"Wake up, my Golden Angel. I must talk with you," came a whisper, close to her ear.
Then, all hell broke loose.
The camera's flashbulbs snapped and crackled. An overhead light came on without warning and, very suddenly, men ran into the room. They held firearms and were looking at the masked phantom in shock.
Cinnamon sat up in her bed and gaped at the intruder, who was looking about as if he were a trapped animal. 'My God,' she thought, 'he's the man from the opera house! Why is he here?'
Erik stunned and enraged, launched himself toward the balcony. He was over the railing in no time.
"Who the hell was that?" Rollin Hand asked in a shout as he and Barney Collier looked over the railing and watched the masked man quickly descend the side of the building. He was moving at a rapid speed and had disappeared into the darkness so fleetingly both knew they hadn't a chance to catch him.
The men turned to Cinnamon and Jim, who were talking. She was still sitting up on the bed and Jim, cigarette in his gesturing hand, looked concerned.
"No, Jim." she said, "I don't know who he was. It could have just been a burglar who picked the wrong room."
"Are you certain he wasn't one of Limoise's men sent to take care of you?"
"No, I told you Louis Limoise might let his men kill other men but when it comes to hard-hearted women, he likes to strangle them with his own hands." Cinnamon sighed with regret, "I was so certain he would come for me tonight."
"He still might." Rollin offered, leaning against the glass door which separated the balcony from the suite.
Phelps shook his head as if he didn't think so. "If he hasn't come by now, I doubt he will come at all tonight. He probably wants to wait until after the opera. While you're still alive, he wants to be able to brag."
"The final act." Barney said, nearly theatrically.
Phelps looked out the balcony again, "I would still like to know who that man was." He glanced at each of the others who appeared as puzzled as he, "Let's get some shut eye. We're going to have a long day tomorrow. Limoise is going to have a staff meeting and the room needs to be bugged before ten a.m."
Barney nodded as Jim turned and walked from the room.
"Go get some sleep, Barney." Rollin said, "Cinnamon and I will clear up here. You're going to need rest."
Collier nodded again with an appreciative smile, and exited.
Cinnamon stood, her silky nightdress swirling about her, and reached for a camera case. "It's too bad it didn't work," she said, "but it will be interesting to see how the pictures turn out. If the man was a thief, we might be able to …" Suddenly, the woman was grasped from behind and twirled about.
Rollin's face was close to her own. "This is the first time we've been alone since we came to Paris. Do you really want to just talk shop?"
The couple kissed passionately.
"We can't ..." she pulled away reluctantly, "Rollin, we're working. You know the rules."
"We're in Paris, France - the land of romance … Damn the rules." He pulled Cinnamon to him again.
Their love affair had started a little over a year ago. Neither intended for it to happens. They were on one of those assignments that was rare. Meaning, it was less dangerous than most and the setting was a tropical paradise. One night, while alone in their hotel room (posing as husband and wife), Rollin and Cinnamon had taken their false identities to heart and, in the heat of the sultry night, made love.
They swore it would never happen again - but it did. They could not resist one another. The harder they tried to avoid each other, the more miserable they felt. It was so ridiculously unfair. They were career people who, because of certain regulations, were not allowed to feel such emotions for colleagues.
Then, one month ago Rollin finally said it. He told Cinnamon he had fallen in love with her and was willing to give up the entire spying business if it meant they could be together without reservation.
Cinnamon was so confused. She loved him in return but was not so sure that was enough. There would be no going back to their careers if they found it all a horrible mistake. How could they be trusted again if Phelps and The Secretary found out about what was going on between two of their best agents?
"Rollin, please give it more time." Cinnamon urged, even as she felt the passion of his kisses. "I'm just not that certain yet." But she could not look into his eyes as she said this, "I love you. Please … just a little more time."
He stepped back from her. Rollin said, "I know how I feel, Cinnamon. I know I want you... but if you're not feeling the same things I am, then..." Her unreadable expression angered him a little, "Sometimes I think you keep things from me."
Her head snapped up. She felt a little ill. "No, don't think that. It's different for a woman, Rollin. Try to understand," she nearly pleaded. Cinnamon couldn't remember the last time she begged a man for anything.
The gesture went to his heart, "I'm so sorry." Rollin spoke gently, reaching out to touch her shoulder - "I shouldn't be so demanding, but I can't help it. I'm sure of what I want," he smiled mildly, "and what I'm sure you want."
Cinnamon bowed her head and almost chuckled. He was being honest. She couldn't fault him for that. She lifted her head and came into her lover's arms again. "Thank you. It won't be long. I'll make my decision soon. I promise."
[]
A mental fever had engulfed him to such an extent that by the time The Phantom returned to his lair, he was totally beyond reasoning.
"Betrayed!" he cried aloud. Could no one be trusted in the accursed outside world? He had been so certain the woman needed his protection, in spite of the way she acted in the theater lobby. "Fool!" Erik wailed.
She lied to him without ever having said a word. It was clear to him now. Golden Angel and those men were blackmailers. What else could it be? She was nothing but a cheap harlot, wheedling away at naive unsuspecting men who, like The Phantom, thought her better than the spiritual facade she displayed.
Now he understood why Limoise had mentioned "millions of francs". He was worth that much, thanks in part to The Phantom's opera. How many theaters, Erik wondered, had Don Juan Triumphant played over the years before coming back to its original home?!
The woman and her associates were going to take that idiot for all he was worth. That must be it!
Christine might have been his victim but this Claudia woman had boldly and unwittingly raped The Phantom! Oh, how he hated her now! He should have known better than to risk himself. What was the benefit of trying to save a soul if that door of good will was forever being slammed in his face?
Pacing, The Phantom knew of only one thing which was inescapable. He was going to have to make an example of her - this treacherous woman. It didn't matter what he had once promised Christie. If he did not vent his rage against the impure Claudia, he might truly go berserk and kill a genuine innocent.
Claudia... She would be at the opera -his opera- tomorrow evening.
The Phantom would have his vengeance!
[]
continued ...
