A big thanks to HurogWalker
And thank you to the two anonymous reviewers SexyKnickers and PhantomWaffles; thank you for reading and reviewing.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.
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Chapter 4
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Ashe slowly opened her eyes. She frowned at the sight of the room, trying to remember where she was. As it came back to her she sat up. She was in one of the flats of the Paris Opera House. She sat there on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest as she tried to wake up. Finally deciding she had procrastinated long enough, she slid out of her sleeping bag and zipped it back up. She picked her bag up and slung it up onto the bed. Rummaging through it, she pulled out a pair of dark blue jeans and a black sleeveless turtleneck. Pulling them on she was just about done when the hair on the back of her neck stood up. For her, that meant only one thing. There was a specter lurking nearby. Ashe finished tying the laces on her leather boots and slipped out of the room. A piece of paper taped to her door caught her eye. She ripped it off and read it as she walked down the hall. It was a note from her parents saying that they had to go to the document offices and finished filling out paper work. Ashe crumpled the note in her hand as she slowly walked down the corridor. The whole Opera House was silent, but she began to have a strange feeling that she was being followed as she walked through the corridors. She pulled out one of the master keys that her parents had given to her yesterday, and ducked through the large double doors on her left, after quickly unlocking them.
She leaned against the door, waiting for the presence that had been following her to move on. She felt it stop by the doors and held her breath, praying that it didn't follow her. Finally after what felt like forever, she felt it move on. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she looked around, seeing that she was in some kind of library. The ceiling must have been at least 50 feet high, and it was filled from top to bottom with books. Eyes widening at the sight of all the books, she slowly walked through the room. She finally stopped at a tall shelf. Her ring-covered fingers played against the spines of the books and she eventually chose one at random. She pulled out a thick, heavy red leather book and carried it to a large brown and red velvet chair and sat down. Opening it, she began to read, finding that it was a list of past Opera Singers and their biographies.
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The Specter was getting sadistic pleasure from watching the girl hurry though the corridors. By now he had come to realize that she was one of the more sensitive people. She knew he was there. He knew she knew he was there, and he was exploiting that fact. After years of the same thing happening day-in and day-out, he had gotten terribly bored and now was tormenting the girl for his own amusement.
It was entertaining. A mean smirk pulled at his lips, as memories of the glory days came back to him. The days when he was alive and he used to scare the chorus girls and tiny ballerinas. He stayed to the shadows as the girl quickened her pace and finally ducked into the library. She slammed the double doors closed just as he stepped out from the shadows. He stared at the doors for a few minutes contemplating whether or not to go in. Finally deciding against it, he turned and walked back through the wall. The girl lived in the Opera House now. He would wait and let her run into him to see what would happen.
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More than an hour passed before Ashe raised her head from the book. She looked up at the large grandfather clock and saw how long it had been, closing the book and getting to her feet with a satisfying stretch. She walked to the doors and creaked one of them open and stuck her head out off the room. The air was clear, with no sign of the presence. It was gone. Who or what could have had so much hate, she wondered as she let out a sigh of relief. She slipped out of the library and continued on her way through the halls. It was a Sunday so there was no one but she and her parents, and both of them had left earlier to sign some papers. She was alone in the Opera house. It was the perfect time to explore.
Ashe's parents didn't know about her ability. Her ability to sense, see, talk to and hear ghosts. Spirits. Poltergeists and all of the other fancy names they had for dead people that lingered. She preferred it like that. They thought she was strange enough without her telling them, 'I see dead people.'
Ashe went to the hall the held the Grand Staircase and walked up the peach colored marble until she came to the same doors that she and her parents had gone in before. She stared at the large doorway that held the two dark wooden doors then turned and went left, up the second set of stairs until she came to the second level, looking out over the ledge. She stood there for a few minutes before she turned and continued though the halls on the left side. She came to another door and paused, then turned the gold plated doorknob and went in the door led to a dark hallway that had a row of doors and there was a staircase at the end of the hall. She walked down the dark wood-paneled hall and opened the middle door. It led to a semi private box. She closed the door and walked on to the staircase, going up the slightly winding flight of stairs. They led to another hallway that had the same décor as the hallway below her.
She walked on, ignoring the doors this time walking straight on to another staircase at the opposite end of the hall, climbing that one until she was at the third floor. Again, she ignored these doors and walked on to the staircase at the end of the hall. But as she began to pass by the last door, something made her stop. She looked to her right and saw the normal-looking door of the larger private boxes.
Ashe felt a cold chill creep up her spine and reached out to touch the door. A moment after her fingers brushed the surface; she pulled her hand back, hissing in pain. The door was hot to touch. She knew that it wasn't real so she gritted her teeth and tried the door, ignoring the red-hot pain that shot up her arm. She normally didn't go looking for the ghosts, as they usually found her, but this one was different. She could somehow sense that, and if she didn't confront the ghostly presences they would never settle down and wouldn't leave her in peace. She was stuck in France until she turned eighteen. And there was something about the presence in this place. She never felt such hatred and fear. It was time to stop jumping and face this thing, whatever it was.
She wrapped her hand tighter around the handle and, in a flash, the pain was gone. She smirked as she reached into her pocket and dug out the master key and unlocked the door. Pushing the door open, she was shocked to see a burst of flames roll out. Ashe let out a gasp as the blast of heat and air came at her, but before it reached her, it disappeared altogether. Ashe let out a heavy, disgusted sigh and blew some strands of black and red hair out of her eyes as she rolled them in disgust at herself for being surprised.
Once she settled her nerves, she took the time to look around the box. The box itself was the same as all others, except this one was more private. It was closed and even had a heavy, deep red curtain that was currently pulled back. The walls were covered in plush red velvet and there were two chairs available. A smooth marble pillar was to the left of the box. Ashe walked across the lush carpet and went over to the edge, looking down into the auditorium. She leaned against the edge, admiring the view. It was one of the best; though the box was on the third level and wasn't as fancily decorated as some of the others it had the best spot to see the whole of the stage.
Her eyes strayed upward and she saw the huge crystal chandelier. All the lights were off, but even so, it held a heavy foreboding.
As she watched, It suddenly shuddered, the crystals tinkling.
Suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings, her mismatched eyes widened. Why hadn't she realized it before? She knew some of the history of the building. It had caught fire back in 1871. A bunch of people had died. This is where the specter had died. Perhaps it had been burned to death? Was that why it was so angry? As she looked around wildly, the air began to get colder and a distinctive foul smell rose.
Without warning, a cold wind began to beat at her. She fell to her knees, the icy wind still blowing furiously through her hair, its icy blast frosting her skin. She shuddered, her warm breath coming out in vapors. It was as if she was in a blizzard. She hugged her arms around herself and opened her eyes a bit, seeing that everything had gone rigged in the cold. The soft curtains and tassels had become stiff as boards, and white ice crystals were forming around the edges.
The wind was cutting into her skin; causing her long hair to whip madly across her face. Not only was the wind ice cold but also was also foul smelling, like rotting meat. As she knelt, over the roar of the wind, she heard high-pitched screaming. She opened her eyes, and standing in front of her was the ghost. The screaming faded into a repetitive shout, "Sortez d'ici!"
His face was contorted in a mask of fury. A cold white porcelain mask covered the right side of his face. The left side that was visible was angry, twisted into hate. But that's not what scared her. What scared her was that he was different than all the others.
Slowly, with the wind still slicing into her skin, Ashe stood up and put her hands over her ears. "Arrête!Arrête!…Stop!Stop!" she screamed back, glaring right at him. The moment their eyes met, the wind suddenly died.
"You can see me? Really see me?"
Ashe sucked in a deep breath. She had been unprepared for his voice. It was a rich baritone that spoke with a pure velvet tone. She had never heard anyone; alive or dead with a voice like his. Finally she spoke, noticing the drastically different timbre in their voices. "Yes. I can see you and hear you. I have always been able to see…ghosts."
"A true medium," he mused aloud, His mind began to race, mulling this over. If she could indeed see him then- he was almost too eager now, his mind racing through the things he could do if this girl could see him.
The girl surprised him by snorting, "No. I prefer 'freak'."
He just stared at her, and then shook his head. "You are not a 'freak,' as you put it."
Ashe rubbed her arms and winced. She looked down and saw that her pale arms had raised red welts on them. She glanced back up at him with a glare "Well, in my book, if you can see and talk to dead people, then you're a freak."
He saw the pain in her gaze and immediately tried to placate her. He had never possessed good social skills, but after being unable to talk to anyone for years, he knew he had to pacify her and not get overly impatient. Females were the weaker sex, after all. He had to charm her. He gestured at her arms with his usual dramatic flare. "I am sorry for scaring you. I trust you are not hurt? My temper can get the best of me at times."
Ashe raised an eye bow at the overly done apology. Again she snorted. "Don't worry about it. I'm just grateful that you didn't blow me off the balcony." She gave a half grin. "My name is—"
"Mademoiselle Chloe Ashley Thurbis. Your father and mother are Robert and Carrie Thurbis," He interrupted. "The Paris Opéra is mine. Little happens without my knowing about it.
Ashe winced when he used her first name. "Don't ever call me that! If you want me to answer, you will call me Ashe."
"Ashe, is it? Mademoiselle Ashe I will call you then," he said, bowing low as he spoke.
Ashe sent him a strange look, and then sighed and shook her head, "What's your name?" she asked when he straightened, "I can't just call you 'Ghost'."
"Erik. My name is Erik."
