Madness. It's a curious thing. Warps a perfect mind and turns beauty to nightmare. A room full of people and a mad person is still alone, for if you lose yourself, you've lost everything…
"How far to the Opéra Populaire?" Madeleine asked quietly. It was the first time either had spoken since they had left Le Rose Rouge. She waited, but the man did not speak. "I suppose it can't be too far," she continued, "you would have to have been mad to agree to walk me too far."
"I am mad." He murmured. "But so are you, you followed a perfect stranger into the dawn without question." Madeleine stopped and glared at the man.
"If it concerns you, then why do you insist on being a stranger?"
The man simply replied, "I don't."
"Who are you?" The man looked at her, Madeleine stopped again and turned to face him. She saw the lights that were his eyes darken.
"Who are you?" he retorted angrily.
"Mad-e-leine Beck-ett." She repeated slowly, her face contorted with confusion.
"If you say so." He replied casually.
"I do say so. Because that is my name, whether you like it or not." She glared. Madeleine sighed to herself. Apparently she was not the only ghost hunter in these parts. The man glowered at the ground beneath him and said nothing. "Trust me…" she started.
"I trust no one," he growled. "And I am no stranger." He snarled, marching ahead. Madeleine had to run a couple of paces to keep up. She was bemused. This was a peculiar gentleman indeed. The pair walked in silence for a while. Madeleine glanced sideways at the man every so often. Her heart pounded, she thought that perhaps it had been madness to follow him. She summoned some courage and cautiously asked,
"So do you visit Le Rose Rouge often?" The stranger paused before quietly replying,
"No." And Madeleine nodded. The stranger glanced at her, "I was waiting for someone."
"Who?" Madeleine asked.
"An old friend." He replied again.
"You should have stayed. They'll wonder where you are." The stranger shook his head.
"I've been waiting long enough." The two proceeded in silence for a few moments.
"May I ask what the drama was about, back at the inn?" Madeleine tried cautiously.
"Face, cursed, bad..." The stranger reeled off quickly, "I'm not sure which part confused you." Madeleine rolled her eyes,
"Look, don't think I'm ignorant of my resemblance to Christine Daae…" The stranger glowered at Madeleine, and made to interrupt. "But my knowledge of Le Rose Rouge is that it was made as something of a safe haven for her. It's strange to me that she would be so unwelcome." The strangers face changed subtly in the shadow of his hat, he appeared to be smiling.
"I see you've done your research," He said. There was humour in his voice.
"Some," Madeleine replied patiently.
"Well you require more recent sources, Miss Beckett. The situation has changed somewhat. There have been some, lets call them, 'happenings' at Le Rose Rouge of late that have the locals on edge."
"Happenings?"
"Yes."
"Care to elaborate?"
"No. I already told you Miss Beckett. I don't visit the place often; this is rumour, of which I have only overheard from snatches of conversation circulating the village. But this is an old village, superstitious in nature, with far too much time on their hands and not enough to talk about. 'Christine Daae' is news that is generations old and yet here we are discussing her like she's still relevant." Silence fell between the pair again, until Madeleine found some courage to discuss another point of interest.
"What about the Opéra Populaire?" Madeleine asked. The man sighed.
"What do you mean, 'what about it'?" he retorted.
"Do you visit it often?"
"I have not visited the Opera House for a long time."
"I wouldn't suppose you had. The famous disaster caused unimaginable damage. It was only repaired a few years ago." Madeleine pondered quietly.
"Indeed." The stranger replied.
"Why did you offer to escort me?"
"As I said, Miss Beckett. I have not visited the Opéra Populaire for a long time. A visit is due. What is your business there?" He didn't look at her.
"Curiosity." Madeleine replied. The stranger glanced at her.
"Oh?"
"You must have heard the stories?" Madeleine said, knowing he had.
"You're referring to the Phantom of the Opera?" He looked concerned. Madeleine gazed at him curiously.
"Yes." She replied, raising an eyebrow. The man narrowed his eyes once again.
"Tell me Miss Beckett, do you really seek merely a visit to the Opera House, or are you, like so many others before you, on the hunt for the Phantom himself?" Madeleine glared at him; there was a taunting tone to his voice that made her uneasy. The question's accuracy caught her off guard, as did the revelation that 'many' people had sought out Erik before her, though it made perfect sense. She decided on honesty.
"Well, the Opéra Populaire has fascinated me since I was very small…" she started warily. "But it would be a lie to say I was not curious about the Phantom." She sighed, and the stranger slowly turned away from Madeleine. "Foolish of me really." She said, shaking her head.
"Oh?" came the voice of the stranger.
"To question whether or not he existed, or was even real for that matter. He was most likely a figment of imagination." Madeleine heard the man gasp. She carried on quietly. "Angel of music, angel in hell, phantom…it certainly doesn't seem real. And to come all this way for a fairy tale…quite, quite foolish." She finished. The air seemed to still. The night felt cooler, and somehow the silence felt heavier as Madeleine turned once more to face the man. He reached for his hat, slowly removing it from his head. Madeleine's eyes travelled instantly to that face.
"Tell me, Miss Beckett. Does it seem more real now?" The Phantom smiled horribly and Madeleine uttered only one word as she collapsed, unconscious, to the dirt track,
"Erik…"
