----Ch 9-----
"I...I guess I better get going then." She muttered, picking herself up off the ground.
"Are you nuts?! Go where? Back to that place?! This proves that someone is there with you..."
"No, it just proves that I'm forgetful and that old doors lock themselves when slammed shut." She shot back, groping for any reasonable excuse. Inside, she was trembling. There was someone in there with her...the same someone who gave her the roses, and the dress, and the cape...
"You are not going back there tonight!" Marius snapped, grabbing her by the arms rougher than he meant to, breaking her concentration. "You are staying here, and that's final."
"But my stuff is back there..." She muttered, slightly in shock. The last time someone had grabbed her like that...she shivered unconsciously and lightly touched the back of her shoulders.
"You can go back tomorrow, Angel. But tonight...maybe you should just hang out here." Elisabet suggested, patting her other shoulder sympathetically.
"...ya, alright..." She murmured, agreeing unhappily. She bunked out in the armchair against the protests of possible uncomfort, and spent the night wondering what surprises would be waiting in store for her tomorrow. She closed her eyes against the headache of possibilities...
"Angel?" Crystal's voice broke her concentration, startling her. "You ok? You were mumbling in your sleep."
"Sleep? No, I wasn't asleep..." She replied, then realized that it was daylight that was pouring in through the windows instead of moonlight. "Oh, I guess I did fall asleep!!" She laughed. Stretching, she stood up and moved towards the door. "What time is it?"
"Almost nine." Crystal took her place in the armchair. "Aren't you going to eat something before you go back?"
"No, not hungry..." She muttered, distracted. Opening the door, she paused and turned back to her companion. "Did I...what did I say last night?" She watched as Crystal thought about it for a moment before replying.
"Something about an angel of music...why? Mean anything to you?"----Ch 10-----
Did that name mean anything to her? No, no...she could not have been whispering about some ghostly angel who she had never heard of before...could she? Walking down the dusty sidewalk, she hunched her shoulders against the pounding wind and glanced up at the stormy sky. Ominous blackness covered what moments ago had been brewing clouds. She groaned to herself as the sky opened up on her, dumping torrents of rain across the empty streets of Paris. She began to run, then slowed her pace to a sloshing stroll when she realized that she was not going to get there any dryer. As she shoved open the large entrance doors with her sopping shoulder, she was surprised that they were unlocked. Walking into the foreyard, she stood dripping before the second set of ordinate doors, wondering if they too would be unlocked. Only one way to find out...
The elaborately decorated doors swung open neatly, but she hesitated to move. Every time her friends stopped by, things were locked up. And yet, here she was, soaking wet, and every door was opening at a touch of her fingers. Was there really a phantom here? And why would he let her in above all others?
Shaking her head, spraying droplets of water everywhere, she sighed and stepped into the hall of mirrors. As she moved, thousands of reflected women strode in time with her. She paused to watch them, and felt like laughing. Or crying. She wasn't sure. There stood a woman of twenty, who looked like a drowned cat with her stringy long hair and wide blue eyes. Scared, cold, alone...she reached out unconsciously to comfort this shivering woman, coming back to terms with reality when her hand touched cold reflexive glass. She hung her head at her stupidity.
"Knock it off, Christy." She scolded herself out loud. She frowned, then made a face at her copy, laughing at herself. "Boy, I bet I look like a complete fool..." She muttered, then shivered again. Find something warm, something dry. That was the goal of the afternoon. As she wandered down the rest of the hall and up towards her room, she couldn't help but feel that there was someone monitoring her progress through the Opera House. Every time she turned, there was no one there, not even the cat. "Who am I expecting?" She asked herself out loud. "Le Mort Roux? M. Beau? The Opera Ghost himself?" She answered, feeling very alone. Keep talking, pretend that you aren't accompanied and at the same time very much alone, she told herself. But her teeth were chattering too much to make petty conversation with herself, so she laps back into edgy silence. Perhaps the rain would lighten up soon, and she could go back outside into the warm sunshine to dry off.
As it was, the rain was only coming down harder, and a chill descended though the Opera House's levels. She reached her room, stifling the urge to sneeze, and began going through her bag of things at once. Art supplies, a snow hat(an electric blue beanie, to be exact), pads of paper, more art supplies, lined paper, a book she has read until the edges were dog-eared, art, art, art!! She flung items onto the bed; knowing, hoping, praying that she would find her spare clothes any second. Nothing...
Falling onto the floor with an unsettling thud, she ran her hand over her tangled hair. Where were the clothes she knew she packed? Where were the warm pullovers and extra jeans? Where, where, where?!
Lightning cracked outside, splitting the charcoal black sky into halves. Jumping slightly, she shivered out of fear and cold, then remembered. She left the clothes back at the hotel, after using the washing machines to clean them!!!
Groaning at herself, she buried her wet head into her equally soaked arms, giving up. She had left all of her spare clothes back there, and there was nothing left for her. Shivering violently again, she pulled herself up onto her knees. Maybe she could at least take a hot bath and get out of these wet clothes, maybe wrap herself up in the bed's quilt until her only remaining garments were dry. She glanced at the corner of the room where the dressmaker's dummy still stood, garbed in the beautiful ball dress. No. Way. There was no way she was going to change into that. She would ruin the dress!!! Shaking her head again to rid her hair of the clinging droplets, she stood up all the way. Lightning flashed again, lighting up the entire room for a count of three. Something white stood apart in the glow, before the room plunged back into darkness. She gasped, holding her breath, then waited for the lightning to strike again. When it did, she rushed at the white icon, grabbing at something that felt like cottony silk. She laughed. It was just a folded-up dressing gown!!
"Jumpy, are we?" She asked herself out loud, mocking her own fear. Glancing down at the dress, she plucked at her own wet sleeve and sighed. "Whoever you are that keeps blessing me with these gifts, I hope you are aware that you're making a hypocrite out of me! I keep saying that I hate wearing dresses, and yet you keep giving them to me in circumstances that force me to wear them!!" She had to laugh at herself again, she was just beginning to sound like a complete fool. Sighing one last time, she glanced about in the darkness for any unwanted companions, and began to change.
As she smoothed her hands down the cotton-white gown's front, she could swear that she was hearing music being played. Stepping out into the corridor, she made her way towards the stage room, glancing about the whole time. Slowly, the song was becoming louder and clearer, and she recognized the tune. "Angel of Music..." She whispered to herself as the song died away to an echo. It was becoming even more familiar, the nagging in the back of her mind slowly unfolding a story her grandmother once told her, about her greataunt and a muse called the Angel of Music. Looking about urgently, she didn't see the shadow that crept along the edge of the curtain. She slipped backstage to where the music's echo was swelling in the very timbers themselves and, seemingly could not help herself, began to sing her own words to the song.
"Angel of Music/ you are hiding/ Shadow, he slips by me/ Angel of Music/ hide no longer/ grant an appearance by thee." She sang boldly, slowly climbing up to the catwalk above the stage. He paused, waiting for her to pass her eyes over his form, before moving to a better place to stand. She couldn't see him, could not find him, although he could easily watch her. But he found that his resistance to an answering stanza was impossible.
"Child, you know not what you ask for/ Nor know the reason I hide/ I have been forever waiting/ I am here, inside." He sang, ducking behind a grand mirror before she could turn and spot him. He heard the clatter of footsteps as she descended swiftly, and held his breath as the footbeats drew near, stopping in front of his very hiding spot.
"Angel of Muse/ you tease in calling/ both warming and chilling me through/ Angel, you're not/ but echoing riddles/ which I know not answers to!" He could hear her pause, almost hearing her pray in her mind for his vocal grace as an answer. After a few silent minutes, her footfalls turned back to crossing the catwalk. This deadly game of cat and mouse would lead to an unfortunate ending for them if it was to continue. He began to creep silently towards one of the stage's trapdoors when he spotted her on the highest catwalk. Blanching, he stopped in his tracks. That fool!!
She, unaware of the attention she had drawn or the danger she was in, continued on in her quest. Stepping across the rotting catwalks, she reached out for the rope that connected the warped planks to the ceiling. Each walk was really just one board laid out length wise, connected to the ceiling by four ropes, and at least three or four inches from the next plank. She swallowed in fear and reached out for the next rope. As she stretched her foot across, she suddenly felt the board beneath her give way.
As she fell, she saw him. Saw him just below her, his porcelain-white face rushing up to her. His arms were open wide, open for her, as if to dance with her. He looked like Death. She wondered if he would dance with her. Dance with her to her grave. Maybe she was already dead.
