Not to Follow

by Aria of Life

Cassidy O'Callaghan has lived in fear of her father all her life. But when tragedy strikes her town, she flees her country and winds up in the famous Opera Garnier. What at first seems like only a perfect hiding spot turns into something much more when she meets the infamous Opera Ghost. But Cass must overcome her demons and the truths about herself, all while hiding as a fugitive.

10. Chapter 10

Not Monday, I know, but it's St. Patrick's Day!

So, to celebrate my personal favorite Irish girl, here's a chapter for you all!

Horseland123: Thanks! Christine's necklace has certainly thrown these two into a bit of a loop, huh? And one of the things I'm really trying to do with this story is make it new, like you said. I hope you like this chapter!

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Chapter 10

ERIK:

I grip the rose so hard I can feel the petals piecing my skin. It was one of the first necklaces I gave...her, shortly after she first left my house. I automatically block out the memories of her face when she discovered the rose, finally making the connection between the black ribbon on her neck and the black ribbon of the notes… I haven't seen it since the night she pledged her love to that...

The brat realized something more than petty theft has happened. She pushes herself up, rubbing her sore arms. Her stance subtly switches to defensive, and if I don't get ahold of myself, she just might need it.

I take the deepest breath I can, tucking the rose into my pocket. Her eyes dart all over the room, unconsciously raising an eyebrow at the 'slayed bull' prop.

I bring her attention back to my, making my voice as deadly as I can. "Where did you steal this?"

Her jaw tightens. "I didn't steal it, I got it fairly!"

I rush at her and grab her shoulder, bending her backwards out of the windows. Her eyes grow wide as the wind whips her curls around.

"I happen to know the owner of that necklace, and I highly doubt that she would give it to a street urchin as yourself!" She wouldn't, would she? My Christine wouldn't just give my gift away…

For once, the brat gives a straight answer. "I-I got it from another man." She stammered, her hands flailing at the window. "I made a trade for it and a few others."

"In exchange for what? The cup?"

"Well, that and some of the ballerina's jewelry."

For the first time, I notice a large bruise on the left side of her jaw. Frowning, I let go of one shoulder to turn her head, examining it. She winces, but doesn't try to hit me. "Fairly, you say? It looks as though you had a bit of a struggle."

Her eyes dart back and forth. "Well, that's kinda how it started, but we came to an agreement."

"Did they happen to mention where they got it?" When she hesitated, I shake her briefly. "Did they or didn't they?"

"They didn't! It was just in some bag they had!"

Disgusted, I pull back, the brat stumbling into the opera again. How had Christine's necklace gotten into the hands of some common thief? Had she been attacked?

Christine never would give it away…

The brat rubbed her arms, getting some dust and dirt off her sleeves. "I really don't know where it came from. I just thought it...was pretty."

You thought you could sell it, you mean. Don't try and fool me.

"What else have you got on you?" I ask suddenly. "More stolen property…"

She hesitated before pulling out an sapphire ring, a silver belt buckle, and a roll. "That's all."

The ring is unfamiliar, but the food confused me. "You traded the cup from the opera for a piece of bread?"

"No, the cup took care of the necklace." She says easily, and I have to remind myself to keep calm. "I just traded in the rest. They didn't have much."

"They won't have the rest, either." I mutter, thinking about how to track the two down.

"So, you knew a Christine Day?"

The name hits me hard and I struggle to breath for a moment. The rose burns in my pocket, then seems to gain weight.

"Daae." I correct. "She...was a singer here."

"What happened to her?"

"None of your business, petit gosse." Desperate to change the subject before I strangled her, I gestured to the open window. "Any reason why you choose tonight to become a circus monkey?"

She seems thrown at my change of subject, but lets the matter drop. "Circus monkey...oh you mean climbin' the opera? There was some kinda party in the front hall, so I had to find 'nother way in."

"Party? There was no party tonight."

"Well, it looked like it. Tons of people in fancy dress just millin' around-"

"Do you mean the gala?"

She blinks. "Gala? What's that?"

I roll my eyes, gesturing to the costumes. "This isn't just play-acting, my dear gosse. The gala is the performance displaying the talents of not only the opera, but several other outside musicians. Tonight was the the final gala of the summer. It was a fairly small crowd."

The convict's eyes widen. "If that a small crowd, what's a 'big crowd?'"

I smirk a moment, enjoying her ignorance. "Tomorrow night, most likely-"

"What's tomorrow night?" She cuts me in again.

I take a deep breath before responding. "The first show of the season. Shame you won't see it."

The defense are instantly back up again, her eyes wandering the room for a weapon. But then her eyes narrow and she crossed her arms, scowling at me. "Isn't this gettin' old? Why can't you just let me stay?"

"You're a nuisance." I rebuke, not liking the tone in her voice.

"You think that Andre and what's-his-name are nuisances. You don't make them leave."

"Not for a lack of trying." I growl, but the gosse is right. I can't keep throwing her out, and when it comes down to it, I realize I am not able to kill her.

Women and children-both are allowed to live. It seems not only rude but deeply immoral. True, I wanted to throw a lasso over the Kanums's throat every day, and Reza's death is on my hands….but that only seems to solidify the situation. I can't kill another child, not matter how irritating she is.

"So, they've got the real power here?"

Then again, there has to be some exception for this!

"I am the true ruler of this opera house. I simply find it easier to use them to manage the petty details of the opera." I say after a long pause. "It also slightly amuses me to see them fail each time. Perhaps one day they will learn."

She gives an almost inaudible snort, shaking her head at the floor.

Ignoring it, I given her a searching glance before making a decision.

"Do not sabotage any performances, or any of the actors, with perhaps the exception of Madam Dulvoi …"

Her head slowly raises and a gleam entered her eye.

Hastily, I add as much authority to my voice as possible. "Do not attempt to locate me, or 'inform' the managers about me. They know as much as you do, anyhow. If you stray from these guidelines, I will notify not only the managers, but the police, as to your description, age, nationality…"

"I get it." She said, a weary look in her gaze. She straightens up and her left hand twitches, the same one that's been trying to hit me for as long as I've know the girl.

Not entirely satisfied, I turn and leave the shaking Irish Girl behind me.

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CASS:

The moment he leaves, I down the wall, ignoring the hardness of the floor as I curl my legs in, takin' deep breaths. My arms still burn from my climbin' and my chest was starting to hurt from the painful thump-thump of my heart. My eyes are still trained to the door, not trustin' fate to leave me alone. I raise a shaking hand and check my pulse, a surreal feeling flooding through me at each rapid beat.

I should have died tonight. If not from fallin' to my death, then from the hands of the opera ghost. How was I supposed to know he knew the lady the rose belonged to? Who was she anyway? Some lady friend? (Lady friend, Cass? Him?) Mutterin', I curse my gut attraction to the necklace in the alleyway.

Instincts are the smartest thing a man's got, Father's voice whispered, and I shuddered, feelin' his breath on my ear. It's the animal that's stayed alive, my girl. I shake my head hard to get rid of the echo. I'm gonna trust the right instincts, don't you worry.

One hand still on my neck, I run my other hand through my curls, tryin' to get a hold of myself. The past few hours catch up to me and I almost groan from the sudden exhaustion I feel. I tug my ear and let of of my pulse, watching silently as the light retracts before dissapearin' altogether. As my eyes gradually adjust to the darkness, I grab the stolen items off the floor. Curling my knees into my chest, I eat the bread as slowly as I can, tryin' to pretend it's still warm from a bake.

The darkness pressed closer around me and I slowly push myself off the floor, running another hand through my hair, where it stops due to some snag.

I move as quietly as I can towards the door before leaning out and sweepin' my eyes over the hall. There are the distant sounds of people goin' to bed, callin' to each other in laughter. But nobody seems to be close to...wherever I am.

Fighting down the sudden panic, I keep one hand on the wall, moving through the cloud of déjà vu.

Two older girl come down the hall, with one holdin'' the other tightly. I swear under my breath and duck into a room, slidin'' a hand over my mouth. The smaller of the two is holdin' a letter, bitin' her lip. She mutters something and just when I think they'll pass me, the taller stops her and grabs her shoulders. She speaks quickly and sternly, almost shaking the smaller girl. Insterad of lookin' scared, the girl with the letter smiles before foldin' the letter and shovin' it deep into her pocket. She throws her shoulders back and nods to the taller girl, who gives a wide grin before linkin' arms and pullin' her down the hall, trouble forgotten.

I lean out of the room and stare after them, a wave of jealousy coursin' through me, not seeming to be able to forget the look on the girls' faces. I set my own shoulders back, pretending to have an audience. But instead of confidence, I just feel like an idiot.

..the dorms, you fool, common sense whispers in the back of my mind. They were going downstairs, probably coming from the dorms...you know, where the staircase to the attic is?

I let my shoulders fall into their usual slump and walk on.

Six wrong turns later, I've come back to my attic. Steppin' over a box of wigs, I fight with the small, rounded window's latch before it pops open with a sickening creak.

Holdin' my breath, I poke the window open wider, swearin' at every creak. When the wind slowly blows into the room., I pull a (hopefully) sturdy box and stand on the tips of my toes. Looking out over what little of the city I can see. The late summer air smells sweet and the wind carries the beat of the people below. Settling down, I push the thought of the phantom out of my mind and try to fall asleep, listening to the sound of the stars.

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ERIK

Tonight marks the beginning of the opera's new season. L'incoronazione di Poppea seemed an interesting choice, but not completely unacceptable.

For once, there is no battle with the managers over Box 5. Perhaps they're learning at last- extra stress wouldn't benefit them on such a momentous night.

I make the usual during the first act, watching the bustle backstage. I could walk among them as I am and not be noticed, so high is the tension. Performers hardly notice each other, let alone a ghost slipping among them, ensuring the show's success.

Halfway through the first act, I make my way to Box 5, giving my usual tap for Madam Giry. Like clockwork, she opens the door and hands me my program.

I added the ballet mistress's attitude before speaking. "The ballet not doing as well as you'd hoped?"

The fingers holding her cane tightened to the point where I could almost see the brittle bones poking through.

"It is ridiculous. What have you done to them, Erik?"

I narrow my eyes at her accusing tone. "What are you implying, Madam?"

"You know full well." Madam Giry hissed, leaning in, the feathers on her hat wobbling perilously. "Meg tells me that you've started some rumor about one of them being singled out for the ghost's next 'misfortune.'"

I send of a flurry of metal curses towards Mademoiselle Giry. That rumor was entirely her doing. I could practically see the smirk on her face.

"My apologies, Madam. I can assure you that this was not...my intent." I say, lying through my teeth. "Perhaps you'd better go reassure the brats?"

Fixing me with a glare that wiped my own smirk off my face, Madam Giry gathered up her dusty black skirts and swept out.

Letting out a sigh of relief as I heard her footsteps fade, I made my way over to my seat and sat down, looking out at the stage. The music came out at the audience in great waves. The audience's energy was affecting the company, their voices soaring around the opera to the point where the gods above and the demons below could hear them.

As I watched some of the more elite members of the crowd-preferably, the old gentleman who had fallen asleep upon his younger companion, who was doing his best to hold still,-I glanced up at the railing near the ceiling to see a small, red-headed figure perched on the edge. Narrowing my eyes as the stage lit up, I saw the young convict swinging her legs with her forehead pressed against the railing. Her eyes were wide and glued to the stage, but there was a certain vagueness about her expression as well. When the song ended and the audience gave their usual thunderous applause, she jerked back as through woken from a daze.

An idea formed in the back of my mind, but I pushed it away and returned my attentions to the stage. Throughout the rest of the act, however, I kept glancing up towards the girl.

Just before intermission, I slipped out of my box as per usual, in order to avoid the herds that would soon surround my box. But instead of turning towards Madame Giry's self-declared office, I felt the itch of an idea again and found my feet walking towards the rafters.

I closed the door leading to the metal walkway as softly as I could, though the girl was so far into her daze, I'd doubt she'd hear anything. As the act ended, and the crowds made their usual rush to greet each other, I moved up silently behind the girl, hesitating only a moment before speaking.

"The view doesn't seem to be the best from here."

As I'd expected, she started and scrambled to face me. As I took in the sight of her, I tried to hold back a smirk at the sight of the indent the railing had made on her forehead. She clears her throat.

"Well, I guess it isn't the greatest, but…" She trailed off and gripped the railing with both hands, not turning her back to me. "Are you watching the show?"

"Of course. I have to make sure my opera house is being presented in the best light."

She blinks, then risks a glance back to the stage. "What's the show, anyway?"

"L'incoronazione di Poppea."

"Bless you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"What's a...Len Cora de poppa?"

"L'incoronazione di Poppea." I correct through gritted teeth. "It is an Italian opera-"

"So that's what language it is! I thought it sounded different that French!"

If I didn't wear a mask, I'd be rubbing my face in frustration. "Do you know anything that is happening?"

Her shoulders fall and she loses eye contact. "Well...not exactly. But…that one lady, the lead, she seems to want...power? And she seems to have a man chasing her...and didn't somebody's beard get set on fire?"

"That's fairly close." I say, feeling the childish urge to roll my eyes at her memory. "The lead is Poppaea, mistress of Neo, a roman emperor. This is the tale of how she rose to power and became empress." Looking around, I notice that the crowd was beginning to seat themselves again.

The girl noticed as well, squinting to see the stage. "What happens next?"

I raise my eyebrow. "You do not expect me to tell you the rest of the story, do you? That's what this is about, you realize-the telling of the story."

"It's not like I can understand it anyway." She mumbles. "If it was in Irish or English, I might be all right. But Italian and French? It gives me a headache!"

I study the girl in front of me as she glances at the stage, with the house lights dimming once again. She sneaks a look to me when she thinks I'm not looking, and I fold my hands behind my back, facing the stage.

Madam Dulvoi sweeps on stage, taking a deep breath and delivering a high pitched scream. For a moment I think we've been spotted, even through the stage lights, but then she continues to screech as the music picks up.

I turn to the best, expecting her to be lost again, but her face is screwed up and a look of horror is on her face. "It's her again!" She hisses. "What is she doin'?"

I find an audience member below, smiling like all the rest. Only the girl seems to hear the imperfection. In that moment, my mind is made up.

"Perhaps this would be better explained below. You may be content with a walkway, but I have certain standards to hold myself to." I walk away, barely six steps away before her next question comes flying at me.

"What do you mean, standards? You didn't pay for a seat, did you?"

I chucked at that. "A seat, Mademoiselle? I have my own private box. And it is mine for free."

I leave the door open, hearing her hesitant footsteps coming after me.

"Did you make the managers do that for you?" She asks as I descend the staircase leading to the grand tier.

"A small price to pay for peace of mind, is it not?"

"Yeah, I'll bet they're real peaceful." She mumbles.

I ignore her and push open my box, settling down in my chair. The girl has frozen at the door, hesitant to make a move.

"Do you understand what is happening currently?" I ask, not turning in her direction.

In order to see the stage, I hear her take she few steps forward onto the carpet, walking on the tips of her toes. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her peer around the edge of the box towards the stage.

"Well...it seems to me like that one lady with the funny hair-"

I hold out the program. "Ottavia. The current empress. Care to take a guess who she's played by?"

She reaches out hesitantly before glancing at the page and shaking her head. "It's in French. There's no chance of me readin' that."

I sign. "The woman with the 'funny hair' is none other than Madame Dulvoi, our current residing diva."

The girl steal a quick glance. "'Current?'"

"She's not the first, and not the last." I lean forward, fixing my eyes on the madame's blond wig. "Curiously enough, that's not her true voice."

"What?"

I speak in a lower voice, smirking when the girl is forced to come a little closer. "Madam Dulvoi is a Danish singer, with an acceptable 'normal' voice. However, Gabriel-"

"That's that man who came late to rehearsal 'cause he was in the bath!"

"-the very same. Now, he decided that the Madam's voice wasn't quite the fit for opera, but due to her coming from a rather influential family, he decided to 'fix' her."

"Do you think she should sing like she's supposed to?"

I snort. "None of the the company ever sings like they're 'supposed to.' But I take your meaning." I pause as she slowly lowers herself into a seat near mine. "I do believe that it would be better for all if she sang in her natural tones."

The girl lets out a snort of her own, poking at the plush seat covering. "Well, just send a threatenin' letter to the managers and it's all taken care of."

"If only it was that-" I'm cut off by a renewed scream. The girl puts her hands over her ears and shuts her eyes.

The sight would be amusing if I wasn't in pain as well.

When she lowers her hands, I notice how she sits-perched at the very edge of the seat, trying to touch as little fabric as possible.

"Is there something the matter with the seat, mademoiselle?"

Her head whips around, and for the first time I see her blush. "No. It's fine, just...a little too comfortable."

I smirk and tuck that information away before turning back to the show.

Aside from Madam Dulvoi's usual disaster, L'incoronazione di Poppea seemed to flow well-for an opening night, that is.

I expected the girl to continue to make small talk, but she was drawn right back into the music she heard. I spoke again several times and it was clear it fell upon deaf ears. When the curtain finally fell, only the roars of the audience snapped the girl from her trance.

By then, I had retreated to the column and watched with renewed amusement as the vagueness disappeared from her gaze, her body rapidly jerking as though to make up for the 2 hours of stillness. She ran a hand through her curls and crouched down by the door, waiting until the majority of people had left to quietly slip out and back to the rafters.

When I was certain she was gone, I made my way to the chair that she'd sat in, running a hand over the top. Over the course of the show she'd forgotten her discomfort of the seat and curled in, not at all the proper etiquette, but forgivable all the same.

As I slowly wandered back below, the silence broken only by the sound of Madame Giry scolding the ballerinas, I thought about the girl's mannerisms. The look of wonder on her face wouldn't leave me be. Shouldn't a street urchin such as herself find an opera, in a language unfamiliar to her as well, dull and uninteresting? That was how the majority of society that came to see our performances felt. They came to be seen, to socialize, not to hear the music and genius around them.

The beginning of a composition came to me in a rush, but I pushed it away. I couldn't compose, not now. I sat down in my armchair and stared into the fire, trying to remember the power I'd felt when I'd scared her last night, before taking Christine's rose from my breast pocket and running my fingers over it for the thousandth time.