Chapter 60 Encore
By the time the First Act was underway, Erik was sufficiently prepared for what needed to be done. A large knife was tucked down the back of his trousers, though he hoped he wouldn't have to use that; he did so hate the time it took to get blood out of his clothes. He would instead use it to cut through some of the ropes above the stage, to form his preferred weapon, a lasso. Not that he'd needed to strangle anyone after killing Mouray; but he'd spent years perfecting the art, should he ever have to defend himself in such a definitive way again.
During the short time between seeing Buquet attack Christine and curtain up, he'd tried not to think of Mouray. He'd fantasied about killing his captor for years, before he actually had the chance to realise that dream. He still remembered the thrill that had coursed through him during the act. The control, the sheer power that he'd felt, holding another's life within his hands.
The sound of Mouray's last, rattling, gasping breath echoed in his ears as he walked into the quiet room where the chains holding up the main chandelier were secured. It had been quite some time since he'd been there, and for a passing moment he wondered who'd been neglecting the maintenance there, when there was such a thick layer of dust across everything.
He leaned over to look down into the auditorium to watch the stage for a moment. That people not only paid but actually seemed to enjoy this type of opera disgusted him. Would he never hear Christine perform in 'I Puritani', or any of the truly great operas upon his stage? Would his imbecilic managers constantly force her to perform in these crass, soul-destroying salves to mass consumption instead? Elevating mediocrity to the height of fashion, on the back of her incomparable voice?
The small part of him that was not fuming at the world took in, for a moment, that Christine looked absolutely magnificent in her Pageboy costume, her slim legs long and lithe. He forced down the thought of those legs wrapped around him later that night; he had no time to think of that now.
And besides, he couldn't bear one more moment of Carlotta Giudicelli either. It was high time to show Paris exactly who they'd idolised so erroneously. Opening the side door, he stepped out onto the walkway at the pinnacle of the dome, high above the rapt audience. He took one moment to appreciate the beauty of the paintings adorning the ceiling around him and the chandelier, glinting perfectly in the bright candlelight. It had been so long since he'd last stood there and admired them, then he looked down at the stage.
He expelled an angry breath when he noticed the Vicomte in Box Five. That arrogant, insufferable little upstart! He'd fully intended to watch Christine's performance from there after dealing with both Carlotta and Buquet. He pursed his lips, deep in thought. Perhaps it was time to place a lasso around the Vicomte's scrawny neck as well? Or strangle him with his own silk cravat? A cold smile curved up one side of his mouth. "That would be fitting," he said quietly.
Turning his attention back to the stage, he grimaced further at the sight of Carlotta trussed up like a fat, pink pig, eclipsing his angel's delicate beauty. He watched as the audience tittered with laughter at the innuendo and felt nothing but disdain for their lack of intellect and refinement. It was not the sort of Opera he would ever have chosen for Christine, even if she had been playing the role of Countess. He would've preferred her first to have been a high tragedy, showing off the remarkable range of her voice and leaving Paris heartbroken for her at the end. But no matter, there'd be time for that – he'd make certain of it.
He cleared his throat and readied his voice to boom out around the theatre.
-oo000oo-
Bending over at the waist, Christine hid her face from the audience behind Carlotta's fan.
"Don't think I 'av forgotten what you try to do," Carlotta whispered, glaring at Christine. "After this performance, I demand that you be fired."
Straightening again, Christine glanced around and realised that nobody else had heard Carlotta's bitter words. Even Madame, standing at the side of the stage, was more interested in the flies, than the performance. Without time to think of her distress, Christine moved into the next steps of the play.
Then a voice boomed out above them all, far louder than the entire company and orchestra combined.
Christine knew instantly and could not suppress a shiver going down her spine.
The whole audience gasped; some even jumping up out of their seats in fright. All heads went up towards the source of the voice, yet the man above them stood behind the grand chandelier and was cloaked from their sight.
Hearing Meg mention the 'Phantom', Christine's heart sank at the risk he was taking, revealing himself to them all.
Carlotta rounded on her immediately, insulting her in front of the entire company.
Christine blushed fiercely at the slight. Now all of Paris would take her for a fool, just as everybody in the theatre did. Carlotta trotted off to the side of the stage to spray her throat as Christine turned to Meg to share a look of sympathy and understanding with her only friend.
Flouncing back to stand in front of Christine, Carlotta simpered an excuse and indicated to M. Reyer to continue.
Trying hard to pull her shattered nerves together, Christine tried to remember what she had to do next, but was brought up short at Carlotta's extremely loud croak.
The audience gasped again, then dissolved into fits of laughter at the noise.
Carlotta's eyes grew wide as her throat started to burn and tighten. What on earth? She tried the line again, only this time with even worse results. People streamed onto the stage to enjoy her humiliation, laughing and pointing at the hideous sound she continued to make. She screamed for help, but none of them could do anything as the noise from the hysterical audience continued to rise up to engulf her pitiful cries.
-oo000oo-
"God Almighty, Andre," Firmin cried, jumping from his seat. "We've got to get down there. Come on."
"But - what - ?" Andre stuttered. Surely he couldn't mean? On the stage? In front of everybody? "Wait," he cried, hurrying to catch up as Firmin stormed towards the stage, his heart thundering in his chest. "Can't you do that on your own?"
"No, I damn well can't," Firmin answered.
"Quick, the curtain," Andre ordered a nearby stagehand. The young boy did as he was told, and Andre found himself sweaty and trembling as he went through the gap between the curtains to stand before Paris, with all eyes upon him.
-oo000oo-
"What's wrong with her?" Meg raced to Christine's side.
"I don't know," Christine lied, her eyes wide and frightened. She'd thought that morning that she'd enjoy Carlotta's demise. Was this what her Angel had planned all along? Or was this a more scathing revenge because Carlotta had ignored his orders? She suddenly felt very cold, remembering how it had felt to be thrown to the floor, while he screamed abuse at her for unmasking him.
That had been something he'd not wanted to have happen. That had been against his wishes too. What might he do to her if she ever wavered from complete obedience again?
Had Carlotta once been his pupil? Had they even been - she could hardly bear the thought - lovers? He was possibly much nearer to Carlotta's age than her own. Did he go throughout the company; choosing who to bestow his attention on, then discard them when they found a will of their own?
"And playing the Countess," Firmin shouted, reaching through the curtain to grab her arm and pull her out to the front of the stage. "Mlle. Daae!"
She could hardly take in the huge cheer and applause as M. Firmin pushed her back through the curtain and shoved her off to get ready.
"Come with me," Emilie said, taking her by the hand and leading her quickly to Carlotta's dressing room.
Christine followed as if she had no will left of her own. Which, of course, she didn't. For Carlotta's fate might be hers if she ever disobeyed her Angel again. She felt utterly wretched and abandoned.