DISCLAIMER: Please see chapter one.

Author's Note: Well, here it is. Chapter six. Also, I posted some of my responses and thoughts of some of the reviews I have received at the end of this chapter. If you could take a look at those, that would be great.

Enjoy and Turah!

~ Constance

CHAPTER SIX

Francois found me at 9:00 am the next morning, pacing in my pajamas in front of a table. Resting on top of the polished surface were five empty cups of coffee. Beside the scattered china lay the rose. My nerves were more than a little shaken.

"Look at that!" I cried, pointing to the flower. Francois crossed the room and picked up the rose, smelling its scent and softly touching its petals.

"A beautiful specimen. But you must put it in water," he said, looking around for something to put the flower in. When failing to locate a vase he settled for an empty glass, which he picked up by the mini fridge. "It will wither on the table."

"It doesn't need it."

"Pardon?"

"I said it doesn't need water. It's been lying on that table for the past five hours. I was awake since 4:00 am."

Francois' head snapped back to me. "Five hours! But… but it looks like it has just been picked!"

"I know." Something about the unnatural calmness of my voice must have rang warning bells, for he asked:

"Are you all right?"

Choosing to ignore him, I said, "I've already had five cups of coffee. Do you think the hotel would give me a discount for the sixth?"

There was a pause. "You drank five cups of coffee?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Another pause. "Your stay at this hotel has been paid for, including all expenses."

"Ah." I walked over to the mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of sherry. "Well, in that case..."

Francois frowned at my actions. "Are you all right?" he repeated.

"Actually, now that you've mentioned it: no."

"Do you really think you should be drinking that this early?"

"I am well aware of the time, and yes, I think I should. Especially since it's free."

"Penelope - "

"Mr. Eyraud," I interrupted. "I am a scientist. A young one, mind, but a scientist nonetheless. I believe in logic and reason. Yet I am barely here for a bloody day and I already have unkillable plants materializing in my hand in the middle of the night, and books that wink at me. Now, we are going to sit down and you are going to explain what in God's name is going on here. And you better explain, Mr. Chief of Police, for if I find that you're faking innocence and lying, I am going to take my not - yet - unpacked luggage and go home. Do I make myself quite clear?"

Francois looked at me coldly, as if he was trying to keep his ground. Then his shoulders slumped, silently admitting defeat. His eyes darted around the room and rested on the mini fridge. He walked over to it and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Ignoring my raised eyebrow, he sat down at the table opposite me, opened the miniature bottle, and took a quick swing. With a lowered voice, he started to talk.

"During the year 1881 many things started happening at the Opera House. The old managers, Debienne and Poligny, retired. Replacing them were two new ones by the names of Firmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin. It was then that the mysterious notes written in red ink were taken into great consideration. Do not understand me incorrectly, Penelope. The notes started quite a while before the new managers. In 1875, I believe."

"Why 1875?" I asked.

"Because it was then that the Opera House was finally finished and opened for the public. But the curious thing was that the notes doubled in 1881."

"Because of the new managers?"

"That was what the idea was originally. Richard and Moncharmin ran the Opera differently than Debienne and Poligny. Not better or worse, just differently. But maybe the "Opera Ghost" didn't approve of the new system, hence the notes of what operas should be done and who plays the roles."

"How did they run the Opera differently?" I asked.

"I am not sure. Probably different rehearsal times, different salaries... that sort of thing. But, the new managers are not what caused this. There is another reason for the increase of notes. I took a quick look at the Opera's records just to be sure. In that same year, four new chorus girls joined the company. Their names were Lauren Leroux (in no way related to Gaston Leroux), Angelique Vermont, Emilie Sangere, and Christine Daae."

"Christine Daae," I echoed. "There really was a Christine Daae?"

"Oui. In fact, there is a painting of her in the manager's office. A sort of portrait. Remind me to show you." Here he paused and took another swing. "I don't think I have to tell you the rest of that story."

"In the end, after many tricks and a few deaths, Christine runs off with her pretty - boy and Erik is left in the cellars with a mob on his tail," I said.

Francois nodded. "But, here is where the facts are mixed up. Contrary to popular belief, the mob did if fact find Erik."

I leaned forward in my chair. "They found him?"

"They did."

"What happened?"

Francois winced. "I think I will spare you the details. You will probably see for yourself when you examine that skeleton."

I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat at Francois' words. "Did the mob kill him?"

"No." Another swing, this one emptying the bottle. "But he wished they did."

"Wait a minute," I said, holding up a hand. "How do you know all of this?"

"The Opera House's records," he answered quickly. Too quickly.

"The Opera House's records," I repeated.

"Yes."

"Francois, you're lying."

"I am not, Penny."

"Oh, so it's 'Penny' now? Cut the sweet crap and tell me how you know this," I answered, my frustration beginning to creep into my voice. "From what you have told me, this is what I understand happened. The mob, consisting of the whole company and maybe a few others went down to the hidden house underground. They found Erik. They beat Erik, and from the impression you gave me, I'd say pretty badly. They thought Erik dead, so they left him down there. Now answer me this. Why did Leroux write that the mob never found him? And how do you know that the mob did find him?"

Francois was silent. He refused to look at me, but instead stared at the ground, as if all of a sudden finding the carpet extremely fascinating. From the down cast face, a small voice could be heard. "Penelope. Do not think that I do not trust you. I would gladly share this information with you in an instant. But you have no idea what you are dealing with here. Have you ever heard of the saying 'Ignorance is bliss?'"

"You called me here, Francois," I answered softly. "I want to do my job."

"Your job is to look at the skeleton. Nothing else."

"So you won't tell me?"

Slowly, the down cast head lifted to reveal frightened eyes. Francois was looking at me with such intensity, that I'm sure I would have moved back, save for the chair back blocking my path. "Do you believe in ghosts, Penelope?"

"No."

"You will. Mark my words, you will."

Well, that's it for now. I hope you all liked it. I know it's not one of my more interesting chapters, but it's an important one concerning information. The next one will be too.

I would first like to say thank you to all my reviewers. But I must pick out Daroga's Rainy Daae You won't believe this, but it IS just a coincidence! Until I have read your review, I have never seen the connection. You're one deep thinker! Maybe my subconscience is responsible for this. Who knows?