Phantom Resurrected Chapter Eleven

Jacob leaned back in his chair in his office, flexing his wrists to have the blood flowing through them. He had been signing papers all morning, making more contracts and having to deal with every compliant that came his way. He glanced at the empty flower vase on a shelf of book that had once been filled violets. Matthews had made it his only business to see that the management sent flowers to the star of every show. Too bad he had never had experience in that. Perhaps he could have sent flowers to Desiree.

The doors of the private office the two shared flung open, and Matthews stormed in, his face as bright as his scarlet jacket. He held in his hand a crumpled piece of paper, which he threw on Jacob's desk. "Would you look at this? He dares to threaten me! I knew this would come back to bite us on the ass one day!" He yelled.

"Just calm down, Harry." Jacob ordered.

"Read that!" Matthews said pointing at the paper. Jacob picked it up and then tried to straighten it against the desk.

"If I can make out what it even says." he retorted. Jacob finally could make out the scribbled words in gruesome red lettering.
To the management of the London Opera House

Dear Sirs
I would advise you to replace the diva Lillian McArthur with your returning contract player, Christine Day. Her talent is far exceeding McArthur. Also you promote your newest employee, Desiree Demeters to the more respectable position of assistant chorus mistress. Going against these decisions would not only be a bad career choice for your gentlemen, but also bad for your health.
The Opera Ghost

"Can you." Matthews spurted still ranting. "Now do you believe the phantom is real?"

"No."

"Well now I know he's up to something." Matthews continued. "And now it's apparent that Christine Day and that other girl are involved with it all!"

Jacob stood up and hit his fist against the desk. "You're not suggesting that Desiree and her aunt have anything to do with this. You think they wrote this letter?"

Matthews turned on him coldly. "No, I think they are in league with the phantom."

Jacob shook his head. "Are you drunk? Listen to yourself."

"I've always listen to myself and I've always being right." he stated.

"Yes I know the only person you listen to is you! That's why everything done around here is by me. I'm running this company, and you're just pretending, you prick!" Jacob yelled. He could feel his breathing quicken, he had never been that angry before in his life.

Matthews leaned over the desk. "The only reason you're doing this is because you want Desiree. I can tell you want her so badly."

"How dare you suggest that? I'm not like you are Matthews."

"Well, say what you like but I believe we can use this to our advantage. Perhaps Day and Demeters can play that bastard Destler right into our hands." Matthews said smiling.

"You're the one who is the bastard if you could suggest using women like that just to hunt down your ghost who doesn't exist." Jacob spat.

"You know Jake, you shouldn't take out all your aggression on me just because you haven't been with a woman." Jacob reached across and grabbed Matthews's collar with both hands and jerked his neck about.

"Now listen, I have had it up to here with you! You lay one hand of Desiree or Christine, and so help me God I will make you suffer. Go pursue your ghost stories on your own time; you have enough of it damnit! " He released him, and he was shaking so hard from his rage. Matthews took several steps backward, gasping for air. He pointed a figure at Jacob.

"You think you can stop me. Forget this Jacob, our partnership is dissolved."

Jacob picked up a stack of papers that should have been Matthews's work and flung it at him. "Never mine that. We were never really partners to being with."

Erik scanned through his collections of music, trying to find a book of some of his favorite Welsh melodies. Desiree was walking about the lair, still taking in the surroundings, and of course making suggestions.
"You know we could use a punching bag right about her. Like to one in my apartment." She commented.

Erik finally found the volume he was looking for, and turn to see Desiree pointing up at the highest point in the ceiling. "Of course we can have one there, as soon as you find a 30 foot long chin to hang it with." He said dryly

She rolled her eyes. "Great, I suppose I got smart-ass trait from you by genetics too?"

He smiled sarcastically at her. "If you had inherited my brains, you be able to figure it out, wouldn't you."

"So you're calling mom stupid, is that it."

"No, I'm just calling you stupid."

She ran up to him and punched him hard on the shoulder. "Screw you." She said sticking out her tongue. "Maybe I'll just hand you up and us you for a bag instead."

"Is that anyway to talk to your father."

"We're both adults and you haven't been around me for that long."

"So, why do you want a punching bag for anyway? Going to practice you little karate moves."

" No way I fight in New York style, mean and dirty." She kept trying to look over his shoulder. "So what do you have there?"

"Oh just some music." Erik said. "I was actually wondering if you would do me a favor. Would you-sing for me."

Desiree raised her eyebrows. "Are you talking to me? Don't you want be to go up in the rafters and do rigging instead, boss."

"No, I'm serious."

She absently mindedly tried blowing a piece of hair off her forehead. "Well I certainly don't have mom's vocal talents."
He took her hand and led her to the organ. " Please just humor me." He took a seat and opened the book, searching for a simple tune. "Here, I think this one will do nicely."

Desiree leaned over. "Ad..hoys..no.." she tried to wrap her mouth around the tune's name. "It doesn't have any words." She pointed out.

"That doesn't matter, just sing the notes on the top staff on the syllable 'la'. You understand, right"

"Yes Maestro. I can read music you know."

Erik smiled as he placed his fingers over the keys on the first and second manuals of the organ. "We shall see." He started to play the opening bars with easy and tilted his head towards the music. "You come in here." he said. Desiree opened her mouth to sing, he almost lost his place in the song. He had only heard that quality of voice once in his life, since he would never heard the voices of angels in his damned eternal existence.

He remembered that voice, it was the first time he heard Christine sing, It had been so many years ago, but seemed only yesterday.
He had being sitting in his box hidden behind the curtain, composing in the quite hours of the early afternoon, before the company had started rehearsing. He had heard two women come on stage; one he could tell instantly was that of young Meg, a chorus girl with a decent enough voice.

"Come on Christine. Come see the stage." She called to her companion.

Erik heard a delicate gasp. "My God, this place is huge. Much bigger than any stage I was on in America." the other female's voice exclaimed delighted. An American, he mused. The opera must desperate.

"Well go on. Try it out." Meg said.

"What do you mean sing. But there's no one here."

"Just try out the acoustics. That's what I meant silly."

And then Christine sang, and he felt as if he were struck by lighting. Her voice was pure perfection, despite it apparent lack of formal training. It handled each note with such grace and gentleness as if it were a feather floating among the clouds of heaven.

And now he could hear that voice again in his only daughter. She made the tune, simple as it was, sound like a complex masterpiece. She scaled to the higher notes without a hint of the wavering sound of an amateur vibrato. When he can heard Christine for the first time, it had felt to him as if he had been in love with her all his life. But with Desiree, something was different. He wrapped his mind trying to determine what it was. And then he realized. While Christine's voice was crystal pure like the tone of a pretty brass polished bell, Desiree's tone had something that reflected a hint of darkness. Her voice turned the tune into more of a seductive chant than a Welsh lullaby. Than it hit him.
Desiree's voice was like his. The revelation of thought mad Erik's fingers slip and hit several sour notes.

Desiree frowned and stopped singing. "What's the matter?"

Erik spun around to face her, trying to mask his shock. "Where did you learn to sing like that?" he asked

Desiree shrugged her shoulders again. "Oh I don't know really. Was I okay for the first time?"

"Yes, that was very beautiful. You sound so much like your mother."

Dessy slide over onto the organ bench beside him and placed her hands on the keyboard. "You know when I was growing up, I always had this feeling that my father was a musician. I guess I was right, huh?" Erik nodded. Dessy reached over her hand and slide it underneath his palm. She looked up into his eyes, matching her stare with his. "Teach me how to play, please." she intoned.

"What do you mean?"

"I want to play like you play. When I heard your music it's like moving pictures inside my head, and their all so beautiful." she paused. "That doesn't sound weird to you dose it?"

"No, in fact the is one of highest compliments that has been paid to me." Erik stood up, and positioned himself behind her, leaning over her shoulder. Her took her other hand in his and placed them in the center of the keyboard, and like a puppeteer moved her figures with his to complete the opening strains of his Don Juan Triumphant.
Both their hands played over the keys in a graceful dance, and Erik allowed himself to close his eyes. He tried to imagine what Desiree would have been like as a child. How it might have been if he had raised her. Could they been here, playing on the bench small daughter and father, playing together.

"Wasn't this the song you were playing?" Desiree asked breaking his concentration.

"Excuse me?"

"That night, when you where at the theater late. I heard this song." She paused for a moment. "Did you compose it?" she asked.

"Yes I did. It's called Don Juan Triumphant." Desiree flipped through the pages of his unfinished work, scanning over the notes in the margins for lyrics. She squinted her eyes and looked at them carefully.

"It's a love song." she stated, in a matter of fact tone.

"Yes, it is. It was for your mother." Erik felt a hard lump in his throat. Desiree relaxed her fingers and stood up. "I think it is time for you to return to your mother's flat though. Come I'll get your coat."

"All right." She said, and slipped her arms into the sleeve of the brown lady's jacket that resembled more of a blazer that was far too tight. "You know the one thing I never understood about mom, and now about you."

"What about me?" Erik asked

"Well let's face it Erik, you are quite the catch. You're a gentleman, you have good taste in fashion and you write and play your own music. Not to mention the candlelight. I just don't understand what mom didn't see in you. How could it be possible for the perfect pair such as you two to split up?"

Erik had to restrain a chuckle. How different the world must appear to a child, he thought. He thought for as smart as his daughter was, she had yet to figure out his dark secret. "I think tale for your mother to tell you. I'm not great at story-telling." He casually responded.

Matthews raised the flask back to his dripping lips. The evening seemed to drag on, yet he didn't want to return to his home. He rather just wander around miserable and depressed. After causing trouble at a local bar and brothel he favored when he was in a foul mood, he had returned to the opera house. He rested his head against a large pipe and raised the flask back up, only to discover it was empty. In vain he tried to let the last drop fall on his tongue but all he succeeded in was letting all that was left of the whiskey splash around his face and fall to the floor.

"Damn! Bloody hell." He cursed and threw the flask against the floor. It echoed with a loud clank on the floor. Since he couldn't have the pleasure of alcohol or women at this hour, he slyly let his hand snake down into his trousers, trying to arouse himself. He smiled, his eyes closed and his thoughts lingered on Desiree Demeters. The young woman certainly sparked a passion in him, he could see in the defiant stare in her brown eyes when ever he tried to brush pass her in the corridors of the opera. He wished she didn't favor such concealing items of women's fashion and would wear some of the more low cut and robust gowns of the company he was accustomed to.

Or perhaps no clothes at all for that matter.

Suddenly he heard a loud thud of a trapdoor opening. It brought him out of his state, and he growled. He released his hand and began to stumble about looking for the source. He could hear whispering behind a curtain that leaded into the costume storage area. He peered behind a closet door and was shocked to see no other than Desiree standing there. Certain that he was not being seen; he carefully pushed back the door. She was talking to someone, someone he couldn't see.

"Will you be all right getting home safely tonight?" a rich dark mellow voice asked. A male voice.

"Yes I'll be fine. I can handle myself." She replied, wrapping a long brown scarf around her neck and face.

A dark figure that must have belonged to the voice leaned over and gently kissed her on the forehead. Matthews tried not gasp aloud as he could see the figure's cloaked face, and green-gray eyes that seemed to glow with the fire of hell. So the rumors where true from what he had heard.
This was the Phantom, and apparently his hunch was correct. Desiree had a very strong connection to this monster.