A.N.-Sorry it's taken me so long to update readers! Here it is though, the
next chapter in Danielle's story. Some of you may find the rest of the
story...I don't know. Actually, I do, but I don't want to say anything that
will give anything away. Please don't yell at me if you don't like it. =( I
try my best and this is one of my earlier stories so, enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke sweating and gasping for breath. I wiped my face dry but it was shortly recovered with tears. The dream had been so real. I had felt the pain, cried the tears, shed the blood, and heard and said the words of my father.
I jumped off the bed and ran out into the hall. I looked at the grandfather clock standing in front of me. It was five minutes to midnight. I went back into my room and grabbed my trench coat. I walked out and quietly made my way down to the front door. I opened it and stepped out into the night.
I ran the short distance to the edge of our property to the family cemetery. At the back of the cemetery was a small hill that flattened out at the top. I climbed the hill and there, next to a willow tree, was my father's grave. I knelt in front of it and tipped my head back.
"Father!" I cried. "Why did you have to go? I wish I could have met you. I love you father." A soft rain began to fall then. It was as if my father were crying. I started to cry too. My tears mixed with the rain and flowed down my face and under the mask.
The rain started to fall harder and I heard thunder off in the distance. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. I stood up feeling energized by the darkness and the falling rain. I wanted to run. I started sprinting and before I knew it I was outside the Opera House.
I ran up the stairs and tried to open the door. It was locked. I pulled out my pocket knife and flipped out the lock pick. In moments I had the door opened. I opened the door a crack and slid inside. I smiled at the thought of being alone in the Opera House. I could go wherever I wanted and I had about seven hours.
I walked down the hall that led to the managers' office. The door was, foolishly, left unlocked. I went in and lit a few candles. There were two desks and multiple filing cabinets. I began looking at the labels on the drawers and soon discovered one cabinet with three drawers, all of them labeled "O.G."
I pulled open the top drawer and found mostly insurance documents and damage coverage bills. Moving on to the second drawer, I found records of various "incidents" and the outcomes of each. There were also interviews with people who had supposedly seen the "ghost". Finally, I opened the bottom drawer. It was filled with newspaper clippings and articles dealing with "the Phantom of the Opera". One was a full page story with a headline that screamed, "OPERA GHOST'S REIGN OF TERROR COME TO AN END". Considering the obvious importance of the story, it wasn't very long.
"Two months after the mysterious death of the Viscount de Chagny in the Opera House cellars, the managers have stated that they feel the Opera Ghost is 'gone for good.' They base their statement on the seeming lack of activity from the Phantom in the past 60 days. Apparently no salary has been paid during these two months and there has been no retribution. Also, according to an inside source, the managers have taken to sitting in Box 5- the Ghost's box-with no conflict.
'Monsieur André and I are very pleased to announce that it appears as though the Opera Ghost has gone for good.' This was the official statement from M. Firmin at a press conference yesterday. He was also reported to have made reference to a 'thorough search and examination' of the cellars in hopes that they may find some evidence that will prove their theory. No matter what happens in the next few weeks, for now, Paris will be a little more at ease knowing the threat is no longer serious." I folded the paper back up and replaced it in the drawer. I then stood up, blew out all the candles, and walked out of the office.
I slowly made my way to Box 5 and was surprised, when I walked in, to find someone already in there. I could tell by looking at them that it was a man. He was standing at the balcony staring out over the stage. I took a step forward and winced when I heard the floor creak. The man turned around quickly. His eyes widened when he saw the mask. So did mine.
"Who are you?" he asked and took a step towards me.
"Danielle," I said softly.
"That doesn't tell me much child," he stated and folded his arms across his chest. "And where did you get that mask?"
"From your lair," I replied.
"How did you get there?!" he asked angrily.
"Christian took me there," I answered. He dropped his arms to his sides and stared at me curiously.
"Christian Destler?" he questioned.
"Yes, why?"
"How do you know Christian?" he asked.
"He's my brother," I told him.
"What?" He seemed confused or simply in disbelief. "No, wait, tell me exactly who the Hell you are."
"I'm your daughter," I stated. "My name is Danielle Destler. My mother is Christine Destler. I am 17 years old and-"
"Stop," he commanded and I fell silent. He walked slowly towards me. When he was only about a foot away from me, he reached out and gently touched my face with his fingertips. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.
"No I'm not," I said quietly and dropped my head forward.
"Who told you that?" he asked.
"A man here; He called me a freak. His name was Michael de Chagny I think. That's what Christian said anyway," I answered still looking at the floor.
"I was not aware that there were any Chagny's left," he muttered. I looked up at him and he put his hands on my shoulders. "Don't you dare believe a word that man said. They're lying bastards all of them. Understand me?" I nodded and he straightened up. "Good. So, how is your mother?"
"Good I guess," I said. "May I ask you something?"
"I suppose," he stated.
"How is it that you are here?" I asked. "I thought you were dead."
He sighed and leaned against the wall. "So did I," he murmured.
"What happened?" I questioned.
"Apparently I went nearly comatose from blood loss," he told me.
"But there was a funeral. If you aren't the one who was buried then who is?"
"I honestly don't know. When Christine thought I had died, I had actually just gone unconscious. My pulse was so weak it could hardly be felt. Your mother went and got the Daroga, a friend of mine in a way, who then said he would arrange my funeral. I suppose he just found someone else who he could pass off as me," he explained.
"Wouldn't she have known it wasn't you?" I asked.
"How would she?" I assume the Daroga put a mask on the man he buried," he answered.
"Mother took the mask off though," I argued.
"I don't know what the Daroga did or how he did it," he said irritated. "All I know is that for the past 17 years I've wanted to die and haven't."
"Don't say that," I replied softly.
"Why shouldn't I?" he asked. "It's the truth." I walked to him and hesitated a moment before hugging him. He tipped my head back and looked into my eyes.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm giving my father a hug. I've always wanted to," I answered.
He smiled slightly but frowned when he looked at my mask again. He stepped away and gently stroked it before taking it off my face. "Look what I did," he whispered and slowly dragged his fingertips over my cheek. He blinked finally and stepped away from me.
"Why didn't you come back to us?" I asked.
"I couldn't Danielle. Your mother, and you and your brother, deserve a good life. Not a life like I have," he stated.
"But she misses you! So does Christian!" I exclaimed.
"I know, I miss them as well, but it has to be this way. You must try to understand," he said. He kissed the top of my head, handed me my mask, and started walking to the door. Partway there, he stopped and looked at me again. "Please, don't tell anyone you saw me."
"Will you show yourself to mother at least?" I asked.
"Perhaps someday, but until then you must act as though you have not met me," he replied. "Can you promise me that?"
"Of course," I answered.
"Thank you," he said and walked out. I went out just after him, but he was nowhere to be seen. I walked through the rest of the Opera house then went back to the main lobby. I stepped outside and locked the doors behind me. I sat on the steps and watched the sun start to creep up over the little Parisian homes. I sighed and began my trip back to the chateau.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke sweating and gasping for breath. I wiped my face dry but it was shortly recovered with tears. The dream had been so real. I had felt the pain, cried the tears, shed the blood, and heard and said the words of my father.
I jumped off the bed and ran out into the hall. I looked at the grandfather clock standing in front of me. It was five minutes to midnight. I went back into my room and grabbed my trench coat. I walked out and quietly made my way down to the front door. I opened it and stepped out into the night.
I ran the short distance to the edge of our property to the family cemetery. At the back of the cemetery was a small hill that flattened out at the top. I climbed the hill and there, next to a willow tree, was my father's grave. I knelt in front of it and tipped my head back.
"Father!" I cried. "Why did you have to go? I wish I could have met you. I love you father." A soft rain began to fall then. It was as if my father were crying. I started to cry too. My tears mixed with the rain and flowed down my face and under the mask.
The rain started to fall harder and I heard thunder off in the distance. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. I stood up feeling energized by the darkness and the falling rain. I wanted to run. I started sprinting and before I knew it I was outside the Opera House.
I ran up the stairs and tried to open the door. It was locked. I pulled out my pocket knife and flipped out the lock pick. In moments I had the door opened. I opened the door a crack and slid inside. I smiled at the thought of being alone in the Opera House. I could go wherever I wanted and I had about seven hours.
I walked down the hall that led to the managers' office. The door was, foolishly, left unlocked. I went in and lit a few candles. There were two desks and multiple filing cabinets. I began looking at the labels on the drawers and soon discovered one cabinet with three drawers, all of them labeled "O.G."
I pulled open the top drawer and found mostly insurance documents and damage coverage bills. Moving on to the second drawer, I found records of various "incidents" and the outcomes of each. There were also interviews with people who had supposedly seen the "ghost". Finally, I opened the bottom drawer. It was filled with newspaper clippings and articles dealing with "the Phantom of the Opera". One was a full page story with a headline that screamed, "OPERA GHOST'S REIGN OF TERROR COME TO AN END". Considering the obvious importance of the story, it wasn't very long.
"Two months after the mysterious death of the Viscount de Chagny in the Opera House cellars, the managers have stated that they feel the Opera Ghost is 'gone for good.' They base their statement on the seeming lack of activity from the Phantom in the past 60 days. Apparently no salary has been paid during these two months and there has been no retribution. Also, according to an inside source, the managers have taken to sitting in Box 5- the Ghost's box-with no conflict.
'Monsieur André and I are very pleased to announce that it appears as though the Opera Ghost has gone for good.' This was the official statement from M. Firmin at a press conference yesterday. He was also reported to have made reference to a 'thorough search and examination' of the cellars in hopes that they may find some evidence that will prove their theory. No matter what happens in the next few weeks, for now, Paris will be a little more at ease knowing the threat is no longer serious." I folded the paper back up and replaced it in the drawer. I then stood up, blew out all the candles, and walked out of the office.
I slowly made my way to Box 5 and was surprised, when I walked in, to find someone already in there. I could tell by looking at them that it was a man. He was standing at the balcony staring out over the stage. I took a step forward and winced when I heard the floor creak. The man turned around quickly. His eyes widened when he saw the mask. So did mine.
"Who are you?" he asked and took a step towards me.
"Danielle," I said softly.
"That doesn't tell me much child," he stated and folded his arms across his chest. "And where did you get that mask?"
"From your lair," I replied.
"How did you get there?!" he asked angrily.
"Christian took me there," I answered. He dropped his arms to his sides and stared at me curiously.
"Christian Destler?" he questioned.
"Yes, why?"
"How do you know Christian?" he asked.
"He's my brother," I told him.
"What?" He seemed confused or simply in disbelief. "No, wait, tell me exactly who the Hell you are."
"I'm your daughter," I stated. "My name is Danielle Destler. My mother is Christine Destler. I am 17 years old and-"
"Stop," he commanded and I fell silent. He walked slowly towards me. When he was only about a foot away from me, he reached out and gently touched my face with his fingertips. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.
"No I'm not," I said quietly and dropped my head forward.
"Who told you that?" he asked.
"A man here; He called me a freak. His name was Michael de Chagny I think. That's what Christian said anyway," I answered still looking at the floor.
"I was not aware that there were any Chagny's left," he muttered. I looked up at him and he put his hands on my shoulders. "Don't you dare believe a word that man said. They're lying bastards all of them. Understand me?" I nodded and he straightened up. "Good. So, how is your mother?"
"Good I guess," I said. "May I ask you something?"
"I suppose," he stated.
"How is it that you are here?" I asked. "I thought you were dead."
He sighed and leaned against the wall. "So did I," he murmured.
"What happened?" I questioned.
"Apparently I went nearly comatose from blood loss," he told me.
"But there was a funeral. If you aren't the one who was buried then who is?"
"I honestly don't know. When Christine thought I had died, I had actually just gone unconscious. My pulse was so weak it could hardly be felt. Your mother went and got the Daroga, a friend of mine in a way, who then said he would arrange my funeral. I suppose he just found someone else who he could pass off as me," he explained.
"Wouldn't she have known it wasn't you?" I asked.
"How would she?" I assume the Daroga put a mask on the man he buried," he answered.
"Mother took the mask off though," I argued.
"I don't know what the Daroga did or how he did it," he said irritated. "All I know is that for the past 17 years I've wanted to die and haven't."
"Don't say that," I replied softly.
"Why shouldn't I?" he asked. "It's the truth." I walked to him and hesitated a moment before hugging him. He tipped my head back and looked into my eyes.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm giving my father a hug. I've always wanted to," I answered.
He smiled slightly but frowned when he looked at my mask again. He stepped away and gently stroked it before taking it off my face. "Look what I did," he whispered and slowly dragged his fingertips over my cheek. He blinked finally and stepped away from me.
"Why didn't you come back to us?" I asked.
"I couldn't Danielle. Your mother, and you and your brother, deserve a good life. Not a life like I have," he stated.
"But she misses you! So does Christian!" I exclaimed.
"I know, I miss them as well, but it has to be this way. You must try to understand," he said. He kissed the top of my head, handed me my mask, and started walking to the door. Partway there, he stopped and looked at me again. "Please, don't tell anyone you saw me."
"Will you show yourself to mother at least?" I asked.
"Perhaps someday, but until then you must act as though you have not met me," he replied. "Can you promise me that?"
"Of course," I answered.
"Thank you," he said and walked out. I went out just after him, but he was nowhere to be seen. I walked through the rest of the Opera house then went back to the main lobby. I stepped outside and locked the doors behind me. I sat on the steps and watched the sun start to creep up over the little Parisian homes. I sighed and began my trip back to the chateau.