Halloween Special!

A/N: First of all don't blame me for not updating Memoirs; God knows that I've tried! Blame school, blame the Leo club, blame my sister, blame everyone! (Except Erik and me of course) Blame Andrew Lloyd Webber, blame Michael Crawford! Blame Hugh Panaro! Especially Hugh Panaro and Broadway Damage! Ahhhhhhhhhh I almost committed suicide! But here you go…

But that day at the library I had very little to do, as a matter of fact I was boring myself to death, not only an attitude not accepted by high society but also a sign of torpor and bad youth, but as I said I was naïve and did not care.

Upon watching my fellow classmates research and seeing the entrance of Director Beauchamp I quickly hid behind the first aisle I founded, so was my rush that some of the piled, old newspapers fell to the floor in my frenetic rush to place them properly back in the shelf the picture of a crashed chandelier caught my eye, but the noise of my stupidity had drawn attention and I was forced to just rip the page apart, hide it in my pocket and pile the rest of the newspapers back.

Monsieur Beauchamp may he rest in our Lord's peace, was a tall, pale man of whom I have the littlest respect, I suppose he must have been a very desperate man or at least very frustrated one and I pity him, he was almost sixty and still wore clothes of the last century but who was I to criticize his taste in cloth?

When he caught me arranging back the newspaper he gave me that look so proper of his and I just smiled and performed one of my so practiced disappearing trick, compliment and goodbye, never fails in high society. I returned to my chambers and remembered the piece of paper I had so carelessly tore apart and I found it was just a copy of the newspaper that had published the mechanical failure of the 770-kilo chandelier that had fallen on the fourth floor, between seats eleven and thirteen at the Opera Garnier killing a middle aged woman.

Mechanical failure? 770-Kilo Chandelier? My head began to revise the words and I realized it made little sense, after all the Opera had been built under Napoleon III's term... curious, very curious and deserving of further investigation or so I decided.

I had been waiting for something exciting to happen, suddenly I had it... and I made up my mind I was going to the Opera House and I was going to see and study the new chandelier.

Determining a papers age is an easy task especially if as Dr. Chacon you have been an anthropologist for nearly twenty years. The task is simple, the paper must be soaked in to a combination of S1, H2O, NaCl and Mg, then according to the papers reaction you compare it to the Oxford Scientifically approved guide of Paper and hurray! You have found a papers age.

Dr. Chacon followed the procedure and determined the paper had been produced in 1904, far too soon, she thought but there was always the possibility of recycled paper or just unused paper suddenly found. Mercedes frowned, her two eyebrows appearing to be one... she had to look for another thing. She did not yet want to do a calligraphy test so she decided she was going to do a chromatography process to determine the inks age, it would be easier and would disprove that Leroux wrote the paper if it did not belong to 1926, deciding to do so Dr. Chacon put her gloves on, covered her mouth with the clinical mask and proceeded to isolate two grams of ink into a beaker.

I decided my presence in class the next day was not entirely necessary and so I made my way to the Opera House to begin my expedition and investigation of the tragedy.

I guess I felt exited, I was not yet out of school and I was already investigating an important event, true I was not being paid nor it was official but when one is young money is not everything and rewards are not always gold and silver. And I was so right! For what I found was not only priceless but also unspeakable off! God! I can still remember it so vividly as if it were only yesterday when I discovered it!

I walked into the Opera, some sweet word and some well-studied ones gained me access to the attic were the massive chandelier was attached to the iron pipes and cords that held it in place.

Darn it! She thought she had just discovered the same components and weight in both inks, there was no doubt about it: A calligraphy test had to take place. She sighed deeply, every single discovery pointed that the document was in fact genuine.

It did not come all to me at once, in fact it did not come to me at all, but it was my wonderings around the Opera House what brought me to it… or in better word what brought it to me. My investigation did not progress and my frustration was so enormous that I began to miss entire days of school time, not that it really mattered then but I've discovered I could have used what they taught to my empty chair.

It was very late and I had heard thousands of different stories of the supposed ghost that used to haunt the Opera Garnier but I did not believe in them, I was studying to be a reported, I could not take into account myths and superstition, I needed accurate facts, and they finally came that day when a man called Darius came to be in behalf of certain Persian Gentleman who refused to give his name.

What on Earth! A gentleman that refuses to give his name, everyone knows that a gentleman's name is as important as their word, without a name you don't have a word to back, and without a word you do not have a name to honor. But my frustration was vast and I accepted the Persian's invitation for tea.

He had a small property, a really modest house, but appealing and comfortable in every possible way, although I did notice some of the furniture that belonged from the Louis-Philip period did not match the Oriental garments of the rest of the rooms. I was presented to the Persian and contrary to what I thought he was an honorable man who just wished to guide me in my foolish research and he helped me as best as he could. He took me to the only person who knew the story better that him… he took me to the famous half legend… he took me to le Fantôm de l'Opera, who was not a ghost but a living man… who had not died as I claimed in my novel, but instead remained alive.

A/N: Yay! There you go… like it? Hate it? Tell me what you think….