A/N: No, I don't own it. That must be the most-predicted line on this site.
Furthermore: my home computer will not allow me to do updates, so I can only load up chapters Monday / Wednesday. Expect to get about 4 a day on those two, until my muse deserts me altogether…
Chapter V: Master of the Opera House
"Are you certain that this is a good idea?" Anton asked uneasily.
"More certain every moment, Anton," his tall, broad-shouldered partner said with a laugh, striding across the deserted floor of the Atrium as if he already owned the place. His keen businessman's eyes placed price tags on the renovations, and lit up with pleased interest as he imagined how the revenue would far outpace the cost. "The Opera Populaire is a wonder—a gold mine waiting for the right man to tap into her," he boldly declared.
"But the fire damage, Gerard—" Antom began uneasily. His powerful friend waved it off easily.
"A pittance, Anton my friend," Gerard laughed, turning slowly in place to take in the whole of the grand entrance to the opera house. His father's recent death had left him, the eldest of the three in the family, with a great deal of wealth indeed. More if his meddling younger brother had not battled in court for Jaqueline's portion… well, Raian had paid for that. Gerard scowled.
"Not to your liking?" Anton suggested hopefully at the frown on Gerard's face. The short sticklike businessman hopped about like an overgrown bird, blinking owlishly, his hair sticking up behind his hears like feathers.
"Not in the least," Gerard said, assuming a pleased smile. After all, but his time his brother would be dead. "Anton, if you would care to assure Messieurs Firmin and Andre that we have a deal… I'm sure they will be most anxious to close. And inform the contractors work will begin tomorrow…"
Raian woke to find himself alone again. Cautiously he pulled himself upright, noticing that his cuts were healing over and the bruises beginning to fade, and that even his leg pained him less. His arm, of course, was another matter. Thankfully the break had been clean, and would mend over time. For now, though, it was practically useless. He refused point-blank to wear a sling. It made him feel… invalid.
The Phantom was nowhere to be seen, of course. Over the past few days Raian had just begun to become… accustomed… to his "host". The man, the Opera Ghost, had made it quite clear that Raian was not free to leave—though how he could navigate out of the labyrinthine passages was beyond him at any rate.
He sighed and stood, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes, pausing a moment in astonishment as he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. Frank gray eyes in a narrow face—his mother's face—blinked back at him. He was surprised at how haunted his features were. And those eyes—the sadness in them surprised him. He ran a hand over the frayed gray of his jacket regretfully. It had been a trying month since Father's death…
The darkness in his eyes deepened and he quickly shoved those memories away into an undisclosed recess in his mind. Done is done, he told himself harshly, not believing a word of it.
In an attempt to take his mind off his past he looked up at the one solid presence about him—the square comfort of the grand piano. The Phantom had not himself gone near it since Raian came, and he had been too wary of the repercussions to touch it. But somehow he found himself wending his way through the candle-patterned darkness, trailing his fingers over the ebony and ivory of the keys.
Greatly daring, he touched a soft chord, and a brilliant thrill ran through him at the sweet sound, perfectly tuned—a chorus of angels, almost. His unresisting fingers traced a scale in tones Heaven itself would weep to envy. Unbidden a memory came to his mind… he, playing soft melody, Jaqueline's innocent crystal voice winding its way with the music…
Raian bowed his head, blinking back tears that threatened his gray eyes, fingers hovering above the keys in silent salute.
