A/N: note the new quote feature… I found some that were too good to pass up. You'll get used to them.
X: REUNIONS
"The deepest need of man is the need to overcome his separateness, to leave the prison of his aloneness." –Erich Fromm (funny the name)
Gerard leaned back in his chair in his office and tapped his fingertips together in silent thought. The renovation of the Opera Populaire had gone well. Anton was of the opinion that it was even more glorious now than it had been before, and indeed the place shone with art and beauty. Gerard was pleased to discover that many of the old performers had returned, including Mme Giry, whose aid—he was rapidly discovering—would be invaluable. In fact, rehearsal was going exceptionally well, with the exception of his sister, who still stubbornly refused to sing.
He frowned, tapping his fingers harder. He knew from childhood that she had the voice to fit the lead if she chose to sing… provided she trained again. If he had to, he vowed silently, he would force her to sing. As new manager he had every intention of opening well.
His frown deepened as his gaze lit on the envelope mockingly residing in the center of his desk. The red wax seal was broken—he had already read the annoying note.
Annoying, yes. The handwriting was surprisingly childish, no doubt an attempt to disguise the true penmanship of the author. He grimaced, recalling its demanding tone with barely veiled threats. He had been sorely tempted to burn the offending parchment, or at least dispose of it, but the horrified and silent demeanor of the cast and crew had lent suspicious weight to the note's demands.
One finger lazily flicked it open—the simple initials "OG" had sent the ballet rats into a chorus of fevered whispers and drained the blood from the stage hands' faces. It had not taken him long to discover the meaning of the initials as well as the hundred-and-one horror stories surrounding this "Phantom of the Opera". Gerard shorted a laugh. They were even claiming that this 'opera ghost' had been responsible for the faulty chandelier and the original fire!
It seemed that now someone was trying to make good on the old faerie-tales. 20,000 francs a month? Ridiculous! Yet, Gerard had to agree reluctantly, until he had time to unmask the whole affair he would comply. A smile quirked the corners of his mouth. Unmask. How appropriate.
That charade was not his most pressing affair, however. Somehow he had to conceive of a way to get Jaqueline to sing. For the first time he experienced a fleeting regret that he had murdered his brother. Raian had had a way with Jaqueline that could have proved useful indeed.
Tears fell unnoticed from her eyes.
Her mind numbly blinked back. Her father's funeral was the last time she had let herself cry. With one merciless jerk he had been torn from her life relentlessly. To feel them, warm and wet, trickling down her face… she bit back a sob. She only cried because she was certain she was alone.
"I tried so hard to be strong," she whispered aloud. "For your sake, Father, all those months. But now, Raian—how can I go on, trapped in this place, this cage, with a monster…?"
The words seized the Phantom like cold ice. The face so much like Christine—the innocent voice—calling for her father—"go to her," he hissed at Raian, and turned abruptly away. "Half an hour."
The young man nodded wordlessly, already passing through the hidden door from the Phantom's world to the Opera proper. The wall closed behind him seamlessly, and he found himself alone…
The knock on the door started Jaqueline upright. Gerard! Her eyes flew to the latch as it turned, helpless as the deer that watches the wolf stalk forward. The wood paneling swung inward, and a cautious face peered in.
"Jaqueline!" suddenly she was enveloped in a crushing hug; she blinked back tears, exulting in the strong arms that enveloped her. "My God—I thought the worst, Jaq. I'm so sorry, I led them right to you…"
"Raian." She said the world over and over, deliriously happy. "Raian, Raian… you're alive. City of Angels, he said you were dead—he killed you—"
"Tried to, little sister." Reluctantly he untangled from the embrace, pushing long dark curls out of her eyes. "Almost did, too… there were eight of them."
Concern flashed in her eyes. "How did you escape?"
For half an instant Raian's mind froze. She is not to know of me. "I forced my way in here—it was boarded up, but I made it. I suppose they didn't dare follow—I never say them again." At least that was not a lie. "I've been hiding out here for about a week. It isn't hard—this place has more hidden corners than a maze of mirrors in Persia! I've been trying to keep low." His voice dropped. "Jaq, you have to sing."
Her head jerked up. "So you know about that too," she said softly. "Raian, I haven't sung since Father…" she choked, took a breath to steady herself. "I can't do this… don't make me do this, Raian," she said, and there was a dead quality to her voice that chilled Raian.
"Jaqueline, please," he said, pushing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked up at the compassion in his voice. "It's hard, I know—maybe I don't know what it's like. God help us, what else can we do? Gerard has answers and we're left scrabbling…" he sat down in an empty chair with a sight, running his good hand through his hair.
"Raian—your arm!"
"It's nothing," he said shortly. "It'll heal."
"Nothing? It's broken—"
"I'm all right," he said quickly, trying to steer the conversation away. "Five weeks of running. It was close some of those times, Jaq."
"Raian, I'm so sorry…"
He shook his head. "Shh, it's all right, it's all right… we'll think of something. You have to sing until we can…"
"Can what?" she said in desperation.
"I don't know! Escape, win free, something!"
"We can't escape from him. We never will."
Raian gritted his teeth, barely stopping himself from seizing her shoulders and shaking her. "We will! Somehow! Please, Jaq, trust me on this much of it." His voice suddenly grew soft. "Remember I'll be here. I can try to help you sing again…" silently she nodded. Slowly he stood. "I have to go before someone comes," he said.
"Raian, I'm glad you're not…" she choked on the word, took a deep breath, and said, "when?"
"Tomorrow night." The door closed softly behind him. Raian glanced both ways down the empty corridor, thankful no one was in sight. There was the faintest of clicks and a section of the wall noiselessly slid back; all that Raian could see in the shadows was the Phantom's half mask.
How much did you hear? he wondered silently, wasting no time in ducking into the yawning shelter.
