The Purchase
"We are ruined!" Andre's head drooped and he took a swig of his ale. "There are sure to be lawsuits, which we cannot pay off! And we will never sell the Opera Populaire! Who would want to buy a haunted Opera House that had been the site of so many deaths? All because of that damn Opera Ghost!" sighing, Firmin also took a rather hearty swig of his ale.
Suddenly, both of them felt the cold rush of air that indicated that the door had been opened. They squinted into the light streaming from the entrance. They saw a tall, beautiful woman in her twenties wearing an elegant black dress and a fine black cloak. Her loose black ringlets hung untied down to the small of her back. Her full red lips stood out in contrast to her ivory-pale skin. Although it was frigid outside, her cheeks were not flushed at all and remained the same color as the rest of her skin. Her intelligent grey eyes searched through the room, suddenly alighting on Andre and Firmin. A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips, as she was obviously amused that two upstanding gentlemen would drink cheap ale in a dingy old tavern. Her long, graceful stride quickly closed the distance between her and the two men. Holding out a slender but firm hand to Firmin, she clasped his hand in her long fingers and shook his hand. Hello, messieurs." she said in a rich alto voice that had a surprisingly musical quality to it. "My name is Mercedes Gautier. I will tell you my intentions quickly so as not to keep you gentlemen from more pressing matters." Her eyes looked amused as a look of confusion crossed the two drunken men's faces. "I am interested in purchasing the Opera Populaire. And yes, I am aware of the fire that occurred two days ago." she answered quickly as she saw Andre's mouth open his mouth to question. He immediately shut his mouth, then, thinking, he opened his mouth to ask another question. "I am buying the Opera Populaire because it has always held a sentimental value to me." She answered to his, again, unasked question.
His mouth snapped shut again and scarlet flags burned on his cheeks. Firmin held out his hand to Mercedes, who took it, and shook it vigorously. "The Opera Populaire is yours, mademoiselle."
After negotiating further with the two and finalizing the purchase, she quickly made haste out of the filthy tavern. Striding along the sidewalk, she hailed a cab. She told the driver to take her to the Opera Populaire, receiving an inquiring glance from the driver. When she did not answer his unspoken question, he sighed and clucked the horses into a trot.
She stared out the window with unseeing eyes, not noticing the people and buildings that the cab passed. She was jostled out of her trance when the carriage clattered to an abrupt stop. Absently paying the driver, she stared up at the marble building in front of her. The Opera Populaire.
Slowly floating up the stairs and through the front doors, she noticed that the windows were broken and there were scorch marks on the doors and walls. She drifted up the grand marble staircase in the foyer to stand in front of one of the doors that led into the auditorium. With a sharp, shaky intake of breath, she threw open the doors and entered the theater.
Letting out a stifled cry of anguish, she saw that the fire had done a lot of damage. Most of the seats were too scorched to be saved. Parts of the chandelier still lay strewn on the ground at random. She walked down to the stage. With great difficulty, she climbed onto the stage and turned to face the seats that once held captivated audiences members. The scene in front of her was dismal, and with tearless sobs racking her body, she sunk down to sit on the ground. She closed her eyes an instant and regretted it.
She saw fires destroy wooden buildings, heard the screams of men, women, and children. She tried to move, but she was rooted to the spot. Tears streamed down her face, drenching her clothes. Those tears were the last that she ever shed.
Her eyes snapped open and she gasped for breath. Her grey eyes, previously so full of sadness and knowledge, not were filled with fear and pain beyond human comprehension. She drew breath after shaky breath, finally calming herself. Remembering a song from one of the plays that she had seen at this very opera house what seemed like years ago, she started singing in a mournful alto voice. "Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye." After completing her song and feeling slightly better, she stepped out of the Opera House and hailed a cab. She did not notice that the shadows moved and followed her as she left.
