Rebuilt

It had been two months. Only two months! The Opera Populaire was now as beautiful as it had ever been before. During the duration of the construction over those past two months, Mercedes Gautier decided to live in the opera house. Just to get a feel of the personality of this marble beauty, she had said to herself. The two months spent there had been rewarding at day, for she had explored all over to understand this place which held so many memories. It had been worth it.

At night, however, the experience was much less pleasant. Her dreams were plagued with images of fire and screaming souls lost in the flames. She would almost always wake from these dreams to hear a soft voice singing far off or she would hear various instruments, such as the violin or pipe organ being played. The melodies were almost always as depressing as her dreams, and, needless to say, she did not enjoy her night-time experience there. It would be much better when actors and stage crews lived and worked around the clock at this giant building.

Well, now that the Opera Populaire had been finished, she sought out one woman who could help her most, both with casting actors and explaining the phenomena at night. Madam Giry. She approached the apartment of Madame Giry and her daughter Meg. Knocking softly, she was greeted by a middle-aged woman with a stern, sad face and a cane. "Madame Giry, I presume?" questioned Mercedes. When the woman nodded, Mercedes said, "My name is Mercedes Gautier. I bought the Opera Populaire a few months ago. Would you mind if I came in? I have a few things that I would like to discuss with you."

Madame Giry crooked a finger at Mercedes and invited her in, indicating that Mercedes should follow her. They entered a cozy lounge and sat opposite each other. "Madame Giry, I have two things that I would like to talk about. First of all, I was wondering if you would like to return to the Opera Populaire as a dance instructor. I am planning on putting on the production 'Fidelio' and I could use your help."

Madame Giry suddenly gasped slightly, and then agreed. "Yes, of course. I would be honored to come back and work for that place in which I had lived for so many years." Relieved by Madame Giry's acceptance, she continued.

"I want to ask you something. Over the course of the two months that we were renovating the opera house, I decided to live there. Almost every night I would wake up to hear music. I can guarantee you that it was not someone who idly decided to reside in the opera house. It was someone who already lived there. I would like to know who it is. I am asking you because you have lived at the opera house for many years and surely you must have noticed something. Besides, the only other people that I would have asked, Andre and Firmin, were both drunk when I purchase the opera house. I had no chance of getting a straight answer out of them!" she said, slightly amused. Madame Giry's face, however, had a look of sadness and indecision, as if she was considering whether or not she should confide in her new employer.

Finally, she said, "The man who haunts the opera house, the very same man who you hear, is called by some as the Phantom of the Opera. His real name, however, is Erik. He has suffered a hard life, and I beg you not make him leave."

Mercedes, seeing the look on Madame Giry's face, started giggling, then remembered her composure and stopped. "Madame Giry, I would never make him leave! Why should I? He has a beautiful voice and is very good at playing the violin and pipe organ. I just wanted to know who else lived there, that's all." replied Mercedes.

Relieved by Mercedes' response, Madame Giry smiled and said, "I'm sorry, but I could not betray Erik's trust, not again. I'm sure he will tell you who he is when the time comes. In the meantime, would you like a cup of tea?"

"Mademoiselle, I cannot sing this song! It is impossible for an alto, or soprano or tenor for that matter. No one has the vocal range to sing this song! No one! Like I said, it is impossible!" Mathilda complained to Mercedes. They were rehearsing for the play, Fidelio, which was only four days away. "I told you when you first gave me this piece that no one would be able to sing it!" said Mathilda. Needless to say, Mathilda was getting on Mercedes' nerves.

"Impossible? Impossible?" Mercedes questioned in an icily calm voice. Though her voice did not reflect her agitation, everyone nearby could tell that Mercedes was furious. "Mademoiselle Mathilda, I shall tell you if this song is, indeed, impossible!" Mercedes was irritated, no doubt about it.

Mathilda's reply to Mercedes' fury was to simply say, "Then find me someone who can sing this part." Mathilda, mistaking Mercedes' expression for one of doubt, replied triumphantly, "Ha! There is no one in Paris who could sing that!" Her face was smug.

Mercedes, seeing that there was no way to convince everyone that the piece could, indeed, be sung, had no choice but to sing it herself. She drew herself up to full height and started singing in a voice so angelic, so perfect that it brought tears to the eyes of some of the cast members. Mathilda's mouth hung agape, clearly startled that anyone, much less her employer, could sing the part, let alone so well. When Mercedes finished her song, everyone present clapped. Mathilda clapped loudest of all, tears streaming down her face. Everyone insisted that Mercedes sing in the play, and when Mercedes gave some rather feeble attempts at getting out of the situation, everyone pressed her even more. Finally, she relented.

The play had been a success. The audience, who had been wary at the start, gave a standing ovation, many with tears streaming down their faces. She climbed up the stairs slowly, thinking over the play. She found that she rather liked acting and singing in front of an audience. She dreamily got ready for bed and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Her dreams were the worst she had had in a very long time.

She smelled smoke, she was choking on smoke. Fire was everywhere. People screamed, those who were left alive were scorched and burned. Suddenly she saw herself being chased by a mob of angry men brandishing torches. She ran into a forest and hid in the brush. She suddenly felt fire burning her skin, fire flickering all over her body.

She woke up, gasping for breath and covered in cold sweat. Massaging her temples and trying to put her dreams from her mind, she heard a distant voice singing again. This time, however, it was singing a familiar lullaby. This lullaby had been sung to her when she was a child by her mother. She did not know why, but she was drawn to this sound and found it impossible to resist finding out where the music came from. She walked slowly around the room, trying to find the point where the music was loudest. Surprisingly, the sound was strongest from right in front of the mirror. Though she did not know this at the time, this room in which she had stayed for the past two months was the very same room that Christine Daae had used when she sung here.

Mercedes searched all around the mirror for a secret passage, anything, and was about to give up. In an act of desperation, she tried moving the mirror from the wall and surprisingly found that it acted as a sliding door into a dark stone passageway. Closing the mirror behind her, she proceeded down the narrow corridor.

The music was getting steadily louder, and she could now tell that the singer was a tenor with an angelic voice. She came to the end of the passage to find an underwater lake. Seeing as there was no boat, she decided to swim. She had been able to wade for a good distance and found that she could stand almost the entire length of the lake. The lake, however, was very long, and swimming in it soon got very tiring. Already exhausted from her debut performance and a short, restless sleep, she found that her motions became less controlled and she was now thrashing about wildly. She didn't know why, but she needed to find that mysterious voice, no matter the cost.

When she was about to give in to her fatigue, she saw flames not to far off in the distance. With a renewed strength, she made her way to shore. She finally reached solid ground, and giddy with a sense of accomplishment, she tried to walk to where the heavenly voice was coming from. She was far too tired to move so much as a step, and she was getting chilled by the frigid air in this underground lair. It did not help that she was wearing only a drenched nightgown. Overcome with exhaustion and the cold, she collapsed.