Many weeks had passed since the disappearance of the Opera Ghost. There had been no word of the fate of the Phantom. No one could find him, dead or alive.
Christine Daae apparently had been rescued by her fiancé, the Viscount de Chagny. She was shaken but unharmed, her lips silent regarding what had surpassed between herself and the Phantom. The wedding between the two lovers had gone as planned. And she had retired from the opera world permanently, which many including myself considered a great loss to the opera world.
Mainly because the result was that La Carlotta had resumed her place at the Opera Populaire as head diva. Not only were Carlotta's performances uninspiring, but she had a voice which screeched like a hyena on a regular basis. And since she insisted that all attention was to be paid to her throughout the entire opera, whether deserved or not, she invariably dragged the whole reputation of the Opera Populaire down with her.
Oh, well, I thought. At least, I wouldn't be out the expense of opera tickets any longer.
Everyone had breathed a sigh of relief that the Phantom of the Opera was seemingly out of Paris for good. Everyone except myself...
A few times, I had fruitlessly gone back to the Paris Opera House, searching the catacombs in vain for the Phantom. But there was no sign of him. Just the haunting melody of the wind whistling through the tunnels. And I did not dare to venture too far by myself. Without Meg, I had no doubt that I would die in that maze of mirrors, never finding my way out.
My frustration merely fueled my obsession. I spent afternoons at the library, pouring through archives of newspaper articles which would report about the Phantom. While I learned what hat Mademoiselle de Beaumont was wearing when the chandelier fell down, I could find nothing of any note whatsoever about the actual perpetrator of the crime. I even made some inquiries at the police. They were not only unhelpful but insulting.
The Phantom had vanished as if he had never existed.
So I resigned myself to my dreary existence at the small boarding room which I had rented out by the month under the alias of a man's name. The landlady of the boarding house was so desperate for money and so devoid of morals that she cared little that her boarder was really a single and unattached woman as long as I was discreet about it.
I knew that my existence was a strange one. A girl my age should be married or at the very least living in a dormitory of a conservatory, not living like a woman of the streets in a bohemian district in Paris. But I was an artist. I could not live my life by ordinary standards. Indeed, I did not wish to.
Just like so many nights before, I sat at my piano burning up the midnight oil, agonizing over the task before me. Again, I played the refrain of notes which the Opera Ghost had scribbled out on the half-drowned parchment. I just could not make any sense of how the melody was supposed to sound because a few of the notes had been smudged off with water stains.
Rising from the piano bench, I paced across the room, humming the tune over and over, trying to find the missing piece of the puzzle...going mad...
I collapsed on the bed in frustration and closed my eyes.
Maybe I should just go to bed as the hour was late.
Maybe I should just give up this fruitless dream and go back to Memphis, Tennessee. I did not have the talent to achieve the kind of life which I had imagined for myself here. Perhaps it would be just as well that I go back to my life of disgrace and loneliness back home.
Suddenly, I felt a cold chill in the room as if there had been a draft.
What was that soft rustling noise?
I opened my eyes to darkness. Apparently, my candle had gone out.
Nothing all that exciting.
So why were the hairs standing up at the back of my neck?
My stomach lurched sickly when the notes started to play in the darkness. Straining to see, I saw the ominous shadow standing by where the piano was, playing the complete melody with perfect precision.
Of course, the music sounded exquisite now.
The composer had been reunited with his music.
The Phantom of the Opera stopped playing his music. He then turned to quietly observe me, paralyzed with fear upon the bed.
Had I found him seductive? Had I found him sympathetic and lonely? It was hard to imagine that now...for I was sure that he was going to kill me before the night was out.
Covered from head to toe, wearing a black hat and cape, the starkness of a new shiny white mask glared out in the darkness, only visible by the moonlight streaming through the boarding room window. And the expression I saw in those eyes was one devoid of sympathy or understanding, as if he had no interest in anything that occurred in the mortal world. Or was I simply face to face with madness?
I remembered all of the crimes of which he had been accused. The murders, the abductions, the rapes, the horrors...
The silence was deafening.
"Th-th-the Opera Gh-ghost...I presume?"
I cursed myself for my fearful stuttering, but could not help it.
The apparition bowed in a mocking manner. Somehow, his sarcasm made me feel better somehow. At least he was somewhat human.
Think of your opera, I said to myself. Think of your opera and why you need this man. Think of his genius.
"You are a hard man to find, Monsieur. But I see you have found me."
"When one has a price on his head, it is prudent to take every precaution. A lesson which would benefit you wisely, Mademoiselle, seeing as how you apparently have no care for your own well being."
The voice was a deep and cultured one, enunciating every syllable with crystal clarity. How I loved that voice, even when it belonged to a man intending to murder me!
"Whatever d-do you mean?" I stammered.
"Surely, you have heard of my notoriety...my infamous deeds. Everyone in Paris has! Yet you waltz around the Opera House and all of Paris, asking interfering questions, sneaking into my home with your little moppet friend as if you were entertaining at an afternoon tea party! Oh, yes, I know all about it! And then you have the effrontery to steal my music!"
I felt the bed shift as he sat down upon it. A gloved hand reached out from the darkness to grasp my throat.
"There is little that I care about in this world. My music is all that I have left. To steal a monster's last vestige of life is dangerous in the extreme. Really, mademoiselle, you should take care."
I will not faint, I told myself. I have never fainted in my life, and I would not now. His hold on my throat was light but threatening, more of a light caress than a stranglehold.
"H-h-how did you g-g-get in here?"
"Surely you know your landlady as well as I, Mademoiselle. She is easily bribed. What does she care about the fate of one of her boarders as long as gold lines her pockets?"
I couldn't argue that point.
"W-w-well, what if I tell the police that you br-br-broke in here?"
The Phantom laughed with an evil sneer. "You are assuming that you will be alive to tell tales, Mademoiselle."
Oh, God, I was going to die. I felt myself slipping into a complete state of panic. He was supposed to help me, not kill me. As I thought about my opera, I realized that perhaps it could save me.
"See here, Phantom or Opera Ghost or whatever it is that you call yourself..."
I was quite pleased that I seemed to finally control my annoying stuttering.
"If you kill me, you're going to miss out on an excellent business venture which could benefit the both of us."
I saw his unmasked eyebrow raise. The first sign of real life or expression on that face.
Now that I had gone this far, I steeled up my nerves in order to continue.
"There is a reason why I stole that music. I wasn't keeping it for some sort of sick souvenir of your notoriety, but because I found the music inspiring."
"Indeed?"
"Quite," I continued, encouraged that perhaps I wouldn't die after all. "That is why I went with little Meg Giry to seek you out. I was very moved by the music in 'Don Juan Triumphant', particularly the love duet. What was it? 'Point of No Return', I believe?"
There was no answer. He was as quiet and still as a statue.
"I can't get the music out of my head. It haunts me more than any ghost. You are amazingly talented, Monsieur. You have a real gift for composing music. So much so that I should like to commission you to help me with my opera."
The silence was deafening.
"Your opera?"
"Yes," I answered quickly, trying to look past my offense that he was so shocked by my admission. "I have been working on an opera for almost a year now, but I just can't seem to get it right. And it is very frustrating. You see, I am quite good with dialogue and lyrics. I suppose I'm more of a playwright than anything else. But I can't imagine this story as a play. It has to have music to work, your music.."
A moment of silence.
"You are either very stupid or quite insane, if you will pardon my saying so."
I couldn't help but laugh nervously.
"Well, aren't all artists a little bit insane?"
The Phantom did not see much humor in the situation. For some time, he was silent, setting my nerves on edge yet again.
"You liked my opera so much?" he asked finally.
There was a childlike quality in his voice.
"Oh, extremely," I answered with enthusiasm. "It is a shame really. People are so obsessed with being in fashion that they cannot recognize true genius when they hear it."
I saw him nod.
"Yes, that is true enough. You have good insight for one so young."
"When I heard your composition, I knew that all of that passion and drama is just what I need for my opera!"
"You flatter me, Mademoiselle. It is so rare to find someone who recognizes real music. Pray tell me, what sort of story is this opera about?"
"It's a love story, quite a moving story, actually."
"Is it?"
I wasn't sure if he was even aware that he had let go of his hold on my throat and started to stroke my hair lightly with his fingertips. Well, better he should be inappropriately forward than to kill me, I supposed.
"In the event that I did help you with your opera, Mademoiselle...what would I get in return for my services?"
I bristled at his tone. He made it sound like a sordid arrangement with his choice of words.
"Well, naturally, you will receive half of the profits," I answered gruffly, wishing that he would remove his hand from my personfor all of those feather-like strokes upon my person were making me feel quite odd.
His hand moved from my hair to touch my jawline with the fingertips of his glove.
"And supposing this opera is a disaster. There would be no profits to be had."
"I can hire you for an hourly stipend, if you would prefer..."
"That's fair," he reasoned. "But I'm really in no need for employment, Mademoiselle."
He had leaned closer to me on the bed.
"Anything else?"
I felt his breath against my ear, his lips almost touching my flesh. And his hand was moving down my neck...down...down the expanse of skin towards my breasts.
I swallowed dryly, realizing the price that he meant for me to pay.
