He looked out the window at the gray streets of Paris. A couple of children ran across the street and his car gently swerved to the right to avoid them. He watched them run happily on their way, blissfully unaware of the goings on, of the past, of the torment in his hear that made him feel much older than his age. An image of Christine flashed in his mind, as beautiful as ever, her dark eyes twinkling in the Opera House lights. He missed her and their old days together, their games and their easy jokes… Little Lottie… But now she was gone… The car jolted slightly and Raoul came out of his reverie. They had arrived. There it was, standing there, looking so forlorn and broken. Opera Populaire. He gazed at its scorched walls, remembering the great fire that had consumed it, and with that memory came another. One that he preferred to have forgotten, one he preferred not to have. Unconsciously, his hand reached for the right side of his face where a small scar resided. It was from the fire…so long ago…
The door opened the nurse assisted him out of his seat and into his wheelchair. She gently laid a soft woolen blanket across his lap and walking behind him wheeled his wheelchair toward the Opera House. They were having an auction today and he decided to come and see what they had. Perhaps he will find a few things to buy to remind him of Christine…
"Lot 663, then, ladies and gentlemen: a poster for this house's production of "Hannibal" by Chalumeau." A porter showed the poster to a small audience.
"Showing here."
"Do I have ten franks? Five then. Five I am bid. Six, seven. Against you, sir, seven."
Raoul looked at the poster, memories flooding his mind. He gently raised his hand.
"Eight." The auctioneer said in his soft but carrying voice. "Eight once. Selling twice. Sold, to Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny."
The auction continued, but Raoul was not hearing it anymore. His eyes had fallen on a familiar face. He couldn't quite remember the name, something with a G in it… The elderly lady looked back at him and a small smile played across her lips as she inclined her head in a form of recognition and greeting. Giry, he thought, Madame Giry, the ballet trainer. Raoul bowed his head in return and gazed back at the auctioneer who was now holding a musical box with a monkey dressed in Persian robes and playing the cymbals sitting on top of it. He recognized the piece…
"A collector's piece." The auctioneer announced.
A collector's piece indeed…
Every detail exactly as she said…
"May I start at twenty francs? Fifteen, then? Fifteen I am bid."
She once mentioned you, my friend…
Your velvet lining, your figurine of lead…
Madame Giry raised her hand slightly, bidding twenty franks. Raoul looked at the figurine, it was worth having. He raised his hand in return, raising the bid to twenty five franks. But Madam Giry did not give up so easily. She looked at him silently, thousands of emotions in her eyes and bid thirty franks. No, Raoul thought, let her have it… it may only harm me…He bowed his head in resignation, letting her know that he was not going to bid further.
"Thirty franks? Going once…twice… Sold to Madame Giry for thirty franks." The porter handed the music box to Madame Giry.
…Will you still play when the rest of us are gone…?
"Lot 666, then: a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera: a mystery never fully explained. We are told ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster." Raoul's eyes were suddenly drawn to a shape on the floor to his left. The chandelier…Phantom…Christine…
"Our workshops have restored it and fitted up parts of it with wiring for the new electric light, so that we may get a hint of what it may look like when re- assembled. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination, gentlemen?" A few men walked over to the mass on the floor and pulled off the sheet that was covering the shattered, but somewhat restored chandelier. It was the most haunted thing that he had so far seen in the Opera House. A small shiver ran up his back as the gentlemen grabbed the chains and pulled hard… It was too much to bear for him…
A small note drifted from the ceiling…
Welcome, gentlemen, to my Opera!
