. The Phantom and the Secretary Mysteries#1Ring of Fire
When two familiar figures from the Phantom's past shows up with a way out of the shadows, a journey into a world of mystery, adventure and romance awaits...
DISCLAIMER: THE AUTHOR OF THIS STORY DOES NOT OWN ANY CHARACTERS OF THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA CANON; JUST THE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS NOT AFFILIATED WITH THE ORIGINAL STORY. BASED ON ALW VERSION.
1875
The Rue Scribe was dark that night. Dark and covered with a blanket of fog settled down for the night. Neither ship nor soul disturbed her waters until a lone carriage drove along the shoreline. It stopped on the edge of the world renowned Opera Populaire. The coachman jumped down and opened the door for the passengers inside, who turned out to be M. Michael Firmin and M. Giles Andre. M. Andre reached inside and took the hand of a smart looking young woman in a chocolate brown suit dress with white pinstripes.
"Merci, Mousier." she told the shorter, middle aged man with wild gray hair and mustaches.
"You're quite welcome, Mlle. Carone." he replied politely before joining his partner's side to look up at the great stone masterpiece of architecture that sat before them. M. Firmin, a taller man with a graying brown pompadour, and a thick brown mustache said to M. Andre,
"The theater has been rebuilt for the past six months. Do you think he's still in there, Andre?" Andre shook his head,
"Hard to say. That new manager Garnier has not received any notes or warnings...nor have the cast and crew seen anyone in the shadows. We won't know until we get in there."
"I still can't believe we're actually going to do what YOU suggested we do!" said Firmin dryly.
"My dear Firmin, do we have a choice? I mean really, we've gotten in over our heads on this one. We NEED him!" stressed Andre.
"Who's him?" They turned to look at the twenty-one year old woman of lush golden brown hair and soft, ocean blue eyes set in a round open face. Andre sputtered,
"Him? Oh...well uh...he's...well...the man we are looking for rather...uh.." Firmin rolled his eyes and told their young secretary firmly,
"With any luck, our new consultant!" She nodded in understanding as they turned back to the Opera House and Firmin stepped forward saying,
"Now...We checked the blueprints...and there should be a direct tunnel to the fifth basement right here!"
"But I see nothing but solid wall!" protested Andre.
"Indeed!" sighed Firmin looking up the wall. Then Mlle. Carone's eyes lit up and she stepped forward a bit saying,
"No Mousiers! Look! The lamp attached to the wall there! Everywhere else they are eight feet apart but one of them is only two feet away from the next! I'll bet it's a trick with an angled mirror!" Firmin furrowed his brow and stepped closer to the wall. Then he took his cane and tapped the wall under the two lamps only to find nothing but air. He stepped under the lamps to indeed find a mirror angled to reflect the wall on the outside meanwhile keeping the tunnel completely hidden.
"Ingenious!" cried Firmin.
"Dozens past this wall every day and do not notice this place! The tunnel is in plain sight!" cried Andre.
"It would appear our old friend still is a bit of a magician." observed Firmin.
"Providing he is still here!" said Andre.
"Andre, think about it. Who else would have use for this trick? If he left, he would have made the tunnel noticeable." Firmin told his partner while leaning forward on his cane.
"He could have left in a rush." suggested Andre.
"Come on let's just get down there and find him!" said Firmin turning to progress into the tunnel.
"Shouldn't we take a torch Mousiers?" asked Mlle. Carone following them. They stopped and blocked her path.
"Mademoiselle, we must ask that you stay here with the carriage." said Firmin holding up his hands.
"What? But sirs..." she began.
"No buts, Mam'selle. This is extremely dangerous. We fear only for your safety. Don't worry, we shall return in a few hours." reassured Andre as he disappeared into the false wall behind his partner. Mlle. Carone huffed and turned back to the carriage in frustration.
The two gentlemen stepped forward cautiously about the tunnels. They could barely see in front of their hands, and if they weren't aware of each other's company, they would have been fearful of the sound of breathing.
"Perhaps...we should have brought a light..." said Andre with a nervous pitch to his voice.
"No...I think it'd be best to not make him aware of our presence just yet." said Firmin listening. Meanwhile, Mlle. Carone leaned against the carriage, but she eyed the driver who finally nodded off into sleep. Like a shot, she ran into the hidden tunnel to follow, almost losing her new hat. Firming turned and said to his friend,
"Did you hear something?"
"No...should I have?" asked Andre. Continuing on, Firmin stated,
"Probably noth-ING!" What had happened was this; our companions stepped on a stone in the path that gave way, and with a click a snare flew up from the ground and trapped Firmin's right leg and Andre's left. They were instantly hung upside down five feet from the floor. Further down behind them, Carone heard their yelling and broke again into a run to their rescue.
"What the devil?" yelled Firmin. Then a dark, baritone voice echoed all around them, a dark baritone they knew all too well.
"The devil indeed, Mousier."
"Firmin! It's him!" whispered Andre.
"Told you he was down here!" snapped Firmin. They heard a footstep from their right and they turned their heads to see the faded whiteness in the dark. A match was struck alongside the wall and a gloved leather hand lit the candles in the candelabra. Once the tunnel was illuminated, they saw not only each other, but the tall, lean man in the black cloak, black dress suit and that gleaming white leather mask covering half of a square face with a cleft in his chin, and anger flashing in his green and gold eyes. But this time, they noticed a scruffy beard along his jaw, and his natural thin mouse brown hair was down to his shoulders and tied in a messy ponytail. Yet there was no question in their minds. This was the man who five years ago, tried to threaten them to do as he commanded, to leave Box Five empty, to give him a salary of 20,000 francs a month; as well as trying to seduce and kidnap Mlle. Christine Daae, the new soprano. But the reason they were here tonight, was for the opinion of the man who did three more sins. He strangled two men, and dropped the chandelier on the audience below. They were here to solicit the advice of the Phantom of the Opera. The Phantom sneered at them,
"Did you miss me good Mousiers?"
"Please sir. Get us down!" asked Firmin.
"Whatever for? So you two fools can call the police? What are you doing here anyway?" asked the Phantom boredly folding his arms as he glared at them. Andre reached into his pocket, but the Phantom jumped back ready to defend himself. Andre lifted up his other hand, and then slowly pulled out a business card out of his jacket.
"Puh..puh...per...perhaps THIS shall explain our being here!" he stuttered out in fear. The Phantom stepped forward and whisked the card out of Andre's grasp.
"I'm getting a bloody headache!" whined Firmin.
"Shush!" Andre told him. The Phantom held the card up to the light and read,
'Andre and Firmin
Private Investigators'
The Phantom began to chuckle,
"You two? Private Investigators? Since when could you take on the criminal mindset, for you were absolute dolts when you had to deal with me!"
"Well we have solved a few cases!" said Andre.
"But the harder ones are the reason we came tonight!" said Firmin. The Phantom furrowed his brow,
"What do you mean?"
"We need your help! Ohh...now I'm starting to get dizzy!" said Andre blinking his eyes. Then all three men turned at the sound of the hissing of teeth.
"Wait! I think Mousiers...we have a guest!" spat the Phantom in wicked humor. He disappeared into the shadows a moment, before a feminine scream was cried out and then muffled. A shuffling of feet could be heard before the Phantom reemerged with Mlle. Carone struggling in his strong grasp with her mouth covered by his hand. Her hair was falling down, her new hat long forgotten as well as the scrape she got from the rough wall of the tunnel.
"Antoinette!" shouted Firmin worried about her.
"Mousiers, I take my leave, as does Mlle. Antoinette. If you wish to see her again, follow the tunnel. If you wish to speak to me, be warned, the dance of the peacock is not an easy path." said the Phantom before turning with Antoinette and disappearing.
"But what about us?" yelled Andre. Suddenly, the rope turned loose and they fell to the ground with a thud.
"Ow!" cried Firmin as Andre grunted in pain.
Before Antoinette knew it, she was being thrown into a gondola, the water splashing against the side. He took up a pole and began to guide the boat across the vast underground lake that she just now was beginning to notice. She looked up at him with hatred, to which he mockingly winked at her. She turned her head away in disgust. Before long, they reached an iron portcullis that began to raise out of the water with a creak. They sailed into a brightly-lit cavern, decorated to look like a house with faded red velvet curtains separating each room. He moored the boat and got out, offering his hand to her. She merely grabbed her skirts and stepped out on her own, not looking at him as she stood on the shoreline. He dropped his hand to the side again and told her,
"Do not worry, Mam'selle. Your employers should figure out my riddle soon enough." She looked at him in confusion,
"Riddle?"
Back in the tunnel, Firmin grabbed his partner's coat sleeve,
"Andre! It was a riddle!"
"What the devil are you talking about?" asked Andre holding up the torch they now had.
"When the Phantom told us "the dance of the peacock is not an easy path", he was telling us the way to find him! The dance of the peacock refers to a promenade type of dance involving intricate dance steps. The Phantom is a musician, so he probably has a door or something set up to be triggered by the dance of the peacock! If we did the dance, we could find him and Mlle. Carone!" Firmin told him. Andre glared at him a moment before saying,
"That is, without a doubt the most ridiculous load of rubbish I've ever heard!"
"What have we got to lose?" asked Firmin. Andre sighed,
"Well, how does it go?" Firmin held up his hands,
"Well, it's a partner dance first thing." Quirking a brow at him, Andre allowed himself in Firmin's dancer's embrace while muttering,
"Not a soul shall ever hear of this!"
"Understood! Now, I'll lead..." said Firmin,
"Why do you get to lead?" asked Andre.
"Because I know the dance and I'm the taller one!" said Firmin before continuing,
"Now, step to the left, two steps up the right, and three steps forward. Again, step to the left..."
Meanwhile, Antoinette asked the Phantom as he brought in some tea,
"So, if Mousier Andre and Mousier Firmin do your silly little dance, they'll trigger a trapdoor that will lead them here?"
"I get bored easily." he told her setting the silver tray full of mismatched dishes down.
"Obviously. I'm still not sure how we got out of that tunnel." she said.
"And I'm not sure why your employers sought me out, Mlle. Carone." he said watching her sip the tea she gave him. She sighed,
"They started their detective agency six months ago. They had found out for a friend that his wife had an infidelity and before they knew it, they were getting offers from all of Paris' elite to help them solve their little mysteries. They hired me a month later. They were doing fairly until three days ago, when they received in the post a letter from an English Lord. In it, he described some mysterious circumstances around the death of his late gardener. And he sent pictures..." She pulled out some photographs and a letter with a broken wax seal and handed it to the Phantom.
"Why are these in your possession and not your employers?" he asked reading the letter.
"Because they always lose things. Besides, what sort of detective's secretary would I be if I didn't love a good mystery?" she said with a smirk to which the Phantom looked up at her curiously then back down to the letter. It didn't escape her that he had turned a quick shade of red for a moment when he looked at her. What did escape her was how in a manner of minutes alone with this dangerous man, she now felt so safe and secure that she could open up to him about the case and even treat him like an old friend. She stifled a yawn as he asked her,
"The letter said the medical examiner determined the cause of death to be natural. Why is this a mystery?" She stood and pointed out to him the photograph of the dead body,
"Because someone tried to at least make it look like he was murdered. They poured kerosene on the ground and set it ablaze in a ring of fire. Mousiers Andre and Firmin tried to look up any significance of a ring of fire around a dead body, but they could find none. They are completely in the dark. That's why they came to you. They wanted someone who understands..." Upon seeing her face begin to pay attention to the floor, he finished for her,
"Someone who understands a killer's mind."
"Yes." she said quietly but evenly. She continued, "Apparently, you are the only person they know who can help them understand why someone would do this. They would be willing to pay you."
"As if I need their charity." he said bitterly leaning against his organ. Looking at the mismatched patches on his pants, she said,
"Don't you?" He looked down to where she was looking and covered the spot up with his cape. He cleared his throat,
"I have to admit this problem does intrigue me."
"Then (yawn) why don't (yawn) you accept (yawn!) their offer? Why am I so (yawn) sleepy?" she asked rubbing her eyes.
"That tea was laced with a sleeping drought." he said as she laid down on the settee nearby.
"Why?" she whispered trying not to close her eyes.
"Trust me. If you are Andre and Firmin's secretary, you'll need all the strength you can get!" he said taking his cloak off and draping it over her sleeping form. He kneeled beside her and took out the hairpins, combing a hand through her thick locks to shake them loose.
"Besides...I need to pack without any beautiful distractions interrupting me." he said gently stroking her chin before standing and retreating into his bedroom.
When she woke again, she didn't think it had been too long, but when she looked at her father's pocket watch, she saw with surprise that four hours had pasted by. A great many questions entered her mind. Where were Andre and Firmin? Why had he draped his cloak over her? When did she let her hair down? Then she saw the mysterious Phantom come out from one of his rooms, but now his jacket was off revealing his well fitted black brocade vest and off white shirt. He smiled a mischievous smile,
"Sleep well, Miss Carone?" She stood and put her hands on her hips,
"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to drug unsuspecting ladies?" He stiffened and said trying not to show any emotion,
"My mother sold me to the gypsies as a child." She looked down and said,
"Oh."
"I've been reviewing the letter and photographs you gave me. You're right. Whoever is behind this needs to match wits with a killer's intellect, not one of two men from the junk business." he said switching subjects as he sat at the desk and propped his boots up.
"Whoa!" yelled Andre and Firmin falling through a hidden doorway.
"Well, speak of the devils!" said the Phantom not looking up. Running over to them, Antoinette helped them up asking,
"Mousier Firmin, are you alright!"
"As well as can be expected my dear considering I had to dance a promenade with my partner in order to set off a trap door only to have to go back to the beginning four times because he neglected to tell me of his two left feet!" yelled Firmin his voice rising in crescendo. Andre stood and said,
"I'm use to leading!"
"Gentlemen, there are more important things right now than who stepped on whose toes. I'm told you sought me out to help you track down a potential killer." said the Phantom standing.
"Then Miss Carone filled you in on the particulars of the case?" asked Andre.
"She did. And it's obvious you need help." he said folding his arms.
"The question is will you be the one to help us?" asked Firmin.
"With a few conditions." he answered.
"Here we go!" said Firmin rolling his eyes.
"What are they?" asked Andre ignoring him.
"I go with you to investigate and I want an equal share in the commission you earn. You can take all the credit, just leave me with my share." he said.
"Sounds reasonable." nodded Andre.
"At least it isn't 20,000 francs!" muttered Firmin in a low tone.
"Agreed. Shall we shake on it?" asked Andre extending his hand towards this peculiar young man. The Phantom looked at it uneasily before reaching out and shaking the man's hand. Then he stood and went towards his bedroom saying,
"Come Mousiers, you can help me with my things."
"Certainly Mousier...Oh dash it all, what exactly are we to call him Andre?" Firmin asked his partner. The Phantom stopped in the doorway and said without turning,
"Erik. My name is Erik." Surprised at finally learning the Phantom's Christian name, Firmin only exchanged glances with Andre and followed while Antoinette whispered to herself in awe,
"Erik..."
When the coachman woke, the moon was beginning to descend from the night sky and he looked up to see his employers M. Andre and M. Firmin come out of the mysterious tunnel their arms loaded down with old trunks and valises. And behind them came Mlle. Carone on the arm of a tall gentlemen whose face was shrouded under a cowl, one case in his hand. Firmin dropped the suitcases on the ground as the coachman asked,
"Mousier?" As Andre lowered the bags he carried, grabbing his lower back with a look of pain, Firmin answered,
"Don't ask. Just get the bags!" The mysterious newcomer hesitated and looked back to the tunnel when Mlle. Carone said soothingly,
"Come Mousier Erik. That place holds nothing for you now." He nodded silently before helping her inside and stepping in himself. The coachman loaded the bags and then climbed up to the driver's seat and started off.
To say that Erik was not scared or nervous would be a misstatement. He still did not understand why these two former foes of his would trust and seek his aid. He also did not understand why Mlle. Carone did not seem to hold any fear for him. He also could not understand why he couldn't look away from her face. Trying not have an uncomfortable silence, M. Firmin spoke up,
"So...Erik...why didn't you leave the Opera that night?"
"There was no where else to go." said Erik simply.
"I'd always thought that if you were still alive you'd simply find private employment or something. Lord knows we learned you're clever enough to do anything." said Andre.
"A man without a last name who was enslaved by gypsies as a child doesn't really do too well in an interview Mousier." said Erik bitterly.
"Gypsies?" asked Andre in curiosity.
"I think we should all just keep quiet now!" said Firmin with a warning tone to his partner. Silence fell and Erik's gaze shifted back to Antoinette while Firmin watched the passing Parisian streets and Andre began to doze.
Soon, they came to a lonely driveway lined by trees. They stopped before the house and Erik asked,
"Don't your wives disapprove of late night quests?" Andre said before stepping out,
"My wife's a Catholic. She doesn't believe in divorce but she does believe in separation!" As Firmin stepped out, Erik asked,
"And you Mousier?" Firmin dryly replied,
"My wife was a Presbyterian. I'm lucky I got the house!" Erik got out and was surprised to hear Antoinette say,
"Can you help me down please?"
"You live here?" he asked in confusion as he offered his hand. She smiled and shrugged,
"A live-in secretary comes in handy for two new bachelors." They entered the two-story house of modestly painted walls with crown molding everywhere and marble floors.
"Mlle. Carone, see to our guest's needs, won't you?" yawned Firmin handing his hat and gloves to the butler as he and Andre went up the stairs.
"Oui Mousier. Jean Claude." said Antoinette taking off her gloves.
"Oui Mademoiselle?" asked the old gray butler giving Erik a curious look before following the lady up the stairs. Erik reluctantly followed them as Antoinette rattled on, clearly showing her authority in the household.
"We are to have coffee in the morning, not tea. Set the table for four. We are to have Mousier Erik in the west wing quest room. Draw him a bath in the morning won't you, and don't forget it's suppose to rain, so have the carriage waiting by the door tomorrow. And when we head to the office tomorrow, pack our things for England. I shall make the travel arrangements in the morning."
"Oui Mademoiselle." said Jean Claude as Antoinette stopped by a door in the upstairs hall. She turned to Erik and whispered with a smile,
"Good night Mousier. If there is anything you need, ring for Jean Claude."
"Sleep well, Miss Carone." said Erik. She gave him a playful smirk,
"That may prove to be difficult, sir...since I already had quite a long nap this evening!" Erik couldn't help but return the expression,
"Simply think pleasant thoughts Mam'selle."
"And you think pleasant thoughts as well, Mousier. Goodnight." she said closing the door.
"I will now..." he whispered trying to calm his beating heart. Then he heard the butler clear his throat knowingly.
"This way sir." said Jean Claude leading Erik down the hall. Soon Erik was in his room alone, his bags in the corner. He took off his cloak, then his jacket, then his vest and shirt. He unlaced his boots and pulled them off as he sat on the bed. Finally, he took off his leather mask and rubbed his face. He began to think about that night. Specifically, about Mademoiselle Antoinette Carone.
She was lovely, no doubt. Her short, curvy frame, perfectly proportioned. Her thick mass of brown hair flowing down her back in waves. Her blue eyes shown with intelligence, her smile full of flirtatious mischief. Not even Christine captured his interest this much. She had merely been a trophy for him. But what was Mlle. Carone to him? Then he caught his reflection in the mirror and instantly turned away in disgust. Even if he knew exactly what Antoinette was doing to him, she would never have anything to do with him...if she knew who he really was...
"A monster..." he whispered sadly holding his head in his hands.