hello, my dearies! Eheheheheheheheh! Friday the Thirteenth! a glorious holiday for a MURDER STORY! Evil is as evil does.
Chapter one: Purely accidental.
Christine rushed through the backstage beehive of activity, desperatley trying in vain to pull on her ballet shoes. The crowd was immovable and all shortcuts were blocked by bottleneckers and morons who just loved to stand anround and watch dust collect. A buzzing crowd filled the opera house, the old building nearly bursting at the seams at this point. Ever since the place had caught fire in the "accident", the shotty masonry was definitely showing. There was not a day that went by when one of the stagehands would not curse the damn phantom that had caused the woodwork and catwalks such turmoil.
Succeeding in pulling on her slippers, the girl tried her hardest to shove her way through the crowd, finding that her nintey pound frame was simply not strong enough to part the multitude. In a mad panic, she bolted back to her dressing room and locked the door. Madame Giry would be lining up her dancers in the rehearsed fashion. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Christine had turned down all lead parts for the operas ever since the scandal. She preferred to go back to the way things were before. Certain that there was a passage behind her mirror, she slid the panel to the side, running down the tunnel. All too well she knew that this was the way to the phantom's lair, but she feared him no more. He had come to her and Raoul's house in person, armed with the sincerest apologies he could muster. Erik had given Christine permisson to use his secret corridors whenever she pleased. For a maniacal musical genius, he was alright.
Taking a left turn, Christine could already hear the voices of her fellow chorus girls and the senior Giry barking at them for faulty foot positions. She smiled. It must have been nice to spy on the entire opera house like some dirty scoundrel.
It was certainly good to be back. He felt as if he could absolutely wrap himself in the darkness, his darkness. He, the Phantom, now going by the name of Erik, felt great to be back at the old opera house.
He had made many changes personality-wise ever since that ordeal with Christine and Raoul. That night when she left, he wanted nothing more than to curl up and die.Thankfully, the Persian had stayed with him for many months, a good friend and companion. The man had acted as an early psycologist, working out his deep-seated problems. But since he left, Erik felt more alive than ever. Though still possessing a shrewd sense of humor and a vanity that could only be soothed by a mask, he was different. He no longer spent long nights torturing himself with thoughts of Christine. He no longer wished to have her as his bride. He only wished good things for her and the Vicomte de Chagney. Despite the fact that he was no longer a monster at heart, he felt o reason to dtop is shennanigans with the rest of the opera house. He'd heard that Carlotta had the lead role in tonight's performance. There was a costume and a reputation just itching to be ruined. With a bottle of his finest black ink, Erik set off through his passageways, his image as a trickster yearning to be fufilled.
Christine tried her hardest to remember the way out of the hallway. It was Meg's idea that she draw a map on her hand, should the occasion in need of use of these tunnels ever arise. Naturally, she'd forgotten exactly when she needed the directions the most. Damn it, she though, her brow furrowing as she returned to a tunnel that was very familiar. Oh well. She supposed that there was only one way outof here, and only one person could help her. " Erik?" she said loudly, praying for an answer. " You rang?" a deep, velvety baritone sounded behind her, causing her to whirl around. He was standing perhaps three yards away, holding a large bottle of ink. The man held an expression of a young boy about to throw a rock through a pane of glass. " Oh, thank God you're here!" She sighed, a chuckle seasoning her exclamation. " Do you know the way to the stage?" The masked figure smiled, swirling his bottle of ink. She suddenly realized how obtuse she had sounded. Of course he knew the way to the stage.
" Absolutely. What kind of poltergiest would I be if I didn't?" Christine noticed a twinkle in his eyes that she did not remember, nor was she sure in she entirely liked it. " Splendid. What's the ink for?" Erik grinned wickedly. " As simple gesture of affection for Carlotta's solo. I'm sure all of Paris will get a kick out of it." Christine's smile faded a bit. What was it with his new cavalier attitude? " Come on. I will lead you there." Erik took her by the hand and led her through an impossible maze of corridors. Even though she missed his old intensity and romanticism, she enjoyed his friendly company.
The phantom stopped at an ordinary panel, pushing it with his shoulder. The wall popped open, revealing a spiral staircase to the catwalks. The pair decended the stairs, silently stalking out onto the catwalks. Christine withered when she saw that the show had already begun, but perked up when she saw that Jammes had kindly taken her place. She would have to thank the girl later, and would never let any of them forget that the spoiled, snobbish Jammes had done somebody a kindness. Erik sat down indian-style, uncorking his bottle of ink. He grinned devilishly when Carlotta had strutted onto the stage, overly gaudy as usual.
Suddenly, a loud sputtering sound came from their left side. Both of the friends looked over. Christine gasped. On the farthest catwalk opposite them, a man desperatly clawed at his throat, his face a purple shade of puce. Erik, jumped up, upsetting his ink bottle all over Carlotta. The diva screamed and began shouting Spanish profanities at the paled managers. The masked man rushed to the man. Chrisine tailed him, grabbing his sleeve as she saw that a dark figure had looked up at them. It nodded, then dropped the dead man onto the stage. He landed with the hideous sound of a watermelon exploding. The actors screamed, and Carlotta forgot her own woes for a minute to flinch at the corpse. Members of the audience, gasped, all rushing to the sides of others. A man from the orchestra pit leaped up, covering the body with a sheet. Erik and Christine sprinted down to the stage, Erik stealing a green cloak to hide himself. They pushed their way through the crowd, Erik kneeling at the body. He recognized the man as Pierre Fonasille, a backround manager. Cristine put her hand on his shoulder, her eyes finding something horrible. In the noose that had killed Pierre, a red rose tied with a black ribbon was tucked. Firmin and Andre shoved others out of their way earning many dirty looks. Andre plucked the rose from the lasso, a vein flickin horribly in his temple. " Ladies and Gentlemen, please remain calm!" He cried as the crowd vacated through the door. When the audience had left, Firmin sank to his knees, crushing the rose. " I give!" He yelled, banging his cane on the wooden floor. "That Phantom bastard has murdered for the last time!" The figure under the green cloak balked. Christine grabbed his hand, sprinting with him until she reached a deserted studio. Others called to her, inquiring her knowledge of the mysterious man. she slammed the door, but it was soon opened by Raoul. He looked very shaken.
"Raoul!" Christine cried, running to his comforting embrace. He recieved her, stroking her hair. Erik removed his cloak, his face set in a disbelieving manner. The vicomte paled. " It's him!" He hissed, pushing Christine behind him. Apparently, he intended to fight Erik. The masked man, stepped back, his palms up in a "don't look at me!" fashion. Raoul put up his fists, a flicker of cowardice darting across his complexion. Christine snatched his collar. " Raoul, Erik did not kill that man. He was with me." Raoul stopped, looking and feeling very stupid in his fighting stance. Erik glowered. " It is nice to see you too." Christine took Raoul's arm, looking into his confused blue eyes. " We were on the catwalks. We saw somebody else kill Fonasille." Raoul's expression softened. Erik grinned, awaiting an apology. " My regrets." Raoul mumbled, shuffling his toe.
The phantom collaspsed onto a crate, cradling his forehead in his hands. " Why would anybody kill Fonasille and then frame me?" The two others shrugged. This was certainly a problem worth stressing about.