(A/N This chapter probably isn't worthy for posting, but I'm lazy and want to move on, so, here we go.)
"Jess," Boston turned to her friend with a resigned sigh. "I'm legally insane now."
"Really?" She said, genuinely interested. "When did that happen? Do you a license or something? Do you get special privileges?"
"No." The other leaned against the wall. "I guess I should've said clinically insane. Because no one official has, as yet, told me I'm crazy."
"I've told you you're crazy. Rio's told you you're crazy."
"Yes, but-"
"Aaron's told you, Brio's told you, your parents have told you, your sister's told you, even Eric's told you..."
"Stop! Stop!" Boston covered her ears. "Lalalalaaa..."
"Of course, none of us are very official... I'm sorry, what?" Jess blinked and stared at her curiously.
The blond alto opened her eyes. "Can I talk now? Is it safe?"
"I'd say so, chap." The blond soprano trilled, trying her best to have a British accent in French. "Don't know why not."
Boston gave her a withering look. "Anyway, as I was trying to say, I think I'm insane."
"I know."
"Be quiet. I think I'm insane for two reasons."
"Let's hear them, by all means."
"Shut up! One, I hear things other people don't. Two, I can't stop thinking about them. Actually: three, I want to keep going back to the places where I hear the noise because I can't stop thinking about it."
"You said two before." Boston rolled her eyes and prepared to yell and scream, but Jess continued relentlessly. "But that's okay, you changed your mind. Yes, I see why you'd think you're insane."
"Good. Because Rio actually tells me I'm insane instead of acknowledging that I think I'm insane." She flopped into a chair. "And that makes me feel bad."
"Oh, I wasn't saying I don't think you're crazy." Jess chirped, turning to her script. "I do think you're crazy."
"Thanks," her companion muttered dryly.
"I think you're crazy." It was Aaron. Boston groaned and sank lower in the chair, ignoring the fact that it was an antique armchair she could get butchered for sitting in.
The pair of eccentric actresses had taken refuge in one of the old dressing rooms: probably the one the infamous Christine Daaé herself could have used as the star of Don Juan Triumphant. This unnerved Boston more than a little, as it reminded her of her mysterious voices and footprints just too much for comfort.
"Aw, I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?" Aaron patted her head gingerly.
"No." She grumbled. "Just made me feel a little doomed."
"Doomed? Honey, nobody here is doomed." Jess told her firmly. "So you're a nutcase, Aaron is disgustingly happily married, and I'm going straight to hell on a squirrel's back, doesn't mean we're doomed."
The other smiled wearily, while the man in the room just gave her a queer look.
"Okay... I don't think I want to know about the previous conversation."
"No, you don't." Jess said. "But we'd just love to hear what you've got to say."
He paused and stared at her blankly for some time. "What? Oh! Right. Brio wants Jess and Rio wants Boston. I, the star of the show, am now their personal courier."
"Fun! Can you be my personal courier too?" Jess sat up straight, looking every inch the thirteen-year-old she wasn't.
"No." He said firmly. "Now come. Now. Now, I say."
The two followed him out the ornate door as he continued to jabber. "What where you talking about anyway? And why in there? It's kinda creepy..."
"We were talking about my craziness." Boston told him. "And I thought you didn't want to know."
"I lied. Now answer my other question."
She shrugged and looked at Jess, who also shrugged. "It's quiet, and it creeps Brio out, too, so she doesn't go in there."
"Ah." Aaron nodded his head sagely. "Escaping the Brio. As it should be. Clever, clever."
The trio emerged onto the stage, where Brianne was impatiently screaming at the maestro, who had a blank, slightly disturbed look on his face.
"There you are!" She said shrilly. "Jess, talk to this man! You know the piece better than me!"
"What about me?" Aaron slid up. "Anything for me to do?"
"You're like a child! Always needing direction." The woman threw up her hands. "Go... find Rio. Sing with her or something. She's as bad as you are."
Aaron and Boston joined Rio in the back of the theater, where she sat in one of the audience chairs, seemingly talking to herself. She was, in fact, reading the script aloud to herself.
"When are we going to start with the 'Down Once More' scene?" Rio said irritably, by way of greeting.
"Nice to see you, too." Aaron sat down next to her. "And I don't know. No one but Madame Brio knows, and she's a mystery. A horrible, screaming mystery, but a mystery nonetheless."
"Ah well." Rio grinned and hugged him. "My little phantom. So nice to have you."
"Eh..." He edged away as much as possible in the tiny chair. "Now I'm worried."
Boston sighed and turned dejectedly. "I'll guess I'll go, then."
"Why?" Both the stars said, looking up for way to much energy for their friend's comfort.
"Because you need to practice." She shrugged. "I'll slave away for Madame or something."
"Sure?" Rio's brow furrowed with concern for her friend. Crazy she may be, but she was still human. Boston thought, with a stirring of actual feeling for the girl.
"Yes." With that, the moody singer turned on her heel and stalked off.
"Quite the storm cloud, eh?" One of the friendlier of the 'misc.' actresses, Dori, sidled up. "What's the matter?"
Dori was a chorus member with a lovely voice, a dancer with a gift for flexibility, and an actress with a knack for fooling her own mother. She was, in a way, a Christine reincarnate, had it not been that she was rather homely and plain. She resembled a shorter, less unique Boston.
"Ah, nothing." She half-hugged Dori with a sigh. "Dor, do you think I'm crazy?"
Her companion thought for moment, turning to follow the other's slow steps to the stage. "The right answer is... no."
"No, seriously. Do you think something's wrong with me?"
"Seriously?" Dori raised her eyebrows. "No, not really. You're weird. Fun-weird. But that's good. I don't think there's something that wrong with you."
Boston stopped walking. "Dor, my hand is twitching. I'm crazy."
"Everybody twitches! EVERYBODY!" The shorter girl shook her wildly. "Stop it! You. Are. Fine."
"No, you know, you're right." Boston took a zen-like breath, gesturing oddly. "I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm sane. I'm just overreacting."
"Yes." She nodded vigorously. "Keep thinking that. These are just your nerves."
Boston stopped again. "My nerves..." She bit her lip and took off. "I shall return!"
Dori shook her head and walked away. "She's nuts."
"I heard that!" Boston shrieked as she disappeared backstage.
Alright, she thought. I'm going back there, alone. I'm going to sit in that chapel alone for a full ten minutes without hearing anything. It's just an old room nobody, nobody, has been in for a long, long time.
She found the stairs almost automatically. She ran up them, picturing the tranquil window and the lonely candles. This was beginning to seem nice. Maybe the chapel would be a place where she could be really, actually, alone.
The problem was, when she entered the room, she wasn't alone. She froze in the threshold. There was a cloaked man bent over the candles: an imposing black shape much bigger than herself.
It, he, straightened, and bright shining eyes caught Boston's.
She stopped a scream with a hand over her mouth as she tore her eyes away from his and noticed his face. It was either very, very white, or covered with a mask.
Boston had every intention of falling hysterical into Rio's, Jess', or even Aaron's arms if need be as she ran. Whether she was crazy or whether there was just some scary man lurking back in the theater, it didn't matter. Both were cause for worry.
But as she reached the more populated areas of the Opera Populaire, slowing to a walk, she began to change her mind.
She'd, by then, convinced herself that she was crazy as opposed to simply the victim of circumstance. But of course, she hadn't solved her problem of madness. But this time, she thought, she'd just lay low and pretend that had never happened.
Yes, it would irk her. It would be on the corner of her mind. There would be a lot of lost sleep. But she would rather live her life in a nuthouse than in that room with that large, frightening hallucination.
So when she dodged into the halls busy with stage crew and members of the production she looked calm, sidling about and looking bored. This was a little difficult, as she was sweating and her heart was pounding rather painfully.
Aaron and Rio were still in the back, absorbed in whatever they were doing. The dancers were ballet-ing on the stage at the time, which painfully reminded Boston that she was supposed to be among them as Meg.
She slipped into line, praying she wouldn't be noticed. She was.
"Where did you go, Boston?" Brianne snapped. Boston wondered momentarily if she ever had spare time.
"Uh..." was all she managed.
"You know what? I don't care. Just don't miss again." The first lady of the stage turned to the others, correcting their posture and other such things.
"I can't believe you ran off before practice." Dori leaned over and hissed to her companion.
"Would you rather have me run off after practice?" She asked.
"Silence in the ranks!" Brianne said, with apparently no irony intended.
"Boot camp, this." The girl on the other side of Boston muttered. The girl was new, so she made a note to learn her name.
"Hush." The director said firmly.
By the time practice was over and the dancers limped away with swollen ankles and toes, the sun was almost gone and Rio stood at the door with an impatient Jess.
"Bye, Dori." Boston waved to her and some other dancers with which she was friendly.
"Oh yes, delay the rest of us so you can say goodbye to your friends. Selfish." Rio raved.
"Hypocrite." Boston said under her breath.
"I heard that."
"What'd I say, then?"
Rio stared at her for a moment then hung her head in shame. "I lied."
"That's okay. I thought so." They hugged and made up. Boston's smile was still a little false, as she was still shaken for more reasons than an insane ballet director.
As the three popped into the car Boston found herself being stared at by Jess.
"What?" She finally said after several minutes of awkward silence. "Do I have a large, recently squashed fly on my forehead or something? What?"
"No. Although it would stand out quite nicely against the paste-like color of your face." Jess added thoughtfully.
"Oh. Maybe I should get out in the sun more." Boston brushed it off, glancing out the window and feeling shaken. Images of the tall figure still haunted her, and, for some reason, she couldn't help but feel gravitated to the strange shape in the dark. She credited this to her insane mind, and pushed it aside.
"Actually, Jess is right." Rio leaned forward from the back. "You are about three shades whiter than usual."
"I'm tired."
"You're not going to throw up, are you?" Jess slowed down a bit in preparation to kick her out.
"No! I'm just tired."
"Oh well." Rio sat back. "I'd believe that. Maybe you won't snore tonight, then."
"I've never snored in my life, stupid."
"Liar."
"Who's calling who the liar?"
"The liar's calling you a liar." Jess explained. "Happens all the time."
"Just hurry up." Boston groaned. "I need sleep."
Truth was, Boston didn't think it was likely that she was going to sleep. She probably either going to stare at the roof, dwelling on the encounter with the cloaked man, or having nightmares about said cloaked man.
They did, in fact, get there soon. Or rather, Boston was too preoccupied to notice time moving at all.
As if just to spite her friend, Rio invited Jess in for a light dinner. The soprano insisted she wasn't hungry, but came in anyway.
After three flights of stairs forced upon them by a recently destroyed elevator (something about some kid's breakfast being lost), the trio collapsed into the apartment, panting and cursing all weak-stomached children.
"Oh..." Jess sighed as she looked around. "I wish my parents had been as rich as yours when I was as old as you. Then I could've had such a lovely apartment, too."
"It's not that lovely. It's the tiniest flat this side of the river." Rio chirped. Sometimes she's so American, Boston thought. At that moment she'd lapsed so into her accent that it had been rather hard to understand her.
"Oh," Rio said, trying for peaceful conversation, "try a plum, they're better than sex."
"Really?" Jess tried one, letting the juice run down her chin. "Mmmm... I believe you may be right..."
"Don't have a plum-orgy." Rio warned her. "We'll have to kick you out."
"Like you don't ever have plum-orgies." Jess scoffed.
"Hey, I can have fruitsex whenever I want." Rio insisted.
Jess raised her eyebrows. "I'm leaving..."
"Bye!" The girls chorused. "I hate you." They then told each other."
"Why do you hate me?" Rio said innocently.
"Because you suck."
"Stop picking up my American slang!" She whined.
"Yes ma'am." The other rolled her eyes and started to strip. "I'm going to crawl in bed and not think about plums for a while, okay?"