Erik's Perspective:
Mentally I was still laughing as I walked alone on the icy stones, hidden safely in my passage ways.
That boy, that amusing fool... I would remember that encounter for some time. To think, that I was a member of the cast pulled into a conspiracy against the newly employed? What had inspired that madness? "Though truly, I am becoming a monster, leading him on in that manner..." I laugh again, I cannot help it. It feels good, I have missed this sensation... With a chuckle that fades into a sigh I turned to return home... when a strange sound comes floating down the tunnel towards me.
Curious, I silently followed the sound until I arrived at a dressing room that I had never considered visiting before. This room in question was the leading lady's private dressing chamber. La Carlotta, had long since returned to Spain... Thank God. I could only assume they had given the use of the room to someone else, perhaps several someone's. The room was large when I designed it, and large when it was built, for I built it. It seemed safe to assume it was still so.
Peering through a giant mirror I was greeted by the sight of Diana Grey. She sat on a stool, alone, brushing her hair and reading notes on choir paper. So she has made the choir as well. I had seen more than enough, Giry would manage the matter of the music, the girl and I had no further business.
I turned to go, but was forced to halt. That sound, the strange tone that had first grabbed my attention had resumed. And it was to my back. I turned, pressed my ear to the mirror. There could be no question, it was coming from her. A second Soprano she had said? Yes, I could hear that now. She favored the lower notes, almost into the alto range. It was a honeyed tone, soothing, soft, and full. I closed my eyes, cut free my other senses and listened. She was poorly trained, perhaps someone had offered her coaching in their spare time. She had enthusiasm, and she was using that subconsciously to cover her lack of technique. That, I knew too well, would land her swiftly into trouble.
Her breath control was strong, at least. I had seen that during the audition. How strange, that she had felt the music in the manner she had, without a true teacher. Who had governed her practice? She could not have done it herself, that was poor judgment to the excess. Who had recommended the piece to her?
How had they acquired it?
Ah, I had come full circle. I opened my eyes, rested my weight against the stones. This was interesting... and far, far too familiar. Talented, untrained, musically skilled and eager without guidance. Young, aspiring and foolish. Yes, I knew this story all too well.
She would need lessons to hold her place on the choir, for they would not have the time to instruct her on such basic failings. The right teacher could take her, mould that throat, and in the end play it like a violin. She would sing like a lark, but I would not hear it. No, I would have nothing to do with this any further. Let some other specter make her tone perfect, my pupil was dead. She would never sing again. " Christine..."
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Diana looked up from the pages, her brow furrowed with confusion. "That voice... who are you? Why are you here?" I gave her no answer, embarrassed and irritated that she had heard me. I did gain some amusement as she searched the room inch by inch, brandishing a candleholder as her weapon of protection. Finally, she gave up.
"It must have been my imagination... but he sounded so close to me..." She sank down onto the bench with a nervous laugh, "This building does make one hear things... " Her eyes focused on the mirror. I could not meet those innocent eyes, the entire situation had crept under my skin, and it was eerie in that crevasse behind the mirror as I struggled with the ghosts of my past. It almost seemed that she knew I was there for she rose, moved to the mirror and lay her forehead against the cool glass. "Stop it Diana, stop letting your imagination run away without you." Her tone was self accusing. "You need to focus now, learn that music..." Her breath fogged the glass below her eyes. "Learn the music, make a living, make them proud... and forget that voice."
Make them proud? I wished her the best, for where making a living was concerned she had not picked the wisest of professions. Dancers were used up on a routine basis in the opera. They wear out from the years of strenuous dance, the graceful motions, the tours chaînés déboulés, the elegant Entrechat, and all those awe inspiring jumps of grace. It ruined them all in the end, and most left us unsure of their futures. If they could not secure a post where they might teach the next ballet generation... Making a living was not a goal that inspired one to dance professional ballet.
I did agree with her last point, she needed to forget the unseen mans voice.
She heard his footsteps before I did, she pulled away from the glass, turned toward the door. "What on earth..?"
"Diana! Where are you?" Peter Grey burst into the room, slamming the door back into the wood. His face was pale, his shoulders trembling.
"I'm right here Peter, What is it? Are you alright?"
Unseen, I listened silently as Peter and Diana spoke in hushed voices. Peter told her of the murder on the catwalk, he called it a "terrible accident," and explained that he had worried for her safety with such things happening. The clock had reached the seventh hour before he finished. For reasons unknown to me, I had remained throughout.
Diana shuddered when her brother stopped talking, sympathetic tears ran from her eyes. "I'm so sorry Peter...It sounds as if you liked him well. Pore Joseph, what a frightful way to die... Oh Peter..." She buried her head in his shoulder.
Worriedly Peter tried to comfort her, not wanting her upset for his sake. "There was nothing you could have done Diana, don't cry, don't cry..." For a while the two remained motionless, save Diana's hand, which held her brother to her. When she looked up again she wore a supportive smile, which almost hid her wet eyes.
"Have you told the managers?" Peter nodded, an angry sigh escaping from him.
"Yes I told them, they contacted the police. That's all anyone could do now. But the people here Diana..." Peter shook his head, looking bothered. "Anyone could see it was an accident, he fell from the catwalk. His whiskey was not far from him. With any luck, he was asleep when he fell. But these theater people... they seem to think it was no accident at all. They claim their ghost did it. Well I could tell them he didn't, their "ghost" was speaking to me surely just before he..." Peter paused, his eyes narrowed, then widened. "Oh I feel the fool..."
Diana sensed the change in him, "Peter? What is it?"
Peter shuddered, "We spoke right above him, that man and I... and neither one of us knew he was dead below us... That... Gods what a day." Peter pulled away from her, rested his head in his hand. "The crew played a joke on me today, someone dressed up at the Opera Ghost, and he startled me on the catwalk. Then we spoke, and went our separate ways, none the wiser to what was below our feet. I wonder is he knows about this yet... He must feel as much the fool as I."
Diana rose from her seat and wrapped around his back."I'm glad that you weren't harmed. It sounds like the catwalk is a dangerous place to work. Be careful when you go up there Peter...you're the only family I have."
Peter sighed, "I'm always careful, you worry to much about me. I'm the elder sibling, just let me worry about you."
I could only watch this scene with disbelief. How blissfully ignorant they both were! How long could that last? How had it lasted to this point, for that matter? The world outside these walls was empty, cold, and cruel. It spared none its spurs save the nobility who could purchase themselves ways about inconvenience. These two were not of such blood, if they were they had no business here. Long ago had I lost faith in humanity's inherent goodness. No, it was original sin upon all, compounded by life's lessons. I could understand the sister remaining so gentle, had the brother become wise, and likewise in the opposite manner. But both? And a part of me was almost repulsed by this; this bordered on foolishness.
I have no patience for fools.
"The managers have chosen not to cancel tonights practice, but I'm sure that everyone is uneasy, I wouldn't be surprised if no one attended. You could probably go strait to your room without questions. I would understand if you did not feel like singing..."
I did not want to hear any more. Listening to them together was uncomfortable in the gentlest of terms. It hurt.
With a swish of his cloak the Phantom disappeared down the passage.
Although I had not been physically harmed, I felt the deep pains of loneliness in every inch of my being. Love... it is a gift that is taken for granted by they to whom it is familiar. The love of those who are siblings, the love of the parent, the loves of lovers, the love of the married... all these are undervalued in the mortal heart. All these exist for all mankind, and they in turn exercise them at their leasure. Yet I am condemned to live unknown to love, save brief, precious flickers that I clutch in my tattered heart with every breath this body takes. Tonight, that heart is heavy. I return to the tomb, uncaring of discovery. They will know me soon regardless. Workers flee my presence as my shadow sweeps over them. Their screams of phantom fade into the passageways behind me until I can no longer hear them. One sound does remain, my accompaniment on this silent walk. The soft sound of empty tears hitting the stone floor.
I had been so numb for so long... and what a blessing it had been. I had renounced laughter yes, but also tears. I had renounced these doubts and desires, these confusions and longings. I was healing, perhaps. That was as positive an outlook as I could manage. I was raw from these past years, and now the flesh was attempting to mend. It would hurt before it was done, but the relief to follow would compensate for the discomfort. If I could convince myself that I believed such an artistic, idiotic analogy, I would be fine. I was simply healing... feeling again... I would feel because She could not, and If I felt again... Perhaps I would feel her.
When I finally reached my home I entered the abandoned guest room, and remove the black cloth from the mirror below it. I hated mirrors, had hated them for years. Odd perhaps that I had a chamber filled with them, but in my defense, it is a torture chamber. Only one cosmetic mirror had I allowed in my sanctuary, and it had been for her. With trembling hands, I remove my mask... seeking to see what she saw, seeking to understand that last night. I need to understand those last moments... that kiss...
A deformed corpse appears on the polished glass before me. I am for a moment startled, it had been so long. To my surprise I feel... nothing. There is no sorrow or loathing, not even disgust. All emotion I had ever felt over my curse abandoned me in that moment. I looked upon meat and bone, I looked upon skin. I did not look upon my face, I did not Identify with this face. How could that be...? What did this mean..? How were my eyes so very bright? Hadn't the little sultan enjoyed looking into my eyes? I could see why! They were almost delightful for the contrast. I felt strangely giddy, puzzled and giddy. I reached up, placed my palm upon a cheek.
Abruptly all giddiness was gone. I identified with that hand well enough, and this had suddenly become real. I jerked back with a cry, turned my head from that terror. I could not bare it, I could not bare it! How had I lived like this? How had I lived with this? Ah this affliction! Monstrous! Absolutely monstrous! I had seen better faces on dead men! Now I felt fear, a blind panic, an overpowering loathing. I felt weak, I felt sick, it seemed the ground would reach forth and pull me down, I was suddenly to heavy for my legs to hold me... There, the mask! In my hand, here it was, onto that horror, covering my renewed shame.
I only now realized that I had been roaring, screaming and cursing. I am humbled to the pit of my soul. I could not face myself. I had only looked upon that which I had possessed since birth, and I could not face it. How had she held my gaze, my pure Christine? How had she... how had she dared... to kiss that? I stand, look to the mirror again. My eyes gleam out of the eyeholes of the mask, and I am at ease. This countenance I can bare, and so can the rest of the world. No one... no one must ever again see my face.
"Insane! This is all insane!
Andre walked across the room to stoke the fire. Raoul sat at a chair near the managers desk, across from him sat the Persian. At the pre-mentioned desk Firmin was busy reading the note which had mysteriously appeared on the table outside the door. Turning to his agitated partner Firmin sighed helplessly.
"I thought it was over, truly Andre I did." Both managers turned towards the Persian with desperate looks. "You are the only one who can help, yes?"
"Do something before he ruins us!" Andre snapped. "Do you have any idea how much we have had to put into this building?" The Persian seemed not to hear him. Andre moaned helplessly and sank into a chair.
"Well? What should be done?" Firmin demanded, bringing his fist down onto the table. Now the Persian looked up, annoyance plainly visible on his face.
"For a start sir you should calm yourself down and cease behaving like a child. He will come and listen in on us if we attract his attention." Firmin seemed about to burst with protests at the Persians insult. However, Raoul motioned him to be silent as the Persian continued. "Secondly, I must suggest that you cancel this evenings rehearsals, even if it should set you back a week." Andre raised his eyes to the sky as if to ask God himself, why me? "...However, I can tell that you intend to do no such thing. So I will go and attempt to speak with him myself."
Raoul leapt to his feet, "I'll come with you."
The Persian could refrain from shooting Raoul a dubious look."With all due respect Viscount, I will be attempting to calm our Phantom down, and the two of you have an obvious tendency to piss each other off."
Firmin snorted, then covered it up by taking out his hankerchief as though it had been a sneeze. All present turned their heads to the door when it opened.
Madam Giry walked silently into the room and looked back at them with cold unrevealing eyes. She walked to the manager's desk and placed another note on its polished surface. With an angry swipe, Andre grabbed the piece of paper before Firmin could so much as reach for it, and began to read it.
My dearest managers,
I have been informed that you do not intend to cancel tonights rehearsal. I do approve, there is no need to inconvenience the entire cast and crew. However, I would suggest that the catwalk about the stage be checked, it is old wood, and I worry that someone might be harmed as they preform their tasks. Another incident so soon would be unfortunate. I do demand that box five is kept safe for me, as I intend to watch the opera when it is opened to the public. In addition, I would suggest that you hire a new stagehand to replace the fatality of earlier today. To finish our business as I am sure you are eager to, I will make this short, I expect that when you have read this note you will not forget to give the envelope containing my salary to Madam Giry.
Your bemused corespondent,
O.G.
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The room was silent. Firmin shook his head in disbelief, Andre smiled at him sourly.
Raoul seemed puzzled. "Andre, would you read the preceeding note?"
The Persian turned his head to regard the Viscount. The management also seemed puzzled. Andre put the present note back onto the desk, and took up its predecessor . "Is there a reason I am enduring this frustration a second time, Viscount?"
Raoul nodded distantly. "Please, appease my curiosity."
Andre, seeing that he had received the only answer he was to get, huffed under his breath and lifted the note to his eyes.
To My Undoubtably Disturbed Management,
How does one re-establish communication discontinued for three years prior? At a moment such as this one should perhaps have a thought out message, intended no doubt to warmly welcome the other party back into their world of interest. As you however know, there are few with whom I keep in correspondence, and always it is at my directing. Despite that, in sight of the importance of this occasion, I do wish you both prosperity, and good health.
In fact, I can more than wish it, I can guarantee it. Please note this as I am sure you have caught my suggestion.
On to business, there are several matters that demand our attention. As you will hear more of this soon I will be brief upon this page. Do you understand interest? Do you understand how interest accumulates over time? Consider this, and consider that I have and interest rate in place. I do not bluff or jest, your predecessor left behind instruction on this matter. In the past there were times he could not pay his way, and I allowed a respite in our financial communications. When this period of inconvenience was over, I was compensated for my patience.
There is a great deal of compensation that must take place, hopefully soon. For your interest, gentlemen, is growing. I will allow you to preform the equations, as I often feel you lack stimulation in that office. My salary is 20,000 Franks a month, I hold my interest by each uncompensated week completed after it has passed due. It is a reasonable interest, 25 franks by the week. There are 52 weeks in a year.
I hope this matter can be solved shortly.
Your expectant specter,
O.G.
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Raoul let out his breath, eyes wider than they had been before. "I was not expecting that I will admit, I was more interested in the tone..."
Andre's smile was so badly strained he looked to be in physical pain. "The interest for the first missed month alone is 3,900 franks. But If he is counting each missed payment, and there are 12 months in a year, and all but one salary is overdue... without counting interest he is due 720,000 franks! And then with the interest..! Gah!"
Firmin nodded his ascent. "We cannot pay!"
Sensing the growing hostility, Madam Giry backed away from the group. She turned swiftly to exit the room.
"Wait madam!" Firmin stepped between her and the door. "I think its time we had a serious talk." He shut and locked the door, laying his back against it.
Giry's eyes widened in fear, she knew they had her trapped. "Monsieur's, let me out!" The managers were unmoved. Desperately she turned to the Viscount, then to Daroga. In a moments desperation she pushed Firmin from his lean and pulled upon the handles, then pounded on the door, her form trembled with brutally suppressed fear.
With a depressed sympathy in his heart the Persian rose from his chair and offered it to her. "Please, take a seat Madam Giry, no one will harm you."
She was reluctant, but she complied with his request. Not for a moment did anyone present consider that she had any fear of them, only that she feared one they could not see. Here, in the room, they could all feel his presence seeping in. "Please...I... I cannot help you, let me leave." In the shadows outside a dark form listened, hearing their every breath. His eyes narrowed, his hand landed on the doorknob.
In answer to Giry's plea the door that had previously been blocking her escape burst open. Seizing her chance Giry sprinted to the door and disappeared through it just as it came slamming shut. Throughout all of this, not a person in the room had managed to stop the inevitable.
"Curse that ghost! How does he do that?" The only answer Andre received, or for that matter needed was the sound of spectral laughter, seemingly from the walls themselves.
Erik turned his attention to watch Madam Giry run down the hallways to the dressing rooms. Pausing to lean against the nearby wall she looked in his direction and failed to see him. Obviously she was still a good deal shaken from the attempted interrogation incident. Erik advanced, intent on speaking with her. His progress was hindered when Meg came up behind him. She moved to stay with him as he moved out of her way, and whispered to him that she needed to speak with her mother urgently. The Phantom faded into the shadows with a courteous bow and was gone.
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Peter paused, he watched as Meg moved into the shadows and began to speak to them. Perturbed, he was planning to question her, what kind of person speaks to the walls? Then the shadow bowed. As Peter attempted to get a better look the mobile shadow spotted him. Turning its back the phantom vanished into the wall itself. Peter was hesitant to blink for several moments. His eyes had deceived him, that must be the case. How else could such things as he had seen happen? Meg turned and blinked, startled to see him. Then she blushed, looked down... a shy smile on her face. Embarrassed Peter was obliged to smile back.
"You seem bothered Peter, is something wrong? ...Oh, I see. You've seen him now, haven't you." It was not a question, but a statement. Peter caught himself nodding, Meg smiled sympathetically... her eyes showing some concern. "Most see him eventually, forget it, don't think of it. There's nothing you can do."
"What are you talking about? Seen him? Are we thinking of the same person? The Ghost impersonator I met on the catwalk, you were speaking to him, yes? How did he do that? Where is he?""
Meg hesitated, "Impersonator? There is not impersonator. No one would be so foolish..." Suddenly uncomfortable she drew back against the wall behind her.
"What is wrong? Mademoiselle Meg, who is he?!"
Meg shook her head, the look she sent him implored him for silence. "You will understand at your own rate, I must speak with my mother. Good day monsieur." She turned and ran off down the hall. In moments he was alone.
The dark is swallowing the world I know.
Below the opera house, where few dare go...
Within that emptiness, I fear to find...
The remnants of forgotten pasts I've seen... inside my mind.
Reach out your hand to me, release your fear.
I'm always watching you, I'm always here...
You need no lamp, nor light... for sleep is blind...
The Phantom of the Opera awaits... inside your mind.
Your voice calls out to me, like midnight air
I can't escape from you...
In dreams there is no second place; He wins...
I Close my eyes.