Act Three, Part Two
To Gottogirl; I actually came up with the idea for this story a year ago, so the last name thing was there the whole time. (Didn't you ever wonder what his last name was? I did:) As for Jonathan, no, he doesn't. he knows that something is wrong with her, but not what. Last, this is both Luroux and musical based, I just felt more comfortable putting down Viscount instead of Count. Nice to hear from you! And I'm sorry about my spelling! I never get it all…
Moving on!
Night, Giry winced as she directed the cast and crew into the seats of the theater. (The ghost will need all his skills to pull this off…) several members of the choir had already begun to whisper. She smiled grimly, (Well, at least there was no chance of that fool manager finding out. He hasn't set foot in the theater since the announcement of Diana's marriage.)
The Persian thugs had been put in charge of the theater, what a nightmare that had been… but they had become cocky. And soon, though not soon enough, they had all mysteriously vanished. No doubt fallen prey to the ghost, and to be truthful, they were not missed. They had been running around terrorizing the cast and crew just as harshly as the ghost ever had, demanding insane and ludicrous things, and dealing harshly with refusal. Worse than the ghost really, they had done it every day. (And the ghost had certainly never entered the dancer's dressing rooms to demand bed company!) Her eyes sparkled with anger at the memory; those men had certainly not gotten what they had come for. Instead, they had received an enraged specter, and a permanent, solitary, rest.
Meg looked at her mother in fear, "What is he going to do? He cannot truly intend to speak to the entire cast!" Giry sighed, "I'm fear that's exactly what he plans to do, to an extent…" The lamps suddenly failed, tossing the entire of the theater into darkness. Most screamed and gripped those closest to them, the stagehands called out to each other, the chorus began a group prayer, for a pair of catlike eyes had appeared before them, burning with inner fire. Then, very slowly, the lights returned to half of their former glow, allowing all to see the dark form flicker past the chandelier above them. The stagehands grew still, someone made the sign of the cross, another sobbed silently. Then, for a moment, all was silent, save for the whimpering of the frightened children of the company.
"Ah… it is good to see my instructions being followed for a change. I thank you."
With the grace of a panther, silent and deadly, the ghost walked over the rafters above them. And when he spoke, the voice did not come from him, but rather every place that he was not in.
"So for the first and last time, I address you as a group."
His eyes never left them, even as he descended onto the stage. "The time has come, for all present to chose where they will place their faith. There is a war that has been fought all around you, you know it well. Now the final battle is to come," He paused, making eye contact with all present, even it seemed, those he could not see. "…I will hide nothing. I will kill the manager Jonathan, and I do believe you all know why." His eyes locked on a stagehand, "Davis! Did he not tell you that the wages for stagehands were to be raised? I believe he did, am I mistaken..?" Davis swallowed, "…he might have, yes, I think he did." The specter smiled, "He gave you his word Davis, and did he follow through?" Davis shook his head, His eyes turned another way. "Adele, he told you that you were the greatest dancer he had ever seen, that your grace was that of a dryad. …but not a day after that was said, you found that your salary had been cut, with no explanation. Yes?" She shivered, shaking to hard to reply, but her head bobbed. "…My poor flute players… who for years have put all their skill into the perfection that is this Company. The newer opera's have little to no use for you, and your years of service have been forgotten."
"Our beloved chorus! To be replaced with those trained in Italy…"
"We need only half the costume girls, let the rest go wherever..."
"We need new leadership; our stage manager is no longer what he was once…"
"…Giry, you have become expendable…"
"I will place these qualified personnel in charge of the opera in my absence, I'm sure all will go well… yes, and it all went well… didn't it."
The cast sat ridged, many were still in a rage over the incidents he had mentioned. Some had forgotten their personal troubles, many were angry for their friends and associates. A muttering followed in his words presence, he stood silent, a forbidding and imposing shadow just in sight. Allowing them to argue it amongst themselves. Giry shook her head baffled, "Of course, get them mad at someone else, and ease the way for you. It certainly fits you O.G. …" His gaze returned to the crowd, on instinct all fell still, many realizing the danger they were still in, the danger that the children were in… "So now you see, you must band together, if you are ever to regain control of your lives, you're your futures. I can no longer fight for you alone." The doors to the theater banged open, Raoul and the Persian raced inside, their expressions tense. From their seats, the cast watched the two legendary rivals lock eyes.
Raoul blinked, realizing from the position that he had placed himself into, that what he did now could influence if Erik's risk paid off. With silence, he regained his composure and walked toward the stage. The two kept eye contact, it almost burned to look at those eyes, they were bright with the glee of the danger, and dark with fear, and that sharp ice that only he carried. Raoul stood tall, looking up, The Phantom did not move, he gazed down. Finally, Raoul nodded lightly, bowing at the waist. The ghost stood tall a moment longer, then returned the gesture, a smile-hidden bellow the mask. The cast remained quiet, their minds racing. Daroga followed Raoul's example.
The specter turned to Giry, who in turn turned around and did something that surprised all. She motioned to the cast, and about twelve individuals came forward and bowed at the waist with her. Meg and Kirsty at the lead, then several dancers, two stagehands, and the orchestra conductor.
"These have already decided what side they are on, we await the others decision." The cast swayed, uncertain, fearful, these were their choices? A Phantom or a poor Manager? Yes, Jonathan had done them no favors, but had the Ghost? Were both not equally evil? To side with one, to side with neither? But the eyes held them, such eyes unmeant for anything mortal. They held, they commanded and yet coaxed, so slowly, one by one, the masses began to rise. These examples or their personal fears compelled many of the undecided. Those who trusted neither decided to deal with one, than the other. Almost all rose to show their support. "To those still seated, if I cannot receive your assistance, then I command you to stay out of the way."
A muttering of agreement filled the hall, and the last of those sitting rose. This was what they needed, poor choice or not. Something to stand behind, something to rally for. It's hard to say what any might have felt. But you know the feeling, we all do. If you have ever taken on a task that seemed too big or complicated, and you join with others to push for it, you know. It is warmth and fire, a flame that sparks from person to person until all are set ablaze. And in its heart Erik appeared more Colossus than Ghost, and more man than mortal. In the center of the group a small fight issued between two cast members, with a grunt the loser was thrown forward. Peter looked up at the looming figure before him, wincing at the accusations his former friends threw at him. "It's 'is fault! He's in league with the manager!"
"He gave his own sister to that madman!"
"Put him to the ghost's judgment!"
"…Enough!"
Peter watched as Erik's hand disappeared under his cloak, and emerged with a coil of rope. The entire cast fell silent. Angry cast members, that's all they were, but that's how mobs are formed, from tensions, spark, and a scapegoat. The Phantom's eyes locked with Peter's, he lay the noose down between them. "What have you done..? She is your own sister, does her happiness mean nothing to you!" Peter stepped forward, his eyes dark. "Yes, her happiness means everything to me, I was fooled, I know better now. So if you don't kill him soon Phantom, I will." There was a cheer from the cast and crew, but Peter could see the pain, in his sister's chosen ones eyes.
"…And you call me murderer… I, at least, no matter how badly I have wanted someone dead, have never cheered for it." The cast was unsure of how to respond to this, The Phantom's eyes never left Peter's face, "I never thought I would have to say this to someone, from me it is almost a mockery. Peter Grey, do not feel joy. Not over someone's death." Peter shook his head, "I have seen you kill and enjoy it! You even laughed!" The cast shuddered, but did not break, like a crowd waiting to see a hanging. Erik nodded, a small smile playing over his face. "I will not deny it; I enjoy the act of killing, because I long ago lost my respect for humanity as a whole."
The fire in those ghost eyes seemed to grow stronger. "I kill when I have to, when it is required, and more than once my temper has determined when a life was cut short." For a moment, it seemed he was moving forward, his golden eyes… now full of hate. Peter held his ground eyes alight with his own challenge. "Yet I have never forgotten! That when I die they will kill me a thousand times over in my final judgment!" Peter drew back, his eyes wide. The feeling of fear had returned with vengeance. Why was it easier to fear the man than the ghost? His eyes shot open as he felt something grip the collar of his shirt and hoist him into the air. "Never forget, that I am forever damned for my actions, my crimes against my own race, and they, for their crimes against me!"
Daroga stared in shock as the Punjab lasso held Peter in a death grip, and Erik moved closer, seemingly to go for the kill. Now the silence was replaced with screams, fear and anger plain in every face. The cast surged forward until he turned on them, "There! Do you see now? Was this not what you wanted to see? When you stood silent and watched? That is the true difference between us!" Drawing his dagger, the Phantom cut the nose free, allowing Peter to sprawl gasping at his feet. "You were willing to let it go this far! Why stop now? Why?" They were silent once more. The ghost stood his ground, towering on the stage above them all, but his voice turned softer, almost. "You all still feel in yourselves, all of you, that murder is a terrible sin, it repulses you… and yes, that's how it should be." Calmly, as if he had not just held a life to the flame, he offered Peter his hand. With caution, Peter allowed Erik to pull him to his feet.
"Now Peter, now that you know how it feels to know you will die, do you still wish it on another?" Peter shook his head, "No… now I don't think I could even wish it on Satan himself… how can you do it? You, who understand it so well…" Erik smiled grimly, and replied in a whisper almost a hiss, " I simply pretend that the person I kill was never human to begin with, I learned long ago not to care." With a deep sigh, he turned his eyes back to the group, then once more to Peters shaking form. "…But I cannot let that happen to you Peter… you can still find comfort. You aren't dead yet, you can still feel, and you must never allow yourself to change. The ones who change become the hunters, and two hunters you already know too well. Stay safe Peter, stay pure."
The silence in the theater that night was almost suffocating, instructions, written out in red ink, were given to every member of both the cast and crew, from the youngest dancer, to the oldest stagehand. All had simple instructions, wear this, and say that, move away from here when the time is right. And if all went as planned…
Well, I need not say.