1Chapter three -Eve of the Big Day

Madam Giry traveled down the stairs and into her room where she had a cloth to wipe her soiled hand on. Her current dress was lined with silk and provided by Meg who had received it from a loyal fan one night. Meg insisted that Madam Giry have it since she had many nice dresses while her mother had but one or two. It was not something she wished to stain.

Madam Giry sat down at the small washing bin by her dresser and began lightly scrubbing her palm with a sponge. She couldn't help but wonder why that blood was on the wall and who was injured enough to produce it. If someone was seriously hurt in their midst, surely one of the others must know about it. With how thick the layer was on the wall - almost a complete hand, like a painting dunked in red - it could be dangerous if unkept.

After she finished washing, Madam Giry dried both hands on the small rag hanging to the left of the sink simply to make sure that both hands were completely clean. Touching a collection of blood on the wall - still warm and bright red with oxygen - wasn't the best feeling to behold.

Maybe one of the people down at breakfast would know something about it, then maybe she could forget about it and focus on the day.

OOOOO

The phantom stumbled down the stairway into his underground lair. Too much information to swallow at once. She had lived there the entire time? He didn't know? She knew his secret all along and never told? Questions began jerking him abruptly in different directions making his head spin. All this time, he had never known? How could that be? How could he haven't had recognized her?

"Fool," he thought to himself falling into his favorite chair and propping his head up with one hand rested lightly on the arm. All this time of living in the same building as her and never knowing any more about her. How pathetic was he? The phantom wasn't one to beat himself for mistakes but even now he felt the strong urge to strike himself across the face. He reached over for a candlestick, and picked it up. But after looking at it a while, he set it back in its place. He had no time for depression, there was going to be a visit soon he had overheard from Carlotta - though it wasn't hard to do since she had been screaming - and he had to get things prepared.

He stood up, walked over to his small writing table, and sat down on his stool. The phantom took up his pen and fixed his eyes on the page as it scratched quick letters into the paper. He'd teach those two to double-cross him...

OOOOO

"How will we explain this Andre?" Firmin asked waving a piece of paper in his partner's face as they walked. The last show they had put on wasn't exactly a five star opera. Carlotta was the lead as usual, even though she could not sing the part and everyone knew it. The critiques didn't take too kindly to that sorry excuse for an opera and they didn't cease to say what they thought of it in the reviews.

"I don't know," Andre said. "It's probably best if we don't mention this to Carlotta."

"But she's expecting to hear a review of the opera," Firmin argued stuffing the paper in his jacket pocket pulled tight 'round his middle.

"Then we'll say that one wasn't written," Andre offered.

"We can't say that there isn't one. There's always one."

Andre gave Firmin a look of annoyance. He always had to look at everything negatively. "Then we'll just write one. That'll hold 'til we get a good review on the opera, won't it?"

"Or we could tell her that it didn't come in yet and burn this old thing." Firmin said happily taking the yellow parchment out again.

"Burn what old thing?" Carlotta's voice rang through the lobby. All happiness and hope was flushed out of the two opera owners' systems. She trotted over to them - her full dress dragging on the ground in melodious grace only ruined by her quick and crude steps. They hadn't the time to hide it again for when Firmin had but half of the paper under his coat, Carlotta had already taken hold of it and yanked it away from him. She read it quickly - eyebrows knitted in concentration as she did. Finally she finished and her face turned beet red.

"And what is this?" She asked signaling an explosion coming.

Firmin and Andre both tried to start a safe sentence but Firmin got one out first. "It's the critique review for last week's opera." Andre slapped Firmin in the back of the head.

"The critique review? The critique review? You mean to tell me that this is what those puffed up, back-stabbing men who sit in the front seat have to say?" though both men thought it impossible, her face became even more red with fury.

"They are not always correct." Firmin said quickly to avert her anger.

"But they were this time, is that what you are saying?" Carlotta demanded. Neither could answer quickly enough. "That is it! I am not singing! Not now not ever! If that is what you think of my talent, I will not waste it on ungrateful people like you! End of story!" she began storming off towards the opera room.

"We can't afford to lose another singer," Andre whispered to Firmin. Firmin nodded and they both ran after her. "Carlotta please don't go!"

"I am going! Nothing you can say will stop me!" She insisted moving faster.

"Don't take what they say. The critiques do not know what they are saying! They're tone deaf and unappreciative of real talent." Firmin hurried in front of her and stopped her. "I say 'real talent' meaning you." he said calmly betraying his emotion.

Carlotta's scowl lightened the slightest bit. "Better keep going." Firmin thought. "You are a goddess of music! No other on earth is even fit to wipe the dirt from your blessed shoes!"

Finally Carlotta smiled as if saying: 'That's what I wanted to hear.' "Alright. I will sing. But no more bad reviews. No matter how tone deaf the critiques are, got it?"

"Yes," they answered together with a bow.

"From now on, all reviews will be nothing but flattering to your flourishing talent," Firmin assured her. Carlotta walked on ahead relieved at their graveling. In her eyes, this was the best they had done in their whole history together. Firmin and Andre walked back together and Andre drew closer to Firmin.

"And how do you plan on keeping the reviews good?" he asked expectantly.

Firmin smiled wryly. "We do a series of operas on what intrigues the citizens of France. The legends and myths of the Phantom of the Opera." Andre smiled also at this genius piece of work.

"That would be splendid!" he exclaimed.

"Yes. And now, without the opera ghost to ruin the show, this opera house will be what it should be: great!"

to be continued...