Chapter Fifty Five: Dusty Souls

Leah

I fingered the slim wooden box nervously as I approached the door.

My mind was still reeling from the shock I had received earlier in the morning.

The day had begun routinely enough. Nothing about my sparse breakfast had foretold the impending mystery. No one event in the early light of the rising sun had heralded the conspiracy that I was about to uncover.

Even the mundane schedule of my overwhelming workload for Mme. Bygler had seemed completely benign, aside from the fact that it threatened to drown me in its heavy tide. With the gala retirement performance only a week away and New Years Eve fast approaching, my sewing table had greeted me with an overflowing of last minute detailing for Carlota's voluminous skirts and several employee commissioned disguises that remained distressingly incomplete.

Much to my dismay, I had not been at my work for the whole of five minutes before I was accosted by my squinting supervisor. She deposited nearly twenty slim little packages and a small stack of order specifics on top of my neatly folded assignments and sharply informed me that I had more to finish for the Masque.

Ever since the woman discovered that I possessed some ability with paint, she had foisted every order for a decorated mask on me, despite my already unmanageable responsibilities.

With a disgruntled sigh that she either did not hear in her old age or simply chose to ignore as she left the room, I began picking through my new burdens. Each mask was unique, made from different substances and formed into different shapes by some of the craftsmen on the Garnier's payroll. Some were paper mache, some were ceramic, a few were leather or fur, and one was made from an odd composition that I could not quite place.

It was this strange mask that immediately caught my attention. It was crafted to be a wonderfully accurate mimic of the face and neck of a handsome young man. The material was somewhat flexible, and reminded me strongly of the stuff that is used to make children's bouncing balls.

I could instantly see that it had been crafted to mold itself to someone's face so snugly that no one would be able to tell the mask from the face, save for the fact that the mask was a glaring shade of white.

"Who on earth would want such an odd thing?" I wondered to myself as I absentmindedly fished its order form out of the small mountain on my desk. Upon discovering that the strange disguise was to be painted in a realistic fashion, I felt a prickling of despair. I had begun to rather admire the unconventional idea for a costume, but knew that I could never do the painting justice without a reference from which to paint.

"I shall just have to speak to the customer…" I thought aloud as I scanned the page for the name of the unlucky person. A bit surprised by the name, I wondered for a moment about how to find them at this hour of the morning before setting off to a tiny office that I had visited so often in the past.

An act that was so common place, so everyday as going about my work, should not have had such dire repercussions, yet it did. What I discovered in that slim wooden case would forever alter my bond with one of the most important people in my sheltered life.

He was not in when I arrived, but I knew Tio Giry's office quite well. Unlike his wife, a neat, precise woman, Tio Giry was quite disorganized. The dim little room was filled with every sort of knick-knack to ever have existed in the Garnier. Tools, old crusts of bread, open books and week old coffee mugs cohabitated happily in the cluttered room, perching on ever surface.

As I waited for him as patiently as I could, something caught my eye. Two pairs of tiny ballet slippers in a glass case were the only objects free of dust and clutter, displayed almost reverently on a shelf high above the chaos of the room.

I stood for several moments lost in my own thoughts, craning my neck to have a better view of what were undoubtedly his daughter's first pairs of shoes. Tiny, worn soles and dusty pink satin reminded me of my own first pair of slippers.

Abuelo had only bought them for me after weeks of pleading and whining on my part. Though he was less rigid about my interests and pursuits than mama and Abuela, there was still a vague line that dancing seemed to cross. Lessons on the pianoforte, he had indulged happily. A private master to teach me to paint had been gladly procured. Skills of that sort were excellent additions to any well bred girl's repertoire, for they were attractive qualities that would help her in her quest to obtain a suitable husband.

Ironically, the only attentions that either of those skills had ever managed to attract had been the attentions of one Cassius Blune.

Even sparring with Henry had been roughly ignored and tolerated, and sometimes chuckled about. But dancing … dancing had taken some convincing on my part. Young ladies of my station frequently took private lessons for ballroom dancing, yet ballet was an entirely different matter. Ballet was performed on the stage, and the stage was not acceptable.

The very stage that had shown me my freedom had been my downfall in the end, but I had realized it too late.

Lost in thought, I failed to see the table behind me as I continued to shuffle backwards. Letters, inventory lists, memos, and blueprints lay in a jumbled heap on the floor before I knew what had happened. Carefully abandoning my little box, I stooped to gather the papers and return them to their roost on the chair. But as I hurried to set things to right, a letter caught my eye.

Disbelieving, I picked up the morbid, black lined paper with trembling fingertips. I held it nearly at arms length from my body, as though it were some vicious breed of beast that would attack without warning. Surely there had to be some other explanation for the incriminating evidence in my hands! Surely, Tio Giry … he would not!

It could not be true.

And yet, the handwriting was that of a drunken four year old, written in blood red ink.

P-

I have enclosed several lists of materials that I shall require immediately. I trust you will do your duty and procure them for me. Also, make the purchase of that plot of land we spoke about earlier. Pay them whatever they require, and furnish it as I have outlined.

My Regards,

E-

I could not believe my eyes.

How could it be true? How could Tio Giry be aligned with that …. that …. man?

Didn't he know what he had done to me?

My questions were cut short when the object of my inquiries appeared in the door behind me. I turned quickly and stood, nearly loosing my balance and clutching the incriminating document to my chest.

For a moment, we simply stood staring at one another, gap-mouthed in the wake of my discovery. Tio Giry seemed taller than ever seeming to loom larger than his usual foot or so over my head. Coal black eyes glittered back at me from his slightly wrinkled, sun bronzed face, framed by a well trimmed beard that seemed to bristle with surprise.

Embarrassment flitted through my veins, but it was quickly replaced by seeds of incredulity and a sense of being wounded, knowing that this man who was like an uncle to me had aided the monster who had killed my dreams. Anger grew from them like a weed, so that when Tio Giry was finally able to speak again, I was quite upset.

"What are you doing in here, child?"

"I came to speak to you about that" I seethed, barely missing the little box with the mask inside with the toe of my worn leather boot. "But I found this."

I gestured wildly with the terrible letter, nearly throwing it at him as my voice grew louder.

He looked startled, and began to reply, but I refused to allow him a word.

"I know who wrote this, Tio!" I boomed out, my voice hot and full of fire. "I know who he is! I, of all people in this damned opera house, I know very well who he is! How could you?"

"How could you work with that TERRIBLE man? Don't you know what he did? He is a cruel monster who has hurt me time and time again, like others before me I have no doubt. How can you stand there, knowing that you are aiding him? Don't you understand what he took away from me? How could you … Why did you …"

"Leah, give me a momen-

"He is a MONSTER! And you run his little errands for him and try to trick me into making a mask to hide his true nature from the world. You are just as guilty as him!"

"Why, damnit? Why?" I screeched like a feral cat, wadding up the awful note and hurling it at his head.

My aim had never been very good, and the ball of stationary fell harmlessly at his feet before he found the breath to reply.

"Leah," he breathed out slowly, considering his words, "sit down fille, you are shaking like a leaf."

He quickly cleared off a chair and fussed over me in an all too familiar, nearly fatherly manner that was too familial for my comfort. But he was right. My anger had drained away what little energy I had found in my nights of troubling sleep, and I sat.

He began to pace the small floor, stroking his beard and mulling over what he ought to say. At the same time, emptiness and sadness began to fill me painfully. I wanted so badly to believe that I had made some sort of mistake, that I was wrong in my assumptions, yet the expression on his face wordlessly confirmed my worst fears.

"Please, Tio…" I choked, unable to cry but needing to more than anything, "Please tell me that it isn't true."

All I wanted from life at that moment was to hear him calm me and tell me that I had jumped to conclusions. Like a child, I wished that he would somehow make everything all better and release me from my anguish.

But he did not.

"Oh child, I wish that I could. The truth is, I have helped him."

I stiffened, knowing that my worst fears were true. How could I have ever trusted him? How could I trust anyone now?

"Why?" I spoke with a sharp, cold edge. "Why?"

"Because," he sat down next to me and sighed heavily, "He once helped someone I love. He saved their life. It is a debt I cannot repay."

"Oh." It was the only word that I could seem to form. Shock reverberated through every corner of my body.

That thing had HELPED someone?

"And I know, yes." His sigh was much deeper than before, heavy with regret. His voice grew lower and gained a sort of pained rasp. "I know … what he has done. But fille, you must understand, he is not the monster you believe him to be."

"Wha…!"

"Let me explain, fille. You have heard the adage 'do not judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes'?"

"Oui…"

"Fille, if you were to walk in his shoes, you would weep and weep until the day that you died. He has known so much pain in his life that I am not sure if he is even capable of understanding what he does…"

For several hours, Tio Giry told me what he knew of this mysterious ghost.

…
When he finally ended his tale, we sat in silence.

I could no longer find it in me to blame Tio Giry, and sympathized with his obligation, promising my silence. I knew that I would now be protecting the man I despised, if only with omission of the truth I now knew, but my love for my surrogate family in the opera house was great enough to conquer all else.

And though I hated myself for admitting it, I began to understand what Tio had meant about shoes. How could anyone survive so much pain in one short lifetime?

Yet my own pain still battled in my heart with my pity, and the latter was finally kept at bay. The horror of his twisted, abhorrent face still would haunt my dreams, and his uncaring hand had stripped me of my joy. And I had no idea about how I ought to feel about his romantic advances towards me. Perhaps they had not been malicious, as I had once thought… I should have been relieved that he had ceased his attentions to my person. Surely I was happy to be free of his slightly mad clutches.

Wasn't I?

Hate still stirred inside me, for this man had committed the most reprehensible sin of all. He had stolen a small portion of my heart.

I did not love him. I was not sure if I ever had, yet some tiny part of me still held a smidgen of tenderness for the man that had once been so kind to me. Had he too, perhaps, felt some small amount of something? Or was it too much to hope?

Damn it, why should I care what he felt? He was an insane, monstrous devil who had killed the best thing I had ever had!

And yet…

I did not know what I felt, but I knew that hate was the prevalent emotion, and I clung to it like a drowning woman.

But whatever my emotions, I was still a woman and I was still curious by nature.

"Tio?"

"Yes, fille?"

"Who are 'P' and 'E'?"

Again, he carefully considered his words before he spoke. "P is short for Persian. It is his name for me."

"Persian?"

"Oui, fille. Apparently, the Monsieur knew my father before he died, when my father was a chief of police in Persia. After my mother, a Frenchwoman, died, I was sent back to live with my relatives in Paris."

"As for the 'E' … I wish that I knew. I do not know his name."

"Oh."

More confused than ever, I bid Tio Giry a soft goodbye with a reassuring smile. Though a bit shaken, my faith in him had slowly returned.

I left in search of Tina and a quiet lullaby for a midday nap, my deadlines be hanged.

I had recently discovered that listening to her singing was nearly as soothing as my alcohol, and had many of the same drugging effects. I had never heard her sing so beautifully as she did now, and she attributed it to a mysterious voice teacher and had been willing to say no more.

Yet reaching her dressing room, I heard not one voice …

But two.

Authoress's notes:

Late again … collage is a pain. Who needs an education anyway?

And Ok, Ok, I know that the whole Persian M Giry thing is a stretch, but please tell me it is semi-believable?

Empress Kipper- Thank you thank you thank you! All your flattery keeps me at finishing this beast of a story. I'm so glad that everybody seems to like alcoholic Leah. I mean, not that we want her to be a drunk or anything, but how would you deal with the fact that there's some freaky deformed nut job in your basement with hygiene issues? Any who, yes, I am on face book. I will email you with my page. Oh, and Henry is on an expedition to the Antarctic. (Leroux readers can make some guesses about the future of the plot by knowing this…)

Tigger- and here I thought everybody read this cause I'm just so darn sexy…

JPT- your mom heart may jump to take care of the sick psycho … but my unmarried woman heart jumps to 'hey, let's go cuddle with the lonely messed up psycho!' Perhaps it is a good thing that Eric is only a fictional character… Thanks for liking that transition. I was particularly proud of it myself.