Chapter Three
Adreanna Duprè, star of the Opera Populaire's new show and daughter to one of the two managers, danced across the darkened stage, singing gaily to herself. She twirled in a circle and slipped on the freshly waxed wood. But, she laughed as she fell to the floor and lay on her back, staring up at the catwalk, high above the stage.
Adreanna was, at age fifteen, the youngest Prima Donna that Paris had ever seen. She had beautiful wavy red hair that fell to her waist and sparkling green eyes. Although she wasn't fond of social situations and especially despised all the rules that dominated French society, Adre was fitting in quite well at the Opera. She was a good singer and a fairly good dancer, and she had even befriended one of the ballerinas, a girl named Meg Giry. Yes, life in the Paris Opera House was what she loved.
The young woman clambered to her feet and looked around. The auditorium was dark and silent; it was very late and everyone else was fast asleep. Asleep was the way she liked them best, mainly her father's awful business partner, M. Pierre.
He was shockingly thin, so much so that his collar and cheek bones jutted out at rough angles. He was rather short with a small amount patchy white hair on his crown. His eyes were black, like tunnels and his skin was a sickly yellowish color. Occasionally, when he grew angry, violet-red patches of color would appear on his cheeks and on the bald spot directly on top of his shiny head. Pierre's personality matched his looks and everyone steered clear of him whenever possible. An unwholesome character indeed. Adre never could understand why someone as kind and good-hearted as her father would do business with a man like Pierre.
Adre shivered suddenly. She had to concede, it was a little scary being in the theatre alone after dark. Not one to admit fear, she had insisted that Meg's stories had not frightened her in the least. Some of those tales were pure nonsense, product of Meg's overactive imagination, and when she said they didn't scare her, it was the truth. No, the ones that sent chills down her spine were about the Opera Ghost.
She had first heard of this phantom when her father had purchased the building. The former managers had warned him of the infamous man, who murdered without remorse and stole from the owners. They even blamed him for the fire that had destroyed most of the upper levels of the Opera. Her father, of course, had just laughed it off. He never was one to believe in the supernatural. Supposedly, the 'ghost' was dead or gone, but, for reasons she didn't understand, Adreanna was positive that he wasn't either.
Adre decided to go backstage and fetch some candles, when something upstage caught her eye. One of the trapdoors was standing open, even though no trapdoors were used in the current production. After fighting indecision for a moment, Adre's curiosity got the better of her and she tiptoed over and peered into the blackness below.
"Is someone there?" she asked. There was no answer, but, nonetheless, she felt as if she were being watched. Trapdoor lover. She vaguely recalled M. Andre calling the ghost something like that. She hurriedly closed the trapdoor, letting it fall shut with a bang that echoed throughout the auditorium and backed away. She spun around on her heel, with every intention to leave, but a man was standing directly in front of her, dressed all in black and wearing a white half mask: The Phantom of the Opera. Adre started to scream, but a black gloved hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound.
"Be quiet!" hissed the man in a deadly voice. She stopped instantly, as if stricken dumb. His hand left her mouth, but she dared not move. 'Who are you?"
"I--I'm Adre." she stammered, terrified.
"The new Prima Donna." he said scornfully. "What are you doing in here?"
He didn't seem to expect an answer, so Adre gave none. Her mind was spinning too fast to respond, anyway. The Opera Ghost was very much alive, that was clear. She wondered if anyone else knew this information.
"No one else knows I am here." he said, as if reading her thoughts. "And it will remain so, understood?" Adreanna nodded violently, praying that he would just let her go. "Good. Now go, and don't come back here after dark again." As if she needed telling! She rushed to the door that connected the Opera to the Hotel, and through it, without a backward glance, leaving him standing alone in the darkness, shadows hiding the expression on his face.
"Welcome to the Hotel Populaire."
Christine and Raoul both looked up at the vast new building, taking everything in. Even in the darkness, Hotel Populaire was difficult to miss. It was six stories tall and painted a creamy tan color. Two golden nudes, similar to those within the Opera itself stood on either side of the finely polished mahogany double doors, holding lamps that spilled warm light over the couple.
The man standing in the door seemed to be somewhere about his late thirties, with dark brown hair, peppered with grey and a handlebar moustache to match. He was a rather large man, probably close to six feet and as wide as he was tall. He smiled genially and ushered them into the lobby with a wave of his huge hand.
"Good evening." he said courteously, bowing low. His voice was rich and friendly; Christine liked him immediately. "I am M. Duprè, one of the Opera's new owners." He shook hands with Raoul. "Ah! The Vicomte de Chagny!" The man turned to Christine and kissed her hand. "And Mademoiselle Daae! It is a pleasure to meet you both."
"Actually, it's the Vicomtesse de Chagny now." Raoul corrected with a grin. Christine managed a weak smile of her own, but it felt more like a grimace.
"Congratulations!" he beamed. Christine avoided her husband gaze and instead met the stare of a young girl, standing behind Duprè, positively shaking.
"Excuse me, but who is this?" she inquired. The girl looked terrified, her glance flitting between Christine, Duprè and Raoul. The manager turned to see behind.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, surprised. 'This is my daughter, Adreanna."
"The Christine Daae who was kidnapped by the Phantom of the Opera?" Adre interrupted.
There was a drastic change in the atmosphere; Christine's eyes shot to the girl's face, troubled, beside her Raoul tensed suddenly. M. Dupre looked between them uneasily and abruptly changed the subject.
"Adre is playing the lead tomorrow!" he brought the girl forward.
"She must be talented!" Christine said, with difficultly, trying to return to safe conversation. But she couldn't help but notice how much more nervous Adrenna became when she heard her name.
The girl didn't reply to the compliment. Her eyes were searching for some means of escape; she looked ready to bolt at any given moment. Her face was very pale.
"You seem anxious." Christine said, attempting to calm her. "Are you alright?"
"You look as if you've seen the 'opera ghost'." commented her father offhandedly. Even from the tone of his voice, they could tell that the new manager thought it was all an elaborate hoax. Raoul shot him a reproachful look behind his back.
At this her eyes grew wide and she emitted a squeak of fear before dashing off down the hallway. They heard a door slam at the end of the hall.
"I'm so sorry." apologized Duprè, bewildered. "She's usually so agreeable." Raoul dismissed it with a wave of his hand, but it didn't leave his mind so easily. Nonetheless, they had their bags brought in and chose a suite.
"Would you like to purchase your tickets for the opera in advance?" asked the manager as he handed Raoul a room key. Raoul nodded and he opened a large book, bound in red velvet and scanned the list. "We have only one box left." he said after a moment. "Would you like it?"
"Which box is it?" Raoul asked apprehensively. But he already knew the answer.
"Box Five. Why?" Determined not to look at his wife, Raoul deliberated, staring at the carpet. It was a strange irony, to be sure, but, obviously, if there was no reason for the managers to close that box to the public, what reason would there be for them not to sit in it?
"We will take it." he said decisively. The manager made a note in the book and handed to another employee who quickly bore it away.
"Sleep well!" he called after them as they made their way to their room. As soon as they arrive at the suite they prepared for bed. After a long day of riding, Christine was exhausted. She climbed in bed and was asleep as soon as her head hit the soft, down pillow.
A/N: R&R for roses from Erik! hand Erik handful of red roses, and a spool of black ribbon Get started.