Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story except for the characters of Rose and Caity. The prominent newsie characters, such as Kid Blink, Jack Kelly & Medda, are copyrighted to Disney, while the story is loosely based on Gaston Leroux's novel, The Phantom of the Opera
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POINT OF NO RETURN
Love. Lies. Murder.
Nothing more than a tragic tale of a disfigured newsboy, a wealthy young man and the vaudeville star they both loved.
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Chapter One
Hannibal
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Nineteen year old Rose Larkson sat at the gaudy bronze dressing table, glad to be in the sanctuary of her cramped room once more. The reflection in the streaky mirror offered the image of a striking albeit glistening young maiden, her light brown curls clipped back elegantly as if to draw attention to her milky complexion. It was her eyes, though, that made her noticeable; eyes that had garnered the attention of many an admirer. Said eyes, hazel in nature with just a hint of gold, seemed to sparkle regardless. Even now they shone as they narrowed and focused on her slender hand and what it held, gingerly: a single red rose, adorned with a black ribbon, which had been waiting for her when she had finished her final dance performance for the evening.
She continued to stare at the rose in wonder. It was not as if this rose was the first flower she had received. As one of Irving Hall's three principal dancers, Rose and her peers, consisting of her partners, Josephine and Analia, as well as the Irving Hall songbird, Caity Costello, frequently received gifts from delighted patrons. But, as the only performer to board, along with the owner of Irving Hall, vaudeville veteran, Medda Larkson, in the back rooms of the theatre, Rose was awarded with her own room, however cramped it may be; a room complete with a lock to which she alone held the key. And, while most gifts, coupled with admiring notes that told her which patron of the Hall was responsible for the gesture, were left at the front with either Medda or Les, the young man in charge of keeping peace within the theatre, this rose, sans note, had been laid out on her dressing table. Curiouser yet, the rose occupied the exact place where Rose had left her hair brush and simple white hair ribbon that afternoon, now missing; it was as if the unexplained presence of the rose with its black ribbon was a mockery of the possession that had been there a few hours earlier and was no longer seen.
"Rose? Rosie, honey, let me in."
Rose dropped the rose guiltily when she heard the urgent knock at her door. Fumbling as she reached for the rose, Rose stood and opened the door.
Medda Larkson swept into the room, her garish purple dress fanning out behind her. "Rosie, darling, how are you?" she cooed as she kissed Rose once on the cheek before sitting on the cot in the corner of the room.
Rose smiled warmly amid the cloud of perfume that followed her guardian wherever she went. "I'm fine, Medda. Fine," she said, glancing down at the rose she, again, held in her hand.
Medda looked over her niece, smiling, despite the fact that in the four years Rose had lived with her, since the death of her father, Medda's brother, led the young orphan to stay in Irving Hall, Rose always answered Medda's greeting with a "fine". "I'm glad, dear, because I have a favor to ask of you."
"Of course. What do you need?"
"I need you to take Caity's place and sing her closing number tonight."
Rose's grip around the rose tightened. She resisted the urge to cry out as the rose's thorns bit into her hand. "But, Medda, I'm a dancer -- I don't sing. Caity is the singer here; make her perform her own number."
Medda sighed and in that instant, when the plastic smile slid off of her face, she looked older than one would guess. "I can't. There's been an accident."
A wave of cold washed over her and, not for the first time, Rose felt as if someone unseen was watching her. "An accident? What kind of accident?"
"It was during Caity's song, 'Hive Full of Honey', the one she follows your last dance number with. She was up there, singing herself blue, when the backdrop came crashing down. She's not hurt, nor are any of the patrons," Medda hurried when she saw Rose's expression, "but she's shaken up enough to refuse to perform the closing number tonight. And I promised everyone a closer."
"What about Analia? Her voice is sweet," Rose suggested, trying not to meet her guardian in the eyes; Analia may have nimble feet but she sang as if she were a cat in heat.
"Rosie, dear, listen to your Auntie Medda. I know you can do this, I know you can sing," she said softly, yet firmly. She followed her statement with a meaningful pause in which she lowered her gaze to glance at the flower Rose still held in her right hand.
Rose followed Medda's eyes. When she saw where her aunt's eyes rested, she gave an involuntary shudder. After all, she had never sang for anyone before save her own reflection when she was sure that Medda had gone to some man's bed for the night. Yet, her aunt claimed to know that she could do it -- but how? And, again she found herself wondering: how did that rose find its way into her room?
And what about Caity? True, she was not a favorite among the dancers. With her long, flaxen hair, bright green eyes and songbird voice, Caity knew that it was she who brought in all of the customers, which in turn kept the Hall operating. If she refused to sing, the theatre would go under; it was that knowledge that led her to act like a primadonna. There was no way that she would miss a performance willingly, especially if it meant that Rose, a simple dancer, would take her place. The falling backdrop must have rattled her more than Medda thought.
And what about her aunt's sideways glance at the rose? Did she put it there? If so, how? Or why, for that matter? And where did her belongings go?
An endless array of questions swarmed around her head. Which would be the one she would bombard Medda with first? None, actually. Just as Rose opened her mouth, a knock at the door cut her off.
"Medda? You in there?" It was Toby, Medda's first assistant in the running of the Hall -- a clown, a candy peddler & a management assistant all rolled in one.
"Yes, Toby, I'm talking with Rosie," Medda called out as she approached the door and pulled it open.
Toby nodded once in greeting towards Rose but, out of respect, remained outside of the room. "I just wanted to tell you, Medda, that Mr. Kelly has arrived."
Medda's caked face broke into a genuine grin. "Thank you, Toby. Please let him know that I'll be with him shortly."
Toby nodded again and was gone.
Medda closed he door behind him and continued to smile. "Rose, my dear. It is more urgent now that you go out there and perform that closing number."
Rose had known her aunt long enough to be worried when she was smiling like that. "Who's Mr. Kelly?" she asked, half hoping to change the subject, half in curiosity. After four years, Rose had thought she knew all of her aunt's varied suitors, but the name of Kelly was unfamiliar to her. This was also the first of Medda's acquaintances that she had heard Toby refer to with respect, something that struck her as odd as well.
"Kelly?" Messa asked and Rose nodded. "He's this kid who used to haunt the theatre when he was younger. His father had been a friend of mine in my early days," she said as Rose's nod turned into an amused shake of the head, "so I got to know Kelly real well. He was a good newsie back then, but he's a fancy man now that he's grown. Got into money somehow a few years back and started a successful business out West. Now he's rolling in dough and coming back East to start a branch here. He always had a soft spot for this place, so I invited him here. Money like his could really help us out if he becomes a patron. And, if I remember correctly, if there was one thing that Kelly always liked about Irving Hall, it was that last closing number." Medda looked over at Rose and winked when Rose bowed her head. With that defeated action, Medda knew she would perform.
"Well, I ain't wearing Caity's costume – it shows too much," Rose said in a small voice, walking over to her dresser and placing the rose down. She reached for her hair brush to fix her curls and huffed when she remembered that her brush had disappeared earlier that evening. "But I will borrow her brush," she added before heading out of the room, resigned to sing the one number and be done with it.
Medda watched Rose look absently for her brush before exiting the room. Then, before she followed suit and left to watch her niece's first vocal performance onstage, she looked up and sighed. "There. I hope you're happy. Rose's gonna sing."
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For the third time that night, he found himself hidden in the shadows of the upper rigging. But this time he knew, following the discussion in Rose's quarters, that tonight was the night. Tonight he would see her do more than dance -- tonight she would bring him to heaven with her voice.
Placing his knife, the knife he had used to cut the backdrop's chord, inside his dark vest, he rearranged his mask to ensure that it remained on his face as a cover. Though he knew no one was aware of his definite presence within the Hall other than Medda Larkson, he was very conscious that someone might glimpse him without his mask. Once he had confirmed its security, he then settled himself down on the planks to watch the show. Yes, tonight was the night.