Okay, guys, I made one very, very, very big change to this story—funnily enough, though, it doesn't really affect what you have read already. XD I changed the setting to modern. This is because I have been arguing back and forth with myself for the past week; do I stick with pretty corsets and evening gowns, or do I go with the more practical choice? I went with the more practical choice. ANYWAY. This doesn't change, at all, what you have read so far… so nothing to worry about. I just wanted to tell everyone. (:
And for some reason, I am getting less and fewer reviews… are my chapters getting more and more boring? Blink
Some direct quotations from Kay are used. Just so you know.
Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah, you know how this goes.
Three.
Erik slid through the halls of the Opera House casually, as if he did this everyday. For the record, he used to come see the operas a lot, but rarely had time to enjoy anything anymore. His work took up most of his time, and his plotting took up the rest of his time.
He glanced at his watch—nine pm. Good. Those ballet rats should be getting to bed about now, and he double-checked the loose pages in his pocket; yes, the Daaé girl slept in the dormitories with the other chorus girls.
Unwilling to be seen by the milling group of people who still stuck to their jobs at the Opera House, Erik kept loyally to the shadows. He got by like darkness personified; he passed within inches of people, and they hardly noticed him, so well concealed was he.
He paused behind the draperies on the landing, toying with his lip as he peered down the mostly deserted hallway. He rather wanted to see the theatre, a little curious to see if they had changed anything about it. Most of all, though, he rather missed the comforting, red atmosphere, and therein lay another part of the reason that he had asked for two years to finish this job.
He wanted an excuse to stay by music's side.
Ten years ago, he had had his share of fun in this place. The name Phantom had come from his, ah, former occupation, if you will. No one knew this except for Nadir, of course, but Erik had actually spent some years "haunting" the Opera House. It was really the easiest way to go into the performances without having to use the front door. Besides, it had amused him terribly to drive the managers out of their minds. Imagine demanding twenty thousand francs for a salary when he did nothing but cause trouble.
He did, however, give advice. He considered it an almost personal insult when a ballerina or a singer messed up, and he had caused many to be fired over the years.
Then Masquerade became too much—too many requests, too many jobs, and he had left the Opera as mysteriously as he had come to it.
No one had thought anything of it when the elusive Phantom of the Opera disappeared. He was a ghost, after all! Perhaps his tortured soul had finally been laid to rest.
Erik resisted the urge to snicker.
Ten uneventful minutes later, he had eased into one of the private boxes of the theatre; oh, he had plenty of time to find out what the Daaé girl looked like in person. The stage was not lit, but there were a few sidelights burning pleasantly. He glanced towards the enormous chandelier that was hanging neatly at the center of the ceiling.
He was pretty sure that the stage was empty; Erik was quite familiar with the schedule of occupants in the Opera House, and he knew that the night shift worked in rounds, and the next round was not due to start for another two hours.
So you can imagine his mild surprise when the electrical lights blazed to life, and he heard two distinctively female voices giggling. Oh hell, mischievous ballet rats who were skipping curfew, no doubt. Startled, he hastily drew back into the shadows, and took a moment or two to calm his heart. It was nothing to worry about! Casually now, he took a seat in the private box, and ignored them. They'd go away soon enough, and then he would go down to brazenly walk across the stage.
He'd always wanted to do that, hah.
"Meg, don't do that!" one of the girls said nervously, and Erik reached for last night's program. He flipped through it languidly, while unconsciously eavesdropping on the girls below.
"Oh, don't be such a coward, silly!" the other replied tartly, "You said you wanted to see the piano, didn't you? Well, come on, come on, before Mama finds out and strangles me."
Erik leaned back in the plush chair, patiently folding his hands over his stomach.
"I do, but—oh, Meg, won't we get into trouble for this?"
"Of course! But no one will catch us—no one will hear us, you know, except perhaps the Phantom."
Erik closed his eyes leisurely. So they had not yet forgotten the Opera Ghost.
"The what?"
"Not the what, the who! Oh, don't tell me you've never heard of the Opera Ghost, my dear… see that box up there? No, no, the other one. Yes, that one, there on the grand tier—that's his box."
"What?"
"My dear! Don't you know? The Phantom has his own private box! He really owns this entire place, you know, he bosses the managers around terribly…"
Up in his "private box", Erik snorted in amusement.
"Of course," Meg's voice went on absently, "we haven't heard from him in a such a long time… perhaps he's bored. He helped me, you know, he's really quite generous if you respect him... Oh, why don't you—"
"Now, wait just one minute, Meg Giry, how do you know all this?"
"Never you mind! Mama and I know a lot about him, but you have to show him respect, because when he gets angry, he makes terrible things happen!"
"What things?" There was a note of unmistakable alarm in the other girl's voice.
"Simply awful things; people disappear and are never heard from again… blood trickles down the walls…"
Erik listened in surprised enjoyment. He had abandoned the Phantom of the Opera game nearly a year ago, but it seemed that people were still willing to believe that he was still around.
"You're joking!" the other girl said, her voice a half gasp.
"Are you scared of him?"
"No! I don't believe he exists! There are no such things as ghosts!"
"You've gone white, my friend!" There was giggling on Meg's part, and a reproachful cry on the other girl's.
"We should go, we've lingered too long."
"You're such a serious little thing!"
"I am not, I just—"
"Sing for the Phantom, my dear! Mama says that Faust is the Opera Ghost's favorite production, and you know the part of Margarita, right?"
"Yes, but why would I sing for—"
"I don't know, perhaps he'll help you, too. Don't be such a scared-y cat. Go on!"
Erik listened to Meg's inept fingers stumbled over the chords, and smiled indulgently. And then—the girl began to sing.
"Oh, how strange!
Like a spell does the evening bind me!
And a deep languid charm
I feel without alarm
With its melody enwind me
And all my heart subdue…"
Leaping up from his chair in Box Five, Erik choked on his next breath. She had precise pitch, crystal tonality… she had a near perfect instrument… and yet there was no inner will! She sang with immaculate technique and astonishing talent—but there was no passion, no joy, no expression—nothing! There was nothing in her voice. It was like listening to a dead person sing.
There was infinite promise in her voice so sweet and true—a rich, throbbing vein of silver and gold that lay untouched beneath a lifeless, cold layer of emptiness.
It was painful to bear—she was dying on that stage, and Erik couldn't bear to listen to such agony. He couldn't stand it. He had to leave this stage right now, and go kill someone to relieve stress. But his morbid curiosity forbid him to leave just yet… he had to see what she looked like, first.
He slowly eased to his feet and cautiously looked over the ledge. He nearly keeled over in shock—the thick brown curls, those large brown eyes—oh, Hell, no.
Shakily, he sat down, and felt a scowl worming over his lips.
Great. Just great.
That talented zombie down there was Christine Daaé.
Irony was a bitch, he reflected bitterly, resting the back of his head against the wooden frame of the chair. So this was Christine Daaé. Quite a beautiful girl, really, with her tumbling chocolate hair, and porcelain skin—but it was the voice that shook him the most.
This was the girl he had to get rid of.
Vaguely, Erik wondered to himself if he would be able to finish this job. Immediately, he laughed loudly at himself, and then quickly clapped a hand over his mouth as, from down below on the stage, Christine interrupted her singing to squeak, "Did you hear something, Meg?"
Erik! Poor thing, you listen to a girl sing a few phrases and you begin to doubt your own capability.
How very pathetic.
Erik rolled his eyes. He was underestimating himself—and overreacting to a mere voice. This was merely another girl. Another victim.
Nothing special.
"Hey, who's there?"
Feeling marginally better, Erik glanced over the edge of the box again. Meg and Christine were scurrying from whoever had shouted, and they were both giggling nervously as they ran out the side-door.
Logic hit him then, and he almost reeled with the sheer simplicity of it. Why, of course! He had been planning on coming to her as her Angel of Music, but now he could teach her as her Angel. Yes, he could fuse her voice with his, and her voice would be his alone! It was a part of her that he could steal from right under her very nose. Then he would kill her and be done with her.
Yes, that seemed to be in order.
Feeling much better now, Erik slid from the darkness of Box Five and began making his solitary way to the managers' office.
It was time for the Phantom of the Opera to make a comeback.