Chapter 3

Meg tossed and turned, but could not sleep. She didn't know if it was from excitement or fear of getting the lead role in the upcoming opera. Perhaps, she was just nervous to be in a new room.

The managers had given her Carlotta's old dressing room because newer rooms had been built for the opera singers on the other end of the theatre. This room was much larger than her previous one, and the furniture was much more elegant. But despite being pleased with the room, it seemed a hindrance to allowing her to fall asleep. But, whatever it was she was going insane staring up at her ceiling.

She quietly slipped out of her bed and tied her dark blue cloak on over her petite shoulders. She crept up the winding stairs and through dark hallways to the door that led to the roof of the theatre. When she pushed the door open a burst of cold air struck her face. She walked out into the dark night. She looked over the edge of the building at the streets below.

The view of the city from this height was incredible. Being up high above the sleeping city reminded her of the freezing nights on the roof practicing past midnight with her mother. For some reason she felt closer to her here, like she was all around her. It was a wonderful, extremely painful feeling of contentment.

Erik quickly disappeared behind a stone statue on the roof when he heard the door creek open from inside the theatre. Blast, he thought, can't I ever get a moment of peace!

Who could possibly be up here this late? And why, he wondered.

Eric's question was answered very quickly when his gaze landed unexpectedly on Meg Giry for the second time that day. She was wrapped in a dark blue cloak and her long waves of golden hair were disheveled as if she had just woken up. She looked down at the streets below for a moment, but then her eyes were focused up at the night sky. She walked along the roof gazing up at stars, holding her own tiny frame to keep warm in the chilling night air. Eric could see a single tear glisten as it crept down the side of her cheek.

He suddenly felt the almost unbearable urge to speak to her, or touch her hand; he wanted to connect to her in some way. Eric tried to squelch the pain he felt from not having any human contact in the past two years. When the theatre was empty, there was no temptation to reach out once more into the world of the living. But now at that moment, there was Meg Giry, very much alive and standing only a few feet away.

The Phantom is no more, he told himself. There is no need to bother with this silly girl. There is nothing left of you that any person would find the slightest bit appealing.

But perhaps, he argued to himself, the Opera Ghost could talk to just one person. If only one person knew he still existed, they wouldn't come again, hunting him down like rabid dogs.

As long as she didn't run her pretty little mouth, he thought. Yes, this could work very well. Meg could be his link to the theatre and all the people in it. It would be very easy to frighten her into silence about his survival. He could speak to her which would in the very least verify in his own mind that he did in fact still exist. She would also be a welcomed diversion when he needed a rest from constant composing in his chambers.

"Mar-guar –rite,"

Meg whirled around when she heard her name quietly drawn out by a soft melodic voice. She looked all around but saw no one.

"Hello, is someone there?" she whispered, frantically her eyes darted all over the roof top.

Calm down and get a hold of yourself, Meg. I must be delirious from not sleeping, she thought. I should go back to bed, or I will be exhausted at rehearsals tomorrow.

But the thought of going back to her room and starring at the ceiling for another few hours did not appeal to her in the least. The night sky was so inviting and she felt as though her mother could see her more clearly when she was high atop the Opera House.

"Mar – gaur- rite," the soft, masculine voice called again.

"Who's there?" she heard herself say out loud. This time she was positive she had heard her name.

"Why do cry, Marguerite?" the voice asked her.

"I'm not crying… I was just, I was just thinking….thinking of my mother," she answered.

What are you doing, she demanded of herself? Have you gone mad? Why did you answer a voice from nowhere?

Because you're absolutely terrified, she thought.

"Who are you? Where are you? Please reveal yourself at once, Monsieur," Meg said as she looked from shadow to shadow trying to find the source of the voice.

"Who do think I am Marguerite? Perhaps, I am someone or something from the past," inquired the voice.

Meg paused for what seemed like an eternity.

"Monsieur… Fantome," she could barley push the hushed words past her lips.

"Why yes, Marguerite," the voice answered.

Meg's mind raced. The phantom had returned. But he is only a man, she reminded herself. She remembered her mother's story about the little boy she had helped so many years ago, and how she had wept for the poor deformed child.

She also quickly remembered the Opera Ghost killing two men, kidnapping her friend, and nearly destroying the entire Opera Populaire. Man or ghost, he was dangerous, and he could probably do away with her with very little effort. She decided then it was best not to confront him.

"Congratulations on your new position in the ballet corps," he complimented her.

"Tha…Thank you, Monsieur."

"Why are you here Marguerite Giry , atop a roof, so late on such a cold night?" the voice inquired in sly manner.

"I'm not really sure myself, Monsieur. Perhaps, I am nervousness about my role in the new performance," she offered.

"You will do well. I watched you dance today. I see you have improved during your time away from here. I see everything, Meg."

She nodded silently, but she didn't know to whom. He was watching her, she thought.

Meg broke that awkward silence by saying, "My mother trained me everyday since the Opera fire. We trained on top of the building we stayed in every night for hours, but that was before she…" she paused.

"She what?" said the voice.

"Before she died, five months ago of pneumonia, Monsieur," tears started to well up in her soft brown eyes.

"I know of your mother's passing. Everyone dies, Meg, be glad you had your mother's love while she lived. Some are not as fortunate as you," he replied harshly.

Meg has no idea how to respond to this. Who could be so heartless? She remained silent, fighting back the tears that were trying so viciously to escape from her eyes. For a fleeting moment she recalled her mother describing the Phantom's childhood, his mother's only gift to him, a mask.

"Return to your room, Marguerite Giry. You need rest in order to properly rehearse tomorrow," commanded the voice.

"Yes, Monsieur," she said, relieved that he was letting her go unharmed. She turned and walked quickly towards the door to the theatre, when she was stopped dead in her tracks.

"You will return at midnight tomorrow," the voice demanded powerfully.

"But Monsieur, I…" Meg tried desperately to think of reason that would keep her from coming back, but her thoughts were cut short by his angry reply.

"You will return, or you will regret ever coming back to this Opera at all! Do you understand?"

"Ye… yes, Monsieur," she whispered quietly.

"Goodnight, Meg Giry," the voice said with an eerie and insincere kindness. But Meg had already darted for the door. She ran back down the flights of stairs and through the corridors to her room. She hurriedly got back into her bed just as the Phantom had commanded, but she would not fall asleep that night.