Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters created by Gaston Leroux and helped along by ALW
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Chapter Three- Jezebel's Dance
Delphine
Delphine found herself sitting at her bureau with the strange letter placed before her. She had awoken to find it in the same place she had left it the night before. She had hoped that it would have vanished or been opened. Anything stop her from being tempted.
She sighed as she stared at it. It was not addressed to anyone, the front completely unmarred by any trace of ink. She gingerly picked it up and turned it over. The seal sent shivers down her spine. The red wax protruded out into the shape of a skull. She did not think that any family had such a crest. So whatever man would use it had to be very bold or not quite mental. She let her finger explore the shape of the skull.
How odd was the man who had given her this letter?
Before she knew it she had gently broken the seal. She held her breath as she pulled out the letter. It was written in a curious red ink. She just stared at the handwriting, not sure what to make of it. Red ink and a red skull? This man must be a bit deranged. No normal person would use red ink.
The letter was very simply put,
Dear people of the Opera Populaire (and Paris in general),
I hope you have found it easy to relax into your old ways. I know, however, that you think I am just biding time until I strike again. I can assure you that is not the case. I would hate to think that I am being used as a ploy to draw in money or that I am the only reason that such people would go beyond their artistic understanding.
I found it rather odd that the second performance should be Il Muto. I hope that no one in attendance was hoping for any glimpse of me. For I have no intention of troubling the people of Paris again.
This letter is not meant to acknowledge my presence, which no longer resides in the Opera House, but to say that I had hoped that the people of Paris would see beyond such tragic drama and see the real beauty of my little Opera House. If you do not attend the Opera House to see the performance than do not attend at all. It is a false hope to the people employed at the Opera Populaire, who, I am beginning to believe, think that the high attendance is due to their talent.
Signed, O.G.
That was all it said. She was not sure what she was supposed to do with it. Why had she been given this letter? What did he want done with it? Why did he chose her to channel through?
She pushed away the thoughts creeping into her mind and turned back to the letter. She reread it and looked back in the envelope. A piece of paper was sitting at the bottom. She pulled it out. It was in the same red ink. Publish in L'Epoque as soon as possible. She breathed in and shook her head.
What would the people of Paris think when they found out she was the one who had brought such a letter to L'Epoque. She shuddered to think of the cruel smirks she would receive from the higher class of society. She could just imagine all ties with her old friends being cut. They thought she was already crazy enough as it was. If she started to talk about an opera ghost they would see her mentally insane and have her taken away.
Than again, maybe this would be it. His last words to the people of Paris who, as he had said, only went to the operas to see if he would drag another poor woman away.
Before she knew it she had thrown her cloak on and snatched the letter up. She went down the stairs and stood outside of her father's office. She knocked on the door before entering. "Papa?"
He looked up at her. "Yes?"
"I am going to Christine's. I'll be back before it gets dark." She said. He nodded and returned to his work. She closed the door silently behind her and walked towards the courtyard entrance. It was a short distance and she could make it there by the time Christine had eaten breakfast.
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Delphine sat across from Christine and Raoul. They both smiled at her, waiting for her to explain why she had come over so soon. "I…" She tried but she couldn't find the strength to dredge up their past. She stared dumbly at her hands, not sure why she had even come.
"Delphine, what is it?" Christine asked.
She looked up at her. "I'm not sure you even want to know." For a minute Christine's face registered some shock.
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course we want to know."
"All right," Delphine said as she started to pull the letter out of her pocket. Christine and Raoul sat on the edge of their seats. Thinking better of it, she let it stay where it was and placed her hands on the table in front of her. "say that there was this man. He caused great tragedy to the people of Paris. Everyone thought he had disappeared and he hadn't. So he gave a letter to someone to be published in L'Epoque. Do you think it should be published?"
"It depends on who wrote it and what it said." Raoul said. "If it was a homicidal maniac saying he would be back for them all, than no." He said with a laugh.
Delphine shook her head. "No, it's more of a…a…murder who says he doesn't want to hurt anyone and doesn't want to be used to bring people into the arts?" She said not sure how she was supposed to put it.
Christine rubbed her hands. "Well, I do not see any harm in that. Is he residing in Paris?"
"I don't know." Delphine said quietly. "No, it's in a book I was reading. I had stopped at a part where he had given a girl the letter and she was trying to decide if she should publish it in the local newspaper."
Raoul laughed. "That sounds like an odd book."
Delphine nodded her head vigorously. "Can I ask something of you two?" They both leaned closer as if they were expecting some disastrous blow. Christine nodded her head. "I wanted to ask you about the Phantom of the Opera."
Christine went a shade paler and Raoul closed his eyes against her. "I don't think-" Raoul started.
"What do you want to know?" Christine asked.
"I…I wanted to know about him. Everyone talks about him and I know nothing." She said. "I could not think of anyone better to ask."
Christine nodded. "I think we should go for a walk." She stood and Delphine followed her suit. Christine turned to Raoul. "I'll be back shortly." She said as she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Than she turned and led the way out of the house.
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"Why do you suddenly ask me this now?" Christine asked.
"I…was just curious." She said. "I've been working in the Opera Populaire for about two weeks and everyone mentions him quietly like it is some bad omen. Yet they cannot help but speak of him. They are nervous about him. Why?"
"When I lived there he…committed many murders. It set all of the Opera workers on edge. Imagine it, already superstitious people seeing their fellows dying at the hands of some unknown man. A man that nobody ever saw. A man that could end up right behind you without a single sound. It sent people running." She paused and looked at Delphine. "He turned his attention from all of the intruding people to one person alone. A person that he had an obsession for. It seemed to cloud his every thought. Everything he did was an attempt to make her happy. But he didn't know that his soul was that of a monster and that she would never return his love. The tragedy that occurred while you and your mother were gone was what sent the Opera Populaire over the edge. Many were killed. A leading male, people in the audience. That is why everyone is so terrified of him. He had all those lives in his hand. He knew the Opera House better than anyone and he knew how to get around it. He escaped and people always kept their eyes open. I had thought that you would have been told this story before, but I guess they don't like to bring it up either."
Delphine grabbed her friend's shoulders. "Christine, you were that girl. You knew he was still alive? What id he comes back and does terrible things?" Delphine asked with a look of horror on her face.
"He won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I think I got through to him that murder accomplishes nothing but a darkened soul." She said as she walked on. "Now let me ask you something." She paused to see if Delphine protested. "Are you asking me this because you think you saw him?"
"No." Delphine said quickly. "I don't even know what he looks like." She said as an after thought.
"You would know if you did." Christine said. They had walked their way to the front of the Opera House. "Do you have to go in today?" She asked.
Delphine was silent as she looked up at the building. "Delphine, do you?"
"What?"
"Do you have to go in today?"
"Oh, yes." She said as she started up the stairs. I shall stop by on my way home." She said as she disappeared into the dark opera house.
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She watched as Christine turned the corner. As soon as she was out of sight, Delphine dashed out of the building and started down the other street. As she walked toward L'Epoque's building she wonder if she was doing the right thing. If that man was the Phantom, which she thought he must be, than why would he chose her instead of someone he knew better. Like Madame Giry. She knew that Madame Giry had been talking to him that first night she had ever entered the Opera House. She had been in the same hallway that the man with the heavy cloak had come from. As she looked back on it, it must have been him.
As she reached the stone building she pulled out the letter. She would drop it off. She would not leave her name. She knew that that should keep her safe from the public eye and safe from the man who still haunted the Opera Populaire.
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Delphine entered the Opera House as quietly as she could. It would not help her to be discovered by anyone. She had been told she need not come in on the day after the performance. If anyone found her there she would be under suspicion. As she slowly walked up to the loggia that she had first been in when she had seen the couple come in from outside, she got the sudden feeling that she was headed in the wrong direction. Stopping on the stairs, she looked back down.
Where else could she go. She had been exploring the place since she had started work there but she had no idea where the Phantom would be. She clutched the letter she had written to him. "All I'm going to do is give it to him and leave." She told herself as she stepped down from the stairs. As she reached the ground she heard the sound of somebody coming from the managerial office. She began to walk quickly towards the dormitories, and the rooftop.
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After searching the rooftop, the catwalks, the auditorium, all of the boxes, the room with the round window that house the gears to the chandelier, and the prop room she headed towards the hallways of the dressing rooms. She did not no where else to look, and even though she didn't want to go back there, she knew that he might be lurking in the shadows just beyond her reach.
After opening every door that was unlocked she found herself in front of the dressing room that had brought her music back. Not sure why she had ended there, she shrugged and pushed the door open.
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Erik
He had just pushed open the mirror-door in Christine's old dressing room when the door coming into the room was pushed open. In a panic, he froze. His heart was beating fast. He had vowed to himself not to get caught and here he was standing as if in a trance with one foot leading down into his prison and one foot in their world.
The door fell open and he saw who lay on the other side. The girl looked at him with her eyes wide open. For a moment, they stood there looking at each other. She shifted uncomfortably and that brought him back to reality. "Close the door." He said sharply. She jumped and went into the room.
"Excuse me." She said. "I…I…" She stared at him. "I brought your letter to L'Epoque." She said, "Here." She handed him a letter. It looked much like the letter he had given her. He held it gingerly, not exactly sure why she had given it to him. She seemed to sense this because a smirk crossed her face. She seemed to find it funny that they were suddenly on opposite sides of the spectrum from last night. She moved slowly to the vanity, as if she were afraid he would lash out at her if she moved too fast. "You're the Phantom?" She asked as she let her fingers glide across the mirror.
He did not answer. He did not feel he had to answer her. This intruder had no right to ask him questions. She had just barged into his sanctuary and did what she pleased. He did not like her snooping around, trying to find things that no one else could find. At this moment, he might have been more angry with himself for letting her see that the mirror was a passageway. He brushed it off on to her though, because he had every right to walk freely about his home. She was the intruder.
"Where does that lead?" She asked as she pointed a finger down the dark passage way he had come through. He stared at her, not wanting to say anything. Maybe she would leave if she got no reply. He watched her walk about the room. "Are you going to speak? No? I guess not than." With that she pushed past him and started down the passageway.
It took Erik a moment to realize that she had done it. When he spun around she had already walked a good deal into the underground. Rushing after her, he felt a bit like an animal protecting its den. He grasped her arms and spun her around. "What are you doing?" He asked with much more force than he had intended to use on her. Her eyes showed shock and pain.
That look made him drop his arms to his side. That pained look reminded him of the look on Christine's face when he had issued his ultimatum. Brushing past her, he started down the tunnel and he didn't look back.
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Delphine
She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. She had not felt that she had enough courage in herself to do what she had done. She had not felt she was reckless enough to abandon her decent ways and be so direct with him.
When he had grabbed her and spun her around to face him she had been terrified. His sharp voice had failed to hide the own terror in his eyes. He was not accustomed to other people being so aggressive in going through his Opera House.
She stood there watching him stride quickly down the tunnel. Without a longer thought she dashed after him and followed him deep into the cellars of the Opera Populaire.
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She let out a gasp as she saw the place where he had hidden himself. It looked like an underground haven. The candlesticks that lined the walls showed off some light. The first thing that caught her eye was the organ. It was lined with paper. Was this man composing music? There was so much she still did not know about him and she didn't understand half of what she did.
As she climbed out of the boat she saw the glass shattered on the ground. It crunched under her boots. What was this man doing here? She found herself going directly to the organ. It was a beautiful instrument. Not a speck of dust on it. The paper on it was, indeed, composing paper. The lines, however, were almost completely empty.
She could hear him moving about behind her. There was something about this man which made her feel like she wasn't so alone. Something made her feel like she didn't have the short end of the stick. His eyes, the most gorgeous eyes she had ever seen, were the eyes of sadness. His eyes held all the sadness the world could possibly have. When he wasn't clouding them with his anger, his eyes were piercing orbs of truth. She had felt like sobbing when she had looked into them as he helped her into his boat. He offered no words of explanation.
She had asked to see his world and he had obliged. She had the feeling that he would have refused if he had wanted to speak to her. He had not said a word to her since the beginning of the tunnel. She hardly even noticed though, his actions spoke much louder than his words did.
She had tried to smile at him but it drifted away as she looked at him. He drew out all of her own feelings. He made her angry and sad all at one time. This is what she had wanted since Robert left her. Something that could express all of her emotions at once. The way this man was…it brought her to her knees. He was more devastating than a thousand storms, more heartbreaking than the most tragic love story, and more alone than any other creature in the world.
As she looked at his life, strewn about the place, she knew this man must live in complete isolation, solitary in his little world in the cellars. How she regretted every telling her father that she had needed solitude. She had never realized the extent it reached to.
Seating herself on the bench of the organ, she let her hands fall about the keys. She could hear him stop abruptly. She would have turned her head if she could bare to look at him any longer. She let the simple chord flow through the air. The organ was indeed beautiful. So rightly, it belonged to such a man.
As she began to play her Requiem Mass for the Heart, a song she had recently composed, she could hear him begin to move again. She had not expected him to stand right behind her. She could feel his eyes piercing her hands. He watched her hands fly through the air, across the keyboard.
After a while, the feel of his eyes just became another obstacle she had to overcome. This is what it had felt like playing for Robert. He had watched her, silently, without a word. He had never said a word while she was playing. That was the worst. She never knew what he thought the moment she was playing. He had time to mull it over and think of what he was going to say to her. She hated that.
Robert had never been so piercing in his gaze, though. He had never been looking for her fault, the way the Phantom was. His eyes followed her hands. She could feel them. She could feel his intense gaze. She stopped and turned to look at him. He seemed startled by this action, as if he had been drawn out of his own thoughts. "Do you play?" She asked. It was a question she already knew the answer to, but she was desperate to get him to talk.
The silence was pressing against her head and she could feel the dizziness start to pull at her stomach. He did not answer, the norm for him. He just stared at her as if he were thinking of what he should do. He brought a hand to the part of his face that was unmasked. He stopped in his action, as though any sudden movement would reveal to her something he preferred to keep to himself. "Will you play for me?" She tried again.
Not expecting an answer, she stood and walked toward a set of cracked mirrors. The shards of glass lying on the ground looked back up at her. Though cracked, she could see her reflection. She looked much more terrified than she felt. Is this what he saw? Was he not speaking for fear that she would scream bloody murder? She tried to relax her face but the attempt was futile. Was she really that frightened?
As she put a finger to her face a sound rifled around her. The organ keys had been pressed. It began a familiar tune. She struggled so hard to find where she had heard it before. She turned to see him playing and her heart stopped cold. "That's my Overture of Excalibur!" She said with an angry voice.
His hands stopped in midair. He turned to stare at her through his masked eyes. She went to him. "Where did you…?" He began but he trailed off as if unsure of what to ask.
"I heard that here, one night. In a dream." She said. She reached past him and picked up where he left off. Unlike him, she had finished composing it. She was nearing the end when his hands grasped hers.
"Don't finish it." He said quietly.
She let her hands fall back. "I did not realize it was you who was playing it." She said rather ashamed. So her return to music had not been her own creation. It was a plagiarized version of this man's work. "Do you want my copy?" She asked without realizing it. He shook his head.
"It seems you know much more about strength than I do." He said.
"I am sorry." She said again. Before she could stop herself, she had felt a tear slip down her cheek. His eyes stopped on it. She quickly wiped it away. "God." She said as she covered her eyes. "I never cry."
He turned away from her and began to play again. This song she had never heard before. It was hauntingly beautiful. The sounds echoed her sadness. When he finished he sat completely still.
"You're a genius." She said. "What is it called?"
"I did not name it." He said. She looked his hands above the keys. "The Lost Lover's Serenade." She said. "That's what it should be called."
"Why?" He asked.
"I would play that at my lover's funeral." She said as if her logic had no flaw in it.
"Why not your father's?" He asked. His tone seemed much more relaxed, almost curious.
"It is too intimate for family members." She said. "It sings of a tragic ending to a blossoming romance. A Romeo and Juliet of music."
The stayed in silence for sometime before she realized that she had probably been in the Opera House for hours. "Christine." She muttered under her breath. This brought the Phantom out of his own trance. His expression suddenly changed. "I need to go." She said.
He offered her no help.
"Will you bring me back?" She asked, if he refused she did not know what she would do. The thought of going through the underground alone made her spine shiver.
"Can you not make it back alone?"
"I would prefer your company." She said.
He sighed and stood. "Than we best be going."
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Erik
Eric watched as the girl went through the mirror. This intruder had changed his mind about her. He watched her turn and wave to him before she closed the mirror. She was not what she appeared to be.
She was much more humble than he would have thought. She also had a musical ear that he found hard to believe after her performance from the previous night. Aside from that, she seemed to understand the sadness he faced. Of course, she had no real idea what his pain felt like. No one could. Yet she seemed so immersed in her own loss that she knew the direction he was coming from. He could have sworn he had heard her say Christine's name. After she had named his song. Did she know about his past? Did she know because Christine had told her? Or was it just a lucky guess on her part? He wanted to believe either of the former.
He didn't quite understand her. Her face was one of fright but her voice held confidence. She cried yet seemed unfazed by her own unhappiness. She might have hid it from herself but he had seen it. Lingering just beyond her eyes. Whatever man had caused such a deep sadness in those eyes must have done something horrible. The look in her eyes seemed one of a permanent sadness, much like his own eyes when he look at them, which was rare.
As he turned back to cellar home he felt something in his pocket. It was the letter she had given him.
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The girl confused him more than any woman ever had. Her letter seemed to call out to him. It seemed to be designed to clue him in on Christine.
I have done as you have asked. Your letter will be published in next weeks L'Epoque. I do not know much of you, though my friend has told me details that I am sure I would not have heard anywhere else. Just today she finally told me about you. She never wants to talk about that night. I was surprised to find her willing to talk.
I thought you might want to know that she has composed music for you. Though, I am sure she thinks no one knows. I do. All you have to do is listen.
I am not sure why I wrote this letter in the first place. I am sure I sound like a child conversing with a friend. I suspect you like things more formal. I hope my actions have satisfied your needs for the people of Paris to know their wrongs.
Your faithful servant,
Delphine Aubade
Yes, the girl was most peculiar.
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Author's Note: Another chapter. Contrary to what I said, I have decided to wait for any singing to go on between Delphine and the Phantom. It seemed like something to personal to both of them for them to just start after spending a few hours together.
I hope you liked this chapter. I tried to keep it more like the two were intrigued by each other. Did it work? I don't want one of those instant, they fall in love stories. It wouldn't fit for them. You know? Thanks to those of you who reviewed.
Until next time