A/N: Oh my, thank you all very much for your lovely reviews. I must say I was very concerned about it, since I don't usually like writing with lyrics put in, I am glad you did enjoy it. I only hope you like this one as well.

Chapter 22

Brown hair was tied back with a black ribbon into a ponytail and a simple, yet elegant white dress flew behind the woman who was rushing to reach the crowd on the stairs. In her honey coloured eyes you could see hatred and fury, with a bizarre mixture of worry and panic. Her white heels clicked on the newly polished wooden floor and she ran, in a quite unladylike manner, since her dress was unfurling around her calves and upper thighs. Her chest was heaving heavily and she reached them quickly and like lightning made it up to the managers and thrust a cream coloured envelope, which had a torn red seal on it, and a crushed up letter as well. Firmin, who was clsoer took a frightened step backward and knocked into Andre, which almost sent the pair of them tumbling down the stairs.

"Now I know you're lying! Why I put up with you and your Opera House, I have no idea! Where is he?" Rachelle screamed at the pair of them, which sent the whole group jumping on the spot, and Pianji muttered something to Carlotta that sounded like:

"Such manners." However, she ignored the comment and her furious gaze bored into the managers, demanding an explanation. If Erik had thought she was angry before, she was positively livid now. In fact, he would bet that she could give Mme. Giry a run for her money. Erik glanced behind him and saw a few ballet girls scurry off as Rachelle had screamed and he grinned and moved beneath the stairs to the opposite side where he could get a better view of the back of Rachelle and the manager's expressions. The managers, clearly terrified of course, but not as much as they would have been if the Phantomess herself had shown up demanding the same thing, tried their never failing act of compromise.

"You mean Pianji?" Andre asked from behind Firmin, who he was using as a shield and decided to play the part of the stupid manager, except Erik had a suspicion that Andre wasn't really acting at all.

"I mean Monsieur Destler –

Where is he?" she demanded again, briefly humouring Andre's stupidity, and Erik was sure that Rachelle knew that Andre wasn't acting the stupid part either. Firmin drew himself up to full height and looked down at Rachelle who didn't flinch a muscle at Firmin's weak attempt to intimidate her.
"Well, how should we know?" Firmin asked Rachelle's angry face in another attempt to calm her down.
"I want an answer -
I take it that you sent me this note?" referring to the note she had grasped firmly in her hand and was stuffing it under Firmin's nose.

"What's all this nonsense?" Firmin asked indignantly.
"Of course not!" shouted Andre from behind Firmin, making sure that Rachelle could hear his answer to his question and he stepped out from behind Firmin and squared his shoulders to Rachelle. She gave them both a suspicious eye, which Erik couldn't see from his position, and the managers drew back a little bit, barely noticeable at all.
"Don't look at us!" Protested Firmin angrily and slightly flustered at being accused of something like this. He glanced towards Andre and they shared a look, they knew who the note was from. The Opera Ghostess.
"He's not with you, then?" asked Rachelle, lowering her guard somewhat and her voice faltered a bit as the absurd notion hit her that the managers might be telling the truth.
"Of course not!" shouted Andre again repeating himself now that he saw Rachelle look less sure of herslef.
"We're in the dark..." began Firmin, but Rachelle cut him off abruptly and stepped forward with new zeal.
"Monsieur, don't argue -
Isn't this the
letter you wrote? " she said pulling the note away from Firmin's chin and waving it in the air for all to see. Her honey eyes blazed again with anger and suspicion, the managers noting this, forgot about trying to please her and Andre stepped forward to meet her with equal edge in his voice.
"And what is it, that we're
meant to have wrote?"

"Written!" Firmin corrected his partner with a short word and snatched the note from the Countess' outstretched hand and began to read aloud, more to himself and Andre then to the others.

" 'Do not fear for Monsieur Destler.
The Angel of Music
has him under her wing.
Make no attempt to see him again.'
" Silence filled the grand hall as the words washed over the small group, letting the words sink in. Rachelle took back the note from Firmin and glanced at it again, seeming a bit unsure of herself and returned her gaze to the managers. She believed them, after all, why would they have any reason to lie to her, it would gain them nothing. Instead of anger in her eyes, they showed worry for the second time in one day.
"If you didn't write it, who did?" Rachelle lowered her voice to almost a whisper as she asked the question and the manager had just opened their mouths to say the answer when the ground shook and Senior Pianji stumbled up the stairs to stare Rachelle, which made everyone completely forget about the previous note.
"What is it now?" Firmin sighed in annoyance as he saw La Carlotta make her way to the side of Pianji. Senior Piaji's gaze however, was not on the mangers, in fact he ignored them completely and said with a hurt look.
"I have your letter -
a letter which I
rather resent!" Pianji said as he puffed out his chest and Rachelle stared back at him, clearly insulted that Pianji would claim such a thing. The managers glanced between the two of them, happy that the attention was off them, but Firmim had to ask out of curiosity.
"And did you send it?" but he quickly regretted what he asked, because not only did he see the note, which Senior Pianji held up in front of Countess Rachelle, (which was the usual cream coloured and a broken red Death's Head seal) but Rachelle gave him a piercing stare.
"Of course not!" she defended herself and looked back to Pianji as he made his way closer to her.
"As if she would!" scoffed Firmin, taking the side, which porvided the most money to the Opera House. Pianji, although loaded with talent was somewhat easily replaceable, but with the rumours flying around, a Patron would be harder to find.
"You didn't send it?" asked a furious Pianji who gave Rachelle a suspicious eye.
"Of course not!" she defended herself again.
"What's going on ...?" asked Andre, a little confused, but Frimin nudged him and motioned to the letter and Andre fell silent.
"You dare to tell me,
that this is not the
letter you sent !" demanded Pianji, interrupting Andre.
"And what is it that I'm
meant to have sent?" Rachelle demanded to Pianji equally enraged again. Pianji gave a huffy sigh and handed the note over to Rachelle who took it from his hand with lightning speed. She glanced down, both the managers peering over her shoulder, but she shrugged them off and proceeded to read the note aloud, which seemed to suit everyone fine, but they all leaned closer: just in case they missed something.
"'Your days
at the Opera Populaire are numbered.
Erik Destler
will be singing on your behalf tonight.
Be prepared
for a great misfortune,
should you attempt
to take his place.'
" She finished the note and looked up from it with confusion towards Pianji. She handed it back to him, but he would not touch it and so she crumbled it up and threw it behind her, landing two steps away from Erik. Erik glanced up and making sure that no one saw him, he left the cover of the staircase and made his way slowly in order to grab the note. The managers looked back at each other and shrugged, which caused Rachelle and Pianji to turn to them furiously, as if these notes were all their fault.
"Far too many
notes for my taste -
and most of them
about Erik!
All we've heard since we came
is Monsieur Destler's name..." the said together, just as Erik reached the note and placed it in hi pocket. As he heard his name, he stopped dead in his tracks and peered up, with the expression of a deer caught in headlights. To his relief, no one was looking back at him, they were still arguing over the stupid letters: all except one.

Mme. Giry

Her midnight black eyes drilled into his own, and his blood ran cold. She'd seen him, now there was no escape, even if he decided to run there would be no point, there was nowhere for him to run. Thoughts reeled around in his head, on an escape plan, he knew he must think of something quickly, otherwise Mme. Giry was sure to tell the rest of them that he was here. Then a thought hit him, in fact it was so simple he wondered in amazement how he couldn't have thought of it before.

He'd go back to the Phantomess. She'd protect him.

He returned his mind to the present, for that was what he had to deal with at the moment. The silence was complete, and Erik hardly dared to breathe, fearing he would give away his spot, but then it was gone anyway. He pleaded silently with Mme. Giry not to say a word, and to his utter surprise and amazement, she gave a tiny smile and rose her finger to her lips. He blinked and looked at her again, just to make sure he hadn't imagined it, but no, she was there tilting her eyes to order him to get back behind the stairs. He rose a foot, to return but saw her mouth open and he shut his eyes tight, waiting for the announcement that was bound to come.

"Monsieur Destler has returned." Mme. Giry said softly, which caused the others to spin around and stare at her. Erik's heart sank, she'd done it, now what would he say to explain his absence? He wasn't ready to deal with people just yet, in fact he didn't much want to sing again for the time being.
"I trust his midnight oil
is well and truly burned." Firmin said with an air of frustration. Rachelle flew down from the top of the stairs, where she had just been standing with the managers and grabbed the shoulders of Mme. Giry with much more force then one would expect of a woman that possessed such a small frame. Rachelle shook Mme. Giry's shoulders forcefully, causing Mme. Giry to allow a small wince of pain cross her face.
"Where precisely is he now?" Rachelle asked Mme. Giry with much urgency in her voice as the rest threw glances around as if Erik was in the room with them. They had no idea how right they were, for Erik was still in plain view frozen in place, pure luck had been the only thing, which made Erik still unseen by the others. That and the fact, Mme. Giry spoke up very quickly after Rachelle's question.
"I thought it best
that he was alone...he needed rest." Their sweeping gazes, all missing Erik with improbable odds, returned to Mme. Giry and Erik opened his eyes.
"May I see him?" Rachelle demanded quickly, the urgency still apparent in her voice. Her eyes bore into Mme. Giry, pleading with her.
"No, Mademoiselle,
He will see no-one." Mme. Giry held up her hands in front of Rachelle, to stop the flow of questions.
"Will he sing?
Will he sing?" shouted Senior Pianji and La Carlotta, who were feeling serious withdraw symptoms from not being the centre of attention like usual. Mme. Giry ignored the pair of them and reached into her cloak, to reveal, yet another, cream coloured envelope with a red Death's Head, the seal still unbroken.
"Here, I have a note..." she said, and Erik gaped at her unnoticed by all, who were staring at the letter as if it were made of poison. Erik was relieved and exhausted as the adrenaline drained from his body. Mme. Giry in fact hadn't betrayed him, she had, most cleverly Erik admitted, seen him, kept his secret, told everyone that he was back, but wanted to be left alone, and diverted their attention by changing the subject. New found respect formed inside of Erik for this stern woman in black and he made a mental note to try and be more co-operative with her.
"Let me see it!" Andre, La Carlotta, and Pianji all yelled together shattering the silence into many pieces, which gave Erik the necessary level of noise to allow his breathing to continue and to return to his place behind the stairs. Six hands shot out and fought each other in order to reach the letter.
"Please!" shouted Firmin above the rest of them, and squirmed his way through the bodies in order to snatch the letter out of Mme. Giry 's hand and held it away from the others in order to read it.

"'Gentlemen,

I have now sent you several notes

of the most amiable nature,
detailing how my theatre

is to be run.

You have not followed my instructions.

I shall give you

one last chance . . .
Monsieur Destler has returned to you,
and I am anxious his career
should surmount.
In the new production of 'Il Muto',
you will therefore cast Pianji
as the Page girl, and put Monsieur Destler
in the role of the Count.
The role, which Monsieur Destler plays
calls for charm and appeal.
The role of the Page girl is silent -
which makes my casting,
in a word, ideal.

I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in Box Five, which
will be kept empty for me.
Should these commands be ignored,

a disaster beyond your imagination
will occur.
I remain, Gentlemen,

Your obedient servant, O.G.' "