Five levels above, Thomas' body was found by the rest of the stage crew. Pandemonium broke out. Whether this was suicide or murder, none of the superstitious stage crew wanted to touch the dangling, black-visaged corpse. After summoning the police, Messieurs Debienne and Poligny promptly shut down the Opera Populaire, all the while bemoaning the refunds and rain checks they would have to issue to disappointed patrons. To dispel whispers of what sort of curses afflicted places where such an atrocity had been committed, the chapel priest blessed the stage and all those who had worked with Thomas that morning. He did not, however, speak any words over Thomas. The general assumption was that he had committed suicide. When the police came to cut down the body and write their reports, suicide was ruled the cause of death.
All residents of the Opera not involved in the investigation were asked to stay to their quarters. In the dormitories most of the girls were treating this as a welcome holiday. They cared little for Thomas, or any of the stage crew. They preferred to giggle over the young tenors and baritones in the men's chorus. Three of the young women, though were huddled together in the bay window, whispering among themselves with tense faces. They dismissed other girls who tried to join them with a curt, "We have a serious secret to discuss. Let us be."
When the news of Thomas' death reached the ballet corps, Lise and Cara gave each other frightened knowing looks. They knew Thomas' death was no suicide. Similarly, Annette flushed and began to tremble, remembering the mysteriously dropped sandbag. When Lise and Cara pulled her into the bay window and told the story of their conversation and the ghostly sounds in the wall, all three girls arrived at the same conclusion simultaneously. The Opera Ghost had decided to protect the ballet corps in a most gruesome way.
"He killed him," whispered Lise, "and I doubt he let him confess or said anything over him before he did it."
Annette's normally gentle eyes flashed fiercely. "I hope he did. I hope that...that brute enjoys Hell."
"Shouldn't we tell someone what we know? I mean, some adult? I don't want to be the only ones who know…" She met the other girls' incredulous stares with equal intensity. "Do you want to carry this secret around?"
They considered that for a moment. A man was dead, and they alone knew who the killer was. This really was a matter beyond their young sensibilities.
Annette sighed harshly. "If we tell, we have to tell why M. le Phantom killed him." She spoke the Opera Ghost's appellation respectfully. "And I don't want anyone to know. It's…" she couldn't continue.
"Let's at least tell Mme Giry," suggested Lise. "She'll know what to do. Even if she doesn't believe us, we'll have done our part by telling."
Cara and Annette nodded. The three girls got up and trooped off to find their trusted house mother.
Mme Giry heard the girls out, trying not to allow her rising unease to show on her face. She had suspected that someone was ill-treating Annette, but could never get the reserved girl to reveal her tormentor's identity. Now she knew. She also knew that the girls' story was likely true. The possessive Opera Ghost who thrust himself so invasively into the affairs of the opera house would be understandably outraged at such behavior. Silently, she congratulated the Phantom for ridding the world of a man who would prey on defenseless young girls. But, she thought, such a gruesome death? Was it necessary?
When the girls were finished with their story, she smiled reassuringly at each of them. "You were right to come to me with this. Annette, I wish you had come sooner. We could have saved you a lot of pain, dear. It wasn't your fault at all." Madame hugged the girl tightly. "Now, as to this business of the Opera Ghost, I think this is where your story needs to stop. I believe you are correct concerning the noises in the walls. M. le Phantom has apparently seen fit to protect you in his own way. I think you have little to fear from him, and much to be grateful for. Even if the managers or police believed you, they would only try to hunt our Ghost down, which seems a sorry way to repay him, d'accord?"
Nodding heads signaled the girls' agreement. Annette piped up with her other concern, "And no one need know, Madame? Can this just be…over now? I still want to dance with the corps."
Madame Giry considered the girl's solemn eyes. Of course she wanted to move on with her life. If others knew what Thomas had done to her, she would never be able to regain her standing in the Opera Populaire. Even if others sympathized with her entirely, they would think of her in terms of the abuse she had suffered. The perpetrator was dealt with; there was no need to prolong the girl's torment.
"All right, Annette, but if anything happens again, you really must come to me. And all you girls, the Ghost prefers that his affairs remain his own. I think it would be wisest – and safest – to have no more discussion on the subject. Now, shoo! Go enjoy your holiday." With perfunctory curtsies, three relieved girls scampered off to join their friends.
Had Erik known any of this, it might have salved his torment. For once, though, he was not listening in on the affairs of the Opera Populaire. The sight of his face had sent him into a horrified torpor. So much of his life suddenly made a horrendous sort of sense. No longer could Erik hate his mother – how could any woman be expected to love such a child? And Herroux? He might have been cruel, but how else should one treat a monster? The villains of his past faded away, leaving only one behind – the Devil's Child.
Silently, doggedly, he held his discovery in the forefront of his mind as he collected bits and pieces of mirrors. Erik had become so single-minded that he arely took precautions to keep from being caught. Every other project was abandoned as he threw himself whole-heartedly into the painstaking construction of his torture chamber.
