"He's some sort of…of witch!" the handsome aristocrat was nearly in hysterics. A feverish flush marred the perfection of his complexion. "He has her under a spell, I am sure of it."
Raoul had sent a carriage to his brother, begging him to come to the Opera Populaire on a matter "of life or death." Now, Phillippe deChagny, M. Debienne, and M. Poligny sat in the managers' office, grim looks plastered across their faces. The young man had spilled his story; he concealed nothing, even for the sake of pride.
"Calm down, Raoul. Tell us again exactly what you saw, without the embroidery." The voice of the elder deChagny was calm and collected. He did not approve of his younger brother's obsession with the singer. Beautiful, intelligent, and talented she might be; nobility –or even respectable bourgeoisie – she was not. Still, if the young woman had been abducted by a strange masked man as his brother claimed, this was a serious situation.
"The mirror opened…" Raoul began.
"How?"
"It was difficult to tell from my position…"
"Lying on the floor, peeking through the crack on the hinge side of the door?" Phillippe's intrusions irritated Raoul, but his older brother's insight had solved difficult situations before this.
"Yes. As I say, it was difficult to see, but the glass appeared to swing inward. Then he stepped out. The Opera Ghost. He stepped into the room and she just… threw herself at him. She begged him to take her with him."
"She asked to go?"
"I couldn't hear some of what they said. They whispered to each other like…like… like trysting lovers." Raoul's anger leaked into his voice. "But at one point she said, 'Take me home'. I heard that plain as day. But I know Christine. She is such a demure, sweet girl! She is so studious and serious. He must have addled her somehow...mesmerized her, or...or..."
Phillippe sighed, exasperated. "If she asked him to take her, addled or no, I don't see how we are justified in following her. If we followed every silly little girl who ran off with a secret lover, we should never do anything else." The logic was plain to the nobleman. If the girl wanted to go and had no family to deny her, then she could go. In fact, if the girl had gone willingly, good riddance. His brother would have to give up his obsession and the Vicompte had no further obligation to "rescue" her.
"But…but…he's a monster! The Opera Ghost? He is suspected of murder, no?" Raoul was standing, gesturing frantically. His carefully styled hair had fallen loose over his eyes.
"I'm sorry little brother. I cannot call in the police if the abductee was willing. I understand your fears for the girl's safety, but there's really nothing we can do." The Vicompte stood and bowed to the managers. On his way out of the office he patted his brother's shoulder. "Opera girls are not known for their constancy. If she is trysting with this…masked man… then she is certainly not worthy of your attentions. Forget her, that's my advice." He strode from the room.
The managers rose to leave as well, but Raoul blocked their path. "Tell me what you know of this 'Opera Ghost'."
M. Debienne shook his head, one hand unconsciously stroking his chubby throat where it billowed from his snug cravat. "If the Ghost is truly her invisible teacher, he has been so for years and has not hurt her. Why risk your life now meddling in his affairs?"
"And Monsieur! Your brother is wise. Forget the girl. Find another…" M. Poligny tried his best to sound conciliatory. He wanted no part in this young man's crusade against the Ghost.
"There is no 'other' for me!" cried Raoul. "Tell me what you know, or I may become desperate, Messieurs…"
The men blanched. These two men were their beloved, wealthy patrons. The one only supported the opera for the sport of the other. They looked at one another, each trying to think of a way to appease the younger without appearing to oppose the elder. When a certain housekeeper's notes came to mind, an expression of relieved joy smoothed M Poligny's face.
"We know almost nothing about the Phantom, Monsieur. We have never had any sway over him – quite the contrary." M. Poligny smiled a sly smile. "But there is one who knows about him and has had correspondence with him for years."
"Who, man? Tell me who! The danger to Christine's life increases as we delay."
"Antoinette Giry. The Housekeeper. She has carried messages from the Opera Ghost for years now. She almost speaks of him fondly. I believe he pays her."
"Giry! Of course! She spoke up for him…" Raoul's eyes narrowed. "She will tell me what I want to know this time, or she will be removed from her position – useful or not. Get her in here."
Half an hour later, Mme Giry entered the room beside M Debienne. They both looked quite unhappy, but Raoul was entirely unsympathetic. Christine was in danger and these people were more concerned for the perpetrator of the crime!
"Giry, tell me what you know about this creature, then give me the key to Christine's room. No advice, no discussion." Raoul towered over the short woman, his hands in tight fists by his sides.
Madame Giry glanced to the managers, who shrugged and nodded. "Well, Monsieur, I have never met with the Phantom, myself, but he has given me many letters to carry for him. He has been interested in Christine since she was a young child – since her father died, in fact. He taught her, guided her, and protected her when others…" here she stared accusatorily at the managers, "would have treated her less than kindly. She often complained that he made her work when other girls were playing, but she seems to be none the worse for it, I say. My Meg says that she has met with the Phantom before, for lessons. Beyond that, I know little else. If the Phantom is a man, he must be a much older man, considering how long he has been haunting this place."
"How long, Giry?"
The curt use of her last name, as though she were a manservant, was beginning to annoy the good lady. She became as sharp toned as he was. "Ten or twelve years. Perhaps longer."
"Ten years? Ten years, and no one ever thought to capture the dastardly creature?"
Silence ensued. Raoul felt his face grow hot. His hands were aching from being clenched so tightly. Everyone was against him! Did no one care about Christine? They all behaved as though ghosts and hauntings and abductions were perfectly normally events. They acted as though Raoul deChagny's concerns were of no importance. He spun on Mme Giry and held out his hand.
"Give me the key."
"A lady's privacy…"
"Giry, give me the key or I shall break the damned door down!" Raoul's voice was very close to a shout.
Without another word, Mme. Giry handed him the key, turned, and left the room. Her sturdy shoes clacked angrily on the parquet floor.
Humbly, gently, M. Debienne murmured, "Monsieur, with all due respect, I believe you have just made yourself an enemy."
"I care not. If she values Christine so little, then I care nothing for her! Now, I need men. Since neither you nor my brother will do a thing, I will have to recruit them on my own. Good day, Messieurs, and God keep you. And if I find Christine has been harmed and you would do nothing to help me, may God help you."
In a weak imitation of his brother's masterful stride, Raoul flounced out of the room. He made his way to the backstage area, where brawny set crews were hanging flats from winches. They worked swiftly; there was a performance in less than a week. Raoul stood on the lip of the stage – the first time he ever mounted a stage.
"Gentlemen." he meant for the word to boom and echo around the theatre. He was amazed to discover that the cavernous room swallowed his voice almost entirely. How did the actors make themselves heard so well? Taking a deep breath, he tried again.
"Gentlemen! Please gather 'round!" The men slowly formed an impatient semi-circle around the prissily dressed noble. "The Diva has been abducted – by the Phantom of the Opera! The police will do nothing, the managers are useless. I saw the villain take her, and I will pay any man willing to join me in the search for her. So, who will help me?"
At the mention of the Phantom of the Opera, more than half the men present simply walked away. Of the small group remaining, most were looking at their fellows to see who would be insane enough to go hunting the Opera Ghost. They had seen Thomas's terror-stricken, swollen face; few of them believed he had committed suicide.
After several tense moments, two men stepped forward. Raoul smiled. "Come with me, gentlemen, and name your price."
Their names were Gerard and Jakob. They were young men with families who needed money for household necessities. Raoul knew he would be leading them into danger. To assuage his guilt, he gave each man two hundred francs, a revolver as fine as his own, and orders to shoot to kill. Feeling very brave and noble, he led them to the mirror in Christine Daae's private quarters.
He searched for the mechanism that allowed the glass to swing open, but quickly grew frustrated. Grabbing the fire iron from the hearth, he smashed the mirror which shattered in a spray of silvered glass. Behind it was the small chamber and beyond that yawned the inky darkness of Erik's secret passageway. Raoul was all set to charge forward, but a strong hand gripped his arm.
Gerard pulled him back gently. "Monsieur, beggin' your pardon, an' no harm meant, but don't you think we should get some lights?"
"Errrr…of course. Lanterns. Let us retrieve lanterns from the stables. Then we will hunt down this monster."
Soon afterwards, the three men crept down the corridor clutching lanterns in their left hands and cocked and loaded revolvers in their right.
In the bright lantern-light, Raoul easily found Erik's first line of defense; a thin piano wire strung ankle-high across the corridor. Feeling very clever, he leaned down and studied the mechanism. After a moment, he gingerly lifted a wire loop off its little eyelet hook. When nothing happened, he let his breath out in a long, quiet sigh. This Ghost is not nearly so clever as he thinks he is, his mind crowed triumphantly. If tripwires are the best he can do, this will be simple.
In truth, Raoul had only disabled the alarm system for this particular suite of passageways. In Erik's moral code, his lethal traps were justified by his complex warning system. If the alarm sounded, his plan was to run straightaway to that corridor, hopefully arriving before the foolish intruder could be maimed or killed by other traps in his system. The only intruders caught so far were ballet corps girls who were inevitably found clinging to the walls, crying for their mothers. He had frightened them back to the holes they'd come in by, then cemented those passages shut and replaced them with others. Ballet girls were hardly a threat.
Over the last few years, Erik had disabled many of his traps along this corridor, not wanting to risk that Christine might find her way in and be injured before he could reach her. He had not, however, left himself defenseless. The three men were walking smugly towards danger, having disabled the only alarm that would have allowed the Angel of Music to save them from their own foolishness.
Raoul led, flanked by his hired guard. He kept a look-out for other tripwires, but was much more absorbed in planning what he would do once he found the Ghost. He would hold his gun out and demand the release of his fair Lady. If the monster released Christine and she came to Raoul of her own free-will he might only take the villain prisoner to be tried for his crimes. On the other hand, he mused, if he won't release her, or if it appears that he holds her in thrall by some spell …well, I will be forced to kill him. As this morbid but pleasing decision settled in his mind, he heard Gerard say, "What…?" followed by a strange low grinding vibration. He spun just in time to watch the floor crumble beneath Gerard's feet.
