The Phantom of the Opera: Chapter 12
Disclaimer: DC Comics owns "Teen Titans." Gaston Leroux owns the original story of "The Phantom of the Opera." Andrew Lloyd Webber owns the musical version. I own whatever I write/create. Don't steal and don't sue.
A/N: If some original characters in this story confuse you, please refer to my story "Book of Demons" for more information about them.
Robin paced. His legs ached and the pain in his toes was excruciating, but he could not sit. He was forced to constantly keep moving, never touching anything in the small chamber for too long. Were he to stop for more than thirty seconds, whatever he was touching would heat suddenly and rapidly unto the point of burning through cloth and skin.
He had lost his shoes and his suit jacket within the first five hours locked in the room. As he stood still in an attempt to hasten the adjusting of his eyes to the dim light, the rubber and leather of his shoes had begun to melt and scorch, and he was forced to wrench his feet from them before the heat burned him. After four solid hours of pacing back and forth, he had grown weary. He had taken off his suit jacket in hopes of providing himself with a cushion to sit on. Within moments, the cloth had begun to smoke and smolder, and Robin resigned himself to watching it burn into ash alongside the puddle that had once been his shoes.
It was eleven hours since his jacket had burned. He had been locked in the chamber for a total of sixteen, and his head throbbed. The only thing his mind could logically decipher was the fact that he was trapped in a room with walls made of mirrors. The mirrors were on well-oiled hinges. Many times he had seen the mirrors turning to show a veritable army of distraught, crazed-looking men, loathing the weakness he saw.
The single attempt at pushing at the mirrors to discover the working of the hinges resulted in painfully burned hands. In a fit of rage, Robin had kicked at the mirror that had burned him. The mirror had cooled in an instant, and it had proven impossible to break. Howling with pain and anger, Robin had hobbled to a different mirror and kicked at it with his other foot. The result was the same, and only fear of burning his feet kept him limping about the room.
His stomach soon joined his legs and feet in a chorus of sharp pain, and his throat had dried after his shouting and cursing. Robin swallowed, rubbing at his throat when the muscles refused to cooperate. The tightness in his chest worsened every few hours, leaving him achingly weary. He groaned but continued to pace. As time passed, his mind grew more and more detached from his body.
Studying and practicing martial arts for years and years had honed this technique to something that was almost wholly unconscious. Detachment had a two-fold effect. It calmed Robin's highly agitated mind, and it allowed him to sort through every memory and small detail that he wished to review. Pain reduced to a dull pulse in his skin, he began to think more clearly than he had in months.
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"It is impossible!"
"Monsieur le Blood, please, look again! Surely this piece of music is not impossible to play!" Beast Boy's face was pleading as he opened the manuscript on the piano again. Blood turned his nose up at the manuscript, crossing his arms over his chest.
"No music is impossible for me to play!" he snapped. "This entire endeavor is impossible! Have you looked through these demands?" He reached up to the top of the piano and gathered the small stack of notes into his hands, tossing each note over his shoulder as he read the demands aloud. "A new first bassoon! Removing the third trombone! Shoving aside a true diva for one of the lowly corps de ballet!" With a snarl, he made to fling the remaining notes into the air. A hand snapped closed around his wrist.
"Calm down," Chaos murmured. She plucked the notes from Blood's hand, letting go of his wrist before crouching down. "There's no need to make a mess." She picked up the notes that lay on the floor, shuffling them all into a neat stack before putting them on the piano. "And there's no need to insult my dancers."
"Oh, enough!" Blood stood from the piano bench, slapping the notes into the air. "What makes you so deluded as to believe that you can save this pathetic excuse for an opera from the gutter it is destined to wallow in? What little talent for choreographing you posses notwithstanding, there is no way to bring this opera onto the stage!"
"Monsieur, I must disagree. I gave everyone their parts three days ago with specific instructions to begin practicing. If you'll just play something so we can begin rehearsal—"
"No! This is ridiculous! There will be no rehearsal, and there will be no opera! This worthless pile of paper can hardly be called an opera! All these years of lording over us has evidently taught the Opera Ghost nothing of real music!"
Standing off in the wings, Starfire, Bumblebee, and Terra tried to laugh quietly, pressing hands over their mouths to smother the sound. Starfire was the first to grow quiet, watching the exchange. Bumblebee and Terra continued to giggle, stopping only when they saw Starfire anxiously twisting the gold ring on her hand.
"What's wrong?" Terra asked.
"Madame Dolan is furious," Starfire murmured.
"Starfire, Madame Dolan and Monsieur le Blood have argued over every opera they've ever worked together on," Bumblebee sighed. "This is just their pre-rehearsal tradition."
"No," Starfire said slowly. "Look at Madame Dolan—her eyes." The two young women did as they were told, but they returned their gazes to Starfire mere moments later in confusion. She sighed, a frown pulling at her lips as her eyes filled with worry. "I've never seen her look at Monsieur le Blood like that."
"I don't understand," Terra said. "He's not insulting her very much, and she never pays him any mind when he insults her anyway. Why would she be upset over his insulting the Opera Ghost?" Starfire did not take her eyes from Chaos, unable to answer. A sharp crack rang out, halting the sound that always buzzed about the wings.
"Madame Dolan!" Cyborg said in protest. Chaos looked down at her right hand and the piece of the grand piano's elegant wood decorations therein, examining the black lacquer chunk with a cold eye. "There's no need to break things! Monsieur le Blood—enough squabbling. Please begin the rehearsal."
"After that outlandish display?" Blood snorted. "I refuse to perform a piece that brings about such behavior." Chaos's eyes narrowed, and Blood felt his namesake rush from his face.
"Move." The word was accented by another crack as Chaos clenched her hand and snapped the piece of wood in half. Blood staggered backwards, and Chaos sat down on the piano bench. She cast the broken wood aside, flipping open the manuscript. "Chorus!"
All but Starfire gathered quickly in the center of the stage as Chaos lifted her hands. There was no time to ask what portion of the opera she was demanding that they sing, but the moment her fingers began to strike the keys, the lyrics appeared in their throats. At the proper cue, the chorus began to sing.
"Poor young maiden! For the thrill
on your tongue of stolen sweets
you will have to pay the bill—
tangled in the winding sheets!"
Chaos slammed the cover down over the keys, standing up before the lingering, discordant notes could fade away. Her spine was stiff as her eyes slowly turned toward Blood. His throat tightened painfully, and he found himself unable to move as Chaos walked toward him.
"Your orchestra is three days behind everyone else," she murmured. "You have until tomorrow morning to make sure that they understand the basics of this opera. I'm going to allow the chorus to practice on their own, and I'm going to my quarters to finish my work on the choreography. We will perform this opera within three weeks. Do you understand me, monsieur?" Blood nodded, hurriedly stumbling away to begin passing out copies of the music to the orchestra members.
Chaos strode back to the piano, taking the manuscript that Red Death had left on the night of the masquerade ball into her hands. Without another word, she walked out of the amphitheater, the crisp clicking of her boot heels against the floor echoing back through the side passages. Starfire paused until the chorus had begun to drift apart and wander out of the amphitheater before following.
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There was such an inordinately long pause after Starfire had knocked on the door that she wondered if Chaos was refusing to answer. Before the thought to knock again crossed her mind, she heard a sigh and a low call for her to enter. She opened the door and entered slowly, looking about. Chaos was rummaging about in a trunk at the foot of the bed, moving far more calmly than up in the theater.
"I'm sorry to intrude," Starfire said softly.
"You aren't intruding," Chaos replied, still looking through the things in the trunk. "I could use the company at the moment. Please, sit down." Starfire let a small smile appear on her face, curtsying and walking toward the desk chair. She paused when she saw the stacks of paper covering the desk and the chair, unsure if she had ever seen the room looking quite so unorganized. After a moment, she sat down in the comfortable armchair, fully prepared to move if the need arose.
"Is everything all right?" she asked. Chaos froze for a moment before sighing and continuing her search.
"Not exactly."
"Please—you always allow myself and the other girls to talk to you about our troubles," Starfire said. "Can't I be of some help to you?" Chaos looked over her shoulder at the young woman, staring at her. Starfire blushed and faltered under the intense, astonished gaze, clasping her hands in her lap and looking at them. "That is—if there's something I can help with." Chaos's gaze softened as she smiled and turned back to the trunk. A final, quick rummage revealed what she had been searching for, and she pulled a battered violin free.
"I need to play something," she murmured. "But I'll be happy to talk afterward." Starfire nodded, blinking in surprise as Chaos simply tucked the violin under her chin and began to play. It was a piece that the young woman had never heard before, filled with cold anger and played so quickly the bow was a blur. Despite the fact that the instrument had not been rosined nor checked for its tune, the music that was played bested most that Starfire had ever heard. She sat staring at Chaos until the woman stopped playing, drawing the bow back across the strings once to sound them.
"I—I didn't know you played anything," Starfire stammered in lieu of a compliment she felt would fall short. "Not even a piano before earlier." Chaos chuckled, spinning the bow in her fingers as she crouched down and closed the trunk's lid. She sat down on the trunk, laying the bow and violin beside her and resting her elbows on her knees.
"I'm glad you liked it," she said. "It's not the piece I'm most proud of, though."
"What is?" Starfire asked curiously. Chaos laughed aloud, smirking at the young woman.
"I'm afraid that's a bit of a secret," she replied. "I only play it for my family." The casual remark made Starfire blink, her head tilting unconsciously to the side.
"You've never spoken of your family," she said.
"Most everyone sees Kali every day," Chaos said with a smile, her eyes looking toward the desk and the papers on it. Starfire paused. Her surprise was not brought about the statement, as she could understand the inclusion of a lover as part of a family. Chaos's overly quiet tone and the softening of her eyes despite the smile fueled her curiosity enough for her to speak up.
"What about the rest of your family?" she asked. Chaos blinked and looked back at Starfire. "Your parents? Brothers and sisters?" Starfire swallowed uncomfortably, looking at the ground for a moment. "Children?"
"I found my daughter twenty-six years ago." Starfire looked up, her chest aching at the next statement. "Her real mother was going to kill her, and I rescued her." Chaos sighed and closed her eyes. "My father is…far away. I haven't seen him for all that time."
"Does he…disapprove of you?" Chaos's eyes opened as her head snapped up. She began to laugh, putting a hand to her forehead.
"No, no!" she said. "It's nothing at all like that! I miss him, Starfire. That's all." Starfire bit her lip and nodded, and Chaos saw the tears that had welled suddenly in the young woman's eyes. "You miss your family." Starfire sniffed mightily and nodded again, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. She managed to smile as she wiped away the tears.
"I do," she said. "But I'm happy now." Chaos smiled and nodded, standing up and walking to the desk. She began to organize the stacks of paper, looking over a choice number carefully. "Madame Dolan?"
"What?"
"Why were you so angry earlier?"
"Monsieur le Blood insulted myself and the opera."
"But he's done that before, and you've never become so angry. Why does it bother you now?" Chaos sighed, putting the papers in her hands on top of the neatened stacks before laying her palms flat against the desk.
"I've spent fifteen years listening to that old hack's insults," she said quietly. "I was almost accustomed to it all, performing the same operas year after year and hearing the same complaints about them and myself. But I've read the Phantom's opera, Starfire. It speaks to me like nothing else, and I wasn't going to let Blood insult something that honestly deserves praise."
"I understand," Starfire said after a moment.
"You would," Chaos replied. "Considering the relationships we share with the Phantom." Starfire nodded, but each movement of her head was progressively slower. She looked at Chaos's back, wondering if she was grateful that did not have to meet the woman's eyes when she spoke again.
"Madame Dolan?" she asked. "Why did—the Opera Ghost choose you and Madame Kali to be her liaisons with the managers?" Chaos froze, her spine stiffening. Starfire bit her lip, shrinking back in the chair.
"That," Chaos said suddenly, "is something I can't answer." Her shoulders sagged with the massive sigh she heaved a moment later. A moment passed before she turned about to look at the young woman. "Pardon my rudeness, but I must ask you to leave. I still have the choreography to finish before tomorrow morning." Starfire nodded and stood up, but paused when she was on her feet.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Whatever for?" Chaos asked. Starfire smiled, her hands drawing together instinctively to touch her fingers to the gold ring.
"For holding the opera in such high regard," she replied. "The Opera Ghost has told me that you're very worldly, and I can only imagine how she must feel for receiving your praise." She blushed, blinking rapidly as she clapped her hands over her mouth. With a polite, albeit hurried curtsey, Starfire hurried from the room. As the door clicked shut, Chaos could not stop a smile from curling her lips.
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"What travesty is this?" were the words that flew from Jinx's mouth the moment Malchior flung open the door to the managers' office. The three months after running from the stage in tears, Jinx had been remarkably quiet in Paris. It had been a guilty pleasure to see her willingly resigned to a minor part of the chorus, and Beast Boy and Cyborg were nothing short of gleeful for that quiet time.
"What ridiculous travesty are you putting me through now?" she demanded, storming into the office. "How dare I receive such a letter?" She slapped a note onto the desk, crossing her arms with a huff. Cyborg and Beast Boy looked at the woman mildly. When they did not move, Jinx's face grew red, tendons on her neck rising as she clenched her teeth. "You dare to give Malchior a lead role? He cannot perform without his diva at his side!"
"He's done it the last three months," Cyborg murmured. "He should do well enough—though we do have something to ask of you, monsieur." Malchior, blanching as he felt the weight of Jinx's glare on him, stepped forward. Cyborg opened a drawer in the desk and retrieved a telltale black envelope. He pulled the note from the envelope, reading it calmly. "The Opera Ghost insists that you darken your hair—Don Juan is youthful, and you look like an old man."
"How dare you?" Malchior snarled. Cyborg shrugged, putting the note on the table.
"I'm merely repeating what was said in the note," he said. "If you don't darken your hair, we'll find another lead. Simple as that." Malchior's jaw dropped as Jinx's face reddened further. She sputtered, trying desperately to speak. Before a coherent word could be formed, Beast Boy raised a hand and strode forward.
"Don't bother," he said sharply. "We've heard enough—myself especially. Every time you order us to do something, it's for your own benefit, and the Opera House suffers for it. People have died because of your selfish demands, and countless more have been subjected to similar danger."
"You can't possibly blame—" Beast Boy cut off Jinx's protests by slamming his fist down on the desk.
"You are not blameless!" he shouted. "We've looked over the Opera House's records! There were numerous complaints regarding you in the time that Monsieur Slade was manager. Despite that, Monsieur Slade did not give in to your outrageous demands, and the Opera House received its highest profits in that time. He may have given you second chance after second chance, but we will not! We will perform Don Juan Triumphant, Malchior will darken his hair, and you both are fired once this performance is finished! Do you understand me?"
Malchior and Jinx stood frozen for a long moment before Jinx turned and scurried away. Malchior soon followed, his feet dragging on the ground. Beast Boy went to the door and slammed it closed, turning about and striding to the single window in the office. He leaned on the windowsill with his hands, sighing softly.
"I hope we still have enough clout to draw in a new tenor," he murmured.
"There's no need to worry," Cyborg replied. "I'm certain that we'll be flooded with singers hoping to work alongside Mademoiselle Starfire." He groaned as he stood, arching his back with a satisfied smile. Still smiling, he strode to his friend and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "There's quite a beast in you, Garfield. I'm glad it wasn't looking for me." Beast Boy chuckled, smiling faintly.
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"The girl has to die," Jinx gasped, her breath trapped behind her tongue. "She has to." Malchior nodded slowly, staring at the floor. Jinx paused in her pacing to storm to the man and slap him across the face twice. "Pull yourself together! I need you to kill Starfire!"
"But—I'll be put into jail," Malchior croaked. "Disgraced forever in Paris." Jinx slapped him once more, hard enough that the inside of his cheek split on his teeth. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her, forcing blood to dribble down his face as she squeezed hard.
"You'll be disgraced anyway," she snarled. "The least you can do is take the little witch to her grave beforehand." She shoved him backward, and he fell to the floor, eyes falling upon his feet.
"Yes," he whispered slowly. "It's the least I can do. After all she's done to us." Jinx smiled widely.
"Exactly," she said cheerfully. "But it has to be dramatic. A final farewell to the upstaging brat." She gasped and clapped her hands together, hurrying to the chair she had hurled the copy of Don Juan's manuscript in a fury. She flipped through the pages, eyes widening when she came to a specific scene. The smile on her face was hideous. "I know exactly what to do."
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Starfire let the low note resonate in her chest, holding it perfectly. When she stopped singing, she closed her eyes. The applause that began a moment later was enough to make her open her eyes again and smile at Raven. The woman stood just before her, her mask on the table far out of reach. She smiled broadly, still applauding.
"Oh, Koriand'r—well done," she murmured. "No one else could inhabit Aminta as you do. The audience will love you." Starfire's smile did not waver as she took a single step forward, grasping Raven's hands between her own.
"I don't care," she replied. "What I want is for them to love your work." She giggled, squeezing Raven's hands. "You've already impressed Madame Dolan." Raven's eyes widened, her jaw falling slightly.
"I—did?" she asked.
"Enough to make her defend it against Monsieur le Blood and tell me that it honestly deserves praise." Raven blinked repeatedly, her eyes falling to the floor. She slowly stepped backward, keeping a weak hold on one of the young woman's hands as she turned away. "Raven? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Raven said softly. "I never expected to be praised by her."
"Why not?" Starfire said in turn. "You're both musicians—of course she would praise work as good as yours."
"She's brilliant, Starfire," Raven murmured. "Madame Kali is the only person who's heard her play more than I have, and only just. By Heaven—if you could hear her best work!"
"She said that she only plays it for her family." Raven turned about to find Starfire's scrutinizing gaze on her. "Raven—why did you choose Mesdames Dolan and Kali to be your contacts to the Opera House?" Raven's eyes fell to the floor once again.
"I can't tell you yet," she said, her voice weak. "Please, Starfire—everything will be explained after the performance. I promise I'll tell you, but not now."
"Why not?"
"There are things about the Opera House that need to stay a secret until the time is right. Please trust me." Starfire sighed softy, but her smile did not fade. She leaned forward and kissed Raven gently, pulling away after a moment.
"I do trust you," she said. "More than anyone else." Raven smiled before wrapping her arms around Starfire, the smile broadening when Starfire immediately returned the embrace.
"Thank you," she murmured. "I do love you, Koriand'r."
"I love you, too, Raven," Starfire replied. Raven smiled and hummed softly, holding Starfire closer.
"Now, we must stop dreaming," she said ruefully. "You need a deeper rest." Starfire paused before nodding with a sigh. "Until tomorrow night, my dear one."
"Until tomorrow."
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Robin stumbled and fell to the floor, unable to lift himself. His vision was blurred, and his sense of time was skewed. He had no idea how long he had been in the chamber, nor how many times he had been burned. Chest aching terribly, he allowed his eyelids to flutter, knowing that unconsciousness—and death, in all likelihood—was near.
The answers had fallen into place while he paced back and forth. He had deciphered most everything that had been plaguing him, and he had already conceived a plan to bring the remaining answers to him. Dimly, as his vision blackened, he thought of what a terrible pity it was that he would not see his plan seen through.
It was only after Robin had passed out that one of the mirrored panels swung open. He was picked up as easily as a piece of paper and carried from the chamber, never once stirring to see the face of his rescuer.
—to be continued—