—A/N—

Just a shortie! More to come very soon, I promise!


Chapter 5

A little golden key slipped its way into the keyhole on the office door, admitting Messieurs Armand Moncharim and Firmin Richard into their office. Richard moved to do such menial tasks as lighting the lamps, while Moncharim moved to his desk to begin the day that, predictably, would bring little more than a headache to either of the managers. Still, he was perhaps a little lighter of step than usually he would be—after all, this was the beginning of day six, with nary a whisper of the Ghost's existence. No head-splitting screams from the corps de ballet, no glass-shattering cries from Carlotta, no foreboding letters waiting for him on his—

There was a particularly foreboding letter, waiting for him on his desk. Letting out a moan, he stepped towards it.

"Armand, what is that stench?"

Moncharim did not answer; too involved was he in the letter. Weary fingers plucked the seal, unfolding the letter.

"Armand, did you hear—Oh my god!" A hand flew to grip his chest, as his other hand pointed at Armand's desk. "Dear God, man, are you blind?"

Slowly, frightened eyes were dragged over to look upon the pale, stiff corpse that was so gruesomely positioned in his chair. "Oh, God," he uttered, slowly backing away from the desk. "Oh, God, Firmin..."

Both managers turned and scuttled out of the office, calling wildly for someone to inform the police. As Richard ran about wildly trying to locate someone, anyone, Moncharim paused and leaned against the corridor wall.

To Whom It May Concern:

The death of this man is no fault of my own; should you have refrained from informing La Carlotta that she would soon be once again taking her "rightful" place upon the stage as lead soprano, this man would now be home with family rather than in the hands of the inspector.
I advise you to keep this incident in mind, should you again be tempted to threaten the position of Mlle. Daaé. Her role as lead shall never again be questioned or endangered; should you fail to follow my orders, you will be faced with a tragedy far beyond that of mere murder.

Your Obedient Servant,
O.G.

Richard was reading over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, eyes widened. "But, Armand—"

"Yes, I know," Moncharim interrupted. "It looks as if our Ghost has gone quite mad." Both managers looked down at the note within their hands, and breathed a sigh in chorus.

"How are you to avoid doing something you haven't done in the first place?" Richard asked beneath his breath.

Moncharim crumpled the note in his fingers, and dropped it wearily to the floor. "I'm quite sure I don't know, Firmin," he answered. As the inspector began mounting the stairs, eyes already attached anxiously to the two managers, Moncharim added under his breath, "I suppose we shall just have to hope that whatever was keeping the man peaceful these last five days shall return to him, and soon."

Richard snorted, and added equally quietly, "Yes, hopefully before he realizes his salary is due."