A/N: Hello, readers! I recently got to thirty reviews this morning and it absolutely made my day. I've had the warm fuzzies all day, which is nice because it was my first day back to school after an extended Christmas break and everyone looked like zombies.
Cliffhanger warning! Alert, alert!
Erik growled low in his chest watching Gaston and Juliet together on the stage. It was clear that the leading man was smitten with her, but it was unclear what she felt about him. That was bothersome. There was always someone else, wasn't there? Certainly an Opera Ghost could be a fine companion when he chose to be, but would anyfemale ever consider anything—
"Monsieur, your hands are wandering past what could be considered casual," he boomed, using his spectral voice. A satisfied chuckle escaped his lips as the leading man jumped a foot in the air and pulled away from Juliet, scanning the walls in frustration as though he could detect where Erik was. He allowed the laugh to be heard by everyone and saw Juliet look up, suppressing a smile.
Rehearsal ended and Erik amused himself by opening and closing the curtains of the stage as the cast attempted to get past them. His fun had to be abandoned however, when Monsieur Firmin got tangled up in the curtains and he was forced to stop for fear that the dolt would send them crashing down from the rafters with his wriggling.
Juliet was left as the only one on the stage as she packed up her things. "You did well," he told her.
She pressed a hand to her heart and was evidently trying mightily not to scream. "You need to stop doing that," she said shakily. "You're going to scare someone to death one of these days."
Erik fidgeted a bit before answering. "Would you be surprised if I told you that's happened before?" he asked, remembering the portly little rope puller from a few years ago. He hadn't meant to, it really had been an accident.
She laughed drily. "No, it doesn't. Listen, I've got to go. It's Meg Giry's birthday tonight and we're having a dinner tonight with some friends."
"Well, have a nice time," Erik said, wondering why on earth he thought she might have wanted to spend the evening with him again. He had just had a bit of a spat with her, after all.
"I don't want to be late, I should get going," she said, picking up her bag. "Goodbye, Erik." Erik watched her walk away. Smoothing his suit front down, he journeyed back down to his lair. He had a novel he'd been meaning to finish anyway.
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"Come on Julie, we're going to be late! Our reservations are for ten minutes from now!" called Juliet's friend Emilie, a girl with light reddish brown hair and pensive hazel eyes.
"Okay, okay, I'm coming!" Juliet laughed, brushing some powder onto her nose quickly.
Together, the group ran through the slushy streets, giggling and talking all the way. "Oh, yuck! I've gotten slush in my shoes!" Meg exclaimed, hopping on one foot and trying to eradicate the unwelcome substance.
"Get it when we get to the restaurant Meg, we'll be late!" Angie, one of the top ballerinas with dark, honey blonde hair and emerald eyes shouted, holding her skirts above the mess. When they got to the door the girls tried to compose themselves, brushing their hair back into place and smoothing their dresses.
"Good evening, mademoiselles," a waiter said, bowing low to the group of girls.
"Good evening, monsieur," Juliet replied. "We have a reservation tonight under the name Giry."
He checked his list and nodded. "Ah, yes. Come right this way." They followed him to a long, elegant wooden table with white place settings and delicate red roses. Juliet was reminded of the slightly wilted rose in her dressing room.
Over their first course, a creamy potato soup, Angie dropped the bombshell question that Juliet had been hoping to avoid but knew she wouldn't be able to. "So Juliet, what is this I hear about a relationship between you and Gaston?" Ears strained forward, all eyes were trained on her.
"Nothing, we're not in a relationship. I would hardly call us friends to be honest," she said, running her thumb over the handle of her soup spoon.
Sounds of disbelief issued from every girl except Meg, who cautiously averted her eyes. "Oh come now. We've all seen you two chatting backstage, him walking you to rehearsal, you even went to dinner a few weeks ago! You can't possibly say there's nothing more," Angie pressed, leaning toward a now fidgety Juliet.
I guess you missed the fact that I've been trying to get myself as far away from him as possible at every given opportunity, then. "Believe me, it's all been platonic," said Juliet. At least for me, anyway. "We thought it would be best if we knew more about each other, being costars and all."
Everyone groaned at this loss of potential gossip as the second course, Blanquette de Veau, one of Juliet's favorites, arrived. Silence briefly descended over the table as the girls began to eat.
Mara, a quiet girl with light blonde hair and blue doe eyes, spoke at last. "You all know Vicomte Phillipe de Chagny, right?" she asked, taking a delicate sip of water. A collective sigh went up from all the girls, even Meg this time.
"Of course, who doesn't?" Meg asked, stabbing the air with her fork for emphasis. "He is just so charming," she sighed. Juliet let out a silent groan of protest. Men are only charming until they make a pass at you, she thought.
"What about him?" Emilie asked, bringing the conversation back to its original topic and pushing her food back and forth on her plate.
"He asked me to have lunch with him tomorrow," the girl said, blushing deeply. Exclamations of jealousy were audible.
"Oh, you're so lucky!" Angie sighed. "You'll tell us all about it, right?" Mara nodded in the affirmative, still faintly pink and looking a bit dazed as though she still couldn't believe that the Vicomte Phillipe had asked her out. Gaston was good looking and all, but he lacked the status that Phillipe had.
Long after dinner was finished, the girls remained at the restaurant chatting about theatre life, boys, their busy schedules that never left any time for anything fun, and boys. They tended to talk about boys a lot. It was one of the most interesting topics they could think of.
"We've got another long rehearsal starting bright and early tomorrow, we should probably go back," Juliet said after awhile, standing and pulling her cloak over her shoulders. The other girls reluctantly agreed and they began to make their way back to the Opera House. She thought she'd imagined it, but Juliet couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen Gaston and Phillipe in the same restaurant, deep in conversation.
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Right after the rehearsal, Gaston felt an excited hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Phillipe standing before him, gray eyes gleaming with an emotion that could only be described as pure, mad excitement. Clearly, he had good news. Without saying hello, the young vicomte pressed a folded piece of paper into his hand urgently.
Sensing that it was a private matter, Gaston opened it quickly and out of sight of any passersby. His own heartbeat kicked up a few notches and a wicked grin spread across his face as he read the telegram.
Yes, that's how that madman got Christine in the first place and that's how I got down there the second time. Why do you ask such a thing? ~Raoul.
He looked up at Phillipe and said, the smell of victory heavy in his nose, "That just leaves the planning, then.
They wandered over to the nearest restaurant and Phillipe used his rather significant influence and his deadly sweet personality to get them a table promptly. Neither man ordered much, just a salad and a glass of wine each.
"Finally, Armel will be avenged," Gaston murmured, fury igniting in his chest at the mere thought of the tragic fate of his little brother.
Armel Rosseau had been two years younger than Gaston. For what seemed like their whole lives, the pair was inseparable. They had each other's backs through the hierarchal tests of grade school and Gaston checked in frequently during his first year of university in the fall. However, when he returned home that Christmas he found that tragedy had struck the day before his arrival.
In an attempt to earn some pocket money and also save up for university, Armel had gotten a job as a rope boy at the Opera Populaire. As was every new stage hand, he was immediately warned of the monstrous Opera Ghost and the consequences of runnning afoul of him. Rosseau boys, however, rarely paid attention to warnings given and, being a curious boy, Armel joyfully explored the nooks and crannies of the establishment. Barely two weeks into his job, a shaken set builder found him hanging from the rafters right above center stage, swinging limply like a broken pendulum. His face bespoke that he had been frightened and horrified in his last moments in this world and there was a note clutched in his stiff, cold fingers.
It was not a suicide note like many people have when found in this way, though.
When young boys roam where they should not and pay no heed to warnings given, consequences are to be expected.
The note was not signed, but given the means of death and the handwriting, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the Phantom of the Opera had stolen the life of this poor boy. His coworkers and superiors mourned his loss. They had liked him and found him a nice, personable young man.
Gaston was beyond distraught at the loss of his beloved younger brother. He did not attend the funeral an spent nearly a week shut up in his room, only occasionally skulking down the stairs with bloodshot, glassy eyes to get a little food or water. Whispers surrounded the household that the elder son of the Rosseau family had gone mad with grief.
This was not entirely off the mark. Even Gaston's friends noticed when he came back to university that the boy was not the same person that had left. His temper was shorter, he was easily distracted, he spent increasing amounts of time by himself, and his grades began to fall drastically. It had gotten to the point that they snuck around his dormitory looking for a possible drug stash. They found nothing. Nothing except slips of paper with the singularly odd—to them, that is—phrase "Get the Opera Ghost" printed in bold handwriting on them. None of the other boys knew what to make of it.
The only one who seemed to understand was Vicomte Phillipe de Chagny. They were in the same year at university and Phillipe seemed to get the all-consuming need for revenge that had taken ahold of the young man. Instead of possibly taming down the obsession, the Vicomte fueled it. He listened to Gaston's increasingly mad plans and rather than rebuking such things, he gave him advice and constructive criticism. And, perhaps because of this, he was more vulnerable to anger at the Phantom when the business involving Christine and Raoul happened. Their endeavors began in earnest then. The Phantom of the Opera had to be stopped. For good.
"... Gaston, are you listening to me?" Gaston jumped a bit and shook his head to clear it. Phillipe was waving a hand in his face.
"Sorry, I just got lost in my thoughts," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Don't let it happen again," his friend said sternly. "As I was saying, we have a very narrow window of opportunity to do this right. Right after opening night is our best bet. Most people will leave quickly, but the stagehands will stay behind to get everything cleaned up. They're key, most of them were here when Armel was and liked him. Play the emotional card and you've got a small army to go with us. I don't fancy facing him alone, I'll say that much."
Gaston nodded in agreement to the statement. "Can't say I blame you. I don't either. We've been fed one too many horror stories, I think."
Phillipe took a long draught of his wine. "But, as you know, our biggest factor in this is Juliet. She's got the same look in her eye that Christine did. But it's a little different, I think. She'll do anything to ensure we don't hurt her precious Phantom and given her feelings and trust for you—" Gaston stopped Phillipe, holding up a finger.
"That would be the problem, Phillipe," he said uneasily. "I don't think she likes me very much or trusts me. Why, I don't know. I've been the picture of charming, but our resident specter has told me in no uncertain terms to keep my hands off her."
Phillipe, however, did nothing but smile more widely. "That's almost to our advantage, though. He's jealous of you possibly spiriting the young mademoiselle away. If you do something to make him jealous, he'll be less likely to listen to any warnings the girl might give. And he'll be watching, mark my words."
"But what will I do to make him jealous?" Gaston asked, gazing into the depths of his wine glass.
"Use your imagination."
Gaston was still confused by one point, though. "You say she'll be giving him a warning? Why would that be? I didn't think she'd be coming with us..." he trailed off at the look on Phillipe's face.
"Think for a moment, mon ami," he said. "The passageway is through her mirror. We don't know the way, but she does. Knowing the Phantom, there are sure to be scads of false tunnels and booby traps and she'll know exactly where they are."
"That's true, but she could very well be injured or killed down there and I don't wish either of those things to happen."
Phillipe looked darkly sinister and confident, never a good mix unless you were on his side. "Oh, there'll be no harm to her unless he doesn't cooperate," he murmured, spearing a vegetable savagely with his fork as if he imagined the Phantom's face to be on it. An unsure look from Gaston prompted him to add, "There's a price for everything. In his own sick, twisted way, he cares for her and doesn't wish her to be harmed in any way. The price for her life is his."
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After hours upon hours of rehearsals, opening night finally arrived. Juliet flitted around her dressing room getting ready and trying not succumb to the butterflies swooping around in her stomach gleefully. "Come on Juliet, calm down," she told herself in the mirror above her makeup desk. "Now is no time to have a breakdown. You'll do fine." She sighed loudly, putting the last pin in place. "And I'm talking to myself. Lovely."
She turned away to get one of her bracelets from her nightstand, but when she turned back, a surprise greeted her. Erik stood in front of the mirror. In her dressing room. Stifling a shriek, she asked, "How long have you been there?"
He shrugged. "Only a few seconds in here." She gave him a hard look. "I was outside the mirror for awhile."
"What?" she yelped, feeling quite exposed.
Erik looked horrified at the very thought. "I averted my eyes when I needed to!" he protested. She giggled a little, somewhat hysterical. "I just wanted to give you these—" here, he produced a beautiful bouquet of red roses, "—and wish you luck."
"Thank you, Erik," she said, taking the roses and inhaling their intoxicating fragrance. She put them in a vase and put a bit of water in it. "I think I'll need it."
He shook his head, stepping a bit closer to her and briefly touching her hand. "You don't need luck, you just need confidence in yourself. You'll do fine." His voice was soft.
She looked at him gratefully. "Thank you," she whispered. "I supposed it'd be wrong to assume that you'll watch tonight?" she asked sadly.
He looked pensive, almost hesitant. "Maybe my heart is healed enough to sit through one opera."
She grinned widely at him, but then sobered. "Don't let anyone see you, though. No one would hesitate to put a few bullets in you."
"Mademoiselle, I'm a ghost. They never see me unless I want them to," he said confidently. "Go now, your public awaits."
Juliet took two steps and found herself rushing back to give Erik a brief, but heartfelt, hug. She thoroughly surprised the pair of them by doing it, and then she did something even more surprising. She kissed his cheek. It was soft and so quick you would miss it if you blinked but a kiss was a kiss.
Flushing deep pink, she rushed out of the room. What did I just do? She asked herself.
Erik as always, was spot-on right. The performance went off without a hitch. The musicians were in tune, the dancers had spotless technique, the stage crew did exactly what they needed to, the chorus sang beautifully, and no words could describe the performance of Gaston and Juliet. They weren't just playing their characters, they became their characters. The audience was in awe. They gasped, laughed, and a few got teary all in the right places. And best of all, for Juliet anyway, at the end the knife was still collapsible.
The audience was on their feet. Never before had they seen so much chemistry on stage. Juliet took her bows, but she scanned the audience in vain each time, looking for a white half-mask. It never happened, but she could tell he was there if not only for awhile.
As the crowd cleared up, Gaston approached her eagerly. "Oh, mademoiselle!" he exclaimed, pulling her into his arms until they were uncomfortably close together. "You were stunning, just beautiful!"
The gleam in his eyes worried her greatly. He looked like he was planning something. "Thank y—" she got no further than the first letter of her second word when his lips came crashing into hers passionately. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, forcing her mouth open with his tongue. Finally, she broke away and ran for her dressing room, head spinning dangerously, like a child's toy top and her heart was beating like a drum When she reached for the doorknob, a hand roughly spun her away and pinned her to the wall.
She couldn't see the face, but the menacing words that came out with a snarl made her blood freeze in her veins. "So, mademoiselle... how's your Phantom?"
A/N: *dodges flying objects* Don't worry, the next chapter is almost done! I'll try to finish it very soon but in the meantime, don't kill me!
PS, the french meal I mentioned is made of this: "Veal that is cooked with carrots and onions and then served with a white, cream sauce."
Definitely not my cup of tea, but there you go.