Behind Closed Doors

The dull, consistent thudding in her head was slowly but surely driving Christine to insanity. She sat at her desk, rubbing at her forehead, willing the ache to go away. It didn't, of course. If anything, the pain increased. She sighed and reached into her desk drawer for a couple of aspirin. She swallowed them quickly with water, brushing the white, chalky residue from her fingers. It had been over a week since the auditions. The opening night of Romeo and Juliet was now mere days away and everything that could have gone wrong, had. Props had fallen, costumes had torn, ankles had twisted, voices had cracked, instruments had screeched and tantrums had been thrown.

She glanced at the computer screen, where she had been typing out an extremely important email before her headache had dawned. She saved it and turned off the screen, sitting in perfect silence for several minutes. She wanted nothing more than to pick up her bag and coat and go home, to go up to her bedroom, draw the curtains and lie in cool darkness. Not that she could, not with so much to do. In fact, the only positive thing about the past week was that nobody had been wandering into her office. Probably because Christine had now taken to locking the door.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in." Christine said, wishing that they'd just go away. The door opened and Richard popped his head in, his moustache bristling agitatedly. Christine almost wondered if the hairy lip had a life of its own, it was always moving.

"Mrs de Chagny, there's a reporter from The Notice, he'd like a word with you. And yes, we told him that we could handle it, but he wants to talk straight to you." Normally Christine would have told Richard to inform the reporter that she was occupied in a meeting. But today, she just couldn't be bothered with the hassle of him coming and back and forth with the replies.

"Fine, I'll be out in a moment." She murmured. Richard nodded and disappeared. Christine brushed her hair back out of her face and glanced at the clock. She stood and straightened her skirt before closing the office door behind her to go and meet with the reporter.

The person stood in the entrance hall to the theatre was a dark-skinned man, with intense eyes and short black hair. He was dressed smartly and was examining the décor of the lobby with piercing glances, ignoring the various performers who waltzed through. Christine walked to him.

"Can I help you, sir?" She said civilly.

"I'm just waiting for the manager, thank you." He replied politely, barely looking at her. It was almost as though he was searching for something. Christine forced herself to stay calm.

"I am the manager." She said, rather icily.

"Oh! Oh, I do beg your pardon." He said, looking incredibly embarrassed.

"What can I do for you…?"

"Nadir Khan, from The Notice. I wanted to do an article about the Opera Populaire."

"And my deputy-managers could not suffice? I'm sure you understand that this close to an opening, we are all extremely busy." Christine pointed out. Khan nodded and said,

"I do understand that, but I'm sure that they couldn't know as much as you do about the Populaire."

"I'm not sure I could be very helpful, actually. Let's find somewhere to sit down." Christine led him into the rehearsal room, hoping that he would be distracted by the dancing and singing and the opportunity would come for her to slip away. But he was irritatingly focused on her.

"The building was constructed in the 1800's, I believe." He began, taking a small notebook from his pocket, "How long have you been here?"

"Two years, which is why I won't be of much use to you. If you prefer, I could find someone who has been here long." Christine offered. He shook his head.

"No, that won't be necessary. I've been to quite a few opera houses around Europe and a recurring theme is superstition and hauntings. A building with as much history as this one must be full of stories and strange occurrences."

Christine took matters into her own hands. She signalled at Mrs Giry. The ballet mistress approached and glanced at the reporter.

"Yes, Mrs de Chagny?"

"Mr Khan is from The Notice; perhaps you could answer his questions? You've been here longer than I have and I'm sure you can be far more informative. Excuse me, Mr Khan. I have a lot to do."

She stood and walked away, ignoring Khan's objections before he reluctantly settled down again. Christine was nearly at the door when she paused to glance back at Khan. He was speaking with Mrs Giry but seemed to sense her gaze. He met her eyes darkly and Christine saw, of all things, fear in those eyes.

From his position in Box 5, the masked creature glared at the interfering fool that was Nadir Khan. He had, of course, heard every word.

I've been to quite a few opera houses around Europe.

Oh, yes. Something would have to be done. He only hoped that Khan would leave soon. After all, in spite of his interfering nature, he was a reasonable fellow. Once Khan had left to explore another opera house, His plan could finally begin. It wasn't as though He wanted much. A home, an occupation, somewhere to compose and create.

But first, He would need to inform the manageress of His requirements.

Christine left the Opera Populaire at six thirty that day. She had planned to leave earlier but with a thousand and one things still left to do, she couldn't have gotten away before then. The most frustrating had been the arrival of the Health and Safety Inspectors, who hadn't been due until the next day. They made their routine check of the opera house, as the opera couldn't open until they were satisfied. Thankfully, they had given their approval and had been purchasing tickets for Romeo and Juliet as Christine had descended the steps.

She was turning the street corner when she noticed Nadir Khan watching the opera house from an alleyway, a suspicious look on his face. Christine looked at him and then carried on her way. Her mobile phone beeped shrilly and she flicked it open to read the text message from Raoul

Hey, remember that Debienne is coming for dinner. XXX

Christine's heart sank. Jonathon Debienne was one of Raoul's business associates, one that he was currently engaging in a very important deal. She had completely forgotten their dinner engagement that night, and was now on course to be late. It was a half hour walk home, leaving her less than half an hour in which to wash, dress and prepare to entertain. She quickly picked up her pace. Her thoughts were so preoccupied with the opera and dinner that she didn't notice as a car drew up alongside her. She only turned when the horn beeped, startling her. The bright face of Meg Giry hung out of the window from the driver's seat.

"Hey, Mrs de Chagny! Want a lift?"

Christine hesitated, glanced at her watch and then smiled weakly at the dancer.

"Miss Giry, you just became my saving grace." She walked around the car and opened the passenger door, sliding into the seat. Meg smiled.

"How so?"

"I forgot a dinner meeting. I just hope Raoul can keep him entertained until I get a chance to clean up." Christine said, looking anxiously at her watch again. Meg smirked.

"You clearly haven't ever driven with me. My rule is that nowhere is more than ten minutes away in a car. And traffic lights are optional."

Debienne was a largely built man, with thick dark hair, a ruddy complexion and a rather loud voice. Christine heard him before she had even entered the sitting room, having slipped upstairs in order to clean up and change into a blue chiffon skirt and matching blouse. She opened the door and saw Raoul looked at her in relief. Apparently his guest was a little too overbearing for him. Christine smiled at them both.

"I must apologise for my lateness. There were a few hold-ups at the Populaire."

"Is everything alright?" Raoul asked.

"It will be. Mr Debienne, a pleasure to meet you at last." She turned to him and offered a hand, which he shook a little too enthusiastically.

"And the same to you, Mrs de Chagny. I should scold you, Raoul. You neglected to mention exactly how stunning your wife is."

Christine felt heat rise to her cheeks, as it always did when she was complimented so bluntly. The curse of pale skin, she knew. Raoul smiled and kissed her cheek.

"I guess I'm just scared someone will whisk her away from me." He teased. Christine smiled at him.

"You're both sweet and paranoid."

"Ah, such young love! Believe me, when you reach my age and have been as married as long as Annie and I have… well, you'll be begging someone to whisk her away." Debienne roared. Raoul and Christine both smiled, a little awkwardly. It was looking to be a very long night.

The cook had outdone himself with a heavenly menu of duck, a variety of sauces, vegetables and several bottles of fine wine. Christine ate, drank and spoke little, preferring to listen to the discussion between her husband and Debienne. At first they spoke merely of business, and then of Debienne's wife and family before the conversation turned to herself and Raoul.

"And when are you two planning on starting a proper family?" Debienne said over cheerfully. His usually red face was nearly purple through wine consumption. Christine smiled serenely.

"Raoul and I have discussed this many times. But now isn't the best time to bringing a child up. We're both focusing on our careers." She explained calmly. Debienne looked like he was about to make another comment but Raoul stepped in with a comment about the current state of the stock market, which sufficiently distracted their guest.

Debienne left fairly late that evening. Christine could already feel her eyes slipping shut and fought to stay awake as they said their goodbyes. Once the door had closed behind him, Raoul turned, pulled her close to him and kissed her so passionately that it woke her up immediately.

"God, I've been wanting to do that all evening. We're never having anyone to dinner again, ever." He muttered between kisses. Christine laughed and returned his embraces.

"That's what you get for bringing work home with you. And you haven't even asked me how my day has been."

"Christine, I don't care." He replied seriously, scooping her legs out from beneath her and heading to the stairs.

Joseph Buqet walked slowly through the corridors of the Opera Populaire, thanking God that he had a spare key. He had only just remembered that he had forgotten to lock away several pieces of expensive equipment. It was more than his job was worth to let those things get damaged or stolen and despite the late hour, he had returned to the opera house.

He scratched his short cut hair as he strolled through the dark hallways. Joe Buqet was one of the head technicians of the Opera Populaire, a slow-moving and quiet man. Whilst he was well-known as a peculiar man, he was respected within the opera house for the mere skill he possessed at his job.

Buqet's mind had been filled with thoughts of his warm, comfortable bed but they were driven out as a sound caught his attention. It was… singing. Buqet stopped and frowned. There shouldn't be anybody here at this time. He strained his ears to hear where the sound was emanating from and followed it to one of the practise rooms.

For several long moments he stood outside the room. The doors to the practise rooms where wooden with large frosted glass panels. As a result, Buqet could see nothing more than a blurred black outline. But he barely noticed, for the sweet music was drowning him, intoxicating him. He swayed slightly, listening to the wordless sounds. It did not even appear to have a recognisable melody; it was a mere medley of beautiful sounds. The essence of music, in its entire purity, not requiring words or notes, just… sound.

Buqet gradually rose from his trance and turned his face to the frosted glass as the noise continued. He was determined to find out who this person was. Perhaps they worked here, although he'd never heard someone create that sound here before. Or perhaps they had broken. There were any numbers of possibilities.

Buqet, still enthralled by the chillingly sweet music, stepped closer to the door, watching the black shape as it moved ever so slightly. His hand inched towards the handle of the door, his fingertips brushing the metal as the noise heightened to the point of ecstasy…

And then he shouted in horror as the black shape flung itself against the frosted glass and he saw the blurred face of the… man pressed against the window.

Perhaps a braver man would have stayed. Perhaps not.

But Joe Buqet ran, leaving the face to slowly peel away from the glass, the hollow eyes fixed on the man running as though every hound of hell were snapping at his heels.

And whilst Buqet was running with his heart hammering in his chest and his mind reeling in utter fear, Christine Daae was lying beside her sleeping husband, watching as the moonlight dropped through the gap in the curtains and moved closer to Raoul so that he would hold her in his slumber.

A/N: A pathetically short chapter. I don't even know if I like it or not. I don't know… well, let me know what you think. I can't be bothered to explain why it took so long, there's an explanation in my profile if anyone wants one! Well, I'm gonna skedaddle. Please review, I really need some feedback on this.

Love

Katie