Behind Closed Doors

The Opera Populaire was open as usual the next day. A verdict had been given on Joseph Buqet's death – suicide.

At first Christine had found herself completely unable to believe this until the inspector revealed that Joseph Buqet was a little more… disturbed than one might have imagined. A large quantity of medical drugs was found in his blood and the inspector revealed that he had been seeing a psychologist for several years.

"Apparently he had a breakdown about ten years ago and spent some time in a sanatorium. He's been on medication since but his doctor informed us that he's been a little… off for the past few weeks. Not taking his medication, and such." The inspector sighed. "I think that would explain your 'Opera Ghost'. It's entirely possible it was signalling his mental breakdown. He stopped taking his medication and started to do this without even realising that he was doing them. And then he overdosed last night and he… well."

Christine couldn't believe that the man who had been Joseph Buqet could have been so troubled and that no one had known. She vaguely remembered that he lived alone and had not spoken to his sister for several years, his only living relative. How had she taken the news? Christine didn't know but she had other things to worry about now. She summoned everyone to the theatre the next day. Many of the ballet girls were crying. Even Carlotta was quieter than usual. Christine stood nervously before them all.

"I…" She began and then shook her head. "I know that… that this is hard. For everyone. But we have work to do. We still have to do our full opening night on Romeo and Juliet. I've cancelled tonight's show, but from Monday we're back to our regular scheduling. I know that losing Joe was a blow to us all, but… he worked hard here." She touched her cross and pushed back the tears in her eyes.

"He worked hard on this show. He loved his work. I won't let his work go to waste, not now. I suggest everyone takes today off and we'll start as usual on Monday morning. I've arranged for… for a counsellor to be here tomorrow, if anyone wants to talk. And Joe's family will let us now when the memorial service will be."

She stopped talking and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of sniffling as people got to their feet and left in small groups, whispering as though they were in a church. Christine waited until the majority of them had left before going to her office and sitting at the desk. She didn't turn on her computer or take out some work. She just sat there. There had been no need to tell them of Joe's problems. Let them remember him as the man he had been to them, not the half-being that he had become last night.

Richard knocked on the door and entered.

"Everyone's gone, Mrs de Chagny."

"That's fine. I'm going to… to do some work." Christine said quietly. Richard moistened his lips but didn't speak. Christine looked up at him. "Have you sent flowers to his family?"

"Yes."

"… Alright. You and Armand can go. I'll lock up when I'm finished."

"If you don't mind me saying, I think it'd be best if you didn't stay too long. Perhaps you and Mr de Chagny could… get away. Just for the day."

"Thank you, Firmin." Christine smiled sadly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Richard nodded and disappeared, shutting the door with a soft click. Christine bowed her head, fighting back tears but one single drop fell in spite of her efforts. It landed noiselessly on a piece of paper, darkening the whiteness of it. Another fell, and then another. Christine put her hands over her mouth as sobs rose, the sorrow and horror of the previous night finally catching up with her. For long moments she wept, loud and undignified gulping sobs coming from her.

He got to His feet as He heard the front doors closing. The last of the people had left, finally. This really would not do, how could He possibly work like this? He hadn't expected people to come in today and had been caught in Box 5 until they had gone.

He began to walk the corridors, delighting in their emptiness. Truly, a building did not achieve its full potential until it was deserted apart from one who remained to admire it. His feet made no sound on the marble floor.

Opera Ghost

He smirked. Yes, he was an Opera Ghost. He would haunt this place until the eternal sleep claimed Him for its own. Those foolish policemen thought that Buqet had been the Opera Ghost. And how simple it had been to convince them that he had taken his own life! A little extra medication injected before he had suffocated had done the job nicely. Now He was safe until He chose to reveal Himself.

A door closed somewhere and He darted into a side corridor automatically as someone passed by. The manageress, of all people. He frowned as she stopped and sniffed, wiping her eyes. She wasn't carrying her bag or coat. Did she not intend to leave at all?

This was a shrill beeping and she took a mobile telephone from her pocket.

"Yes? Raoul… yes, I'm fine… they've all gone. No, I'm going to… to stay and finish some work. No, Raoul, don't, I just… yes. I'll call Philippe when I get home, he'll need to know about Joe. Yes, I'll see you later… bye." She ended the call and thrust the phone back into her pocket. She pushed her hair out of her face and He saw that her features were red from crying. She continued on her way, but she did not go to leave. Instead she walked towards the theatre. Curious, He followed, walking up to Box 5 so that He could watch her.

She was walking around the stage, around the props that were still set out from the previous night. Her hands touched the backdrop tentatively, as though afraid it were burn her. He watched her, strangely curious at her behaviour. She moved to the edge of the stage, tidying away spare sheets of music, folding a cloth that had been flung over a chair. Her movements were slow and dreamy, as though she were barely conscious. He leant forward to watch her, a slight frown on his face. This was a very different woman from the one he had been observing over the past fortnight. The ice-cool façade was gone, replaced by a haunted sorrow. Strange, how quickly and thoroughly a death could affect a human being.

The manageress turned and made her way from the room. He stood and followed her, making slightly less noise than a shadow as they walked through the corridors. To His surprise, they were headed towards the practise rooms. Now that those ignorant policemen had left, the mess had been cleaned up and the room was ready for use again. He paused as she went to the door of that room and slipped away to crawl into the air vent, wanting to watch.

The blonde woman moved into the room and went to sit at the piano. She sat for long moments, looking down at the keys. He was actually beginning to grow bored when she put her hands to the keys and began to play a requiem. Her movements were perfect, the sound was beautiful and there was even a tone of her own sadness to the music. He listened carefully, waiting for her to slip up but she didn't, even without sheet music.

Perhaps the manageress was not as musically challenged as He had first imagined.

The music came to a halt and she gently closed the piano lid.

"It'll be the only requiem that you'll get, Joe. I'm sorry." She said quietly, going to the door again. This time He did not follow her. Instead He stayed in His uncomfortable hiding place and contemplated what He had just been witness to.

The counselling sessions took place the next day, Sunday. Christine was in the Opera House, although she had no intention of speaking with a counsellor. She sat with those who were waiting in the theatre as they spoke quietly amongst themselves. There were lots of people present. She hadn't realised how popular Joe had been. She moved around, not really speaking with anyone but pausing occasionally to listen as they reminisced about their lost colleague. There had been reporters hanging around all weekend and whilst she had released a formal statement, there had obviously been some gossip mongering amongst the cast and crew, as rumours of an 'Opera Ghost' had leaked into the articles.

"Hi Mrs de Chagny."

She stopped and saw Meg curled in a chair nearby, Jammes sitting beside her with a nervous expression. Christine sat down on Meg's other side. Meg smiled weakly.

"Are you seeing the counsellor?"

"No… I have to be here, with so many people in the building." She paused. "I don't think talking to a counsellor would help me."

"Mum told me to come…" Meg whispered. "I just… I can't believe that he did that to himself."

"I didn't think so either. But… I suppose he was a deeper person than we thought he was." Christine said quietly. Jammes let out a quiet sob and Christine took a clean tissue from her pocket and passed it to her. Jammes wiped her eyes, still sobbing quietly. Meg bit her lip.

"Are we back to normal rehearsals tomorrow?"

"Yes. I think the best thing we can do now is just get back into some state of normality. I'm putting a dedication to Joe on the back of the programmes." Christine replied. Her mobile phone began to ring and she flicked it open. "Yes?"

"Christine, its Philippe. Raoul just told me about the technician who died. What happened?"

"Phil, I can't talk about it here. Can I call you this afternoon?"

"Well, yes, I suppose, but-"

"Thanks Phil." She snapped the phone shut and put it back in her pocket, before glancing at the dancers. "Do you need a drink or anything?"

They both shook their heads and Jammes' name was called. She disappeared out to see the counsellor and Christine smiled weakly at Meg before slipping to the back of the theatre. It was strange, she though. She usually didn't tend to associate with the performers and workers of the opera house, usually sending Firmin or Moncharmin on her behalf. But since Joe's death she had found that they had all tightened together, as though providing a shield against the sorrow. She was talking to the chorus members, to the dancers, making sure that they were all alright.

Mrs Giry was at the back of the theatre, watching the others. Christine joined her.

"Mrs Giry…"

"Good morning, Mrs de Chagny."

"Have you spoken to the counsellor?" Christine asked. Giry shook her head.

"Oh, no. I don't care for such things. I wanted to apologise to you for my outburst on Friday night. I said some rather foolish things."

"You mean, about the ghost?" Christine asked. "It was Joe, all the time."

"What?" Giry looked at her in surprise. Christine nodded.

"Yes, the police told me that he's been taking medication and such for mental problems. I suspect he was having troubles when he saw the 'ghost' and… well…"

Her phone began to ring again and she moved away to answer it, not seeing Giry's confused expression or that her hands has tightened so much that her knuckles were pale.

The next performance was scheduled for Monday evening. This was, in fact, a rescheduling of Friday's, with the same ticket-holders. They had, after all, paid to see the show. Raoul had been unable to attend that evening, stuck at a business dinner, but Christine had assured him that she would survive.

She waited out of sight, allowing people to bustle to their seats. After nodding to a few stragglers, Firmin joined her and said,

"Everything's prepared. The security is scattered, as you asked." Christine had hired a couple of extra security guards for the evening. This was more of a reassurance to audience and employees than anyone expecting anything to happen. Christine wasn't absolutely prepared to admit that it was a reassurance for herself as well.

She had, once again, booked Box 5. Once she had thanked Firmin and Moncharmin for their help, she made her way up to her seat. She had chosen not to don her evening gown this time, instead wearing a charcoal grey suit and white blouse. As Christine took her seat, she looked around the theatre at the waiting guests, a few of whom were still making their way to their seats. The lights began to dim, but not before Christine's eye was caught by a white object on the shelf by her legs that made her heart skip a beat.

A black trimmed envelope, addressed to herself.

Technician Commits Suicide During Opera Premiere

Nadir Khan read the title with a sense of foreboding. He lifted the paper from the wire stand and handed over a few coins for it, as he read the front page, that bore the few details that were actually known. There was a little information about this Buqet fellow, some family news, reactions from the manageress – all uninteresting comments.

There were only two details that interested Khan. The fact that Buqet had been found hanging in a music room, and the insubstantial rumours from gossiping chorus members and dancers that related to an 'Opera Ghost'.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. It's been a crazy time for me. I finish school next Friday – OK, I have exams, but still. Plus my dog has had a couple of accidents. Lol, we've only had him six weeks and he's already a disaster area, bless him! So – anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm still trying to set it up, and I'm really unsure about this story. It's very much a new territory for me so reviews are very helpful!

Love

Katie