Madame de Musique:

Part One – Inspector Gabriel Alexandrus

I knew that my ordeal with the mysterious and enigmatic (mademoiselle, I think) was a "to be continued" event. Not only did my legs cease to become active at random moments that probed the intricacy of my thoughts, but for a brief time I felt calmer in the world. And of course, it's always calm before the storm. Always.

Jacques Collette of the French police was the first friend I inherited upon arrival in this misunderstood country. A narcissist with an intuitive mind, Jacques has given me many new perspectives of the world.

Which was why I decided to talk and confide in him about the mysterious woman I'd met at the Irish pub. I even decided to let my professional guard down and let him now how my fascination was leading to a slight attraction.

"And what makes you believe you are…to follow this woman?" Collette asked, holding his cup of coffee tenderly between two gloved hands.

We sat outside my apartment on the stone steps. Collette felt like a mentor to me; strong-minded and gifted with all the talents a man should have. Collette, a man nearing fifty, had salt and pepper short hair, a usually unshaved face, and piercing blue eyes that could get the truth out of the toughest criminal. He was a man to look up to.

"I'm not sure why I want to follow her. She's intriguing. I think she knows a lot about this mysterious Phantom."

I bit my lip and stared down at my Earl Grey tea, swirling amongst cream clouds. I began thinking about this Phantom character. What kind of man goes around dressed as a ghost and takes charge of a theatre?

"I think you should talk to the victims of the fire." Collette stated bluntly, looking at me with dignified perfection. He squared his shoulder and bundled himself tighter in his coat. It was a chilly Parisian morning, the kind of morning where it takes forever for the daylight to spill over the horizon and the streets seem eerie. Of course none of this bothers Collette. Only a man of my youthful and naïve age would be spooked by an empty Parisian neighborhood. So, guillotine me.

"And how do I find these victims, Collette? In a city of thousands, I am to find a hundred or so slightly traumatized victims?"

Collette coughs and then, "Perhaps you do not need to go looking for them, they could just as easily find you. You just need the proper…enticement."

I thought about this for several moments. An enticement? What sort of enticement attracts traumatized opera enthusiasts to come out of the woodwork and talk?

"And how do I make them come to me, exactly?" I ask, glancing over at Collette.

"What did you use to do before you became an Inspector of French law?"

I savor my last smile of the day before replying, " I was an entertainer of sorts."

Suddenly, there is a bell ringing. Collette jumps to his feet before I realize that is a signal for me. I leave my tea on the steps and follow Collette through the fog of the cobble-stoned streets to the sound of a person running and a bell ringing.

"Inspector Alexandrus! Inspector Collette!"

I can barely see Collette running ahead of me. He fades in and out of the dense fog. This mist is as thick as pea soup and I suddenly feel as if I am suffocating.

"Inspector Alexandrus!" I hear from behind me. I hear Collette stop and come toward me. It is Andre Giovanni, a local butcher who always smells of cheese and gives me cold cuts free of charge on Sundays. I am surprised to see him on a Tuesday morning, when his store is usually closed.

Andre falls to his knees and points behind him.

"You must come quick, messieurs! You must see what lies just beyond the Opera Populaire. It's dreadful!"

Andre clasps his hands over his eyes and down his red beard. Collete places a hand on Andre's shoulder and tries to calm the panicked man.

"Which way?" I ask, trying to find my bearings in this awful mist.

Collette comes down to one knee and urges the answer from the crying butcher. Andre shields his eyes from us, and points behind me. Without the slightest hesitation or worry of getting lost in this god-awful mist, I run in the direction of his index finger.

I feel lost without my feet guiding me. And without my sense of seeing, I feel completely vulnerable in this fog. I try to keep myself at a quick jog in order to get to the emergency as quickly as possible, no matter what it may be. The cold laces my lungs with ice and it suddenly becomes hard to breathe.

I yell, "I am coming" to anyone who might need my help.

There is nothing worse than being needed but having no way to help. This is how I feel as my eyes begin stinging and I become tired of running.

Somehow my feet become unattached to the ground, and suddenly my head feels as if the best way is down. Which, by the way, does not feel very good.

I am facedown on the cobblestones. My hands have failed their duty in keeping my head from hitting something hard. I groan and look at my palms, which are bleeding, as is my head. I suddenly want to sleep, but fight the horrible sensation.

Pulling myself up, I look to see what I tripped on, hoping that my embarrassment will not land on my clumsy feet that seem to have a mind of their own. I turn to see a red ribbon entangled around my right ankle. How odd…

The ribbon is immensely long and trails off into another direction, disappearing in the fog. Untangling it, I wonder who would have left a completely unblemished ribbon on the streets of Paris. After my ankle is free and I've found myself back on my already unstable feet, I give the ribbon a nice tug in hopes of raveling it up and out of the way of other unexpected people who might be running in this general direction. But there is a weight.

I give it another tug and whatever is on the end slackens slightly.

I pull again; nothing, just weight on the end. Perhaps it is an early Christmas decoration, fallen off a lamppost. Instead of reeling the ribbon in, I let it travel through my hands, following wherever it is attached to.

I feel as if I'm getting closer, when I suddenly get the smell of something rusty in the air.

I know that smell.

In a panicked attempt to not be alone in the thick mist with the smell of blood in the air, I pull on the ribbon as if it is my lifeline. My breath becomes quick and I begin running once more.

Once more I pull when suddenly I see it; a woman lying on stone steps with a mask over her eyes. The ribbon is tied tightly around her neck, her face pale white.

I let go of the ribbon as if it is made of fire and run to the woman. I shake her shoulders and try to undo the ribbon that is tied so tightly around her neck.

"Madame, I will help you!" I yell in messy French as I try to work my fingers under the ribbon. Trying to make some sort of contact with her, I rip off the mask. Only to my horror, I discover that her eyes have been gouged out. I leap back and when I do, the ribbon finally comes free. Only then do I discover that this ribbon was tied to keep her head attached to her neck. And without it, her head tumbles off her body and comes to rest between her legs on her dress.

I want to scream, but before I do, the mist steals my voice and carries it away as white noise.