Disclaimer: All references to the characters from the Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera belong to their pertinent parties and publishers. I do not claim ownership to the characters, any iteration from a major production of the same material, and / or the original source material.
A/N: A quick thank-you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and / or followed this story. I hope you continue to enjoy the story. - p.s.
De petite souris a monsieur chat: Chapter 18
January 1883: Dormitories & Stage of the Opera House
He is feverish and Josef fears the man will not survive the night. I am doubtful. He began speaking a strange language last night. The man had grabbed my hand at one point. He seemed to be pleading with me. Fear masked his features before he fell back asleep. Whatever this man has done… He regrets it. Painfully, he seeks forgiveness from the shadows.
Meg continued to read the diary in the hopes for more entries on Erik. At first glance, she had assumed there had been only a handful of entries on Erik; however, as she continued to read, there were several. Often her mother wrote only a sentence about the man in the basement of the Opera House -
He grows stronger day by day.
He is learning French quickly. Josef is already conversing with him regularly.
Josef has decided to have the man work with him.
Josef lets him incorporate new designs into the building plan. The supervisor has yet to notice.
Meg flipped a few pages forward, and a word caught her eye. Greedily, she stopped to read the entry.
The Opera House is finished, and Josef is over the moon with pride. We spoke last night of what to do about Erik, the man underneath the opera house. Josef says Erik wishes to stay, that he wants to learn more about music and life. Josef agreed to help him make a home beside the lake in the cellar, but I fear Josef is too giving. We have done enough for Erik… but Josef disagrees.
Josef will not tell me what Erik tells him… but I have heard snippets. Such as Erik having done despicable things in a land to the East. I heard the other day that Erik had threatened another work; he held him over the edge of the roof for simply touching him. Josef stopped Erik… This time.
Meg puffed out a breath of air. Yes, that's our dear Opera Ghost, she mused. Her eyes skimmed over the next entry, and she saw nothing more about Erik. While she appreciated her mother's diary, Meg also cursed her luck. Her father seemed to have more of a connection to Erik than her mother; also, her mother's diary thus far only confirmed information that Meg had experienced firsthand. The small ballerina huffed and turned to rest upon her stomach. She set the book aside and rubbed at her eyes. They hurt from the poor candlelight as she read at night.
Picking the book up again, she glanced from the previous entry to the next. Her eyes drifted to the date. Then she flipped back to check the previous date. Her heart sank. There was a year missing from the diary. Meg began to read again.
Much has happened in the past year. Josef has found work as a stage hand and I have joined the corps de ballet. We try for a child, but God has yet to grace us with one. We try not to despair and continue to have faith.
The next entry was equally as short and again, a year later from the last. The entry following the second was similar. Then Meg noticed the fourth entry. It dated to two years later… and a few days after her father's death.
I have grown out of the practice of writing. I do not know where to start. Our daughter gives us gave us such joy. She looks so much like her father that my heart aches. I only hope she shares his spirit.
Josef… died in a freak accident. A catwalk gave way underneath his feet. No one could save him…. I found Erik in the chapel last night. He witnessed the accident – a fraying rope was the culprit. He had tried to save Josef, but he wasn't fast enough.
I don't know whether or not to believe him. Erik has given me no reason to doubt his word… but he is secretive, withdrawn. He lives below the opera house with Josef as his only friend. He says he will do what he can for us – Marguerite and I. He seem… to feel an obligation, which is warranted. However, I worry about Erik.
The diary entries thereafter were meager. A story hear about Meg's childhood or her mother's laments about losing Josef. Meg couldn't bear to read the latter entries. Yet her eyes skimmed one.
I am done. I will never dance again. Mon dieu, forgive me for taking your name in vain, but I had so much faith in you. Faith and hope that my dance could sustain all of us. My ankle is beyond repair says the doctors. Surgery is an option, but I lack the funds. Also, who would take care of Little Meg? No one. Who would watch out for the other young girls of the troupe? No one. I am at a loss of what to do. I cannot stay in the dormitories with my daughter and we have nowhere to go.
Tears pricked her eyes and Meg wiped them away. She remembered those early days of unease in their small room in the Opera House. She was too young to join the troupe, and mother's injury had ruined her budding career.
Erik came to me last night. He would help us. The entry went on without another word of the Phantom. An entry without a date followed -
There are whispers of an Opera Ghost… and I know they mean Erik. The stage hands notice him more than the managers; the ballerinas attribute any bump to him. Only once have I seen Erik's tricks myself…. And I am the only one to know the Ghost is actually a man. I should be thankful. He has coerced the managers into giving me a position as attendant. I am thankful for the extra money, but I am neither pleased with him nor am I proud of him. Erik will be like the extortionists in Dante's work if I am to believe the priest at church. I went to confession in the hopes of easing my mind on the matter, but I fear, Father could offer me no solace tonight.
"Typical," Meg muttered. She remembered her mother going to church often in her younger years; then, as her ankle grew more painful, Madame Giry had refused to go. Meg wondered if her mother used the pain as an excuse… and that she had simply become disillusioned with the idea of redemption. Several entries thereafter lacked any mention of Erik until another line caught her eye - Marguerite is old enough to join the troupe. She has made a friend of young Christine Daae. She sings well. Erik seems to think she has potential.
Meg set the diary aside after glancing at the date. The date was mere days after Christine's arrival at the Opera House. She groaned into her flat pillow on the lumpy bed she once shared with her mother. She had hoped the diary would reveal more about Erik. Some clue about his past or personality. At least, Meg hoped, something about Erik's past life. Instead she had vague clues to her father's friendship with the man and how Erik had ended up at the Opera House. Her thoughts slowed as exhaustion took her into the land of dreams.
Along with the other stagehands, Dmitri watched the young ballerinas from the catwalk above the stage. He smiled letting his eyes drift from Anjelica's curvaceous form to young Cecile Jammes and then Marianne St. Michel. An older stagehand had taught him the trick to identify the girls by their hair color. As his eyes drifted to the dark features of Meg, he winced involuntarily.
A nudge at his elbow caught his attention. Chaput, an older boy by a year or more with dark hair and hazel eyes, gave him a quizzical look. Dmitri shrugged and pointed down at Meg. Chaput was new, having been hired to replace an older stagehand who died from the fever last autumn. He had proved himself capable to the older stagehands and his ability to tell a tale at the tavern had won him a place of respect with the younger stagehands. He had formed an easy friendship with Dmitri. He had even assisted the blond-haired Russian in his sexual escapades with one of Eleanor's more naïve girls in the workshop.
Chaput raised an eyebrow, but his eyes glided down to Marguerite Giry dancing upon the stage. He eyed her critically and nodded his approval. With a wave, he led Dmitri off of the catwalks to discuss the girl off stage and out of hearing.
"What about her?" Chaput asked quietly. Dmitri landed on his feet in the wings with a slight thump; Chaput lightly stepped down, soundlessly. Dmitri found it odd that Chaput never made a sound. "She is rather skinny for my tastes."
"Ah, don't let her thin and swarthy appearance deter you. Little Meg is sweeter than honey… when she likes you," Dmitri huffed before cringing again. "When she doesn't, beware her knee."
Chaput smiled devilishly. "Oh? I like a girl with a little fight in her. They make for a good challenge."
"She will be a challenge for sure," the Russian admitted with a wave of his hand towards the stage. "She seems to be rising in the ranks as well. Already I heard some American is trying to sweep her off her feet."
"No matter." Chaput shrugged and his hazel eyes twinkled. "By chance, is she the dreaded Giry I have heard about from Bonnet and Deneil?"
"No, she's the daughter of Madame Giry who passed last autumn," Dmitri explained. "That woman was a tyrant, but with her passing…" Dmitri let Chaput fill in the pieces with a grin. "Little Meg may need some comforting."
Chaput smiled like a fox at his friend. "You just want to give her a little payback, no?"
Dmitri scowled, and Chaput chuckled at having caught his friend out. "Ah, Dmitri… ," he began with the sly smile still tugging at his lips. "I am intrigued by your proposition… and by her. I'll consider it."
The younger stagehand with his sand-blond hair and blue eyes transformed his scowl to a hopeful grin. He sauntered off assuming Chaput would, in fact, pursue Little Meg and deal a romantic blow to her.
Chaput watched him leave the wings. The boy acted as if he owned the Opera House, which meant he could play with the ballet rats as he saw fit. Yet Chaput knew better. Only one monster owned the Opera House… and he had a vague suspicion that Madameoiselle Giry was the key to find him.