Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera does not belong to me. I'm only borrowing it.
Chapter Seven
-The Hayfield Times- Volume 21, Special Report November 1, 2005
Reporter Goes Missing, Phantom Suspected
by Kaila Towerson
Christine Daae, tenth grade reporter for The Hayfield Times, disappeared on Thursday, and recent evidence shows that the Phantom of the Opera may be responsible.
Last Friday, the day after Daae disappeared, a video tape was found on the editors' desk in the Journalism classroom, which was where Daae was last seen. The video showed Daae in an unrecognizable place, where she stated that she had been kidnapped by the Phantom of the Opera, the infamous 'ghost' that haunts Hayfield High School. Daae begged school administrators to follow the Phantom's orders, which were to raise the school newspaper's price, buy new software for the newspaper, and hire more editors. In the video, Daae said that she feared for her life. School administrators and the police are working together to try to find Daae and her kidnapper. The Phantom has been offered all that he demanded.
Students are warned to be cautious as they go about their daily activities. New school rules are now in place, stating that students may not leave class without a buddy. To see the details of these rules, speak to Mrs. Antoinette Giry in the library. Lynda Spurke, Hayfield's principal, assures students that the Phantom will soon be apprehended.
"Don't worry about a thing. We'll soon have the criminal, and Miss Daae will be back where she belongs," Spurke said.
Christine walked around the many models that Erik kept in his home. There were several that depicted her school before she had come, when it was old-fashioned, drab, and falling apart. There were a few that showed the school halfway through the renovations, the stage it was in now. Some parts of the building looked new and very cool, contrasting strongly with the crummy half of the school. Trailers crowded around these models. But then there were models of the future Hayfield High School, blazing with purple, black, and white splashes of color. The entire establishment seemed to blaze with innovative architectural brilliance, and Christine wondered if it had been designed by the Phantom of the Opera himself.
She paused in front of an open-roofed model of the main hallway. It was lined with lockers, just as the real one was, and all of them had doors that opened and closed. There were vending machines, posters on the walls, double doors that led to the auditorium, and a lot more detail, but what interested Christine most was the wax figures. All along the hallway stood wax figures of real students from Hayfield High. Christine recognized Kaila Towerson, Sam Marjon, Meg Giry, and many more of her peers. The figures had joints that moved, clothing that could be changed, and magnetic accessories such as textbooks, purses, and in some cases, reporter's notebooks…
Christine picked up the miniature version of herself and grinned. Mini-Christine was dressed in jeans and a red tank top, wearing a cute black newsboy cap. She was holding a pencil and a reporter's notebook and had previously been standing outside a doorway, her head tilted as if she were eavesdropping.
"I want that hat," Christine muttered to herself. "That is the cutest thing I've ever seen."
"Then you may have it."
Christine jumped as a voice spoke out behind her. She wheeled around to face the masked face of Erik, who had, once again, sneaked up on her. He reached out and set a black newsboy cap, identical to Mini-Christine's, on her head.
"Wow! Thank you," Christine said happily, tilting it at a jaunty angle. Her eyes met Erik's green ones, and she looked away, blushing. "What have you been up to?"
"Spying," Erik replied guardedly.
"Who were you spying on?" Christine pressed. It was always so hard to get any information out of him.
"The school administrators," Erik told her, removing his cloak and draping it on a chair. "They were meeting in your principal's office. They've been very worried about you these past few days."
"What about my dad?" Christine inquired. "Has he been involved?"
"Very. Hasn't he been calling every once in a while?"
Right on cue, the ringtone version of 'Cinderella' by Bee Diddy rang from Christine's cell. She was beginning to regret not leaving it in the Journalism classroom with her purse.
"That would be him," she sighed. When the phone stopped ringing she pulled it out of her pocket and turned it off.
"You'll be interested to know that your singer friend Bee Diddy is now involved in the search," Erik said over his shoulder, walking away.
Christine followed him. "Really? That's cool!"
"I recall her saying that since she was in the area she would help out, she didn't feel like visiting all the boring monuments anyway," Erik continued.
"Well, if there's one thing Washington, D.C. has, it's boring monuments," Christine mumbled. "That and traffic. At least out here in the suburbs it's not as bad. It does get pretty clogged sometimes, but in the city it gets absolutely horrible. I find it's better to take the Metro, even if you have to pay for it and walk a little bit. It's fun, too. Better than sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for hours…" She trailed off. "Oh, sorry. I'm rambling again, aren't I?"
Erik was watching her interestedly. "I like to hear you talk."
Christine felt her face flush. "Um…really? Meg usually tells me to shut up when I start rambling like that."
Erik shook his head. "Usually it's too quiet down here. You have a beautiful voice, Christine. I wish you would use it to sing."
Christine turned away. "I think I'm going to go get some rest," she said abruptly. She walked to her room, and immediately wished there was a door she could shut. She collapsed on the swan bed. She would have absolutely loved to sing, but after her mother died… There was no possible way.
She turned on her cell phone and listened to her messages for the first time in a week. There were countless messages from her dad, loads of anxious messages from police, teachers and friends, and even one furious message from Meg. She wished with all her heart that she could let them know she was safe. But if she called any of them, the police could track her cell phone all the way down to the subterranean lake. She was taking risks already just by having a cell phone with her. The last thing she wanted to do was expose Erik.
Christine sighed. She enjoyed spending time in the lair of her mysterious masked angel, but homesickness was beginning to gnaw at her. She didn't want to leave, but… what about her dad? He must have been scared to death.
She rolled over and tried to take a nap.
Andre anxiously drummed his fingers on his desk. "Well, we've got more editors now. Our only problem is that we've got no reporters!"
"What am I, a duck?" Meg Giry said crossly as she walked by.
"You're right," Firmin agreed. "We can have a typo-free newspaper, but only if we can get someone to write the articles."
"With all the juniors gone, that Daae chick missing, and people changing courses because they're scared, we've got almost no one left," Andre grumbled. "I don't know about you, but I'm certainly not good at digging up dirt."
"I know somebody who is," Firmin said thoughtfully. "But it won't be easy to get her to take on the job…"
He swiveled around in his chair and knocked on the closet door behind him. "Hey, Sandy!"
Christine woke up abruptly from her catnap. Erik was playing his organ. She loved to hear him play. He played with such enthusiasm and passion that Christine was enthralled every time he sat down at the bench.
She listened closely; it sounded like he was playing the music from an opera he was writing. It was called Don Juan Triumphant! Erik had never let Christine look at the score, but from listening to what he played, she got the feeling that it was rather a naughty production.
Christine rolled out of the swan bed and walked over to stand next to the organ. She wasn't sure whether or not he was aware of her presence; he seemed to be deeply into the music. Christine watched him closely. His hands roved over the keys effortlessly, his green eyes watching the music carefully. Every once in a while he would close his eyes and play from memory, relishing the sound of the music.
Christine sighed wistfully, gazing at the white mask that covered half of Erik's face. What was under the mask? She had never asked, and something told her that he wouldn't tell her if she did. She stepped closer to him and saw him glance at her briefly before returning to his music.
He was dressed all in black, except for his mask, giving him the look of a gothic angel. Candlelight glanced weakly off the white porcelain, making it seem to shine. That mask was so mysterious, just like him. The music Erik was playing was filling her brain with strange, misty thoughts. Conscious thought began to elude her.
Without realizing it, Christine had slowly reached up and touched the mask. She didn't know why she did that, but she didn't want to think about it. It felt smooth and cool under her fingertips. She traced the edge gently with one finger and wondered again… What lies under the mask?
Suddenly, the music stopped. Christine felt like she had been jolted awake from a peaceful slumber. Practical thoughts returned to her mind. She gasped.
She was holding Erik's mask in her hands!
At that moment, she could have screamed at herself. Christine! What have you done? Fearfully, she looked up at the infuriated musician. She caught a glance of twisted, mangled skin before he shoved her away. She fell to the ground, and he stormed away, screaming and covering his face with a hand.
"Damn you!" he roared. "You little prying Pandora! You vixen! Is this what you wanted to see?"
Christine cowered against the organ, the mask lying forgotten beside her. "Erik, please!" she cried. "I'm sorry!"
"Curse you!" he bellowed even louder, his eyes like the very pits of hell. "You little lying Delilah! You little viper!" He turned away from her, striking a tall candlestick to the ground in his fury. "Damn you, Christine…curse you…"
Christine buried her face in her hands, afraid to look at the furious man. What had happened to her kind, silent maestro?
You killed him. You took away his mask and took away his shelter from the world, turning him into this defensive animal. This man has probably seen nothing but hatred from this world, and you just made it worse. Just when everything was going so well…
She dared to peer through her fingers at Erik. He slowly sank to his knees, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. His lips parted in a mournful whisper. "It doesn't have to be this way." Green eyes that were glistening with tears of anger and sadness looked up at her desperately. "There doesn't have to be this fear. You can learn to look beyond this carcass of a visage, to see the man in the monster, this repulsive gargoyle who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for the light of heaven…"
Christine stared at him, breathing hard. What was she expected to say to all this?
Erik's head dropped, and the connection between their eyes was broken. "Oh, Christine…" he whispered mournfully.
Christine bowed her head in shame. What had she done? One little slip and she had ruined everything. Little Lotte had betrayed her Angel of Music's trust, something that couldn't possibly be regained.
She noticed the mask lying on the ground, and picked it up. She dusted it off, cursing her insatiable curiosity. She held it out to its owner. Erik took it without looking at her. He straightened up, turned around, and replaced the mask. He stared at the wall for a long time before turning to face her, a grim look in his eyes.
"I think it's time for you to go home."
"Please!" Andre begged. "You're the best writer within a hundred mile radius!"
"You're our only hope!" Firmin wheedled. "If you won't do it for us, then do it for the newspaper!"
"No!" Sandy stomped toward the classroom door. "I won't be persuaded into working for a pair of gay suck-ups like you! Editors, my ass!"
The two editors-in-chief gawked for a moment, bewildered. Then they rushed after her as she strode into the hallway.
"Sandy, wait!"
"We need you!"
"The newspaper will suffer!"
A mob of students crowded around them, shouting eagerly. Perhaps fifty people were there, holding bathroom passes and begging for an update about the missing reporter and her dangerous kidnapper.
"Have you heard anything about that missing sophomore yet?"
"Did the police find the Opera Ghost?"
"Are they going to close down the school?"
The fired editor and her successors backed quickly into the classroom again, shutting the door in the students' faces.
"Your public needs you," Firmin told Sandy.
"We need you, too," Andre insisted. "Did you see them out there? They wanted news, and we can't give it to them without you!"
For a moment Sandy looked convinced, but then she glared at them. "Yeah, right. You think I don't know you're coming to me as a last resort? I know that in reality, you really want that stupid little sophomore for the job! Am I right?"
Andre and Firmin shook their heads in unison. "Sandy, no. Hayfield wants you."
Sandy bit her lip. The editors stared at her hopefully. Finally, she huffed impatiently. "Fine, I'll do it for the public!"
The editors sighed in relief.
Christine followed Erik through the darkness, tears slipping down her face. If only she could have kept her stupid hands to herself!
She heard Erik's footsteps stop abruptly, his cloak swooshing quietly.
"We are directly above the Journalism classroom. It is 7:45, in the middle of first period. This is where we part."
"Erik…" Christine looked down at her feet. "…I really am sorry."
"You will tell anyone who asks that you hit your head and can't remember being kidnapped, or any of the time we were together." Erik carried on briskly as though he hadn't heard her. "You still have a large bump on your head to use as proof. Tomorrow when you come to school, you will find completed homework from the days you missed in your locker, along with notes from any lectures. Give this to your principal."
He shoved what felt like an envelope into Christine's hand.
"And, Christine? Forgive me." He shoved Christine forward, and she fell, screaming, into a pit of darkness. Bang! Whack! Clong! She smacked into flimsy metal and saw stars. A second later she was sprawled out on a carpeted floor, squinting in the bright light. She stared up at the ceiling and saw that she had fallen through a ventilation shaft.
"Christine?"
Christine looked around. She was, indeed, in the Journalism room, and just about everyone in the class was staring over the tops of their cubicles at her. Christine blinked in astonishment. "Um…hi?"
A moment later she was practically being smothered to death by Meg Giry.
"I thought you were dead!" Meg sobbed. "Where did you go?"
"Meg, let me go! I can't breathe!" Christine groaned. She pushed her friend away and smiled weakly. "It's nice to see you again."
"What happened?" Meg asked insistently.
"I…don't know," Christine said slowly, trying to look confused. "I can't really remember anything except this long blackness, and then falling." She shrugged. "My head kind of hurts." That part wasn't a lie; her head ached from where she had smacked it during her fall.
Meg smacked her about the head. "That's for not even answering your bloody cell phone!" she yelled. "And don't give me that crap about not having any minutes left!"
Christine backed away. "I'm sorry, jeez!" she yelped, rubbing her head.
Meg stood up and helped her friend to her feet. "I guess we'd better tell the principal that you're back," she mused. "This is going to be one chaotic morning."
"Um, yeah," Christine muttered, trying to tuck the envelope inconspicuously into her pocket. "Sure."
They entered Meg's cubicle, where she called the school administration. While she did that, Christine checked the school's website for homework assignments, even though she knew she wasn't going to do any of it.
"I guess I missed a lot of homework," she said aloud, glancing up at Meg. "And I really need to get started on an article for the Times…"
Meg hung up the phone. "No, you don't. Sandy's substituting for you."
"What?" Christine yelped. "No! That's my article!"
Meg shrugged. "Our dear old editors were thinking about the business as usual. There's really not much you can do about it now."
Seething, Christine crumbled up a sheet of paper. "That's not fair!"
"Watch it!" Meg barked. "That's my English homework!"
Christine tossed it at her. "I'm going to go talk some sense into those stupid, gay pigs." She stomped out of Meg's work area and approached the editors' desks purposefully.
Andre was the only one around. He was holding a large box of chocolates and seemed to be on his way to Sandy's closet. He jumped when he saw Christine, the chocolate tumbling out of his hands. "It's you!" he shouted. He frowned. "Um… Clarissa? No, Charlotte! No, that's not it either. Um, Tina?"
"It's Christine," Christine said coolly, leaning on his desk. "I have a bone to pick with you and Firmin."
Andre picked up the box of chocolates and edged toward Sandy's office. "Well, sorry. It'll have to wait. I've got… business to attend to." He disappeared into the tiny closet.
"Wait a second!" Christine yelled. "I'm still talking to you!"
"I wanted peanut butter, not caramel! Fix it… and get me a soda, now!" Christine heard Sandy yelling through the closed door. A second later, Firmin bustled out. He gasped when he saw Christine.
"You're back!" he yelped. He paused, frowning. He snapped his fingers. "Um, Clara? No, Marissa? Crystal?"
"My name is Christine!" Christine shouted.
"Yeah, Christine. If you'll excuse me…" Firmin ran quickly toward the door.
"Oh no, you don't!" Christine yelled, but he was gone. She slammed her fist on the desk. She paced back and forth across the room until Firmin returned.
He tried avoiding her by running to Sandy's closet, but at the same moment he reached it, Andre ran out. They smacked into each other and fell to the ground, knocking over a file cabinet in the process.
Christine stomped over to them. "Finally! I want a word with you."
Firmin rubbed his head where he had smacked it against the wall. "We're really, really busy at the moment…"
Andre emerged from a pile of scattered printer paper. "Yeah. We don't have time…"
"I want my article back," Christine stated bluntly.
The editors glanced at each other. "That's not really possible," Firmin mumbled, not meeting Christine's eyes.
"Why not?" Christine inquired angrily. "I know you have room! All those reporters quit. There's no possible way you couldn't have room!"
"Well, we already made the dummy copy," Andre muttered, putting the printer paper on a shelf.
"So make another one!" Christine snapped. "Take out some of those useless advertisements for the student store! Nobody pays attention to those, anyway!"
"We can't do that," Firmin mumbled, tugging on his shirt collar. "Sandy wouldn't let us change it this close to the deadline."
"In the past you've changed it five minutes before the deadline!" Christine reminded him furiously. "The deadline is days away! And since when has Sandy been the boss of you?"
"Um, never," Andre said hesitantly. "She…she just gives us advice."
"So? You can do whatever you want!" Christine shouted. "You don't have to listen to her!"
Andre huffed as he got to his feet. "I'm done being nice," he grumbled. "I'm going to say this bluntly, Cindy."
"Christine!"
"Whatever." Andre pulled Firmin to his feet and faced Christine with a grim expression. "Sandy is the best that there is, and she'll only write for us as long as you don't get a space in the newspaper. Goodbye." The editors disappeared into Sandy's office.
Christine stared after them, her mouth hanging open. She sputtered for a second until she found her voice. "You stupid, gay maggots! You're so freakin' stupid, obeying that prissy biotch of a prima donna like sniveling lapdogs! YOU DAMNABLE, STUPID, IDIOTS!"
"What did you just say?"
Christine wheeled around, her eyes as wide as tennis balls. There, standing before her, in a maroon business suit, was the supreme ruler of Hayfield High School- the principal, Lynda Spurke. She raised an eyebrow at Christine's choice of words.
"Uh!" Christine panicked. "I just! I… Ohhh, owwww, my heaaad!" She sank to the ground, clutching her head.
Mrs. Spurke helped her to her feet, looking concerned. "Come with me, Miss Daae. I'll take you to the nurse and get your father on the phone."
For the rest of the day, Christine was interrogated by the school administration and the police. The family doctor came to inspect her head and diagnosed her with a mild case of amnesia, setting up a date for a more thorough checkup. Christine's friend Sam came to interview her for The Hayfield Times, but Christine refused to grant an interview to the junior who came from the Journalism Club. She made sure to deliver Erik's note to Mrs. Spurke, but she didn't get to see her principal's reaction because her dad showed up and immediately wrapped her up in a big bear hug.
Bee Diddy arrived soon after Mr. Daae did, unwillingly bringing her band, backstage crew, handlers, sponsors, and screaming fangirls with her. It got extremely chaotic then, but Christine still got three free ringtones, an autographed B. D. poster, and a set of tickets and backstage passes to Bee's next concert out of it.
After all the commotion died down at the end of the day, Christine insisted on running to the Journalism classroom. She confronted the two editors as they were closing up shop.
"Please let me write an article!" Christine begged.
Firmin rolled his eyes. "Misty, we already told you our answer."
"It's Christine," the distressed reporter interrupted.
"Whatever!" Firmin huffed. "The answer is still no!"
Sandy entered the room dramatically, coming out of her little closet. She sniffed. "Just go home, Daae. You won't win. No arrogant, wet-behind-the-ears little sophomore is going to besmirch my newspaper!"
"It's not your newspaper, Sandy!" Christine growled. "It never was, and it certainly isn't now! In case you haven't noticed, you've been replaced by two blundering oafs!"
Sandy snorted. "Go join the Journalism Club."
If looks could kill, Christine was sure that Sandy would have been lying as dead as a doornail on top of the desk. She turned and stomped out of the office, still fuming.
"What a jerk," she hissed under her breath. "She's so full of herself!"
Christine stopped by her locker to pick up a textbook. Her father had told her repeatedly that she could stay home for the rest of the week, but since there really was nothing wrong with her and she didn't feel like getting any more behind, Christine had opted to attend school anyway. She kicked her locker savagely before opening it. When she wrenched the rusty blue door open, she was met with a surprise.
Lying on the top shelf was her black newsboy cap, the one she had left in Erik's lair. Sitting next to it was a red rose with a black ribbon tied around the stem. Christine picked up the hat and found there was a note pinned inside it.
Leave Sandy to me. Write your article.
-O.G.
A/N: Hey, people! Sorry about the long wait. I actually started writing this chapter over a week ago, but I went on vacation and didn't have my laptop with me. Please review! Questions, comments, and concerns are all accepted! If you don't feel like writing a review but you enjoyed this chapter, please do me a favor and just send in a review that says "!" or something. Thanks for reading The Hayfield Times!