Chapter 6- Ghost Town

The only thing that Christine had really come to dislike about her new home was that there was very little natural light in her room. She needed to light her candles or a lantern even in the middle of the day and sometimes it could feel a little bit oppressive. She had to say, though, that otherwise the few weeks she had spent in the Opera house had been fairly pleasant.

Since she had been there she had taken the chance to become reacquainted with Meg Giry and was very glad that she had. It made her wonder, though, why she had, even as children, ever lost touch with her dear friend. Although she liked her home she had to recognise that it was a difficult place to work. Despite her close and developing friendship with Meg, Christine had so far found it difficult to befriend the other girls in the chorus. Their friendships with each other were so cemented and engrained that anything even remotely new was a threat to the way they were. Christine did not like to think of herself as a threat and she did not like that others saw her that way, but for the time being at least, it seemed this was the way things would be. She had, however, taken a silent vow to break this and make them her friends.

She was nearly home from the market when she realised that there was something else that bothered her. Some nights, when she was falling to sleep, she thought that she heard movement from being the wall. She felt too foolish to tell anyone, not even Meg, but still, almost every single night, the sound was there. It was not a scratching noise and so Christine did not think it was rats, it was more of a shuffle. She had convinced herself for the most part that she was imagining it but sometimes it gave her cold shivers along her spine to think that something might be trapped there.

She walked along the side of the building to the back entrance of the Opera house noting, with some satisfaction, that winter had eased to a spring like sunshine. There was still a chill in the air but the biting cold and shivering winds were left behind and the end of March was drawing close. Soon it would be summer. It seemed to sooth any fears she had thinking that soon she would be spending more time outdoors enjoying Paris in glorious summer sunshine.

Summer had always been her favourite time of year, with most flowers bright and in full bloom, animals around and the sun beaming down on her. Yes, she could hardly wait.

She reached out and opened the door to the opera house then closed it carefully behind her. Despite her best efforts the door clunked harshly and she sighed. The door always slammed shut, not matter how gingerly she pulled it to, sending echoes around the dark corridors as if they weren't quite eerie enough already.

She stilled her heart and walked along the corridor towards her room, which was only four doors from the entrance. As her hand touched the handle of the door she noticed, in the dark, something balancing through the door knocker. She fumbled clumsily with the lantern to the left of the door and finally, with much exasperation, got it to light.

In the door knocker was a blood red rose wrapped delicately in a black ribbon. She stared at it silently before checking around her to see if the person who had left it was still around. She saw and heard nothing. Carefully she took the rose from it's resting place and looked for a card, when she saw that there wasn't one she simply lifted the rose up to her face and smelled it's delicate scent.

Fresh, she thought and felt, for the first time in her life, flattered by an admirer.

She held the rose carefully in her fingertips and pushed the door to her room open, a sense of sudden lightness washing over her, and she stepped inside. She supposed that because there was no note with the rose, the flush of excitement she now felt was heightened. The rose was utterly beautiful, Christine did not think that she had ever seen one so bright in colour before and the thought of having a secret admirer sent a warm flush around her neck.

She sat at the stool at the dressing table and rolled the rose between her fingers so that she inspect all sides of it. Looking at it she was tempted to undo the black ribbon, such an odd gesture, but something in her heart made her leave it the way it was. She propped the rose up against the mirror, pride of place, and felt an involuntary smile grace her lips.

She did not feel as though she smiled much at all lately. Since she had been at the Opera Populair she had dug herself into the new work she was doing, practising constantly. The work had buried itself inside her mind and given her a while new drive, a new focus for her attentions. It went someway to helping her forget her old home and to think about her father just a little less. The ambitions that had taken her by surprise, the will to be a brilliant dancer, the idea that she could someday be front of the chorus, this drove her on.

She wanted to be one of the best, one of the greats, perhaps someday she would find some of the accolades that had eluded her father. She would make him proud.

The taste of the tender chicken still lingered on her tongue. Christine smiled gratefully at the old chef and waved as she left the room. She heard him mumble something about a treat for dinner tomorrow and she felt the lightness in her suddenly reappear. Her mind had not drifted much from the sender of the rose. All day she had been thinking of who it might be. She knew that she had one or two admirers in the opera house but they had always been quite open about their feelings and she had always made it quite clear that she was not interested.

Who could it be?

She followed the corridors back towards her room and a sound to her left made her stop and spin around. For a long moment she simply stared, waiting for something to appear, when nothing did she moved towards the dark hallway and peered in. She could hardly see a thing but feeling unusually brave she plunged into the blackness. This was one of the few places in the building she had never been as the door was usually closed and Joseph Buquet, one of the stage hands, had warned her about coming this way. Still, it did not stop her now as she slowly made her way into the dark.

There was another clunk ahead and as quickly as she had found her bravery it was overtaken by fear and cowardice. She turned around but realised that she could see nothing. Reaching out she tried to feel for the walls but she could not touch anything, everything seemed out of reach. She did not know which way was back and which was forward. Her heart thumped, reminding her how lost she was and how scared she had become.

It was then that she heard the voice. She could not make out what it said at first and, frozen to the spot, she swallowed hard and asked; 'What did you say?'

'I said,' much clearer this time, closer even. She felt a chill in her arms. 'What are you doing here?'

'I'm...' she choked. 'I'm lost,'

'Indeed,' the voice was distinctly male, very deep and rich, so smooth that she almost trusted it. 'Where were you trying to get to?'

She looked around her but all she saw was darkness. 'I...' she began. 'I was going back to my room,'

'Surely you know where your room is,' he said.

'I do,'

'Then what are you doing here?'

Christine thought that the voice did not sound angry, instead he sounded almost amused by her presence. She was not sure if this made her more comfortable or distinctly more uneasy.

'I heard something,' she said.

'It was a rat,' he said and she could almost hear a smile in his tone.

'Perhaps it was you,' she said.

He laughed. 'Perhaps,'

'Will you show yourself?' she asked. 'Will you help me get out of here?'

'Aren't you enjoying my company?' he asked and Christine felt hotness creep up her cheeks.

'I can't see you,'

'Would if help you to enjoy my company if you could?' he said.

'I think so,'

Again, he laughed. 'I don't,' he said quickly.

Suddenly, the corridor fell silent. There was no sense that she was with company anymore, in fact, she felt completely alone. The voice had left her and she was frightened and surrounded by a blackness that her eyes simply could not adjust to.

Then, to her surprise, ahead of her a door opened and light flooded into the corridor. She looked around her quickly as she walked towards the door. There was no one there, no one at all. There were no signs of anyone else or of the person who had opened the door to let her out. She stepped through the opening and with a crash the door slammed shut behind her making her jump into the well lit hallway.

She stared at the door, mesmerised and in silence.

'Christine,'

She spun around and came face to face with Meg Giry.

'What are you doing staring at that door?' she asked.

'I...' she began but stopped. What was she doing staring at the door? She stepped forward and pushed it hard but it did not give.

'Christine?'

She glanced at her friend. 'It won't open,'

'It never opens,' Meg said.

'Of course it does,'

'It's locked,' Meg said, taking Christine's arm and pulling her away from the corridor. 'It is always locked, no one has a key to the door.'

'I was just in there,' Christine protested.

'Are you sleep walking Christine?'

'No, no, I am quite awake,' she said. 'I was in there... I was...'

Meg was staring at her in a concerned silence. The door was locked? How could that be? It had just been wide open and Christine had wandered in without any resistance. When she had come out, other than it slamming, she had heard no clicking of a key in the door.

'Are you alright?' Meg asked.

'Yes,'

'You must have been dreaming,' she added.

'Must have been,' Christine said and, heart in mouth, followed her friend towards the stage.