First off, I don't own Phantom of the Opera, I only wish I did…(and naturally, characters might be ooc at some point, terribly sorry, just send me a message complaining if that happens and I'll try to fix it.
Secondly, my fic takes place in present day, and the Phantom is immortal (there's more about that to be revealed later…much later). If you don't like that/don't agree with it/don't want to read it, well, you've been warned.
Thirdly, if I make a mistake, be it in history or contradiction with something from the movie/musical and/or book, let me know. I don't mind being told I'm wrong, that way I can fix it and not look like a huge idiot. This bit also applies to French phrases. I will be using them. In most cases, they're very common phrases, or they will be explained shortly after they are said. If it is not explained in the story, I will put a little section at the beginning to tell you what the phrase(s) means (unless it is purposefully meant to be unexplained, which will be a very rare thing).
Lastly, reviews will be much appreciated. They will encourage updates, for as long as I can manage it. I regret to say that I'm a college student, and when I'm home for summer and other breaks, I can't update as regularly (I may not be able to update at all) due to limited internet access. But I will get your messages over the summer, and will try to reply to everyone. Thank you so much, now on to the story.
A few hours later, Lenore was standing in a phone booth on the streets of Paris, listening to the ringing that sounded so far away. She didn't have to wait long; the person she was calling picked up almost immediately.
"Lenore?" the young woman said.
"It's ours," Lenore replied, not even bothering to greet her sister, Ember, properly.
"You bought it?" Ember shrieked. "Rosalyn, she bought it…" Ember continued to converse somewhat shrilly with others for the next few moments before returning her focus to the phone conversation. "We'll start packing things up and sending them over."
"The place needs a thorough cleaning," Lenore warned. "I don't think the three of us will be able to manage it alone. Do me a favor and call Jamie, Kathleen, and Lily and Brad. See if they'll come over and help out."
"Sure, no problem," her sister said. "When do you want us to come?"
"Within the next few days, preferably. Just to give you an opportunity to look it over and help with the cleaning," Lenore answered.
"We won't be able to get everything together in that amount of time."
"Well, you'll just have to go back after we get the Opera House all cleaned up and take care of it. If it's a concern on money, I'll pay for your tickets," Lenore offered.
Once business had been settled with Ember, Lenore caught a cab and returned to the Opera House. As it was now legally hers, Lenore figured she should save herself the cost of a hotel by spending the nights in her new business. Walking up the stairs to the entrance, a feeling of pride stirred within her. My own business. A smile came over her lips as she unlocked the door with the key Monsieur Beaumont had given her.
Stepping over the threshold, she sighed contentedly, putting her suitcase and laptop down on the marble floor and closing the door behind her. Lenore shut her eyes and leaned back against the door, a smile crossing her lips as she savored the moment.
"Lenore."
Her eyes shot open. It had been soft, almost inaudible. She tried to remember where the light switch for the entrance hall was, but her memory failed her and she was stuck in the darkness. Alone. With a stranger who knew her name.
"Don't be ridiculous," she scolded herself softly, taking a deep breath. "'Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore. 'Tis the wind, and nothing more'," she quoted. She retrieved her suitcase and laptop, then started off towards the diva's private suite. The black hallways spooked her, and she was certain she heard footsteps following her more than once.
When she had situated herself in the diva's suite, she laughed at her earlier fears. I can't believe I thought there was someone in this place with me! I can be such a silly goose sometimes. Looking around the room, Lenore gave a satisfied nod. Her laptop was set up on a desk, and her brush was on the vanity. The clothes she had packed for the trip were tucked away neatly in drawers, and a small alarm clock was set next to the bed.
Lenore turned off all the lamps in the room except the one on the desk, and then sat down to her laptop. Moments later, she was immersed in figuring out how much money she'd have left after taking the cost of the Opera Populaire out of her accounts. It would certainly put a huge dent in her funds. Sighing, she closed her eyes, briefly hoping that she could afford to pay a staff to perform an opera before she went bankrupt.
"Lenore…" came the voice again. But she refused to listen and kept her tired eyes closed, since it could only be her mind playing tricks on her. When she finally did open her eyes, she saw an envelope on her desk. It looked old, and was sealed with wax. Her hand trembling, Lenore opened the envelope.
Mademoiselle Lenore,
I welcome you to my Opera House. Upon reopening, you will leave Box 5 empty for my use. I also wish to make you aware that my monthly salary of three hundred eighty five thousand francs is due. I remain, Mademoiselle, your humble servant,
O. G.
Doing a few quick conversions, Lenore determined that he was asking for the equivalent of fifty thousand U.S. dollars a month. I can't afford that and pay a staff too! This is impossible! The Phantom of the Opera did exist, is still alive, and is asking me to pay him fifty thousands dollars a month? Wait, this is probably all a dream. I'll wake up on the plane to France; I'll bet I haven't even seen the Opera Populaire yet. She desperately willed herself to wake up, but to no avail.
"This is ridiculous," she hissed, reading over the letter again. "Even if I could get enough money together, how do I make sure he gets it? It's not like he's got a mailbox for me to drop it in." Lenore ran a hand through her short hair in frustration. Now I know how Andre and Firmin felt. Just keep it together. It'll work out in the end…it has to, or we'll be out of business before we even open. Laying the letter back down on the desk, Lenore decided to retire for the evening.
Hours after the room had been dark, he slid open the mirror and crept into the room. On the desk sat the letter he had left her. He could see that she had opened it. Certain that his demands had been made known, he turned his attention to the girl in the bed.
Lenore lay on her side, curled up in a ball. What are you protecting yourself from, Mademoiselle? She moaned softly, rolling over onto her back. "…fire…" she mumbled, as though she had heard his silent question. "Get me out!" she suddenly screamed, sitting bolt upright.
Lenore hadn't had that nightmare for a few months. She was hoping that it was behind her, but it seemed she was wrong. Sitting in her bed, trying to calm her racing heart, she looked around her room. Without her glasses, it was mostly dark blurs shaped like furniture. When her eyes came across the tall, dark figure of a man, she screamed.
"Who are you?" Lenore inquired, her voice shaking. I'm going to die, some murderer or rapist is in my room. I am going to die! Still on her bed, she scooted herself as far from the mysterious man as possible, pushing herself up against the wall.
"Afraid of the Opera Ghost, Lenore?" the man's voice replied with a chuckle.
For the first time in her life, words failed her. Lenore merely stared, wishing she wasn't so blind without her glasses. She couldn't make out anything, except the fact that he was tall. Pull yourself together, girl. It's only a dream. What's there to be scared of? If it's not a dream, you're making a complete idiot of yourself… "I'm not afraid," she finally managed to squeak out.
The Phantom laughed at that. "Of course you aren't. That's why you're flat against the wall." Lenore averted her eyes, a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks. "Did you really think that timid lie was going to work when you delivered it so poorly?"
Lenore refused to answer that. Regaining some of her usual courage, she changed the subject. "Are you some sort of pervert who came in here to watch me sleep? Or did you want something?"
"I merely wish to make sure my manager knows her position. I expect my salary to be paid in full by the end of the week," he responded, ignoring her accusation.
Quite suddenly, the Opera Ghost disappeared from Lenore's sight. She clicked on the closest light and shoved her glasses onto her nose. It was useless; the room was empty. I didn't dream that. I couldn't have. This is all real…and I'm in big trouble. What am I going to do? I could call the police tomorrow evening after Beaumont has contacted the phone company…yeah, that'll go over well. "Hello, I'm the new owner of the Opera Populaire and I need to you come over here and kill a ghost for me." This is bad, this is very bad…
The alarm clock was silenced mere seconds after it went off. Lenore rolled out of bed, exhausted. She had left the light on all night to discourage the Phantom from returning to her room. However, it quite effectively kept Lenore awake at the same time.
Minutes later, Lenore was dressed in baggy jeans and a loose shirt, ready to clean, though she didn't know where to begin. Rolling up her sleeves, she decided it would be best to start with the kitchen, as that would probably see the most use in the next few days.
The first thing she saw in the kitchen was an envelope sealed with wax on the counter. "Oh great," she mumbled sarcastically. "I was hoping there'd be more expectations for me." She slid open the flap and pulled out the parchment.
Dear Lenore,
I took the liberty of going to market for you. Dishes are above the sink, and utensils are in the drawer to your right. Cleaning supplies are located in the closet in the corner. The total expense comes to six hundred and fifty francs. Have it to me by the end of the week with my salary.
Also, I recommend that you turn the light off at night. It seems you cannot sleep well with it on, and you will need your rest if you expect to run an Opera House. I remain, Mademoiselle, your humble servant,
O. G.
Lenore thumped her head against the nearest cabinet in exasperation. "I owe him more money…I should start selling my internal organs if I ever want to be able to pay him," she muttered. "Well, might as well have something to eat, it might be the last time I get to use my stomach before I have to oust it." She riffled through the cabinets, searching for coffee and breakfast foods. Ten minutes later, she had the coffee maker brewing a cup while she polished off a donut.
Lenore spent the next three hours giving the kitchen a thorough cleaning, sipping coffee every few minutes or so to keep herself awake. Finally done, she took a seat at the table and pondered what to do next. A loud bell sounded and she jumped a mile. "What the bloody…" she trailed off.
"Someone at the door, Mademoiselle."
"I didn't know we had a doorbell," Lenore commented, rising from her chair.
The delivery boy was checking his list when Lenore opened the door. "Lenore Parker?" he inquired.
"If you've come to give me a bill, then no," she replied.
"I have a few packages for you, Mademoiselle," the boy told her, handing her a form to sign. Scribbling her name on the line, Lenore prayed that at least one box contained a weapon of some sort with which to defend herself at night.
Once all the boxes were unloaded and the door shut behind the delivery boy, Lenore sat down on the marble floor and went through every last box, looking for a long-range weapon. "Nothing," she mumbled morosely. It was foolish to think that there would be one, but hope springs eternal. "And this is just another reminder that I should never be optimistic; I only end up disappointed." She stood up and tried to pick up the smallest box, which contained clothes, but it was too heavy for her. Who knew clothes could weigh so much? I'll just have to make a few trips. Taking an armload of clothes, she headed for her room.
Dropping the clothes on her bed, she turned around to head back out. She caught sight of a black cloak disappearing out the doorway, and the box she had failed to lift sitting just inside her door. "This is very nice of him," Lenore commented softly to herself. "He'll probably ask to be paid for this too." She began putting clothes away in drawers. Every time she turned to face the door, she saw the cloak disappearing and found another box on the floor.
A slip of paper rested inside each box, telling her whose belongings it contained. She sorted these boxes into three piles; Ember's things, Rosalyn's things, and her own. Then she proceeded to unpack her boxes, arranging knick knacks on surfaces around the room and stuffing clothes into drawers or hanging them in the closet.
"I need some food," Lenore determined when she finished unpacking, around four in the afternoon. She was far too tired to cook, and calling out for Chinese seemed like a good idea. "I wonder if I've got phone service yet…" Beaumont had told her he would contact the phone company today and have them reconnect the lines of the Opera House. Having no phone in the diva's suite, she had to walk down the hall to the kitchen. There was probably a phone somewhere closer than the kitchen, but she couldn't remember the layout of the Opera House yet. The most she had committed to memory was how to get to her room from the entrance hall, the kitchen from her room, and the entrance hall from the kitchen.
Lenore was stunned to find a plate of steaming hot food on the table when she set foot in the kitchen. She stood in the doorway, staring.
"Dinner is served, Mademoiselle."
His words brought her back to her senses. She sat down at the table, examining the meal in front of her. Roast beef, potatoes, some sort of beans, and a glass of red wine. I guess the wine's not that big a problem; I am legal to drink over here. And he couldn't possibly know I have a thing against alcohol, so it would be rude not to drink it…
"I think that's the best meal I've ever had," Lenore commented softly when she finished. She had left nothing on her plate, and her glass was empty. "'After all, miss, this is France. And a dinner here is never second best'," she sang quietly, thinking of Disney's Beauty and the Beast. After washing dishes, she decided to go back to her room and lay down; the wine had made her lightheaded, as it was her first time drinking wine.
Once in her room, she turned on her laptop, put all her music into her media player, hit shuffle, and let it play while she laid on her bed, waiting for the dizziness to subside. The play list was incredibly diverse; she had pop, country, soundtracks, classical, rock, instrumental, and even some rap.
It was trash. How she could possibly like the noise that qualified as music these days was beyond him. The Phantom was about to retire to his lair and spare his ears any more injury when he heard the opening of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. It seemed she did have some good taste, limited though it may be.
"Any particular reason you're stalking me?" Lenore inquired suddenly. "I may not be able to see you, but I know you're there. You've been watching me all day." He refused to respond to her question; he did not answer to this scrap of a girl who intended to run his Opera House. "Fine, be that way. I'll just assume you're a perverted old man and leave it at that."
Come on, talk to me. Doesn't it bother you that I just called you old and perverted? Just say something, anything. Insult me, call me names, anything! Lenore was screaming at him inside her mind. She was fine with solitude, but if she knew someone else was around, she wanted that person to talk to her, to be companionable. "You're a wonderful conversationalist," she remarked dryly, sitting up in her bed. The lightheadedness from the wine had finally left her.
"What do you wish to discuss, Mademoiselle?" His voice conveyed a slight irritation.
"Well…" Lenore said, pondering over what they could discuss. "Let's discuss how you're still alive. You should be dead by now; you're over a hundred years old." Silence dominated the room for a few minutes. "Okay, obviously you don't want to talk about that." She sighed heavily; making conversation shouldn't be this difficult. "Could you at least come out of hiding?"
A few minutes passed without a response. Suddenly the bed shifted beneath her. She began to turn around. "Turn and I will kill you." Lenore stopped, and faced forward again, trembling slightly due to his threat.
"This is a bit awkward," Lenore mumbled a few moments later. "I don't know anything about you, you don't know anything about me…and here we are, sitting in the same room, on the same bed, and I'm not even allowed to face in your direction."
"Would you please silence that racket?"
"You mean turn off my music?" She stood and headed for the desk.
"If that compilation of horrendous sounds can be called music."
"If you think this is bad, you should hear some heavy metal," Lenore replied with a chuckle, going over to her laptop and shutting it off for the night. Wait, I can't get back to the bed without facing him, which will get me killed. She was just about to mention this when an arm snaked around her waist. He gently tugged her back, step by step, to the bed. Panic gripped Lenore; she knew the Phantom could easily kill her if it suited his purposes. While she had been loose there was the slight possibility that she could outrun him to the door and escape, should she need to. Now, however, with his arm around her waist, there was no hope.
They had reached the bed, and the Phantom pulled her down onto his lap, her back resting against his chest. "Why do you hide in such loose clothing?"
"Does it really matter?" she returned, fighting back the surge of emotions that flooded her body. Part of her was terrified, and for good reason. But another part of her was melting, commanding her not to move, to stay in his embrace for eternity. Even if it meant nothing to him, she enjoyed the attention and the feeling of being held by a man.
"How do you intend to find a husband if you do not show your figure?"
Lenore thought a moment before answering that; she was seriously contemplating lying to him, but she decided he would see through it in an instant. "No one would want me; therefore, it doesn't really matter. So I figure I might as well wear comfortable clothes rather than going to extreme pains in the attempt to attract guys who won't even look at me. I'd just end up alone and disappointed. If I have to be alone, might as well be happy about it; as happy as I can be, anyway."
"How old are you?" he inquired.
"A gentleman never asks for a lady's age."
"I am not a gentleman, I am a ghost. How old are you?"
"Almost twenty one," Lenore answered with a sigh. She only told him because she was certain she would be killed for refusing to respond.
"Surely you've had scores of suitors by now."
"Yeah right," she muttered sarcastically.
"Do you mean to tell me that your parents have not yet attempted to have you married?"
"Parents don't do that anymore where I come from," Lenore said. "Not in the way you mean. Who and when you marry is your own choice. And no one ever has or ever will want me. End of story."
"What makes you think that?"
"Look at me! I'm ugly," she snapped. "By today's standards, I fall incredibly far from being beautiful. Glasses alone are enough to condemn a girl. But then I had to be built small too. My entire outward appearance suggests a nerdy little weakling who is in no way desirable."
"Perhaps if you made an attempt to"-
"No!" Lenore interrupted, momentarily forgetting her precarious position. "If there's one thing I insist upon, it's that people only see me as they want to see me. And all the boys I've ever met want to see a small ugly geek who loves math, music, and acting. So I put those masks on for them. They didn't even realize that I'd put on masks! They didn't care at all. They saw what they expected to see, so they turned their eyes elsewhere. I was only worth talking to if you needed help with your homework, or if no one was around to catch you talking with a geek like me and ruin your reputation. You should understand better than anyone that society is cruel and the only way to survive is to wear masks, cover your vulnerabilities and hide yourself from them."
There was a moment's silence, letting her last words ring throughout the room. "What masks do you put on for me?" the Phantom asked.
"Ask yourself that question," Lenore replied. "If you know what you want to see in me, then you know what masks I put on."
"I wish to see more of you. I have already seen the part of you that has enough sense to abandon pride and stubbornness in my presence, the part that tells you to be afraid and obey me. I have also glimpsed the part of you that desires me." He moved his hand up her side, gently caressing her breast. "However, there is more that you have not yet shown me. I will strip you of your masks, Mademoiselle, have no doubt of that."
Her eyes had slid closed when his hand reached her breast, delight and desire suffocating her. Then, something felt…off. Not wrong, but certainly not normal either. A sense of peace filled her; underneath she was aware of another presence in her mind. "What are you doing to me?" Lenore whispered before falling into a deep sleep.
He laid her out on her bed and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. Lenore was exhausted, and she needed her rest if she intended to get anything done tomorrow, so he had induced sleep. He removed her glasses from her face, setting them on the nightstand. The Phantom wrapped up the last of his business aboveground, left a note where Lenore would find it, and returned to his lair.