I had to admit, in all my life there were very few places I could compare with the greatness of that building. Very few. It seemed everything about it glittered and shone like something out of a fairytale. There was so much detail to everything, it would take days just to admire it all. Unfortunately, I didn't have that kind of time to waste.
I had someone to find and I could sense with every fiber of my being that he would be found here!
Rehearsals were done for the day and people began filing out of the auditorium. Some of the stagehands hung back, wrapping up their final tasks for the day.
"Well at least we've got that Carlotta woman out of our hair for a few days, though I'm startin' to feel a little sorry for that sour ol' wench." One man jested.
"You would! Ye always did have a soft spot for the ol' pruny ones, Jacques." This from a man who went by the name "Salty."
"Unlike our Joseph, here. He'll take the lot, no matter what age they are!" Chimed in a third.
Joseph smiled. "What can I say, ol' Blackcap? I'm just a born ladies man."
"Look at that proud grin, mates. His twisted fantasies are what gets us all into trouble. Got his hand down his trousers when he should be minding the ropes." Salty and the others laughed.
Joseph whipped out his whiskey bottle and chugged a bit before replying, "Go to hell." The "Hell's Angels" started descending the ladder from the catwalks to leave for the night.
"You comin', Jo?" Jacques called up.
"Be down in a jiffy."
Occasionally, Joseph liked to hang back and have a little drinking time alone. Tonight however, he wasn't as alone as he thought…
Tucking away the whiskey, Joseph started whistling as he went about getting the backdrops off the stage.
"Joseph." The name was whispered, but loud enough for Joseph to catch. Glancing around and seeing no one, he shrugged and continued about his business.
"Joseph!" The voice spoke more forcefully, causing Joseph to pause and frantically look about.
"Jacques, that you?" No answer.
Cursing his over-active imagination, he reached inside his vest for the whiskey bottle, his focus now on the rotating wheel that set one of the backdrops back onto the stage. He'd noticed a small wear in the bottom corner of the painted canvas, earlier. Probably due to it hitting the stage so aggressively when they practiced scene shifting during rehearsals. He noticed the small things, like that. Hell, he noticed everything. Unbeknown to him however, was the fact that his sharp-eyed attentiveness would cost him dearly in the end.
With his attention focused partly on the stage, and partly on his supply of alcohol, he was startled when a pair of footsteps seemed to drop down behind him from the ceiling.
"Drinking on the job…Joseph?"
Joseph jumped back as he turned, staring eye to eye with a dark figure standing beside him. The figure wore a white mask that covered most of his face, leaving only enough room to view the mouth that spoke with that disturbingly haunting voice. He had never seen him before, but by the way he'd approached without a sound, Joseph figured he must've been a new stagehand that was used to heights.
"Let's have that drink."
Warily, he handed over the whiskey.
"So," the man started, conversationally, "Your little mishap this evening was the work of a ghost, you say?" He took a swig of the diminishing alcohol.
"N-no. It was just an accident, was all."
Joseph thought it best to skip over the ghost stories and give a straight-forward logical answer. This guy didn't look like someone you'd mess around with.
"Ah. But you blamed me."
The now-empty bottle of whiskey was flung to the ground, glass shattering in all directions. It was then that Joseph noticed just how empty the theatre was. There was no one to hear the glass shatter. No one to hear him call for help if he needed it.
"I swear, it won't happen again." He smiled nervously. The dark figure smiled back.
"No, it won't. You're suspended.
Before he could even blink, the dark man hit a lever, sending a wheel into a reeling spin. The rope on the pulley shot up, the loop on the end of it catching Joseph's leg. He hollered and screamed as he plummeted over the catwalk, his weight setting the pulley into reverse, which brought the backdrop onstage zipping back up into the flies. He dangled upside down, several feet above the stage floor, cursing.
"Whoa! Whoa! Sweet Jesus, somebody help me!"
The cloaked figure above emitted a dark chuckle.
"No one is coming to save you, Joseph Buquet." He whipped out a long steel blade.
"Not even "Sweet Jesus"."
The man hit the lever again, and Joseph, who now caught the gleam of the knife, began his ascent back up to the catwalks. Suddenly, he felt a sharp tug on the rope before he realized the stage floor was rapidly approaching his face. Luckily, his hands and arms managed to help break his fall before he broke his nose.
"What the devil...?"
The lengthy piece of rope still looped around his ankle, had been snapped in half. Joseph looked up into the catwalk for the menacing black figure, but he was gone.
"I must say, I'm getting a little too old to be chasing you across the globe, makin' sure you stay out of trouble."
Joseph froze, unbelievingly, as soon as he heard the all-too-familiar voice, then turned around.
"Maggie? Maggie Buquet?"