"Charming, but I hope you never intend to audition for the chorus."
It took me a moment to spot him and when I did I hastily wiped my eyes, embarrassed at being caught off guard by him—again.
"Sod off!"
"Really now, let's be civil about this." As if to prove his point, he stepped out of the shadows. "I trust you're doing well?"
"No thanks to you," I sneered.
"You disobeyed," he said casually. "Just another hapless victim of the Ghost's infamous wrath, just as all the stories say…or don't you believe in ghost stories?"
"You're no more a ghost than I am."
He tilted his head. "You give your opinion so confidently."
Plucking up any remaining courage left in me that night—which wasn't much—I marched down the steps and right up to him. Taken slightly aback by this brash action, he flinched as if to step back but held his ground.
Looking him square in the eye I said, "You don't know what it truly means to be a ghost; what they really are."
"What other kind of ghost is there?"
"…Ghosts of the mind."
"Suddenly you're an expert?"
"Yeah. You could say that. What do you want?"
"Let's just say I have further use of you after all. From now on, you are to stay out of Christine Daae's affairs—,"
"Hmph, shouldn't be too hard since I haven't seen much of her these days."
He glared. "—And will deliver these in my stead." Upon saying this, a small ivory envelope was produced from that black shroud.
"A letter?" Dear Managers was scrawled across the front in scarlett ink.
"How will they know who it's from?" With a flourish of his bony hand he flipped the envelope to reveal a wax seal with a rather menacing skull embedded in it.
"Ah, I see."
"You are to deliver this discreetly. No one must see you or you could find yourself in a great deal of trouble, and not just from me."
Hesitantly, I raised my hand to grasp the envelope, anticipating some foul trick. When he did nothing, I snatched it out of his hand.
"Why, after all that just happened, why should I do this for you? I owe you nothing."
"The same terms apply now as they did when you agreed to tail Mademoiselle Daae. In return for services you get to keep your job and your life."
I smirked at his "friendly" reminder. "I must say, the working conditions are less than satisfactory." I couldn't make out the questionable expression beneath that stoic mask. "There's no return address."
"That, you need not worry about. That's someone else's duty." He turned and walked away without so much as a tip of his head in my direction.
"Wait! What about Christine? She's coming back…" I let the question hang there and when he didn't reply I asked something more personal. "Are you in love with her?"
I couldn't see him anymore, he had disappeared as he was apt to do, but I sensed that he was still close by.
"You are aren't you? You know if you really loved her, you really loved her, you'd let her go."
Still silence. I felt like I was talking to a wall, for all I know I could've been. "I know it doesn't sound like the most reasonable logic…" I sighed, finally giving up on this one-sided conversation and decided to try to get some sleep.
I was barely down the stairs when I heard the humming. It was the last verse of St. Anne's Reel. I know he was somewhere about, mocking me but I was too tired to care. "Smart ass."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Firmin, Firmin! Have you seen this?"
Monsieur Moncharmin stormed into the auditorium waving an all-too-familiar envelope with a broken wax seal. Monsieur Firmin looked up from his conversation with the chorus master, Gabriel.
"The Ghost strikes again," whispered Blackcap in a mock-eerie voice. I pretended to ignore him and go back to painting a set for the Ballet Swan Lake.
Madame Carlotta showed no solid promise of returning after feeling snubbed and insulted, and without Christine—well, there really was no opera. So, in the bleak view of things, the managers decided it would be best to put on a Ballet. It was too bad Meg didn't get the role of Odette. Personally, I thought she was just as good as Prima Ballerina, La Sorelli. At least she landed the role of Odile.
It was hard to concentrate with all the other stagehands distracted by the managers' odd behavior over a note, so I took a break. While roaming the halls, I ran into Meg's mother, Madame Giry.
"Sidney Buquet?" I nodded. "Come with me."
Somewhat taken aback by her brusque manner, I hurried to catch up with her brisk strides, following her up the grand staircase until we reached the end of the hall where she unlocked a door and held it open for me. It was box five.
"Well, go on in. Nothing's going to jump out and eat you." Once inside, she shut the door and glanced about nervously as if expecting something dire.
"Madame, what is going on? You look as though the Hun army was going to crash through the walls any second."
"We must be brief in case he is listening." Needless to say, I was a little confused. She couldn't be referring to the person I thought she was. It was as if she read my mind.
"Yes, I know the Ghost. I have served him for some time now, fetching odds and ends, delivering notes…" she took me firmly by the arm and pulled me down into the seat opposite her.
"The managers are starting to get suspicious of my activities. This could pose a threat to my job. That must be why he chose you." She added the last bit almost as an afterthought, trying to convince herself it was the only logical reason I'd come to be employed under the Opera Ghost.
"So you're the one he meant."
She was genuinely surprised. "He's mentioned me?"
"Not specifically, no. Just that I, well, wasn't his only minion."
Madame Giry raised her chin high. "I do not think of myself as such, Monsieur Buquet, nor does he. Aside from fear, I have the utmost respect for him and the decisions he makes for this Theatre."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Have you met him?"
"Have you?"
"Matter of fact, I have." She narrowed her eyes.
"Face to face?"
"One could say that."
"And tell me, Sidney, just what does he look like?"
The mask floated into mind along with the two golden orbs that burned through it. Although Joseph had gone into much exaggerated detail of the Ghost's appearance—none of which proved accurate, save for the eyes—I discovered we agreed on one thing: he had a death's head. I suppose it could be interpreted in two ways—the head of a skeleton or of that legendary figure all mortal men come to fear when they feel life drawing to a close—Death, himself. I'm sure Jo had meant the face of a rotting corpse, but I figured something different. If I could picture Death, I would see the resemblance between him and the Ghost—dark, menacing, life-threatening, shrouded in black…with eyes that scorched the soul. Yes, I could imagine that Death too, would be faceless.
"Like Death, Madame," I finally answered. "Like Death, himself."
She sighed. "You're no different from your brother, are you?" Knowing full well what she meant I smiled anyway.
"No, Madame. No I'm not."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You should see the poor Viscount! I've never seen a man so distraught."
Meg caught up with me after rehearsals and we went for coffee at the Café de L'Opera, where she proceeded to tell me all the latest gossip relating to the company; the latest pertaining to the Vicomte de Chagney. I recalled when Christine had mentioned him to me that night at La Vie En Rose.
"You know they've been secretly seeing each other," Meg had said.
According to her, the Vicomte had seemingly adopted the behavior of a madman after the unexplained disappearance of the Swedish opera singer. He came by the Opera nearly every day, hoping for some word of her.
"You've never seen such a lovesick man!" Meg exclaimed.
"Poor devil. Christine's lucky to have someone who cares for her so."
Meg smiled deviously. "Are you jealous, then?"
I nearly spat out my coffee, laughing in disbelief. "What—no! Don't be such a goose, Meg."
"You should watch your tone," she reminded me, "you're starting to sound like a girl."
I bit my lip and out of the corners of my eyes noticed our table had attracted a little attention. Meg grew suddenly quiet and began running her delicate finger around the rim of her coffee cup.
"It's not like her—to just leave like that with no word—she wouldn't dream of being the cause of alarm. It's just not like her. Sometimes I wonder if…something's happened to her."
How I wished to tell Meg, that Christine was with the enigma she knew as Opera Ghost. So what if he taught Christine, so what if he had a name? It wouldn't make any difference to Meg. She wouldn't see him as anything but a kidnapper and a murderer—the way I thought of him when we first met.
"Wherever she is, Meg, I'm sure she's okay." Meg gave a half-hearted smile, staring intently into her cup.
"I wish I could believe that as easily as you do."