Chapter Four
A Dark Past

"You've spoken to the Phantom of the Opera?" Brigitte sighed, her jaw slightly hanging open. Eloise nodded as she ran up the final flight of stairs to her dormitory.
"You have got to be joking?" Brigitte said after she caught her breath.
"He calls himself the theatre ghost and I don't understand why you don't believe me!"
"I don't believe you because I know how smart you are. Smart ladies don't do dumb things."
"Dumb things?" Eloise repeated quietly. She stopped herself before she made Brigitte believe she was any stupider.
"I have to visit my brother this afternoon in the village," Brigitte began, "would you like to come? I think it would be good for you."
"I'm not sure…"
"Oh come on Eloise. Time is better spent with friends than with ghosts." Brigitte laughed. Eloise felt a pain in her soul – if only Gustave could show himself to the opera goers - that would show her…
"How far is it from the academy?"
"It's near the Opera house, fifteen minutes I think."

Eloise did enjoy going to Brigitte's brother's house. Etienne was tall and handsome and Brigitte used to think he fancied Eloise. She remembered walking to the academy with Etienne at her side, admiring his thick blonde hair and stunning blue eyes, similar to that of his sisters.
"So what is it like, Canada?"
"Wonderful." Eloise breathed in the cool autumn air, "It's my home, but between us, I like it here better." Words she regret to this day.
"Maybe I could visit you one day." Etienne offered, smiling down at Eloise. After receiving a few nods of encouragement from Brigitte, Eloise smiled and nodded.
"Perhaps you should." Thinking of that thought now, he couldn't. Eloise couldn't bare falling in love with anybody and having to keep the secret of the theatre ghost from them. No, telling Etienne would only anger Gustave and she didn't want a disaster occurring.

"No, I can't come. I need to study on pronunciations. Remember?" Eloise smiled falsely hoping Brigitte would buy it.
"You should definitely stay then. I'll send him your best regards?"
"That would be lovely, thank you." Once the door shut behind Brigitte, Eloise tightened her laces and filled her satchel to the brim with her textbooks and loose sheets, making them stick out as she shut it. Gustave would be waiting for her, and she didn't want to upset him. His voice was haunting though - literally. Eloise had never spoken with such a voice; then again, the voice belonged to a ghost... Oh how she wished the voice could have been from a real person, that way they wouldn't have such power over the opera house. Visiting that dreaded place only helped fill the empty hole her mother had left in Eloise's heart after the divorce.

Eloise could feel the stories from her mother's childhood dancing in the halls, and the stage, and the seats that once graced the figures that were featured in her mother's stories. How she wished she could've met La Carlotta and Christine Daae, a figure from an unfinished story her mother had begun. Christine Daae was a few years older than Geneva and had appeared very regularly as one of the ballet girls. Geneva had gotten to explain Christine's involvement with The Phantom of the Opera, but had never finished. Christine had died a few years back, only worsening Eloise's nightmares. Had this very ghost killed her off too?

The streets were only beginning to darken and were still lined with people and carriages, their shadows dancing on the cobblestone streets. From the distance, Eloise had spot Brigitte's silver bow in her golden hair. Praying Brigitte wouldn't spot her; Eloise tightened her shawl and flung on the hood. After a few steps, Eloise realized that Brigitte was already with her brother. Etienne's blue eyes seemed to shine in the darkness and Eloise began to long for the times they'd shared earlier on. It seemed like a crime that they could not be together because of this ghost.

Sneaking in with the regular theatre crowd, Eloise found herself in the midst of the bustling crowd, searching frantically for where to find this voice once more. From the sight of a woman fainting at the thick fog wrapping around her shaking ankles, Eloise knew it was the Gustave's doing.
"I've come again ghost!" Eloise breathed as she entered the vacant hallway, shutting the door quickly behind her.
"Ah, what a pleasure it is. You must care very much about this theatres fate."
"My mother used to attend. I would do anything to keep it in tact." Eloise sighed, acknowledging the ghosts words.
"Your mother?" Gustave let his voice become more vulnerable than he had hoped.
"Yes monsieur. She was a regular guest with her parents during the time of La Carlotta."
Gustave let out a gasp as he eyed his father's broken models of the cast from the same time period. A plump woman lay with her arms broken by her side – "Carlotta…" He murmured. Could this girl know something about his mother's past with his father?
"You must have known her then," Eloise continued, "as you are the ghost that's been haunting the theatre – am I correct?"
"Yes," Gustave answered quickly, hoping that this girl would never find who he truly was. If Eloise was to ever find out who Gustave was, she would have nothing but hatred for the pathetic soul who made a living off of scaring others.
"Do you recall what happened to –" Eloise stopped talking. She feared that if she mentioned Christine's name, the ghost would kill her too. "Could you help me now, monsieur? My father will be anxious for my return. It would be best if I learned quickly."
"As you wish Eloise." Gustave replied confidently, finally content with having Eloise to himself, "I just ask one thing of you."
"Anything." Eloise replied once more.
"Tell me of the stories your mother once told you."
"I cannot monsieur." Eloise replied quickly, holding the same fear that somehow, this ghost would use these stories against her. What if he went after her mother?
"Then I cannot help you." Gustave spit through his teeth.
Eloise felt her heart race, "No! Ghost, I promise I will."
"Good," Gustave sighed and sat cross legged on the cold floor beneath him, "now I shall keep my promise to you. I hear pronunciation is your biggest trouble?"
Eloise felt both relieved that he knew and terrified at how he found out. Was he watching over Brigitte and her? Never the less, they began to review simple structures in words and Eloise began to repeat them over and over again until they sounded as Gustave had told her.

She began to frequently dream of his voice, and even stranger, a face to match it. What kind of person was this ghost before he died? Was he old? Was he even dead? Every time Eloise visit this ghost she would grace him with another story from her mother's past, and the interest the ghost displayed in these tales was remarkable. Eloise imagined him sitting and eagerly awaiting another story day by day, it seemed that way every time they spoke.

"I don't seem to recall the rest..." Eloise finished.
"I've made a few cameos in your stories then, haven't I?" Gustave grimaced at another set of memories from his father.
"More than a few... there's not many more stories monsieur. I apologize."
"Tell me what there is."
"I cannot." Eloise said once more, upsetting Gustave. He felt closer to unlocking the secret of his mother and fathers past.
"Christine Daae." Gustave murmured quietly.
"What did you say?"
"You must have something about her. She - she was the greatest soprano that ever graced this Opera house!"
"I understand, but, my mother did not say much about her but that. She was very talented, very young. I think even younger than me..." Gustave smiled and took a deep, calming breath, "Eloise, thank you."
"You're welcome monsieur. I must go now. I will return tomorrow."
"Good," Gustave stood up and shook the dust from his coat, "and remember, you mustn't tell anybody of me Eloise. Otherwise -"
"I know." She replied shaking. Before Gustave could mention anything else, Eloise found herself outside, breathing in the cool air that reminded her of better times. What was this ghost and why did he have such a dark past? Why did he want her company so badly? Letting tears fill her eyes, Eloise breathed in quickly and realized that if she did not tell someone, she would surely go mad.
"Forgive me, ghost." She whispered as she ran down the streets of Paris.