Within a week, Alison had grown accustomed to how things went in the theater and she had formed a schedule. At 6 in the morning, she awoke, showered, dressed, and did her makeup. She either put her hair into a ponytail, let it stay down her back, or allowed Adele to style it herself. She then put on her shoes and walked to breakfast with either Adele or Josephine, who she talked to the most, and had something light on her stomach. They all went to the bottom of the stairs with ten minutes to spare to wait for Madame Petit.
When she eventually came and assigned them their jobs, they dispersed for work. Alison was usually given the task of applying the first coat to the board while Josephine and Antoinette worked on the final product. Alison would take one 5-minute break during the morning, then eat lunch along the stage with Josephine. Afterwards she worked for a few hours, took another short break, and finished up the work for the day. Dinner came after work, and then they had a few hours to themselves. Josephine told her that some days they would have off, depending on how far along the set was and when the show was. A day off hadn't come yet, and Alison didn't allow herself to hope for one soon.
It was late afternoon and she, along with Carmen, watched as Josephine added the finishing touches to the last backdrop. They were surrounded by other stagehands and a few of the dancers as they watched the last few strokes. Within minutes she had stopped and stood from her place on the ground to look at it with everyone else.
Alison loved the set, as it looked more realistic than any set she had seen before. She smiled to herself as she looked at it and Madame Petit walked to her side. She still had a harsh attitude towards Alison, but she didn't criticize her work as often as before.
"Marvelous, Josephine!" she said, and Josephine smiled. "The show tomorrow night will be perfect! Painters, clean up the rest of the set, and then you may finish today's work. I expect you all to be down here tomorrow morning to help with stagehands for the show. Out of the way, now! Dancers and actors and singers need the stage!"
Everyone dispersed backstage and Alison picked up a paint can on her way out. She cleaned the brushes she found and sealed the buckets while Adele dried their tools.
"They will start practicing now," Adele said, placing the brushes aside. "And there is an amazing view of the show up above. Would you like to see it?"
"Sounds fun," Alison replied. She finished cleaning the last of the bunch and waited for Adele to finish. She beckoned Alison to follow her and the pair walked away from the stage to where the seats were.
"What kind of music do you like?" Adele asked to break the silence. "You never talk about yourself."
"Anything. I like musicals the most, though," Alison replied. "And you?"
"More of a classical girl." They ascended the stairs up to the top level of the building and Alison looked around at the detailed paintings on the walls. "You never talk during work, either."
"Habit, I guess." They reached the top floor and Adele smiled as they walked down the hallway.
"I found this a year ago. It is amazing." They reached what looked like a small broom closet and Alison raised an eyebrow as Adele opened the door. She stepped inside and saw that it really was a broom closet with a single door on one wall. Everything was dusty and there was a pack of cigarettes on a wooden box and a poster against one wall.
"I come here a lot," Adele said, beckoning to the items. "It is calming."
She opened the door and stood aside to allow Alison to walk through. As soon as she did, her eyes went wide and she looked down at the opera house seats with a gasp.
The chandelier was in front of her eyes, sparkling in the artificial light. The murals along the dome-shaped roof depicted scenes from ancient Greece, bare women and men, all painted years ago. From where she was standing, the dancers looked small but the view of everything else outweighed that.
"Wow," Alison muttered, walking along the golden railing. "It's beautiful up here."
"Yeah, it is." Alison heard a beep and turned around to see Adele answer a call. She began to talk quickly in French, then lowered her phone with a hand over the speaker. "My mother . . . I will be right back."
She walked back into the room, closing the door behind her. Alison could barely tell there was a door in the wall. She walked around the railing with her eyes never really leaving the chandelier or the glimmering lights on the stage. She stopped a few steps from the other side of the roof and leaned against the railing to watch the show.
She thought about her mom, and her dad, and her sister. She thought about her mom's role in musicals - her dad, always on the phone with some big shot - her sister, singing on Broadway for thousands. And then there was Alison, a simple painter in the best opera house in Paris. She took that as a great feat, but still felt like the black sheep of her family. She loved them, but she never felt like she was really part of them. She was never the famous Monahan.
There was a shift from somewhere close and Alison moved to look across from her. When she did, she had expected to see Adele, not the man with a white mask covering half of his face. Her eyes went wide at the realization that this was the same man she had seen her first day of work. Immediately, she began walking to him. As soon as she did, he ran in the opposite direction to the closest door. She was faster than he was and reached the door when he had closed it. She opened it and saw his retreating back as he ran. She followed him up another winding staircase, through a doorway, and onto the roof of the building. It was a cloudy day, but there was no rain. And there was no sight of the strange man.
"Hello?" she asked, looking around in confusion. She looked behind the large bronze statues and saw no one. "You're the one they all talk about, aren't you?"
"That would be I." She jumped, turned around, and was face-to-face with the very man she had been searching for. He had light blue eyes and a handsome face - thin lips, long nose, cocked eyebrow. One half of his face was covered by a white mask, partially over his perfectly combed black hair. He was dressed like someone straight out of the 1800's in a waistcoat, vest, and black cape. As soon as she looked into his eyes, she felt something . . . strange. She forgot about her purpose for the moment, forgot about her pursuit. She even forgot about her family and her friends.
The Phantom himself felt something strange once he was up close with the girl. She had a strange aura around her, and she didn't seem fearful anymore. She seemed more curious than anything. It was something he had noticed about her.
While the other stagehands whispered about himself and feared when he would strike, this girl hadn't. She simply hadn't believed it to be true, or so he assumed. But now he knew that she believed in something supernatural and accepted it.
"The Phantom of the Opera," she said, thinking about the book. "You were real."
"I was. I am." She walked to the edge of the building, breaking their eye contact to look down at the people walking. She appeared to be thinking deeply and she was.
"You're the one who made the platform fall," she said, narrowing her eyes. "That wasn't a nice notion. Especially for a beginner."
He said nothing - he didn't feel bad about what he had done. It wasn't like he had hurt her, or killed her. For the past few days he had actually humored himself with the reaction she had on her face. But now, he felt nothing for what he had done. Something in her soft voice . . .
"Do you have a name?" she asked at his silence.
"Do you not fear me?" he replied with a raised eyebrow. "A murderer? A phantom?"
"If you wanted me dead, you'd have killed me by now," Alison reasoned with a shrug. He had to admit that this girl was smarter than Christine.
She does have a point.
"And if I am waiting?" He glared down at her, taking a step forward. She took a step back.
"Then I guess I'm a sitting duck." She turned from the edge and moved to study one of the metal statues on the roof. The Phantom watched her with disbelief.
Even his Christine had become terrified of himself, which destroyed him. His sweet, sweet Christine . . .
He wondered if this girl was anything like her, and then laughed to himself internally. No one could ever replace her.
"Erik," he said, shaking Alison from her thoughts. "My name is Erik."
She turned and smiled kindly at him, extending a hand. He looked at her curiously, and confused all at once. Then he took her hand felt the same strange feeling he had once he saw her eyes. She did as well, but only managed to raise an eyebrow before hiding her emotions.
"I'm Alison Monahan. It's nice to meet you," she said. "Even though I saw you when you dropped the platform."
"I stand by my actions proudly," he replied, looking down at her.
"I figured enough." They both heard rapid footsteps approaching the door to the roof, and they looked at each other for a few seconds. Erik walked from Alison as she looked to the door as if she could see through it. When she turned back around, he was already gone.
"Wait!" she called out, looking around for him. He watched her from behind a statue, knowing it would be impossible for her to see him. She sighed in disappointment and the door to the roof opened.
"Mademoiselle! Is something the matter?" Adele asked, panting as she rested against the door. "I saw you running here, and I was curious!"
"I thought I saw something, that's all," Alison replied, and looked around the roof of the building again. She looked off at the view of buildings and, further away, the famous landmark.
"Phantom, no?" Alison said nothing.