It is in this chapter where the story really begins. Lorenzo leave Venice and arrives in Paris. He sneaks on to the stage during Don Juan Triumphant as the chandelier crashes and he is mistaken for the Phantom while blindly falling in love with the last person he should develop an attraction for. The last 3 chapters were more background information and trying to give a depth to all the characters. If you read this chapter please review and tell me what you think of the story. Thanks, enjoy.

CHAPTER 4: Murderous Instinct (Past the Point of No Return)

Lorenzo's POV

A year ago it was in the news all over Europe that the Opera Populaire in Paris would host a newly found program called "The Fine Arts Academy". The Fine Arts Academy was a program that was designed to benefit those who were musically talented and waiting to be discovered, you had to send in a resume of your musical or artistic ability and with either a composition or painting to prove it. Thousands of people from all over the world were eligible to apply for a slot to be one of those fifty people. If you were accepted into The Fine Arts Academy then you were invited to stay at the Opera Populaire for at least one year to make something of yourself, but the longer a student would stay the more competitive it would get because out of those fifty students it was clearly stated that only one person would be guaranteed eternal fame and glory for their talent in the arts. There was only way to get accepted and it was to have a sponsor, someone of high power who had reviewed your resume and believed that you possessed the artistic ability to excel in the program and paid for your slot to be a student. And if you were to come out on top then they too would be recognized for your achievements and be paid handsomely. However, if you were to get a slot and you failed then your sponsor would have wasted all of their money on the student. Which was why my hands trembled furiously holding this letter, because not only was it going to be the determining factor of a new life, it was from the Vicomte DeChangey; the Opera Populaire's own patron! I had applied several months ago hoping maybe someone of small importance would read my application but not the Vicomte.

I carefully opened the envelope; it was as if I had handled it too roughly the letter's contents would change. The letter read:

Dear Lorenzo Trentacosta,

It gives me a great deal of pleasure to inform you that I have personally reviewed your application and compositions of music, and that you have been accepted into The Fine Arts Academy at the Opera Populaire. I, the Vicomte DeChangey will be your sponsor for at least one year. You will be given a room of your own at the Opera to reside in and I will pay for any supplies you require to encourage your talents thorough out the year. Though you have been accepted you are still required to do a mandatory presentation in front of the staff and mentors of The Fine Arts Academy when you arrive at the Opera Populaire. This presentation will help the FAA staff confirm your artistic ability and commitment to the program. Failure to do the presentation will result in expulsion from the academy. In the presentation you will be asked to showcase whatever main skill you listed on your application (in this case you will perform the composition of music you had sent to me in front of the staff). Once the presentation is over the members of the staff will cast their vote to confirm you as a student. Of course, due to this circumstance, if you come to the presentation and the vote is against you then I will compensate the expenses for your travel to Paris and back to Venice. But judging from what I have seen in your composition I can guarantee that you will be voted a slot and prove a prosperous student in the FFA. You must show up to present between the following dates of February 19th- February 28th otherwise you will not receive a slot. Once you arrive at the Opera Populaire make it known to reception that you have a callback for the FFA bearing my signature, I will leave them a note informing them of your arrival so when you come they will show you to my office and we can get to introduce ourselves properly. I am looking forward to meeting you soon Lorenzo Trentacosta. Have a safe journey to Paris, and best of luck.

Sincerely,

The Vicomte DeChangey

I couldn't breathe. My dreams and passions now finally had a chance to become a reality. Not only was I accepted but my sponsor was the Vicomte himself! The next best person for me to have been my sponsor would've been the king of France! But the French had no king, which was exactly my point in my own private joke. I was absolutely ecstatic. Any exhaustion I had felt before I could not feel it now. How could I sleep when the universe had just made itself available to me? Unable to contain myself or sit still I began to walk back and forth in my room with my letter in hand. I glanced at it again. The presentations were between the dates February 19th- February 28th. I went to my nightstand and dug out a small calendar. Today was February 12th. I would leave for Paris today. I grabbed a bag from under my bed and began to walk about my room collecting the things I would need to take with me. I owned very few clothes. I hardly ever went out anyways; I usually slept through the day and did my bidding at night. I returned to the floorboards of my closet and pried them open. I pulled out the brief case full of money and opened it. I took out half the amount and placed the cash into a small bag and threw it in my luggage. I slid the briefcase back into the hole of my floor when I looked down at my mask staring in my direction. Hesitantly I pulled out the mask and stared at it for quite some time.

Going to Paris would be the beginning of a new life. There would be no more Mascherati Morte, Illusione, or Sirena di Morte in Paris and there would be none in Venice. Holding this mask I could feel the heaviness of every hurt and murder I had gone through. This mask I used for Mascherati Morte was a horizontal mask; leaving my eyes, the top of my forehead, my lips and my chin visible. Half of the mask was white with black design and the other half black with gold design. I constructed this mask after the fire in my father's abandoned workshop. The most vivid memories I had of my father besides his death was running around in his store when I was four years old. He crafted masks for a living, and they were the most beautiful and elegant in all of Italy. Every Carnival the town would rush to his shop in hopes of getting a DeMarco Mask before they had all sold out. Sickness took my father away from me a week after my fifth birthday, and then my mother remarried to Cosentino Guidicelli. This recollection had caused me to reach to the top shelf of my closet and grab the other mask I owned. It was very dusty for I had never worn it as a child for it was too big. I set down the Mascherati Morte mask on my bed and gave my full attention to the dusty one. I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe the dust off. It was horizontal as well, leaving the same parts of my face visible like the Mascherati Morte's, but this mask was magnificent painted with deep red and covered in rich gold finished with the most complex and graceful of designs it seemed crafted for royalty. This mask was given to me by my father for my fifth birthday. When I had opened the present I wasn't too excited about it because he had always made masks and it was much too big when I received it, but he told me this mask was unlike any other he had created and that it wouldn't fit until I became a man with a purpose. For the first time I placed my father's mask over my face. It felt cool against my skin, and it effortlessly fit. I walked to the small mirror that hung on my wall and saw my reflection. It didn't look haunting or unforgiving, but I looked like high company, as if I was proud almost but most of all it made me look strong and fierce. I felt slightly foolish at this observation and took the mask off. I placed my father's mask into my bag and brought my attention back to the Mascherati Morte's. I picked it up and placed it back into the hole on the floor of closet and closed it shut along with all the memories attached to it.

I waited an hour after the sun to rise to get dressed. I grabbed my one piece of luggage and headed downstairs to the restaurant. There were a couple customers seated at tables drinking coffee and reading the paper. Vincenzo noticed me as I sat in an empty booth; he walked over bringing to cups of coffee with him. I handed him the letter as I helped myself to the coffee.

"So you're leaving today?" he handed the letter back to me when he finished reading.

"Yes."

"Alone?"

"What do you mean?" I took another sip of my coffee.

"You, Lorenzo Trentacosta are going to Paris to pursue music….but that is the only identity you'll be known as the moment you leave this island I hope?" his voice was warm and concerned.

"Yes." I confirmed. "I want to be something to the world and contribute what I love; not be stuck in a world of hate." I confessed.

A small smile seemed to form on his lips.

"You will need these." He handed over a small journal. I opened it to find loose papers.

"What's this?"

"Identity papers with your name, background, address."

"You did this for me?"

"Years ago." He smiled as he sipped his coffee.

"Thank you Vincenzo."

"I have always wanted what's best for you."

I stood up, it was time to catch the city boat to the mainland of Italy and catch my train to Paris. I didn't reserve any tickets but I had more than enough money to buy them on the spot.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye for now." It felt strange how sudden this all was happening.

Vincenzo stood up and nodded.

"You will be great Lorenzo." He smiled.

"I will write you." I promised, and with that I slung my bag over my shoulder and left to begin my journey.

I was able to buy my train ticket effortlessly. The whole trip dragged on, and surely I had fell asleep. I was woken up some hours later by the train conductor saying we would arrive in Paris in three hours. I stood up to walk around the compartment I was in when I spotted a brochure on the chair in front of me. Curiously I picked it up and read:

The Opera Populaire presents DON JUAN TRIUMPHANT

A onetime performance special February 13th at 9:00pm

And that was it.

There was no more information. Not only have I never heard of Don Juan Triumphant but there was no composer's name or any of the leads. I realized that my train would arrive in Paris around 10pm. I would miss an hour of the performance, but surely enough they'd let me go in as long as I paid.

Three hours had dragged on and then the train had finally arrived in Paris. When I got out of the station it was snowing heavily. I made haste to a line of carriages.

"I request a ride!" I spoke over the cold wind.

"Where to?" the carriage driver asked.

"The Opera Populaire!"

"Very well."

I quickly got into the carriage and shut the door tight. It was a lot colder here than it was in Venice. I couldn't help but look out the window and marvel at all the buildings we passed on the way to the Opera. This city was truly everything I had ever imagined it to be.

"Monsieur we are here!"

I stepped out of the coach and paid the driver. I was finally at my destination. Right before me in all its grandeur was the Opera Populaire. I was finally here. I walked up the front stairs and opened the front door entrance. There was a grand staircase before me and at the top were two huge doors that obviously led to the auditorium. It was completely empty in the front. I walked up the staircase to the front doors to the auditorium. There were no receptionists or people to make sure no one went inside the main door without a ticket. I could hear the music leak though the door. How different it sounded from anything I've ever heard before! It was dark and raw. Then the loud music stopped and softly changed into another song. A woman's voice echoed through the door.

"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy. No dreams within her heart but dreams of love…"

I gasped in shock. How beautiful and perfect that voice was, how I wished I could open the front door without causing a disturbance to see who that angelic voice belonged to. Whoever the lead man was before seemed to not be in this number for a new man began to sing. I listened as this man began to sing. His voice was deep and powerful. The way he sang this song it seemed as if he had mastered every aspect of it; emotionally, musically, lyrically. It was impressive. Oh the music; this song had chilled my very skin.

"You have brought me to that moment where my words run dry, to that moment when speech disappears into silence…"

It was her again! I began to run down the right hallway and into unknown corridors. I followed her voice at she continued to sing. I needed to be inside the auditorium. I needed to be beside her. Her voice was like morphine numbing all of my senses. I had been called Sirena di Morte, the Siren of Death, in Venice because I could sing and lure someone to me for the kill, but whoever this woman was her voice had called to me. As I ran further down the hall there was a distinct difference in the volume of music. I opened the last door on the left and found myself in the men's dressing room.

"Hey you're not supposed to be here!" someone yelled in my direction.

I looked around at the costumes and grabbed a black mask and put it on in an attempt to blend in.

"When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us…"

Oh god there was her voice again. I don't know what had overcome me but I furiously made my way through the next door. There were dancers and stagehands everywhere. I could see the stage from where I was. There she was! The girl with a voice of an angel! She was so close but yet so far, I had to get closer to her. I could barely make shape of her face.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be here!" the same voice called after me.

I looked behind to see a man trying to make his way towards me. I started walking towards the stage.

"Someone get him! He's snuck in here!"

I glanced over my shoulder to see a few more people take notice. I walked faster trying to make my way through the off stage dancers to get closer to the stage. The girl had stopped singing; it was just the man now.

"Get the man in the mask!"

More people were running after me. Then all of the sudden a series of screams came from the audience and then all around me. Someone's elbow had knocked me in the face. I fell to the ground. Everyone was screaming and running, what had happened? All hell had broke loose.

"Get the man in the mask!"

I instantly stood back up and ran out into the center of the stage away from the men chasing me only to find that there were police everywhere surrounding the stage.

"Is that him? Shoot him!"

Out of nowhere a chandelier came crashing down into the audience causing the police to scatter.

"What are you doing? Shoot the Ghost! Shoot the Ghost!"

Ghost? Why were they calling me ghost? All of the sudden a gunshot cracked followed by an excruciating pain in my left shoulder.

"I got him!"

The chandelier had started a fire which brought back the flashbacks of Cosentino setting flame to our house.

"NO!" I roared. I needed to get out of here!

I broke into a run.

"Shoot him again!"

More gunshots sounded through the Opera as I ran backstage. I found a spiral staircase and tried to run as fast as I could but my shoulder was bleeding profusely. When I got to the top of the staircase there was only one door. I went opened the door and slammed it shut behind me. I was on the roof of the Opera Populaire. There would be no way for me to jump alone.

"He's on the roof!" I could hear the police through the door.

I thought quickly. I ran behind a statue of a horse that was close to the edge of the roof. I looked over to see how far and where the drop was. Perfect; there was a small secluded alley below. I dropped my bag over the edge of the roof and watched it hit the ground. Then tore off my jacket despite how hard it was snowing and unbuckled my belt and pulled it off my pants; I would only have one shot at this.

The door crashed open, I slowly snuck a look from behind the statue and saw there were three police men; all armed with guns.

"He's got to be up here."

"Are you sure it's the Phantom?"

"He had a mask on didn't he!"

"Yes but-"

"Then we kill him on the spot!"

"Split up."

Why the hell they were calling me Phantom I had no idea, but when one of them had wandered around to my statue I quickly wrapped my belt around his throat and began to pull. He instantly dropped his gun and both of his hands went up to his throat to try and loosen the belt but I only pulled tighter.

"HE'S OVER THERE!" the two other police men had heard their comrade struggling.

I snapped his neck and dropped him dead. I quickly picked up the gun and came out from behind the statue.

"The Phantom!" but before they could point their guns at my direction I shot the both of them perfectly aiming it at their legs.

They fell to the ground and screamed in agony. I ran over to them and shot them both again but this time in their arms; another cry of pain came from them. Using the wooden end of the gun I knocked their heads hard enough to make them unconscious. I dropped the gun then went back behind the statue and dragged the dead policeman to the edge of the roof. With all of the strength I had left I pushed the corpse off of the roof holding on to the belt wrapped around his neck and followed him to the ground landing on top of his dead body.

The pain! The searing pain that overcame my body from the impact of the fall! I rolled off of the corpse and into the three inch thick snow. My shoulder began to throb in pain from all the lost blood. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. All I could do was stare up at stars in the night sky as it continued to snow. The smell of ash from the burning Opera Populaire filled my lungs, and the cold began to numb my body. I laid there for what seemed to be an eternity until I heard what sounded like footsteps. I slowly turned my head to see a man in nothing but a mere shirt and black pants at the end of the alley walking in my direction. Every instinct in my body told me to get up and run, but I couldn't. I turned my head my back to the night sky and allowed the darkness to take me.

The next chapter will be in Erik's POV, partly because he's the one at the end of this chapter walking through the alley and finds Lorenzo. So hopefully this was interesting to you!Please review!