Chapter I
Is it the Ghost?
(A/N: Here's chapter 1! Sorry about not uploading last week. We just got done with finals yesterday, and my brain is still kinda sore, so forgive me if the quality of the story line drops here. (Pre-Algebra + Civics = EVIL!)
Oh, and, in case you're wondering, I'm naming all my chapters after either chapters in the book, songs from the musical (including the sequel), and other Phantom-y things. Sometimes it's a variation of the title, or the title itself, and I'm just rambling now...Disclaimer: I sadly do not own the phantom. He belongs to Mr. Leroux, Mr. Webber, Mrs. Kay, Mr. Kopit... Wow, there's a lot of people to list...
Oh, and have you ever realized that the Indian (from India, not Native America) in Annie is named Punjab? Seriously. No joke.)
Finding it impossible to drift back off into sleep at two AM, Adeline crawled out of her rickety old bed. Dressed only in her lacy black cami and a pair of old basketball shorts, she trudged to the kitchen. Running her fingers through her dark curls, she poured herself another bowl of Special K.
Before she put the milk in, she stopped. Her stomach was rumbling fiercely, a sure sign that if she went ahead and had the weight-loss cereal, she'd probably puke. Pouring the dry cereal from her bowl back into the box, Adeline sighed. This always seemed to happen after nightmares.
She grabbed the box of toaster waffles she kept for occasions such as these. Stuffing two in the toaster, she plopped down in a kitchen chair and let her thoughts wander.
Why is it I can never remember these bloody dreams? I mean, it's not like I WANT to remember, but I'd kind of like to know what the Hell is going on inside my own damn brain.
The weirdest part is, I CAN remember parts of them. But they're always so insignificant. I know last night- Er, well, ten minutes ago they were combined, and that man was there (why can't I even remember what he looks like?), then somebody got
(punjabbed)
strangled, and then the guy said something about a mask. Am I going insane? Maybe I should stop reading those books...
Adeline glanced over toward the living room where her bookshelf was. The Tommyknockers by Stephen King was sitting on the endtable, pages dogeared as heck. She walked over and picked it up.
There was a popping noise. Adeline jumped and the book fell to the floor. Breathing deeply, she rolled her eyes. Just the toaster, hon. Nothin' to get all worked up about.
She walked back to her small kitchen and carefully took the waffles out of the toaster. Setting them on a Dixie paper plate, she slathered them in syrup and peanut butter. Grabbing a fork from her silverware drawer, she took a bite. God, that's good.
Once she finished her waffles, she deposited her sticky plate in the trash can under her sink. Rinsing off the fork, she glanced at the window. She was exceedingly pale, making her reflection in the window above the sink look like a china doll. Her black ringlets came down to just past her shoulders, and a little was covering her greenish-hazel eyes. Her lips were a dark red naturally, negating the need for makeup. Everything about her seemed to contrast everything else, making sure she would never blend in.
Once she'd finished washing her fork and putting it back in the drawer, she walked toward the couch, plopping herself down. The old piece of furniture protested. "Aw, put a sock in it," Adeline admonished it. "I'm sittin' on you anyway."
She turned on the TV, not expecting much. It was still on GSN, and now a black and white episode of To Tell the Truth was on. Losing herself in the mind-numbing triviality of it, Adeline drifted off into sleep.
Adeline opened her eyes. What the- Oh. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter past seven. And all was well.
There was a knock on the door. She ran to the peephole and looked out. Oh, for the love of- "Hold on a minute, Brandon!"
The man on the other side of the door nodded, smiling his usual smile.
Adeline rushed back to her room and grabbed her white cotton robe. Throwing it on, she walked back out into the main room. Still struggling with the tie around her middle, she opened the door and let Brandon in.
Brandon Wicherly was a rather strikingly handsome man. He was a little over six feet tall, with unruly sandy brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. He came from a wealthy family, and made sure to flaunt it when the need arose. Except around Adeline. He was very sweet on her, and he supposed she felt the same way. They weren't dating or anything, but they'd been close friends ever since Adeline's graduate student days two years ago at the city's art museum.
Brandon was an expert on telling whether a piece was a fake or the real thing, which came in very handy at the museum. However, the museum had a whole wing dedicated to the musical arts, which is where Adeline was doing her graduate student work a year ago. One day, Brandon had been helping a group of men carry a rather large and expensive painting to the other side of the building, constituting a trip through the music wing. He'd seen a young girl of about twenty-two standing in front of a display case of violins, seemingly in awe.
He'd made sure the men could handle the painting by themselves, then walked over to where the girl was standing. Following her gaze, he smiled. "That one's a real Strad," he'd said.
She'd nearly jumped out of her skin, upon hearing his voice. She turned around, still shaken. "What?" she's asked trying to calm herself.
Brandon got his first good look at her. As a matter of fact, she looked younger than her twenty-two years, more like nineteen. She was wearing a pair of baggy jeans (they weren't meant to be baggy though, he could tell. She was just that skinny) and a faded T-shirt with the '90s X-Men on it. Her shiny black hair was straightened and up in a makeshift ponytail, and there was no trace of makeup on her pale, porcelain face. She was blushing slightly, like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
"I said that's a real Strad," Brandon repeated, trying to recover from the shock of her beauty.
She'd gasped. "As in Stradivarius? But there's only, like, a few originals left!"
"And that's one of them," he'd answered, still smiling at her. He was struck by her voice. It had a soft southern cadence that he certainly would never have expected from someone so pale.
She'd hesitantly smiled back. "Oh! Where are my manners? Adeline Everard, graduate student of music." She stuck out a hand.
He shook it. "Brandon Wicherly, assistant curator."
Her large hazel eyes widened. "Assistant curator? But you're nowhere near forty!"
At this, he'd chuckled. "Twenty-eight's close enough. My family has connections here at the museum, so I was able to move through the ranks fairly quickly."
After that day, they'd become fast friends. Brandon helped her with her graduate student work, and on occasion, Adeline helped him with identifying paitnings. Brandon was proud to be the only person outside of her family to know the real Addie Everard, not Ms. Everard the simple music teacher.
Brandon sat down on the couch in Adeline's tiny apartment. "You're up awful early for a Saturday, Addie," he said, smiling at her unruly mess of hair.
She smiled half-heartedly. "Actually, I woke up at two. I fell back asleep after eatin' a couple waffles." She was still having trouble tying the robe.
Brandon stood up and tied it for her, trying hard not to let his hands hover too long around her tiny waist. "Still having those nightmares?"
They both sat down on the couch. It let out a loud creak. Adeline whacked it on the armrest. "Yeah. Last night they were combined."
Brandon frowned. "Combined?"
Adeline nodded, biting her lower lip. "I can't remember much of anything. But somebody got killled. Strangled, I think. I don't know what to make of it." She set her head on his shoulder, sighing.
Brandon attempted to smooth her hair soothingly, but the unrepentant ringlets sprang back into place. "I think what you need is a night out. You've been too absorbed in that job of yours. No wonder you've been so stressed out lately."
Adeline smirked. "What exactly does this 'night out' entail?"
"Oh, you know. Dinner, then a movie, or a walk in the park."
"How romantic."
Brandon's heart momentarily stopped beating. "I suppose you could put it that way." He cleared his throat.
Adeline raised her head. She narrowed her eyes. "What're you gettin' at, Brandon?"
"Er, would you like to go out with me?" Brandon's face flushed. He hadn't planned on asking her out when he'd come over.
"In that case, of course I will."
Brandon grinned. "Really?"
Adeline laughed. "I honestly can't believe it took you so long to buck up the courage and ask me. You've been chomping at the bit for months."
Brandon stood up to leave, a bright smile still lighting his features. "I'll pick you up at seven tonight, okay?"
"Sounds great. I'll see you then!"
Brandon made his way out of the building, practically skipping on his way out.
Adeline watched Brandon leave. As soon as he was out of sight, she giggled. She plopped herself down on the old couch, heaving a sigh of relief. She picked up her book from the floor and turned to the (hopefully) correct dogear and read.
August 19th, 1982
May 19th, 1987
Adeline frowned. Third time I've read the book, and I still can't figure out what's with those dates, she thought, getting up and putting the book back on her shelf.
She ran her fingers lovingly across the bindings of the second-from-the-top row. This row contained her all-time favorites; books she had read dozens of times and never got tired of.
Still Life With Crows, The Lightning Thief, Of Mice and Men, Fire Starter, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Eragon, The Phantom of the Opera, FAILNation-
Adeline paused. Wait. Why'd I pause? For the most part, she forgot her momentary glimmer of insight, but some small sub-conscious part of her brain compelled her hand to reach for the next to last book.
She settled herself back on the couch, trying to forget the ominous feeling in her gut. She flipped through the prologue/preface/whatever, and began reading at chapter 1.
CHAPTER 1: Is it the Ghost?
About an hour later, Adeline was a quarter of the way through the slim volume. She stole a glance at the wall clock above the television.
Nine o' clock! Shitfricks!
She folded the corner of her page and sprinted for her room. She flung off her robe, then her black cami and rooted through her closet, finding her dark red blouse with the black collar and cuffs. Not yet buttoning it up, she grabbed a pair of faded Levi's off it's hanger and yanked them on.
Still doing up her zipper, she stood in front of her mirror. It was positioned on the wall near her closet door, so that when she opened the door, the mirror was covered. Adeline groped on the nearby dresser for her brush and quickly ran it through her thick curls, abandoning all hope for it.
Walking into the bathroom, she grabbed the small white box off the shelf and put her contacts in. It's not going to help matters if I can't see two feet in front of my face.
Adeline grabbed her purse and began walking out the door when she paused. She looked down, cursing fervently. She hadn't yet buttoned her shirt. Still grumbling to herself, she closed and locked her door and continued down the hallway, buttoning her shirt as she went.
Adeline entered the cafe twenty minutes later. She would have made it in five minutes, but for some reason, cabbies never stopped on her street.
Can't say I blame 'em, she thought, walking up to the man who was apparently the maitre 'd. "Uh, has a Mr.-" She glanced at the piece of paper she clutched in her hand. How the Hell do I pronounce THAT? Okay, Ads. Think. High school French class. You cain't have forgotten all of it. Or can you?...
"-Mr. Carriere showed up?" she finally said, hoping to God that she pronounced it right.
The man nodded to a booth in the far right corner. Adeline thanked him and walked over to the booth.
The man sat there, sitting straight as a rod, staring out the window with a slight frown. He had dark brown (nearly black) hair that looked as if it had at some point in the morning been slicked back, but the mid-March wind had blown it astray. He was wearing a plain black button-down shirt, and what looked like a black leather trenchcoat was slung over the back of the booth. His face was...pale. Unnaturally so. And it looked almost fake, as if he was wearing a helluva lot of foundation.
While Adeline conducted her assessment, he continued to stare out the window with icy blue eyes. He suddenly looked at her, no hint of surprise on his face. He must have sensed my presence, Adeline thought with a mental giggle.
He stood up, holding out his hand. "Mrs. Everard, I presume?" He spoke with a slight French accent.
Adeline smiled and shook it. "Actually, it's still Miss, but, whatever. You're Mr. Carriere, right?" She slipped into the other side of the booth.
He sat down as well, looking at her slightly bemusedly. "Indeed. And this meeting is-?"
"More of a formality, really. It's a fairly straightforward job. Go in, follow the notes, and try to get out alive." Adeline smirked.
Mr. Carriere nodded. "Is there anything else I should know?"
"Well, the children are expecting to start auditioning for the spring program. The sheet music for you to pass out is sitting on the desk." She paused. "You can play piano, right?"
"Yes." He looked as if he were about to say more, but didn't. Adeline wondered why.
The waitress bustled over to the table, complete with beehive hairdo, butterfly glasses, and a nametag proclaiming her as BETTY. "What can I do ya for?"
Adeline smiled sweetly at the woman. Rule #1 of eating out. Don't piss off the waitress. "Medium latte with chocolate an' cream. Please."
Betty turned to Mr. Carriere, who had resumed his contemplation of the windowpane. "What about you, hon?" she asked, batting her eyelashes. Adeline stifled a childish giggle.
Without looking, he answered, "Medium. Black. No cream or sugar."
The woman looked crestfallen. "Are you sure?" she said, dropping her phony midwestern accent.
"Yes," he answered curtly, still not looking at her.
Betty shuffled off, looking confused. Adeline laughed out loud.
Mr. Carriere turned toward her, raising an eyebrow in inquiry. "What, exactly, was so funny?"
"It's just, you shouldn't give anyone the cold shoulder like that. 'Specially not a waitress. She's probably going to put salt in your coffee or somethin'."
He nodded, eyebrows knitting together in thought. "Indeed. Forgive me. I'm not used to...social situations."
Adeline smiled at him. "What, you been livin' underground or somethin'?"
He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Something like that." There was a momentary pause, which was ended when he asked, "You have a peculiar accent. I can't quite place it."
"Oh." Adeline smiled again, thrown slightly off kilter by his out-of-the-blue question. "I grew up in Mississippi."
Mr. Carriere nodded, as if absorbing the information. "So how did you end up in New York?"
"I did my graduate work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They've actually got a pretty impressive music department down there. I found a job at an elementary school a few blocks down from my apartment, and I've been here ever since."
Betty returned with their coffees, not saying a word. She left quickly, mopping sweat off her brow with her apron.
Adeline laughed again. "I think you frightened her, Mr. Carriere. She looks about ready to wet herself."
"A rather colorful expression."
Now it was Adeline's turn to play Spanish Inquisition. "What's with you? You're so polite, it's kinda creepy. I mean, it's not like a job interview. You don't have to be all uptight with me."
Mr. Carriere's eyes hardened. "Excuse me for being polite," he said in a low voice that sent chills up Adeline's spine. "I'm not a very personable being. And I certainly don't want to offend anybody." He spoke with a conciseness that truly scared her.
"Hey, look, I didn't intend no offense. But, you can relax. No one's judging you. I'm certainly not. It ain't my place."
He seemed to calm down. "Right. Sorry. I have a rather short temper."
"I can tell."
Adeline and Mr. Carriere walked out of the coffee shop twenty minutes later, arguing.
"I'm telling you! Those cords are, like, evil incarnate! It's nearly impossible to play them with one hand!"
Mr. Carriere smirked down at her. "Not if you have long fingers."
Adeline laughed and gave him a friendly shove. "Whatever. I gotta go. I promised my mom I'd call her." She was about to walk away when she paused. "Hey. I never caught your first name. What is it?"
"Erik."
(A/N: Dun...dun...DUUUUUUUUN!
Yeah, I decided to use the Kopit version's last name for him (that version of Erik is sooo cute and cuddly...). Personally, my favorite surname for him is Destler, but the possibility that Freddy Krueger and Erik could be the same person still creeps me out...
The #1 rule of eating out belongs to Bill Bryson.
Oh, and can you guess what cords she means?
Also... CAN YOU SPOT THE PRESTON/CHILD BOOK REFERENCES?
*cough* Sorry. Fever Dream came out a few days ago, and I just finished reading it, and I'm still all jittery from it.)