Chapter 2: The Hidden Threat
It was only three days until the Opera House gave its production of the newly created Don Juan and the normal pre-performance chaos was only magnified by the mysterious nature of the play's birth. A desperate sort of tension thrummed through every practice, setting the performers on edge, their eyes constantly flickering up to the darkness above them. No one, from the burliest stage hand to the most cynical cleaning lady dared to venture out of their rooms alone. They lived as if under siege by an unknown and invisible force.
And now half of the performers working within the theater had been at the masquerade when the Phantom had delivered his play while brandishing a sword. They had the singular misfortune to know that there was far more to fear than just shadow and air within the Opera's walls; between the flickering gas lamps something more substantial than a ghost held sway, it was the man with the mask that stalked their nightmares now.
The strangeness of the play itself did nothing to soothe the player's fear, but rather only served to heighten it. Filled with overt sexual tensions and frustrations the work blatantly disrupted the sensibilities of all involved, and yet, it had the power to instill a breathless sense of wonder in even the staunchest, most guarded heart. That the Ghost himself had written Don Juan and had demanded very specific casting for his creation was the final spark which set off every gossip mill within the Opera like a powder keg.
It was now common knowledge that Christine would once again take the lead Soprano's part, as stated by the directions on the first page of the play's score, a fact which had many wagging their tongues. That Christine had been kidnapped by the Phantom earlier that year had long since been a staple rumor amongst the cleaning staff. Several moderately reliable witnesses said she had been missing for an entire night and half the next day. Her disappearance all the more amazing since her dressing room door had been locked from the outside at the time her disappearance had been discovered. How the girl had managed to escape through solid oak and stone could not be explained except that the Ghost must have spirited her off. Based on this strange set of circumstances, and also by Christine's preferential treatment in general, many were beginning to think the young diva was in league with the mysterious man who was actively tormenting the Opera.
But those who actually knew Mademoiselle Daae scoffed at these half formed accusations, of course. They knew Carlotta was more likely to learn to act in the next three days than Christine was to purposely harm anyone. The girl was too young, too quiet a creature for such vicious rumors to be true. Her heart was an open book, people said; easily read and written upon, and definitely not the sort to form any sort of nefarious alliance with a madman. Christine's supporters were open about their opinions, unlike those who gossiped about her, and so it was not difficult for interested parties to gather information about the young singer and her recent misfortunes.
"Do you actually believe a ghost has not only kidnapped one of your performers but has written an Opera as well?" Brielle asked a little sarcastically.
There was a long weighted pause in which the Irishwoman glanced between the two chorus girls she had run across. When they nodded enthusiastically the young woman rolled her large grey eyes to the rafters. This is driving me mad. How can anyone believe such malarkey? It completely defies logic.
Having returned to the Opera with great trepidation Brielle now wandered the maze like backstage, trying to find a clue, any clue, as to what her dreams could be telling her. She had found upon returning home a few days ago that despite the humiliation of her meeting with Andre she simply couldn't stay away from the opera with a clear conscience, knowing the managers were leading the entire theater into danger.
Slowly she continued, "And you will be performing this play in three days?" Once again the two girls nodded, their smiles slowly fading.
"Yes Madame, we must perform it. The new managers were mistaken to challenge him. Here he has eyes everywhere. No one is safe when the Ghost is on the prowl," the tiny blonde chorus girl whispered as her eyes danced nervously up to the rafters.
Brielle raised a cool eyebrow as she followed the younger girl's gaze up into the darkness looming above them. Only silence met their inquiring eyes. Fisting her hands upon her hips Brielle shook her head at the frightened girls standing nervously before her. She felt obligated to enlighten them upon the foolishness of their theater's gossip.
"Listen to me carefully," she began, her voice firm.
"There are no such things as ghosts. They are merely figments of the imagination or the shadows of some poor soul's grief. Science has been able to prove many remarkable things; the existence of microscopic life forms, evolution, the age of the Earth itself and yet no scientist has ever found evidence that ghosts, or spirits of any form, exist. Obviously, the proper and logical conclusion based upon these facts is that there are no such things as ghosts."
The two girls stared at her open mouthed, in awe of her commanding presence; unable to form any response. No one had spoken so openly of such things since the legend of the Ghost had begun.
"Therefore it is safe to say that your Opera Ghost must be something else entirely. Most likely what you all fear is simply an escaped lunatic…" A loud crash behind the three women cut Brielle off short. The two chorus girls screeched shrilly before plunging down the dim backstage hallway; leaving Brielle alone.
The twenty five year old whirled at the ruckus her hands raised to defend herself. A few strands of snowy hair escaped their pins, falling about her face as she stood ready for some sort of attack. Her heart slammed within her chest she searched the nearby area, the chorus girls' fear rubbing off on her, causing her to nearly come out of her skin at every shadow. Suddenly the culprit behind the noise stepped out into the light, and meowed. Brielle sagged in relief when a fat tabby cat trotted over to her and rubbed up against her black skirt. She bent down and picked the feline up, scratching his ears.
"You naughty boy, knocking things over and terrorizing the chorus." A small smile graced her characteristically stoic features as she stroked the cat, waiting for her startled heart to settle. "Perhaps you are the real Phantom of the Opera. Yes? I don't think half of the ninnies here would know the difference. And you certainly gave me a fright despite my brave speech." The cat merely stared at her with large golden eyes, the joke lost on him.
She sighed and released the tabby, remembering her reason for returning to the Opera. I must discover what is causing this horrible feeling clouding my mind. It is getting worse every day. I can hardly think of anything else. The dreams are becoming unbearable. Her growing worry showed itself in the tired line around her eyes as she walked wearily down the hall; the chubby cat following closely upon her heels.
She had hoped her earlier intervention would have appeased the nagging of her conscience. Sometimes merely giving a warning was enough to dissipate her odd feelings. Unfortunately this time things were not following the familiar pattern as they should have. Despite her meeting with Monsieur Andre, and the warning she had given him, the last few nights she had been plagued with dreams too horrific to remember in the morning. Hours before dawn Brielle awoke clammy with sweat, a scream rising in her throat. And she didn't know why. She hated not knowing why.
As the days had passed the dreams had become clearer, if only slightly. She could now remember the red velvet of the theater's seats within the Opera and the heat of a terrible fire falling from above. But it was the screaming of hundreds of panicked people that chilled her straight down to her bones. Beyond these few details, Brielle was still in the dark as to what lay in the Opera's future. It was the dreams more than anything else that drove her once again to stand warily inside the Opera Populaire. The dreams were driving her absolutely mad.
Earlier that morning, after waking from the latest nightmare, she had set about forming a plan on how she would gain entrance into the Opera. Based on her first and last meeting with the management she was certain that she would be thrown out of the theater on sight. But she needn't have concerned herself for it had been shockingly simple to gain entrance, she merely walked through the doors. Expecting to be stopped at any moment when she wandered backstage Brielle was surprised to find that no one even gave her a second glance. In fact there really wasn't anyone around who could have stopped her. The unending hallways and corridors were all but deserted, echoing and shadowed they veered off in every direction in a seemingly random fashion.
Now, as Brielle gazed about at the strange assortment of taxidermy animals set among a forest of ten foot tall Greek columns on either side of her she could feel an empty tension permeating the very air. Lord, those girls' story must be getting to me…all of a sudden I feel a little nervous. This place seems so strange without people milling about. Most of the cast must be keeping to their rooms. They are all afraid of this ghost of theirs. Poor things…
Pulling her shaded spectacles from her breast pocket, Brielle stepped into a better lit area behind the stage; relieved to be free of the looming presence of the discarded props. From what she had gathered so far this hallway held the dressing rooms of the lead performers. I suppose the Christine everyone is whispering about lives here somewhere. With all the talk about ghosts and kidnapping…I would have to stand in line to be the lead lunatic here. The thought made her laugh softly to herself. But one hand rose immediately to hover over her mouth, muffling the soft sound.
Her laugh quickly turned to a gasp when the door at the end of the hallway was flung open, slamming violently against the wall. The crack of wood against wood echoed jarringly down the silent hallway, making Brielle jump slightly. A young girl, her wild brunette curls loose about her shoulders, backed slowly out of the doorway. It was obvious, even from a distance, that the poor thing was on the verge of breaking down completely.
"How can I betray him Raoul?" The girl sobbed to the person standing just out of sight within the room.
"He led me through the worst years of my life, gave me his music when I was dying in silence!" Her voice rose, dangerously close to hysteria as she backed further out of the room. The light from the doorway, limning her tear stained face.
"I can't do this! I can't end it like this! Please, please don't ask this of me Raoul." The girl covered her face in agony as she gave herself over to violent weeping. Turning, with her hands still over her eyes, the girl ran down the hall, nearly colliding with Brielle before disappearing around a corner.
A handsome young man, his smooth blonde hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck, dashed out the door with a shout. "Christine! This is the only way! Christine!"
The man let his shout die with a frustrated growl, his young blue eyes flashing with confliction and worry. He stared after Christine for a moment before realizing he wasn't alone in the hallway. With a start he noticed Brielle standing a short distance from him. Straightening suddenly he cleared his throat, trying vainly to gather some composure in front of the stranger.
Brielle twirled the plain gold band of her wedding ring about her finger, feeling slightly nervous under the young man's gaze, feeling as if she had inadvertently stumbled upon a scene so personal it should not have been witnessed by a stranger. Her earlier laughter had completely disappeared from her features leaving behind the guarded mask she normally wore.
"Forgive me. It was not my intention to intrude upon your…er..conversation." she said, her lyrical accent naturally softening her words.
Raoul shook his head as kindly as he could. "Do not apologize...Madame," he said after noticing the simple gold ring upon her left ring finger. "If anything we intruded upon you." His gaze left her and shifted down the hallway to where Christine had disappeared. Straightening his waistcoat, he stepped forward to follow after his childhood sweetheart.
As he was passing her, Brielle felt a cold chill pass over her heart and she found herself reaching out to grab his coat sleeve, driven to the action by some unknown force. He turned towards her, exasperation breaking through his naturally genteel manners, but her sincere, wide-eyed expression swiftly quelled his growing annoyance.
"Please Monsieur. Whatever may happen in the next three days. Do not allow yourself to forget to be compassionate." She blurted.
"It is important, even in the darkness where no one else is watching, that you remain merciful." She finished with a shudder. The strangeness of the words pouring out of her mouth caused a blush to quickly infuse her cheeks. She hurriedly released him brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Where did that come from? I don't even know this man!
Raoul stared at her for a moment in confusion before a level of wary understanding slid over his face. His strong jaw tightened and his eyes hardened as he looked away from her face and down the hallway towards Christine's door.
"Unfortunately, Madame some situations call for one to forget their compassion. Such delicate displays are lost upon those who have already sold their soul to Satan. I will not be weak before such a person, not when he has caused so much pain." His gentle voice had lowered to dangerous levels, even as his eyes betrayed him with a flicker of sadness.
Brielle, her expression shifting slightly to reveal her surprise, opened her mouth to offer a retort but Raoul shook his head and stepped backwards. "Forgive me Madame but I must excuse myself. There are still things to be done." He turned and briskly set off to find Christine.
He paused halfway down the hallway and turned back towards her. "Take my advice Madame; leave this accursed place before it infects your life as well." And with that he took his leave.
Once she was alone Brielle let out an unladylike string of curses under her breath, many of which her brother Conner had taught her long ago. Having vented her frustration she smoothed a hand down her black velvet skirt and composed herself. Pressing her lips together she relaxed her features.
"This entire situation is a fiasco!" she muttered into the empty hallway.
Accustomed to talking to herself when she couldn't figure out a problem, Brielle gave into the habit while trying to puzzle through her current situation. "My warnings fall upon deaf ears. Though I can't blame them - I don't even know what I am warning them of. This Opera Ghost has them all terrified. I can't believe so many adults have faith in such a ridiculous story. I thank my lucky stars I wasn't born with such gullibility!"
She sighed and began walking towards where she remembered the stage to be. As she approached her destination, the rise and fall of a multitude of voices slowly grew louder. Brielle paused just off stage left, strangely captivated by the sounds emanating from the mouths of those practicing upon the stage, her annoyance quickly draining away. Sagging against a nearby wall she felt her worries drift away on the almost magical waves of sound washing over her. Funny… she thought absently. I never thought that I liked Opera before.
The rich vibrations of the baritones and altos underscored the soaring heights reached by the sopranos, every note blending to perfection in a complex melody that even Brielle, who had no musical talent, could tell was genius. She raised a hand to rest over her heart as her eyes involuntarily drifted shut. She had never had such a strong reaction to any form of music before. It was almost as if the notes carried within them the essence of every human emotion.
Brielle found herself nearly overwhelmed for a moment until an odd noise reached her ears over the music. A soft fluttering sound accompanied by the harsh creaking of old ropes came from just over her head in the darkness of the rafters. Wondering at the odd sound her pale gray eyes fluttered open and she tilted her head upwards. She frowned and removed her shaded spectacles, trying to see into the darkness looming above her. A small object was fluttering down from the shadows, and as it dropped to her feet, she was startled to realize that it was an envelope.
Automatically bending down to pick up the letter, she flipped it over and frowned at the red wax skull seal. How odd. This place continuously reveals new variations of strangeness. Brielle glanced upwards once more before she opened the letter, her natural curiosity taking over. Her frown deepened, then suddenly froze as she read the words.
Dear Madame Donovan,
Your visits to my Opera have grown increasingly entertaining. First, the little interlude with my moronic manager, and now gossip mongering among the wretched chorus girls. I find it rather odd that a woman of standing should display such common behavior. I find it extremely unladylike, Madame, that you have been poking your nose in where it does not belong.
By now, I am sure, you are beginning to realize your efforts are in vain. Logic and science hold no sway behind these curtains. Try as you might, you will not disturb the plans which have already been set into motion.
It is best you take your leave immediately.
O.G.
P.S. Be cautious Madame. The Opera is known for its accidents.
The language within the letter revealed the intelligence of the writer and yet the words themselves were written in a strangely simplistic style. Almost as if the author had had no formal penmanship training.
A hidden threat loomed beyond the polite grammar of every word. It was that subtle threat which sent a shiver of anger up Brielle's spine. Nothing could incite her wrath quiet like bullying could. Having been the recipient of harassment as a child, given her particular coloring, Brielle was well acquainted with just how horrible bullies could make others feel.
Slowly Brielle crushed the letter in a white knuckled fist turning her gaze upwards. Searching the darkness with ice cold eyes, she stepped away from the stage and into the shadows cast by old sets and props.
"You mistake me sir!" she called up into the darkness, her words biting and her accent thickening.
"I am not a simple minded fool like those you are accustomed to. Childish threats and mysterious letters mean nothing to me!" Brielle tossed the letter upon the floor. "I will not be bullied! And allow me to make it plain, sir; if you in anyway attempt to harm anyone within this theater, I will thrash you myself!"
She turned sharply then, her skirts swirling about her ankles, and began to stalk towards the main entrance of the Opera. She had learned enough for that day. Brielle knew that entangled within the rumors surrounding the Phantom a string of truth could be found. Somewhere within the stories was a clue as to why the Opera was in such danger. All she needed to do now was put the clues together. After speaking with everyone, I know something horrible is going to happen when Don Juan is performed. I can feel it. Everything is somehow tied together.
With her head held stubbornly high, Brielle swept out through the theater and into the grand reception area. Donning her shaded spectacles once more, she tore open the main doors and stormed out of the opera house.
A pair of shadowed eyes watched the young woman's exit intently, for a moment loosing their glint of betrayed fury. Amusement rather than malice lit the Phantom's gaze for several moments, softening his taut features until handsome lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. He was not accustomed to being the object of such sharp language. And from a woman…She actually threatened to throttle me with her bare hands, how utterly laughable.
Just then a sour note sounded upon the stage diverting his eyes from his silent musings. The dark haired man visibly winced at the sound; his amusement disappearing like a puff of smoke. Quickly the calculation and violence returned to his gaze. As he casually swung himself higher into the rafters by a single rope, his thoughts turned once again to the strange girl's interference; this time with anger.
"We will see, Madame, how brave you are. Oh yes, we will see."