Chapter 6: Saving Grace
Insulated by the crushing weight of the stone above them, the Opera House's interconnecting cellars were bathed in complete and utter silence. All of the chaotic sounds from the upper floors, the roaring of the burning chandelier and the din of human voices, were filtered out, unable to penetrate beyond the most superficial layers; leaving the air heavy with its stillness and disuse.
It was this pressing quiet which slowly brought Brielle back into consciousness. Her mind struggled groggily to wake itself from the dead faint she had been under for quite some time. With a moan she became aware of her rather odd surroundings. She was laying face first in a pile of rough cotton cloth, her waist-length hair falling free about her shoulders. And she was pretty sure her skirts were ripped to shreds. Where am I?
Disoriented, Brielle shifted so she lay on her back, hissing as her battered body protested painfully. Opening her eyes slowly, she braced herself for all manner of shocking sights to assault her eyes. Blinking rapidly she moved her gaze first left and then right, but to either side she saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. Startled Brielle frantically searched for some sign of light in the darkness, but found none. Her heart speeding up within her chest she let out a short yelp and sat bolt upright, waving her hands in front of her eyes.
"I'M BLIND!" she gasped aloud.
Brielle immediately began to let out a string of expletives which could have made a sailor blush in shame; her anxiety and solitude driving her speech straight into a gutter she would never dare venture to in public. And then, just as the first signs of full blown panic fluttered within her, something miraculous happened. Vague gray shapes, barely discernable against the black of their background, began to appear out of the darkness before her. Falling silent with a great whooshing sigh of relief Brielle realized that her eyes had just needed time to adjust to the darkness. Feeling like a fool for her silly, impulsive outburst Brielle pressed a palm against her still bounding heartbeat.
The memory of what had happened earlier, and how she had gotten to her current odd location, was slow in coming, but when it did Brielle stumbled painfully to her feet. In her mind's eye she saw the great fire consuming the orchestra pit. Placing a hand against the pounding headache between her eyes, Brielle recalled climbing onto the stage to assist the man she had seen. The horrible sound of failing wood still rang in her ears. Glancing upwards she tried to locate the hole through which she had fallen, but her eyes could find no sign of light from above.
"They must have shut the gas off while I was unconscious," Brielle mumbled to herself as she tried to make out her surroundings. Pushing a long strand of her straight, pale hair behind one ear, she squinted into the darkness.
The pile of rough cotton cloth which she had apparently landed upon turned out to be several ancient backdrops. As she turned, her vision becoming sharper with every passing second, she saw piles upon piles of old sets and boxes of discarded costumes surrounding her on all sides. Stepping forward to examine some of the objects more closely Brielle frowned down at the seemingly chaotic organization of the coiled ropes, fake weaponry, and moth-eaten costumes lying scattered in heaps across the floor.
Disapproving of the mess, even though it reminded her vaguely of her work desk at home, Brielle let out a breath and turned back toward the center of the room. Her back and forth pacing began to kick up the layer of dust which covered the floor a quarter inch thick, clogging the air until she could taste the dryness of it in her mouth. Coughing briefly she realized no one had set foot in that room for years. A chill crawled up her spine at this thought. She could feel her isolation like the suffocating touch of a shroud surrounding her.
Brielle wrapped her arms about her waist, guarding against the chilly air. She moved away from the stack of backdrops, raising one hand to feel out before her in the darkness. Her eyes wide and searching, Brielle found her way to the far wall. Moving along its length hesitantly, feeling with both her feet and hands, she soon stumbled upon a doorway.
Chuckling nervously, she opened the door slowly. "Great I found the door. Now give me a few years and I will find my way out of here."
Glancing back over her shoulder towards the ceiling through which she had fallen, she hesitated at the doorway. "Conner must have gotten everyone out by now. Once they get to a hospital they will be fine." And yet she couldn't help but wonder if she could have done something more. Perhaps I should have brought more medication or maybe I could have tied that one splint tighter.
"I have to stop second guessing myself! There could have been nothing else for me to do. Just stop thinking about it." With a snort she turned and moved through the ancient doorway.
Stumbling along in the darkness, one hand tracing the cold stone wall, she moved quietly down the dim corridor. The rustling of her torn skirts was the only sound within the darkness. As a considerable amount of time passed without the discovery of another door or a staircase, she began to seriously doubt if she could find an exit herself.
With a sigh, she leaned her back against the wall next to her in order to contemplate her next move. So far wandering about blind had not served her well. She did not know the layout of the Opera. Even with a bit of light, she wasn't sure if she could find her way out. She shook her head, hating that she couldn't do this herself.
Slapping her palm against the wall in frustration, Brielle pushed off and began to walk down the hallway once more. With relief she finally found another corridor crossing the one she was currently traveling. She turned left, hoping to find a staircase somewhere along her new choice. Coming upon another intersection she made another left, then another. By the time she realized the corridor she was in was sloping downwards she had no way of finding her way back.
Raising her hands to run through her loose hair she growled. Brielle was not a woman used to failing in her endeavors. Her current situation was driving her mad.
On the verge of cursing in frustration, Brielle was interrupted by the sound of a distant voice. Lowering her hands from where they gripped her hair, she turned her face towards the sound. She stilled every movement to better hear the direction from where the sounds were emitting. The voice was getting louder as she stood silent. And when the sight of distant torch light met her wide eyes, she took off running towards the glow.
"Hello! Wait for me please. I am lost and…" She slowed her steps suddenly when a terrible feeling settled heavily in the bottom of her stomach.
Though it didn't make sense, she knew that the stranger was bad news. The man holding the torch turned towards her then, surprised at her appearance. His piggish face was covered with a scraggly beard and set upon a short thick body. Standing a few feet away from the man, she caught the tell tale scent of gin upon his breath. The voice in the back of Brielle's mind screamed for caution.
He had jumped when she called out to him, but when he caught sight of her he flashed a toothless grin. Taking a step towards the her, the man raised his torch higher, peering at her face.
"Well hello there pretty," he began, his eyes glittering.
"You gave me a fright. You look to be a ghost when in the dark. But now that I see ya I can tell you ain't no ghost." The smile grew into a leer. "Tell me sweetie, have you seen the Phantom come running through here? I am lookin' to collect the bounty upon his head before the others get to him."
Brielle shook her head in the negative, suddenly wishing she hadn't come across this nasty man.
"No? You haven't seen him then? Damn. You know I bet they would pay if he were dead or alive." The man casually pulled a small pocket knife from his pocket. "I do hope to be the first one to find him. Never killed no one before. But that ghost sure has been a thorn in this place's side. Sure if anyone deserves it, he does."
Brielle stood paralyzed, listening to this man. He obviously had been drinking a great deal and she wasn't sure how to handle him. Especially since he had just confessed to planning a murder.
"I have seen no one monsieur. Actually I am lost. Can you please tell me the way out?"
The man laughed at her question, a string of spittle flying out of his mouth at the outburst. "My and aren't you a fine lady with her high manners," he chuckled, giving her a once over. Something shifted behind his eyes as he gazed at her. It appeared as though a new idea was taking hold within his mind. Brielle shifted uncomfortable under his gaze. His eyes were beginning to make her feel exposed, almost dirty.
"Well hey there my fine lady you want to come and find the ghost with me? I promise I would take real good care of you," he sneered. Brielle forced herself not to make a face at the innuendo within his question, keeping her expression carefully blank as her insides shuddered with revulsion.
"No thank you monsieur. I will just find my own way out. Thank you for your assistance." Brielle allowed the ice water flowing through her veins to infuse her voice. She quickly backed up several feet, trying to make a speedy retreat. She now longed for the darkness as she had longed for the light mere minutes ago.
The man moved with surprising speed for being intoxicated. He reached forwards and grabbed Brielle by the upper arm instantly halting her escape. "Now aren't you a cheeky little piece," he growled, his stinking breath blowing into her face, making her want to gag.
"I make you such a nice offer and you throw it back into my face." He shook her arm hard, making her teeth rattle about in her skull. Taking a step forwards he pinned her against the wall. "Maybe I wasn't clear enough," he stated with a laugh, using his thumb to caress the side of her bodice.
At his unwanted contact Brielle furiously pushed against the man's chest with all the force her small frame could manage. The drunk stumbled backwards two steps, dropping the knife in his hand, but he quickly regained his footing. Lunging towards the her again, he missed the steely threat swimming in her eyes.
"Leave me be monsieur, or I will have to do you some harm."
He merely laughed as he reached to clasp her arm once again in his beefy hand. Brielle bared her teeth threateningly as she herself lunged forwards. Her movements caught the man off guard; he had expected her to cower away. The alcohol in his blood prevented him from stopping his forward motion. Brielle was inches away from him in seconds. She gripped the lapels of his sweat stained shirt and drove a knee into his groin, using both their momentums to add to the force of her thrust.
The man's face drained immediately of all color as he dropped to the floor silently. The torch flew from his hand and clattered to the ground. Both his hands clamped protectively over his crotch as he twisted into a fetal position. A faint whimper finally escaped his bloodless lips, but his voice remained paralyzed.
Brielle coolly bent down and picked up the man's forgotten torch, hiding the trembling in her hands by gripping the wood handle tight. She turned her attention to his face, a smirk slowly forming behind her stone gray eyes though her pretty heart shaped mouth remained unmoving.
"I warned you, you flea bitten bastard," she hissed with cold bravado, her fear slowly being replaced with righteous anger.
"But I thank you for your torch monsieur. It will be most helpful, I am sure. And now you can rot here in the dark. Count yourself lucky that I am currently otherwise engaged or I would allow you to meet my dear brother as well." Straightening, Brielle turned upon her heel and swept down the hallway, the light of her torch dancing along the walls cast her shadow out before her. The coldness of her expression quickly melted to reveal the lingering panic underneath. Oh God… that was so close….
Once she turned a corner, she broke out into a run wishing to get far, far away from the drunken man she had left behind. Once he regained his senses he would be very angry indeed. She had no intention of being about when that happened.
Brielle ran until she could run no longer. Her newly pilfered torch drooping with her exhaustion, she leaned heavily against the wall. Her pulse frantically throbbed at the base of her throat. She laughed nervously as she raised a shaking hand to her racing heart. Suddenly she was grateful for having those brawling lessons from Conner when they were young. Ladylike or not, they had proven rather useful.
As Brielle's heart slowed back to normal, she closed her eyes with fatigue. She slid slowly to the ground, allowing her head to fall back against the cold stone behind her. Her body was reaching its limit. Every muscle was burning from her earlier sprint and she knew a multitude of bruises were forming from her fall through the stage.
Worse than these complaints was the acute pain pounding harder and harder within her skull. It felt almost as if her brain were liquefying. Raising both her hands, she pressed her palms into her temples. The pressure made the pain recede for a moment, allowing her to breathe without gasping. This always happened every time she had one of her dreams or feelings. It was almost as if her mind were rebelling against the things she saw. Sometimes it happened instantly. Then other times, as in this case, it took hours to set in. She knew the pain would pass quickly; it always left within a half an hour. But at the moment she knew nothing outside her own personal hell.
Time passed slowly as Brielle mentally tried separate herself from the agony in her head. Silently reminding herself over and over that it would soon pass, she forced herself to take deep breathes. And just when she thought she couldn't bear it any longer the sound of faint moaning slowly began to filter through the aching in Brielle's head. She ignored the sound, figuring it was emanating from her own throat. But as the headache receded she began to realize that the moans were not in fact coming from her. Carefully raising her head from her knees and she looked blurrily down the hallway.
Listening intently, she peered into the darkness beyond the ring of torchlight. A frown pulled down at the corners of her mouth as the moaning gave way to wrenching sobs. Never in her life had Brielle ever heard a more heartbreaking sound. Even when she was young and traveling with her father between battlefields, Brielle had never felt so affected by a single sound. Her heavily guarded heart broke just a little bit.
Brielle reached over and picked up her abandoned torch from where she had set it earlier. Rubbing her temple to ease the last of the pain, she stood slowly. Raising the torch to eye level, Brielle began to walk towards where the soft sounds were coming from. As she walked, the ground began to tilt upwards. A feeling of relief flooded through her body as she realized she was headed back up to the surface.
The elation she felt soon deflated as the weeping grew louder with her every step. Brielle's throat began to itch and she coughed several times before realizing the air was growing steadily hazier. The torchlight no longer threw a wide arc of light before her. Smoke now confined the light to a small circle immediately about her body. Brielle hastily raised a hand to cover her mouth as she coughed violently in reaction to the thickening smoke. The moaning she had been following now seemed to be immediately before her. But she couldn't quite see its source through the haze.
"Hello?" she called into the darkness, her tone wavering with her remaining wariness. At her voice, the broken sobs stopped immediately. "Is somebody there? If you are injured I can assist you."
Only silence greeted her inquiry. She shifted, holding the torch higher, even as the smoke began to burn her lungs.
"Please, if someone is there we must leave this passage immediately. This place must be near the theater. The smoke has been filtering down here for hours. We must leave before we suffocate!" Her final words ended on a croak and she desperately attempted to clear her throat.
No one answered her. Total silence settled into the air. Then a soft gasping sound followed by several violent coughs punctuated the gloom. The moaning began again in earnest, accompanied by soft mumbling. Having zeroed in upon the source of the sounds Brielle quickly stepped forwards. She now walked blindly, her torch offering no visibility through the haze.
Suddenly Brielle's foot ran into something soft lying upon the ground. She stumbled against the wall and dropped her torch, which immediately guttered to a faint flicker. Another moan sounded from the floor when she turned to stare down through the haze at a man sprawled across the passage.
He lay face down on the cold stone of the floor his face resting in the crook of one arm. Even in the darkness Brielle could make out his form. He was older than her, mid thirties perhaps; a fan of faint creases winking to life about his eye as he grimaced. His plain white cotton shirt was shredded and hung loosely about his body. It appeared as if he had suffered some great misfortune. Perhaps those wretched people mistook him for the Ghost.
Brielle quickly knelt by his side, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Monsieur, are you injured?" He shifted at her touch and she felt him raise his shoulders slightly.
He turned his head ever so slightly, continuing to mumble to himself. His voice scratched hoarsely in the quiet of the passage, roughened by the smoke and overuse. "Christine? Don't leave me…please," he croaked before collapsing on the floor again, now on his back, his eyes tiredly falling closed. A hacking cough shook his body as another moan escaped him.
Brielle hesitated at the familiar name, then placed her hand upon his forehead. His bare skin was burning hot to the touch, but she could feel a shivering shaking his body as if from cold. When the man jerked his head out from under her touch Brielle shifted her position, one hand resting on his chest to draw his attention. She ran her fingers over the tattered remains of what once must have been a finely made cotton shirt suddenly realizing his clothing was completely saturated with water. No wonder he is so ill, his clothes are soaking wet.
"Monsieur, you have a fever. And if you stay in this smoke for too long, it will damage your lungs. Can you stand?" She took his arm in her hands and tugged gently.
A deep, rolling growl emitted from the prone man and his eyes flared open once again. The sheen of fever had cleared and he fixed a fierce glare up at her, his eyes glittering near black in the smoldering light of the torch. "Leave me be, wretched woman." His smoke roughened voice cut harshly through the air. "Can a man not die in peace?" He swiped at her hands and dislodged them from his arm before stilling once more.
Brielle sighed as a glimmer of irritation ignited within her, but the sound quickly transformed into a series of violent coughs. There isn't time for this. I can barely breath as it is. I cannot stay here much longer. We must leave. Coming to a decision she reached down and roughly jerked upon the man's arm dragging him into a sitting position. He turned and she felt him more than saw him go rigid in surprise, shocked at her insolent behavior.
"I cannot leave you here, monsieur. And we cannot stay." She stood, his well formed upper arm still gripped in both hands. "So you must get up before we both suffocate."
Brielle could feel the man's eyes glaring at her through the gloom but he remained silent, perhaps trying to focus his feverish mind. He did not appear to be accustomed to arguing with another human being, let alone a strange woman. He attempted to jerk his arm free from her grasp once more, but her small hands were like vises upon his bicep.
"My welfare is none of your concern. It would be advantageous for you to leave immediately. I have no wish to be moved." He growled, allowing his smoke roughened voice to convey the subtle threat in his words. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to affect Brielle the way he had intended. If anything, his threat merely hardened her resolve.
"Your wishes are none of my concern monsieur. But since I have stumbled upon you, your life is. Now get to your feet before I am forced to drag you out by your hair!" Brielle exclaimed. The man fell silent at her menacing words; his shock making him momentarily pliant, allowing Brielle to drag him to his feet before he realized what was happening.
Brielle released his arm and gently wrapped her own arm about his waist. The man stiffened at her contact but blessedly remained silent.
"You may put your arm about my shoulders, monsieur," she said in the calm, gentle tone she had perfected while volunteering in local hospitals. A few feet away the torch gave one final sputter of light before going completely out, plunging the corridor into absolute blackness. Marshaling her courage Brielle continued on in the same composed tone. "Your fever may have weakened you. Lean on me if the need arises."
Feeling the hesitation freezing the man in place Brielle carefully reached over her head and brought his arm about her shoulders, taking the decision out of his hands for expediency's sake. Sighing heavily the man sagged against her, the warmth of his feverish skin radiating through his wet shirt, warming her in the chilly air. Turning her head slightly Brielle started when the top of her head brushed under the vexing man's chin; evidently he had been looking down at her through the now crushing darkness. Tilting her head slightly away from him, Brielle realized she was the perfect height for him to lean upon her. Their bodies fit together like the pieces of a puzzle. It was a slightly disturbing revelation even though the fit was highly useful at the moment.
Brielle could feel his eyes burning into the top of his head as he continued to gaze down at her. She shifted under his gaze, uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny.
She glanced up at where she assumed his shaded face was before stepping forwards slowly. When she moved Brielle guided him along with her, pressing her palm firmly against his lower back, urging him into motion. The mysterious man moved to step forwards as well but unexpectedly stumbled forward, his knees giving out. The pair stumbled before Brielle could brace herself to support his weight. The man cursed fiercely under his breath when she didn't pause and moved forwards again.
"Did I not express my acute wish to be left here? And now because of your mulish behavior, Madame, I am now subjected to the humiliation of being led by…" A fit of coughing overtook the dark haired man then, cutting off the rest of what he was going to say. Despite his obvious resistance to the idea his body sagged further against hers as they continued down the corridor.
The smoke grew thicker as the hallway sloped closer to the surface, making each breath a struggle. Brielle's eyes began to sting from the acrid air and she felt the man next to her coughing quietly. She knew they needed to find the way out and quickly. Despite her confident airs she still had no idea how to escape the labyrinth under the Opera and time was quickly running out. As she forced herself to take another step forward she silently calculated how much longer she would be able to function within the smoke laden air before succumbing to exhaustion and smoke inhalation.
The pair stumbled on through the darkness, and then suddenly something in the air changed, the feel of a larger space gaped open to he left. Ignoring what must be a side hall, that led god knew where, Brielle continued passed it. As the pair struggled beyond the intersection, Brielle felt the man hesitate slightly, his head turned to look down the other hall. Wondering at his sudden interest in their direction Brielle slowly came to a stop when a new idea took hold within her mind.
"Do you know how to get out of here, Monsieur?" she asked slowly, a sneaking suspicion stealing through her.
"Of course," he croaked snidely.
Brielle gritted her teeth in frustration at his terse reply. "Why didn't you say anything! We are about to suffocate and you keep something like that to yourself?"
The man merely gave a weak shrug before replying. "You didn't ask Madame."
Brielle puffed up as temper suddenly rushed through her, but the retort forming on her lips was interrupted when she sucked in a bit too much smoke, producing a wracking cough. She stumbled slightly as she doubled over. The man's arm instinctively tightened about her shoulders. Supporting her, despite his weakened state.
When she regained her composure, she shot a furious glare towards the man she was supporting. "By all means, point the way, Monsieur."
He merely nodded with exhaustion their verbal sparring having worn him out. He pointed down the hallway she had been about to pass. Following his indications, the pair continued to stumble in the darkness. The smoke impossibly thickened even more.
With every passing minute the man leaned harder upon her shoulders. His head drooped even lower as his feet began to drag. Brielle's thin mask of calm cracked as she looked up at him. She could feel a sheen of sweat breaking out over his skin where their bodies where pressed together. He is very sick. She thought with a growing level of concern. And she knew she wouldn't be able to carry him if he collapsed completely. Resisting the self preserving urge to hurry her steps, to escape, Brielle concentrated on keeping her footing. She knew that if she walked faster the man on her arm wouldn't be able to keep up; she may be able to save herself but she knew she would have to leave him behind. It was an unacceptable outcome.
"Just a little farther, Monsieur. Please continue for just a little longer," she prodded encouragingly. The man nodded absently but otherwise did not respond.
Straining to see ahead in the impenetrable shadows, Brielle was caught completely by surprise when they collided with what seemed to be a wooden door. She had not even noticed that they had reached the end of the tunnel. Shifting her grip upon the man's waist, Brielle reached forwards and fumbled for a doorknob, jerking the ancient door open as soon as she found it. A blast of bitter cold wind instantly hit her face. She laughed aloud in relief as she drew in a deep cleansing breath. She laughed aloud in relief as she drew in a deep cleansing breath. Slowly they made their way through the door, both their feet dragging with fatigue.
Blinking rapidly in the light of a nearby streetlamp, Brielle paused in the open doorway, momentarily dazzled by the light glinting off the white street outside. Sometime during the hours she had wandered in the bowels of the theater it had begun to snow. The world outside was now blanketed in a clean layer of white powder, giving everything a clean, fresh glow. Brielle stumbled forwards then, forcing herself to leave the doorway even though her eyes had not fully adjusted from the darkness of the theater. The opening behind her spewed the thick black smoke from which they had barely escaped; it clung momentarily to their clothing as the pair stepped into the snow.
As soon as she stepped clear from the theater the man she was supporting folded like a rag doll to the ground. Unable to support his full weight, Brielle stumbled with him as he fell, his arm about her shoulders dragging her with him. She threw her hands out to break her fall and hit the snow covered cobblestones with a grunt. Scrambling to her knees she struggled out from under his limp arm. Swiveling around to face the mysterious man Brielle quickly assessed his condition. Lying face down in the snow he was shivering violently in the freezing air, but he made no move to shift his position or sit up. Her brow furrowing Brielle leaned forward and quickly cleared the snow away from his face, giving him a better space to breathe. Blowing several strands of her straggling hair out of her face Brielle laid a hand on the man's forehead. She was startled by the scorching heat of his skin. His fever had progressed remarkably fast.
She leaned forwards and shook him slightly, her long hair bushing his cheeks. "Monsieur, open your eyes. Don't go to sleep yet. Wait for just a little longer." He obeyed, slowly opening his fever clouded blue eyes. Rolling his gaze up, he stared blankly into her face.
"Stay awake, monsieur, I will go and get help," Brielle assured. Shifting her weight she made to stand, but the man shuddered into motion, his hand sliding haltingly across the snow to grip her wrist. Tightening his fingers, he silently begged her not to leave him alone.
Brielle turned her large gray eyes back to his and with a soft smile laid a gentle hand upon his cheek. The man sucked in a breath at her touch. "I promise I will be back shortly. You have my word. I won't leave you."
He gazed up at her dazedly for several moments in silence. The snow falling in the night air behind her head gave her an ethereal glow, yet was the earnestness in her voice rather than her otherworldly appearance which seemed to comfort him. Slowly his eyes fluttered shut and he released her hand. Brielle stood quickly and picking up her skirts she ran off into the snowy night, her voice ringing in the cold air, calling for help.
As her crunching footsteps faded into the distance the mysterious man was left alone in bitter silence. Haltingly the he pulled a white mask out of the confines of the inner pocket of his tattered shirt. With the last of his strength, the man placed the mask over the right side of his face, hiding the deformity that the darkness of the Opera, and the snowy ground had previously concealed. With a sigh the man then passed into blessed unconsciousness.