Hey all here is the next chapter for everyone. Hope you all enjoy it.
But I do have some bad news Juliana has decided to give up her job as my beta for personal reasons. Though I understand why she might have decided to do this she has sort of left me in the lurch, big time. So I need a new beta very badly. It is not a very well kept secret that I am the world's worst speller. So if you have the time and some grammatical skills I would love for some help. Also Juliana and I had an open working relationship in which she helped with far more than just grammar, she always helped me stay clear from the cliché. I would like to continue this type of relationship with my future new beta. So give me an email or mention something in your reviews if you are interested.
But anyway thanks for all of the nice reviews.
Chapter 39: Merry Christmas
Swinging her now empty bucket back and forth beside her Brielle strolled casually down a darkened hallway, her lantern held out before her, leading the way through the gloom. After eleven hours of cleaning she felt every impact of her feet against the ground like a shock through her system. And yet, despite the physical misery plaguing her limbs Brielle felt strangely light hearted. It was late Christmas morning now, from what she could tell from the time, though by the looks of the inside of the theater it could still be midnight for all of the light in the place. But for some reason she wasn't afraid of the shadows anymore. The oppressive atmosphere which had been haunting her since her arrival apparently had dissipated sometime during the night.
Humming one of her favorite Christmas carols under her breath, Brielle made a sharp left behind the stage, passing by an alcove full of the salvaged props from the theater's last performance. For a moment she paused and held her light up to shine against the wall, squinting at the painted flames that seemed to rise all the way to the ceiling. I remember these…the night of Don Juan Triumphant…during that last scene there was a fire like this, just before the real one started…
A shadow passed Brielle on the other side of the curtains, disturbing the air just enough to send a ripple across the backdrop. The thin material before her billowed forward just then on the sudden gust of air, making her step back slightly. "Hello? Is someone there?" she asked hesitantly, the fear she had expected to rise up within her staying at bay as she waited for a reply.
When no one answered her Brielle sighed and moved on, rolling her shoulders to work a kink out of her spine. Making another sharp left the Irishwoman swept around the end of the backdrops and ran right into someone coming the other way. Falling backward onto her behind, she let out a loud gasp which was echoed by a high pitched scream from the other person on the ground.
Catching her breath quickly Brielle looked over at the young blonde girl screeching at the top of her lungs a foot away from her. "Shhh. For God's sake it is alright. It is just me. Calm down," she stated as she reached out a calming hand and steadied the girl.
Stilling at Brielle's touch the girl opened her eyes and stared her in the face, a look of embarrassment stealing over the blonde's features as she realized she had not run into some dastardly criminal in the dark. The girl let out a nervous laugh and sat up a little straighter.
"My word," she twittered. "You nearly scared the life right out of me."
"Sorry, I didn't see you there until we ran into each other," Brielle replied, a small smile softening her features as they eyed each other, the girl's laughter, though nervous, was infectious. Slowly climbing to her feet the Irishwoman began to gather her cleaning supplies, righting the lantern quickly before it could go out.
Likewise climbing to her feet the blonde extended a delicate hand. "My name is Meg," she said with a smile. "I am a dancer here at the theater, if not a very good one."
Hesitating slightly to take Meg's hand in hers, Brielle looked to the ground. She had quickly made a set of rules for herself once she started work in the Opera, and making friends was one of the things she had decided against. It would be easier to leave if she needed to...if Andrew found her…without any emotional attachments. Blowing out a breath of air Brielle glanced back up at Meg's inviting face and reached out to grasp the girl's hand. No need to be rude to people. Having a little chat with another person isn't a crime…it might be nice to talk to someone around my own age for once…even if she is a dancer.
"My name is Brielle," she said slowly before adding, "I am one of the cleaning ladies here." Having confessed her lower station Brielle was sure the girl would quickly be on her way, but much to her surprise Meg merely smiled and bent down to help her pick up her things.
"You sound like you are from England," Meg said conversationally as she leaned on the handle of Brielle's broom, a dreamy expression lighting her eyes. "I have a friend who went off to England last year to get married. I wish I could go somewhere like England…or anywhere would do…" Stopping there, Meg laughed a little. "Sorry, I am rambling to you, and we hardly even know each other."
"Actually I am from Ireland originally. And it is ok, about the rambling that is. I have been on my own all night. It is nice to hear someone else's voice. It gets very quiet around here when most of the people are sleeping. I mean, if they hadn't had that late practice last night I might have gone a little crazy from the silence." Blinking in surprise at how easily she found it to talk to this girl, Brielle suddenly grew quiet.
Meg stared at Brielle quizzically for a moment. "There wasn't a late practice last night," she finally said.
"What? But I thought…"
"As if the singers would actually stay up late to practice," she continued, as she looked over her shoulder into the darkness. "No one likes to be around at night." Turning back to look at Brielle, Meg shifted slightly. "Speaking of which, would you mind if I walked with you for awhile? I was heading back to the dormitories when I ran into you…and my candle has gone out."
Still mulling over the fact that the singing she had listened to the night before wasn't from the performers Brielle could only nod, following Meg when the girl set off down the hallway, the broom still in the girl's hand. "Is it because of the ghost that everyone fears the dark? That is all anyone ever talks about…the ghost." Brielle finally said as she came up along side of Meg.
The younger girl thought about it for a moment before answering, her glittering smile dimming to a meditative frown. "No, not exactly. If you had asked me that a year ago I would have said yes…but now things are different. I think people are afraid of the memory of the ghost more than anything."
"Really? What an odd theory. So you think the ghost is gone now?" Brielle asked, looking over at Meg with an incredulous expression.
"Oh, I know he is gone now," Meg replied, gripping Brielle's broom a little tighter. She glanced over at the Irish woman for a moment as if she were considering something before opening her mouth again. "I know I just met you, but I suppose it can't hurt speaking about these things now."
Taking a deep breath Meg flashed a crooked half heart smile. "At the time people used to believe all the strange things that happened to be because of a ghost. We even gave him names, the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera. Odd things went on for years, but we all got along fine enough. The things that happened were almost like pranks…playful even. But what we didn't know was that everything that happened, the hauntings, weren't really because of a ghost."
"Excuse me?"
"It was a flesh and blood man that haunted this place. I saw him with my own eyes."
Coming to a sudden halt, Brielle stared over at Meg with a frown twisting her features. "Are you serious? This ghost that everyone has been talking about was a man?" Meg nodded with a shrug. "But why did he allow people to think he wasn't real?"
"I don't think our phantom wanted anyone to know that he was real. If people had known they would never have let him live in peace."
Beginning forward again, Brielle mulled over the information Meg was giving her. "But how could a person move about this place without being seen?"
"He didn't live where everyone else did. People used to talk about seeing shadows moving around in the cellars, but back then no one really took it seriously. But the night of Don Juan, when the fire started, I went down into the basements…I saw where that man lived for all those years. It gave me chills. To think of a person living down in that darkness… Even despite the things he did in the end...I always felt badly for him."
"What happened to this man?" Brielle finally asked when Meg fell into silence. Like the younger woman she was disturbed by the thought of a human being living in the labyrinthine vaults underneath the Opera. Memories of the hours she had spent wandering in the dark flickered into her head. That was the night I found Erik down there. How in the world could anyone live in a place like that? The cold, the damp, the darkness…it is more like a tomb than a building's basement.
"Most people think he died. No one has really seen anything particularly odd since. Though some people still blame all the accidents of the theater on the ghost, I don't think they really feel he is still here. Perhaps it is better that he is dead now. At least he doesn't have to hide behind a mask anymore."
The final words of Meg's sentence hung heavily in the air, wheedling their way into the forefront of Brielle's mind. A mask? The man who lived below the Opera wore a mask? Raising a startled hand to cover the gasp climbing up the back of her throat Brielle stared fixedly at the floor. What am I thinking? They couldn't be the same person. I mean yes Erik wore a mask…and I found him down there but…but it had to have been a coincidence. He couldn't have done the things I hear the opera ghost blamed for. I have heard some say that it was the phantom's fault the chandelier fell…Erik may have had a temper that could put an army to flight, but he wouldn't have actually tried to hurt people. Though God knows how much he hurt me… using my family for his own purposes and then leaving when he no longer needed us…
When Meg came to a stop before one of the dancer's dormitories Brielle almost ran into the back of her. The young blonde turned around with a smile and handed the Irish woman her broom. "Well, this is where I stay. Thank you for walking me back. Sorry for scaring you with all the old ghost stories."
Shaking her head mutely, Brielle gripped the broom with a white knuckled fist. "You didn't scare me."
"You are as white as a sheet."
"I have a lot on my mind," Brielle stated a little too defensively before taking a step away from Meg. "It was nice to meet you. Next time when you feel like taking a walk, maybe you should take a lantern instead of a candle." Hastily trying to leave this nice girl behind as quickly as possible Brielle waved to Meg and fled back down the hall in the direction of her own room, wanting nothing more than to put the things the girl had said out of her mind.
Walking down the hallway quickly Brielle left the better kept up areas where the dancers and other artists stayed into the plainer section for the janitorial staff. Stopping by a whitewashed door the Irish woman stuffed all of her cleaning supplies into the dark closet, keeping only the lantern in her possession. Her unusually large cleaning assignment had kept her at work longer than normal – all the other women's supplies were already in the small room. Few people remained in the vicinity and Brielle figured that they must have left the Opera House, visiting friends and family for Christmas. Lucky them… Shutting the door quietly Brielle turned and moved to the next door down the hall, leaning her hand momentarily against the rough, unpolished wood.
Why is it that every time I turn around here there is something else that reminds me of Erik? I thought I had finally gotten rid of him. I was even willing to marry Andrew to get him out of my mind. Taking her hand from the door Brielle rubbed at the chill creeping up her arms. Why can't I shake him?
Letting out a breath Brielle straightened the dingy white apron over her plain brown dress. Reaching out a hand she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, on the verge of opening the door when a sudden burst of laughter made her pause. Listening intently Brielle felt a smile flicker at the edges of her mouth. What a happy sound. But as Brielle continued to listen to the giggling from within the dormitory room, the smile slowly grew into a grin. She recognized that sound, though she had not heard it for many, many months. Aria, that is Aria laughing like that!
Quickly jerking open the door Brielle burst into the large room, hope coloring her starkly white face, flushing her cheeks a healthy pink. Aria sat on the floor with her back to the door, her little head resting on the edge of the bed, intently watching something that rested on the covers. Clasping her hands in front of her, Brielle watched as her daughter jumped and turned toward her, the smile still spread wide over the child's face. Upon seeing her mother Aria climbed to her feet, scooping up the thing upon the bed, and came running over to where Brielle stood. Excitement was clearly printed all over her little face, her eyes bright and glittering with just a little of the old mischief she once had.
"Merry Christmas, love. Why are you sitting in here all alone? I thought you were playing with the other children while momma was working." Holding out her arms and kneeling down, Brielle caught up the little girl in a quick hug.
Ignoring her mother's question Aria tugged at Brielle's sleeve, pushing the thing she held in her hands forward and into the Irish woman's line of sight. Looking down with a smile Brielle took the thing Aria was holding out for her. Careful not to drop it, Brielle slowly studied the object in her hands.
A tiny carved monkey sat cross legged on a wooden base dressed like an Arabian sultan and hold a pair of shiny cymbals. Running a finger over the rich silk covering the funny little animal, Brielle furrowed her brow slightly as she turned the thing over. "What a lovely little thing," she murmured, a furrow appearing between her brows. Something about the monkey was strangely familiar. A distant memory flickered into her mind of another toy monkey, though that one was far plainer and made of soft gray cloth rather than silk. I had a little toy monkey a long time ago. Conner mentioned something about me losing it…
Aria nodded enthusiastically and took the statue from her mother, holding it close as she turned it over and wound a little lever on the back. Setting the monkey right again Aria let out another little squeal of laughter as the animal's arms began to move back and forth, beating the cymbals together with a slow rhythm. When the strange thing began to play a soft tune Brielle couldn't help but grin along with her daughter.
"Where did you get this?" Brielle asked over the toy's music, not really expecting an answer.
Much to Brielle's shock Aria opened her mouth to reply. "It is a p-present," she said simply, effectively shocking her mother into stunned silence.
Feeling a slice of guilt tug at her heart, Brielle could only continue to smile at her daughter. This was the first time in all her life that the holiday season had not been filled with gifts; she just could not afford such extravagance right now. But now someone had taken it upon themselves to give her little girl some Christmas cheer in the form of this strange little toy. Maybe there was a little human decency left in the world.
"Do you know who gave it to you?" Brielle asked, wanting to thank the generous person at a later date.
Nodding, Aria kissed the monkey on the top of its head and hugged it tight. The little girl turned her large glittering eyes upward to grin up at her mother. "T-The g-ghost gave it t-to m-m-me," she said quietly, before turning and skipping off to the other side of the room, leaving Brielle behind to worry over her strange answer.
"The ghost did?"
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Christmas Day in Paris dawned cold and bright, the sun reflecting off the newly fallen snow with almost blinding intensity. The morning was still young and the city streets were still relatively quiet outside the Parisian police station, many of the officers themselves still sleeping soundly in their own beds, when a furious bellow issued from behind the station's closed doors. Heavy footsteps beat rhythmically outside the chief of police's office as some junior officers wrung their hands nervously nearby. With his hands clasped tightly behind his back Conner turned on his heel and marched away from the chief's door, stopping only when he had come to the far wall. Clenching and unclenching his fists behind his back, the redheaded man barely refrained from driving his fist through the beige plaster of the station's wall.
"Did you not tell me at the door that the Chief was already in today?" the Irishman inquired sharply, turning his head slightly to stare fixedly at the group of young officers behind him.
"Sir, please calm down. It is Christmas, if the chief is late who can blame him?" one of the young men replied nervously. Twirling his cap in both hands the officer took an unconscious step backward when Conner turned fully around, fury staining the redhead's face crimson.
Purposely using his imposing size to his advantage the normally good natured man let loose a string of vicious curses so caustic the young men before him all gasped in horror. "I have a crime to report and that god damned vat of lard is at home sleeping the day away!" he shouted, unclasping his hands to gesture wildly through the air.
Making a calming gesture with both hands the young officer who had spoken before stepped forward, glancing around the hallway nervously. "Please don't say such things sir. I am sure the chief is on his way. If you have been witness to a crime I would be happy to take your report."
Unwilling to hear the logic in the younger man's words Conner raised both hands to run through his already unkempt hair, the panic eating away at his insides nearly driving him to physical violence. How long has it been now? I don't even know how long she has been missing. Damn it, I shouldn't have stormed off from the party. I should have stayed…What is wrong with me? I should have protected her…Damn…Damn…Damn. "Do not patronize me you puffed up little…" he started, his voice rising to a roar before a door down the hall swung open disturbing his tirade.
"What the hell is going on in here? Who the hell are you?" boomed a highly irritated voice from down the hall as a large pot-bellied man lumbered toward the small group of agitated men, pointing accusingly toward Conner.
Insolently crossing his arms over his chest Conner stared the older man down without even the slightest hint of respect. "And who are you?"
Straightening his plain dark coat, the older man pursed his lips. "I am the Chief of this station, Sir. What are you doing here? You are disturbing the peace."
Quickly turning to the office he had been pacing outside for the last twenty minutes, Conner reached out and opened the closed door without permission. Stalking into the room beyond he turned and waited impatiently for the older man to follow. After a brief tense moment the chief sighed and walked past the redhead and into his own office. The older man slowly waddled across the room to sit behind the plain oak desk at the far end. Pulling out a pair of moon shaped spectacles, the chief frowned darkly over their rims at Conner as the Irishman paced about the room.
"Now what is it you were bellowing about out in my hallway?" he asked politely, his tone just bordering on patronizing.
Rounding on the chubby man Conner fisted his hands at his sides, grinding his teeth against the overwhelming urge to scream. Panic clawed through his brain making it near impossible to focus on the task at hand. Uncontrollable tremors ran from the muscles about his mouth to the very tips of his toes, the prolonged state of heightened anxiety finally wreaking havoc on his body after two days of blind terror.
Just forty eight hours before, he had returned to the Donovan manor with his tail between his legs, fully set on making amends with his sister in time to celebrate the holidays with her and Aria. He remembered specifically feeling, as he rode up the winding drive to the main house, that the weather was surprisingly cold considering the time of year. Day old snow lay over the French countryside, carpeting the fields in endless white as far as the eye could see. Only the rust colored mud on the roads and the black of the naked trees offered up colors to disrupt the monotony of the bright snow. But Conner remembered how, despite the tranquility of the countryside, a feeling of dread had stolen over him as he rode beneath the whispering skeletal limbs of the hemlocks lining the road, a secret part at the back of his mind murmuring hints of foreboding in time with every creak of his saddle and moan of the winter locked trees.
At the time the redhead had merely shrugged his shoulders, dislodging the uncomfortable feeling with that one simple motion, continuing on his way blissfully unaware of the chaos ensuing in the manor as he pulled up by the front door. Conner remembered grinning like a fool as he untied several packages from his saddle bags; he tucked the presents for his sister and Aria under his arm and strode up to the front door. Raising one hand he gave the door a loud rap with his knuckles.
When no immediate answer came to his knocking Conner had frowned ever so slightly as he reached out and knocked again. Several more minutes passed without anyone coming to the door. If it hadn't been for the shuffling and muted conversations from somewhere within the building he would have sworn no one was home - the place had a quiet deserted feel to it.
Having quickly grown impatient Conner leaned forward and turned the ornate brass knob, finding the front door open. Stepping into the main entrance hall the redhead had set the gifts down on a nearby table, gazing about the hall. He remembered calling out into the quiet of the house, noting that the talking down the hall stopped at his inquiry. An older maid had come rushing out of a side room a few moments later, waving her hands in the air wildly, screeching at Conner to vacate the premises at once.
When he refused to be shooed off by the over reacting maid the woman had nearly started swelling up in irritation. Ignoring the woman's odd behavior and downright scathing tone, Conner flashed the maid an arrogant smile. "Don't be absurd," he had said walking past the woman. "You must have seen me here before. I am Brielle's brother. I came to spend Christmas with her."
Chasing after the redhead the older woman raced along on his heels wringing her hands and continuing to demand that he leave at once. "You don't understand sir. You cannot be here right now. The household…it is not prepared to house any guests. We are in an uproar."
Vaguely he remembered asking her what she was talking about. And when she replied, she turned his lopsided grin upside down. In a few short words she told him that his little sister had been missing for a few days and the master of the house was currently out looking for her. Unwilling to believe the woman's tale, Conner had insisted she repeat herself several times.
Ever since that moment Conner had lived in a dim world of emotional distress; sounds became muffled to his ears as his racing brain constantly muttered scattered strains of unfinished thoughts, light and color turned to muted gray within the confines of his new panic stricken world. It was amazing really that a person could continue to live in such a state.
Shaking his head in yet another attempt to focus on the task at hand, Conner put aside his musings. Stalking over to the very edge of the Police Chief's desk, the redhead began to pace in front of it. "I have a crime to report sir. As I understand it so far the police have not gotten involved."
Sitting up a little straighter in his chair the officer lost some of the annoyance pinching up his face, actual concern flickered across the man's pudgy face. "What crime is it you need reporting? One of the junior officers could have handled it sir. We have a fine crime fighting unit here in Paris and…"
Turning suddenly and placing both hands on the edge of the desk Conner interrupted the older man. "Just listen to me for a moment. My sister has been missing for several days. The staff told me she disappeared in the middle of the night along with her four year old daughter."
Frowning now the chief cleared his throat. "My, no wonder you are acting so strangely sir." Bending down to fish several sheets of paper from a drawer the man picked up a pen and glanced Conner's way. "Now let's go over this again. Where was she last seen and who exactly saw her?"
Collapsing into a nearby chair Conner ran a trembling hand over his face. "I talked to half a dozen of the staff who said they saw her at dinner time but not after. Actually…they didn't seem to recall much of that evening…lying most likely. Both her and her daughter, Aria, were last seen at the Donovan manor about…"
Pausing in his notes the chief set his pen down. "Did you say Donovan?"
"Yes, like I was saying…"
Standing slowly the police chief smiled reassuringly. "There is no need to worry so sir. If you had asked Lord Donovan before coming here you would have known that he has already contacted us. We have officers out searching for your sister already."
"No, you don't understand. She was acting so strangely before all this happened! It is most likely Lord Donovan's fault she is gone. That son of a bitch is absolutely crazy!"
"Now, sir…"
"No, listen. Go and question him! Ask him what really happened that night. Ask him why no one is telling me anything…why they all say they can't remember!"
Smacking his lips slightly the police chief stepped around his desk and placed a placating hand on Conner's shoulder. "Your sister is being taken care of. We have half the force looking for her. We will find her. We will catch the man who stole her away."
Starting Conner blinked down at the older man. "What are you talking about?"
"Lord Donovan told us about how an old servant with a grudge most likely kidnapped her. We are waiting for the ransom note."
"What?"
"Unfortunately Donovan could not remember the man's name. But he did mention what he looked like. By the sound of it he has the right person. Only criminals wear masks. But don't worry - when we find him we will find her. Even if he is keeping her in a hidden location. We won't fail in this."
As the chief slowly led him toward the door Conner tried to wrap his brain around what the other man said. "Wait a second did you say the suspect wears a mask!"
"Yes, can't be too hard to find him even if we haven't gotten a lead yet. It is just a matter of time." Smiling now, sure he had helped the distraught Irishman, the chief ushered Conner out the door of his office.
Shrugging out of the older man's hand Conner turned toward him. "Wait a second…"
"As soon as we hear anything I will make sure you are told. Good day sir." Motioning to several junior officers, the chief retreated back into the safety of his office.
"Hey wait a moment!" Conner began, trying to follow the chief, when a hand took him by the elbow.
"Come with me now sir," a rather large sergeant stated politely as he nudged Conner toward the front door.
"No, I am not done! I have to tell him about…"
Smiling thinly the officer nodded his head without actually listening to the redhead. The pair made their way to the entrance to the building where the officer unceremoniously gave Conner a shove out the front door. Left to stand bemused in the snow the Irishman gazed up and down the street, lost as what to do. Raising both hands to pull at his wild red hair Conner let out a guttural growl feral enough to send several pedestrians skittering away from him down the street.
"What the hell do I do now?"