Hello again all my loyal readers. Thanks for sticking with me everyone! All of the Beta craziness has finally been worked out. Hurray! So everyone say hello to my new editor Terpsichore314. Hurray for her! She is a beta for another story and yet has found the time to take mine on as well. And so far she has done fantastic work.
Oh and thanks to all of the fantastic people who offered to help me out as betas as well. I really am grateful for every offer. And once again kudos to all of my regular reviewers as well as those who have reviewed for the first time last week. Hope everyone enjoys this next chapter!
Chapter 40: Only a Man
The deepest recesses of the Opera's cellars hung silent as a grave, the shadows melding one into another until nothing but darkness remained. The air sighed through the stone corridors, as if issuing from the mouth of some great living creature, bringing with each gust a rush of wintry moist air. Dripping water pulsed constantly in the background, creating the only sound within the darkness and feeding the thin layer of green algae coating the stone floors; the atmosphere more closely resembling that of a long abandoned tomb, bloodless and still, rather than the foundations of one of the world's finest theaters.
Few of those who patronized the Opera Populaire knew what secrets the opulent building hid beneath the Baroque architecture and gilded sculptures. Unknowingly they strolled over highly polished marble and gazed into the many mirrors, all the while standing directly over seven stories of underground passages. Happy in their ignorance, not a single soul ever considered they were walking over the dark domain of the resident creatures of the night.
But one corner of the vast underground darkness shone out with a tiny pinnacle of light, harboring the only life and warmth to be found beneath the tons of hard stone masonry. In the lowest cellar, beside the underground lake the Opera was built over, signs of human life existed. Candlelight flickered out over the dark water from behind a slimy iron portcullis, throwing bars of light out into the darkness. The sound of the water lapping against a series of low stone steps subtly filled the deafening quiet, alleviating the pressure in the air, making it bearable.
Just to the right of the stairs, set up on a large ridge of stone, an enormous pipe organ squatted, pompously overlooking the mess of scattered paper, ink wells, and various writing utensils abandoned upon the floor. Layers upon layers of thick durable material covered both the walls and floor in several areas, effectively blocking out the cold and moisture, making the room relatively warm compared to the rest of the cellars. Through an open doorway a dim corridor stretched, leading away from the main room and past a series of closed rooms to a large arched doorway; the light from a single lonely candle shone out through the door, throwing a hunched shadow across the floor.
Erik bent over the lip of an old oak chest, a pile of dusty odd and ends heaped at his side as he pulled yet another ragged object from the box. It had been years since he had gone through some of these older trunks, many of the objects he was now finding he had long since forgotten about. Sighing Erik leaned back on his heels, raising a hand to rub at his burning eyes.
It was very late and he was growing increasingly tired, but he just couldn't seem to quiet his mind enough to go to sleep. In fact, he had not slept an entire night through for many nights, and he knew why. Like many things his sleeplessness could be directly connected to Brielle's recent arrival at the opera. The woman was disrupting his life on every possible level. Physically, mentally, and emotionally he felt drained, as if by just being in the same building Brielle was sucking the very life from his body.
For days now he had made a marked effort to stay as far away from the woman as he could, thinking that perhaps if he just didn't see her he would find the strength to push her from his mind. But so far his brilliant plan had gloriously blown up in his face. Instead of being excised from his thoughts, the witch now plagued his every waking moment; crawling into the farthest recesses of his mind, filling his dreams with images and smells he would rather forget.
Turning his head to the side Erik fought against the memories clamoring for his notice. She has exactly six different smiles…I remember. One for when she is nervous, one for when she is humoring you… Heaving a great sigh, Erik let out a frustrated bark of a laugh and looked back down into the trunk at his feet.
"God, it is final. I am losing my mind. I have finally given into the pressures of the solitary nature of my existence and lost my bloody wits," he murmured to himself as he carefully pulled a dusty old rag out of the trunk with the very tips of his finger and his thumb.
Tossing the cloth to the side Erik rolled his eyes. "And now I am resorting to talking to myself. Fantastic. I suppose it isn't a very large stretch of the imagination to…" Stopping suddenly, the masked man blinked down at the open trunk, at the small gray object which had been lying under the rag.
Slowly Erik reached out and pulled the object from the confines of the box. Standing swiftly he turned and rushed over to the single candle on the small table in the middle of the room, holding the bundle of stuffed gray cloth out to the light. The corners of his mouth turned upward slightly in disbelief as he recognized the toy in his hands. A hand-sized gray monkey rested in the curve of his palm, its ugly little face pinched where the stitches had come loose. Nudging one of the monkey's arms with a finger, the smile upon Erik's face slipped away, only to be replaced with a nervous uncertain frown.
How long has it been since I have seen this? Not since I came here…not since… Letting out a shaky breath, he ran his bottom lip under his teeth. Funny, it was this little monkey that inspired me to make that music box. It was the only toy I ever remember getting as a child; odd that it came into my possession whilst I was under the rule of those brutish Gypsies. Now that I think about it…how did I ever get this thing in the first place? Furrowing his brow in thought the masked man considered this for some time. Dark images flickered into his thoughts; the inside of a ratty yellow tent, the solid black shafts of steel bars. And the feeling of eyes upon him made his skin crawl with their touch.
No, focus now…you were trying to remember something specific...do not think about everything…just the question…where did I get this toy? The veil of his memory lifted then, clearing his thoughts, and out of the darkness arose something he hadn't known was there before. The bars, the tent returned in a rush but with them came something else. A small white hand came through the darkness to clutch at the bars of his memory, and the pale image of a toddler's face floated in and out of focus. A blue lace bonnet framed the little face as the child stared unflinchingly up at him with large oddly light-colored eyes. Without a sound the little girl raised her other hand and plopped the stuffed monkey onto the landing of his cage, pushing the thing towards him solemnly. Just as he remembered reaching out for the offered toy the memory faded back into the harshness of what had been his reality at the time.
Climbing to his feet quickly, Erik mentally checked himself, bringing himself out of the depths where his thoughts were swiftly plunging. There were certain things about that time of his life he would never wish to think upon again. The shame, the humiliation hovered just beyond the fringes of his thoughts, jockeying to be let loose if he would allow it. But that child…the little girl was something he didn't recall ever thinking about before. Was that all just my imagination? It must have been…I would have remembered it before now if it weren't.
A steady headache began to beat enthusiastically in his left temple as he stood glaring down at the little monkey. Sighing, Erik turned and tossed the toy onto the bed dismissively, his mood rapidly declining into surliness. He stalked over to the small end table on the left side of his bed and snatched up a clock from its surface. Snarling at the time he slapped the clock back into its place. Turning, he swept out of the room, pacing up and down the hallway outside with his arms clasped firmly behind his back. I should go to sleep. I should lie down, shut my eyes, and go to sleep.
Maybe a little music will help. Turning on his heel, Erik stomped moodily out into the organ room and dropped down onto the bench. Raising his hands to hover over the keys, the masked man looked up at the stone ceiling above him and knew instantly he wouldn't be able to concentrate enough to play a single note. Once again his thoughts turned sourly to the woman whose presence had forced him to stay up and root through his old memories in the first place.
Jumping to his feet once again he headed toward the shallow boat docked just a few feet away. On further thought he veered off to retrieve a cloak to ward off the chilly night air from his room. With a flourish he wrapped the hooded cape around his shoulders and headed toward the door. When he found himself pausing to look back at the gray stuffed animal half hanging off the edge of his bed, Erik silently cursed. Making the few steps to the bed in seconds he righted the toy and propped it up against one of his pillows. Feeling decidedly foolish to care about some raggedy child's toy, Erik shook his head and fled out of his room to the waiting boat. Snatching up the long pole resting on the boat's floor he smiled grimly up at the ceiling. If he couldn't sleep he sure as hell wasn't going to let HER have a pleasant night's work either. Maybe working out a little of his frustration would help clear his mind.
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"Aria, for the love of God, it is late. You should be sleeping. Won't you be sad when in the morning you are too tired to go and play with the other children? They even have a school here, you know. You could learn all kinds of interesting things."
Trundling along after her mother, a scrub brush clasped in both hands, Aria opened her mouth very cheerfully. "I h-hate those other g-g-girls!" she chirped. "T-They are s-stupid and only t-t-talk about their c-clothes."
Turning with a disapproving frown, Brielle fumbled with the mop and bucket in her hands. "You should not say such things. Don't you want friends?" she said, a tiny smile working its way around her frown. Aria was talking again, as if her long silence had never occurred, and Brielle couldn't be more relieved.
Ever since Christmas morning, when the mysterious music box had appeared in their room, Aria had seemed to recover bit by bit from her long bout of solemn silence. Whatever cloud the child had been living under for all those months was beginning to lift. She spoke now, even to strangers occasionally. Something about the opera, its mystery or its quiet solitude, was healing the open wounds in her daughter's spirit. Finally the child was getting over her grief for her lost masked playmate. In light of these welcome changes Brielle couldn't stay irritated at the child for long.
"Y-You are m-my friend, M-M-Momma. B-Besides those other k-k-kids say m-mean things. They t-think I d-don't understand F-French because I d-don't talk to them… B-but I understand. T-They s-say we are G-G-Gypsies…or w-witches."
Huffing in indignation, the Irish woman pursed her lips. Since her very first night here, when the oddities around the opera seemingly focused upon her, many of the other cleaning women had whispered some of the same idiotic gossip behind her back. She had assumed they would have taught their children better manners. Apparently not.
"Well then, you are right. They are stupid," she said, making a face over her shoulder. "But Momma has to do a lot more work. I will take you back to bed."
Ignoring Aria's stuttered protests Brielle turned a corner and walked swiftly into the main foyer just inside the entrance reserved for the patrons arriving by coach. Up ahead she noticed the stooped figure of an older woman struggling up the twin marble staircases with a bucket in each hand. Recognizing the woman as a fellow member of the cleaning staff by her apron and the white cloth wrapped about her hair, Brielle turned her eyes away, not wanting to draw the woman's attention. Quieting her footsteps she looked around to find another way back to the dormitories. She was not in the mood to listen to another old biddy gripe about her work or 'snobbish' manner.
Aria, picking up on her mother's caution, began to tiptoe with an exaggerated degree of concentration right on Brielle's heels. Sneaking past the staircase the pair silently made their way across the room. The Irish woman was just about to slink out a side door when the sound of a wooden bucket clapping against stone punctuated the still air. Slowly Brielle glanced over her shoulder and sighed guiltily when she saw the stooped woman leaning tiredly against the stone railing, panting for breath.
Shifting the bucket and mop in her hands Brielle turned and made her way slowly back toward the stairway. Motioning for Aria to follow her, the Irish woman started up the stairs hesitantly. None of the other women had ever offered her a word of kindness, but decency decreed she not just walk by an elder in need. Coming up alongside the white-haired lady, Brielle cleared her throat slightly. The woman turned her head and glared at Brielle with piercing beetle-black eyes.
"What do you want?" the old woman snapped in an oddly accented voice.
Sensing any offer of assistance she might give would be met with rebuttal, Brielle quickly rethought her approach. "Ehh…Well, I see you have two full buckets there…and…ehh…" Glancing down at her own half-full bucket Brielle had a flash of inspiration. "And I was wondering if I might use some of your water. You see I have nearly used all of mine."
Some of the unfriendliness slipping from her wrinkled face, the older woman straightened from the railing with a cough. "Yeah, you can use some of my water. But you have to carry it yourself." Looking Brielle up and down, the older woman took out a handkerchief and wiped her forehead, a knowing glint lighting her dark eyes. "I can't be pulling all the weight around here. Not that anyone listens to me anyway."
Overlooking the woman's crotchety attitude, Brielle bent down and picked up the very full bucket from the ground. "Oh, I don't know. I usually find myself paying attention to those who are old…er…who seem to know more than myself."
Snorting a laugh, the old woman picked up her other bucket and followed Brielle up the stairs, only then seeming to notice Aria trailing behind them. "Is that thing yours?" She asked, bluntly pointed a knotty finger toward the little girl. "Shouldn't she be sleeping?"
"I was just on my way to put her to bed. She doesn't like being left with the other children and she wanted to see what I did at work today."
Giving a good harrumph in response, the old woman raised her eyebrows at Aria. "Those brats being mean to you, eh?"
Staring wide-eyed up at the wizened woman, Aria remained silent for several moments before finally opening her mouth. "T-They c-call m-me names and c-call M-Momma a witch."
A smile slowly flickered across the old woman's face as she turned her gaze up to Brielle. "So it is you they are all talking about, eh? Funny how when people get together they always need to make a scapegoat out of someone." Panting slightly as they reached the top of the marble staircase, the older woman took out her handkerchief again and coughed into it. "Now give me back that bucket, child. I know you don't really need it."
Handing over the sudsy bucket, her expression impassive, Brielle turned her gaze to her daughter. "Come on, let's get you to bed."
As Brielle and Aria turned to leave the older woman behind they were stopped by her cracked, aged voice. "Wait a moment. Before you go, what is your name?"
"Brielle Donner…and this is my daughter Aria."
"Well, Brielle Donner, I wouldn't tell many people that you talked to me today," the old woman called.
"Why not?"
"Because until just a few days ago I was the witch of the opera. I do not think it would be in your best interests to align yourself with the wrong sort around here." The older woman replied evenly, stating the fact of her low status without blinking an eye.
Recognizing the woman's warning as a kind of 'thank you,' Brielle smiled slightly. "Thank you for the warning, but I think I will judge the wrong sort for myself. Like I said, I tend to only listen to the people who know what they are talking about. And just between us witches, I don't give a fig for what half the people here think of me." Raising her chin stubbornly, Brielle placed a hand on Aria's dark head. "If I ever need to really borrow any water from you, who should I ask for?"
A flickering of surprise over Brielle's quiet stubbornness flashed over the other woman's wrinkled face before she could move herself to answer. "Why, my name is Marie," she murmured as the Irish woman gave a nod and a wave and walked off down the corridor.
Leaving Marie behind, Brielle ushered Aria down a long stone hallway coming alongside a door leading directly to the front of the stage. Pausing outside this door, the Irish woman placed her ear against the door frame. For the past few nights, on her way back from whatever job she was assigned, she had come to expect to see Meg sneaking back to the dormitories from the stage area. Naturally Brielle was growing ever curious as to what the girl could be up to so late at night, but so far she did not have the slightest idea as to the nature of the blonde's late night activities.
Hearing nothing through the wood of the door, Brielle stepped back with a sigh. She was heading back to the dormitories earlier than usual, in order to put Aria to bed, and didn't expect to see Meg this evening. Frowning as a welling of disappointment rose in her throat, Brielle passed her bucket to her other hand. Such feelings were dangerous; they implied attachment, which was the last thing she wanted. She mistrusted such emotions and mistrusted Meg herself. What other reason could there be for a ballerina to associate with a common cleaning lady unless she wanted something?
She most likely isn't even around. I can't hear anyone in the theater and surely it is better I do not speak so freely to anyone on a regular basis. Even if I do feel rather lonely… I will get over it. About to turn away from the theater door, Brielle felt a slight tug on her skirts. When she looked down at her daughter she was surprised to see an impish grin slide across the child's face. Before she could ask what was so amusing, Aria took hold of the door handle and disappeared through it. Smiling to herself, she quietly followed the little girl. I should be more aware of my expressions. She must have seen I was thinking about going back this way.
Tiptoeing into the great expanse of the darkened auditorium, Brielle pulled up short when she spotted a light flickering onstage. Leaning forward the Irish woman took hold of Aria's shoulder before the little girl could run ahead of her, all the while her gray eyes watching the figure twirling about onstage. Meg, in her white practice dress, stood onstage in a graceful pose with one leg raised hip level from the floor. The blonde stood poised in that position for several seconds before falling into a series of flourishing steps on the very tips of her toes.
Staying quiet, Brielle watched the dancer with a great deal of interest. It had been years since she had put on dancing slippers and yet the Irish woman could still remember the way it felt to balance skillfully on the very tips of her toes. Just thinking about it made her feet ache. How long has it been? Over ten years. No doubt I wouldn't even be able to get into first position.
"I-Is that h-how you used t-t-to dance Momma?" Aria asked quietly, her dimples showing as she watched Meg execute several impressive leaps across the stage.
"Yes, a long time ago, before I met your father. I never performed anywhere, though. I never liked the idea of having so many people looking at me all at once. You have to be very good and very brave to dance for other people."
Nodding her head sagely, as if she knew everything there was to know about stage fright, Aria tapped the wooden handle of the scrub brush against her chin. "You are b-brave enough, M-Momma. You used t-to d-dance when Erik w-was at our old h-house."
Sucking in a sharp breath at the sound of his name Brielle felt the smile slip from her face. Once again she was surprised by the stab of old grief which twisted in her stomach at just the thought of her former friend. This is ridiculous. Why can't I shake that blasted man. Have I done something so terrible that I deserve to be punished with these never-ending thoughts of that stupid, egotistical man?
"Yes, I did. But we were all friends then. It is easy to do things with your friends." Uncomfortable where Aria's line of questioning was heading, Brielle quickly began walking toward the stage, waiting at the bottom of the stairs to allow her daughter to catch up. Ushering Aria before her, Brielle started up the little staircase and slowly walked out onto the stage.
She called out Meg's name before stepping into the circle of light so as not to frighten the girl. From their earlier conversations Brielle gathered that Meg was very easy to startle. Of course that could be because she mostly believes all those ghost stories going around. I still don't understand how she can know for a fact that a year ago all the strange happenings were because of a man and still believe there are ghosts in this place.
At the sound of Brielle's voice, Meg turned with a jerk, her entire body tensing before she recognized the Irish woman. "My God, Brielle, you nearly made me faint from fright. You shouldn't sneak up on people out of the dark," the blonde breathed, placing a hand over her pounding heart. A healthy sheen of sweat popped out across Meg's forehead as she struggled to catch her breath. It was obvious she had been physically exerting herself for quite sometime.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Brielle apologized, setting her bucket and mop onto the floor. "But what in the world are you doing out here by yourself? Is this what you do every night?"
Meg's cheeks flushed bright red at the question and she immediately turned her eyes to the ground. "I like to do a little extra practicing after the other girls go to bed. It is quieter at this time."
Fisting her hands on her hips, Brielle raised her eyebrows at the younger girl. "Whatever for? You already practice enough with your mother during the day."
Raising her eyes from the floor, Meg met Brielle's gaze with an edge of determination in her look the Irish woman had never seen before. "Yes, and if I practice several extra hours I will be that much better than they are. I am determined to be one of the prima ballerinas this year, and besides people expect me to be especially talented because my mother is so well-known."
"I never even thought of it that way," Brielle replied thoughtfully. "But I suppose it is true. It must be strange to always be measured against your mother."
"Oh, it isn't just my mother. Most of my friends are gone now because they have moved onto bigger and better things. People just don't seem to notice me right away is all. I just want to make sure they have to take an extra look."
Forgetting her earlier promise to keep her distance, Brielle smiled. "You are a wonderful dancer, Meg. Anyone who overlooks you doesn't deserve to meet you in the first place!" She finished passionately, moving forward to lay a hand on Meg's shoulder. "You don't have to kill yourself with all this extra practicing."
The fierceness in Meg's gaze faded as she listened to Brielle's kind words. Slowly a bright smile broke across her face. "Yes, but then we wouldn't get to talk to each other at night," she said, laughing when Brielle stepped back out of embarrassment.
"Don't be silly. I am hardly that interesting. I am only a cleaning lady, after all. You are just afraid of the dark and need some company."
"See! That is why I like talking to you! You don't believe anything someone tells you. You think for yourself. I have always wanted to have the kind of confidence you have."
Not knowing what to say in response Brielle gave a nervous little laugh and hastily returned to her bucket and mop. Continuing to laugh at Brielle's apparent embarrassment Meg swiped at a drop of sweat trailing down her cheek. As the blonde watched the Irish woman fuss with her cleaning supplies her eyes finally fell onto Aria's small shadowy form at the edge of the circle of light.
Squealing with delight Meg rushed over to the child and squatted down in front of her. "Brielle, you rat! You never told me you had a little girl!" She exclaimed even as she began to coo over Aria. "You are so cute! You look just like your momma with those pretty gray eyes of yours!"
Initially shying from this unexpected excitement Aria clutched the scrub brush she was still holding tightly against her plain navy blue dress. Looking quickly to her mother for assurance, Aria slowly began to relax and even smiled a little at Meg. "Are you M-Momma's friend?" she asked slowly, taking extra care on the more difficult words so as to control the stutters in front of this stranger; her French surprisingly intelligible for such a small child.
Switching automatically to a form of baby talk Meg grinned at the wary child. "Oh yes, your momma protects me from the ghost every night on my way home."
An incredulous frown crossed over Aria's face as she glanced sideways at her mother. "Y-You are silly. A g-ghost can't h-hurt you," Aria snickered behind one hand as she scampered around Meg and ran behind her mother's skirts. Pulling on Brielle's apron strings the little girl cupped a hand over her mouth and whispered up to her mother. "She is f-funny j-just like Uncle C-C-Conner. D-Do you think t-they s-should get m-married? C-Cause she is y-your friend."
Shushing Aria quickly, Brielle smiled broadly over at Meg, hoping the blonde had not heard her daughter's outrageous comment. "My, my, look at the time. I should definitely get this little lady to bed," Brielle said hurriedly, covering Aria's mouth to prevent her from voicing any more of her opinions.
Covering her cheeks, aghast, Meg nodded vigorously and hurried over to snatch up Brielle's half-full bucket before the Irish woman could reach for it. "Of course, what was I thinking?" Wagging her finger playfully toward Aria, the blonde gave the child a wink. "You are far too young to be up this late. Why by the time you go to sleep it will be time to wake up again."
"Well I wouldn't go that far. My shift is only half over, so I don't think it is too terribly late yet," Brielle stated as she bent down to pick up the mop from the floor.
Mostly ignoring Brielle's reply, Meg continued on ahead, swinging the bucket back and forth haphazardly. "Brielle, you must let me introduce Aria to the other girls. They love children, but most of the other kids are snotty little brats and their mothers are grim old biddies."
Following Meg toward stage left Brielle could only shake her head silently while Aria let out a short burst of laughter. "What a terrible thing to say, Meg," Brielle muttered, though she secretly agreed.
Twirling around, gracefully keeping the bucket from spilling, Meg wrinkled her nose at Brielle. "Oh you know it is true. You wouldn't be so serious if it weren't!" she laughed.
The trio was just about to exit the stage area when a loud bang issued from the other side of the stage. All three of them jumped at the sound, both Aria and Meg screeching like banshees for several seconds before falling silent. Placing a calming hand on the top of Aria's hair, Brielle turned her head and stared into the darkness behind them. A series of continuing smaller bumps soon followed, echoing across the tall vaulted ceiling of the auditorium several moments after they stopped.
Scooting closer to Brielle's unwavering form, Meg glanced cautiously about their surroundings, unconsciously placing herself so that Aria stood between herself and her mother. "What do you think that was?" she asked tentatively, her soft cinnamon eyes large and frightened.
"Probably some set or something falling over," Brielle replied, trying to cover her unease with cool indifference. When a soft, sinister chuckle drifted to them from the other side of the stage there was no denying that the noises were not innocuous or accidental. "Or maybe not."
"M-M-Momma w-w-what is t-t-that!" Aria cried out in English, fear clogging her throat, worsening her stutter to the point she could hardly talk.
The three scrunched even closer together when a flurry of footsteps raced across the stage toward them. Meg let out a gasp when two junior chorus girls nearly ran into them. The younger girls, their faces bone white, pulled up short when they recognized Meg. With a quick, derisive glance Brielle's way, the girls quickly focused back on their older peer.
"Meg, the ghost is over there! Did you hear him? He was laughing at us when we ran! We were just minding our own business when he pushed that pile of old costumes from the second floor on top of us. Oh, Meg, don't tell your mother we were out so late. She will punish us for sure if she finds out about this! Get back to the dormitories, quick!" the younger of the two begged, reaching out to tug on the Meg's hand.
Affected by their overt displays of fear, Meg turned to Brielle, her mouth open and trembling in terror. "Brielle, we have to go!"
Quickly grabbing hold of Meg's arm, Brielle prevented the girl from bolting off down the hallway. The two chorus girls grew impatient with this delay and fled in the opposite direction of the stage, their footsteps fading into the darkness, leaving the others behind to bear the wrath of the ghost. Meg pulled helplessly against Brielle's grip for several moments before giving up, her eyes automatically turning upward.
"Do you still hear anything?" she whispered, shifting nervously from foot to foot, the soft leather of her ballet shoes whispering against the wooden floor.
Squeezing Meg's arm, Brielle gave the girl a slight shake. "Listen, Meg! There is no ghost, you said so yourself! You told me that all the trouble was caused by a man."
Beginning to hyperventilate slightly at every little noise, Meg continued to stare upward. "Brielle, we have to go!" she whimpered, the fear on her face quickly metamorphosing into terror. "That man is dead. He died last year after the fire…now he really is a ghost! Please, Brielle, come with me."
Finally releasing Meg's arm, Brielle turned and followed the girl's gaze upward into the darkness. Any misgivings revealed in her expression gave way slowly to grim determination. "Meg, if it was a man a year ago, why couldn't it be a man now? One of the stagehands could be playing a joke on everyone…" she murmured almost as if to herself as she bent down and slowly unscrewed the head of her mop from its handle.
A moment of silence passed as Meg watched Brielle straighten, the mop handle clutched like a club in one hand. "What are you going to do with that?"
"I am positively sick and tired of being scared out of my skull every time I have work to do. I do not have time to put up with this nonsense any longer."
"Wait, Brielle! You can't go around alone! Come back with me. Everything will be normal again by tomorrow."
"Meg, will you please take Aria back to the cleaning staff dormitory? I will be along in just a few minutes," Brielle replied, only a slight tremor of hesitation thickening her voice. "Aria, go with Momma's friend now."
"I d-d-don't want t-to! I w-want t-to g-go with you!" The child howled even as Meg quickly took the child's hand in hers.
"Shh… I will be right back," Brielle said, patting Aria on the head as she passed by, walking quickly back toward the very rear of the stage. "Stay there if you don't want to go to the dorm."
"Brielle, you are crazy!" Meg hissed into the darkness as Brielle waved back at her before disappearing around several side curtains. Shifting uncomfortably for several moments Meg grimaced worriedly, keeping her ears pricked for any sort of sound. Looking down at the little girl now staring up at her, the blonde tried to smile reassuringly.
"Your momma will be back in just a few moments. Don't you worry."
At Meg's words Aria's tiny face seemed to relax slightly. Though the child still appeared awfully pale, she apparently was put more at ease. As the pair stared anxiously at each other a tiny smile began to flicker across Aria's face. "Yes, I think Uncle Conner would like you."
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Laughing silently to himself Erik crouched on the second floor backstage just off of stage right. One hand clutching the plain wooden railing in front of him the masked man wrapped his other about his stomach, shaking with every chuckle. The gullibility of the people who lived and worked in the opera never ceased to be amusing. A simple, innocent prank always seemed to raise his spirits, and better yet his headache had vanished as well.
Though initially his intention had been to once again single Brielle out with his frightening pranks, he had been rather disappointed to discover he couldn't find the woman. She was not in the areas she was usually assigned this time of night. And in the end he concluded that it had been better he hadn't run across her. The sight of her in his current state might have made him make a disastrous mistake.
Instead, he had turned his attention to two young chorus girls who were just coming back from a late night tryst. Pushing a pile of practice costumes over the edge of the landing he had sent a shower of cloth down to cover the unsuspecting girls. Their reactions had been more entertaining than he had expected. Though nothing about the trick could have actually harmed them, which of course he would never have intended, the pair had jumped so dramatically that one of them sent a chair crashing over onto the floor, creating a booming crash; the scene, by that time, so comical that he had actually laughed aloud for a moment.
Now he watched the two girls he had startled dash across the stage, their shrieks echoing behind them. Upon reaching the far end of the stage the two girls ran into another group of late night wanderers he hadn't noticed before. The shadows of the group bustled nervously for several moments, voices rising and falling as the chorus girls relayed their shocking tale. Leaning his forehead against the railing in front of him, Erik felt some of the pent-up tensions ease out of his body. He closed his eyes and smiled. Perhaps, I can finally go and get some sleep.
Gathering his cloak in one hand in order to get the thing out from under his feet, Erik opened his eyes and prepared to stand when a slight creak from behind caught his attention. With one quick move, out of instinct more than anything else, he pulled the cowl of his cloak up and over his head. Turning his face slightly to investigate the sound the masked man froze when a coolly familiar voice sounded menacingly from over his left shoulder.
"If you move one blessed inch I will split your skull open like an overripe melon," a distinctly Irish-accented voice hissed through the darkness.