Author's Note: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, as it belongs to Webber, Leroux, and others.
14
Even though her official promotion was still pending, Kayla felt a surge of pride as she saw that the set had been completely changed over to that of scene two, and that her crew was nowhere in sight as the ballet continued on the stage. Climbing hand over hand up the ladder, Kayla crawled up onto the catwalk. And there was Joseph Buquet, standing in the middle of the catwalk as if under a spell.
"What the hell are you doing?" Kayla asked warily, pulling the rope to release the backdrop. Below, she could see Jamie and Rene securing the fallen piece to the stage floor.
"He's here," Buquet said in a monotone, looking around in a daze.
Kayla frowned. "Dude - he's the Phantom. He's freaking everywhere."
It did not come as a shock when Buquet immediately turned on her. "You're in league with him!" he snarled.
Kayla held her hands up in mock surrender. "Well, I guess you found me out," she stated sarcastically. "No, I'm not the Phantom's sidekick, you warthog-faced buffoon."
Buquet took another menacing step towards her. "Then how come you know so much about him?" he sneered.
Kayla backed away as cautiously as if she was facing a rabid dog. "Stay away from me, Buquet," she warned, moving towards the makeshift bridge of ropes that connected the first level of the catwalk to the second level.
Buquet opened his mouth to reply, but a sudden whisk of a black cape was more than enough to distract him. As he turned to peer into the darkness, Kayla flew up the coarse ropes to the higher level. The overweight stagehand twisted back and forth, his hands balled into fists. Kayla clung to the support ropes and watched silently. In the time it took her to blink, the Phantom appeared, looming over Buquet like the Grim Reaper. Buquet turned, saw the masked face inches from his own, gave a terrified, girly gasp, and bolted. The Phantom disappeared into the gloom in a move that reminded Kayla of apparition.
The look on Buquet's face was so comically scared that Kayla almost burst into a fit of silent giggles. Unfortunately, her amusement had to be put on hold, as Buquet fled to the level on which she had sought refuge. The Phantom's warning rang in her ears: "If you value your life, do not work near Joseph Buquet." And so she ran.
If she was not feeling so nervous, it would have been incredibly entertaining to spectate the game of cat-and-mouse the Phantom played with Buquet. When the Phantom psyched out the former-stage manager by mimicking his attempts to get past, Kayla actually laughed out loud. But then the pattern changed.
The Phantom leapt up a rope with the agility of a gymnast. It was clear that this was becoming more of a hunt than a game. Kayla knew exactly what was coming, but the reality of the cost was only just sinking in. The graceful movements of the shadowed Ghost were sinister, predatory – the dance of murder. Kayla was paralyzed, though her mind was screaming at her to run, to get down to the stage, where there were people to protect her. As the lighthearted music of the ballet echoed from the orchestra pit, Buquet stumbled, hitting the slats of the catwalk like a ton of bricks. The Phantom pounced just as Buquet rolled over. In lightning speed, the noose tightened around the stagehand's meaty neck.
Buquet struggled violently, but the lasso was unyielding. The Phantom was exerting no effort at all, and the light from the stage was enough to illuminate the impassive expression on his handsome face. Buquet's countenance was panicked and turning blue, a combination that was not handsome in the slightest. The stagehand pulled in vain at the rope around his windpipe, but the Phantom yanked it tighter. Staring contemplatively at Buquet's thrashing form, the Phantom smiled smugly. Joseph Buquet gurgled, his feet kicking wildly. So quickly that Kayla was unable to see how he managed it, the Phantom flipped Buquet over the edge of the catwalk and let him drop.
Joseph Buquet fell down in the centre of the stage. From where she stood, Kayla heard his neck break with a sharp crack. Dangling over the ballerinas, his body twisted and jerked like a macabre marionette. The young dancers screamed.
The Phantom grinned in a self-satisfied sort of way before releasing the rope, allowing the corpse to crumple to the ground. Rising to his feet, the Phantom of the Opera straightened his cravat and turned, staring directly at Kayla. Her heartbeat thundering in her ears, Kayla stared back in utter horror. The Phantom smiled, his lips curling, and brought one finger to his lips in a classic "shush" gesture. With a catlike leap, he flew up onto the topmost balcony and melted into the dark.
As soon as the Opera Ghost disappeared, Kayla regained control over her muscles. Stumbling and clinging to the ropes, Kayla shakily made her way off the catwalk and down to the wings.
Backstage was utter chaos. Dancers and actors were gathered in terrified clumps, dead silent or shrieking, depending on the group. Kayla dimly heard Firmin and Andre yelling from their box, pleading with the audience to remain calm and in their seats. Kayla's head spun and she leaned against the edge of a shelf. At least you're not dead, a part of her interjected unhelpfully.
"Abbots!"
Kayla became aware that someone was shaking her shoulder, and Jamie's face appeared in front of her. "Abbots!" he repeated urgently. "You're white as a sheet – talk to me!"
"Buquet," Kayla said numbly. "His neck snapped." Her stomach churned in protest. "It's my fault." Jamie held her upright as she swayed.
"You need air," he stated firmly. "You look like you're going to be sick. Go up to the roof; there's a door on the third balcony. Take as long as you need, I'll handle the crew." Giving Kayla a gentle shove in the indicated direction, Jamie pretended not to hear her feeble protests. As he turned to go, he looked back. "It's not your fault," he told her resolutely. With that, he left to marshal the stagehands.
Kayla hurried as fast as her dizziness would allow to the roof. The air was refreshingly cold, and fluffy snowflakes were already forming dense drifts on the smooth, dark stone. Leaning over the raised edge of the rooftop, Kayla threw up over the side, hoping distantly that there were no unfortunate Parisians wandering the street below. She retched until there was nothing left in her stomach, which only amounted to the apple, the bun, and a lot of bile. Wiping her face with a handful of snow, and trying to rinse out her mouth with some ice, Kayla gripped the ledge with white knuckles. Tears left freezing trails down her cheeks, and she sobbed. A man was dead, and it was partially her fault.
Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs as she cried with shock, fear, and homesickness. Guilt was a factor as well; Kayla had no love whatsoever for Buquet, but casually contemplating someone's murder was quite a different thing from watching them die right in front of you.
She had progressed to deep, shuddering breaths when she heard the door open. No! My mouth tastes like vomit, therefore I can't run into Raoul and Christine right now, much less interrupt the most romantic duet of all time! Her brain wailed. So she hid, darting behind a gigantic marble statue of a horse.
Unfortunately, someone else had had the exact same idea.
The pedestal on which the statue stood was high, just a touch taller than Kayla's height of 5'10. So when Kayla scuttled behind, and spun around to sneak a peek at the two lovebirds, her eyes met fabric – black, luxurious fabric. A little ways up, leather shone in the dim light – boots. Dropping to her knees, Kayla held her breath and crawled across the icy ground to a different statue, and hid behind it instead. So focused was she on staying out of sight of the Phantom that she was barely aware of Christine whining/singing to Raoul about how scared yet conflicted she was.
"Christine…"
The eerie whisper drifted enticingly through the wind and flurries of snow. Kayla, who could see the source, noticed that the Phantom's mouth barely moved, though the name sailed audibly around the rooftop. Christine and Kayla seemed to be the only ones to hear the call. The Vicomte was certainly oblivious, and approached Christine with the confident air of a problem solver. Christine stared up at her childhood friend with doe brown eyes as round as saucers.
Listening to Raoul serenade Christine with tender romantic promises made Kayla's throat constrict. It was all well and good to watch to interaction on a screen, snuggled up on the couch with Samantha, where crying was a requirement, but being an actual witness was uncomfortably intimate – an intrusion. Plus, Kayla knew if she made any noise whatsoever, Christine and Raoul might notice her presence, thus leading to awkward questions. Or better yet, the Phantom would discover her, and the evening would end with Kayla strung over the edge of the Opera Populaire like a criminal on the gallows. Neither were appealing options. So Kayla kept her mouth shut and blinked furiously against prickling tears.
"Let me be your shelter,
Let me be your light!
You're safe – no one will find you,
Your fears are far behind you…"
Even though Raoul's reassurances were adorable, the fact that Christine's greatest fear was actually right behind her made Kayla silently snicker. She snuck a glance at the fear in question. The ghostly menace was visibly pissed, his clenched fists and heaving chest becoming very defined pieces of his dark silhouette.
"All I want is freedom,
A world with no more night…"
Christine's voice was tragically sad, as if having two men longing for her was the ultimate suffering, and as if the Ghost had been plaguing her entire life. Kayla had to shove her fist in her mouth to keep from bursting from her hiding place and screaming, "It's been a day! A DAY!"
When Christine wished for "no more night", the Phantom looked startled. In Kayla's mind, a mini Opera Ghost was running rampant. "Whadya mean, no more night!" Mini-Erik wailed. "I wrote you a love song about the night, and you liked it! Why the flying cuss did you act like you wanted to sleep with me if you hated it?! What the hell is wrong with you, Christine?!"
The young soprano sang on, blissfully unaware that a figment of Kayla's imagination was sassing her. "And you, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me…"
Raoul was grinning like he won the lottery.
"Then say you'll share with me
One love, one lifetime
Say the word, and I will follow you;
Say you need me with you now and always
Anywhere you go, let me go too.
Christine, that's all I ask of you…"
Even though she could fault him for eternity on his impeccably poor timing, Kayla was still deeply impressed by the quality of Raoul's proposal – sweet, subtle, and lovely, yet not so cryptic as to make his intentions a mystery. Oh, Raoul de Chagny, no wonder women love you, Kayla thought dreamily. Christine's eyes lit up, and she moved closer to Raoul, tossing the Angel's rose to the ground, much to Kayla's displeasure.
Christine musically accepted the proposal, and after a minute more of duet, they started kissing. Granted, the Vicomte and the soprano were not privy to the fact that they had an audience, but the impromptu make-out happened so suddenly that Kayla had no time whatsoever to shut her eyes and give them some privacy. And now that she was watching, the romantic portion of her brain had absolutely no intention of looking away. Her inner commentary was alternating between squeals of delight – the majority – about how adorable it all was, and shrieks of "EEW I'm pretty sure that was tongue…" But when Raoul picked Christine up by the waist and spun her through the air, both parties of her mind were in complete agreement: spinning while kissing was flawlessly romantic.
As they drew apart, Christine smiled up at her new fiancé and regretfully sighed, "I must go; they will wonder where I am."
Raoul nodded and led her towards the door. "Christine, I love you."
Christine took his hand and skipped up the steps. "Order your fine horses; be with them at the door!"
"And soon, you'll be beside me."
"You'll hold me and you'll hide me."
And off the two lovebirds flew, back to the theatre, and probably the performance. A performance Kayla would not live to see if the Phantom saw her.
Silence reigned for about thirty seconds as Kayla and the Phantom both stared at the crimson rose lying bruised and abandoned in the white snow. The Phantom sprang lightly off the pedestal of the statue and walked slowly to his fallen gift. Kneeling down on the icy stones, he picked up the flower, cradling it gently in his gloved hands.
"I gave you my music,
Made your song take wing;
And now, how you've repaid me,
Denied me and betrayed me…"
His voice was shaking and miserable, and Kayla could not blame him; he had just been stabbed in the back by the one he held most dear. Gazing at the rose in despair, he stroked the petals and sang, "He was bound to love you, when he heard you sing! Christine…" He broke down and cried, clutching the flower to his lips as his shoulders shook. Kayla's face was immediately awash with tears, rivulets of frozen water crossing her cheeks like war paint.
And just to add insult to injury, an echo of Christine and Raoul's duet drifted on the breeze.
"Say you'll share with me
One love, one lifetime;
Say the word, and I will follow you.
Say you'll be with me each night, each morning…"
As he listened to the ghostly reprise, the Phantom's shoulders tensed. His breathing became heavy and erratic, and he crumbled the already beaten-up rose in a shaking fist, pieces of scarlet and viridian floating to join the snow. Majestically rising to his feet, the Opera Ghost sprinted forward and climbed the statue that presided over the corner of the rooftop. His black cape billowing, the Phantom tossed back his head and sang his fury into the starry night.
"You will curse the day you did not do,
All that the Phantom asked of you!"
He held the final note for a long time before lowering his head and tightening his grasp on the magnificent stone wings of his perch, as if attempting to break the rock.
Kayla was still silently crying and shivering with cold in the shadows. "And he didn't ask you for much Christine, you conniving little tart," Kayla thought sourly, feeling desperate sympathy for the Opera Ghost. Unfortunately, he subconscious decided that the recipient of her support should be made aware, and thus Kayla had no idea that she had spoken aloud until there was an entirely unexpected response.
Firstly, the Phantom chuckled, shaking his head and staring down at the street below as if considering hurling himself off. Second, he straightened up and turned, realizing that the "tart" comment had not been part of his internal monologue. Coming to the exact same conclusion a few feet away, Kayla swore out loud in French before barrelling out from behind the statue and racing to the door. The girl sprinted down the stairs and did not stop until she reached the level of the stage.
Author's Note: Y'all know the drill, review or PM with any questions, comments, or critiques! Thanks for reading, and for all those who have favorited, followed, or reviewed! You all rock!
Thanks!
Tierney