Author's Note: If I suddenly, inexplicably became the owner of Phantom of the Opera, I feel like there would be some sort of media riot. As that has not happened, you can all assume it still belongs to Webber, Leroux, and others.

16

Kayla raced through the labyrinth of the backstage like a bat out of hell. He saw you! Her subconscious screeched. He knows who you are and you won't live past dawn!

So preoccupied was she with trying to shut up her internal monologue that she did not notice Jamie until she barrelled straight into his chest. "Oomph!" she grunted as she landed hard on the ground.

"What on earth are you running from, Abbots?" Jamie chuckled, extending a calloused hand to help her to her feet. "You look like the Phantom's on your tail!"

Forcing a laugh, Kayla replied, "Me? No, I'd assume he'd be more interested in the cast than the crew. But then again, he did just kill Buquet…"

Jamie let out a genuine peal of laughter. "Our fantôme is more merciful than I thought!" He grinned at Kayla, his brown eyes searching hers. "Are you alright? You're quite pale."

This time, Kayla's chuckle was genuine. "Yes Jamie; all the blood just rushed out of my face because I have come to the conclusion that you are an incredibly morbid individual."

"I'm flattered," Jamie exclaimed.

"That was not my intention," Kayla returned with mock-severity.

"Glad to hear it," Jamie stated solemnly, his lips twitching. "By the way," he added, fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. "I'm glad to see you aren't as hard hearted as I am," he finished, gently wiping off the melting tears with the square of fabric before dabbing at the corners of her mouth.

Kayla was mortified. "I thought I had got all that off," she spluttered. "Oh, this is awful, your handkerchief…"

Jamie smirked at her. "It is a gentleman's duty," he proclaimed, rolling up the cloth and returning it to his pocket.

Kayla buried her face in her hands. "That's embarrassing," she squeaked. "But thank you, I guess."

"Anytime," Jamie interjected smoothly.

It was at this moment that Clemens interrupted. "If you would please refrain from monopolizing our new manager, Blanchard," he called out as he approached. "We're going to be interrogated in about ten minutes."

Kayla furrowed her brows at him confusedly, at which he shrugged. "The managers sent messengers to the police, and there's an investigation happening. They won't find anything, obviously, but they want to talk to the set crew specifically. They've already taken the body away and all that."

Kayla's mouth went dry. Attempting to ignore the sense of impending doom, she clarified, "So, the show's over, then?"

"Yes," Germaine answered as he too joined them. "The audience is leaving, and getting refunds… Firmin seemed pretty mad about it."

Kayla sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Are we doing a show tomorrow?"

"Yes," Clemens answered. "We're doing two weeks of Il Muto, so thirteen more shows, not counting this one."

"What day is it?" Kayla wondered.

"September 30th," Jamie snickered.

Germaine glared at him. "The poor girl's in shock, I don't blame her for not remembering the date," he rebuked. "Shut up, Blanchard."

While Germaine chewed out Jamie, Kayla quickly formulated a mental timeline. If the failed Il Muto show was on September 30th, the "three months of Elysian peace" would take them all the way to New Year's Eve: the Masquerade. I'm going to have to stay in a movieverse France for three whole months?! Her mind screamed.

"What do you want us to do?"

Kayla looked up to all three men staring at her concernedly. Taking a deep breath, Kayla asked, "Do the cops want to see the stage?"

Clemens shrugged again. "I doubt it."

"Well, Sherlock Holmes would be pissed about this, but let's set up the stage for Act One Scene One again," Kayla concluded.

"Who's Sherlock Holmes?" Clemens pondered, sounding slightly jealous.

"He's a British detective," Kayla laughed. "Incredibly intelligent, and eccentric… handsome, too," she added teasingly.

Clemens and Jamie both glowered, though Jamie's looked exaggerated. When she grinned at them, they both winked. "Well, I've given my orders, let's get the others and set up the stage!" Kayla crowed.

Clemens whistled and the rest of the younger boys ran over, the older men following more sedately. "We're setting up for the first scene of the first act, so we'll need the bedroom walls and bed back out. Let's get this done, because according to Clemens, the police want to talk to us," Kayla instructed. The other crew members were not shocked by the news, and the younger men saluted before scurrying off to find the pieces.

Tapping her shoulder, Clemens leaned over and spoke in Kayla's ear. "Don't worry about the questioning, we already have an alibi; the whole crew's in on it," he whispered urgently. "Just go along with everything and anything we say and you'll be fine."

"Will it be sexist?" Kayla muttered.

"Possibly," Clemens breathed.

Kayla pursued her lips, but nodded in agreement. "Alright, then," she conceded. Clemens smiled, clapped her shoulder, and hurried off.

"How sexist is the alibi, exactly?" Kayla hissed to Jamie as they dragged a bedroom wall onto the stage.

"It's playing off your girliness, so fairly sexist, I suppose," Jamie said breezily.

"As long as it doesn't make the managers think I'm a slut," Kayla growled, the muscles in her arms burning as she held the set piece upright.

"We're your friends. We don't want you fired," Jamie insisted. "We would never imply anything like that."

"Promise?" Kayla knew she sounded childish, but if she was going to have to live here for three months, she could not have any threat to her job. Because if she lost this job, she was screwed.

"Promise," Jamie agreed gently. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

Thus Kayla was reassured, and had "Cross My Heart" playing on endless loop in her head for the next ten minutes of set up.

"Mademoiselle Abbots?" The voice of Gilles Andre prodded past the mental barricade of Marianas Trench lyrics.

Kayla turned from fluffing up the coverlet of the enormous bed, and the music in her mind dissipated. "Yes, Monsieur Andre?" she responded as calmly as she could manage.

"If you could please gather your crew and follow me, the police would like to speak with you now," Andre told her with a reassuring smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

Her empty stomach launched into an Olympic gymnastics routine. Nodding tensely, she signalled Jamie, who punched Clemens's arm before notifying the others.

The set crew trooped after Andre to the managers' office. Kayla felt she was heading off to her execution. The other teens, on the other hand, were strangely amused, chuckling and shooting each other knowing looks as they strutted down the hallway. Even the older men such as Germaine were cracking smiles.

Kayla's nervousness was increasing exponentially. If it was discovered that she had been the only person who had been on the catwalk with Buquet, she would get arrested, no questions asked.

When the door of the office came into sight, there was a stampede to reach it first. Clemens, who won the brawl that followed, blocked the doorway so Andre and Kayla could enter first.

The two officers turned their heads as the group walked in, and rose from their seats when they saw Kayla. Kayla inwardly cheered; respect for women was apparently a thing here.

"Monsieurs, mademoiselle," the first officer greeted with a small bow. "We would like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, sirs," Kayla lied politely. As Andre moved away to stand next to Firmin, Kayla sensed a warm presence at her back, and knew that Jamie was standing with her. It was a comforting thought.

"As you all are aware, Joseph Buquet was hanged this evening at approximately nine 'o'clock," the second officer explained pompously.

"We don't have any ideas as to who was responsible," the first policeman added, sounding much friendlier than his fellow cop. "As you were his colleagues, we hoped you could provide us with more information."

"Well, he was utterly rat-arsed a lot of the time, begging your pardon, sirs," Rene drawled while the others snickered into their hands.

"This is no laughing matter!" the more serious official snarled.

His companion chuckled. "So I am to assume he drank frequently, then?" he commented, jotting down the fact in a small notebook.

"Drank like a fish, he did," confirmed Germaine, while his fellows nodded approvingly. "Though he was an ill-tempered man whether he had liquor in him or not."

"His drinking has no bearing on the information we want!" the severe officer barked. "Do you know of anyone who has threatened to kill Joseph Buquet?"

Kayla could literally feel the subtle sideways glances of the set crew boring holes through her skull. "No!" they all chorused.

"Can you think of anyone who would benefit from Buquet's death?" Again, the peripherals of every stagehand in the room were fixed on Kayla, but again, the question was denied.

"Well, Firmin and I were planning on firing Buquet, and Ms. Abbots was our first choice for his position," Andre piped up. The second policeman looked like he had won the lottery.

Apparently sensing the terror coursing through Kayla's body, Jamie placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and cut in. "I beg your pardon, monsieur, but if you are implying that Mademoiselle Abbots was involved in the death of Buquet, I can assure you she was not."

"Is that so?" the second officer asked snidely.

"She fainted!" The chirp came from Baptiste, who, at fourteen, was the youngest member of the set crew. His fellow workers swivelled around, glaring at him. The skinny boy shrank into the collar of his hunter green work shirt, abashed.

"And why was that?" the kinder policeman addressed Baptiste, who looked to his teammates. The other teenagers gave Baptiste a synchronized look that clearly stated, you are welcome to try to dig yourself out of this one.

Baptiste blushed and stammered, "After Signora Giudicelli left, sir, Mademoiselle Abbots came down from the catwalk, and she looked pretty dizzy. She was having trouble walking properly."

"And then she almost fell down a flight of stairs," interjected Rene, taking pity on the fourteen-year-old. The sixteen-year-old's comment caused half the crew to cough into their handkerchiefs, probably to hide their snickers.

"She was unconscious," Clemens carried on gravely. "So Marius and I carried her up to the roof."

Marius nodded. "We thought the cold would wake her," the seventeen-year-old added, "which it did."

"I asked her some questions when she came around, and as far as I could determine she fainted because she hasn't eaten for two days," Clemens stated, glowering at the two managers.

Marius, taking over the narrative, continued, "When we went back inside, we heard screaming, and Buquet's body was lying on the stage."

Kayla's head throbbed and she winced. Jamie looped an arm around her waist to support her, and said loudly, "Really, if anyone should be investigated, it's Buquet; he tried to kill her during Hannibal last night."

Both officers and managers looked horrified. "What? How?" Firmin spluttered. Andre's jovial face was grim.

"We were discussing when a certain piece had to be dropped, we disagreed on the timing, and he tried to backhand me off the catwalk," Kayla summarized weakly.

Jamie wiped off a section of her foundation with a corner of his handkerchief, displaying the vibrant purple-green bruise as evidence.

The first officer sighed and shut his notebook. "Thank you for your assistance," he began formally. "But I believe this case will be classified as Monsieur Firmin described: simply an accident."

The other cop looked like he wanted to interrupt, but a sharp glance from his partner silenced him. Inside, Kayla cheered. At least now, she wasn't going to be arrested.

"Do you have anyone who could confirm your alibi?" the officer mentioned, apparently as an afterthought.

"Madame Giry," Marius offered.

"Are we done here?" Jamie demanded, holding Kayla steady as the girl's vision suddenly blurred. "Need I remind you, Ms. Abbots still has not has a decent meal."

"Yes, of course," the officer allowed. "Thank you for your time, gentlemen and lady."

The managers looked relieved. "Performances will resume as normal tomorrow," Firmin stated. "We will let you know if there are rehearsals sometime in the morning."

"Yes sir," Kayla nodded politely, gripping Jamie's arm.

"You are all free to go," Andre smiled, gesturing at the door.

"Merci," Baptiste squeaked.

With that, the stage crew waltzed out of the office, with Jamie and Kayla leading the way.

Author's Note: Here you are, a bonus chapter for being such good readers. I wasn't going to post two today, but I felt bad with the last chapter being so short. I'm having a busy time of it, what with coaching a team at my old high school and trying to arrange missing lectures, and the possibility of failing my Spanish course looming over my head, due to the fact that the woman running the course has never taught a class in her life and is quite frankly a mediocre teacher. So yah, I'm a little wound up, so apologies for the rant.

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Thanks!

Tierney