Author's Note: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. Warning: brief language, nothing too crazy, but just in case...
33
She managed to avoid the Vicomte for over an entire week. The day following the party, Carlotta arrived at the Populaire at eight 'o' clock in the morning and dragged her out of the opera house and into a carriage. The diva had taken Kayla to shops in the inner city, buying her clothes and hair ribbons without paying any heed to Kayla's protests. Around noon, after pulling Kayla through what felt like every dress shop in Paris, the diva led her into a teahouse, and they had tea and pastries and crepes. When the two women finally returned to the Populaire, Kayla with packages of neatly wrapped clothing items stuck under her arm, they were greeted at the door by the wandering managers, who regretfully informed her she had just missed the Vicomte. Raoul apparently stopped in about an hour earlier and inquired quite adamantly after Kayla's whereabouts before departing with Christine. Carlotta looked pleasantly smug at this news, and Kayla was incredibly grateful. Thus, she had successfully avoided Raoul's attempt to visit her, and was now in possession of some new work shirts, blouses to go with her skirt, and colourful silken hair ribbons. The last item filled her with glee; much to her despair, her supply of hair elastics was dwindling through either breaking or disappearing off her wrists.
Showing up at the Populaire every day for the remainder of break period, Raoul seemed to be in relentless pursuit of having some sort of conversation with Kayla. Due to the fact that the crew was also spending their breaks with their families, Kayla avoided the persistent nobleman by closeting herself away in her studio with the door locked. Erik popped in to check up on her progress occasionally… if by "checking in" one meant speaking a criticism or terse praise out of the blue and making her jump three feet in the air in shock. Jumpscares aside, she was making good progress on the book, and had already completed a number of good-copy pages. If Erik was ever confused as to how she seemed to know exactly what he wanted his opera to look like, his voice never let on.
The second Wednesday after Carlotta's birthday celebrations saw the young set manager standing on her familiar position on the catwalk, watching from above as the cast ran through the second opening scene of Faust for the eighth time that day. Piangi – in the title role of Faust – was being circled menacingly by Claude Marizio, the second baritone, who was playing the Devil, Mephistopheles. This particular rehearsal and performance round had the potential to be one of the most relaxed of the season; due to the fact that all of the opera's female roles were fairly minor, there were fewer opportunities for argument between the two primadonnas over acting or solos. The cast and crew were cautiously optimistic that there would not be violent warfare between the sopranos for a couple of weeks. Marizio, as the baritone had requested to be called when he and Kayla had first been introduced, was a perfect devil; with a narrow face, hair so dark it looked blue in certain light, high cheekbones, and impish upturned brows, he pranced around the much shorter and rounder Piangi with a dangerous feline grace that perfectly portrayed the diabolical humor of the character. Piangi was acting quite well for a change, and Faust's shock at seeing the Devil himself in his study was expertly communicated to the watchers; a fact that was more likely attributed to Marizio's blatant disregard for scripted stage directions.
"Alright, that will do, gentlemen!" Reyer's voice carried up impatiently from the orchestra pit. "Marizio, that was perfect, and Piangi, please do exactly what you just did for the scene from now on! We will move on to the act one scene three tomorrow, nine 'o' clock sharp, please, everyone! Mademoiselle Abbots, if you would kindly see that the stage is set for scene three?" Kayla exhaled slowly, rolling her stiff neck as she straightened up and stuck her head over the edge of the catwalk.
"Yes, Maestro!" she hollered agreeably.
"Thank you, mademoiselle!" Reyer called back. "Except for the stage crew, the rest of you are dismissed!"
The cast on stage relaxed, chattering cheerfully as they moved offstage. Marizio, his horns the only costume for the rehearsal, snuck up behind the female members of the chorus and tried to scare them. High pitched screams rose up to the girl pacing with feline steadiness over the boards of the catwalk. Kayla sighed, rubbing her forehead tiredly as she yanked on the knots holding up the background tapestries. Her first true rehearsal period was more exhausting than she had anticipated. Strands of her hair were attempting to escape from her bun, but were held in place by an improvised headband – a long cut of thick, delicately woven black lace, a sample for Don Juan costumes provided by Erik. Watching as the ground crew rolled up the fallen fabric many stories below, she looped up the remaining ropes and tied them into place in their respective positions. There were no hanging pieces for the next scene, so she climbed down the rope ladder to the balcony before sashaying lightly down the stairs.
"Hey, guys, take the rest of the day for yourselves," she mocked when the rest of the crew had gathered after the stage was ready to go. "Go have some 'you' time."
"Thanks, I'm going to go do my hair," Jamie replied sweetly, tugging on one of his chestnut curls. "Make myself feel pretty." Clemens laughed and shoved him.
"I'm off," Kayla said, unconsciously adjusting the cuff of her diva-supplied button-up, fitted black blouse. "If y'all need anything, speak now or forever hold your peace, 'cause you won't see me for the rest of the afternoon."
"It's four 'o' clock in the afternoon, lassie!" Claude exclaimed, peering over Germaine's shoulder at the other man's watch.
"I'll see you all at dinner," Kayla continued evasively, curtseying teasingly before turning to leave.
"But Kayla!" Jamie whined
"No buts, Blanchard!" Kayla cut off, already moving down the hall. "See you at dinner!"
There were some disappointed moans, but the goodbyes were good-natured as Kayla hurried off. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her work pants, fingers running lightly over her key ring and her phone as she sauntered down the hall towards the primadonna room. Passing the rose-painted door, she turned down the next corridor.
"Mademoiselle!"
Oh please merciful heavens, not now.
Kayla whipped her head around and was immediately confronted by her current worst fear: Raoul. Alone. Smiling. Heading straight for her.
Javla helvete.
"Mademoiselle Abbots!" he called, white teeth flashing as he marched towards her.
Nope.
Fight or flight instincts kicking in, overpowering any sense of manners, Kayla bolted. She could hear him calling after her, his voice getting more distant. She turned the corner and slowed, ears pricked for any noise of his reactions. There was silence, immediately followed by the sounds of boots moving quickly over wooden floors. He was running.
NO NOPE NOPITY NOPE.
Taking a deep gulp of air into her lungs, Kayla sprinted, letting muscle memory lead her through the warren of hallways. As she pounded down a set of stairs, she heard Raoul thundering down the halls behind her. He was following the sounds of her boots, she realized. She wanted to scream. Instead she gathered up her centre of gravity into her abdomen and focused on running like an elf.
No one ventures into this part of the opera house, my ass, she thought sourly, recalling Erik's guarantee with enraged clarity as she listened to the heavy footsteps of the Vicomte. I am Legolas! she cheered herself on as she continued running down the hall, her strides making significantly less noise than the nobleman. But not enough like Legolas, her mind interjected snarkily, rudely pointing out the fact that Kayla was apparently still making enough noise for Raoul to follow her.
Careening around another corner, she noted with faint relief that the gaslights were dimming, the metal fixtures growing further and further apart. When she saw the black painted door she almost cried with glee. She pumped her arms, lengthening her strides out as she dashed towards her sanctuary. Whipping the tiny key out of her pocket, she shoved it into the lock and twisted hard, throwing open the door and clicking the lock shut behind her. She backed away from the doorway cautiously. For a moment, silence reigned.
Then came the pounding rhythm of Raoul's footsteps. The beat slowed as he approached the door, and stopped as he reached it. Kayla held her breath.
"Mademoiselle, there is no need to run," he soothed.
Looking wildly around, she realized with annoyance that she had essentially trapped herself. Apparently he was willing to wait, and this place had no exits. Unless she threw herself out the window. Which was looking more appealing by the minute.
"I merely wanted to speak with you," he added, his voice smooth and calming. "I feel that you misunderstood me at the party, and I wanted to ease your mind."
No, I understood you just fine, thanks, Kayla growled mentally, slinking closer to the wall. Pitter-patter, raced her rabbit heart. She had never felt more like prey.
He did not speak for a few minutes. The inky black of his shadow spilling under the crack in the door erased all hope that he had maybe given up and retreated.
"I can hear you breathing," he said conversationally.
Kayla whimpered. She needed out, and she needed out now. There were no weapons in the room, but there were no supplies for a siege either. And no one but she knew where she was, and she couldn't exactly call 911. Desperately, she looked around the room. Her blue eyes landed on something that she had not thought of before. Kayla stared at the golden framed mirror.
"You have fight in you, Kayla, and it is admirable," Raoul complimented, a quiet creak of wood suggesting the nobleman was casually leaning against the door. "But I am a determined man. We would make an excellent team."
Who gave you the mother effing right to call me by my first name, Kayla silently snarled, pawing with shaking hands over the edges of the gilt mirror. Her fingertips caught on a catch, and as her roving hands pulled it down, the glass slid open with a quiet whoosh. She stumbled to the table in the centre of the room and grabbed her art folder, sticking a pencil and a paintbrush through her bun. She swiped a bead of sweat off her face, accidentally striping her cheek with red watercolour from a spill that she had not cleaned up from earlier that morning. Might as well have an excuse for being in the catacombs in the first place, and getting art advice was as good a reason as any.
"Please, Kayla, give me a chance to explain," Raoul implored.
Not today, bitch, Kayla smiled triumphantly as she slid through the mirror and shut it firmly behind her, even though every instinct in her was railing at her – C.S. Lewis style – that it was a terrible idea to shut yourself into a wardrobe, or in this instance a mirror. She made sure the mirror was firmly shut, and then swiveled to stare down the gloomy, cobwebbed passage. Raoul's muffled entreaties were blocked by the sheet of glass, only coming through as wordless sighs and murmurs. "And now: to not be killed by a trap," Kayla nodded firmly. She took her first step into the unknown.
Somehow, to her eternal shock, she found herself, an hour later, standing in front of the maze of canals deep beneath the opera house. Pale red torches flickered in the cold rushing drafts of air, unseen wind whistling eerily in the distance. She shivered. Faintly, the spooky hum of an organ drifted through the stone archways, the ripples of the water almost perfectly in time with the deep, desperate notes. Now there was just the trouble of getting to where the organ was being played. She glared at the stone columns and archways. "Ugh. Exercise," she moaned glumly, her calves still burning from her inadvertent sprint. Sighing with annoyance, she stuck her art folder down her shirt. She leaned out over the water and lunged for one of the columns. Grabbing onto it, she swung her body up onto the ledge. "Ugh. Climbing."
The deep dissonant notes of the organ echoed louder and louder throughout the caverns as Kayla climbed over and through ledges and arches, balancing precariously on the roughly hewn stone. "He's there, the Phantom of the Opera," she warbled under her breath as she ducked under yet another crumbling stone. "Merciful Misha!" she shrieked, flailing for a moment as she almost slipped on a small patch of water. The organ stopped.
Holding her breath, she crouched on the wall, unmoving, until the music began again. She let out a wordless curse before resuming her trek. Kayla felt her heartbeat in her fingertips, the excessively fast rhythm matching the beat of the organ.
Time, apparently, was quite enthusiastic about screwing around with Kayla's head; in what felt like five minutes, she had discovered that she was on a ledge in front of a wide lagoon, the black bars of the Phantom's gate blocking the majestic entrance to the cavern. She reached into her back pocket to consult her phone; another hour had passed. It was six 'o' bloody clock. She clambered down from her perch to the ridge of stone that crossed across the edge of the lake to the shore. Scampering along the stones to the rocky beach, Kayla pulled the leather folder out from under her shirt and peeked around the edge of the entranceway. Through the thick black bars, she could see a man's back. She averted her eyes, almost ashamed of herself for her invasion of his privacy. He might even Punjab her; they had only been partners in crime for what, three weeks? Scanning the rock face for any way to get in, she spotted a nearly invisible opening in the dark cliff. Before her mind even processed the approval to move, Kayla had walked through the hidden door and into the Phantom's house.
The Phantom himself was seated at the organ, obsidian gloved hands dancing fiercely over the ivory keys of the instrument. His head bent down, he played intensely, focused solely on his own hands. His black hair was slicked back, shining in the candlelight, but his head was turned in such a way that Kayla could not see his face. The former, in this case, was a relief; if she saw his face without his permission, she would definitely be dead. Kayla walked quietly, entranced, across the overpass above the lake, staring down at the Phantom. Stepping lightly down the steep, broad stairs, she stopped in the centre of one of the levels, next to the tied up gondola. Throwing caution to the wind, Kayla took a deep breath and cleared her throat.
Author's Note: I was really nervous about this chapter. Raoul has some ulterior motives, that should be obvious, and every time I try to write out an explanation Raoul just refuses to cooperate. He's a jerk that way. But cooperation or not, all of Raoul's behaviour shall be explained soon enough. In this instance, he's acting like a small child who wants something - in this case, talking to Kayla - and is not being allowed to have it. I'll write up a more detailed explanation within the next couple of chapters. Anyway, we have a face to face meeting at last! I hope you all are excited about actually seeing the Phantom, and not just hearing a voice from the mirror. The next chapter is going to be told from Erik's point of view, so we'll get to see his side of the situation.
Many of you had concerns that the link for Kayla's dress last chapter didn't show up. I was to lazy to change the last chapter, but I've put the link below, just take out the spaces and it should work. If it doesn't, please let me know. In this image it's yellow, but Kayla's is blue.
Anyway, thanks for reading this far, please feel free to review or PM with questions or comments, and follow or favourite if the mood strikes you. And to Guest, Guest, and E-man-dy-S, thank you for your reviews. Thank you all for the support!
Tierney
readpaintwrite
Kayla's dress UPDATE: after ten minutes fighting with this crappy link, I am just going to try to get a picture of it into my profile. Apologies for my technological incompetence.
FINAL UPDATE: SCREW ALL OF THIS. I will post the picture of the dress to my Tumblr, and those who are interested in it can go search it up, or maybe, just maybe, I can get that link on my profile.