6
Katrina's laugh echoed through the house on the lake.
Erik wasn't sure whether to cringe or smile in response. The puppy had been a mistake, he was sure of it.
The animal already had giant paws and long legs; it would be a monster when it finished growing. Why he had done it, he couldn't be sure. It had been Katrina's eighth birthday, which oddly, she had forgotten. Maybe that was why; it was a puppy or a box of music. He had all the music that mattered, so he found a stray.
Upon seeing the giant bundle of mud-colored fur, the child had pronounced it the most delightful vision she'd seen, and named it Tomino.
Tomino seemed to share Katrina's affection, and submitted to any game she chose. At the moment, he was behaving as an admirable rug, allowing the girl to wallow over his stomach as she read aloud from a book of children's stories. He would even give a grunt in response to her questions, as if it were needed to encourage her. Erik wondered why she insisted the animal understood her. It was an intelligent beast, but not verbal. If it spoke or sang, Erik would believe it understood everything. Until then, it was a pet.
It was a Sunday afternoon, and they spent it quietly. The weather was too bad to walk, so she had happily become better acquainted with the mutt. Erik played quietly at the piano, not really worrying about notes or counting. The fire warmed them, and softened his harsh features; even it did bring out the yellow in his skin too much. As long as Katrina didn't mind, he could hide the frustration his face induced.
"The end!" she peeped to the dog happily. At last, Erik thought. She'd been reading aloud for hours, mispronouncing half the words. She picked up the book and replaced it on the shelf. She took down another one, a book of poems, and walked over to him. "Will you read one to me, Uncle Erick?"
He picked her up, walked over to the chair beside the fire, and flipped to the page his sister's hair ribbon marked. He read slowly, clearly, forming the carefully chosen words into a rolling torrent of emotion, an invisible tapestry that wrapped them together, and would never let them part.
Katrina loved Sundays.
She never felt the need to hide anything then, her uncle's face or his true 'business'. Her happiness felt freer when they simply drifted through the day. The loss of her parents was never forgotten, but here, in the stillness and encased by stone; she had learned to accept it.
Tomino roused himself long enough to wobble over and rest his chin on Erik's knee. His wet brown eyes gazed deeply into his new mistresses as she started to doze. The rich, soothing voice sent her off, letting her dreams dance with visions of rivers, dogs, birds, and the scent of chocolate.
Katrina awoke on Monday to see Tomino's face still watching hers, but from the edge of her bed instead of her uncle's lap. Slowly, she wriggled until she rolled headfirst off of her mattress and landed squarely on her rug, slippers and dog. Deciding it would be more fun to roll to the bathroom than stand, she tried, succeeding entangling her legs in her nightdress and the sheet that had fallen with her. Tomino walked alongside her, jumping back and forth, unsure if something was wrong with his beloved girl, or if this were normal.
After washing her face and hands, Katrina hopped out, the sheet now trailing from her shoulders like the cape Juliet had worn in the opera the year before. Tomino caught a glimpse of the stuffed horse her mother had made for her peeping from the folds, and bounded after it, landing on the train. Katrina coughed at the extra weight around her neck, but gripped the edges and pulled it determinedly along to her wardrobe. After selecting a yellow and grey dress, she plopped on the floor to arrange herself as best she could.
Erik found her twenty minutes later, trying to roll a determined dog off her bedclothes. Caging his impatience, he gripped the mutt in his knotted hands and helped smooth the state of the little room over.
Once that affair was settled, Katrina happily fed her pet, and set their table, unaware of the letter her uncle read slowly.
Jacques had written, outlining some difficulties with the lead tenor and his behavior. "Pig" was the most flattering name the manager had for him. He made a request of the Opera Ghost, asking him to watch the man, Pierre, and see he did nothing irreparable.
D'Arcy and several chorus members have complained to me, but Pierre is most careful when I'm near.
What can I do?I have no proof other than these ladies' word, and unless I see, cannot stop it. Do you understand?As I pay for your services, I beg that you find something for me to utilize against this abhorrent, uncivilized oaf.Better yet, drag him to whatever hell you are rumored to live in, that no one be forced to deal with the madman again.
Katrina touched Erik's arm, and he jerked, looking down at her with his blazing eyes.
"Uncle, is something wrong?"
"No, child, I was lost in thought. What were you asking?"
"How you wanted me to cook the eggs." She said solemnly, as if eggs were something of absorbing importance. He gave her one of his uncommon smiles.
"I think an omelet would be best today. If we linger over our food too long, you will be late, and I understand Mademoiselle D'Arcy has a dress rehearsal this day."
Katrina's face lit up. "She does, it's wonderful! Her best one is a great orange dress. Not a horrid orange that glares, Uncle, I wouldn't like that, but it's nearly the same color as her eyebrows and has lots of that fake lace. It looks wonderful from the box; Madame Tessa had me run up to see for her. And you wouldn't believe what Madame Giry has done with the dancers! It's so clever; even you'll admit it when you see it!"
His smile settled into a mocking sneer. "We shall see."
There was little love lost these days between Erik and Madame Giry, so Katrina wasn't surprised by his dismissal. The dance instructress knew that Katrina had a connection with the ghost, but neither spoke about it. Christine had left a great impression that screamed in silence from every wall and heart that had been there. Katrina often heard whispers between some of the soprano's old friends and admirers about it, thought they fancied she wouldn't understand their gown-up talk. But she did.
She knew her uncle had loved the singer; he had even left her room as it had been before her disappearance. It was the only door she was forbidden to open unless dusting or sent there for some item. She knew that Christine had been beautiful and talented, and that her heart was gentle. She also knew that her uncle was considered a bad man by the opera company, which puzzled her a little, but she knew everyone did something dreadful at least once in their lives. She reasoned that one day she would make a dreadful mistake herself and whether it would be on purpose or not remained to be seen. Katrina knew that some people would avoid any shadow around the opera and would have horrible nightmares because of what had happened. She knew that some only needed one bad fright before they went mad.
No, Katrina was not a foolish child. Loosing parents makes one look at live differently, even if it didn't cripple her heart, it certainly stiffened her back. The face her uncle had been born with was far worse than any wicked dream, and she had learned to forget its terror and love the possibilities that made up the man.
Katrina was an understanding child without fear.
After a rapid lesson, Erik sent her up the trapdoors to Marie's rooms. Tomino insisted on following, and the man agreed, deciding to spend his days in the old spots, watching this dreadful tenor Jacques was up in arms about.
As she neared her mistresses' room, Katrina heard an unfamiliar voice. She slowed her walk to listen. It was a woman's voice, not as trained as Marie's but rather similar somehow. It was lighter, more joyful.
Before she could stop him, Tomino tore through the door and leapt at the unsuspecting singer and her guest. Shrieks and cries echoed down the halls as a happy bark punctuated the words. Running after him, Katrina saw Mademoiselle D'Arcy standing in shock, clutching her robe tightly, and a plump woman laughing heartily on the floor, scratching the ragged dog on his side. "What a fine fellow this is! Look at those eyes, and how he listens," the stranger said approvingly.
"You cannot keep that thing, Helen, it would devour you. And I thought that your landlord forbid you to take in another animal!" Cried the soprano, her voice shaking.
"Oh, my dear canary died, so I can bring in another pet to keep the numbers stable." Helen beamed at the world in general.
Katrina shut the door behind her, causing the two women to turn, and Marie pointed to the dog drooling on her rugs. "Is this yours, Katrina?"
"Yes, Mademoiselle. Uncle Erick gave him to me. I would have left Tomino at home, but Uncle had some business to attend to."
The woman on the floor rolled up to her knees, and then to her feet, obviously more agile than she looked. Her bright red hair sprang around her curving face like an uncontrolled fire. "You must be the adorable child Marie has been telling me about. I'm Helen D'Arcy, her sister. By far the nicer of us, you'll find. Marie's a dreadful grump."
She shook the child's hand, surprised by the large eyes looking back from the strangely serious little face. "Hello, I'm glad to meet you."
"What pretty manners and excellent diction! Ria!" Helen cried, practically punching her sister in the arm, "You didn't tell me what an absolute gem she is! Must you stay here, darling? I'd love to take you with me on my next journey."
"Where is that?" Katrina asked, feeling some response was expected.
A huge laugh came from the woman's lips. "Why, to India, and then to America. I simply must paint India, hear their folk tales. They have some rather nasty ones, but some are splendid."
"There's one about a man who goes seeking treasure and ends up with a spinning blade around his head for all eternity." Katrina mused as she tried to keep Tomino from jumping on her. "Uncle Erik told me that one."
"I would wager he did," Marie snapped, not in a generous mood after her scare.
"He told me one about the snake in a man's belly who ate away at his health, and the snake in the anthill who horded treasure." Katrina continued; missing the shudder the soprano gave. Helen seemed suddenly subdued.
"How in heaven did he come across these fascinating tales of beauty for a little girl?" The sister asked dryly.
"He used to live in India, until he was sentenced to death." Katrina answered seriously.
Marie snorted, but Helen asked with equal gravity, "And what did he deserve such a fate?"
"He built a palace, and knew all its secrets. The Raja didn't want another place like it to be built, so he ordered to have Uncle Erik killed."
Helen gave a nod at her sister, as if to prove something. Marie ignored her, and had Katrina place the dog on the hearth for the morning. Other than the outgoing Helen, Katrina's day was quite normal until dress rehearsals.
She helped get the lead women dressed, and then was kept busy in one of the boxes, calling out replies about how the scenery looked, and how even the people were on the stage, and if she could hear everything. When she wasn't doing that, she was chasing and grappling Tomino from the strangest places. He seemed determined to rattle every trapdoor in the stage off its hinges, and to chew through the support for the hangman's platform in act three. Helen vanished at some point, why or where, Katrina didn't know.
It was during the great death scene that things began to happen.
Marie and the mezzo-soprano were singing their duet by the scaffold and doing it brilliantly. Pierre was to come up and stand nearby, joining in to form a trio. He decided to wander though the chorus and ballet, which was effective visually, but annoying for the girls he nudged and winked at. He pressed close to the two women at the front of the stage, singing practically in their ears. Katrina could see from her place in the seats that Marie and the other singer were getting angry with him. Why, she couldn't see, but she could see the wicked look in his eyes.
Just then, he made a grab at the little Mezzo, and with a cry, she fell forwards, save from a tumble into the orchestra pit by Marie's quick and strong grip.
All sounds stopped, and Katrina held her breath, feeling afraid for the first moment since Erik had come for her.
Pierre's smirk dared the company to speak against him. No one had seen him, therefore they could say nothing, and do less.
Helen appeared out of the back seats, her elegant walking stick clutched dangerously. Katrina knew Marie could be fierce, but Helen was clearly willing to hit someone without a second thought.
"How could you?" The young girl who had nearly fallen asked, tears in her eyes.
"How could I what? Surely you are mistaken, Mademoiselle. No one saw me do anything to you. If you are…loose and presume to blame me for it, well," he shrugged and folded his hands easily. This only made the Mezzo cry harder, and Marie was angry enough to do something desperate.
A sand bag fell onto the tenor's shoulders, breaking and spilling down his elegant costume, filling his nose, eyes and mouth. Two more fell, one behind and one before, splashing sand into the boots Pierre wore. He cried out in surprise and anger, swearing at the people around him. No one made a move to help him, clearly enjoying his torment. The tenor Pierre had ousted snickered from his humble place in the chorus. He was arrogant, but basically humane to the others. To see himself proven by falling sandbags was delightful.
The mirth was short lived as a furious voice bounded from the walls, vibrating down everyone's spines and filling their ears, whether they were plugged or no.
"I saw, Pierre, and consider you unfit to fill a place in my opera house. You shall finish out this one part only, as I intend to teach you a lesson. Feel grateful, I would have happily let all three bags fall upon your skull. Not many are given a second chance by the Phantom."
At the hushed murmurs, Pierre felt fear of something other than himself take away their submission to him. He became angry, and spit sand at the air. "I do not believe in ghosts, and my chances are mine. You will teach me nothing!"
"That, I agree with. You are thoroughly uncooperative." The voice laughed madly around them, chilling the air. "Yet as for your chances, I would not light any lamps. It might…backfire."
"I am not afraid of you, phantom! You are nothing but a dreadful prankster, desperate to get himself in the papers for insulting an important man."
There was a pause, and a smug look crossed Pierre's face. The voice came again, quieter, but more frightening than before.
"No, you are not afraid of me yet. But then, you do not know me. However, your importance does not exist, so I shan't make any papers tonight. Your chances are now in my control, and I would watch how you behave towards my singers, Pierre. Take care, be cautious, or you may be a ghost yourself."
Katrina listened to the laughter fade away, knowing her uncle was walking to another part of the building, probably to get a better view of the tenor. A hand on each shoulder made her jump. Helen had one arm, and Marie had the other. The Mezzo was clinging to her, refusing to be left alone after two dreadful events. The soprano threw her chin in the air, and said clearly, "I have no intention of rehearsing any longer today."
The four women walked out and to Marie's dressing room. The Mezzo, Tina, collapsed on a chair and wept. Helen grimly rubbed her back and Marie paced. Tomino hunched on the rug, waging his tail penitently, worried that the fuss had been his doing. Katrina sat beside him and buried her fingers into his matted fur.
A few moments later, the manager burst in, looking a little pale. "I have been hearing all sorts of things from the ballet and chorus. Pierre refuses to speak at all! Tell me, what is happening?"
"Don't ask me," Helen replied practically, "I only arrived to for a visit this morning."
"It was the Opera Ghost!" Tina wailed, making the girl and pet on the rug twitch. "That dreadful monster is back to terrorize us all!"
Marie laughed derisively. "Tina, I assure you, there is no ghost."
"That's what Christine said." She sniffled.
"Then she was right."
Jacques cleared his throat. "I'm not so sure. I myself have sent and received letters from this Phantom. It may be an elaborate mask, but I believe that something exists. Be it mortal, or immortal, I trust its word."
"You what!" Cried Marie really shocked. Helen looked a little uneasy herself.
"I asked the Phantom's help in stopping Pierre's unwarranted behavior. Just look at what happened to Tina today! I could not let it continue, but I could not catch him at it. The ghost has done a marvelous job of seeing what I cannot, though I strongly dislike his methods. So yes, I trust his word and existence."
"You're mad!" Screamed Marie.
Helen grabbed her sister's arm, and shook her head. "Stop, all of you. You're going to scare the child."
As if remembering at the same instant, the four adults turned to look down at Katrina. Tomino wilted into her lap, but she gazed back wondering what was wrong. "He's not mad, Mademoiselle," She said quietly, "There's nothing to be afraid of, and nothing to wonder about. There really is a Phantom of the Opera. I've seen him."
Thanks to all who commented! If you have ideas for improvements in future chapters or guesses about what's next, I'd love the creative help.