The two fire marshals stood at attention on the wide stage an hour before the house opened. The young men somberly hid their mystification as they listened to their chief.
Madame Giry watched them unseen from behind the curtain in Box Five. She could only pity them the way one pities small children as they poke a wasp's nest with a stick, little thinking what the results will be.
Her face was grim and set as the guards received their orders. She heard the chief's low rumbling tones without noting the words.
Her mind was too full.
It was opening night. Who knew what nightmares this evening would bring?
As much as Antoinette knew she should be worrying about the fate of Christine and the company as a whole, her thoughts were solely with her daughter and what role the young dancer would play tonight.
Giry shivered whenever she thought of it.
For all that Madame Giry knew Don Juan Triumphant was a trap both set for Erik and by Erik, the mother could only fixate on what the Phantom meant by casting her daughter – so young, so innocent, so good-natured – as a coquettish temptress, who took money both for her dancing and for her sexual favors.
Giry swallowed the bile that last image always conjured.
Erik was obsessed with Christine, idealized her. But what about Meg? He never talked to Giry about Meg, except to assure the mother that no miscreants were dishonoring her, thanks to his protection. Of the other cast members, he'd always sent letters detailing their flaws both in character and in the various shows. Every once in a while he'd highlight someone positively, promoting them to some better role or position in the company. However, he never mentioned Meg, except dictating that she would play this role or that in the next opera.
Madame Giry assumed he'd either decided she wouldn't like Meg's name mentioned too many times by the notorious Opera Ghost, or that the young girl simply never took his attention too prominently. He obviously registered her talent, going by the roles he'd selected for her over the years. Other than that, there had been no indication Erik felt one way or another about Meg.
Yet now this role of the alluring seductress...could his perspective of the girl have changed over the years as she blossomed into a beauty? Did he notice that the little nosy girl from years before now looked like a lovely woman?
Did he hate her for that?
Was he punishing Meg for daring to arouse in him desire he believed should only be inspired by Christine? Must Meg be degraded to further heighten Christine's purity? Meg's character in Don Juan was nothing more than an empty viper, existing only to tantalize. Yet she was on the fringe of many scenes, a shadow following Don Juan. Was she a reminder of Don Juan's baser desires that he must purge to win the fair Aminta?
Madame Giry hoped and prayed she was only confabulating, exaggerating the situation. But her hard core of intuition that so far had never failed was telling her now otherwise.
Was the Phantom threatened by Meg...?
The chief raised his voice sharply to his men, capturing her attention. "You understand your instructions?"
In unison, the firemen replied in the affirmative. "Sir!"
"When you hear the whistle, take up your positions. I shall then instruct you to secure the doors. It is essential that all doors are properly secured."
Giry smirked mirthlessly. Locked doors stopping Erik? The fools.
She stole a glance at Andre and Firmin, also present on the stage. Their faces mirrored Giry's doubt. She saw them whispering nervously to each other.
They were practically cowering behind the vicomte. But who wouldn't, Giry thought. He looked capable to lead a brigade against enemy soldiers. He was rising to the occasion admirably. The young aristocrat seemed amazingly at home dealing with police and firemen. Once more the swift pain of Julien's memory stabbed her as she looked at Raoul's even stare, straight posture, sure stance.
Like Julien, he exuded control and fairness in equal measure.
Even the chief was naturally deferring to the young man. "Monsieur le Vicomte, am I to give the order?"
A brisk nod. "Give the order." Even the assured, clipped tones remind me...
She did not flinch as the high whistle from the chief reached her. Turning sharply, the firemen left the stage as Raoul reassured the managers and issued further directions to the marksman hidden in the orchestra pit.
She gasped as a smooth tenor suddenly spoke to her, hovering near her shoulder. "Well, well, madame. Enjoying the comedy?"
Giry didn't bother turning around. She knew she could not see him even if she did. "What do you want?" Her voice was low, expressionless.
"Nothing, only to tell you that you are in for quite the entertainment. Tonight will be one to remember, Anahid."
His malevolent pomposity enraged her. "You'll never win, Erik," she hissed.
He chuckled nastily. "You can't possibly believe these fools will actually ensnare me."
Madame Giry shook her head, knowing he could see her even if she could not see him. "You might escape them, escape everyone, kidnap Christine, even kill the vicomte. Still, you will not win." Her voice shook with violence. The image of Julien was fresh in her mind. "You cannot win for you haven't the first clue what love really is: sacrifice for the sake of the other."
"A noble sentiment, Madame," his voice oozed like poison honey. "Very noble. Now, if you'll excuse me."
All at once doors slammed everywhere around her, the firemen barring them and calling out "Secure!" Even the door to Box Five slammed shut. Madame Giry raised her eyebrow. If they could not even check to see if anyone was in the boxes, then how could they expect to capture –
Then hovering over them all came that voice again:
"I'm here: the Phantom of the Opera..."
Those words sent a chill down Giry's spine. Why...why was she reminded suddenly of Meg?
Raoul and the firemen started toward the direction they thought the voice originated from, their eyes on the rafters. Yet once they moved to one side of the stage, at the opposite end: "I'm here: the Phantom of the Opera..."
Again, a frantic chase, again the words from another direction entirely.
"I'm here: the Phantom of the Opera..."
She did flinch now as he whispered in her ear: "Leave now."
Following her intuition once more, Giry complied. The door was somehow unlocked again. She stopped just outside the door, surprising the fireman on the other side who thought he'd locked it securely and that the box was empty.
She could not see what was happening in the theater, only Box Five's shut door. From within the box she heard:
"I'm here: the Phantom of the Opera..."
And then a shot.
Giry's heart almost stopped. She numbly let the young fireman pull her behind him.
She heard Raoul's wrathful cry to the marksman. "Idiot! You'll kill someone! I said, only when the time comes!"
The confused marksman stammered, "But, Monsieur le Vicomte" –
Erik's voice was comfortable and serene in Box Five, like a king within his throne room. "No 'buts'! For once, Monsieur Le Vicomte is right. Seal my fate later, though, I must insist. I hate to have to cut the fun short, but the joke's wearing rather thin. Bring in the audience. Let my opera begin!"
A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. Consider it a spooky interlude before the real action hits the fan.