Dear readers: This is the complete telling of "The Silence Broken," a Phantom of the Opera story co-written by the talented author Rogo and myself (she began it, I finished it). With her permission and blessing I have adapted and included her chapters (the first 8) and continued it from there. As of Feb 2022 I'll be posting a few chapters a week, so it will take about a month for the completed story to be available.
This story is too many years in the making and I am delighted to finally get it off my chest and into your hands. Enjoy!
The air was cold and hollow that night. There was the merest breath of wind which ruffled a few strands from the tie that held the specter's dark hair in place.
That evening, he hid in the shadows cast by one of stone statues – a rearing Pegasus - on the roof of the Opera Populaire. He crouched at the edge of the roof, one hand wrapped around the beast's stone leg, motionless.
The Phantom of the Opera cast his eyes upon Paris. In this deep night its dark empty streets and black windows yawned with menace. He could see no one about at that hour except a young lamplighter, wrapped tightly in a scarf and cloak, standing before the abandoned opera house as he carefully lit the lamps with a long pole. He watched the boy without real interest. It took him only a few minutes to light five lamps in the empty square. Then boy trudged to a smaller street, and the Phantom watched as he lit lamp after lamp until he disappeared into the night.
He continued to stare blankly into the darkness for a few more moments before finally closing his eyes and gathering his wits. He came back to himself, shaking off the apathy and despair which had become his close companions. A grunt released as he leaned back against the stone and rested his arms wearily on bent knees.
I'm getting too old for this, he thought grimly as he stretched out the ache in his muscles.
The Phantom let out a soft growl as he caught sight of the fraying threads on the edges of his cloak. Despite his careful care of what remained of his garments, time had begun to tell. It had been three years since that hellish night, three long years since they found his haven in the depths of the opera house and raided it of what was valuable. Three long years since they fled.
His eyes flickered unwillingly, inevitably, to a spot not far away. Why in hell did he continue to come here? Vivid images burst into his mind, and hated music into his heart.
No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears… I'm here, nothing can harm you, and my words will warm and calm you…
She gazed at him with warmth, relief, and trust. Their eyes never left one other's, and each word and gesture spoke of tenderness.
Say you love me every waking moment, turn my head with talk of summertime. Say you need me with you, now and always…
The Phantom's chest seared with a pain that, though dulled by time, still wrenched him to the soul as it had all those years ago. Hot rage and tears prickled his eyes as a hoarse shout escaped from his throat,
"Laissez-moi tranquille!" he begged of the unseen lovers in the distance. He rose to his feet, angry now, eyes blazing. "Laissez-moi tranquille!"
It was bloody cold that night, bitter and dark. Though that evening was really no different from every other night on these wretched streets, Manon Moreau felt vulnerable, and she hated feeling vulnerable. She had that salaud to thank for it, that rat who had sold her out.
As she moved as quickly as she dared, numb feet stumbling on the cobbled streets, Manon foraged though her mind looking for worse insults to call that man who had tipped the gendarmes to her hideaway when her rent was late by a day. A day!
A measly, singular goddamn da—
Her thoughts were interrupted as Manon suddenly recognized the carrefour she had walked into.
A structure loomed ahead, and a hint of a smile grew at the corner of her lips.
It towered magnificently above her in the center of an empty plaza. The Opera Populaire. She approached the foot of the marble staircase that rose into grimy columns and a heavily boarded door and crouched low in the shadows to think.
It had been many long years since Manon had first set eyes upon the opera house. Time had certainly not been kind, as apparently no one had cared to pay for the restoration of a burnt-out ruin. It had a sad, neglected air of a grande dame whose former beauty had dimmed. From a faint memory of first passing it as a child, she could remember that it had been glorious, polished and fashionable. Though she had never been inside she could faintly recall the warm quiet words of her brother,
"One day I'll take you inside, ma petite, and you'll see it and be in awe as I was when I first saw it. It's said that there is a ghost that haunts it, a demon they say, with a monstrous face but the voice of an angel."
Her child's passionate heart was brimming with the story as he gently held her, both of them gazing up at the grand structure, as he whispered, "And perhaps… together, we'll seek out this Phantom of the Opera and ask him to sing for us."
That day had never come. Manon's nostrils flared with anger at the thought of so much that never would. She looked back up at the building and shook her head. This was certainly no longer the opera house she had seen fifteen years ago. Its stonework was dingy, its ironwork corroded, and its doors heavily boarded up.
However, its unfortunate current state was what she could call a blessing. A gloomy old opera house that nobody went into could provide some warmth and a safe place to sleep for a woman who was desperately cold and quite out of other ideas.
She made her way to the door and assessed it, putting down her bag. She began to pry at the boards.
To her great surprise the first one she pulled at gave way immediately and she painfully fell backwards on her rump. With a muttered oath she scrambled up and peered through the open space. She was surprised to find that the great opera door she had seen before was no longer there at all, and through the boards she could see… well, nothing at all. It was too dark inside. After only a few minutes Manon pried away enough boards to make a space large enough for her to wiggle though.
Blackness surrounded her, deep as the night and twice as menacing. As her eyes began to adjust, she could faintly make out that she was in a grand foyer. Through the darkness, she gazed in wonder at the hints of a large curving staircase before her. Above and around her were ornate balconies and provocative statuary, the dim gold glinting beneath the grime, blossoming from the walls. Rank smells of burnt wood and mildewed fabric were caught in the air. It would have been magnificent to see the foyer glowing and gleaming at its height a few years before. But now the walls were thick with cobwebs, the marble floors covered with dirt and dust, and the erotic statues menacing in the darkness.
Manon explored the foyer for a few more minutes and then groped her way up the grand staircase and into the theater.
She rubbed her arms; it was still chilly inside. Yet… it was not only the cold that sent a shiver down her spine. No, it was something else. Manon could not quite tell what it was that made her uneasy.
She continued forward and into a room she could sense was vast. The Opera Populaire's theater would have been as grand as the foyer, perhaps even moreso. However, even now Manon could see the great fire and years of neglect had taken their toll. The velvet of the seats felt charred and crumbled beneath her trailing fingers. She approached the stage and could tell that the deep velvet curtains were likewise tatted and burnt.
All of a sudden, in the corner of her eye, Manon could have sworn on her life that she had seen a fleeting shadow dart from somewhere in the balcony boxes.
Her eyes darted around in suspicion and her ears pricked up. She began to feel uneasy as her gaze traveled up into the dark balconies. The sensuous gold-hued figures that entwined themselves around the loge boxes were lusty enough to strike one with desire, but in that moment Manon's heart thudded not out of longing, but out of a growing fear.
There is someone else in here, she thought frantically. But she quickly chided herself. Manon! Stop it! What would Charles think of you now, frightening yourself with imagined shadows? Nobody else is in here. Just find a good place to sleep and you'll be out by morning if you find it so creepy.
Closing her eyes briefly, she steadied her breath and then opened them again. She scanned the seats and quickly picked one along the outer aisle that wasn't too badly scorched.
There it was again. A rustle, barely audible. But in such echoing silence, even the quietest of sounds could be heard.
"Who's there?" She demanded, attempting to sound gruff, but sounding breathless to her own ears. She turned, eyes frantically searching for an assailant.
Manon felt her chill deepen and fancied the darkness grew still further. All the shadows around her seemed to move and rustle.
Still looking for this unseen specter in the gloom, she froze, heart hammering, as a sudden, horribly alive silence descended nearby.
And Manon felt it. In the cold air of the theater,
like a searing blade, a warm breath crossed the back of her neck.