A/N: Wowza. FINALLY the next chapter! I'm sorry everyone for such a long wait. :( An unexpectedly busy summer impacted my writing time (and also my motivation). Thank you to Destiny A for giving me the push I needed! And after such a ridiculous wait, hopefully it is enjoyable.
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The meeting with Madame Giry did not go as I had anticipated. When she stepped out of her room and saw me in the tan and gray hallway, she gawked in surprise at my appearance. She had been in the process of closing the door to her room, but seemed to get stuck part-way through.
"Jacqueline!" she breathed and I couldn't tell if she was too angry for words or too shocked. Her eyes ran up and down the length of my body, assessing. I wondered what she was thinking behind those sharp green eyes. I stood before her with my arms at my sides, head slightly bowed, as a child would, preparing for a parent's scolding.
"I am sorry, Madame," I said to her. At her quizzical expression, I explained, "I thought that you had written the letters."
The color drained from her face. I think she thought my apology would have something to do with my visage. If so, she was wrong.
I continued on to say, "The notes from the Phantom — I thought they were just a fabrication of yours; some way for you to get some extra money. Or that it was a cruel hoax to play on the new managers!" Understanding passed across her features and she blinked away the confusion. She remained quiet while I kept on. Rambling seemed to be my new pastime.
"I know you and Meg and even Christine tried to tell me; to warn me! That I needed to be careful or the Phantom would come. I am so sorry that I did not believe you! I am so sorry that I thought so poorly of you! I know you would never —"
Here Madame Giry at last cut me off. "Jacqueline, what happened? What did you see?" The questions, though sternly spoken, were not harsh. There was a tone in her voice that I had not heard before and her face was taut, rigid with anxiety. I had never seen her like this before; startled, shocked, and certainly irritated, but this was something else and it unsettled me.
"I…" I started, uncertain of how to explain myself.
Putting her hands on my shoulders, drawing my gaze to her, Madame Giry looked me straight in the eye and said, "Tell me what happened, Jacqueline." Then she seemed to think better of it and ushered me into her room.
The room's entryway was dimly lit by wall sconces on either side of the door and I saw that we were in an antechamber. In the semidarkness I could just make out the various tables piled with books, a few exotic-looking tapestries, and photographs and posters everywhere. Around a corner, Madame Giry went straight to a gas lamp and adjusted it to increase our light. Her rust-colored walls, the chaise lounge, leather armchair, the warm glow of the lamp, and the myriad of oriental-print blankets, all gave the room a comfortable feel, but still I did not relax.
Madame Giry turned her attention to me. "Now," she said, "start from the beginning."
So I told her about my excursion into the labyrinthine tunnels. And I left nothing out.
/
"Please say something," I pleaded Madame Giry. My clothes were no longer dripping wet, but still soaked through. The damp tracks from my filthy ballet slippers were still evident, trailing behind me on the wooden floor. And Madame Giry stared wide-eyed at me as if I had grown another head.
Her mouth dropped open to speak, but no words came out. She raised her eyebrows, mouth closing and opening again, silently, absolutely at a loss for words. Shaking her head she finally managed to dislodge some words from her baffled tongue. "You are a very lucky girl."
I admit, it was not the reaction I had expected. I frowned.
"It is a miracle that you are still alive," she continued, haltingly, still unsure of what to say. "We had no idea where you went. If I had known where you were, I would have been twice as worried."
"Madame Giry," I began imploringly, "why is he—"
"You must change your clothes, Jacqueline," Madame Giry interrupted. "You will catch a sickness and you don't want that; you would miss Il Muto."
I did not appreciate her attempt to change the subject, even though my stomach sunk with the thought of missing out on being in the show. But I could not let her distract me.
"Who is he?" I asked. She ignored my question, pursing her lips in agitation. Grabbing my arm firmly, she opened the door and led me out of the room. Wordlessly, she steered me through the halls toward the staircase, to lead me up to the dormitory. Even that action did not dissuade me. I asked a barrage of questions, all of which she ignored. But I kept trying.
"Why does he live below the opera house? Why does he wear a mask?" I paused in my interrogation and Madame Giry heaved a sigh.
"You ask too many questions, Jacqueline," she said quietly. "Questions which should not be answered."
"And why not? Why do you hide him?" Perhaps it was the fact that I had stared death in the face and survived, that I asked this. I felt emboldened. I was stubbornly set on getting answers from her. But she was stubbornly set on not giving me any answers at all.
And so we arrived at the dormitory, where a mass of girls turned their attention to me as I was dragged up the stairs by Madame Giry. Despite my bold demeanor, I cast my gaze to the floorboards. How I could stare the Phantom in the eye, but not these girls, I'll never know. To me, I supposed, they seemed more cruel than he.
After a brief reprimand, Madame Giry once again told me to change out of my soggy clothing and assigned me to janitorial duty for three months as punishment. I could hardly believe what I was hearing, but as all eyes in the room were on us, I merely nodded in humility.
When I found the strength to raise my own gaze to meet that of Madame Giry's, I saw why I was being punished so harshly and finally I understood.
She was afraid.
I could read the emotion in her eyes; she knew the weight of the threat I had given to the managers. And she knew that the Phantom would see that threat carried out.
I nodded once more to her, in understanding this time. But as she turned away, her black dress swishing loudly against a bed frame, I wondered if I really did understand. It could have been that she was worried about the managers and the fact that they did not heed my words. But maybe she was worried about me and trying to keep me from meeting the Phantom again.
Because, maybe next time, he would not spare me.
/
Hannibal was my first show and, at the time, I did not think I could get more nervous. I was wrong. The nervousness I had felt then was nothing compared to what I felt as we all prepared to perform Il Muto.
Standing backstage, awaiting my cue, I was sweating already and my nervousness was setting off the sheep. A bad situation since I wouldn't be on-stage until Act III.
My job was to lead a live sheep onto the rear of the stage and do a few poses while the seasoned ballerinas danced at the front. At a certain point I was to lead her, along with other girls and other sheep, to center stage where the sheep were made to follow us in a few choreographed circles of sheep-ballet, then return to the back. A small role (and my only role in Il Muto), but I was content with it.
Although I tried to pay attention to the animal handler as he explained the rules of handling the sheep, I kept one eye on the shadows around me. I nodded at the appropriate times, but I barely heard a word he said. Eventually, he huffed an irritated remark and went to instruct another of the sheep-leaders.
Reciting some calming mantras, I attempted to relieve myself of the tension and a perverse sense of guilt I carried. I had done as the Phantom had asked; what more could he expect me to do?
The props and costumes of Il Muto were all bright and the sets were light, supposedly invoking a feeling of mirth to the viewer, but when at last the show began, seeing La Carlotta in the lead role did nothing to persuade me that this night would run smoothly. Nevertheless, I tried very hard to enjoy the performance.
This faithless lady's bound for Hades… shame, shame, shame!
The confidante's and fops' line made me wince. But then, so did Carlotta's singing.
"Serafimo, your disguise is perfect!" the Prima Donna sang in a grating voice to the pageboy, played by Christine. Off-stage our sound effects man made a knocking noise. Carlotta, in a caged-underskirt gown of pink and white and a white beehive wig, continued, "Why, who can this be?"
Piangi entered the scene dressed in an equally elaborate costume of spring green. I took a second to marvel at the red and pink ribbon-roses that embroidered his jacket and the amount of white frills hiding his neck and chest.
The colors were almost the same as my own costume. In fact, I even had my own fabric rose, stitched at the top of the bodice right between my breasts. A gauzy white fabric covered my breasts and hugged my arms in an off-the-shoulder design, fuschia and aqua ribbons trailing from the rose and sleeves. The rest of the bodice was a shimmering green; the fluffy skirt, white.
It was a beautiful dress, I thought, though I was uncomfortable baring so much of my shoulders to the world. I learned to never have skin revealed around Benoit.
Like an ill omen, a cool draft of air blew over me just then and I shivered. My hair did nothing to block the breeze because it had been pulled up into a ridiculous, if elaborate, up-do. Its wavy nature kept it from looking as fine as the other girls' hairdos, but it passed Madame Giry's inspection without comment so I counted it as acceptable.
The cool air caused me to frown and cast a nervous glance at the shadows again. Spying nothing suspicious, I forced my attention back to the opera, just in time to see Meg react to a staged grope from Piangi.
Despite my attitude, I smiled. The audience laughed.
My love, I'm called to England on affairs of state and must leave you with your new maid! Piangi sang. "Though I would happily take the maid with me!" he spoke directly to the audience, eliciting another laugh.
It was then Carlotta's turn to face the gleeful audience. "The old fool is leaving."
She and Piangi continued the scene and I winced as Carlotta's voice hit a high note that disagreed with my senses.
"Serafimo, away with this pretense!" Carlotta went on, "You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence!" I smiled at Christine's performance as she stripped off her tear-away skirts to reveal her pageboy outfit beneath. I was starting to enjoy myself and the Phantom's threat seemed to diminish in the face of all the laughter.
Poor fool, he makes me laugh! Ha ha ha ha ha!
The song was lessening my fear. Smiling, I reached down to pat my sheep on her head. She grunted at me.
Poor fool, he doesn't know! Ho ho ho ho ho!
Without warning, a voice boomed through the theatre and drowned out the performance. "DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX FIVE WAS TO BE KEPT EMPTY?"
I felt the blood drain from my face and my breath caught in my throat. I had only heard it once before, but I knew that voice.
It was him.
The entire show had come to a stop and a collective gasp rose from the audience. Like everyone else, I looked around the theatre, trying to spot the one who had spoken. Unable to see him, I looked to my friends onstage, who appeared just as terrified as I felt.
"He's here," I heard Meg say. "The Phantom of the Opera."
Christine made a comment too quietly for me to hear, but Carlotta heard it. Regardless of the major interruption from the Phantom, she still felt it necessary to reprimand Christine.
"Your part is silent, little toad!" she spat at Christine. Then, realizing she was still in the public's eye, she gave one of her charming smiles and a nervous giggle, before strutting over to the side of the stage. One of her helpers came running with a glass bottle of throat spray.
"Why, why you spray on my chin all the time, eh?" Carlotta complained. As Carlotta came back to center stage, assuring the audience that everything was 'good', I glanced around again. The hair on the back of my neck was standing up now and I knew a disaster was about to happen. I trusted the Phantom's word on that.
However, the managers did nothing and Monsieur Reyer cued up the music to begin the song again. I shook my head and gripped the sheep's lead more tightly.
Carlotta began to sing.
Serafimo, away with this pretense! You cannot speak, but kiss me in my UGH!
The monstrous croak that escaped Carlotta's throat had everyone blinking and gasping in surprise. But it did not take long for the audience to start laughing. They continued to snicker as Carlotta tried yet again to sing the lines she had already sung. But when she tried to sing the laughter part all that came out was that horrible croaking.
The look of panic on her face almost had me feeling sorry for her. But then I remembered the terrible way she treated everyone and remembered how she had weaseled her way back into the opera cast. It was her fault this disaster was befalling us at all. So I allowed myself to laugh at her expense. Why not? It was funny. And I was not the only cast member laughing. By this time nearly everyone in the theatre was laughing.
Except the managers, of course. They had finally found their way from their viewing box down to the stage. After a panicky demand for the heavy red and gold curtains to be drawn, they stepped out in front to address the audience.
"Uh, ladies and gentlemen…" I could hear Monsieur Firmin speaking, his tone trying to convey a sense of control. "We apologize. Uh, the uh, performance will continue in ten minutes time, when the role of the countess will be played by Miss Daaé."
An arm darted through the divide in the curtains and hooked Christine's arm, dragging her out to the front. I barely had time to process what had just transpired, when I heard Monsieur André's tight voice demanding the ballet from tonight's opera.
With that unexpected request, the stage became a chaotic flurry of moving props and dashing actors. The two other girls leading sheep came over to usher me on.
"Come! We should all stay together," one named Marie said. I had little choice but to follow. The pandemonium put the poor sheep in a foul mood and none of them were very willing to obey. Nevertheless, they followed us onstage with a good dose of verbal encouragement and we girls took up our places at the back.
In what was perhaps the swiftest and most disorganized scene change I'd witnessed, the stage was finally set for the serene ballet portion of the show. I was still nervous and it had nothing to do with being in sight of the few thousand people who made up the audience. Remembering that I was expected to have a certain demeanor while on stage, I affected a smile as I gave a furtive glance around the auditorium, particularly Box 5 where I saw Vicomte de Chagny, watching us.
When it came time to lead our sheep in their own strange ballet, they wanted nothing to do with it. Or at least, mine didn't. She was partway through a circle when she deemed the stage a good spot to lie down. As I tried to haul her up from her kneeling position, I could hear the audience laughing. I felt my face flush in embarrassment, knowing the laughter was at my expense. Eventually I managed to drag her out of the way so the real dancers had room to perform.
Over the thudding of the ballerinas' footfalls and the orchestral music, I thought I heard something. A strange sound, but with a familiar edge to it. It sounded as though someone were running on the catwalks above. My need to see what was making the noise and my need to please Madame Giry and the managers with a steady performance warred within me. Telling myself that it would do no good to worry, I refused to look. Most likely a crew member, I told myself. After all, everyone was running backstage in the aftermath of Carlotta's sabotaged voice.
I watched the ballerinas dance, as I was supposed to. They danced on pointe and pirouetted and I was slightly mesmerized by the fluid, graceful movements as Giselle twirled and twirled and twirled...
Something big dropped in front of me, right in the center of the stage, but it didn't fall to the floor. It took only a fraction of a second to recognize Monsieur Buquet by his unkempt graying hair and a fraction longer to see the rope that kept him suspended. Startled, I fell flat on my rear end and screamed at the horror hanging before me. I was not alone. The cast, crew, and audience let out their own screams, gasps, and cries of shock, the ballerinas recoiling from the body as quick as they could. Wide-eyed I watched as Monsieur Buquet's inanimate body dropped heavily to the floor, like one of the backdrop weights. Everyone was gaping at the body lying center stage, but it had come from above. I looked up.
From the blackness of the catwalks above I saw that ghostly mask, empty black eyes staring down at me. For a moment I was frozen in fear. But when he spun away with a flourish of his great black cape, I panicked.
At some point I had dropped my sheep's lead rope. I did not even notice. There was nothing in my mind but a pure, blinding terror. A message had been sent to me and I received it quite clearly. The Phantom had killed Monsieur Buquet and he was coming for me next.
In the quickest, and probably most graceful move I'd ever done, I leapt to my feet.
And I ran.