"They are going to be paying you soon if you keep hanging around here," Buquet sniggers.
"What?" Raoul turns around trying to find the person attached to the voice.
The chief flyman calls down from the catwalk above the stage. "I said, if you keep showing up backstage, the managers are going to have to pay you. Most of your ilk are watching the ballet girls looking for patrons to take care of them."
"I was hoping to find Mlle. Daae."
"Here?"
"Word has it she is being held in the fifth cellar."
"And where did you hear that?"
"Talked to a member of the gendarmerie, said there was a lake of sorts underneath the building to catch rainwater. Said there was a rumor the Phantom lives down there…although no one can figure out where."
"True enough," Buquet nods. "Bunch of arches and narrow walkways – not like there is anything you can say is a house."
"Well I wanted to see for myself."
"Anyway, she be in Giry's office," Buquet says, waving toward the long hallway leading away from the theater.
"I must see her," Raoul announces, turning sharply to head in the direction Buquet indicated.
"I do not think you want to do that."
"And why not?"
"She is not alone."
"How do you know this?"
"Same way you did not know I was watching you from above," Buquet says. "If the Opera Ghost as he calls himself can move around this place and not been seen, then so can I."
"You are saying her patron is the prankster?"
"Surely you figured that out for yourself…or maybe you are a dull as some whisper you to be. Maybe it is the drink. Too much whiskey."
"How dare you!"
"You are full of the stuff now, I can smell it on you even up here – you reek of the stuff," Buquet laughs. "You think you are a match for him? I am the only match for him around here and you know what he did to me."
"Then you must help me rescue her."
"From what? She is with the old bat – must mean she is coming back to the opera to sing."
"Would he release her?"
"Appears to be the case."
"I must confront him – he has likely fouled her."
"Then why would you want her? Noble person that you are. Used goods and all that."
"Do not defame her like that. She is good and honest and true," he says waving a fist at Buquet, slipping on a piece of rope hanging from the scrim Buquet is rigging.
"Hold on, man. Watch where you are stepping This is not the place to be throwing punches, even at the air, unless you want to take a fall," Buquet says. "I was just working with that line of hemp – broke loose from the sandbag holding it down."
Raoul picks up the rope, coiling it into a circle, tossing it back onto the deck.
"Do not touch the rope," Buquet calls out becomes entangled in the loose line. The shift in the ballast causes the catwalk to tilt.
"God, no!" Raoul cries, reaching for the flyman as he falls from the gallery.
A short cry is cut short.
"Buquet?" Raoul calls out, jumping up and down wildly trying to reach the body hanging just out of his reach. "Buquet, can you hear me? Answer me."
Looking around frantically, Raoul lifts up the rope he tossed on the floor, but there is no play and has no effect on the rope trapping Buquet's body. "Help. I must get help," he says, wringing his hands. "But you will be blamed." Pacing back and forth, he continues muttering. "Accident, it was an accident. Even so, you have no reason to be here." Chancing another look up, shuddering at the sight of the body hanging above him, he decides. "No reason to get involved."
Pushing past the upstage curtains, past the prop storage, he breaks out of the stage door leading to the alley. Once outside, he leans against the brick wall, breathing heavily, forcing himself to take deep breaths. Pulling his flask from the inner pocket of his vest, he swallows deeply.
"While I suspected you had a problem with drink, I never thought you would become one of those drunkards who takes to the streets to imbibe," Nadir Khan says.
"I am in shock," Raoul says, quickly placing the cap back on the flask.
"Indeed and what shocked you may I ask?"
Taking a moment to catch his breath, he eyes the daroga, then blurts out waving a shaky hand toward the door, "I…I just saw the Phantom…in there, he was up in the area above the stage."
"Indeed…in the catwalk?"
"Yes. He was arguing with one of the workmen…Buquet, I think is his name," Raoul continues, "I was afraid they would see me, so I left."
"And you were in the theater for what reason? There are no performances scheduled…and the dancers are not rehearsing."
"I was trying to find Mlle. Daae. I was told she might be with the Opera Ghost…that he lived in the fifth cellar."
"But you saw him in the fly gallery?"
"Yes. Yes. That is so. In the area above the stage…as I just said. I saw him and…and I panicked."
"I thought you wanted to find him."
"Not him. Christine."
"But if she was with him…"
"She was not with him," he says. "She was with Madame Giry."
"Is that so? And how do you know this?"
"Buquet told me..."
"Before or after his argument with the Phantom?"
"Before…of course, before," Raoul snaps.
"But you did not see him enter the catwalk to engage with Buquet?"
"He must have been waiting there."
"Why?"
"Maybe he was waiting for Buquet."
"Or maybe you are lying." Taking Raoul's arm, Nadir leads him back inside. "Let us check the stage, just to be certain your Phantom fellow is gone. I am certain M. Buquet will be happy to assist us."
"No," Raoul pulls away.
"Yes." Nadir tightens his hold on the vicomte's arm.
A hubbub of activity greets them as they pass through the backstage area of the theater.
One of the crew balances on a ladder, holding Buquet up, while another man on the catwalk loosens the ropes wrapped around the inert body.
"Is he alive?" Nadir calls out.
"I think so," the man on the ladder calls down.
Another man approach with a gurney. "Do you need any help, Jacques?" he calls up to the man on the fly gallery.
"No, I am finished," Jacques replies, pulling up the rope loosened from around Buquet. "You can take him down the ladder now, Henri."
The man pushes the stretcher to the ladder and helps Henri down the ladder, grabbing Buquet as they reach the deck. "His breathing is shallow…one of the ropes caught around his neck."
Nadir rushes over. "Raise his arms above his head while I put pressure on his chest."
"What are you doing?" Raoul shouts at him, frozen in place. "Is he alive?"
"Helping him breathe," Nadir looks up at him, "Barely…but, yes, he is alive."
"Who found him?" Raoul asks Henri.
"I did," Henri says. "Heard what sounded like a ruckus and wanted to see what was going on. When I saw Joseph hanging from the catwalk I grabbed the ladder and called for help."
Jacques guides himself down a rope and joins Nadir. "This does not make any sense, Buquet was an expert in the flies."
"He trained all of us," Henri says. "He was very strict about the lines…making sure no one would get hurt – been a few accidents lately. No one hurt…he always blamed the Phantom…became a kind of joke…anytime a prop would be misplaced or a scrim would fall one of the ballet girls…usually young Giry would say it was the Phantom of the Opera then run off screaming."
"You did not believe that?" Nadir asks.
"No, monsieur, so many of the lines and props are so old…they never want to buy anything new…breakdowns happened all the time."
"Been having trouble with one of the lines off and on…coming off its ballast," Albert continues. "I asked if Joseph if he wanted some help, but he said he could take care of it."
"All of you were here?" Raoul asks.
"Yes, thank God," Jacques replies, "Always work to be done – just like Henri said. Why do you ask?"
"Nothing. No reason." Raoul offers a half smile, shaking his head. "I just thought the theater was empty."
The sound of loud coughing interrupts the discussion. Nadir steps back as Albert and Henri help Buquet sit up. "How are you feeling?"
"Strange, lightheaded and my throat hurts," he replies, rubbing his neck. His eye catches Raoul backing away from the group. "What happened? Why am I on this thing?"
"We thought you could tell us," Jacques says. "You were all tangled in the lines, hanging from the catwalk."
Raoul offers a slight wave. "Happy to see you are well."
"I am happy to be well, seems like I might have been a goner." Buquet turns to Nadir and his crew. "Thank you for what you did."
"Of course," Nadir says. "So, you do not recall what brought you to this state?"
Squinting at Raoul, the master of the flies shakes his head. "Maybe after I get some rest. Feeling very weak."
"I can lease a carriage," Nadir offers. "You cannot walk in your condition."
"Thank you, Monsieur."
"Can we come along?" Henri asks. "Albert, Joseph and me share a flat…we could take care of him…if he needs anything."
"Are you done with your tasks for the day," Buquet manages a chuckle. "Cannot have you shirking on your job just for a carriage ride."
"They can go," Jacques laughs. "Too much excitement going on around here lately. They deserve a carriage ride."
"Very well, then," Nadir says. Turning to Raoul he quirks an eyebrow. "And you?"
"I have the family coach waiting for me," he says, rocking back and forth on his feet – his pale blue eyes looking toward the hallway to the offices. "I thought I might stop by to see Madame Giry, but perhaps now is not the right time."
"Good thinking," the Persian says. "Gentlemen, if you want to assist your friend, I will accompany the vicomte out and hail a carriage."
"We just need to get our jackets and caps," Henri says as they return to the backstage area.
"I believe I can find my own way out," Raoul says tipping his top hat. After a slight hesitation, he nods at Buquet, then strides to the stage door without looking back.
Nadir somber demeanor breaks as he cracks a smile at Raoul's exit. "Good-bye then."
"Home, Monsieur le Vicomte?" The driver asks as Raoul climbs into the carriage, slamming the door behind him before the man can offer any assistance.
Slumping down onto the bench seat, he chews on his thumbnail.
After a short while, the driver says, "Does Monsieur le Vicomte wish me to take him to a café, perhaps?"
"No. I do not know."
"The Bois, perhaps?"
"Why are you questioning me like this?" Raoul barks.
"The traffic, Monsieur," the driver says, a note of apology in his voice. "I am being encouraged to move."
"Very well, then…just drive, I do not care where at the moment. I am not interested in sightseeing – I need to think," Raoul snaps. "Drive around the opera house – to the Rue Scribe – park there."
As his carriage moves slowing into the Place de l'Opera, he watches as Nadir and the other men help Buquet into the leased coach. "Why could he not have just died?"
"Where are we going," Christine asks, touching Erik's back lightly as they went their way through the narrow passageway.
Erik swallows hard at her touch. These moments have happened more and more often. A brush of hands, small smiles exchanged when reading…each of them looking up at one another at the same time. Early on he might flinch or pull away, causing her to seem sad…or frightened at times. Touch for him usually meant punishment. The past two weeks informed him of the difference. What a good and kind girl she is.
"This is entry to the house you will being using for coming and going."
"Coming and going? Not just for our carriage rides?"
Erik swallows hard. "Yes. I will accompany you now and to and from your performances until you are comfortable on your own."
"On my own?"
Stopping, Erik says, "Here we are." Having reached the gate, he digs into the pocket of his waistcoat. He removes a key and hands it to her. "This is the key to the gate. Make note of where we exit, if you have not already done so…so there is no confusion in the future."
"Where are we going now?" she asks, looking down at the key before tucking it into her reticule.
"To see Adele."
"Oh."
"I hope you are pleased."
"I am…I am just surprised."
"That was my intention – to give you a happy surprise."
"I am to sing on stage again?"
"And will see your friends – that is what you wished."
"But I will still see you?"
Erik closes his eyes and sighs deeply. So this was not a mistake. Perhaps Adele was right, Christine did care for him for himself. "As much as you wish." Forever, he hopes. "We can speak of that later. Now we must hurry, she is expecting us."
"Erik?" Placing a gloved hand gently on his arm when they reach the street.
"My dear?"
"Thank you. I think I should like seeing the sun most of all…with you beside me."
"This is quite nice, I must admit," he says squinting up at the blue sky. A rare smile breaks when he offers his arm, and she takes it. "Come, for all the sunshine, the air is still brisk, and I should not like for either of us to take cold."
