Phantoms in Phantasma

This story is loosely based on ALW's Love Never Dies. Set in Coney Island, Phantasma, the Phantom's entertainment park. But it is closer to Phantom of the Opera than LND, so I guess it is a crossover...


It was a normal day in early spring in Phantasma. The entertainment park was open for business, but it was a rather cold day and so not many customers came as was to be expected in spring.

Mr. Erik Y, the owner, sat in his penthouse on top of the theater building and tried to write some music. He needed something for a new show. He needed several new shows each year, otherwise Phantasma would become boring to the customers - and fail, like other vaudeville shows in Coney Island did. Customers always wanted something new, something they had not seen or heard before. More dangerous - or seemingly dangerous - acts, even more spectacular magic acts and even more revealing dresses. Erik wondered what they would ask for if the girls were dancing stark naked - would he have to peel their skin off?

Music. He should write music and leave the rest to Madame Giry, she was much better at everything else, from the costumes and the dancing to the stage design. He was only there because she was no composer.

But was he still a composer? He had absolutely no idea what to do now. He felt empty. The silence within himself was frightening. He had been used to music coming to him like a tidal wave, overwhelming, forcing him to play it, to write it down, and now - nothing. He felt like the lake from which he had drawn the vital water had dried up and left a hostile, deadly desert.

He got up and stared at the newspaper reviews of other vaudeville shows. Maybe he could... ridiculous! The others were trying in vain to copy his shows, so there was nothing he could learn from them.

There was an orient exhibition in some museum. Maybe he could draw up a show about a sultan and a harem intrigue? With lots of belly dancing girls? He went to the piano and played listlessly some uninspired tunes.

He stared at the shelf with a decanter with cognac. French cognac. He mustn't. Drinking won't give him any inspiration, only a headache on the next day. Maybe he should travel to the city and visit the opera or a concert hall. Whatever. Hear real music, maybe that would help him. A few days off from his daily labor.

A knock at the door startled him. "Madame Giry, I am no composing machine!" He yelled, expecting the annoying old crone to scold him because she needed his music for the new show - they should have given it to the lyricist three weeks ago and rehearsals should have been started yesterday. Yet he had not drawn up one single note. Nothing. He was behind schedule, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything.

"Forget the show..." Madame Giry was white in her face and trembling, "This is serious."

"Giry, what happened? Here, take a seat." Erik helped her to a chair and poured her a cognac. She looked like she really needed it. "You look like you had seen a ghost."

Madame Giry drowned the cognac in a rather unladylike manner and held out her glass for a refill. Erik took the glass from her hand, she was trembling so hard, he could not fill it and he didn't want to spill cognac on her dress.

"One ghost? You know me - seeing one ghost a day is daily business..." Madame Giry was slowly calming down enough to speak more clearly. "If it was a ghost, I would be fine. No. Unfortunately they aren't ghosts..."

"Stop speaking in riddles," Erik snarled annoyed.

Madame Giry reached for her handkerchief to whipe her forehead. "They are waiting for you at the cafe at the beach."

"Who? Tax authorities? Police? A lawyer? Mobsters?" Erik was in no way concerned. He had dealt with all of that before and was sure he could again.

"Managers," Madame Giry was close to fainting.

"If that is a joke, Madame, I'll have your head for this!" Erik snarled. He had dealt with so many managers of competitive businesses on Coney Island, surely Madame Giry knew better than to pretend to have a heart attack just because someone of his competitors wanted to see him. That was business as usual.

Erik hurried to the cafe. When he saw who was sitting there at a table in the pub garden, enjoying the beautiful view of the ocean, the beach and having a drink, he himself felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

"Mr. Y, what a pleasure to meet you," Giles André waived his hand.

"Come and join us, please!" Richard Firmin even got up from his chair to grab an empty chair to place it at their table.

Erik was close to hyperventilating. He struggeld to breathe as he sat down. He had to sit. He could not even run.

"My good man, you look like you've seen a ghost," Firmin chuckled and called out the waiter to order a glass of water for Mr. Y.

"Or maybe we should say - you look like you've seen a PHANTOM." André was obviously enjoying himself.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Erik snarled, finally recovering enough from his shock to speak again.

"A holiday trip. And we enjoy it very much, thanks to you, Mr. Y. You build up a nice entertainment park, I must say. Really. My compliments. Very good work."

Erik didn't even get which one of the two spoke. It didn't matter. His head was spinning. He needed to do something. Anything. Get rid of them. Of course he couldn't do anything in broad daylight before the eyes of customers and employees. He had to keep up the act and pretend everything was fine until he found any solution to his problem. His two problems, to be precise.

"Why don't you just show us around a bit?" André suggested.

"After all, we are more or less colleagues now, aren't we?" Firmin's grin left no doubt that he meant this in two ways, and Erik knew only too well what that would mean for him.

Erik wasn't sure what to do or to say. He still frantically tried to think of a way out of this. Anything. He took a deep breath. What could they do? What had they already done? He was a wanted man and the police in France knew his face. Christine had unmasked him before a full opera house, audience, policemen, guards, staff - roughly estimated three thousand witnesses would be able to identify him as the dreaded Phantom of the Opera should they come face to face. His deformity was unique, it was highly unlikely any judge would ever doubt that so many witnesses would mistake him for someone else. How had Andrè and Firmin been able to track him down in America? How? Or was it just unfortunate coincidence that they came to New York for whatever reason and recognized him? If they had - how many others could do? Just how many people knew by now?

"What... what do you want?" Erik asked, his voice shaking despite his best efforts to hide his anxiety.

"For now? A not much. A nice holiday. A box in your vaudeville show, perhaps?" Firmin looked absolutely pleased with himself and Erik had to suppress the urge to hit him in the face.

"There are no boxes in the theater," Erik replied, "I can, however, offer you a table and free refreshments during the show."

"No boxes? What disappointment. We had hoped you would always keep box five empty, for the sake of the good old days."

"It is a vaudeville show, not an opera house," Erik snarled annoyed, "Most men come there to have dinner and drinks while the shows are on the stage."

André and Firmin nodded to each other in silent communication. Whatever they were thinking, they knew each other very well and did not need any words at all to know what the other man was thinking.

"Then we will be happy to attend tonight," Firmin said with a smile.

André added: "We like French champagner and lobsters, we really prefer French cuisine to whatever it is they serve in American restaurants. Is that something you can do for us?"

Erik rolled his eyes. Right now he had no choice but to play along and hope they had not already called the authorities. He could only guess that they had not, otherwise he'd be in chains now and the French ambassador requesting that he was to be delivered to France to stand trial for his crimes. Obviously they were very sure of themselves and must have something to make sure he would not dare to harm them. Maybe some document locked away with a notary public to be opened in case they did not savely return to France? That would be well beyond his reach and he would have to do anything to ensure their safety.

"There is a French chef. I will give him the instructions. You have the table from six p.m. to midnight, if you like. Each show is half an hour and half an hour breaks between the shows." Erik told them. He didn't know if a table was available or if the house was full. He would have to find a way to make it possible. Somehow.


While the managers of the Paris Opera enjoyed a stroll at the beach, Erik called an emergency meeting of his leading team, including Meg Giry, who usually was not on that team.

They came immediately. The last emergency meeting had been only two years ago when a terrible accident happend that maimed one of the performers and the safety of the audience could not be guaranteed. So they were extremely worried what had happened, it must be something really bad or Mr. Y would not call for an emergency meeting.

"You know that the Giry's and I came here from Paris. Many of you suspected me to be a wanted criminal in France. Unfortunately these rumors are true - and now my past is catching up with me. Two men recognized me and are here in Phantasma now. I do not know what they want. Maybe they want revenge. I don't think they want justice or they would have called the police. I think they want revenge. But I have no idea what they are up to, who is backing them and how they placed information that will be revealed if anything happens to them."

"Could it be they are bluffing?" Dr. Gangle asked.

Erik shuddered. "I do not know. What I do know is: They know perfectly well what I am capable of and ran right into Phantasma with a smug grin on their faces. Do you really think they would do that if they had not carefully put in motion some plan to ensure their safety?"

"Maybe it is the Vicomte," Madame Giry suggested, "He had been the one to work out the plan to catch you in the first place."

"Maybe it is Carlotta? You killed her beloved Piangi," Meg added.

"Don't be ridiculous", Erik snapped, "Carlotta was a hysterical primadonna and lacks the brain to come up with an elaborate scheme. All she can do is throw temper tantrums. She's a dog that barks but is rather toothless when it comes down to it."

"So your working theory is that it might be the Vicomte?" Giry tried to bring them to focus on the topic at hand.

"Or they did it on their own. We do not even know how much time they had to prepare their revenge. So right now, we have nothing and all I can do is play along and do their bidding until we find out what they are up to so we can defy them." Erik was thinking like a general at war now. Unfortunately the enemy had concealed everything very well so Erik was aware that he had no choice at all now.

"Your past definitely catches up with you," Dr. Gangle added with a sympathetic smile, "Maybe you should consider leaving New York?"

"Maybe - maybe not. I am afraid they learned a lot from my activities in Paris. They know that any direct threat can easily be countered but as long as they keep me in the dark, I cannot know what they are up to, if they are bluffing or not and... I can do nothing. But for you it is this now: Watch them carefully. Our best security employees shall dicreetely watch them. Make sure nothing bad happens. They might have placed an "to be opened in case something happens to me" document somewhere. So I need them alive and well until I find out where they placed their information bombs and defuse them."

That moment the secretary knocked.

"I have a note for Madame Giry," he announced.

Erik groaned and Madame Giry glared at Erik as if all of this was his fault. His alone. She took the note and read it aloud: "Dear Madame Giry, we are so happy to see you alive and well. When you and your daughter were nowhere to be found we were afraid the Phantom killed you because you, as his former accomplice, had betrayed him. We are happy to find you alive and well. But, we must say, we are concerned for your safety if you still support him. Your obedient friends,..."

With a shriek she threw away the note as if it was burning her fingers and turned to Erik: "This is all your fault!"

"Stop that!" Dr. Gangle interrupted, "We need to stay calm and think. We have a common enemy. When the danger has passed, you can continue to argue, but not now!"


André and Firmin were almost giddy as they entered the theater. Firmin touched a column and informed André that it was just painted wood. "An illusion and not even a good one. What did you expect? Our masked friend is a pretender. Nothing was ever real around him." André replied.

Erik overheard as he went to the foyer to greet them. He couldn't get through the crowd, they recognized the famous mask of Mr. Y and everyone wanted to see him, wanted to speak with him, some asked for autographs. Erik hated being a celebrity. It felt far too much like being an animal in the zoo, a freak in a freakshow. But he could do nothing about that. He forced himself to smile and act as if he enjoyed the attention and was happy to greet everyone there. They were paying customers and he needed the money. When he finally made it to where André and Firmin watched with growing curiousity, he was drenched in sweat and felt sick. Erik would have preferred to lock himself in his office. Or a storeroom. Or whatever - just to be alone and not having to interact with anyone.

But he could not. He greeted André and Firmin with a polite bow. "Messieurs, welcome to my theater," he said.

"Is it yours, like in 'really yours' or just like in 'your opera house'?" Firmin inquired and André tried not to laugh.

Erik rolled his eyes. "It is mine, I assure you."

"As if your word was worth something!" André shot back.

"It is. Now, let me show you to your table..."

Erik had had his staff add an extra table at the back of the auditorium. It was not a good place for a table as it was partly behind a column that supportet the rank. The theater did not have any boxes, but they had parkett and rank. In the parkett were the tables and food and drinks were served, the ranks just had chairs and no food. A waitress approached them, carrying a tray with two glasses of champagner and some French snacks.

"Two glasses? You are not even joining us?" Firmin asked.

"Mr. Y, we insist! Please, have a seat and enjoy the performance with us." André asked and turned to the waitress to order a bottle of champagner and more food. "I take it, it is on the house anyways, isn't it, my dear Mr. Y?"

The waitress looked at Erik, unsure what was going on there. It was highly unusual that Mr. Y had guests, he had a reputation of being rather frugal. Erik bit his lip and nodded to the waitress. "They are my guests," he confirmed through clenched teeth.

Firmin grabbed his arm and Erik instinktively freed himself with a quick movement. "We insist, Mr. Y. Please sit with us. We prefer to share our criticism and suggestions for improvement with you in direct dialogue rather than through intermediaries and letters. You see, we think it was only fair to tell you our opinion face to face and give you the chance to explain or defend yourself instead writing anonymous letters."

Erik told one of the waiters to bring another chair. It was an old chair that was no longer used regularly, but there was noting else available. The house was full. Wood splinters in his back were the least of his worries.

André and Firmin really enjoyed their food and drinks, Erik surely had lost all appetite, especially watching them eating as if they had been starving for weeks.

When the show began, André nudged Firmin. "The ballett is entrancing but the chous is a lamentable mess," he commented chuckling and Erik flinched as if someone had punched him in the pit of the stomach. He remembered all too well the words he had used in his blackmail letters, having them thrown back at him in some twisted way hurt.

"Madame Giry has always been a good ballett mistress. But whoever is in charge of the chorus needs a good telling-off. That man has to be deaf!" Firmin complained.

"And here sits Mr. Y who demanded that some chorous members must be sacked. I am just glad he never asked to do the audtitions himself. Look what happens when he is manager! This is by far worse than anything I've ever heared!"

It was not that bad and the three of them knew. The managers of Paris Opera just enjoyed complaining and throwing insults at the former Phantom.

Erik was chewing on his nails. He could not do anything.

"Ah, is that a cheap knock-off of Don Juan?" Firmin asked Erik directly, pointing to the stage. Well, it was. Unfortunately. Erik had needed a show and for lack of any ideas at all decided to use the Don Juan theme to stage something with many girls in flimsy costumes and one male dancer.

"Guilty as charged," Erik hissed, "That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? But I have to disappoint you - it is not forbidden to be inspired by your own work."

"Agreed. But you really seem to be running out of inspiration, isn't it? This... is so very far from anything any decent stage would ever..."

"It is a vaudeville show! What did you expect? Even the best vaudeville show is just that... vaudeville." Erik felt the need to defend himself. He could take insults, but he could not endure anyone thinking he'd not be able to do better. The music was mediocre, he knew it, but he could not even try to bring a really good music to the stage of a vaudeville show, the audience would not appreciate that. "Later this evening we will have a better show," he explained, "The eight p.m. show is the best today. Unfortunately it is still just vaudeville, so lower your expectations."

André and Firmin stared at him for a moment, then chuckled, a noise that was drowned by applause as this show act was over and audience started leaving their tables and waiters checking if people who did not leave really had tickets for the next show.

"I wonder how the Phantom would have reacted had I ever asked him to lower his expectations," André asked dryly.

"I note that this... this theater does not even have a chandelier. Safety measures or couldn't you afford one?" Firmin adressed Erik directly.

Erik inhaled deeply. They were surely wearing him down, forcing him to sit with them and enduring their ridicule. "Safety measures. I value the safety of my employees and patrons."

"We couldn't agree more. O. Champagner's empty. Can you order another bottle? Where did the waitress go?"


Erik excused himself and left the building. He needed air. He could no longer sit with them, he didn't trust himself not to kill them. A walk on the beach should clear his head.

Unfortunately far too soon Madame Giry approached him. "They asked me to give you a note," she informed him, she was clearly as annoyed as Erik was.

Erik read the note and held it out to Madame Giry. "They ask me to replace Meg Giry with another leading lady."

Madame Giry exploded with fury. "Now that goes too far! Never! I will not have that! I am..." She turned to go, but Erik grabbed her arm and held her back.

"Stop it! You cannot kill them!" Erik told her sternly.

"What makes you think I was going to kill them?" Giry was really taken aback by his suspicion. She had never hurt anyone in her life, at least not willfully.

Erik let go of her. "I'm sorry. It is just nerves... o no. There they are. Can't they give me at least one moment's respite?" He went to Andrè and Firmin who had obviously been following Madame Giry with some distance. "I thought you'd enjoy the show?" he asked, his tone making quite clear he wanted to tell them to go to hell and needed all self-discipline he had to behave politely.

"And yet we thought you'd appreciate us letting you know we are here instead of secretly spying on you from behind some mirrors..."

"Yes, really kind of you." Erik's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "I got your note. And I have to tell you to leave Meg Giry out of this. She's innocent. She had nothing to do with the Phantom. She was just a child and knew nothing, did nothing. I understand that you want revenge, but this goes too far. Meg ihas suffered enough through no fault of her own. Leave her be."

There was something in Madame Giry's face that told Erik he had done something right standing up to protect Meg.

Firmin shook his head. "No, you don't understand. I am really worried about Meg. The years have not been kind on her, she looks much older than she is. Being your leading lady is too much of a burden for her. You should replace her for her own good."

"It is her career, she should..." Madame Giry cut in but Erik stopped her.

"No, I think they are right. You had to stop dancing when you had that accident. It saved your life, you would have killed yourself with your ambition. We owe Meg at least enough care that we won't wait until she's crippled herself. You as her mother should see that." Now where did that come from? What was he trying to accomplish? Present himself as a good role model of a manager?

"So now you are worried for the well-being of your employees? That's good to see, for you weren't always that considerate, weren't you?" André reminded him.

Erik could not endure any more. "Stop it. Stop it now! Name your terms, I will comply for I have no choice. But stop tormenting me!"

"He breaks by far sooner than we did. We did not even need to threaten him with anything. We did not need many notes or threats, we did not need a disaster beyond his imagination..." Firmin was clearly enjoying himself.

"Just tell me what you want!" Erik yelled.

"You on the gallows with a noose around your neck." the Vicomte's voice demanded.


"Erik? Erik, wake up!"

Erik woke with a start. He was relieved that he was in his own bed, not at the beach, and there was no one who knew him as the Phantom. He looked up at Meg Giry's face.

"Another nightmare?" Meg asked sympathetically, "Care to tell me?"

Erik shook his head. "Just... the usual."

"Keep your secrets, Mr. Y, if you must," Meg pouted.

"Meg?"

"Hmmm?"

"I think we should go on holiday. What do you think? A few days away from Phantasma, Coney Island, from every work and business and all that... just the two of us. We could both do with a few days off to relax."

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Please review, I really hope you like this new one-shot.