For little Feline
EXCHANGED
Act I
Chapter 1: In which I lift the curtain
The road to Paris was quite bumpy, and, as I looked at my phone, we still had an hour to go. Groaning, I leaned my head back against the chair. I hated bus rides. They gave me headaches and I didn't like to be in a small space for too long.
Caitlin, my best friend since elementary school, was sitting next to me. Without so much as a word, she put her hand on my shoulder. We were past the point of having to exchange any words in situations like these. She knew I hated bus rides, I knew she hated waiting in lines.
Suddenly, Cate started tapping my shoulder rather obnoxiously.
"Tonight, in the hostel we should definitely watch it! We are going to the Opéra Garnier tomorrow."
Another thing I wasn't particularly looking forward to: sharing a room in a hostel with everyone in our class. I really valued my privacy. Especially when watching a cheesy romance movie. Cate was a big, big fan of the Phantom of the Opera. She had begged me to watch it with her for as long as I could remember. There was no reason in particular why we hadn't until that time. I myself enjoyed romantic movies from time to time as much as the next girl.
I guess, at that time, I had other things on my mind. Like studying for finals, reading about philosophy and history, practicing for my cello lessons and singing in my room, carefully so no one could hear. I was not a particularly bad singer, but I was not very good either. My voice had a pleasing depth, but it lacked the broad range some other singers could muster. Although I sang pop songs quite decently, I truly felt a desire to try my hand at classical music as well.
After one more torturous hour in rush-hour Paris traffic, we arrived at the hostel. Our French teacher, Mrs. Klein had trouble containing her anxiety when seeing the place. As did I. The building was small and neglected. On the top of the building a collection of brown letters must have once spelled: L'Auberge de la Dernière Chance or "The last chance inn". I say once, because the letter "e" and "c" had already fallen off. Cate and I exchanged worrisome, but humorous glances before walking in.
L'Auberge de la Dernière Chance really honored its name. It was just as neglected inside as it was outside. With its frayed carpets, moldy (common) showers, and suspiciously sour smelling blankets it had to have been the absolute worst accommodation I had ever stayed at. After several more discoveries like this, Cate and I claimed one of the top beds so that we wouldn't be bothered by classmates we didn't particularly like. We gathered all the snacks we brought, sprayed some alcohol on the mattress - we did not put it past this hostel to have bedbugs - and put the blanket over our heads.
From the moment the movie started playing on Cate's laptop, I gladly let the story take me away from the nightmare of a hostel we were in. I cheered for Christine when she debuted. I held my breath when she walked through the mirror with the Phantom. I felt a strange mix of emotions when Christine and Raoul expressed their love for each other. I gasped when Christine showed the world the Phantom's disfigurement. When the ending of the movie came around, I let out a deep sigh and removed my headphones.
I really understood why Caitlin loved this story so much that she had watched all versions and read all the books about it that existed. The only thing that bothered me a bit was the casting of the Phantom himself. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I felt like his vocal capabilities were an insult to the character. As if somehow I knew the Phantom wouldn't have approved of his own casting. How ridiculous.
After wishing Caitlin a sleepy good night, I bravely went into the hostel bed. Despite usually having some trouble falling asleep, I fell asleep instantly. I should have known then that something was wrong. I dreamt of endless hallways, staircases and underground likes. Strange statues watched me as I tried to find my way in them. But more disturbing than that was the voice I heard.
It was a voice unlike any I had ever heard. Strong and deep, yet elusive and soft. Clear as day, yet far enough to chase. It beckoned me to keep walking. Sometimes, I could swear that I was calling my name.
The next morning, I was surprisingly energetic for such an eventful night. I felt excitement as well as a strange sort of nervousness when I stared up at the imposing building of the Opéra Garnier. The statues of Beethoven, Verdi, Rossini and Mozart, stared back at me.
To Cate's relief, we did not have to stand in line for long, as Mrs. Klein was well-organised and had booked a private tour. I guessed saving costs on the accommodation had its perks. Our tour guide, a Mr. Leclerc, was a tall, thin man that looked like he was past the age of retirement. Despite this, he seemed quite excited to guide us through the building.
"This opera house was built in 1875, on behalf of Napoleon III", he said with a heavy French accent.
Despite my interest in history, I was too busy admiring my surroundings. I hardly knew where to look when we arrived in the Grand Foyer. It was grand indeed, surrounded as we were by golden, shimmering pillars, sculptures and chandeliers. My classmates were as amazed as I was, but instead opted to express said amazement by taking an abundance of selfies. I even busted Cate as she took a quick one with me behind her. That would be a lovely photo.
"This building is no longer used for opera performances," said Leclerc as we made our way to the grand staircase.
"Why not?" Cate and I exclaimed, I admit a bit louder than necessary.
In my head, I pictured what the place must have looked like in the 19th century. I imagined refined ladies and gentlemen eagerly walking to their seats, as the oil or gas lamps casted strange shapes in the shadows of the building.
Most other students were behind us now, chatting amongst each other and not paying a lot of attention to Mr. Leclerc. When he was about to speak again. I thought I saw something move. A shadow, or someone's garment. But when I moved my head to my right side, I saw no one.
"It is now regarded as the designated building for ballet performances. The Opera Bastille was made in the 20th century to fit a larger audience."
"How sad," I said softly.
"It doesn't make sense," Cate added, "it is one of the biggest opera houses in the world."
"I think it is for the best," Leclerc said ominously, "opera houses in Paris, especially this one, have known their share of misfortune."
Cate and I glanced at each other ominously.
"It is the thirteenth Opéra House that was built in Paris, and the only one that remained of its time. All Opéra Houses that were built before were closed or destroyed due to fires. Oh, and of course there is the incident with the chandelier."
"The chandelier?!" we shrieked.
Mr. Leclerc smiled, amused by our reactions.
"During a performance, the counterweight of the chandelier gave way. This made it crash into the audience. One audience member died, and others were injured."
"No way!" We exclaimed.
Monsieur Leclerc's eyes darkened.
"And most importantly: this building is enormous. From its many rooms, corridors and staircases to its underground lake. Many have gotten lost within its walls. Some were found months later, recounting tales of opera performances from long ago as if they were there in person."
"You are joking, right?" I asked, suddenly unnerved by what he was telling me, while Cate shouted: "I hope I get lost!"
As we arrived on the higher level of the building, Monsieur Leclerc lead us to the most eye-catching part of the Opera Garnier thus far. The Auditorium.
"Wow," I whispered. Somehow, our classmates were still far behind us. And despite its popularity, there were no other visitors inside the Auditorium besides Cate and I. For a room that was meant for music, it was quiet. Too quiet. It was as though an invisible audience was holding its breath in the moments just before a performance.
When Monsieur Leclerc spoke again, I cringed, feeling that his interruption of the quiet in the Auditorium was somehow offensive. As he gestured towards the ceiling, explaining how the original fresco had been replaced by a Chagall, I felt an urge to go closer to the stage. I made my way through the many seats, looking upwards to the boxes that audience members used to sit in. While taking in the Auditorium, I didn't realise that the voices of Monsieur Leclerc and Cate sounded muffled. As if they were speaking through thick glass or distant walls, their words seemed to fade before they could fully reach me. Yet, I didn't look back to see what was happening. All hairs on the back of my neck went upwards as I heard another voice, soft and gentle as a feather yet as clear as a bell ringing in the stillness.
"Rosalie."
I gasped, looking upwards to see a shadow in one of the golden boxes above. But after blinking once, it was gone.
"Is everything all right, Mademoiselle," said Monsieur Leclerc, his voice clear again. I almost jumped, startled by the sudden noise. What was happening to me? This was the second time that I had seen something that wasn't there.
"Yes, I'm perfectly all right, thank you!"
Monsieur Leclerc and Cate made their way towards me. Cate glanced at me, and I nodded, to signal to her that I was fine. At least, so I hoped.
"Somehow the rest of your class is still far behind. To reward you, I will grant you a rare delight," Monsieur Leclerc said. In my haze, I hadn't realised that we were now in front of the stage of the Auditorium. With a surprising stealth for his age, Monsieur Leclerc climbed up the stage, lifting the curtain, gesturing for us to follow him.
Although there was no decor at this moment, it was still really cool to be allowed in this spot. I fired away many questions about the logistics of changes of decors, costumes and famous Prima Donnas of the past. Cate, on the other hand, ran around the stage, screeching a song from The Phantom of the Opera.
There will never be a daaayyy
When IIII woooon't thiiink
Ooooof youuu
I gave Monsieur Leclerc an apologetic look.
"Why do they always do that," he said, wincing at Cate's attempt to reach the higher notes at the end of the song.
As Cate stopped torturing us, she fired some questions at our tour guide about box 5, which was in fact present at the opera house. In doing so, I noticed that there was access to a corridor on the right side of the stage. Thinking it was probably where they kept their props, I walked towards it curiously. I discovered some remainders of what appeared to be a German medieval landscape. I walked further into the dark as a noticed more props and pieces of decor. I saw a spinning wheel, and even a skull. I was about to pick up the skull when I was met by that familiar deafening silence. I looked back, to see that Cate and Monsieur Leclerc were nowhere behind me. As I heard, again clear as day, a voice singing.
"You little prying Pandora."
"Hello?" I said, my voice barely a whisper in the dark. There was no answer. One second passed, and then another. Until suddenly my heart nearly leapt out of my chest. I heard not one voice, but lots of them, in that same muffled way as before. Excited voices, insulted voices, curious voices seemed to be coming from the front of the stage. It was probably my class, I figured. Or maybe we had been early, and all the other visitors for the Opéra Garnier had arrived.
I had a sudden, irresistible urge to walk towards the front of the stage. One foot in front of the other, I walked back to the heavy red curtain. As my hand touched the velvet, a wave of energy, shocking in its intensity, moved through my entire body.
I blinked as lights hit my eyes and and the sound of voices exploded all around me. I stared at what I saw in front of me, disbelieving. This could simply not be real. I must still be dreaming. I must have fainted in the Opéra Garnier, and this all had to be a dream.
Because that was the only way to explain the endless number of people. Staring at me from the stage and the boxes higher in the auditorium. There were ladies in long, extravagant dresses, with lace and tight waists, their hair curled with curling irons and assembled in elaborate hairdo's. And the gentlemen in tuxes, some wearing small round eyeglasses or carrying some sort of small golden binoculair.
All stopped talking when they saw me. And I looked down at myself. I was dressed in green, red and gold. It seemed to be some sort of roman outfit. Around my shoulders I appeared to be wearing a scarf. Mortified by the sudden silence and more than a thousand stares directed at me, I looked around.
I was on a stage. No, I was on the stage. With many others that were wearing similar outfits. They were also staring at me, confused, as if they were not expecting me there. My heart was beating louder and louder, I saw stars at the edge of my vision, and I heard a loud buzzing in my head. The last thing I saw before I hit the ground was a black shadowy movement from up one of the boxes.