chapter 33

I t was getting harder to convince myself that this was temporary. That anything with him was temporary. I wished Antoinette could see Erique as I did. Especially after she confirmed everything he'd told me. I suppose her reaction still stung.

I couldn't tell Erique, it would upset him to know that he inadvertently was the cause of my sadness.

Unrelated, after our sexy time stuff, he asked me to stay home and write with him full time. Endure more lessons. I would never have to come back up to the opera if I didn't want to. We'd either kill each other or just end up writing, singing, and fucking all day.

Where was I going with this? To fucking la la land, that's right.

I admit, the offer was tempting. But if I quit, I didn't think they'd like me hanging around the opera. Not that I had been walking through restroom doors much lately.

I smiled at the sweet thought as I sanded down the freshly cut edges of the wooden cross I'd been working on, and sang songs that I missed hearing.

I had really come to like repair work. And lucky for me, something broke almost every performance. And it was easy to sneak away if I needed to.

"Christine!" I called out, jumping from my stool, as the understudies meandered into the backstage area for their rehearsal. I couldn't wait to tell her Erique and I were going away together. Finally.

She averted her eyes immediately, and her head went down as she walked away with haste. Was she avoiding me? Lunch probably upset her. She heard some not so great things. Something I'll have to figure out how to fix.

Fuck. I had put her into a stupid situation. At least she hadn't found out everything yet.

I returned to my stool and pushed on singing and working, pretending it didn't bother me. Could it get any worse?

"Miss Reilly," M. LeBlanc said.

Jesus.

My body tensed. I was not in the mood for bullshit. The managers only talked to me when they wanted something. Usually something to do with Philippe.

I met the mustache first, then his eyes. M. Fournier wasn't far behind. Did they ever go anywhere without the other? Seriously.

"Just the woman I wanted to see," M. LeBlanc said. "I didn't know you could sing. Very pretty. Perhaps you should consider ensemble for our next production."

Sweet talk. Great.

"I've been taking lessons, Monsieur. What can I do for you?"

"Would you happen to know where we can find Comte de Chagny? Someone said they saw him around. We thought perhaps he came to see you."

I rubbed my temple and groaned again. "I have no idea. Nor do I care."

"We have to keep him happy, Ms. Reilly. He's the biggest donor we have and he likes you."

"You know. I would like you to stop trying to hook me up with Philippe. We do not like each other. And I have someone. He wouldn't like it either."

M. LeBlanc's eyes shifted away. "Well, if you see him, could you…?"

"Yeah, sure."

Maybe I should have told them exactly who my someone was. Might keep them off my back in the future.

I blew the wood dust from the large cross and laid it down for painting. My favorite part of the fabrication process.

"I thought they'd never leave," Philippe said, stepping out from behind a large wardrobe crate.

A literal growl rolled through my chest at his voice.

First Christine won't talk to me. The managers won't leave me alone, and now this. Maybe I should have taken Erique up on his offer to quit.

He scampered over to me as if we were school friends.

"I guess you already know that the managers are looking for you," I said, searching for my bandana. Paint fumes were not going to do me in. Unlike my irritation.

"They always are. It's quite annoying really," he said. "Must be the upcoming campaign. I'm mulling the idea of holding it here, and ever since they caught wind, I haven't been able to get rid of them."

"Really?" Erique was going to love that. I was going to enjoy watching it, too. "Maybe you should."

Paying him no mind, I grabbed my paint brush and dipped it into the white paint.

"What is it that you're doing?" he asked.

Did he not have eyes? I did and I rolled mine. "I'm repairing this set piece. The other one shattered during a rehearsal."

"Hm. That sounds enjoyable ," he said, his upper lip pulling back like he smelled something awful.

"It is. What do you want, Philippe?"

He stepped closer, fidgeting with some rags on the table, dropping one and rubbing his fingers in disgust. "Would you join me for lunch?"

"Thank you. But, I think it's best you just be on your way. I have work to do," I said, keeping my eyes on my brush strokes.

"Well. I shan't get you into trouble. I promise." His quick change to playfulness lately made me uneasy.

"It's not the managers I'm worried about. And really, I don't want to." Just because I couldn't feel Erique, didn't mean he wasn't hanging around somewhere, watching.

"I would like the chance to talk with you. If you are displeased with our meeting, I will never ask you again." Regardless of Philippe's lightness, there was an undertone of displeasure in his words.

I sighed, shrugging. "Sure. Ok." At least this was a chance to finally get rid of him in an adult manner.

We walked down the hallway towards the salon. The only place to get hot and ready food in the Garnier .

It was actually my first time in the salon . Pretty much as I thought it'd be. Decorated in reds and golds like the front of the house. A stairway that led to what I assumed were the rooms they did their business in, were.

Even a small stage, where the show went on after hours.

The bartender met us at the booth Philippe had led us to.

"I ordered for us. I hope that is alright," he said.

Actually it's not. Part of why I don't like you.

"I really wasn't hungry," I said, scratching my temple, trying to figure out where to start. "Look I--"

"I fear there must be apologies made," he said. "My behavior since our first encounter has seemed to put you off to my friendship."

"Um…"

"Truth be told, it had been a long time since I danced. In many years, I haven't found myself enjoying the company of another, until now. It was bothersome to say the least when you were stolen away again." There was a realness in his eyes. What a weird thing to see for the first time.

"Well, we all need to let loose sometimes," I said. "I did want to talk to you though."

"As do I," he said, leaning forward. "I am worried for you." The warmth in his eyes was gone again. Or maybe it was just the context of the conversation we were about to have.

"For me?" I said, surprised. It was laughable. He had no idea what to be worried about.

"I've spent the past few days inquiring about this Erique Leroux," he said. I cringed hearing the false last name I'd given Erique in a moment of panic. "It seems he's a ghost. Not one contractor, architect, nor the other opera houses have heard of him."

My blood ran cold and the color left my face. "Why did you do that?"

"Because despite my better judgment, I care about you."

I thought he'd just be jealous for a moment and then move on. Apparently not. If I hadn't danced with him, this wouldn't have even been a thing.

I pulled back my hands as Philippe tried taking them from across the table and got out of the booth just as fast. Philippe mirrored my movements. "No one knew the name. I spoke to several people. There is no record of any Erique by any name on any building in Paris. Not in design nor erection," he said.

"There wouldn't be. That's what it means to be a silent partner."

"Convenient, don't you think? For someone to hide their genius is absurd."

I glanced around for a shadow that didn't belong. This day was getting shittier by the moment. I could only hope Erique didn't get involved.

"I'm sorry I didn't just blatantly say it before. I was hoping you'd just get it because you seem smart." I ignored the dismay on his face as I spoke. "I have no interest in you. At all. And I wish you'd stop doing whatever it is you're doing. You can say you rejected me. That I'm so broken. Too old. Whatever. I don't care–"

"Do you not care for your safety?" he said, squeezing my arms in his grasp.

"What's it matter to you? Really? We're not even friends. We've barely spoken," I said. "Men like you want pretty housewives and children to neglect. I don't want any of that. And if it helps, I can't even have children. Which is great for me, but not for someone who wants them."

"That won't matter," he said. His words were empty compared to before. It was frustrating to say the least.

"You're not hearing me on purpose, Philippe! Just leave me be!"

He yanked my arm as I stepped away to leave, pulling me against him. "What if I love you despite all that?" he said.

"I'd know you were lying."

With no warning, his lips pressed harshly against mine. I may be very angry with him, but he just signed his own death certificate.

I pushed him away and slapped him across the face, shocking even myself. "Don't come near me again!" I spit.

He stiffened, his eyes burning with resentment and humiliation. A dangerous place for a man's fragile mind.

Divine was my paint splotched angel as she stormed through the door and out of sight.

Where I should rejoice in her claim of me, in the blessing it was with knowledge this curse would not be passed on when we finally joined together internally, I am left with scalding fury. Blood boiled and threatened to eat through this wicked flesh.

The Ghost seethed with hatred beyond any it had felt before. My hands throbbed with stinging as I gripped my lasso tighter watching the swine attempt recovery after such a rejection.

Now she knows you, vermin.

Shrieks would ring from the bar maiden and others that infested this place when my rope looped around the wounded buffoon's neck if I were to burst from my hiding. He would be off his feet without a second thought as I yanked him around for all to see in punishment for the heinous act he had committed. This soul would enjoy sounds of his attempt for air and relief as the edge of every step dug into him while I dragged his worthless body up the stairway. I would find reprieve in seclusion within one of the many rooms to unleash every vile thought searing in my mind.

Or not.

"What are you all looking at?" le Comte de Vermin spit, throwing himself back into the booth. "Come here!" he shouted at the bar maiden.

Attention drawn to the Ghost now would be unwanted in such a way. Difficult to maintain the shroud of mystery and elusiveness if I were to pull such a stunt. Then there was my Melody.

‘It is not just the Ghost who wishes retaliation,' the Ghost said .

I slid back into the wall and rushed the passage nearest the woman behind the bar. With eyes still on the commotion, not one pair noticed an arm reaching out to place a small purse of coin on the ledge of the bar top.

"Take the Count to room one. Leave him there," I commanded the barmaid so that only she would hear. The girl's frightened eyes landed on the payment. "Lock the door behind your departure."

She took it, jamming it between her breasts and sauntered over to the vile thing.

Stale air rushed over me swiftly as I cut through it, nearing my destination. This moment held my imagination many times. To finally witness light leaving his treacherous eyes at my hand. The thought enamored me.

Would I take his life?

I nearly flew up the ladder to the second floor. The lasso pulled tighter around my hand as I eagerly closed in on the room.

The snake waited like a sacrifice within the small day room. Lips which dared to touch the flesh of an angel, ravished the woman that would bring him to his death like a pig at a trough, as if rewarded for his sins.

"One moment, Monsieur," she said playfully and opened the door. "Be good."

A signature thing my noose may have been, I slipped the lasso back into the pocket of my trousers and readied my hands. Twice now I would use these killer's hands as intended.

"So good of you to come, Monsieur," I said.

The rat had no time before my hands clamped around his neck. Rejoiced was my heart when his feet lifted from the safety of the floor and kicked about.

One could only hope something had broken when his back hit the door.

"She told you no and you touched her anyway. You touched what was mine," I spit close into his pretty face.

"You can't… kill me," he said, clawing, trying to reach for my false face. "You can't…"

My grip around his neck tightened. I was almost there. The point of no return. I would never again have this snake slither his way into a space he didn't belong.

"She'll know…" he sputtered as he turned blue.

My beautiful Melody. The look in her eyes had she found out. For her to look at me as if I were still the monster the world said of me.

My Melody would be my undoing.

Hate rumbled in my chest, wracking against the bones that housed it, tearing through my throat as I roared into his face and loosened my grip.

The cretin grabbed the handle, coughing and gasping for air as he tried to escape.

"Not so fast," I growled, catching him again and slamming his useless body into a nearby chair.

Death may not have intended to visit any longer, but he would instill a fear like the rat had never known.

"Guess it wasn't a costume," Philippe said. A harsh rasp in his voice from the crushed windpipe. "The famous opera ‘Ghost', I presume."

Depraved fingers entwined within the greasy strands of his hair with force as I yanked back. "She refuses you, yet you keep crawling from the sewers. Do you not take warning? The lady does not want you."

"Are you the reason my carriage wheels suddenly came off last night?" he asked.

"Answer me. Why do you want her so much?"

"I would give her life purpose ," he struggled to say.

"You try my patience, vermin," I said, dragging his head back again.

"Does she know it's you?" The smugness of his face begged to be peeled from the muscle it was attached and fed to him. "It's only a matter of time until she sees who you really are. Killing stagehands and chorus girls."

"You beg to be added to a list longer than you would know," I said. "If you touch her again, I will disembowel you and hang you from Mozart for all to see."

"Then her love for you would die."

"You know nothing of love." The lasso kept in my pocket, found its way into my hands, savoring the moment having been returned to its rightful place.

His frightened hands slapped, and spit spewed as the rope tightened around his noble neck.

"And you will keep your politics and diabolical self from my opera!" I seethed into pulsing ears.

Against my own desires, I would leave him unconscious and go to my Melody. This changed man would drop to his knees, mouth and hands at the ready, and reward her for never needing a reminder of where she belonged.