chapter 5

I t took all night, but after a little convincing, Antoinette taught me a few verses to get me through the door. Just something to the point like "I need a job," etc.

She gave me some money to get there and back. Part of me felt like she was just worried because of how she found me.

"Work here," she said, pointing to the area around us as we waited for the taxi.

Taxi was said the same in French. Despite slight differences in the way some of the shared words were said, I've managed to pick out a few here and there. Win.

I wished I could just tell her it wasn't work I was looking for, but how do you tell someone that you're actually trying to find a magic bathroom that might send you home?

The sun was out, and I should have been enjoying the ride to the opera house. The place I have wanted to go since 8th grade history. But my insides were having a jump off, and the irritation the wig was giving me had my mind elsewhere. It itched like hell.

Cold sweats and chills riddled me worse when the cab came to a stop. There was no way this was going to be easy. What were the chances I could just walk right in there?

The building was bigger than I remembered. And now that the light shone down on it, every detail was visible. Pegasi and the angels. Busts of famous composers, and so much more.

What I wouldn't give to have done this another way.

There was a man in blue at the door to the building, stopping people from entering. My mind tried to freak me out, get me to turn back around as I hid behind a pillar, just out of sight.

Those acting classes were finally going to come in handy. Except this was live. Me and live performances did not do so well together.

No. No. You got this… There's no audience.

" Excuse me. Vous ne pouvez pas y entrer ," he said, stopping me just as I reached the door.

There was a plus. Regardless of what I thought of myself, old men loved the fuck outta me. And the doorman fell into that category. Even as I got older, my chubby face still received unwanted attention. I just hope it worked this time too.

Please. Please. Don't piss yourself.

" Hello Monsh ~ieur" I stumbled. Fail one. " Oh! Excuse me. Um." Come on. You practiced this… I cleared my throat. " I… I have an appointment ."

" Avec qui? " he said, somewhat smugly.

What did he say?

My stage smile stayed locked, and I took a chance. "Managers?"

" Gestionnaires? " he asked with suspicion in his tone. " êtes- vous un interprète? "

Interprète? Interprète? I knew that word... What was it? Performer!

" Yes! " I twirled, and bowed.

He shrugged and opened the door, gesturing inside.

As soon as my foot hit the tile floor and the door closed behind me, the sweet fa?ade dropped.

There were so many people in the large foyer. Some wiping down statues and railings along the staircase. Mostly a bunch of men carrying construction equipment in and out through doors next to it. No one was even going to notice me for how busy it was.

Casually, I sped across the room to the stairway and ascended like a wasp was after me, all while trying to remember which way to go.

There couldn't have been that many restrooms in this place, right?

Wrong.

When I reached the top, I wasn't assured. All the doors looked the same and I couldn't remember where the one I came from was.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The first door I tried opened into a small private box overlooking the theater. That's when I saw it, the source of a million glasses shattering last night. The chandelier had fallen.

Shivers rippled through me as I stared at the dismantled fixture.

" Hé! " A young man with bright eyes stood in the doorway, holding a broom. More curious than angry. " Qu'est ce que tu fais ici? "

"Uh…Uh…" I glanced back and forth between him and the shattered chandelier, "Uh… no French. Employ? "

He smirked. "Ah! Viens ," he said, waving at me to follow behind.

With clenched teeth I nodded and followed him out.

Shit.

As we passed by door after door, I started to think that I wasn't even sure I'd know the bathroom if I saw it.

It could have been any of them. I was so fucked.

We stopped in front of a door off to the side in the giant foyer. A few male voices bled through from the other side. It sounded like they were arguing.

I could wait for the dude to walk off and then go back down the way we came, but the young man knocked on the door before I could stop him.

He nodded and left me there.

Within seconds the door swung open and a tall, lanky, curly haired man was eyeing me with the most annoyed expression.

" Yes?! Que veux-tu? " If voices could cut, this one would for sure do it. " Bien? "

Another man's voice yelled out from behind him. "Fournier, Qu'est-ce? "

" Employ? " I asked.

Fournier spoke over his shoulder, "It's a cute, plump girl. I think she's looking for work."

"I am looking for work," I retorted, "Sir."

Fournier's face fell.

The other man jumped up with a big, toothy grin. He was much larger, but roughly the same height as Fournier. Probably had the thickest mustache I'd ever seen, too. For sure, would have given Tom Selleck a run for his money.

"It seems the ole boy put his foot in his mouth, as you Americans say. Bonjour, Elias LeBlanc. And this buffoon is my partner, Jean Fournier."

"Melody Reilly," I said.

"Well, Ms. Reilly. What's an American doing in Paris?" LeBlanc asked.

"That's complicated."

"Yes. This is all nice. We need to get back to important things, Elias…" Fournier interjected.

"Ah. Yes," he answered.

"Well, what can you do, girl?" Fournier spit.

"Oh, uh, I'm a pretty decent actor," I said before thinking.

"Can you sing?" he asked.

"I… No. I can paint though! Practically fabricate anything. I saw that you're having some work done downstairs." The two men grimaced at the mention of the repairs. "I worked construction for a time… I, uh, can do whatever's needed."

"You've done men's work?" LeBlanc asked, raising his brows in surprise? Disbelief?

It was unimportant.

"I wouldn't put it that way Monsieur, but yes? Mostly as a fabricator. Costumes, props, etc," I said. "Firefighter at one point. But I think that means something different here."

Fournier pursed his lips, obviously annoyed by the conversation between us. "We have no use for more in the arts department. Can you clean? Cook?"

"If that's what you need." I knew I shouldn't be picky but there were some things that weren't worth it. "I… I would really, really prefer not to do shit rags. Please."

It was easy to see LeBlanc was on my side, probably just to get at Fournier for his attitude. He chuckled and pulled Fournier aside, where they spoke amongst themselves for a few minutes in French so I couldn't understand. Or at least they hoped.

"Do you have no husband or children?" LeBlanc asked.

"No, nothing. Why?"

"Are you in need of lodging? Or must we provide that too?" Fournier snipped.

The hotel was a way away from there. I could make it work if I had to, but the idea of being in the opera house to get home anytime was hard to pass up. And I was sure Antoinette would understand.

"Uh. Is there somewhere nearby that I can afford with what you pay?"

"A few of the service workers stay on site. You may as well," Fournier said matter of fact, "After a salary cut of course."

I was drawing a royal flush in Hell.

"You start tomorrow, move in today if you need," he said, ending the conversation. Probably itching to get back to current issues.

None of it mattered. I didn't plan on being there long, anyway.

"AH! Comte De Chagny!" The men greeted.

I froze mid signature on the contract for employment. Did they just say De Chagny? As in Raoul?

Ignoring the pit in my stomach growing, I turned slowly.

My jaw hit the floor, and my heart fell out of my ass. It never occurred to me at any point in time that this could happen.

In the doorway, dressed to the nines, stood a very handsome man with dark eyes and longer, dark hair. He was almost every character Colin Firth ever played. Arrogance radiated from him as he made no attempt to acknowledge me.

Behind him, an equally tall, handsome younger man with shorter light brown hair smiled with a sweet air about him.

The situation I was in was already ludicrous. But this? The stories of the Phantom were fiction... right? There's no way the people were real. I researched it. It was fiction.

Just a coincidence. There's no way Raoul and his older brother Philippe were standing in front of me.

Completely involuntary, I gasped, "Did you say De Chagny?"

It couldn't be you. How pathetic I was, straining to see through the cracks in the floor above, the second her voice brushed my ears. The girl with the crimson-coated face which had hid in my arms, clinging to me as if I were her protector. Was she truly here? In my opera?

And, of course, her lovely name would be Melody.

At great risk to myself, I rushed the ladder just to peer through the concealed hatch next to M. Fournier's desk, where I collected my monthly salary.

Turn back so that I might confirm...

Life vacated my chest at confirmation of the face I had seen in dreams and again in the night.

"Excuse me," she said nervously and whipped around. Her French was like that of a child learning to speak. How it delighted my ears.

H?tel des Anges was in the perfect district for work, and she was safe with the old woman. Why venture this far?

"How are you here?" My words fell into the stale darkness that surrounded me.

Rehearsals were to begin for the new production of Danser Avec Le Diable and my tolerance had worn thin for the untalented Spaniard and her tantrums. More so, Christine was ready to shine brightly on my stage and awe the world with the voice I'd given her.

On this morning, I was to urge Monsieur's Fournier and LeBlanc to move Christine from understudy to lead at present. But, stumbled upon their conversation regarding last night's events brought a smile to my lips. Such despair at having to repair the most extravagant chandelier.

Enjoyment fell as soon as they mentioned the girl who had been discarded in a room of the salon the same night. Murdered by hands so vile.

These men were keen on sweeping it under the stage with all the other forgotten things. They would have no justice? Pity. I loved a good chase.

Another would take up the case, that was certain. They always did.

"The Opera Ghost had struck again." So, they would believe.

"Miss Reilly, Marcus will take you to your room," M. LeBlanc said, ushering her out.

"Please go," M. Fournier urged in a tone I found myself disliking.

"No problem. Thank you," she said and disappeared behind the men huddled in the doorway.

To keep upright as my heart beat in triple time, I braced myself against the wall at the base of the ladder.

Clenched hands tingled with the memory as I endeavored to recreate the sensation. Failing like every attempt before.

‘It matters not that she is here,' the Ghost said . ‘Do not forget yourself. While you try to recreate a moment of pleasure. Remember, you were the lesser of two evils, Erique. A means to an end.'

I scorned his voice with its cold reminder. God continued to taunt relentlessly. Furthering this inhumane existence.

‘Dismiss her and don't forget our muse.'

Yes. Christine. Who would bring my voice to the world. Give me a name—and more.

Love me.

Yes. Her career must progress. She would love me. The world would love me because she would love me. Only with her grace, she alone has the power to bring me out of this hell.

Shadows above moved without reason as voices intertwined with meaningless chatter. Imbeciles strived to woo over the Peacocks that abruptly entered, forcing her out.

‘No. Do not put thought to her.'

Christine's the key. The beautiful, young soprano, Christine. That believed me an angel…

Pushing from the foundation which leant itself to my need, I hurried through the tight space within the walls.

In and out of passages, empty corridors, and stale rooms, I weaved effortlessly to find my destination. Meanwhile, the memory I both loathed and loved, a memory and dream I had convinced myself was a fabrication until now, consumed my mind. I am the monster that would delight in another's hell because her heaven tasted so sweet. She was terrified while I stood there filled with beautiful thoughts as each moment passed. Uncaring for the men I would have killed had they found us.

I told myself this would be it. She was safe within my walls, and I would think of her no longer. That I would never entertain fantasies involving her again.

‘Foolish boy. What makes you think you will rid your mind of her now that she's here? You have failed to obey.'

"My mind rests certain of her safety."

‘Is she safe?'

Insinuation ate at me as I emerged from a panel near the dorms and managed to catch her and her escort as they turned the corner.

The world was as much monster as I. Murder the night the chandelier came down was evident of that.

"Thank you," she said. Her French still transparent. Yet, I wished to hear it in that wonderful low, soft and raw tone once more before I took my leave.

The mask she wore for the fools disappeared as soon as the boy was out of sight. In its place, the face of worry as she opened the door and peeked inside of her new room.

The quarters lacked any comfort or personality. However, better than any refuge behind waste bins.

Crossing her arms around herself, sweet Melody took in her surroundings once more.

For a moment, I swore she looked at me. Why did this mind wish she had?

Fantasy was moot at best and squashed before he could intervene.

As if a thought came to fruition, the little mouse glanced around curiously, and crept towards the adjacent hallway. What is it you search for?

The compulsion to follow as she disappeared around the corner evoked stillness within me. Only curiosity waited down that corridor, and it was near time for Christine's lessons. Yet, contemplation lingered on the empty space for a moment longer, as if she were still in sight.

"Welcome to my Opera, Melody," I said. "And now I will be free of you."

‘Is that what you think?'