The Phantom's Daughter

Chapter Twenty-One

I had just killed a man….

And he had taken Rita with him.

I slammed my body down on the rafters, striking my hand out, catching her wrist just in time. My back screamed in protest, reminding me of my age, and those damned words surfaced in my mind….’I’m getting too old for this….’

No I am damn well not! I am the Phantom of the Opera! Who haunts the Opera Populair of Paris, France! I am legendary! I am timeless!

With a grimace, I hauled the child up to the safety of the floating rafters above. She launched herself at me and clung like a leech, and I tried to comfort her with a few pats, but finding myself placing my hand on her head too….feeling like I was glad she was alright…more than glad….this strange bonding feeling was foreign to me, but I pushed it down. We had to get out of here. More shouts from the other scene shifters called, the planks of wood sounding that they would be here soon.

The child wouldn’t respond to my urging, so I picked her up and carried her, speeding out of there with a little too much recklessness, but time was of the essence, and I knew this Opera House like the back of my hand, every square inch of it. It was my domain.

Normally I would never act as stupid as to run directly backstage where I could be so easily spotted, but I needed to hand this child off. Thank God for Meg being there. I ran to her in a panic.

“Take her Meg, please. Keep her safe and hidden.” I told her. She nodded and stretched her arms around, taking Rita. I looked over and felt my breath gone for a second as I locked eyes with Christine for a brief moment, before she ran off. No! She couldn’t see me yet!!! AAHHH!!!! I pulled away quickly.

“NO!” Rita called out to me, arm reaching out, her hazel eyes pleading. Those eyes with that pleading look shook me to my core….oh I knew that look very well.

‘I’ll be back Rita.’ I don’t know if I said it, mouthed it, or just thought it, but it didn’t matter, I had to disappear right now. Slamming myself into a dark corner overtaken by the shadow, I pressed a hand to my heart, daring not to breathe loud, my heart slamming into my chest so hard it felt like a hammer. My face grew warm and tight from refusing to give it the deep breathes it needed, but people were running by and I couldn’t afford being seen. I was being too careless as it was. Had Rita not come to find me, I wouldn’t have this problem! I was both annoyed yet felt that urge to go to her.

The two i***t managers that bought this Opera after Monsieur Reyer (whom I named my horse after, sending him a note of that as an ode for being an obedient and cooperative servant) raced by, pausing for a moment to panic on what to do. Monsieur Andres’ hair was all over the place and he sounded like he wanted to cry and his partner wasn’t much better. Honestly, who allowed these monkeys to come in and take charge of my theatre? Perhaps I should send a letter to M. Reyer to freak him out and bring his attention to the matter. Oh yes, of course I knew where he was and his forward address!

They passed by, and no one else saw me. I crept deeper in the shadows and the forgotten crevices to catch my breathe. A strange, haunting sensation rolled over me that made me sick to my stomach as I collected myself.

I had just killed a man. I had strangled him to near unconsciousness and threw him to his death. This would be my second victim. If you count my first, whom I had plunged the knife into…but to be fair he had died from his stomach wound when it got horribly infested so that one wasn’t on me if he couldn’t pull through his own wounds. Besides, he had tried to do something horribly disgusting to me that no child should be subjected to. Just like Joseph Buquett had done to a number of ballet women. Where they had to just shake it off soon after, pretending that it was all fun…convincing themselves that it was a consensual fling, that these things happen at the Opera House and are apart of the job. To throw their emotions into their dance, or be swept under.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that he died, but it didn’t sit well with me. It was one thing to severely injure a man until his chances of pulling through slimmed considerably. That I’ve done dozens of times and felt no burden on my conscience for it, even to the ones who didn’t deserve it.

But killing a man was on a whole ‘nother level.

Please God, forgive me for my sins. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed is thy fruit of thy womb—

Mary isn’t going to want to hear my confession now, and what a monster I would be to subject the Mother of our Lord to my monstrous ways? No female should be subjected to the crude evilness of a man. But I hope that God heard me, and would hear my call to confession and plea…

I sighed heavily and shook my head. I couldn’t think of that now. I had to go speak to Christine, to see what she saw and help prepare her for her big moment…her performance on stage tonight when they had taken care of the body. Of course the show will go on…not doing so would just be admitting that it wasn’t “Merely an accident” and we couldn’t have that kind of scandal here…..oh no…it was far easier to announce it as a tragedy adding that sorrowful detail that Joseph had been drinking on the job—once again—and this time it caught up to him. Believable. Joseph was one step away from being an alcoholic and no one would miss a lowly scene shifter, and the ballet girls would surely thank God that Joseph had been dealt in His hands now.

I made my way. Carlotta it seemed had picked up on a few of my tricks and wasn’t anywhere to be seen or heard; she must have fled the House out of embarrassment. Good. Perhaps she can die of it too and that would be a huge weight off my shoulders.

Christine wasn’t in the dressing room getting ready like she was supposed to. Nor was she upstairs in the attic area getting any last minute costume details.

Where was she??? Oh the silly thing didn’t run off to her father’s grave now did she??? The Opera had a small chapel space for lighting candles, but in moments of great distress, she would take what precious little money she made from her dancing and rent a carriage to the local gravesite to visit her father’s memorial. I gave a low sound of frustration. If she went, she’d ruin her chances of performing tonight and put the Opera at risk. I was about to hound after her when I stopped short and shoved myself in the brimming clothes rack next to me, hearing voices.

They were Christines…and that boy Raouls!!!

Now I had wished that I was hunting her down to the gravesite.

They were a level above me, and I opened a small, secret trap door, the hinges so regularly oiled that they were silent upon opening. From my position, they couldn’t see me, unless they really tried. And even then, they’d think it was rats spying on them. But I could see them perfectly.

“Oh it’s him, I just know it! I swear to you Raoul, I thought I saw him tonight too, talking with Meg! Raoul you must believe me!” she implored her childhood friend.

“Christine, there is no angel of music! You know what a drunk Joseph Buquett was—and besides, they wouldn’t be continuing tonight’s performance had it been murder. There’s no way!” Raoul implored.

Sensible young man.

“Raoul, please listen to me, you are my childhood friend—do you remember our days at the house by the lake? You must believe me when I tell you this, there is an angel of music, and he is very invested in me and my career!”

“And what quarrels would he have with Joseph Buquett?”

“Who among us, is without sin! Joseph has paid for his sins, surely! But it was the angel of music that took it among himself! And it must have been a warning to me to not mingle with you! I must stay pure and chaste for the angel of music to look favorably on me Raoul! It is God’s will! It is so with the sisters of the faith, and so it is with me! My music is my veil that I dare not betray!”

I raised an eyebrow and shrugged. So Joseph’s death was both a warning and God having enough of Joseph’s sins plaguing the Opera. I guess that works.

“Nonsense! That’s insanity! Why would your father command such a thing! If he is the one who gave you this angel of music?” implored Raoul, scoffing. But his mouse brown hair, and hint of a mustache and expression was gentle and pleading. He held on to her arms as if in half embrace. He was ready to honor and defend her. My stomach seethed in rage. I almost growled like an animal.

“Oh Raoul, you didn’t know what my father could do…a caring loving Pa he was, he also had a raging soul…his mind often haunted him! He was prone to great passionate discussions and fits of rage when he was set off! Do you not see Raoul? My father was protective! Of course he would not like to see his only daughter and child at the potential harm of a stranger, even if it was a long time friend.” Christine’s big doe eyes pleaded with him, drawing him closer. I could see it in her eyes, she adored this young man. Who wouldn’t? I could see right through him of course, but his charm and features made it impenetrable to others.

“Christine, my darling, my dearest beloved childhood sweetheart…don’t you remember how fond your father was of me? Was he not always having me over? Called me a fine young playmate for his precious jewel? He asked me to watch over you Christine, when he had gotten sick! I promised him that I would always protect you! And then you were sent away to the Opera House. You can’t imagine the heartbreak I felt losing and not knowing where you were for the last ten years, until I had found you here! But please believe me…look into my eyes and see the sincerity of them! You must believe me when I tell you…this was not your father’s doing!”

“Oh Raoul!” tears fell from my angel’s face as Raoul embraced her. She believed him. Of course she did, what he said seemed plausible enough, and a look into the eyes can often reveal one’s true intention. But it didn’t matter if Raoul was telling the truth or not. She was mine. MINE! I was the one who comforted her when she first came here, weeping for her father. I was the one that kept Joseph’s grabby hands off of her. I was the one who sang to her…who taught her…who became her friend in her loneliness. Who promised her that she would see me when the time was right when she would implore. Who promised to embrace her as she wished when she was done singing on stage. I was the one she dedicated her songs to—she told me herself! And now he was swooping in here to take her as his own. The stupid arrogant young man!

But what really drove the dagger in, was when the Vicomte told her, “God does not punish those in love.” How she sighed in relief, relaxing her stance in his arms and how his chest swelled with pride and love of getting to hold and comfort her.

My vision grew white with rage, seeing him take his handkerchief out to dry her tears with, and how she clasped his hands, telling him they must go back, that she’s to be expected on stage. I closed the trap door quietly as they left together hand in hand.

This couldn’t wait any longer. I had to make myself known to Christine tonight after the show.

It was now or never.