Christine's Tutor (A Phantom of the Opera Prequel)

VIII (Phantom)

The booming sounds of an organ echoed throughout the underground kingdom of the Phantom of the Opera.

He sat at his organ, playing intensely and vehemently, once again working on the score he titled "Don Juan Triumphant". This time, though, he wasn't completely engulfed in his work, for he knew he would have to pull himself out when the clock struck seven, which it did sooner than he expected it to.

He jumped up from his seat and strode over to an old, unused vanity in the back corner of his lair. Looking at his reflection, he peeled off his mask. Though he detested what he saw, he had to do this for Christine. He powdered the right side of his face, then detached himself from the mirror as soon as he could. With long steps, he rushed to his gondola, stepped into it, and rowed off down the green, almost glowing, river.

He passed into a shadow, and was immediately consumed by the darkness. There was the flapping sound of a cape, like the sound of birds' wings. When his gondola emerged from the shadow, his face was that of the tutor's.

The gondola ran into the land at the other end of the river, and he stepped out and onto it. He took of his cape and left it behind.

Ahead of him, in the cave wall, was the opening of the torch-strewn passageway leading to his connection to the outside world. He glided straight into the opening and through the passageway, which ultimately brought him directly underneath the manhole.

He climbed the ladder. Upon reaching the top, he pressed upwards on the manhole cover above him, pushing it out of place. He pulled himself up and onto the street.

He got up and brushed himself off. He set off in the direction of the abandoned theatre.

This time around, in his disguise, he didn't need to worry about being seen by passersby, for it was not him that would be seen- it was the tutor that would. Though, he soon found that he didn't need to worry anyhow, disguise or no disguise, for the whole city was still petrified by his deed, and no-one was out on the streets. Once again, he took full liberty of this opportunity, and marched through the middle of the cobblestone street as if the entire night- not just the night below- was his.

He came at last to the abandoned theatre. He pulled on the rusted handle, and the door shakily opened, dragging against the stone underneath. He entered and, in an instant, every candle in the theatre was lit.

With his hands behind his back, he wandered into the left hall, where a grandfather clock stood solemnly at the end. It read seven thirty. He made his way back to the lobby and sat down on the sofa, the one that he had dusted down during his first session with Christine. Since then, no dust had accumulated onto the two cushions which the two of them had sat down upon, leaving behind on them two misplaced spots of red.

From his vest he pulled out "Think of Me", put it on his lap, and patiently waited for Christine to arrive.

Eventually, she did- and she wasn't a minute late or a minute early.

"Miss Daae", he greeted.

He noticed that she left the door open as she stepped inside. "Sir, how are you?"

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm doing well."

He paused for a moment, then gestured towards the door. "Are you going to close that?"

"Ah, sir, about that. The choreographer of the opera-house's corps de ballet, Madame Giry, has requested to meet you. Is that alright?"

An alarm went off in his mind as soon as he heard the name "Madame Giry". Yes, he knew that name. But he didn't let what was going on inside his mind show on his face, nor in his body posture; instead, he sat up, smiled and said, "Of course." He had nothing to fear- she would not recognize him, not like this. She wouldn't even recognize his voice.