Sing Once More (A Phantom of the Opera Phan Fic)

Chapter 3

Reagan  couldn't talk, in fact she couldn't move. She just stood there like a deer in the headlights, staring at the black silhouette that stood in front of her.

"You are not welcome here..." The figure hissed.

"I...uh...I'm Reagan Dare..." Reagan shakily extended her hand, trying to remember some good manners to distract the hooded figure of death.

The figure merely stared at Reagan, his mask illuminated by some pale moonlight that squeaked through the dirty window pains near the ceiling.

"P-please sir, I'm j-just r-really curious about t-the O-Opera H-House..." She stuttered out, shocked that her voice was so shaky.

"Then come back when the Opera House is open and mind you, come through the front door." The figure growled.

Reagan nodded, feeling herself nearly pass out from the fear that was consuming her. "B-But then I won't get t-to meet h-him..."

The figure gave her a puzzled expression and then shook his head. "Him?"

"The Phantom." Reagan replied.

The figure stiffened. "He doesn't exist." He replied sharply.

"Sure he does!" Reagan protested.

The figure narrowed his eyes, taking an advancing step towards Reagan. "No. He. Doesn't."

Reagan leaned forward, poking a finger into the cloak more or less to see if the head had a body to go with it. "Yes. He. Does."

The figure quickly swatted Reagan's hand away, pushing her back slightly.

Reagan stumbled, hitting the case with her arm and shattering the glass.

"YOU FOOL!" The figure barked, rushing towards the case and the precious document it held.

Reagan winced, feeling glass dig into her arm. "Ouch..." She whimpered, pulling her arm close to her.

A small drop of blood slipped down her elbow onto the ancient parchment. The blood soaked into the parchment, staining its surface.

The figure snapped his face towards Reagan, fire in his eyes. "YOU STAINED MY PARCHMENT!"

"So you admit it is yours!" Reagan exclaimed, wincing again.

"W-what?" That caught the figure off guard. His eyes went cold and emotionless. "No...I..."

Reagan smirked wildly. "YOU'RE HIM! I KNEW IT!" She yelled, doing a happy dance while gingerly caring for her arm.

The figure growled, cursing under his breath. "You have no further evidence to prove anything!"

"I don't need any further evidence! Only one man would claim such a beautiful work as the famous Don Juan Triumphant, and that man is you! The Phantom of the Opera!" Reagan beamed. "So...not to super pry but what does your face look like?"

"THAT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" The figure snapped. "Besides, I wouldn't claim that putrid piece of parchment even if it had my name on it." He crossed his arms defiantly.

Reagan was about to say something more when a high shrill of a voice belted through the Opera House. She quickly covered her ears as the voice slid off the right note onto a sour pitch. "What is that!?" She muttered.

She had expected the masked figure, who she assumed to be the Phantom, to answer. But when she looked up, she found him to have disappeared.

"Phantom?" Reagan called out.

There was no answer. The high pitched voice was met with many garbled and gruff voices, talking about ghosts and conspiracies. Then there was the sound of an orchestra, all the players trying to find the right pitch with each other.