Twisted Every Way(Phantom Of The Opera Fic)

Chapter 18: Curiosity

Anabel glowed with anticipation as the walked through the opera doors.

Gustave couldn't help but smile. For the first time since he'd met her, her eyes were like sapphires and her tired pale face showed glimpses of hope. The streets had been unkind to her but in the light of the oepra house he ahd to admit. She looked beautiful.

 It was perhaps then that Gustave decided he would keep his promise. 

 He took a deep breath and sighed. 

"Into darkness then I suppose." He thought solemnly to himself. "Fathers going to kill me."  

He practically had to pull Anabel away from the gleaming stage of the opera. He dragged her to the only entrance he knew, threw the mirror.

Anabel started humming as soon as they entered the room. Gustave froze, he knew that song.

"What are you humming?" He asked, clearly alarmed.

"It's an old song. An old tale about the ghost, it makes the other girls in the orphanage scared, personally, I love it. That mirror, that's the one he used to appear to the singers." She laughed, "It was my favorite story a child."

Gustave didn't know what to say. If you have an impossible dream, the dream is supposed to remain impossible. How do you tell or show someone that it never was a story at all?

"Wait right here," Gustave told her, firmly sitting her in the chair. He lit the candles and then took off running.

He left her and quickly ran to the stage. Taking a nervous breath and closing his eyes he stomped twice on the loose floorboard. His feet came out from underneath him and he fell in. He kept his eyes firmly closed and his hand at the level of his eyes. 

"Two rights, two lefts and forward nineteen steps." He whispered to himself. 

He paused-

Or was it two lefts then two rights. He had never listened well to his mother's direction in the first place, let alone reminded himself of the path in a month.

 "Two lefts, two rights and forward nineteen steps. Yes, that must be it."  

He knew that one wrong step and he might be finished. 

"Two lefts, two rights and forward nineteen steps." 

When he had finally finished the maneuver he opened his eyes slowly. That labyrinth of mirrors and horrors was finally behind him. He sat down for a moment and collected himself. He wasn't like his father in that way. He was afraid of death immensely. Erik could charge through that maze, never wondering if where he was going was to be his last destination. If he died, so be it. 

Gustave followed the path up to where he knew the mirror entry was. Water dripped on his head and he lightly brushed it off. Finally, he reached the mirror. He tried to open it but could not. How strange! He knew that it had to be opened first from the inside. 

That's when he realized, the mirror had to open by both people at the same time. His mother had helped to open the mirror.

Anabel wouldn't help him though, besides he didn't want to look like a wimp who couldn't even open a mirror.

He had been with kids his age before and knew how long one instance remained material for mocking and scorning. He would have to play a trick. And being Gustave, he had inherited his father's gift of petty tricks.

But before he began he had to commandeer a mask...

He saw the boy.

Anabel sat in the chair bored out of her wits. Slowly she picked away at the Rose petals. Suddenly, she believed to have heard footsteps in the hallway. Her eyes widened, it couldn't possibly! It was Jean!

 Anabel had only known him when her parents were alive, once she left he disappeared from her memory and life!

"Oh, he couldn't possibly remember me! " She laughed to herself, "There was no way! "

She then thought of calling out after him but wouldn't. Or perhaps couldn't. 

Things had changed now, so many things had changed.

 "Jean," she whispered with a laugh to herself. "If only you knew how much I used to adore you my friend. Perhaps, by fate we will meet again."

Then her thoughts and fantasies were painfully interrupted. 

"For god's sake," Gustave grumbled, "Open the mirror, Anabel! Listen!"

But she could neither hear nor see him, then his attention was drawn to a pipe on the wall, the only item not covered in cobwebs. He placed his mouth against it and yelled as loud as he could. 

"LISTEN." A voice boomed.

She watched in horror as chills ran down her back and all the candles and gas lamps Gustave had lit blew out as if a great wind had gusted through the room.

"Gustave if that's you this is most certainly not funny," she yelled, voice quivering.  Abruptly she rose to her feet.

"Come to the mirror!" Gustave yelled again. 

"Is it an angel who speaks?" Anabel said warily, "Or phantom?!"

Gustave scoffed, gullible girl, he was no phan-

Oh.

Here was a chance for some fun. 

"Insolent boy this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!" The voice yelled back louder than the first time. 

How did the voice know?! How could he read her thoughts and intentions?! What did this ghost or angel know of Jean?! 

And most pressing of all: Where was Gustave? 

But who cared about Gustave now? She had found what she had come for. She now knew the truth of all the stories. It was true, it was all true.

(May I mention dearest reader,  it took a tremendous effort on Gustave's part not to burst into laughter.)

"Angel I hear you. Speak, I listen. Stay by my side to guide me. Angel my soul was weak forgive me enter at last master" She sang, her voice shaking.

 It had to be Gustave. 

Didn't it?

"Flattering friend you shall know me. See why in shadows I hide. Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside."

Anabel angrily stormed over to the mirror. 

It had to be a joke-

The reflection in the mirror stopped her heart, anger, and her voice. 

Gustave had reached beside him, removing a long deserted masquerade mask from the floor.

It must have been left behind when the mob had come for his father. Madam Giry had told him all. 

It couldn't be Gustave, this boy was much more mysterious and fascinating. A boy shrouded in myth and mystery with the voice of an angel. A mask across his face, shielding his identity. 

 She touched the mirror, she saw his face move. Almost in a reflex, she fell backward. 

That was no ghost. 

In a trance she watched as he placed his hands to the edge, pulling it open.

 Anabel did the same. Slowly she opened the mirror.

Slowly she took his hand. 

And so our true story begins.