Between Mirrors and Roses (A Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction) ✓

14: Tension (And Not the Good Kind) Before Il Muto

Christine

I did as Erik instructed, locking my door the next few nights, but I still got little sleep. I tossed and turned and jumped at the tiniest sounds. If Erik wanted entry to my room, a measly lock had as much a chance of stopping him as I did of becoming a New York Times bestselling author. Sometimes I thought I heard shallow breathing on the other side of the door, but I wrote it up to the dark and my active imagination. At some point, I almost wanted him to break through the door if only to end the agony of ignorance and anticipation.

As a result, I was tired and irritable in rehearsals. I wasn't the only one: the upcoming production had the crew scrambling night and day to stitch costumes and paint sets, and the orchestra and the cast members frequently exchanged heated words over who had learned what song incorrectly. One of the trickier dance numbers twisted the ballet girls every which way. Meg frequently had to stay for extra practice. My role was the least complicated, and I found it frustrating standing in the background as Carlotta botched yet another song.

Erik shared my foul mood. He resented the "waste of my talent," as he put it. We continued our vocal instruction until the evening before the show opened when he dismissed me early. "You are perfect," he said. "You know these songs backward and forward. Nothing remains for us to do here."

I heard him mumble something about my voice in comparison to Carlotta's. I feared he would do something to her to keep her from singing so that I would have to be put in her place. I tried to interrogate him about his plans for the opera, but he blew me off, darting around the question until I was thoroughly confused.

I avoided Raoul as much as possible, knowing that he would want an answer to his question of whether he could court me, and I didn't have one. In truth, I had been trying not to think about it; I had no idea what I would tell him.

I was considering the plot of the musical. If events stayed true to the original, Carlotta would have an embarrassing singing episode, and Joseph Buquet would drop from the rafters by the neck. Which meant that Erik was even now planning a murder.

I didn't know Buquet well—I had glimpsed him around the theater and talked to him seldom—but what I gaged was not very pleasant. He was overly fond of drink and women and had the habit of prying into things that he had no business in. A few of the ballet girls had lost coin to him after he caught them in compromising positions then asked for payment to keep silent. Even so, he did not deserve a sudden end to his life.

I stressed over what to do. Should I confront Erik, trying not to reveal how I'd become aware of these future events? Or warn Buquet? Or the managers?

I doubted anyone would listen to me, but I had to attempt to ease my guilty conscience. If a man died and I had done nothing to stop it, I would forever be ashamed.

That afternoon, after rehearsals concluded, I lingered around the managers' office. They soon returned, and their faces fell when they rounded the corner and caught sight of me.

"Sirs," I said, "there is something of importance that I need to tell you."

M. Andre held open the office door for me to enter. I took a seat in the chair across from his desk. "We are very busy, Mademoiselle," Andre said.

"I'm aware," I said, endeavoring to stay calm and professional. "I will keep this brief so you can get back to your duties. I have it from a trustworthy source that misfortune will befall this opera if Carlotta continues to sing."

They exchanged a glance. "And who is this trustworthy source?" Firmin asked me patronizingly.

"I—" I started, "I can't say." My case unraveled with just one question. I was miserable.