Hopeful Soul: A Phantom Story

Chapter Twenty.

RAOUL:

Seeing the opera ghost at the masquerade was enough, but at something as innocent as a graveyard? I was doubtful. This 'ghost' had been tormenting my Christine long enough and he had to go.

My older brother had summoned his fellow gendarme on my command, securing each door and window. Don Juan was tomorrow night and there were to be no mistakes on my watch. The managers had agreed to this for the public's safety, since we couldn't be too sure with this 'phantom' any more. All I could think of, though, was my poor Christine. After last night's episode at the cemetery she was so confused - any woman in their right mind would be.

I was patrolling around the ballet dormitories when I heard awful sobbing coming from down below. The door to the old chapel was ajar and I decided to go down and explore. A brunette sat in the corner with her hands over her eyes and when I took my last step down, I realized it was Christine. She shivered, grabbing her arms, "H- he used to give me lessons here. I found out that the mirror could be removed," she pointed over to a dark hole in the wall, shaking her head, "I'm so foolish, Raoul."

With a sigh, I huddled her into my arms and sat with her in the corner of the room, "Now, now, don't say that."

"I should have been brighter. I should have questioned him. I never should have been on stage," she was crying like a child - sniffling and heaving in my embrace, "And worst of all is the fact that he loves me. R- Raoul, I just don't know what to do."

"Christine," the skin of back of her hand was smooth to the touch, though cold and shaky, "You still have to perform tomorrow-"

"In light of everything you're making me sing?!"

"It is for the best, my dear," I touched the engagement ring that I had given her and she started to settle down, "My brother has employed gendarme all around the opera. They will be watching every corner during the performance. We are going to kill him, Christine."

A single tear rolled down her cheek and she immediately wiped it away, "Alright," she sniffled, "Leave me. I need a moment."

As I left she returned to the corner, but didn't weep. Not a single sound came from her mouth and to complement that, the opera house was completely silent as well. It was somewhat confusing, considering the many gendarme that were here only moments ago. Then, I heard a voice - a familiar accent, "You don't have the entire opera protected, Monsieur."

Upon turning around, I realized that it was, in fact, the Persian who had spoken to me, "You mean to tell me there are more exits?"

"There are trapdoors everywhere."

With a glance around, I still couldn't find anything. He nodded at me, "I know where they are and I can only open one. They are opened from the underground and if not from there, only he knows how to open them."

"Why are you telling me this? Won't you be killed by him?"

He smirked and stepped closer, looking up at the catwalks. An ominous shadow loomed over us, "I am only doing this because I admire your kindness towards her. Christine deserves safety."

He nodded at me to follow him and we went onto the stage, looking up at the ceiling. He pointed up beside the chandelier and I noticed the outline of what appeared to be a door, "You'll need at least five men around the awning. There is also one trapdoor backstage where the set props are. There are many in the ballet dormitories. I would recommend leaving an armed man by the door and keeping it locked."

"Is there anywhere else?"

He nodded, "There is one in the folds of the left curtain and there is one... in your maidens dressing room. I don't where, but I know she came out of a trapdoor of some sort."

"How do you know this?"

He stared down at the floor like he was about to die - as if these words would be his last. When he looked back up at me, his piercing green eyes focused on mine, he said in the smallest whisper, "Let's just say I am an acquaintance of the-"

"Nice try, gentlemen!" a powerful voice had interrupted our conversation - that of a certain ghost, "But not only don't you know the location of the dressing room trap, you happen to forget that there is a large trap in the light of fame!"

The light of fame. What did it mean? What is the light of fame? Even the Persian said nothing - only bowed his head, "I need to go, my friend. Good luck on your endeavors."

He practically ran for the exit, but I needed to know more, "Wait!" I was relieved when he turned at my call, "Where will you be if I need your help?"

He sighed heavily, opening the foyer door, "I am here frequently. I will be around if you need my help."