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You
decide to follow the fairy, despite your lingering doubts. You wonder if
that room service boy did something to your beverage back at the hotel.
He was awfully eager to have you drink it. Tatiana leads you to a bench.
Hello, there. I'm so glad you could make it. Don't be afraid.
I am real and so is all of this. Oh, you have no idea how happy I am that
you came. This is really an exciting time, you know. Paris is buzzing with
the news: Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera is opening
at the Paris Opera House in one day. The original London cast has been
reunited for this historic event, and tickets for it were sold out the
day it was announced. And I'm one of the lucky few to get a seat; a good
one, too.
Needless to say, the Opera manager's are highly excited about
all the money they are about to bring in, as well as all the publicity,
as business has been rather slow lately.
M. Duvall and M. Stratherin at this moment are chattering on
to the Phantom, or rather Michael Crawford, about everything and nothing.
As boring as it is, he politely listens to their prattle, however the production
director, Hal Prince, will never know how grateful Michael is when he interrupts
with, "There's a problem with the dressing room arrangements."
As trivial as this is when you looked at all the major problems
they could be having, the mangers treat it as though it's the worst thing
imaginable, and their facial expressions are so theatrical, that Michael
can barely prevent himself from laughing. His effort to control his laughter,
turns into a coughing fit.
Prince stares at him in concerntation. "Don't you dare get sick
on me!" his voice is harsh, but he adds in teasing tones, "I'll personally
hang you with the Punjab lasso if you do!"
Michael waves them on saying he will be fine. And Hal leaves,
with M. Duvall and M. Stratherin apparently attempting to talk him to death.
You see, my friend, it's been like this since Michael and I arrived.
The cast and crew have been constantly busy, but nothing really interesting
has happened. I'm suppose to keep a watch over this Production, but the
job is rather boring. That's how I came to decide that having a friend
would be so much fun and here you are!
Come, I'll take you to your room. Yes, your room. Hurry, follow
me. Quickly this way.
Look! We're here. Well, go on. Open the door.
Do you like? Good. I thought you would like having your very
own dressing room. Never mind how I got it. I promise you won't get in
trouble for being here. Now, sit down I have a something to tell you.
First of all, give me your word that you won't go ballistic
when I tell this. Promise? Okay, then I'll tell you. This dressing room
is right next to Michael Crawford's. You promised not to go ballistic on
me! SIT DOWN!
Now it's next to his because that way I can watch out for you
both. What does that mean? Never mind. You ask too many questions; you're
giving me a headache. Anyway, check out your room and wake me when you're
done.
Huh? What? Calm down and speak slowly. Yes, yes, you're very
right. This room does look like Christine's might have looked like in 1881.
No, I'm afraid it's not though. Michael has that room, unfortunately. But
I can tell you it looks nothing like this room. Yes, the mirror really
does exist, they just don't know. What? NO!
We're the only ones who know that it's really a trap door. Be smart
and keep your mouth shut about it. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so harsh,
but it's very important that no one finds about it. Oh, I see that look
in your eyes. Get that thought out of your head this instant. I'll hear
nothing of the sort. If you're wise, you'll leave that mirror alone. Curiosity
killed the cat and it'll get you, too if you go snooping around. Besides,
security wouldn't leave you alone in his dressing room to try to find the
spring to open the mirror, anyway.
Come on, enough of this nonsense talk. I'll give you the grand
tour of Place de l'Opera. And if you're good, I'll take you to meet Michael
after tomorrow night's show. I hope.
The Paris Opera House is so beautiful and full history that I
could almost live here. Almost. Poor dear. Tired aren't you? I can tell
by the way you just collapsed on your bed. Good night see you in the morning.
Time really does fly when you're having fun. Come. Can you believe
that it's almost three. Almost three? Go to dressing room and take a nap,
friend, so you'll be awake for tonight.
I managed to reach the side door of the Opera that Michael was
to come through. I was afraid I might have missed him and he would be in
his dressing room. Alone. Of course, my small mind, which barely has room
for more than one thought at a time, did not think about checking Christin-
I mean, Michael's room before dashing down to the door. Thankfully, though,
Mr. Crawford is punctual, and came through that door at precisely three.
I was very worried about him not showing up and thought that I would not
be so stressed out once he arrived safely. However, I'm much more stressed
now. I don't like not knowing what awaits.
Things were went well and as soon as I had the chance I came
to get you up. Pardon? Silly girl, do you think I would have brought you
here tonight without something decent to wear to such a gala event. Now,
tell me what you wish to wear tonight. No, no. I mean something fancy.
Money's no option, I never need it. That's a much better choice. Your gown
awaits you in the closet, mademoiselle. And I must go.
At seven thirty the stage manager announced the half hour call.
While I was anxiously awaiting the start of the show, I couldn't shake
the eerie feeling that we, or specifically, Michael was being watched.
Many times I whirled around to face that terrible mirror, never seeing
anything, of course. Then felt foolish at my paranoia. That is until, for
no reason, Michael suddenly turned face the mirror, with wide, panicked
filled eyes. When he realized that the person standing on the other side
of the mirror was himself in Phantom make-up, he laughed. But his reaction
and the fact that it was caused by the mirror only confirmed to me that
I was NOT paranoid. Then I began get very nervous, so nervous I could barely
contain myself. I was shaking with nerves. I hadn't been so high-strung
since all the dangerous stunts of Barnum and EFX. Oh, I really wished I
hadn't thought of EFX! The night Michael hurt his hip so bad, I had had
that nervous, giddy feeling- the one I have right now- and a feeling that
something was very wrong. It stuck with all me night, too. Ugh, I can't
think of that right now. I'll tell you one thing, watching out for Michael
is not an easy job. I expect to have a nervous break down any day now.
Suddenly, the Overture began, startling me brutally back to my
reality, doing nothing to help my poor nerves. I'm happy to have people
in the room with him; he's relatively safe with others. It's 8:00, you
should be in your seat, ready to enjoy the show. Michael is getting into
character now. He's very quite now, standing in the erect, foreboding posture
of the Phantom, working his hands like the Phantom. The Phantom... Oh,
I wish he were portraying anyone but the Phantom! Nothing good can come
of this!
I worry about you too. Perhaps, watching over you myself was
a bad idea. If something does happens to Michael tonight, I don't think
my frazzled nerves could handle something happening to you as well.
The show begins and things go smoothly. Soon Michael's hiding above
the front of the stage, ready to suddenly appear to in light to scold the
managers. Then he's hiding in the gilded angel to lie for a cramped 12
minutes in a fetal position. I'm feeling queasy. Why did I have to be put
in charge of someone who liked to do their own dangerous stunts? That same
feeling I had in the dressing room and backstage was still on me. Yes,
I know that over a thousand people were watching him, but this was different.
Someone was watching for a dark reason. But why would that feeling bother
me up here? Then suddenly it came to me as the angel began to move. I began
to sweat in fear. If I was wrong, Box 5 would be empty because in honor
of Phantom Hal Prince asked that it not be used. I jerked my head toward
Box 5. I was right. My worst fear was confirmed. Michael is in the most
danger he's ever been in!
Something will happen before the night is over, and I don't know if
I can stop it. That is why you must go right after the show is over. Don't
linger, don't dawdle, don't wait for me. Heed my warning and leave!
Everything happened as it always did before. The make-up removal,
and the people coming through. The people always made me giddy, as though
they had some hidden agenda. No one in the crowd tonight was unusual. Just
your average Phantom fans and fanatics. I must tell you though you already
know, that tonight was a huge success. If I sound proud, it's because I
am. My Michael was superb, as always. Anyway, it seemed to take longer
than usual for the people clear out. I should have felt better once they
left, but I didn't. In fact, I felt worse. That feeling had intensified
a hundred times over since returning to this cursed dressing room.
While Michael gets ready to leave, I need tell you tell a few
things, since you SHOULD be reading this after this night is long over!
As I have said before this dressing room did at one time belong to Christine
Daae, and you know that I am not happy that Michael has it now. Do remember
when you first came yesterday? When Hal Prince came to tell the managers
that there was a problem with the dressing room arrangements? You see,
Christine's dressing room originally was given to Sarah Brightman, but
Sarah when she found out it was Christine's, absolutely refused to
set foot inside it. The reason? Every time Christine's room is given to
the diva of a particular show (and it always is; management thinks it's
cute to do so. I think they're idiots), something happens to them. So far
no one has been killed. But strange things happen to them. Things my wee
brain can't comprehend. And I know that if Sarah had stayed in the room
we'd all be attending her funeral tomorrow. But, she didn't, because she
was so adamant about getting a different room that Michael volunteered
to switch with her. Bravery? No, not really. It's just that no one believes
in those occurrences. Except the divas who have to stay in that room; they
aren't taking the risk!
Finally, we get leave. No is here except for the security officer
and the doorman. It's making me extremely uneasy, but we'll be out of here
soon enough. I'll feel so much better once he's safe and sound in his hotel
room with the door locked and bolted!
Come on, Michael! Stop taking forever. We have to leave. I'm
getting impatient, I know, but put yourself in my position. We're out the
door now. Michael was walking down the hall when I heard a voice call my
name. Immediately, I looked at Michael but naturally he was still walking
down the hall, because he hadn't said anything. The voice called, closer.
Walk faster, Michael. Get out. Danger. It called again so close and powerful.
I felt as though it had swallowed me. It no longer call my name, but moaned
and howled in the most pitiful and distressing manner, then began chuckle.
The chuckle turned into mocking laughter, the mocking laugh into a triumphant
burst of maniacal laughter. It was so loud that I had to clap my hands
over my ears to try to block it out. Then it ceased. Just like that it
stopped.
Oh, my head. It's throbbing so bad. My vision is blurring on
me. What just happened? Oh, maybe if I just lie down for a moment. Oo,
that's better. You know, I can't remember what happened just before this
strange occurrence. Maybe if I close my eyes... It's all a blur. It's clearing
a little... Michael! Oh, my gosh! WHERE'S MICHAEL?
I am in a state of so much distress I don't know where to begin. Don't
laugh. I told you I don't have much room in my head for more than one thought
at a time. Christine's room catches my eye. It's open. I race in as fast
as I can. I'm standing in her room. I feel like throwing up. The mirror's
open!
This is not good! I knew this was going to happen! I know you want
to know what, but at this moment you won't believe me. The most important
thing is to get to Michael as soon as I can. To do that I have to go through
the mirror. *gulp* Down There!
Before I left though, I could have sworn I heard sounds coming
from your dressing room. But that's impossible, isn't it? Because you're
at home. Asleep. In bed. I don't have time to worry about you. If you're
foolish enough to still be here, then I'll give you one final warning:
Go. Home. Now. Or and I quote, "a disaster beyond your imagination will
occur"! Leave. NOW.
Friend, you have no idea how black darkness can really be. This
maze of corridors that leads down into the labrinyth, is so frightening,
even to me. One wrong turn and you will never be seen alive again. I hope
I am frightening you. Please don't take that the wrong way. What I mean
to say is, I hope I am scaring you enough to discourage you from a stupid
attempt to follow me. Don't worry about me getting lost; I know my way
around this dungeon all too well. Still it doesn't prevent me from shivering
in fear.
I'm here. At the lake. I can only hope I'm not too late. I'm
afraid I can't keep you shadow in any longer and continue to tell
you in detail of this night. Across the lake is a house. I give you three
guesses as to the rest. If you say the Phantom of the Opera, you're half
right. Erik lives across there. The real one, though real isn't quite the
word. I'll wait until you're finished laughing to tell you the rest. Done?
Thank you. The Erik that haunts this Opera basement is the one that Gaston
Leroux wrote about. I know you don't believe me. But it's true. Yes, you're
very right. If that is the real Erik, he would have been dead for over
a hundred years. That's the confusing part in all this; be patient and
you will learn how and why he's here.
I didn't cross the lake by the boat. That would have needlessly
set off the siren; Erik already knew I was on my way. How I got into his
house I will not tell you, because I don't want you to EVER try to reach
it. I was inside and terrified at what I might find. Or not find.
There are voices coming Erik's room. I hide behind a door that's
slightly ajar, watching and listening.
At first all I see is Erik, gesturing wildly, but briefly he
moves aside to allow me view of Michael, pale and confused but otherwise
fine. Then he blocks my sight again. Here's what I heard and saw:
(Understand that I don't know what he had been ranting about
prior this.)
There's a moments silence. Then Michael ventures timidly, trying
to make a joke, "How'd you like the show?"
Bad mistake.
"You mean that miserable retelling of my life?" Erik scoffed.
His mood becomes angry. "I hated it. Those songs. An insult to music. "He
takes a seat on his couch, assuming a casual position. "How you pretend
you know what being me is like."
He leans forward towards Michael. "What was that one song?" He pretends
to be deep in thought. "Oh, yes. I believe the title was... 'Stranger Than
You Dreamt it?' '... this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell yet secretly
yearns for heaven?' You don't know what I yearn for. You have no idea."
He is very quite as he speaks, which is frightening. Because it usually
means he's about to explode.
"' ... Fear can turn to love," His voice drips with sarcasm. "-you'll
learn to see the man behind the monster: this... repulsive carcass, who
seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty...' What kind of gibberish
is this? You have no idea what I dream of. For all you know I may be dreaming
of my next victim."
He gives Michael a sly sideways look. His eyes gleam in the dark.
I suck in my breath trying hard not to think about what is going through
his head right now. Bad move. Erik jerks his head up and towards the door
I'm behind. He smiles slyly and moves toward the door. I duck away from
the opening of the door, but it's too late. Erik flings open the door and
I fall into his room.
"A visitor. How nice," Erik plasters a grin on his face. "I get
so few these days. Usually I have to drag them down. And it's been so long
since I've seen you, my dear. How long has it been?"
I don't answer. I don't like the tone of his voice. It has been
a long time since I last saw him and I feel guilty about it. You see, I
used to see Erik and keep him company whenever I had the chance. I did
get to know the "man behind the monster". He's not such a beast. Not really.
And despite all his shortcomings I really like him. The world really has
been cruel to him. Therefore he doesn't believe the things he does are
wrong. That's the monster part. As much as I like Erik, if he tries
to do anything to Michael, I have a duty to protect Michael at all costs.
I hope Erik doesn't force me to choose between them. Though I'm sure he
will.
"Not talking today, my dear?" Erik cocks his head one side and
waits.
"Why are you doing this, Erik?"
"Why not?" he answers coolly. "They rewrote me in a most unbecoming
manner, insulted my musical gifting, and destroyed my life's work, making
a mockery of it."
"They did not." I'm at a lose for words here. But maybe I can draw
his attention away from Michael. Really though, you should see Michael's
face. He thought Erik insane before, now he considers him absolutely mad,
talking to the air.
"I liked the play. I think they a wonderful job." I'm moving
towards Christine's former room, hoping to make him turn his back on Michael.
"I think Michael did a magnificent portrayal of you."
"You would," Erik snorted, advancing on me. I continue moving
to Christine's room. "Dear Michael can do no wrong in your eyes."
At this Michael saw his chance to escape, as Erik's back was
completely to him. Go, go. I'll find you and lead you out of this place
as soon as I can.
I continued to babble on, but I don't remember what I said. I'm
at the door to her room now. I put my hand on the knob. But Erik realizes
what I'm doing.
"Get away from that room!" he screams. "You deceitful little
bug! Get away."
Suddenly he whirls around. "You!" he bellows at Michael." Get
back here."
Michael stops dead in his tracks. He has no idea what to do.
It's death if he doesn't comply and most likely death if he does.
Erik is breathing hard, shaking with rage. He glares hatefully
at me, then glares murderously at Michael. Things happen in a blur. Erik
has Michael pinned against a wall so quick that neither of us can react.
I don't know what to do! I'm afraid. Oh...
Erik's yelling again. He's terrifying when he yells. This is
no ordinary tantrum; I may have pushed him over the edge.
"You think you're as good as they say you are?" he hisses at
Michael. "How would like to really be good at portraying me? How would
you like to live like me? To have a truly disfigured face, not some make-up
job that will come off whenever you want.? Then maybe you'd have compassion
for me!"
"I do have compassion for Erik, but not for you. You're just
a psychotic madman!" Michael grounds angrily out. Then he winces in pain.
That was not the smartest thing to have said. We're in so much
trouble!
Erik can't believe what he just heard. He throws Michael down
on to the couch.
He backs off and stares at Michael. "Just a psychotic madman?"
he wheezes in a high pitched voice. Then in a hardly audible voice says,
"I'll show you a psychotic madman."
I don't know what Erik is planning on. I have to do something
right away. I'm no match for Erik as I am now. So... I take a deep breath,
close my eyes, and... wish.
There's a flash of light. And my head begins to spin. Then my feet
hit something hard and solid. I open my eyes and look down. I'm standing
on the organ. I look up at Erik, who is standing looking at me curiously.
"What a fool you are," he breathes.
I take a peak at Michael wondering how he will react to this.
He's staring wide-eyed at me, his mouth slightly open. He's very pale.
It's very natural what happens next under the circumstances, what with
Erik and my sudden appearance on the organ. He drops unconscious to the
couch. Erik gives a snort of laughter.
I get off the organ and stand in front of him. I look up at him,
he's staring down at me in amusement. Maybe I would have been better off
on the organ. My neck hurts like this, as I'd guess I under five feet.
I feel as small as always next to Erik's six-foot-two frame.
"Erik, what are you doing?"
"Nothing that concerns you, my dear."
"But it does concern me. In every way. What are you planning."
"Revenge, my dear," he kneels down to my height. "Sweet revenge."
"But why Michael? What's he to do with anything. He's only an
actor."
"He shouldn't have taken the role."
"How was he to know that you existed beyond paper? "
He doesn't answer. He looks down at the floor.
"You were my only ray of sunshine in my dismal life. My only
connection to the outside world." His words became bitter. "Then because
of him you became too busy to see me. You can't talk to him. He doesn't
know about you. But I do and you still don't come."
I knew he meant what he said about my not coming and I do feel
guilty about it, however I wasn't about to fall for it.
"You know why I can't come. But that's not the reason you're
doing this."
"Someone has to be punished for mankind's' sins against me."
"Oh, brother, you're just full it, you know. This has nothing
to with mankind. It has to with Christin-"
He doesn't let me finish. He glares at me furiously and jumps
up.
"Don't ever say that name in this place EVER! You know not to!"
I do and I feel horrible. That wasn't fair to him. He's standing
at the organ now, his back to me, leaning on it, his head down .
"It's not fair," He says quietly. "That they brought that cursed
play in here. Forced me to watch it over again. It's bad enough that I
had to live through it over and over every time someone reads the book.
But..."
His words trail off. When he speaks again his voice is filled
with mischievousness. "You want to know what I'm going to do?" He turns
to look at me. I don't like the look in his eyes. "What I'm going to do
is get rid of you."
"Erik, what are you talking about?"
He turns completely around to face me and leans casually against
the organ.
"Well, now I realize that it's useless for me to make you chose
between the two of us, since you obviously have no free will, or," His
smile slowly fades and his expression becomes grim. "you've been playing
me for a fool with your little visits."
I must say that I'm very hurt by his words. However, when he's
in state like he is now the truth hardly matters.
"You can't get rid of me very easily, Erik. Won't it be more
trouble than it's worth?"
"Hardly, my dear," his grin returns, bigger this time. "I can't
play my games with you here; you'll get in the way."
"What games?" I really don't like the sound of this.
"Just a few harmless games." I am completely convinced that his
games are far from harmless.
"And, my dear," he continues, inspecting his fingernails, "I
won't really be the one to... do away with you."
He glances over at Michael, who beginning to come to, then back
me.
"Erik.."
He walks over to me and leans over until we're nose to nose.
In a quite whisper he says, "Three little words from him is all it takes
to send you into non- existence."
I stare at him horror stricken at what he's suggesting. I can't
answer. He puts his mouth against my ear and conspiratorially whispers:
"All he has to say is: 'I don't believe'."
"You wouldn't. Erik, you can't do that to me." I try not to cry
but I can't help it.
"Oh, yes I would," he says, getting up and going over to the
couch where Michael is. "And you will have wasted you're one and only wish.
For what? To save the person who will be the death of you?" He laughs gleefully.
"I must says this is one of my better tricks!"
Michael sits up groggily, holding his head. He looks up Erik
who is sitting on the arm of the couch and closes his eyes again. He reopens
them looking at me.
"Who are you?" he asks.
"Go on, my dear, tell him who you are." Erik gives me a Cheshire
cat grin.
I draw myself up to my full height, ball my fists, and put on
a determined face.
"That's not important."
"Oh, but it is." Erik jumps up to stand in front of Michael.
"Ask her how she suddenly appeared. Ask her. Go on."
Michael looks me over carefully. "How did you get here?"
I contemplate lying and I can't. "I wished to be here."
He raises his eyebrows. "Y-you wished, huh?" he flops against
the back of the couch. "That makes sense."
Erik frowns. "Ask her what she is."
Michael gives him a funny look. "What she is?"
Erik nods. Michael leans forward. He's clearly trembling. "What
are you?" he asks going along with Erik, though he doesn't sound too eager
to know.
I take a deep breath. Instead of telling him right out, which
would most certainly warrant an "I don't believe", I tell him in a form
of a riddle. Hopefully, he'll be too out of it even attempt to answer it.
" ' When a baby laughs for the first time, the laugh breaks into
a thousand pieces and they all go flitting about and that is the beginning
of' us."
He just stares at me. After a while he throws up hands in disgust.
"I'm surround by lunatics."
Erik smiles triumphantly. "He doesn't believe in you!" He dances
around me. Then he sits back on the couch's arm again and cocks his head
to one side expectantly. There's a moment of silence, then he pushes his
bottom lip out in pout. "Why are you still here?" he asks sounding as if
he might have a tantrum.
"He didn't say it out loud. It doesn't count."
Erik folds his arms across his chest. If circumstances were different,
this would be amusing; he's looks like a little kid who didn't get his
way.
He gets up suddenly, startling Michael and me both.
"Tell her you don't believe," he says firmly to Michael.
"Don't believe what?"
Between you and me, I don't think he believes any of this is
happening. Extremely irritated Erik stamps his foot hard on the floor.
He says about to say something when his siren goes off.
A mischievous grin spreads over his face. "Another visitor. My,
this is my lucky day. I wish I had known; I would have put out the good
towels."
As soon as I hear the siren go off, I feel sick. I break out
in cold sweat. My knees wobble beneath me. Erik has left to check the lake.
My legs give out and I fall to the floor. In despair I curl into a ball
and sob. I forget about Michael being in the room until I feel a hand on
my shoulder and gentle British voice asking if I'm all right. Slowly I
sit up and nod. I wipe my eyes, embarrassed. He takes his hand away and
looks quizzically at the glitter-like residue on his palm. He tries to
get rid of it, but only succeeds in transferring it to his pants.
"What's going on?" he asks.
The events of the night leading to this moment come spilling
out. When I finish he sits back and thinks.
"You don't believe me, do you?" I cry, allowing a self-centered
second to worry about my own fate.
Slowly, he let's out a breath. "I don't know what to believe,"
he admits. "But I can't deny that something strange is definitely going
on. But, I most certainly don't believe that that he's the real Erik."
I decline from telling him that the opposite is true. Later maybe.
He looks at me, concern evident on his face. "Do you really think
your friend is the one who set off the siren?"
I nod miserably. "I told her to go home. Bringing her was bad
idea. I told her about the mirror against my better judgment." I get up
and pace the floor wringing my hands in worry and fear. "Rehearsals were
getting dull and I wanted some company. I knew she loved 'Phantom' and
adored you. So I brought her with me and gave her the dressing room next
to yours. It was made to look identical to Christine's."
"Do you mean Christine Daae's?" he asked skeptically.
"Yes. But it wasn't her room. You had her room. And just look
at what happened!" I moan.
"I'm sure things will get better. This is probably some sort
of joke," Michael says, hesitantly, and I know he doesn't believe it.
"You gravely under estimate Erik then," I say shaking my head.
We heard Erik approach the room. I guess we both expecting to
hear someone struggling against but we hear nothing. Then a terrible thought
crosses my mind. What if Erik is returning alone? What if he's ki- No!
He promised me he would stop the killings! But will he keep his word? With
Erik, though, it was a pie crust promise- easily made, very easily
broken.
The suspense is almost stifling. My back is beginning to hurt
and I realize that I have been standing very rigidly all this time. There's
absolute silence, as Erik is probably preparing some theatrical entrance.
The door suddenly bursts open and in spite of my self I jump,
my heart pounding in my chest. Erik waltzes in a ways, but stops not far
from the open door.
"Look what the ghost dragged in," he booms cheerfully, giving
a hard tug on something just outside of the room.
The something tumbles in and falls to the floor. When it stands
back up we see that it's you. Rage floods through me. How dare you disobey
me! You have no idea how you've jeopardized us, and you! Erik will never
let out you of here alive! Not that he'd let us out alive either, but we'd
at least have a chance. I start to tremble with anger and Michael puts
a restraining hand on my arm. What is even more infuriating is that you
some to have no concept of the danger you've put us all in, including Erik.
You are absolutely... star struck! Good grief! Erik will have fun with
you!
Your eyes grow wide as you gaze about your sight finally landing
on Michael.
"Michael Crawford?" you breath. I can't surpress a groan. The
look on your face is sickening. I look at him to see how he will react.
He gives you a half smile.
"Hello. what's your name?"
Suddenly, it seems as though you've lost the power of speech.
You try to talk and nothing comes out.
Michael turns to me. "Well?" he asks.
"Well what?" I answer, playing dumb.
"Her name?"
I shrug and turn my back to him, but not before seeing the strange
look he gives me.
"Stupid girl," I mutter under my breath.
During this whole exchange Erik has been oddly quite, observing
the whole scene. Eventually though he gets fed up with your dopiness and
says to me, "My dear, I've decided to allow you to join the festivities.
I have a feeling that you two ladies will be quite entertaining."
Addressing everyone he announces, "Let the Games Begin!"
Only Erik knows for sure what happened next. What I do know is that
one minute the three of us were standing in Erik's house and the next we
were sitting on the roof of the Opera. Michael got up right away and made
his way to the nearest exit. You, of course, followed him like a well-trained
dog. I didn't follow because I knew we wouldn't be able to escape that
easily. No, Erik had something up his sleeve. We just have to wait until
he tells us what it is.
You two came rushing back exclaiming about the exits all being
locked.
"I knew that," I say sullenly.
Michael got an indignant look on his face. "Why didn't you say
something?"
"No on asked me," I reply poutily. I'm very tempted to leave
you to fend for yourself, but since Michael's here, I can't. Lucky you.
That's not fair, I know. But something's changed and I don't know why I
feel so... antisocial toward you.
"Listen," Michael says to me., "Listen- what's your name?"
"Tatiana," you say matter a factly.
Michael gives you a strange look. "You're name's Tatiana?"
You shake your head no. Now he looks confused. "Then what's your name?"
You shrug. He raises his eyebrows and mutters under his breath, "I
am surrounded by lunatics."
I would have laughed but that comment included Erik and me, so
it wasn't funny.
"My name is Tatiana," I say.
Michael turns back to me. "Okay, Tatiana. You seem to know Erik
so well. Would you mind clueing us in on his plan?"
"I'd love to if I knew what that plan was."
Erik's booming voice prevents Michael from saying anything further.
"Contestants, are you ready? Good. Willokmen to Erik's Opera
House Nightmare! A game of skill, wit, strength, and life or death. The
object of the game is to escape the Opera House alive. It is every man
for himself or as a team. Whatever. There are four levels which you must
complete in this order: Apollo's Lyre, the Opera, the Labrinyth, and the
Lair. In every level there is only one real exit into the next level. Each
level will become increasingly difficult. In the last level you will face
me. The rules of the game are simple: there are no rules. Good luck."
With that Erik's voice disappears and the real trouble begins.
