Broken Song- Chapter 1

Prologue- 1872
On one cloudy Tuesday morning, Monsieur Andre and Firmin could be found pacing around the interior of a bank.
"Are you sure it's worth it Firmin?" Andre asked, suddenly panic-stricken.
"I'm sure as hell not going back to the junk business!" Firmin stomped his foot defiantly on the ground.
"Scrap metal," Andre corrected, turning on his heel toward Firmin. "And it's never too late to go back. I think it may be more profitable than trying to reconstruct an entire opera house!" The tall man stopped pacing and scratched his chin, contemplating. His eyes widened, and he turned on his old friend.
"You're afraid that he isn't dead aren't you?" Andre took a step back, shocked.
"What? No. I never said that! God forbid he survived. H-he didn't, that angry mob lead by Madame Giry's daughter made sure of that!" Firmin threw his hands up in the air, exasperated.
"Well then! There is nothing stopping us from building a bigger and better opera house that will, mind you, increase our fortune more than the junk business ever would!" With that Firmin stepped forward and took Andre's shoulder's, willing his friend to see what he saw.
"I can see it now." Firmin swept his outstretched arm in front of him and waved it around. "It's bigger and more magnificent than it's ever been before!" His gaze went off into the distance as he continued. "It has patrons lined around the block, practically throwing their money at us!" He paused, and his eyes lit up. "And the music Andre! The music! It's unlike anything I've ever heard! We will have the best Soprano and Tenor singer in the world. And do you know the best part, my dear Andre?"
Andre was staring in awe at his friend, completely immersed in Firmin's fantasy.
"What is the best part?"
"No Opera Ghost."
"No Opera Ghost?"
"No." Firmin came out of his little trance and stared at Andre.
"So, what do you think?"
"I think we are going to need to start looking for a contractor and architect!"
Chapter 1:
"Do you have to go?" A very sad looking eleven year old looked up to her big sister with pleading brown eyes, her front lip jutting out.
"I'm sorry, Clemence, but your puppy dog face won't work on me," Claire said, ruffling her sister's hair. Clemence swatted her hand away and just stared up at her sister.
"No means no! I have to go, I'm twenty-one and need to leave here. The theater is too small, and you know most of the girls don't like me." She went back to packing her small toiletries bag.
"But, Claire, I-" A sharp look from her sister silenced her.
"Look here, are you going to help me pack or just hover over me until I leave?" Claire watched her sister's face fall and shoulder's sag.
"Now, now, ma belle, don't be sad!" Sighing, Claire hugged her sister's small frame to her body. "Remember, you and mother are going to visit me, and come see my first performance. And, until then, I promise to write you letters every week." Clemence pushed herself away from Claire and looked into her sister's green eyes.
"You promise you'll write, and tell me everything that happens?" The young girl stared at Claire.
"Of course! In fact, I'm going to send you so many it's going to be like you're actually there with me!" Claire poked Clemence's nose before turning back to her bag. A giggle escaped her little sister's mouth before she started helping Claire finish packing for her journey to the opera house where she would be staying.
They finished packing in silence and then Clemence helped Claire carry all of her bags downstairs, where their mother, Angeline, was waiting. The tall woman immediately rushed up to her eldest daughter and gave her a huge hug.
"I'm going to miss you so much!" the woman said into the girl's loose hair. Claire returned the hug.
"I'm going to miss you too, Momma." For the first time since deciding she was going to the Opera Populaire, Claire felt a ping of sadness that she was going to be so far away from home. But a small voice in the back of her mind told her that if she wanted to be of any use, she was going to have to go and get over it. Quickly, Claire recomposed herself and released her mother from the hug. Claire looked over and saw her step-father, Jacques, and his twins, Denise and Nannett, standing there a bit awkwardly. Jacques seemed to take the initiative, walked forward, and put Claire in a stiff hug.
"Good luck," was all he said. While trapped in his hug, Claire peered over his shoulder at the twins and Denise, the taller one, stuck her tongue out at her, while Nannett waved goodbye with a mean sneer. Claire's face turned red while she watched the thirteen year olds hold their pose for a moment, before Jacques released her from his embrace. Claire felt terrible leaving her poor sister to the mercy of those evil girls. Clemence, who was now sitting in a chair near the window, pointed outside.
"The carriage is here!"
Claire walked up to the window with her bags and looked outside, and sure enough, a black carriage being pulled by four brown horses could be seen outside of their small cottage. After brushing a strand of hair from her face, and tucking it behind her ear, Claire strode toward the wooden front door and swung it open. Before she took one step out of the door she felt something latch on to her from behind, and turned around to see Clemence clinging to her.
"I'm going to miss you, big sister," she said affectionately.
Claire smiled and replied, "I love you, but I have to go now. I don't think the driver will be happy having to wait." Her sister let go and took a step back. As she was walking out of the door, she heard Denise ask Jacques if she could have Claire's room. Sighing, she walked down the cobble stone steps of their little cottage and to the door of the carriage.
The scruffy–looking carriage man opened the door and helped Claire with her bags, and put them in with her. She sat staring out of the window of the cab at her home and saw her little sister wave goodbye from where she was standing on the side of road. Claire returned the wave then looked to see her mother peeking her head from the window in the house. The girl blew a kiss to her mother then sat back in a more comfortable position in her seat. She quickly smoothed out the skirt of her dark blue dress then took her hair and tied it back with a ribbon. Claire sat in silence for a few minutes, staring wonderingly at the greenery outside of the carriage. Then she leaned her head against the window and drifted off to sleep.
Her big brown eyes stared into his with a blank expression, then slowly her features began to turn into that of pure terror. His hand automatically goes up to his face in panic, and he finds that where the Don Juan Triumphant mask should have been, there was only his scarred facial tissue. He looked at her for a moment, willing her to accept him. But his thoughts fell on deaf ears as her mouth opened into a horrified scream. But, instead of hearing his beautiful angel of music's scream, he heard a horrible shriek erupt from her mouth. It sounded exactly like that awful monkey from the dreadful gypsy circus where he used to be kept. He stared in terror as his beautiful angel's face slowly melted away to form a primate's face.
He looked away; it was just too horrible to watch, and suddenly he notice that all around, in a deafening roar, the audience is no longer screaming but chanting: "Devil child, devil child." Louder and louder until the only thing that rose above the noise was the loud thud of his heart and the sickening screeches now coming from a monkey across from him on the bridge. His face burned with anger, and his teeth ground together. When he looked down, he noticed his trusty Punjab lasso clutched tightly in his hands. He knew what needed to be done. Silently, he lunged forward and took the monkey by its neck. The screeching began to increase, if that were even possible, as he threw the lasso around its neck. He felt the ape's tiny teeth sink into his hand, but he was far too angry to give it a second glance. He quickly walked to the edge of the bridge and threw the chimp over. A satisfied smirk appeared on his lips as he heard the screeching stop. He closed his eyes and relished in the silence as the chanting around him died down.
He looked down to where the monkey should have been hanging with the triumphant smirk still on his lips. The expression was hastily wiped off his face when he look down and saw, not a monkey, but his angel hanging in a white dress. His eyes grew large as he was assaulted by a huge wave of sadness. His lip trembled and a strangled cry escaped his mouth.
"CHRISTINE!"
Suddenly, Erik snapped to attention in a wooden chair that he was sitting at. He looked around wildly for the body of his beloved angel, but Erik was no longer on the stage at the Opera Poplulaire, sitting instead at a desk in his lair. Erik slowly wiped a trembling hand across his clammy brow.
Damn these nightmares!
Sighing, Erik picked up four large ale bottles from a dark wooden desk and began tidying up the room, which had become a mess after his last drunken tirade. Black spots filled his vision for a moment, and a bottle slipped to the floor.
"Blast it!" he exclaimed as the bottle shattered. Groaning in annoyance, he bent over and picked up the shards of glass. It glinted evilly in the candle light of his lair as he looked at it. A thought flashed through Erik's mind—To end it all, with this shiny piece of glass. No one would ever know poor Erik's fate. He would fade from everyone's memory.
Erik quickly came out of those thoughts and realized it was an idiotic thought to end his own life. He hastily went back to work on cleaning up the place while still being a little hung over from the amount of alcohol he had consumed the night before.
Claire was awakened by a sudden bump. She looked around and remembered she was in the carriage that was taking her to the Opera Populaire. She smiled besides herself with joy. Then her thoughts became more worried. She thought about the old theater and began to fret that there might be a girl like Isabelle at the Opera Populaire. Isabelle was one of the minor things that had made her want to leave. She thought back to the day she first meet Isabelle. It seemed like lifetimes ago...
Claire, a small eight–year–old, sat off to the side of the room while putting on her ballet slippers. She had just learned to tie things properly so she was still a little slow and clumsy. After successfully tying her first slipper, Claire stuck that leg straight out in front of her and continued onto the next. She tied that one swiftly then got up and began stretching with all of the other girls in her class. The girls' teacher soon called them to take their places and started making them do their usual exercises. Claire was paired up with one of the newer ballet rats for Pointe work. She bounced up to the girl and greeted her,
"Bonjour! I'm Claire!" She waved and waited for the girl to answer. The girl flipped her blonde braid over her shoulder.
"I'm Isabelle."
The teacher called on them stand on Pointe, so the two girls did. They began dancing, as gracefully as two eight–year–olds could, on the tips of their toes across the stage. Claire was excited that she had done almost the whole thing right when it happened. She was about to finish the routine, with Isabelle by her side, when she got tripped up by her ballet slipper tie. Time seemed to slow down as she began tipping over and falling. Claire crashed into Isabelle and now both of the girls were tumbling to the ground. Luckily for Claire, Isabelle broke her fall. The look that the new ballerina gave Claire after the accident was filled with pure hatred.
Claire sighed, and twirled her hair aimlessly as she remembered. Ever since that day it had been Isabelle's mission to make Claire's life horrible. Everything from rude comments all the way to putting mud in her shoes, Claire had experienced the evil side of Isabelle over and over again. After a while everyone eventually fell for Isabelle's snake-like charm and turned against poor Claire.
The girl looked out of the carriage window and watched the rural scene slowly melt into the streets of Paris. She let out an excited squeal when there was a bump in the carriage, signaling they had hit stone roads. They passed cafes, boutiques, and restaurants while navigating the streets. Claire's eyes twinkled when, on the sky-line, she could see the Eiffel Tower. The ballerina stared out of the window until she felt the carriage come to a bumpy stop. She looked outside of the window on the other side and saw they had arrived at the Opera Populaire.
The driver was soon at her door and watched Claire almost fall out of the carriage in excitement. He took the bags out of the carriage and put them on the ground next to Claire. As he drove away she yelled, "Thank you monsieur!" and then bent over and picked up her bags. Walking up to the huge front doors, Claire couldn't help but admire the beautiful architecture of the building. She saw the door open and two men hurried out. One was short with a curly head of gray hair, and the other was tall with a funny–looking mustache. They pushed past her without even taking notice because they were too busy muttering about something. Claire didn't take much notice of the men and quietly waited for them to pass with a silly smile on her face.
She stepped in the doors and took the entire scene in. She saw the gold statues adorning a stairway that led to some unseen place. It took her a moment to realize this, but Claire noticed the place seemed to look almost the same as the old Opera Populaire. Now, she had never been to the original Opera Populaire before the fire, but her mother and father had seen Il Muto and had been in the audience during the lead soprano's—Claire was pretty sure her name was Carlotta—famous Co-ack. Claire thought about her father and got a distant look in her eyes. She didn't know how long she had been standing there, but all of the sudden, someone tapped Claire's shoulder.
"Are you Claribel Bellenger?" Claire turned around and saw a stern–looking woman with blonde hair standing there.
"Um, yes I am." The woman rolled her eyes, seemingly unsatisfied with how long it took Claire to answer the question. The woman looked Claire up and down for a moment.
"I am Meg Giry, but you will call me Madame Giry. I take care of all the ballerinas and make sure they stay out of trouble." At first, Claire had thought the woman was stern and mean–looking, but now she saw it as motherly.
"Well, we can't stand here all day, so follow me Claribel." Claire began walking after her.
"First, I will show you to the dormitories, then I'll get another ballet girl to show you the rest of the Opera House."
While they were walking, the duo passed many workers varying from chorus, to carpenter, to stage hand. Claire tried to look everywhere at once, wanting to take it all in.
Soon they were climbing a spiral staircase and came to a long corridor that had two doors. In one she heard giggling, but the other one was quiet. Madame Giry lead Claire to the door that the giggling was coming from and knocked. From inside Claire heard a voice chirp, "Come in!" Madame Giry turned the knob and pushed the door inward. In the room there were about five girls, all in ballet attire. Some were on their beds talking while others were stretching. Madame Giry pointed to one of the girls sitting on the bed.
"Genevieve, you need to show Claire, one of our new ballerinas, around."
The girl jumped up and practically skipped over to Claire.
"Hi! You ready to learn about all the nooks and crannies of this place?" Genevieve flipped her brownish–blonde hair over one shoulder and grinned. Claire couldn't help but smile with the girl as she replied, "Sure! Where do we start?"
"Well, I guess we should start at the bottom and go from there?"
Claire nodded in agreement, then they were off. Genevieve started off with showing Claire the door to the basement under the opera house, but she wouldn't go down there and Claire didn't blame her. It looked more than a little menacing. After Genevieve showed Claire the dining hall, the audience, the stage, and countless other rooms, the pair found themselves walking down a long hallway.
"I saved the best two rooms for last."
She began leading Claire to the second–to–last room on their tour. Claire loved wandering the opera house with Genevieve. She seemed like a really great person, and Claire thought she would probably make a good friend. As she was thinking this, they arrived at a set of double doors that Genevieve swung open without a second thought.
"This is the prop room!" As Claire peered into the dimly lit room she saw masks hanging on walls, furniture strewn about the place, and odd props here and there. Claire was so interested in looking at her surrounding that she didn't notice Genevieve disappear. She looked about the room and called her friend's name softly. When there was no answer, Claire stepped farther in the room and started walking down one of the walk ways.
"BOO!"
Claire screamed at the top of her lungs as a mask came from behind one of the prop piles. She fell back and knocked over a stack behind her. She watched, still terrified, as Genevieve tore of the mask and began laughing. Claire couldn't help but join in, and soon they were both doubled over with laughter and had tears streaming out of their eyes.
"I-I think we should pick up the props you knocked over." Genevieve wiped the tears from her eyes and stood straight up. Claire nodded in agreement and started picking up the miscellaneous items. On top of the pile was a large bag that looked to have a lot of papers in it. Curious, Claire went to investigate. She picked out a couple of random papers and found that it was sheet music. Claire had been taught how to follow the notes and such at her old theater back home, so she decided to try and sing one. She looked through the different pieces and saw one that looked easy enough to follow. It was called Think of Me and appeared to be from Hannibal. While Claire was looking over it, Genevieve crept up behind her and looked over her new friend's shoulder to see what she was reading. Seeing the music, Genevieve pulled away and said matter-of-factly,
"I know that song! Some older girls were telling me about how the last prima dona, Carlotta, was singing it when the Phantom of the Opera brought down a whole set right behind her!" Claire stared at the sheet for a moment curious about this mysterious Phantom her friend was talking about.
"What do you mean by 'phantom'?" Genevieve rubbed her hands together, eager to tell the frightening tale.
"A few years ago, before the fire, there was a certain chorus girl named Christine Daee." Genevieve turned her back to Claire and began wondering through the piles of props. Claire, wanting to hear the rest of the story, followed Genevieve, clutching the paper in her hands.
"Christine would take lessons from a mysterious figure who lived five cellars bellow the opera and wore a mask." Genevieve continued walking deeper and deeper into the prop room with Claire right behind.
"He loved her and became jealous when he saw Christine was falling in love with another man, a patron to the opera. He plotted on how to make Christine his and then one day kidnapped her right off the stage during a performance!" Genevieve stopped and looked back to Claire.
"And here's the interesting part—Apparently Madame Giry went down into the Phantom's lair and killed him! She even came back with his white half mask." Genevieve gave an evil smile then continued walking.
"Now it's said that his ghost is wandering around the opera house, waiting for a new student to teach. And he will take any unfortunate ballerinas who walk too deep into the shadows and get them with his Punjab lasso! ARGGH!"
Genevieve jumped at Claire with a scarf and wrapped it around her neck with playful laughter. Claire squealed and then laughed at how silly she was to be afraid of some stupid legend.
"Someone is jumpy!" Genevieve said teasingly. Claire rolled her eyes then saw she still had the sheet music in her hands. Her friend saw the paper as well and snatched it out of Claire's hands.
"Hmm, why don't you sing for me?" Genevieve gave the sheet back to Claire and looked at her expectantly. Claire sighed and looked over the sheet music.
"I'm warning you, it's probably not going to be pretty." Genevieve didn't respond and just waited for Claire to continue. Claire obviously wasn't getting out of singing so she took a deep breath.
"Think of me, think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye
Remember me once in a while
Please promise me you'll try
Then you'll find that once again you long
To take your heart back and be free
If you'll never find a moment
Spare a thought for me."
Erik's head snapped up off his desk after hearing something rather peculiar. He could swear he heard Christine's voice! He jumped up from his chair and looked around, still listening to her singing. He walked towards where the voice was coming from and traced it to metallic colored pipes along the wall to the entrance to his lair. Then he remembered. Before Antoinette had... left she and Erik had set up small devices throughout the opera. They allowed him to overhear people's conversations and know where they were talking. Usually, it's a quiet bunch of rubbish coming out of the small pipes, but this time was different. The pipe all the way to the right had the voice singing from it. Not just anyone's voice, Erik thought, but Christine's! He almost stumbled over his feet, more than a little drunk, and went closer to the pipe. He pressed his ear as close as he could and listened to the angelic voice for a few moments. Her voice wasn't nearly the same caliber as it had been years ago, but that's to be expected since she hasn't been practicing with him.
I must go to her!
Erik dashed, as fast and as gracefully as a drunk person could, and speedily got dressed. His arms burned when he was rowing the gondola. He wasn't in the shape he used to be. Erik hadn't wandered this area of the opera in so long that the only thing that kept him confident he was going the right way was the metal pipe he was following. Soon enough he found himself in the flies above the prop room. He could hear her singing and drank in every word. He spotted Christine, with her back to him, and another ballet rat in between the prop piles. Erik couldn't stop the grin that came to his lips. His Christine had finally come back to him! He planned while listening to her sing.
First he would wait for her to be alone, then he would-
"But please promise me that sometimes
You will think of me!"
Erik was distracted from his train of thought when Christine finished the song. Her end note was good, a bit sharp and not pleasing to hear at all, but a few lessons would get her singing like the angel she was again. Her petite friend began clapping and yelling bravo, and Christine laughed and told her friend that it wasn't that good. Erik looked down on them then saw they were leaving the prop room. He would follow and wait for the perfect opportunity to show himself.
Claire was soon ledd to a big wooden door near the stage of the opera house.
"This is the unoccupied prima dona's room." Genevieve was grinning from ear to ear.
"There hasn't been a prima dona since they re-built this place." She looked like she was about to add something about it, but seemed to change her mind and just opened the door. The room was really big! The only bad thing about it was the walls were an ugly faded magenta color, but the rest of the room made up for the unflattering walls. The bed was gigantic and matched the walls. Genevieve got a running start and jumped onto the bed. Claire looked at her then saw a beautiful vanity table and trotted over to it. It was white with swirling designs all over it. Turning around, she saw something even more magnificent than the vanity. It was a HUGE mirror! Claire walked to it and put a delicate hand against it.
"This is probably the most extravagant room I've ever set foot in!" Claire stated with a laugh and Genevieve got off the bed and walked next to her.
"And the best part is no one stays in here! I personally like to come in here sometimes to be by myself and think, but this room is big enough for two." Claire realized she had already made a best friend, and she hadn't even been at the Opera House a day! Things were going much better than expected.