Title : Voices In the Dark
Chapter : Two
Author : Marie Noire
Summary : This entire story takes place on the assumption that the legend of the Phantom of the Opera was never known. Everything was covered up in the name propriety. In present-day, Christine, Meg, and Raoul are friends on a backpacking trip through Europe… and they stumble across something rather strange at the old Paris Opera. Little do they know what they’re getting into.
Rating : As of right now, PG… but will likely take a turn into R later.
Raoul was the first to come to, his head swimming with blackness and little points of light. He groaned and pressed his cheek to the cool stage floor, nauseating pain behind his eyes slowly ebbing away. He felt as he had when he’d been recovering from being deathly sick with appendicitis; achy and shaking… weak. He blinked once, then twice, startled when the darkness didn’t seem to change. So help him, if Meg had somehow blinded him…
He never got to finish that thought, for the dull glow of one of the candles finally registered in his dazed mind. He grunted and decided to try and sit upright. With a few false starts and a near-review of his previous lunch menu, he sat up. Everything was black save for the one candle left burning of the five, and even it guttered and hissed, the flame almost swallowed up by the liquid wax around it.
What had happened? Last he remembered, Meg’d had the hare-brained idea to hold a séance. They had joined hands in the circle and then… nothing.
“Meg? Hey, Meg?” Raoul called, though his voice was dry and raspy, as if he’d fallen asleep with his mouth open for a long time.
Meg’s answer was a soft, protesting moan. Raoul could just barely make out the shape of her face amidst the darkness. “What in blue fuck…?” she murmured, sitting up with one hand to her head. “What happened? Why’s it so dark? Raoul? Christine?”
“I’m right here. What in bloody hell did you do, Meg?” Raoul answered, searching for Christine and finding her easily, her white dress clear even in the deepest shadows. He knelt over her, gently shaking her shoulders. “Christine? Wake up, sweets…”
“Raoul?” she whispered, her eyes fluttering open. “What happened?”
“So far, we’ve all asked that question and have yet to find an answer.” Raoul sighed, helping her sit up. “Are you all right? How’s your breathing?” he asked, knowing Christine’s childhood asthma still bothered her in times of stress.
“I’m all right…” she said, taking a few deep breaths to be sure, glad that she didn’t feel any rattling in her chest. She pushed her dark hair out of her face and looked up, a puzzled frown on her lips. “It’s late… or early… I can’t tell which.”
Meg nodded. “She’s right. It’s way too quiet. I think maybe they’ve closed… maybe they didn’t know we were in here. Though that’s very weird.”
“What did you do, Meg?” Raoul repeated, looking at his wristwatch only to face the face smashed on one side, the hands motionless. “The hell… dammit, this is my bloody Timex.”
“Hey… my watch is broken too.” Christine exclaimed, looking at her own wrist. “Meg, what happened?”
“I… I’m not sure. I remember holding a séance and hearing a name… then… nothing.” She stood and slowly began to pace the stage. “Something is very weird here. One, it’s way too quiet… even with the Opera deserted, we should hear traffic outside or something, right? And what is that smell? Smells like gas, doesn’t it?”
Raoul promptly stopped fiddling with the lighter he always had in his pocket, suddenly realizing that Meg was right. His need for a cigarette could wait under that circumstance, he decided. Christine shivered and pulled a sweater from her bag, covering her bare arms and shoulders with it.
“It doesn’t feel as… old… does it?” Meg wondered aloud, more to herself than her friends. Then she shook her head. “Oh, never mind… let’s get the hell out of here before someone finds us and arrests us.”
“Finally. An idea I like.” Christine smiled ruefully. The three of them quickly gathered up their belongings and crept out of the auditorium. The Foyer was thankfully lit thanks to the dull white light from the windows… early morning light.
“Hey… um… weren’t these statues black when we came it?” Christine noted, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. The twin female figures that held lights aloft on either side of the grande escalier were now a brilliant, shining gold… they had been dull black stone before, she was certain.
"Maybe they were re-gilded?" Raoul suggested hopefully.
"Somehow, I doubt it." Meg said, rushing down the stairs and to the front doors. "Oh. My. Goddess." she swallowed. "Um, guys... wasn't it June when we got here?"
"Yeah... end of term. Why?" Christine asked, walking a more sedate pace by Raoul.
"Because I’m pretty sure that in Paris... it does not snow in June." Meg replied, turning back to them, white-faced.
"What?" Raoul asked in dismay, coming to stand in the doorway. "Bloody hell..."
Everything beyond them was blanketed in white, glittering gently in the dawn light. The wide boulevard yawning before them was utterly deserted. Not one car or bicycle or pedestrian.
"Um, this might be a bad question but... where did the Metro go?" Christine asked, noticing with a sinking heart that the tunnel stop just outside of th Opera was nowhere to be found.
"Christ, what did you do, Meg?" Raoul growled. "Alternate universe? Worm hole? Mass hallucination? What?"
"Um..." was Meg's reply. "Maybe we'd better get back inside."
The three of them hastily returned to the grande escalier, breathless and confused. "What is happening, Meg? Christine whispered, concentrating on not hyperventilating. "How can a séance cause this?"
"I don't think the séance did." Meg shook her head, looking about. "I've got a sneaking suspicion... we need to find a newspaper and fast."
"Newspaper?" Raoul repeated in dread. "Oh no, Meg... you're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you? That we've somehow time-traveled? It's fucking absurd!"
"So it the idea that it's snowing in June!" Meg countered succinctly, rushing out towards the box office stalls. The ticket sellers always had newspapers there to entertain themselves while waiting for ticket-buyers. She seized the first one she saw. "L'Epoque?" she read the title. "I thought Le Metro was the big paper all the way back to the twenties."
Her eyes froze on the date.
Decembre 9, 1881
Clear as day.
"Well, that explains why the Opera looks so new... it's only six years old..." Meg smiled with a high-pitched giggle borne of frayed nerves. "It's... 1881."
"What?" Christine paled. "Why are we in 1881? How did we get here?"
"My guess is... the spirit we contacted, the presence we all felt... he brought us here." Meg shuddered. "I don't know why... maybe we're supposedly to fulfill some sort of duty."
"Like what? Dusting?" Raoul exclaimed, his voice echoing loudly in the hall.
"Well, no. It's not that clear yet. But for a spirit to expand the amount of energy needed to bring us here... it must be very important." Meg thought aloud.
"We've been kidnapped... by a ghost...?" Christine blinked. "I thought ghosts were harmless."
"Ghosts can't. But spirits can.. they're a bit different. All I know is... we won't be able to go back until that spirit lets us." Meg sighed. "So now the question is... how do we find out what he wants?"
"A name!" Christine exclaimed. "You said you heard a name before we blacked out. Maybe it was the spirit's name."
"Yes, what was it?" Raoul asked, prepared to latch onto anything at this point.
"Oh bother..." Meg frowned. "What was it? Edward... Eliot, Eli... Erik!" It was Erik!"
"That with a 'c' or a 'k'?" Raoul asked, having had several friends with weirdly-spelled names; Rayven, Garyth, and a dog named Phydeaux.
Meg blinked. "Does it matter? A 'k'."
"Erik..." Christine echoed. "That's not a French name... not with a 'k'."
"Good then he'll be easy to spot." Raoul nodded. "What do we do in the meantime?"
"Find some clothes." Christine suggested. "We cant exist in the late 1800s dressed as we are... it's indecent."
"Er... good point." Meg grimaced, looking down at her black jeans and sweatshirt ensemble. "To the dressing rooms, I guess. See if anyone left anything behind that we can use."
"Steal?" Raoul's eyes brows raised. "Bloody hell..."
"And stop saying that. We all could do with a little language modification. We have to blend in. Raoul, tie your hair back." Meg nodded as they walked down the corridors, checking doors, a surprising portion of which was unlocked.
Christine found the dressing room for the women's chorus, which reeked of sweat and liquor. The girls left Raoul to find the men's dressing rooms and shut the door behind them. "Holy Goddess... when are they going to invent deodorant?" Meg commented as she dug through some discarded street clothes. Soon she had a passable outfit assembled and on. "Great. I look like a Cockney extra for My Fair Lady."
"Better that than a 'lovely lady' from Les Miz." Christine pointed out, tossing a feather boa aside in her own search. "I can't find any... wait. Here we go. Oh shit." she murmured, pulling out a white corset. "Hells bells, there were necessary weren't they?"
"Fraid so... I barely laced mine though. I enjoy breathing." Meg offered.
"Already I hate this time." Christine sighed, undressing and turning to let Meg lace her up, not being quite flexible enough to do it herself. "Long skirts, I can handle. But corsets and heels too? I feel like a dominatrix wearing a librarian's costume."
Meg giggled, tying the corset laces loosely. "Interesting analogy. Put your hair up and I'll go find Raoul."
Christine nodded and sat at the gas-lit vanity, the top of it chaotic with wigs, pots of makeup, cigarettes, and empty bottles of booze. However, she found some hairpins easily enough and began the laborious process of pinning her hair up in an appropriate style. Almost without realizing it, she began to sing. Nothing special at first... just her scales and trilling exercises, loosening up her vocal chords for no real reason other than it seemed right. Soon though, she drifted into a song that wouldn't be written for nearly a hundred years. It was soft and lilting, calming her distressed mind; a song she had heard countless times as a child. All the while she hadn't a clue that her voice was being swiftly carried down below through a complex maze of acoustical tunnels.
Right to the ears of a certain Opera Ghost.
To Chapter Three