Chapter 6 The Phantom #2
A young man appears, rolling an electric piano toward the center of the stage. I’m not sure why the instrument requires so many extra buttons and levers. I prefer a classic piano myself. But perhaps I should invest in one of these modern ones for experimentation.
The light gleams off the man’s square-framed glasses and glints on his coppery hair.
He adjusts the cord of the piano, then leaves for a moment and returns with a stool, which he sets in place.
Slowly, he rolls up one sleeve of his shirt, then the other, exposing lightly tanned forearms while he stares contemplatively at the instrument.
At last, he seats himself on the stool, adjusts a few sliders, and places long, elegant fingers against the keys, his hands perfectly arched. Exquisite technique.
The beat comes first, pulsing like a heartbeat, quickening my breath. Then a faint sound of strings, electronic and elusive but no less effective. His fingers fly across the controls, tweaking the sound, finessing it, exerting his will over the instrument. Then he begins to play.
The melody is good but predictable. In several spots, my brain suggests an alternate chain of notes, a different orchestration, and a key change that would take the song from mediocre to magnificent.
I have to bite my tongue and tighten my fists to keep myself from suggesting the changes aloud or from singing the harmony that would perfectly complement his tune.
The man’s eyes are closed, and his brows are bent, as if he isn’t quite pleased with what he’s playing.
Reluctantly, I admit to myself that he’s very attractive for a human male.
He has delicate features and a jaw so crisply cut it looks almost fragile.
The glasses give him a look of studious intelligence.
He ends the song with an abrupt clash of frustrated notes and an audible, “Fuck!”
I almost rise from my chair, tortured by the desire to tell him the music is quite good and that he only needs to make a few small changes to achieve greatness.
But a figure emerges from the shadows at the edge of the stage, and a soft voice says, “Don’t stop.”
A thrill bolts through my chest, and the man on the stool whirls around.
Christine steps forward, wearing a simple white tank top and black dance leggings. Her hair isn’t in a neat bun, though—it’s on top of her head in a riotous knot.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m auditioning today, and I thought if I walked onto the stage first and got comfortable with it, I might be less nervous.”
“Of course.” The young man leaps up from his stool so fast it spins around. “Please, take all the time you need. I’m just trying to sort out this one bit. It’s not working—doesn’t have the right impact.”
“It sounded great to me.” She smiles at him.
He laughs faintly. “Well…thank you.” Then he cocks his head. “You look familiar.”
Christine nods. “So do you! But I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember your name…”
“I’m Raoul. Raoul de Chagny. And wait, you’re Christine Daaé, right? We were both at the same middle school for a year.”
“That’s it! Seems so long ago.”
“I’ve never forgotten you,” Raoul says, so quietly I can barely hear him from my box. “I don’t know if you remember, but I was bullied badly that year for giving a valentine to a boy in my class. You were there on one of the worst days, and you defended me.”
“Oh my god…I do remember!” exclaims Christine. “That was awful.”
“You made it less awful. I had a crush on you after that.” He gives an embarrassed chuckle. “Until things got so bad my parents moved me to a different school.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through such a horrible experience.” She’s moving nearer to him, being pulled closer by her compassionate heart.
Hatred for Raoul flames in my chest, tightening my throat with its vehemence.
I want to bellow my rage at both of them.
I want to seize Raoul by the throat and fling him against a wall and roar in his face that Christine is mine.
I want to hear him panting in terror, feel him break in my hands.
I want to know what he sounds like when he screams.
But by some divine exertion of my will, I manage not to move.
“I should tell you…” Raoul tosses a hand through his red-gold hair. “I wrote Sidewinder.”
“Sidewinder?” asks Christine blankly.
“The musical you’re auditioning for.”
“Oh! Oh god… Of course. I promise I know what it’s called.” She presses her hands to her cheeks. “This is so embarrassing. I’m sorry. I’ve never auditioned for a voice role before… I’ve actually never sung in public before… I’m not even sure what I’m doing here…”
She’s falling apart. I groan inwardly, shrinking deeper into my chair.
But Raoul laughs. “Well, I’ve never written a musical before, so we’re both new to this.
To be honest, I’m having second thoughts about the score.
I’m great at lyrics, but not as good at composing.
I had a couple friends help me with the music and the orchestration, but something is missing.
I don’t know if I’m talented enough to take it as far as it can go. ”
“I’m sure you are.”
“Are you? A few minutes ago, you didn’t remember me. And you have no idea what this musical is about, do you?” He doesn’t say it harshly, but with rueful humor in his voice.
Christine sighs. “I’ve made a mess of this already. I may as well not even audition. Clearly, I’m unprepared.”
“Hey.” When she turns away, he catches her wrist. It’s a light graze of his fingers, just enough to make her pause. “I’d like to hear you sing. Please stay.”
The look that passes between them is like a broadsword cleaving straight through the muscle of my heart, splitting it in two.
I’m hemorrhaging hope, watching my plans bleed out onto the crimson carpet of Box Five.
The attraction between them is unmistakable, almost tangible.
I can practically smell the pheromones in the air.
“Okay,” Christine replies. “I’ll stay.”
“Good. Thank you. Marj should be backstage by now with the audition forms. Go ahead and fill one of those out, and we’ll get started soon. It’s so good to see you, Christine.”
Fuck him for saying “Christine” in that warm, intimate tone. Her name belongs in my mouth, not his.
“Agnes,” I whisper, and I feel the immediate response of the ghost as she rushes to my location.
She appears within seconds, adjusting her flowered hat. “Yes, sir?”
“That boy on the stage. I want to know everything about him. Get some of the others to help you, and find something I can use to ruin his life.”
“Right away, sir!” she squeaks and darts away.
I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees and lacing my fingers together. Angry though I am, there’s a thread of excitement in the rage. I haven’t had a true adversary since the conflict with the vampires at Wicklow. I lost that battle, but I don’t plan to lose this one.
On the surface, Raoul might seem like a paltry rival, easy to defeat, but he has an advantage over me with this prior connection to Christine.
He is kind, talented, and human. If I underestimate him, I might fail, so I must treat him as a serious threat.
I must discover what it would take to unravel him down to his core, to lay his heart bare and pulsating before me so I can thrust a blade through it.
And perhaps, when I have him at my mercy, I’ll torture him with my alterations to his musical score and show him how he could have been so much better if he had only a shred of my creative genius.