Vicomte de Phantom II
Pier 69
Paris, 1895- A mysterious fire consumed the Opera Populaire. A mob rampaged through the theatre's twisted catacombs baying for the masked man they held responsible. Only his mask was ever found...
I flicked a strand of wet hair out of my face and began messing with the sleeves of my dress. It was busy down at the piers for this time during the day as relatives stood and waited for the disembarking passengers to make their way through the custom house. I stumbled slightly as I was jarred by a young man, who rushed past me to join a rather large crowd just outside the gates. Unable to extinguish my curiosity, I moved closer to see what all the commotion was about, slipping into the crowd of reporters, photographers, well-wishers, and gawkers without notice. The man, who was clearly a latecomer, turned to the man beside him.
“Has the Persephone docked yet?” he panted.
The man nodded. ”Yeah, the passengers are going through customs now.”
”Here they come!” A young woman whispered loudly to the two men as the first of the passengers made their way through the gate.
”It’s Mrs Astor!” one of the reporters called as a portly lady wearing an enormous plumed hat stepped through the gates, being escorted by a dapper gentleman.
”Hey, Mrs Astor! Over here!” the photographer called. Mrs Astor turned and several flashbulbs went off.
”How was your trip?” one reporter asked.
”Is that the latest Paris style?” another called.
Mrs. Astor just smiled and blew them a kiss before turning away and allowing herself to be escorted to her waiting carriage.
”Look, there’s Colonel Vanderbilt!” A young man near the front of the crowd called.
”Hey, Colonel, enjoyed those French pastries, did you?” the reporter asked.
Vanderbilt smiled broadly. “There’s nothing there we don’t have bigger and better over here, I assure you.”
”Thanks Colonel!” the photographer said loudly, trying to be heard over the chattering crowd. The Colonel smiled indulgently, patting his ample waistline lightly as the photographers flashbulbs went off before moving off to hail a carriage.
”Hey, there she is!” Someone yelled and all heads turn to the gates, I glanced over, only slightly curious as to the reason to who this mystery person was that they were all standing here waiting for and felt my breath catch in my throat at what I saw.
There, framed in the gateway, clutching the hand of a young boy, stood Christine Daae’. She was nearly obscured by veils and a cloche hat but she was gorgeous, iconic, every inch a star. There was a moment of awed silence as I tried to reign in my pounding heart and push the dread that was seeping through me away. ‘Why, after all these years, why did she have to show her face here, in this town? If Erik finds out she’s here…’ I refused to complete the thought, I didn’t want to think about how far Erik would go to regain his hold on the former prima donna. I pushed the thoughts away as the crowd burst into pandemonium as flashbulbs exploded and the reporters and photographers began shouting, all vying for Christine’s attention.
Christine remained silent, pulling the boy at her side closer to her and wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders as a familiar voice rose above the shouts of the crowd. “Her name is Madame de Chagny! Stand aside! Stand aside, please!” As Raoul appeared through the gate, I couldn’t stop myself I gasped. The woman just ahead of me glanced back but I could hardly find it in me to care. It was Raoul, older and slightly more weathered looking than I remembered, but still the same man that I had been married to all those years ago, still dapper and handsome and, in this moment, brusque irate. “No pictures, do you hear? No pictures of my wife, no pictures of the boy!”
”Hey Christine, why Coney Island?” one reporter called.
”Your first concert in years, why ain’t you singing at the Met?” A reporter in front of me, a young man with ink stains on his shirt, called out and Raoul looked towards him, a dignified look on his face.
“The Vicomtesse has been engaged by the well-known impresario –”
”Well-known?!”
No one’s ever seen the guy” the same reporter cut him off, before launching another into another question. ”How’d he lure the great Christine Daaé over here, anyways?”
”It’s the money, right? All that American moolah!” The photographer said mockingly.
”Hey Christine, whatcha gonna sing, “Yankee Doodle Moolah”?”A man in the crowd called and the people around him sniggered.
Raoul turned towards where the man’s voice had come from. “My wife is an artist, sir - - !” Raoul began heatedly.
”Yeah, and her art is paying off your gambling debts, is what they’re saying in France.” The photographer scoffed. I was hit with a moment of surprise at the news, I had heard of there financial burden because of some poor investments but I hadn’t realized how badly off they must be if Christine was coming out of retirement to pay their debts off.
”Is it true you left your entire fortune on a roulette table in Monte Carlo?” the reporter asked and Raoul’s eyes blazed angrily. “Why, you insolent jackal! How dare you -” Raoul said taking several steps toward the reporter.
“Father-” The boy began in a quiet voice that was unlike either of his parents.
“Not now, Gustave!” Raoul snapped as reporters turned their questions on the boy.
”Hey kid, how does it feel to have a famous mother?”
”This is your first time in America?”
”What do you plan to do here at Coney?”
The child glanced around shyly, clearly not sure how to handle the attention. ”I… want to learn how to swim.” He said quietly. There were hoots and laughs from the crowd and I couldn’t help but feel a small amount of sympathy for the boy shrinking back against his mother.
”I said, leave the child alone!” Raoul snapped, glancing around anxiously. “For God’s sake, didn’t this Mr Y send someone to receive us?”
I felt another stab of shock at the sound of Erik’s new name here. It was the name he had been using in the public eye at least, to me he was still Erik. The shock gave way to anger as I realized that he had been in contact with Christine and Raoul, however vaguely, while I had been forced to sever all ties with everyone in Paris because of his actions. I was brought out of my thoughts as the boy suddenly became very animated, he stepped forward and pointed at something across courtyard. “Mother, look..?Right over there… Across the square.. What is it?”
Everyone turned and I wasn’t surprised to see the sight of Erik’s carriage, fancifully designed with horses that were entirely mechanical and a driver whose face was completely obscured. The crowd around me began to buzz as words of astonishment, wonder, and even fear were thrown back and forth. “What on earth could it be?”
“I’ve never seen such a thing before in my life!”
“Damn strange, that’s what it is!”
“The most peculiar conveyance!”
Suddenly the door of the carriage opened and three familiar figures extricated themselves from the vehicle. I ground my teeth as the three figures bowed in unison to the crowd before turning to approach Christine and her family with their usual bizarre yet beautiful motions. “Are you ready to begin? Are you ready to get on? You’re about to start out on the journey of your lives.” Squelch said before reaching behind the child’s ear and pulling out a colored handkerchief.
” Is this some kind of joke?” Raoul demanded, his voice filled to the brim with bewildered outrage.
One of the onlookers closest to Raoul scoffed. “No, it’s a publicity stunt for that freak show on Coney!”
”It’s a front page feature, is what it is! You getting this, Smitty?” One of the reporters asked his photographer as he rushed to write in a small, leather book and I couldn’t help but smile at the idea of such good publicity for free.
There was yet another flash from the photographer’s camera.“You betcha!” he replied, taking yet another picture.
Gangle stepped forward. “If you’re ready, then get in. Once you’re in, then we’ll get gone. And who knows, once it goes, Where you’ll be when it arrives?” Gangle spoke and, in one fluid motion, he had removed Raoul’s top hat and suddenly made it vanish into thin air.
“This is outrageous!” Raoul snapped as the crowd began to murmur again, this time in approval.
“It’s amazing!”
”Brilliant!”
”I’m telling ya, that Mr Y is an absolute genius!”
Gangle and Squelch quickly moved to flank the family and walked them towards the carriage as the bird-like Fleck beckoned them forward. “It’s a fun house where the mirrors all reflect what’s real.” Fleck said mysteriously.
“And reality’s as twisted as the mirrors reveal.” Fleck and Gangle whispered.
Squelch added his voice to the mix. “And the fun is finding out what the mirrors show…” By now the whole group had reached the carriage and Christine was helped into it as Raoul continued to protest.
“This is unacceptable, do you hear me? I will be taking this up with your employer! Whoever he is!” Raoul snapped as he was finally coaxed into the carriage, leaving only the boy, Gustave, outside it.
Gustave gazed at the carriage and then at the crowd, his face and voice excited as he spoke.”Everything and everyone, it’s all just how I dreamed…All the freaks, and all the fun, exactly how I dreamed…And Phantasma still awaits…Wonder what’s behind its gates…” The boy climbed into the carriage and it silently rolled off as the onlookers watched, speechless. As the carriage disappeared from view I quickly turned on my heel and began to push my way through the crowd, catching snatches of conversation. ”That was something’, wasn’t it?” A boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen told the woman who was hanging on his arm.
”I was hoping she’d sing. Caruso sang half of Pagliacco for us when he got off the boat.” A woman complained to her friend.
“I bet she ain’t got it no more, not like the old days. Sure, she’s pitch perfect… But empty inside, like the flame went out or something’.” One of the reporters said simply, digging in his coat for a match.
I slipped passed a woman who looked to be my age as she suddenly began pointing to the arrival gates, calling out to the crowd. ”Look! It’s the Rockefellers!”
I finally made it through the last few people and slipped down the busy street, a plan forming in my head. I veered off the main street and into a dismal back alley. I would take a shortcut back to Coney Island and Phantasma, and I would find out exactly what was going on.
