Little Vipers

Some time passes between Hannibal and Il Muto. Actually, it was hardly any time at all. Monsieur Lefevre seemed to distrust the managing potential of first-timers Firmin and Andre, and worked the cast nearly to death right before his rumored retirement. Instead of just learning a single opera, as is custom, Monsieur Lefevre had everyone learning both Hannibal and Il Muto, to ensure a smoother transition for the new managers. So it should be no surprise that the two operas were back-to-back. It had Poppa in fits.

"Oh Poppa, don't fret." I pleaded, trying to talk him out of his frustration.

"Girl, your hair." He said impatiently, choosing to ignore me. I sighed and rolled my eyes, using one hand to hide my think, long hair and the other to grab my Father's shoulder.

"Poppa, be calm." I said more forcefully, and turning him to face me, "The sets will be made. Can't we just enjoy Carlotta's leaving party?" Poppa smiled at my joke.

"I wouldn't miss it for all the unfinished sets in the world." He laughed. We walked over to an overhang and looked down just as the prima donna herself and a train of beseeching followers went by. Crewmembers catcalled and mooned the spoiled star, and I couldn't help but join in. At least the Opera Populaire was rid of her.

Later:

"This is ridiculous." I grumbled as I pulled the cord to open the curtains at the urging of the cast on stage. Il Muto was to be performed with Carlotta, despite her huffy and rather public walkout this morning. I sighed and pouted as she took the stage.

"Charlie, your father was looking for you." A stagehand said after tapping my shoulder.

"Yes, thank you." I said as gruffly as possible to make up for the rather girly frown he'd caught me in. Little did I know it wouldn't matter after the events to come tonight.

"Overhang." He continued and I nodded. I pounded up the stairs, not caring if I was heard; I wasn't at all concerned about interrupting a Carlotta performance.

"I'm here, Father." I said as I approached him. He didn't react, staring intently over the railing, "Father." I said a little louder, touching his shoulder. He started and turned to me, looking unnerved.

"Oh, Charlie." He said distractedly.

"You needed me?" I continued, looking down myself, only seeing Carlotta's tray of "necessities", such as her throat spray.

"Well yes I had, but..." He joined me at the rail, looking down with a steady gaze.

"Something wrong, Father?" I asked again. He closed his eyes and pulled back, leading me farther along the overhang.

"No, I don't think so, dear." Poppa assured me quietly, "Don't go worrying yourself."

"But Poppa-"

"Hush, dear." He interrupted me, his grip on my shoulder tightening, "It's nothing." He stared me straight in the eyes and I nodded.

"What did you want me for, Father?" I continued as we walked higher into the backstage.

"I just wanted you away from the other hands." He said, smiling slightly, "And the stage. You shouldn't be so loud, dear."

"Did you hear something?" I asked, turning. There was nothing there.

"There is nothing there." Poppa repeated my thoughts. We continued along the line of tackles and rigging; Poppa looked distracted again.

"Poppa, what are you looking for?" I demanded as his eyes scanned high above us.

"Just checking the ropes." He said off-handedly. We scaled a staircase, landing at the top just as a voice boomed and echoed through the theater.

"Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty?" The voice said, loud but low, with evident anger. My eyes grew wide.

"The Phantom." I said to myself, "The Phantom!" I said to my Father with a glare.

"Now Charlotte-"

"I knew something was wrong. You saw him." I poked his chest for emphasis.

"There is certainly no fooling you." Poppa agreed, walking towards another set of stairs.

"Where are you going?" I demanded again, stomping along behind him, "If you're going to find the Opera Ghost, I'm coming with you."

"No Charlotte, you will not." Poppa said sternly, turning to face me, "You will go down to the main floor, you will do your job, you will stay surrounded by the other stagehands; but you will not go looking for this murderer. Do you hear me?" I crossed my arms and looked away, "Do you hear me?" He repeated, shaking me. I looked into my Father's eyes, his clouded with concern, mine swimming with fear.

"Yes Poppa." I said softly, falling against him in fright.

"My little Lottie, always to quick to tears." He said with a chuckle to himself. He petted my hair for a moment, "Stay safe, child."

And he was gone.

Of course I didn't go back to the main level. After all the stories my Poppa told me of the Phantom of the Opera, and all the late-night scare sessions in the dancers' dormitories, I wouldn't just let my Poppa go off on his own. I waited until I saw him pass through a concealed door, far above me.

I stopped only for a moment along the chandelier's balcony to watch the chaos on the stage so far away. I giggled a very girly laugh as one of the actors danced his way off stage to the beat of the ballet; I was glad no one was around to hear this blatant blow of cover. However, I was pulled away by the sound of a scream.

I pushed through the same door my Father had passed through minutes before and up the stairs as fast as I could, fearing for my Poppa. I hadn't been up in the rafters very much, because Poppa said I might slip; so I didn't really know where I was. I followed on the paths that seemed to be swaying more than any others, hoping this to be a reasonable strategy.

I turned corners and jumped over the gaps in the wooden rafters. I stumbled a few times, which slowed me down. The second time I heard my Poppa cry out it sounded distant and muffled; it was hard to hear over the orchestra now, and I realized we were directly over the stage.

"Poppa?" I tried to call, but he didn't answer. I ran blindly, trying to follow the direction his voice had emanated from.

By the time I found him, a masked figure was pushing my Father out from the rafter, a noose around his neck. My heart stopped. I couldn't breathe.

"POPPA!" I somehow found the strength to scream, "Poppa!" I found the power to move my legs to the place where he'd been pushed over. I slid on a slick spot, nearly falling myself; I grabbed a rope and held on tight. I looked down just as he finally fell the rest of the way to the stage. My Father was dead.

My sobs couldn't be heard over the screams and shouts of the actors and audience below me, so no one even looked up. No one looked up to see the foolish thing I was about to do. I turned my face away. And right up into the face of the Phantom, just twenty feet away at the end of the rafter.

"You." Was all I spat before standing and sprinting after the deadly shadow.

I had no idea what I was doing. I was crazed.

But I had renewed energy, just begging to be spent by chasing down this man, this ghost, this killer.

It was almost too easy following him. In fact, it was too easy. And it was almost as if he would taunt me, calling me on. In actuality, he was; sending a whisper down a passage to meet me, or the swish of his cape around a corner. But I wouldn't realize any of this until it was much too late.

I came to a black, glossy lake and immediately ruined the mirror with ripples and waves as I waded right in. I was loud and wasn't trying at all to be stealthy. I can't even tell you what was going through my head, but I assume it wasn't much. I didn't even have a weapon. What did I plan on doing? I hadn't a clue.

"Foolish boy." I heard in my ear, as if confirming my thoughts. As a split second's thought I rushed my hand up to the rim of my cap, just as Poppa had taught me, just as a coarse rope flew over my head.

"Clever." The Phantom whispered in my ear, "I suppose your 'Poppa' taught you that?" He asked cruelly. I couldn't reply; it was all I could manage, keeping my grip on my cap, creating a barrier between me and my certain death. The Phantom pushed me on, in through a slatted gate; it shut behind us, all the way down to the ground. I felt the bump of it hitting solid stone through my feet. I groaned in distress as the Phantom produced more rope, using it to tie my waist and other hand to the gate.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes." He sang harshly as he finally overpowered me and slipped my hand out from under the lasso. With a tug, the rope finally found my neck, forcing all the air out of my lungs.

"Stupid boy." The Phantom taunted, pulling harder. My vision blurred. I sputtered. I kicked. But all to no avail; I eventually accepted my fate, my head flopping forward. I couldn't see. I couldn't think. But I could still hear the Phantom sort of laughing to himself.

In the last moments of life, I barely registered my cap finally sliding off my head and my brown hair spilling out over my motionless face.

"A woman." Was the last thing I remember hearing before I simply couldn't hold on any longer. My world went black.