• Chapter One

    The Opera Populaire was ablaze and the Phantom was making his escape to the lower levels of the opera house to hide from the mob of people who wanted him dead, his hand still clenched the ring his only love had given to him. Raoul was able to take her away from here, away from him so he left her to a better life than he could have ever given her, a life of wealth, pride, and hopefully love. The Phantom would never forget her, try as he might, he knew she would always be on his mind. The only other thing he had ever loved, the opera house was on fire and he held the key to saving it, he knew the aqueducts under there like the back of his hand so he planned to flood his beloved home to save it. At the rate they were going the firemen would have never been able to put it out in time from the outside using their shabby equipment, on such a large building would not make a difference, but he alone could be the savior, the hero, and go about his life there. Rushing to the different levers and pulley systems he opened the ‘flood gates’ so to speak and water rose engulfing him, the mob had seen this and retreated but he dove further down, he knew another way out and within seconds he was safe from harm in the rat infested sewers. “I can save it” he muttered to himself sitting on the ground burying his deformed face in his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees, finally the thought hit him that he could never be with Christine Daae again, the only person he had ever wanted.

    Sitting there he began to sob, trying to stay strong and quiet just in case anyone was down there with him, he knew no one would dare go into the sewers but he still feared for his safety. The Phantom sat and cried almost uncontrollably, until he was silenced by a piece of paper floating by that he mistook for an apparition. A stray piece of writing from one of his many compositions, then came more floating papers, it seemed all of his possessions were following him from his underground lair into the sewers using the same path he did to escape. Scrambling to his feet ‘my work’ he thought as he scooped up piece after piece of paper then clothing and draperies followed, all soaked from the water, flowing into even more water as it almost passed him in the sewer waterways. He spent what seemed like hours picking up his meager possessions and placing them into a pile next to him, as he finished picking up the last of the floating things he heard silence above, no more rushing water.

    The Phantom climbed up to where he had come from then swam to the levers he’d used to flood the opera house and pulled them in the reverse direction. In an instant he was sucked to the floor struggling against the water, he almost wanted to give up but he thought of the reason he flooded the Opera Populaire in the first place, to save the last thing he loved. Crawling against the pressure he was able to make his escape back to the safety of the sewer with his belongings, exhausted as he was he collapsed atop the pile of clothing using it as a makeshift bed for the night. His sleep was tormented with thoughts of losing Christine to that fop of a man, Raoul, how he swept her off of her feet. He woke so many times that he didn’t feel rested in the least bit but he felt he had to get up and see the damage.

    He began separating his things he’d saved, then placed what was salvageable onto two large draperies, wrapped them up and used all of his strength to drag them back up to his lair. When he got to his familiar surroundings everything seemed almost untouched, except for everything being wet he had managed to save his beloved home. Next he wanted to sneak up to the ground level, to see the damage that was done, ‘my home’ he thought ‘it’s now disfigured like me’. Upon arriving at the stage he saw men carrying buckets of water out to the street, probably dumping it into the sewer drains. Examining the destruction from afar The Phantom saw that some of the seats were burned beyond recognition, the stage was fine but the curtains and a good lot of the set pieces couldn’t be saved. The upper level seats were untouched, but the ceiling was another story, where the chandelier had fallen the chain holding it ripped through the mural that once was above it. ‘This is all my fault’ he thought ‘I ruined what I truly loved, what I know could never leave me,’ falling to his knees he cursed himself for ever letting a foolish girl get the better of him, even she was gone so it was all for nothing.

    Still hiding behind the largest stage curtain that had been slightly burned he saw the managers walking through the orchestra area in front of the stage, the chandelier was at one end of it but they seemed like they were just looking for a place to talk amongst themselves so the Phantom listened in. “Do you really think so” he overheard Monsieur Firmin say, “who else would have know how to save this place?” responded Monsieur Gilles André, “not to mention our pocketbooks, look around, there’s very minimal damage.” That was true, everything could be easily remedied, and the Phantom knew they were speaking of him, all the while he was thinking of a way to get the opera house back in working order. The managers continued their conversation not knowing that he was listening, “We could be selling tickets for ‘Hannibal’ within three months if everything goes to plan” said André, “Yes Gilles but how will be afford to get these things done now that the Vicomte and his parents have decided to pull their investment” responded Firmin, “we cannot just go about the streets of Paris begging for a new patron…” This made him think, the opera ghost’s mind was spinning with ideas on how to have it done within two months instead of three, while the manager’s crew worked during the day he would work all night, his love of the theater would give him the strength to bring it back from the dead.