NEWEST ANGEL
 
Chapter 1
 
In the days of the late 19th Century France, no
company of performers ever worked harder than those of the Pairs Opera House
also known as the Opera Garnier, after Charles Garnier the last architect to
take credit for its rebuilding.
 
On this cold winters eve, the opera house bustled with both
performers and stagehands preparing for the opening of a new show. Carlotta, the
current diva fussed and
complained to the two mangers MM. Richard and Moncharmin, as a disgruntled
ballerina, commonly referred to as a ballet rat, tossed a slipper at her.
 
In a not too distant corner, a shadow lurked in the
darkness, eavesdropping on the discontent at hand. So engrossed in their petty
complaints, no
one noticed the glinting, cat-like eyes or heard the rustle of a twirling cape.
 
“Do you understand that I could throw you out of this opera
house without a second thought?” Madame Giry, the resident ballet mistress
reprimanded the chorus girl who had thrown the slipper. Giry had been a part of the
opera house for
as long as anyone could remember. She
lived for ballet and so did her young daughter, Meg, another resident ballet
rat, with dreams of becoming a prima ballerina or better. 


Giry did not tolerate rudeness or any unlady-like conduct,
and hadn’t screamed as loud as she had wanted as she started to lose her voice
since this wasn’t the first time she had raised her voice at the girl. 

“Then why don’t you? Throw me out,” the young girl said in an insolent fashion
as Carlotta cursed in the background.

“You must get rid of that... that...ugh!” Carlotta became exasperated since she
couldn’t think of an insult in either Spanish or French. The pompous, overly
made-up diva had grown
used to the disrespect. She only
concerned herself with having her name on the marquis or making sure it showed
up at the top of the playbill.
 
Even more so since no one could rightly call La Sorelli a
chorus girl; the prima ballerina proved to have just as much importance to the
managers as Carlotta herself. This seemed
like the norm, La Sorelli and Carlotta fought for the title of number one
during every rehearsal and gala, which always ended with La Sorelli throwing
something at the diva.

“Madame Giry! Do something, you have to teach that girl some manners” Firmin
remarked. Firmin Richard, a tall thin fellow with a
moustache, pushed back his dark, disheveled hair and wished to God that he and
his business partner, Moncharmin had never bought the opera house or became the
new mangers.

“We’re losing money every time Carlotta refuses to go on” Moncharmin muttered
in a low voice, but not low enough for Carlotta to miss. At this, she stormed
off stage and out of their lives for the next few hours. But, she would return;
she enjoyed the limelight more than they loved money and lately she’d been
missing too much of it. 
 
A quiet voice seeped from the dark corner and beckoned for
Anina’s attention. Pretty little Anina
Brigitte Dubois, skulked off to the side of chaos and wished for the day when
she would reign as prima ballerina. Rehearsals always proved a waste of time when
Carlotta and La Sorelli
got involved. She did perfectly well on
her own. 
 
“Anina, go clean the boxes!” Madame Giry’s stern voice shook her out of her
thoughts and made her
twist up her lovely dark hair into a tight bun. She hated cleaning the balconies or
boxes. Usually the task went to one who neglected
rehearsals or didn’t do well in them. Lately, her mind dwelt on becoming a star
ballerina and made her less
than accurate in the dance routine.

The other girls snickered as they watched one of the most important dancers
walk past them with rags and assorted cleaning solutions. By the time she
reached Box Five she almost had to crawl.

“YOU CRAZY OLD WHORE, IF I BREAK MY HIP, IT’S ON YOUR HEAD!” She yelled over
the railing and aimed a giant dust ball at her. Madame Giry expertly stepped
back.

“GET BACK TO WORK!” came the reprimand.
 
 As Anina plopped down
on a chair in protest, she heard his voice. “Anina, I have another job for you...”
 
She closed her eyes. ”Sure, but next time I want you to
clean the boxes when I’m done”
 
“Don’t be insolent! Come to me quickly!” whispered a soothing male voice.
 
Behind the seat Anina had chosen, a column opened and again
the voice beckoned to her. 
Without hesitation, the young girl disappeared into the
hollow column, and then it moved back into place.
 
*****************


The lair of the legendary Opera Ghost said to haunt the
opera house, existed five cellars below the main floor. The air about his lake
house always felt damp
and cold, with the dank stench of wet decay.
 
The tall figure of a masked man cloaked in black, stood
kissing and caressing the lovely Anina, as they stood in the doorway of the
house. Gently, he pulled her inside
where they would have more privacy, but no one would see or hear them
anyway. 
 
By the time they reached one of the two bedrooms, both were
half naked, kissing and fondling each other like animals during mating season.
 
The disfigurement beneath the mask never turned Anina away
from the man who kissed her passionately and tore away her clothes. His naked body
felt warm, moist and muscular,
while his hands excited every part of her they touched. When they made love in this
world of endless
night, all fears fled, and raw, unbridled passion took over. The feel of him on top
of her made her weak
and vulnerable. She belonged to him, and
he could do whatever he wanted to her body. Even when she screamed, no one heard. 
 
The breathing of both became ragged and laborious as the heat
of passion washed over the bodies which now moved rhythmically together as
one. Nothing took the place of this heat
or the electric surge that charged and awakened their loins. Taking her nipples in
his mouth heightened
the passion as they continued their rhythm. Sometimes they went for hours like
this, to satisfying the need.
 
Many nights like tonight ended with the resident spectre
using her for his pleasure, but teaching her the skills of stealth and
treachery as well.
 
He knew she wanted fame and riches and this he could help
her attain, but the one thing he could never really give her, the one thing she
desperately desired to have, his love. Craving her body and using her for his
pleasure did not take the place
of love. Love came when you least
expected. It made you feel all warm and
fuzzy, it made you adore the person and want to abide with them forever! Erik, the
Opera Ghost, had no such feeling
for the young woman he made love to every night, all night. Since she seemed
willing, regardless of her
tender age of fifteen, she would suite his plans, his needs and in turn he
would make her like him; a nocturnal creature who solved its problems with
threats and bloodshed.
 
**********************
 
On the night of the performance, Carlotta caught a
mysterious illness and her understudy had to take her place. Anina watched
enviously as Christine triumphed as the new diva with Paris at her feet. 
 
Squeezing through the throng of people who all wanted to
meet Christine, Anina went outside for some non- tobacco infested air. As she stood
in the frigid night air, amid
flurries of snow, a thought came to mind. A way to attain the position of prima
ballerina. I seemed all so simple. She should have thought of it before. Erik
would not approve, for sure, but if she just did it, what could he say?
 
La Sorelli stood behind the screen in her dressing room
changing her clothes for tonight’s gala, when a solemn, envy-ridden Anina burst
through the door without a knock or an announcement. 
 
“You little bitch! Get
out of here and close that door. Who
invited you into my dressing room?” snapped La Sorelli, slipping the sleek gown
over her curvy, slender figure. 
 
Anina stood defiantly, closing the door behind her
quietly. No words passed between
them. At first, La Sorelli thought this
may be a joke inspired by the other ballet rats, but the young girl said
nothing, looking daggers at her, which sent a shiver through her thin
body. 
 
“I said get out!” The prima ballerina raised her voice a
little, as she stepped out from behind the screen. She made a mistake by turning
her back on the
evil child, to adjust her silky dark curls in the mirror, when a rather hefty,
blunt object collided with the ballerina’s delicate head and cracked open her
skull. The body hit the floor with a
gruesome thud. Blood oozed from the back
of her broken head.
 
Anina stood over the body with the empty vase which once
held flowers from an admiring fan. She
had done it. Hard to believe it had been
so easy. After staring at the lifeless
body for some time, Anina carefully set the vase upon the dresser, adjusted her
dress, fiddled with her hair, and proceeded to rummage through the makeup on
the dead woman’s dresser.
 
***********************
 
From the forgotten corridor of the opera house, Erik, the
infamous Phantom, lurked quietly in the shadows watching Anina leave the
dressing room of the late prima ballerina. 
 
Quickly he snatched her up and melted into a trapdoor embedded
into a nearby wall. Here in the semi
dark of the secret passageway, the resident spectre scolded his young protégé
for killing without a reason.
 
“I wanted her dead and that’s all. I am next in line for her
position. Simple as that,” stated Anina
without remorse.
 
“You left behind a mess. Blood all over the place! Have I
taught you nothing?” Erik grimaced beneath the mask. Anger welled up inside him. 
For years he had kept the opera house and its
managers in the palm of his hand. An
accident here and there; a threatening note or two per week; and death only if deemed
absolutely necessary, but this was uncalled for. Killing for gain did not set right
with him.
 
“I had to kill her. You took so long in keeping your promise; there was no other way.”
 
Anina stared into those glowing golden orbs with wide-eyed
innocence. She acted as though he
accused her falsely and that nothing he said mattered. As he stared into those
emotionless eyes, he
realized she had no conscience, no soul, and no regret. Without a doubt he now
looked into lipid
pools of complete insanity. And this made
even he, the Phantom of the Opera, shudder.