THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHT
By Midnight Rose 1994

Part 4

---

“Angel of Music…Guide and guardian!”

---Christine, Act One, Scene Three.

Ah, the beauty of a snowy night. Large fluffy snowflakes float lazily to the ground twirling like ballerinas. The gentle breeze tapping together the tree branches overhead serve as the night’s music.  The full moon above the sole spotlight. Alas, it is played before an unfeeling audience of scaling towers and blinking lights of a quiet city. There is one, a shadow, who takes time to appreciate such a simple pleasure, nature’s majesty. A pair of glistening eyes drinks in winter’s magic upon a quiet park. The rolling landscape was a wonderland of virgin snow, white-trimmed tree limbs, and crystal icicles turning ordinary lamp light into frosty chandeliers.  

Lo, a solitary figure gingerly picks her way along the gently curving walk a long swinging stick tapping out each unsure step. Eyes blind to the nocturnal beauty surrounding her, yet her ears open to every sound. He wonders can she hear the dance of the snowflakes? Is her heart open to the music in the night air?

The trees keep their silent secret; the shadows serve as an ever-vigilant escort, for even in a land of magic its evil ones lurk about, leaning in wait against rocks and trees.  

The young sightless woman stops in her tracks when her stick finds her path blocked by amused cold chuckles and the unmistakable approach of more feet. Fear grips her heart. Are there two…or three?She cannot tell. Around and around they pace laughing into her sightless face the virtues of her unfortunate handicap. One attacker pulls at her large purse spilling its contents on the frozen ground. She is defenseless. Another pushes her roughly into the snow wrestling the stick from her grip as her groping hand comes in contact with his sleeve. A third comments on the green in a worn wallet. Not enough?

Enough! The frozen earth trembles with a bellow of angry thunder. The surrounding trees stir in their slumber to echo of his terrifying cry. All thoughts of bounty melt from numb brains. Hands and feet have no feeling. Did the shadows move? Or was it a trick of wild imaginations? Quivering lips of high-pitched fear set feet in hasty retreat.  

Slowly, in the returning silence, the shaken woman regains her bearings. She moves to seek her cane and purse and gather the scattered contents. The barest rustle of a hem sweeping stone just behind her makes her jump. Is it a friend or returning foes?

“Do not be afraid.  You are safe now. ”A voice of deep velvet, of tenderness, of compassion; it is the voice of trust.  

A large hand gently cups her elbow and helps her to her feet.  Quick, efficient movements, almost soundless, collect her spilled possessions and the cane of sight. He places them in her waiting hands with the barest of touches.  

“Thank you,” The woman says to her unseen savior.  Her only answer is the sound of the night breeze. The shadows are still and she stands alone.  

***

“Whose is that voice…”

---Raoul, Act One, Scene Three.

Catherine trudged her way through the bustling police headquarters to the detective department getting bumped and stepped on all the way up the narrow stairway. It did not help her foul disposition any. This morning she had called the Booking office about the stalled warrant on Joseph Kenworth only to find out they had no record of her request. She would have to resubmit fresh paperwork and signatures. She was back to ask Detective House to sign another statement.  

She found him and his partner at their cluttered desks grilling a pretty, young woman in her mid-twenties. Her long auburn hair fell to her shoulders in gentle waves, framing a pleasant round face behind dark glasses. She held a folded walking cane in her lap, nervously twisting it in her slender hands. She was blind.  

Catherine waited to the side not wanting to interrupt Detective House, who was listening intently to everything the young woman was saying; even McGee was absorbed in the narration.  

“Describe him, madam. ”

“The three of them sounded as if they were black…possibly from Harlem. One was in a ski jacket; the other in denim…I think. ”

“Not the attackers, madam,” House seeing the young woman thought he said them and not him. “The person who helped you. ”

The woman’s face narrowed in confusion, but obediently answered the detective’s question. “He was tall…over six feet…” she said trying to visualize the man who had helped her.  “He had a large presence to him…I mean, he felt massive. ”

“A large man…” House scribbled on his notepad, “What was he wearing?”

“A long coat of some sort,” the young woman said.  “ He came up behind me…I didn’t hear him until his coat brushed the walk. ”

This statement alone told Catherine, Vincent was the one who had helped the young blind woman. She paid close attention to the pointed conversation.  

“You didn’t hear anything until he was right there beside you?” McGee asked half-believing her. “No footsteps crunching in the snow or on the sidewalk?”

The woman shook her head. ” No, I wasn’t even sure anyone was even there until he spoke…I had just been mugged and I thought my ears were playing tricks on…”

Detective House and Detective McGee had both leaned closer when the woman said that the man had spoken.  

House interrupted her. “He spoke!”

The woman was puzzled by the detective’s reaction. “Yes…He said, ‘Don’t be afraid.  You are safe now…I believed him. ’ Then he was gone. ”

“Describe the voice…”

Catherine feared for Vincent’s safety and seeing where the conversation was headed, broke in by clearing her throat. “Detective,” Catherine said moving to stand beside the seated subject. “Are we not after the attackers here?An interrogation is for investigation the criminal---not the Good Samaritan. ”

“Miss Chandler,” House spouted, unnerved by the DA’s interruption into HIS investigation. “I know what I am doing …Besides, if you were here at the beginning of the conversation you would know that the man we call the Phantom is involved. ”

“Phantom?” The woman turned her sightless eyes from the warm, caring voice of this woman called Chandler to the hard line Detective House. “Who is this man?”

House sighed and glared at Catherine, he did not want to have to explain an investigation centered on a ghost---unusual circumstances--- to anyone, let alone a civilian. All he needed was a nosey reporter hearing about it and spreading the word around that the Police were investigating hauntings. It was perfect, embarrassing tabloid material.  

“There has been some vigilante activity by a person we have dubbed The Phantom. ” House explained still scowling at Chandler. “He appears, growls, roars---if you can believe that---throws things, or knocks people out cold, then disappears without a sound. No one has seen him, he could pass for a ghost…I think he is some Special Forces guy…”

“A Ninja,” interrupted McGee.  

House frowned at his partner.  “A Special Forces guy left over from Vietnam or Korea waging his own secret war. ”

Catherine had to bite her tongue to keep a straight face. This was so far from the truth.  “I do not know of many vigilantes that save the lives of law officers. ”

“Chandler, whose side are you on? The Public's?” House bellowed. “Do you know I have been to every sight of the Phantom attacks? Witnesses tell me that they heard something, saw nothing, while the criminals get this fear in their eyes when someone even speaks of a Shadow that Roars. ” 

“What is even stranger…crime is down in those areas,” McGee added.  

“Why, thank you, McGee,” snapped House turning his growing irritation on his partner. “That is the most intelligent thing I have heard you say about this whole bum case. ”

“So, he is not a criminal?” The poor girl was dumbfounded, and relieved. There was no way, in her mind, that the man who had helped her could have been a vigilante. There had been a quality of trust and caring in his soft voice; it was a voice she would never forget.  

Catherine gently put her hand on the woman’s narrow shoulder. “No. His only crime is that he is a mystery. ”She leveled her gray-green eyes at Detective House; they were ablaze with solemn mischief. “Everyone knows that the police hate mysteries…If I were you, madam, I wouldn’t tell them anything more about YOUR Phantom. ”

House frowned at Catherine. She just gave him a wink and a grin as she turned and walked away. She would be back to ask for his statement after he had time to forgive her for interfering. This would not take long; after all, it was only a bum case.  

**

“Once again she returns…to the arms of her angel. ”

---Raoul, Act Two, Scene Five.

House did forgive Catherine and signed the copy of his statement---after he grilled her on what she thought of the Phantom. Catherine told him that the Phantom was a positive force against crime. If his legend (House did not like that) made a would-be-perpetrator think twice then let him alone. Perhaps someday, the Phantom might show up to save his life from the evil of the streets.  

“Just like a woman, to make a ghost into a knight in shining armor,” House had mused very disgusted. The blind woman had refused to describe anything more about the man who helped her after Catherine’s interference.  

This thought brought a smile to Catherine’s lips as she traversed the short, low hallway that led to the lower entrance to her underground home, Vincent’s chamber. She found her tawny husband seated at the center table, his leonine features and tumble of mane bathed in the golden glow of a dozen candles. His proud, magnificent form still in quiet thought was a sight that never failed to move her with its power.  

As she entered, Catherine became aware that Vincent was humming the melody to The Music of the Night in a hauntingly beautiful baritone. He stopped when he looked up and gazed at her with eyes of the calmest Caribbean blue. Catherine felt like she could melt into those loving depths, the awareness of her surroundings floating away until all that remained was this incredible golden man who loved her.  

“Catherine. ” He whispered her name with such love as if it was a sacred prayer. His deep velvet voice becoming low and thick with passion, silk on sand.  

Vincent pushed his ornate, high backed chair back and spread his arms wide ready to receive his most prize possession into his embrace. Catherine dropped her briefcase and coat on the carpeted floor and then threw herself into his lap, her legs over one chair arm. Her slender arms wrapped around her soul mate’s thick neck as his bristled lips found hers.  

“I love you, my beloved Phantom,” Catherine cooed between luscious kisses.  

“I love you,” Vincent whispered back, nuzzling his fuzzy nose against the softness of Catherine’s cheek. She nestled against him as he shifted beneath her to hold her more comfortably in his lap. She lay her head against his shoulder, inhaling the sweet fragrance of his cascading red-gold flex still damp from bathing; a woodsy scent of sage and penion.  

How easily stress and tension melted away into contentment by love’s strong, sheltering embrace.  

“How was your day?” Her leonine lover breathed into her silk hair.  

“Long,” she replied ruefully. Catherine nuzzled the soft hollow of her husband’s strong jaw. He smelled wonderfully clean and masculine after a bath, his layers of clothing still free of the scent of smoke and beeswax. “Do you know you smell wonderfully…sexy?” she whispered into his hidden ear.  

Vincent’s answering hum had a hint of amusement in it. He held her tighter within his embrace, his large hands across her back pressing her to himself.  

“Do that again,” Catherine cooed, her face buried in her husband’s bushy mane.  

“Do what?”

“Hum, like you just did. ”

Vincent threw his head back against the back of the chair in astonishment.  “Catherine, please,” he said in gritty tones.  The passionate mood was broken.  

Catherine put her nose to his when he brought his head down. She kissed him. “I heard you humming when I came in…” 

Catherine had embarrassed him, Vincent could not blush but it was evident in his down cast eyes and sad shake of his head. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “but it sounded good…it did. ”Vincent just shook his head, too self-conscious of his vocal talent.  

He changed the subject. “Adam and Claire finished the Phantom’s musical box today. ”He gestured with his eyes to something behind Catherine.  

There sitting on Vincent’s low metal art deco table was a shoebox size shiny black box painted as a barrel organ with elaborate gold paint trim and trinket jewels.  On its lid sat a homemade monkey doll in a dark rich-colored paisley vest and Persian red cap playing the cymbals. Catherine had not noticed it when she had arrived.  

Adam was a painter and calligrapher, self-taught in the intricate designs of the Victorian era. Claire had a gift of turning bits of fabric scraps and trinkets into beautiful dolls, some of which she sold to shops and at summer craft fairs in the city above.  

“They did a wonderful job,” Catherine admired. “Does it play?”

“There is no music, but the monkey moves his arms together when you wind him up. The key is on the back. ” Vincent said. “They used the workings of a wind-up toy and the clock-works of a music box. When you turn the key, the monkey plays and the crank on the side of the barrel organ turns. ”

Catherine turned back to face Vincent and snuggled against him once more. She sighed contently, “It is wonderful to be part of a community that is bursting at the seams with a wealth of diverse talents. I am constantly surprised by what our Tunnel family can do with so little resources. ”

“Yes,” Her tawny husband agreed softly, “Yet, we are richer still by the love each one of our friends bring to our homes…To receive the fruits of their talents is an honor and a gift. ”

A warm silence fell between the two lovers as they cuddled together, content to be in each other’s arms after a busy day apart.  

“I believe I was asking you how your day went…before we went off on a tangent,” Vincent mused after awhile.  

“Oh, yes,” Catherine smiled, not lifting her head from her love’s broad shoulder.  “I said long…”

Catherine always shared the happenings of her day with Vincent. She kept him abreast on the cases she was working on because he was often involved in helping her with research or tracking down suspects. The city actually had an unknown Phantom working for them.  

“Did you secure the warrant on Kenworth?” he asked. Catherine raised her head, “No…Funny you should ask. ”

A head of riot gold tipped in question.  Catherine explained that because of the lost paperwork, she had to redo the legwork for another warrant request and had run into Detective House grilling the blind woman. Vincent nodded that it was he who had helped the lady.  

“Vincent, the detectives consider this a low priority case, but I think they are getting suspicious…They don’t like mysteries, you know. ”She toyed mindlessly with the ribbing of her mate’s gray wool sweater. “With you going to Lawrence’s home so often and creating incidents in the same part of town…I cannot help but worry. ”

“My love,” Vincent said softly looking deep into her green eyes.  “I know you fear for my safety, but the lives of others has always come first…”

“I know. I am not condemning your actions. ”

“Do not worry,” he said in velvet tones. He traced the fine line of her jaw with a claw-tipped finger.  “A few more weeks and my treks Above will be back to random wanderings. ”

Catherine snuggled back down against him. She had no doubt in Vincent’s ability to move about Above in safety, he had done it for many years and knew-all to well-the dangers awaiting one such as him. She should not worry, but as his wife, it was her duty.  

A chuckle rumbled in Vincent’s throat.  “Are they really calling me The Phantom?”

“House and McGee have dubbed you that. ”

“Appropriate, is it not?”He mused.  While playing the role of the Phantom in the Winterfest play, it certainly was, even if the reasons were purely coincidental.  

“Today, I met the Phantom. ”

Catherine’s head popped up.  “What do you mean?”

“Brooke required a plaster cast of my face to begin sculpting the Phantom mask and the Masquerade scull mask. She said it would be easier then having me sit for hours while she worked with the clay directly on my face. ”This explained to Catherine why Vincent had just taken a bath. “Being enveloped in wet plaster is worse than sheeting quicksand*,” Vincent said of his experience.  Catherine could only imagine the sensation. (*’Sheeting quicksand’ Beauty and the Beast by Barbra Hambly, Avon books. )

“After the cast was set and Brooke removed it from my face, she shined a flashlight into it. It was like looking into a three-dimensional mirror. ”Vincent shook his head. “It was very errie to look upon a ghostly shell of a face, especially your own. ”

“Well, if you are really a ghost…or phantom,” Catherine nuzzled his velvet cheek and kissed the sculpted warmth of his high cheekbone.  “You, my love, are a very solid one…A very warm one…and a very good smelling one. ”Her words came slower as she inhaled the clean scent of him, her passion rising.  

This explanation made Vincent chuckle. “What do we do with a woman who is hopelessly in love with a phantom?” Vincent muttered with a grin, his face inches from hers.  

“Or who is married to one?”She added with a cock-eyed grin and smoky emerald eyes that met her lover’s twinkling sapphires.  

“I…do not…know,” The leonine man replied deliberately slow. His merry eyes darkened into azure pools of ardor as he lifted his feather-light wife into his strong arms and rose, swinging them both onto the day bed under the arc of stained glass. He molded Catherine against the full length of his solid frame, the bond electric with their passion.  

He slowly passed his velvet lips over hers, teasing, and breathed upon them, “But I am sure I can think of something…”

***

“Masquerade! Paper faces on parade…”

---Chorus, Act Two, Scene One.

Four weeks till opening night, the entire cast and crew was present this evening for the rehearsal of the grand opening scene that began Act Two, the Masquerade Ball at the Opera House. This major scene had been practiced over the weeks in bits and pieces, but this was the first full run through. The whole Great Hall was used for this scene, the action on the stage spilling out into the center aisle and sides of the audience. Some of the major lines were given in front of the stage.  

The main cast and the chorus had made their own masquerade masks, attaching them to short sticks and trimming them with bright ribbons, yarn, and Christmas tinsel. Painted and glittering masks were raised and lowered in a game of peek-a-boo during the frolicking song.  

Chorus and Cast:

“Masquerade!

Every face a different shade…

Masquerade!

Look around-

There is another mask behind you!”

 

“Masquerade!

Burning glances, turning heads…

Masquerade!

Stop and stare at the sea of smiles

Around you!”

 

“Masquerade!

Leering satyrs, peering eyes…

Masquerade!

Run and hide-

But a face will still purse you!”

 

The ensemble activity in the scene became background as Andre, Firmin, Meg, Giry, Prangi, and Carlotta met at the center of the stage as the merriment continued behind them and around the sides of the Hall. They toasted themselves, singing in the exultation, and then Christine and Raoul waltzed up the center aisle, speaking of their engagement. The music and dancing reached a climax and then abruptly stilled when the Phantom disguised as Red Death appeared at the top of the stairs. The Phantom’s theme rings out over the sound system as everyone except for the main cast cowers back and collects on the stage as the Phantom comes down the steps and stops at the foot of them. Vincent slowly crossed in front to the opposite side of the stage while announcing the Phantom’s return.  

Phantom:

“Why so silent, good Messieurs?

I have written you an Opera!”

Vincent held out his thick director’s libretto in its worn binder that he had tucked under his arm.  

“Here I bring the finished score-

Don Juan Triumphant!”

He suddenly tossed the binder at Kanin playing Andre, one of the Opera House managers.  

“I advise you to comply-“

Catherine left Michael’s side and walked toward Vincent in a terrified trace as if the Phantom had magical power over her that Christine could not resist. The Phantom grabs at her neck simulating the ripping of a chain holding an engagement ring.  

“Your chains are still mine-

You will sing for me!”

The music becomes deafening as everyone cowers further back when the Phantom whips around in a threatening manner before---the spotlights blinked out for a brief moment, there was a bang and all that was left of Vincent was a curling billow of smoke. He had vanished.  

The cast was stunned; everyone had a bewildered grin on their faces at the surprise disappearance. Cullen, who was sitting beside Lawrence in the second row of audience chairs, started to roll with laughter at the sight of so many open-mouthed stares. Everyone gaped at him puzzled. Obviously, he was the one behind this disappearing act.  

“You can come out now, Vincent,” Cullen called. The beloved leonine gentleman emerged from the curtain covering the side stage area.  

Vincent grinned showing the tips of his canines, his blue eyes sparkling.  “Was it convincing?”

“Perfect,” Cullen replied sweeping his hand toward the sea of surprised faces on stage, drawing Vincent’s gaze.  

“How did you do it?” Everyone wanted to know.  

Vincent returned to his last stage position to the left of the stage to demonstrate the illusion.  

“As I swung around to frighten everyone back, I plucked this from my belt. ”He held a tiny glass capsule in his large palm.  “When the contents hit the air it bursts and produces the smoke. Combined with the lights going out for a moment, I dash through the curtains. ”

“Oh, that is clever,” remarked Jamie and the rest of the cast agreed it was a delightful trick.  

“Vincent,” Catherine inquired moving to stand beside her towering husband.  “Would it work when the Phantom and Christine vanish in the Don Juan scene at the end of Act Two?”

“Yes.  I think we can use the same technique as we duck under the banquet table and slip through the backstage curtains,” the golden man explained. He gestured toward the backstage area still without the separating curtains.  “There will be enough confusion on stage to cover our retreat. ”

Catherine nodded running through the scene in her mind. “Will we have enough time to be at the side curtain for our walk to the back of the room?” After the Phantom and Christine disappear, the next scene is their second descent into the Phantom’s liar with the mob behind them.  

“We will have to dash…” He said, then turned his attention to Kanin, who was returning his Director’s binder.  

After conferring with Lawrence, he announced, “Let’s run through the scene again.  Places everyone. ”The cast moved back to their starting positions, some of the children mindlessly twirling their decorated masks while they waited.  

“Percussion, lets not bump into anyone this time,” Paul, stage manager under Vincent, aimed at four children carrying percussion instruments; a pair of small cymbals, a drum, a triangle, and tiny bells.  Together they played through out the whole scene as they wove their way through the dancers around the Hall. He also added to everyone, “Be careful when stepping over the railroad ties so you don’t fall. Don’t forget they are there. ”

“Music,” Vincent cued as he returned to the staircase landing. Joseph, working the sound system, turned the tape on and the scene began again. Will and Kainin as Firmen and Andre spy each other across the stage in the mist of the ball. They cautiously approach each other and speak from behind their twin cat masks.  

Andre:

“M’sieur Firmen?”

Firmen:

“M’sieur Andre?”

They drop their masks. 

Firmen:

“Dear Andre, what a splendid party!”

Andre:

“The prologue to a bright new year!”

Firmen:

“Quite a night! I’m impressed!

-Well, one does one’s best!”

Together, they toast each other.  

“Here’s to us”

Firmen:

“I must say all the same,

That it’s a shame that Phantom fellow-

Isn’t here!”

The ball begins in a swirling dance of moving masks.  

Chorus:

“Masquerade!”

***

“Signora-would you speak that way in the presence of the composer?”

---Giry, Act Two, Scene Four. 

The weekend before complete Act rehearsals, with transitions between scenes, began was filled with numerous Hall meetings of the director and stage crew trying to get a physical picture of all that was entailed to make the transition from scene to scene to run smoothly. Vincent, Mouse, Cullen, Paul, Mary, Will, Jamie, and Rebecca were assembled at one of the long banquet tables to iron out the details.  

Cullen was in charge of the troop of stagehands.  He had a binder as thick as Vincent’s full of prop lists, prop positions, stage diagrams for each scene, and dialogue prompts. Paul took care of the music and Mouse, the lights. Jamie and Will were in charge of costumes and backstage prop movement.  

Sets were simple with only the most important props in a scene. A collection of tables, chairs, a desk, and a bed were dressed and redressed with different linens and small objects as they were moved from scene to scene. The staircase landing was put to extensive use and a hidden set of steep stairs was built to give easier access to the landing from backstage.  

The mirror used by the Phantom and Christine was a special device.  It stood on a false wall six feet wide, fashioned after a freestanding room divider, and on the dressing room set, it was placed diagonally across the curtained corner of the stage.  The floor-length, carved wooden frame of an actual mirror covered a hidden doorway over which rung a layer of plexiglass, a white see-through fabric screen and a mirror on a sliding overhead rail from an old shower door on the backside of the wall. When the Phantom appeared in it during the scene, the mirror was pushed aside and his silhouette would be seen through the gauze fabric. The screen and pexiglass was pushed aside to allow Christine to step through, then the layers were pushed back into place one at a time.  

It took hours, far into the two nights, but they went over every scene in detail.  Each actor, each costume change, each of the entrances and exits from the various scenes both on stage and around the Great Hall were carefully mapped.  By using off stage areas and the staircase for minor scenes, major stage changes could take place without holding up the cadence of the play.  Each prop was accounted for, the scene it was in, and where it would be located backstage. Every scene change was choreographed, so that those actors coming off the stage could remove the props from that scene or reorient those remaining pieces for the following scene. Stagehands would add the new items. Backstage was going to be organized chaos.  

“Finis,” Vincent sighed very late Sunday night after all the lingering questions had been answered. He leaned back in his chair and looked at each one of the production heads. They all looked at each other in exhausted, stupefied silence.  Were they really going to pull this elaborate play off? The next three weeks would give them that answer.

In jest, someone pointed out that almost every tunnel citizen was involved in a part of the Opera and that no one was left to be the audience.  

The planning of the rest of the annual Winterfest celebration had fallen into the hands of Father, William, and Sarah. The task of preparing the noontime feast had always been a huge undertaking in itself for the tiny community that had very little to spare in food or supplies. Compared to the planning for the Opera, Winterfest preparations looked easy.