Of Masks And Roses

My Journal

"But aren't you scared? Are you not worried that he might want to kill you?" asked Christine.

I laughed, "If he wanted to kill me he would have done it long ago, especially yesterday. If he wanted to get rid of me, yesterday was the perfect chance to do it. He has had all of these opportunities to kill me, yet I'm still here. If he really wanted to kill me, why hasn't he done it yet?"

Meg was silent.

"Now, let me ask you a question. When was the last time someone actually died in this Opera House? Specifically from the Phantom's hand?"

"I don't know. Christine, do you know?" Meg asked. Christine shook her head, staring at me intently.

"Exactly. And I bet that everyone else has the same answer. They just don't know. They say that he is a murderer because they heard it from someone else. It's gossip."

"But he has hurt people," spoke Christine.

"Who?" I asked.

"He hurt you."

I closed my mouth and looked away for a moment, "Maybe, but like any other human being I can forgive him for that. Everyone deserves a second chance. Now let me ask you one more thing. If you ever ran into him one day, what would you do?"

"I'd run," said Meg.

Christine shrugged, "I'm not sure. What would you do?"

I smiled, "I'd say 'Hi'."

                                                                                             XxX

When rehearsals started that day, I was at my station with my journal and a few pencils in my pocket. It was for those moments that I didn't need to change the backdrops, those moments where I could just sit and relax and wait for my cue.

I was alone again. Simon had left to count all the supplies and make sure we had all the right equipment for the showing. Buquet was off doing who knows what and it was just fine by me. That meant that I could draw without distractions while I waited for my signal to roll down a backdrop. I began to draw the Phantom again, but this time I drew his whole face. His slick black hair and his white porcelain mask seemed to come to life as I drew. I felt myself relax as I listened to the hustle and bustle of the Opera House.

"Whatcha' drawin'?" said a voice. I jumped and slammed my journal shut and looked up at Buquet. I glared and stood up.

"It's none of your business," I said as I shoved the book into my pocket. Bless the dresses of the 19th century. They had pockets big enough for almost anything. Whoever decided to change that needs to be guillotined.

"I was just wonderin'," Buquet defended as I looked down at the stage. It was almost time to drop the backdrop, and when the moment came, we went straight to work, never saying another word to one another for the rest of the rehearsal.

                                                                                             XxX

I sighed as I made my way to my room. I was very worn out from today's work and eager to draw for a while to relax and then get some well deserved sleep. My muscles ached as I walked into my room, shutting the door behind me. I placed my journal down on my night table but before I could sit down, there was a knock at my door. I sighed, striding over to the door and opening it. Meg stood in front of me in first position; practicing a little as she waited for me to open the door.

"Good evening, Scarlet. Can I talk to you for a moment?" she asked with a smile on her face. I nodded and went outside, closing the door behind me.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if you would like to have tea with Christine and I. We were going to celebrate her becoming Prima Donna."

I smiled apologetically and shook my head, "Oh, Meg, that's so sweet of you. I'd love to, but I can't. I really need some rest. Stagework totally kicked my butt today. And with the next couple of days being so busy, I need to keep my mind on my work. But thank you, though! Maybe another time?"

Meg sighed a little, but smiled and nodded, "Of course. Thank you, though. Good night, Scarlet," she said and started to turn away.

"Good night, Meg," I said and entered my room, closing the door behind me. I walked over to my bedside table, making a grab for my journal, but it wasn't on the night table where I last saw it. I blinked, looking either side of the table to see if it had fallen, but it was nowhere around the nightstand.

"Hmm. I swear I just left it there," I mumbled as I opened the empty drawer, then knelt down and looked under the bed. I began to panic as I searched around my room, checking every hidden corner and every crevice that I could find, but it was nowhere in sight.

My journal was gone.