Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay's Phantom, or Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical.

Turn of the Tide

Erik:

The Opera Populaire was buzzing with activity in the evening with auditions conducted for the National Academy of Music. Young men and women from far and wide came to share their gift of song and to earn their place in the ranks. But for some, their gift of song had not yet been delivered. And in many cases I had come to believe it would never be.

I sat in the darkened stalls and observed the proceedings, taking careful notes of each performance. The venerable Madame Giry ushered each hopeful singer on and off. Her silent air of authority always amused me. She was an honorable woman who had balanced the responsibilities of a career and motherhood seemingly without blinking. Giry commanded the ballet corps with a simple touch of her cane to the floor. She had always been a faithful servant of mine, taking care of my needs even if it occasionally meant putting a manager or two in his place. I adored her.

There had been approximately a dozen or so performers thus far, none of which caught my ear. Most were simply mediocre – not entirely without promise, but with little brilliance about them. Some, however, were positively disastrous. It would appear as though they had walked off the street and into the auditorium with no prior experience or forethought into what they were doing. It was painful, utterly painful. I could feel the disappointment welling within, and I occasionally hung my head in utter dismay.

It was then that a young blonde lady strolled onto the grand stage. She was of a slight figure with striking golden hair. Her expression seemed shaken and nervous. Inside I wished that the music would calm her and bring forth her natural beauty. It did not. Much to my horror I recognized the opening of Marguerite's signature jewel song from Faust. This was a classic piece, a demanding piece, a piece that I had heard perhaps ten times too often in my life. She was horrific. The notes were strained and originated from her little white throat. I grimaced and shook my head. When she began singing incorrect lyrics I actually threw myself back in my chair and covered my face with whatever paper I happened to have in my hand. I was utterly hopeless. When I glanced at the program listing the performers yet to come, I came to the stark realization that I had not yet consumed enough wine for this.

Afterward Mme. Giry made her way down to me, taking particular note of the mess sprawled about. "Shall there be a respite, Monsieur, or do you wish to continue?"

"If I have to listen to the 'Jewel Song' one more time in my pathetic lifetime, I am going to hang someone," I announced from under my papers.

"Than I shall have to warn the company seeing that there are two more performances from Faust this afternoon." I grabbed the papers away and looked at her grimly.

"Fifteen minutes," I declared as I stood up. "Then perhaps we may find talent and continue." She merely nodded. I bent down to gather the clutter I had created. As she began to walk off I turned suddenly to her. "And I was quite serious about not hearing that song again…"

Mme. Giry stopped and turned back over her shoulder. "You cannot demand that, Erik. They may not have an alternative prepared."

"But I may certainly ask it." I cocked my head and continued looking at her thoughtfully. "If they are truly singers they would have the ability to sight read a piece that we give them."

"I shall ask, Monsieur. But if they protest I shall not push the issue and you will be forced to listen to amateur Faust because I refuse to give others an unfair advantage," she asserted. I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Very well," I said, somewhat amused. Giry moved off once more and disappeared stage left. Meanwhile, I finished gathering my things and moved off to Box Five to continue watching in a slightly more peaceful environment, or so I thought. I had not been there five minutes before I was graced with the presence of Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. Splendid. He arrived in the doorway without saying a word, and stood with a rather large document in his hands. I glanced over my left shoulder for a moment, and then turned back to my notes. "You have impeccably poor timing," I muttered.

"I don't suppose you reviewed the proposed budget for next year," he began.

"I have." Clearly this conversation did not enthuse me. Raoul made his way to the seats off to my right and sat down, looking down upon the stage and the utter chaos that was occurring below. He remained there, posed with elbow resting on the balcony for several seconds before turning back to me.

"Thoughts?"

"Positively absurd," I noted with little emotion. I glanced over at Raoul and found him looking at me over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, begging me to elaborate. I sighed and continued. "Unless you hope to convince the entire ballet or chorus to work for free, or perhaps go without regular maintenance to the physical plant for the next two years, I would recommend an amendment to amount proposed," I explained, casually taking notes on the atrocity below us.

Raoul nodded his head and for a moment turned his attention on the stage. "I thought it appeared too good too be true," he said flatly.

"Welcome to the world of opera," I said as I finished another note. "Pay your dues and leave."

Raoul scoffed and tapped the papers against the velvet rail, nodding his head just out of time with the music coming from the pit. He turned over his shoulder suddenly. "Do you have an estimate prepared?" he asked hopefully. I stared back at him incredulously for a moment. I shook my head slightly before scratching down a figure on a scrap of paper and handing it to him. "Take care not to choke," I advised as I watched his expression. For a fraction of a second I thought he had.

"Dare I ask if this is your ideal figure or the bare minimum?" Raoul questioned, still staring at what I had written.

I shrugged. "I call it the 'Erik is a damn genius and expects this for the Opera Populaire to remain a respectable provider of quality entertainment' plan."

Raoul smiled and said, "I quite like it."

"It has a nice ring to it." I suppose I pitied him slightly for his position. Raoul was given sole responsibility of the patronage of the Opera Populaire. It was a daunting task for one of his young age, and I could at the very least offer him some silent credit for not ruining the future of everyone under the roof of this house – yet, anyway. There was still ample time for another catastrophe.

"I see your salary is listed," Raoul noted. I looked over to him and found his eyes still deep within the thick document.

"As it was last year," I said unenthusiastically. My amusement for this subject simply did not exist. I ceased my writing and stared at Raoul. He leaned back in his chair and continued to look on.

"Between you and I," Raoul began as he turned back to me and allowed the budget to fall into his lap. "Moncharmin and Richard do not agree with your figures and are making quite the little fuss."

"Good God," I replied as I threw down my pen. "What figures?"

"All of them. Your salary, in particular."

"Yes well, that is a conversation those two fools will endure soon enough. I will have them accept reality if it kills me," I declared.

Raoul smirked. "You shall have to fill me in on all the gorey details."

"Every last one." It was then that the assault from below ceased and silence filled the auditorium for a moment. I looked down to prepare my next set of notes when the pianist struck some recently familiar chords and I took note. Raoul stood from his seat and stared down at the stage. By the sound of it, our lovely Christine was taking advantage of the break in auditions for a run-through.

"This is her new aria, is it not?" he asked, his tone reminiscent of a young boy expecting sweets.

"It is," I said without looking up. It was a fine song, but in my opinion not nearly as expressive as Christine's voice demanded in order to truly shine. I shook off the thought and continued writing. Raoul remained standing, his gaze transfixed on the young diva below.

"She looks stunning," he murmured. I lowered my pen and looked up thoughtfully, only to find Raoul completely blocking my vision of the stage.

"I would not know. You make a remarkably effective door, Raoul."

"The box is empty, you do not have to sit behind me."

I beg your pardon? How bold he was becoming. My eyes drew to mere slits as I stared at his back. "Or I could simply throw you over the balcony and be rid of the problem entirely," I noted, my tone thoroughly unamused. Raoul turned around and I pointed to his chair. He took it. I smirked behind his back, for I could not tell if it annoyed or amused me that we now regarded each other with a casual, harmless hostility. It was certainly a contradiction in terms, but indeed our association itself was a contraction of sorts.

In the past two years I found I could now tolerate Raoul. He was a gentleman. He was an annoyingly perfect gentleman. Or at least that was how it seemed to the world. It was clear to me that he was not without his own glaring imperfection. The boy had no talent whatsoever for art. It was not as though he could not enjoy it, or support Christine in her art, but he could not truly appreciate it for what it was. I could not imagine my life without the pursuit of perfect art. I knew at this time of my life if I was to choose between having a flawless face or perfect music, I would gladly remain a monster.

The song possessed a fine, but terribly unoriginal melody. Despite its shortcomings, Christine's voice brought the aria to life. Her soft vibrato gave the perfect amount of dimension to the sustain. I leaned back in my chair to take in the delightful sound, making sure not to be overly critical and to simply enjoy the quality. Shortly afterward came the underdeveloped cadenza and then silence. Reluctantly I opened my eyes and glanced over to Raoul, who was starting down at his exquisite wife.

"She is most at home on the stage," he said quietly as Christine lifted her eyes to us and smiled. "She …takes command of it, it is amazing." I did not respond. Poor Raoul, he could never understand. Christine made her way off stage and unfortunately for me, another prospective singer made his way on. Upon hearing his offering the only thing I could manage to do was throw myself back in my chair and press my hands to my temples for fear of my skull exploding.

"Pardon my noticing, but you look poorly," Raoul noted. My hands dropped some and I turned to stare at him.

"You do not know the half of it," I muttered, pressing my hands against my forehead.

"Auditions are less than spectacular?"

"Indeed."

Raoul nodded and turned back to the stage, mustering what appeared to be a grimace at the next performer. He at least knew that the standards for the National Academy of Music were high and the majority of those who tried their luck today would not pass the test. Pity those who had to listen. I gathered my belongings and announced my intention to return to my office. Raoul followed.

I set my notes and pen on my desk and fiddled briefly with stack of papers that managed to invade while Raoul took a seat on the divan. It was not long before the Comtess Christine de Chagny made her way in. Lord knows I shall never become accustomed to referring to her by that name.

"Good afternoon to my two finest gentlemen," she greeted enthusiastically to an unenthusiastic crowd. Raoul was still brooding over the Opera budget and I was still unsure if I would ever recover from the afternoon's disaster. Christine looked from Raoul to me with a sort of concern. "If my singing was that horrific I should like to at least be aware of it," she jested. "Whatever is the matter?"

"The inherent joys of conducting business in entertainment," Raoul started. He flashed the thick stack of papers that made up the budget and I simply stood there, silent. She placed a hand on Raoul's shoulder and gave a loving squeeze, then turned to me with concern.

"And what is the cause of your pallor, Monsieur?" she asked.

"Disfigurement."

"Erik…"

"Auditions."

"Ahh…" she muttered with a grim understanding. I could feel Christine looking me up and down as she would often do out of concern. "Perhaps you should lie down or take some dinner."

"I am quite alright, thank you."

"Posh," she said, completely unimpressed by my insistence. Christine made her way to the divan and sat beside Raoul while I took my seat behind my chair and pondered the mess inhabiting my desktop.

"You look positively inundated, my friend," mocked a familiar voice. I knew exactly who it was without glancing up for confirmation. Nadir. Terrific.

Christine, never one to disappointment, was quick to make my evening even more enjoyable. "Monsieur Kahn, do you not think that Erik appears ill?"

Nadir looked between the two of us, thoroughly enjoying himself. "What, you mean more than usual?" he asked.

"In the name of Christ's church!" I exclaimed.

Nadir smiled an annoying smile. "I think the lady has an excellent point, my friend."

"Nadir I think it would be in your best interest to find a new hobby," I declared. He moved to speak, but I cut him off. "One that preferably does not involve me."

"And how can I do that? Everything involves you!" Nadir jested. Something about poking fun at me put him in a jolly good mood.

Raoul thankfully interrupted our discussion. "Dinner this evening, am I correct?" he asked. Christine was the first to confirm, followed directly by Nadir.

"Dinner?" I inquired, unaware of plans for the evening.

"Yes, a meal that is often eaten during the evening hours," Christine explained, obviously having a bit of fun herself. As it were, they had planned a casual dinner to close out a busy week of activities. I was inclined to say no and retreat into the confines of my living quarters, but I knew I would never hear the end of it. I accepted the invitation, and soon enough they all left to prepare for the meal.

As I sat alone, I thought to myself how strangely odd it was that we all conversed as normal human beings. All my life I had never considered myself so, but in this company I was beginning to take comfort in this interaction. It seemed amazing to me how I had managed to come into favor of the Comte de Chagny, his wife, and the whole – whole, of course, being used loosely in this instance - of the Paris Opera. Two years ago it would have been unspeakable, perhaps even laughable. It may seem odd to you, as well, and for that I offer my most sincere apologies. To best understand this story, I think perhaps it would be most productive to start at the beginning of the end.

Author's Notes:

Thank you for reading! I greatly appreciate any comments you would care to give me, and I take constructive criticism very seriously. Have thoughts on the characters? Please read and review! Future chapters will shortly follow.