Phantom

by Laura DeLuca

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was time. There was no way to procrastinate and no way to delay the inevitable. The opening scene had already begun. Tom and Carmen, both friends turned enemies, were out on the stage dressed as senior citizens. They were making bids on the phantom’s old music box at an auction at the opera house, which leads them to reminiscence about the past, about the time when the phantom roamed. They would have to move like lightning to change back into their younger counterparts before they had to appear in the next scene.

  The next scene—that would be her first scene!

  Rebecca trembled; she trembled so hard it was probably registering on the Richter scale. Her hands were shaking as if she had Parkinson’s disease. The phantom’s theme song burst from the orchestra pit. She was sure the whole auditorium, even the people in the furthest rows, was going to be able to see how terrified she was. How was she going to survive? How was she going to make it through the next two hours?

  She could hear the rumbles and squeaks as the stagehands changed the backdrop and props from an old deserted opera house to a new and elaborately decorated one. Then the curtains were pulled back and Wendy was on stage, strutting around in her jeweled gown with the chorus girls in line behind her, barking orders at everyone in true Carlotta style. There was no sign of any anxiety on her face. She didn’t appear worried that she would make a blundering fool of herself. She was all confidence. Rebecca envied her.

  She only had a few seconds left in the safety of the shadows, just a moment before her big debut performance. The only problem was that her legs were frozen in place. They were molded out of Jell-O, too unstable to carry her forward, even though she knew that she had to move.

  “You’re going to be fine.”

  Justyn. It was Justyn.

  She was too terrified to be excited that he was there. Too scared to be impressed that he was actually speaking to her for the second time that night. Too numb with fear to let herself realize that it must mean he still cared that he was there at all, even if he was trying his best to hide it.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” she muttered. Then she realized she couldn’t breathe. “I . . . I can’t do this. I can’t . . . .”

  “Yes, you can,” he insisted.

  “No, no I can’t.” She was bordering on complete hysteria.

  “Becca, look at me . . . .”

  He took hold of her shoulders, forcing her rebellious body to shift and face him. She couldn’t help but stare into his eyes, so deep, so beautiful, so hypnotizing, even in the shadows of the phantom’s mask. She wondered if he was using his witchcraft to put a spell on her. As she stood mesmerized by his eyes, she was undergoing a metamorphosis. Suddenly her heartbeat became more even, her legs felt a little steadier. She was no longer convulsing with tremors. She was still nervous, but she wasn’t completely overwhelmed with terror.

  Justyn nodded confidently. He could see he was getting through to her. She was calming down. “Good girl. See that. You can do this. You’re going to be amazing.” He lifted a gloved hand to stroke her cheek. “You always are.”

  Rebecca blushed. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Trust me.”

  “I do trust you, Justyn.” She hoped he heard the double meaning in her voice. “I’ll always trust you.”

  His eyes softened. “If you get scared, just look for me. I’ll never be far, even if I’m not in the scene. I’ll always be watching you, just like the phantom watched Christine. Look for me and forget about the audience.” He smiled. “I’ll always be your biggest fan.”

  On the stage, Debbie was warning the managers about the dangers of ignoring the demands of the phantom. Rebecca knew she certainly couldn’t ignore them. In that moment, if Justyn had ordered her to plunge off the George Washington Bridge, she could have taken the dive without a second thought. She couldn’t ignore him, couldn’t resist him, and couldn’t deny him. Not anymore. She loved him.

  She wanted to tell him that. Wanted to scream it at the top of her lungs. She wanted to declare her love. To fall down on her knees and beg him to forgive her ignorance and stupidity and just take her into his arms. But she couldn’t squeeze the words past the lump of emotion in her throat.

  “Justyn,” she whispered.

  “Hush.” He put a finger to her lips to silence her. “We’ll talk later. You’re on now.”

  He was right. The managers were calling for Christine, the mild-mannered chorus girl, to sing for them. She was to take the place of Carlotta, whose diva-type tantrum had left them without a star for that night’s performance. It wasn’t out of character for her to be a little nervous, which was good because she certainly was nervous. With one last look at Justyn, whose wide smile of encouragement was half hidden behind his mask, Rebecca stepped out onto the stage.

  The next two hours went by in a creative blur. She hardly realized that anyone was watching her at all; she allowed herself to get wrapped up in the storyline. Each song rang crystal clear; each line was delivered with perfect inflection. She worked well not only with Justyn, but even with Tom and Carmen. Their real life tensions were forgotten in the midst of bringing art to life on the stage. Anytime she felt a stab of fear or insecurity, she just looked for Justyn. As he promised, he was always close by. And his nods and smiles kept her on track. Before she even remembered to be terrified, they were at the closing scene, and Christine was stripping away the mask of the Phantom.

  There were gasps all around them, both from the audience and the stage. Behind the scenes, and even issuing from her own lips were cries of startled surprise at the mangled mass of flesh beneath the mask. It was no exaggeration to say that Justyn was death walking. One lip was grossly enlarged, looking almost malignant. The skin on the left side of his face was puckered and red, a cross between a burn victim and someone who had put his face into the garbage disposal. The slight bruise he still had from his fall only added to the effect. He hardly looked human, but in the misery of his secret’s discovery, managed to look more human than ever. Rebecca felt honest tears fill her eyes.

  Things moved quickly as they neared the climax of the play. The Phantom had Raoul tied down with a noose around his neck. He was giving Christine the choice of watching her lover die or staying with him forever. In Rebecca’s mind, there was no choice to make. She only wanted Justyn. Even with his face so horribly distorted by the make-up, she still felt nothing but desire for him. Nothing but longing as she crept slowly towards him. She moved carefully, with a little pretend apprehension. Christine was still afraid of Erik, still unsure of how far he would go to keep her with him.

  Closer and closer she came, wading slowly through the mist created by the fog machine backstage. Closer and closer until she was standing directly in front of him, feeling her chest rise and fall with each heavy, passion-filled breath. Justyn was breathing heavy as well, feigning anger so well that Rebecca wasn’t sure she shouldn’t be afraid. But as he twisted the rope around Tom’s neck a little tighter, making him gag, he winked at Rebecca, and she had to fight the urge to smile. She knew he was enjoying that part of the performance just a little too much.

  Gently, she reached her hands up to touch his grotesque face. As she looked into Justyn’s dark eyes, she realized that even if he really were deformed, she would still want him, still love him. He would still be beautiful to her on the inside. The audience had no way of knowing how very sincere the play of emotions that ran across her face truly was. Trust, devotion, love, longing—they all mingled in her heart and rang out clearly in her voice as she sang.

  “Sad creature trapped in this darkness.

  A life filled with pain is all you ever knew.

  But know this, my tortured dark angel.

  A part of me will always love you.”

  Then she kissed him. Pressed her lips against his as she was taken over by an unbelievable spark of passion. She hadn’t intended it. Even though a small kiss, no more than a peck on the cheek, was part of the show—thi
s was something much more. This kiss was deep and sensual, and it lingered for much longer than anyone expected, especially Justyn. It went on and on, and even the audience felt the effect of such pure, uninhibited emotion. Aside from the light fluid music issuing from the musicians, the entire auditorium had fallen into hushed silence.

  When Rebecca finally let Justyn go, however reluctantly, she realized she was crying. Crying real tears that slid silently down her cheeks, leaving damp tracks in their wake. Not tears of sadness. Tears of happiness. Tears of inexpressible joy. A joy caused by the completeness that came with real, true love.

  Justyn was crying too, crying and sputtering as he struggled to get back into character. Didn’t he realize they were more in character now than ever? She could hear more than one loud sniffle among the crowd. She heard more than one hand rifling through handbags for a tissue. They had touched their audience more deeply than they had ever anticipated.

  Back in the play, the phantom, overcome with mercy after being shown kindness for the first time in his life, released Raoul and ordered Christine to take him away, thus proving that he had a decent soul after all. Rebecca was tempted to rewrite the show at that point, and send Raoul off alone, but she controlled herself. Things were going too well to ruin them now. She allowed Tom to lead her away, and watched with fresh tears in her eyes as Justyn sang his final heart-breaking monologue.

  Suddenly, it was all over. The play was over and she had survived. She had done more than survive. She had triumphed, just like Christine had triumphed in her first magical performance. Triumphed because of the watchful eyes of the phantom. Triumphed because of Justyn.

  Rebecca was in a half daze until someone—she wasn’t even sure who—came over and reminded her it was time to take their bows. The chorus girls went out first, followed by the more minor characters—the managers, Meg/Carmen, Madame Giry/Debbie. Then there was Wendy, whose applause was a little louder than her predecessors. Tom also received his share of shouts and whistles, mostly from the basketball players that filled two rows in the back of the auditorium.

  Then it was Rebecca’s turn. She lost a little bit of her former self-assurance. Again she felt a moment of nervous jitters. This was the moment of truth. If she had been terrible, the audience would still clap—after all, this was just a high school play and no one was going to be that cruel. She would be able to tell if the clapping was honestly enthusiastic or just sympathy applause. She took a deep breath and strode onto the stage with as much confidence as she could muster. She never expected the greeting she received.

  The audience went wild. Absolutely insane. There were screams and whistles. Hoots and hollers. Many people were standing and shouting “Bravo”, as if they were in a real opera house. The whole scene felt a little surreal, a little dreamlike. She waved at the crowd; everyone continued to cheer. She didn’t think it was possible for the noise level to go any higher. Then Justyn came out and joined her at the front of the stage.

  He took her hand and the two of them bowed in perfect unison. The few people still sitting could no longer hold their seats. The whole room seemed to shake with the thunder of the applause. Voices were growing hoarse from shouting. People, her parents among them, were shoving bouquet after bouquet of flowers into her outstretched arms. Even Darlene handed her a black rose after giving a dozen of them to her son. Rebecca was sure there was no way the applause could get any louder. She doubted that the natural high could get any more intense—until Justyn pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Miraculously, impossibly, the volume rose once again, doubling as the crowd went even wilder with appreciation.

  Rebecca realized that this was it. This was fulfillment. She had found her calling. The stage was the place where she belonged. This was what she had always been meant to do. And Justyn was the one she was meant to do it with.

  Justyn’s arms were still wrapped tightly around her waist, his lips still pressed against her own, as the curtain slipped shut for the final time. She could still hear the lingering applause in the background, and she hoped that the moment would never end. She could have stood there, in Justyn’s arms, with the sound of the audience as their own personal orchestra forever. She realized she was addicted. Completely addicted to the applause, to the sound of success. And she was even more helplessly addicted to him. Rebecca could never get enough of Justyn Patko.

  Chapter Thirty

  “You were awesome, Becca!”

  “That was amazing!”

  “Wow, great job!”

  One after another—friends, family, cast members, classmates, and teachers—all came up to offer Rebecca their congratulations. The play was an undeniable victory. She had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. It was an amazing feeling. A buzz that she thought she would never come down from. And all she wanted was to share those feelings of accomplishment with Justyn. She wanted to celebrate with him. After all, it was his triumph every bit as much as it was hers.

  “Would you hurry up and get out of that dress? Everyone’s waiting for us downstairs at the party.”

  Debbie tapped her foot impatiently as Rebecca set her garden of flowers down on the dressing table. She noted the excited flush of her cheeks in the mirror’s reflection. It was such a refreshing change from the peaked thing she had seen looking back at her just a few short hours ago.

  “Help me get out of this thing?” she asked Debbie.

  It was impossible for her to reach all the snaps and buttons in the back of the elaborate white wedding gown she had worn for the final scene. It took Debbie a good five minutes. Finally, the puffy dress slipped to the ground, and Rebecca quickly stepped out of it. She was happy to be back in the casual jeans and sweater she had arrived in, even though they clashed with her excess of make-up and elegantly curled and pinned hair.

  “Ready,” she announced.

  She grabbed her handbag and was just about to head downstairs with Debbie when she noticed a card sitting on her dressing table. It was in a dark red envelope, addressed to her in fancy silver letters. She picked it up and turned it over curiously. She wondered who it might be from, but she couldn’t help feeling the tiniest bit of dread as she examined it. The handwriting wasn’t the perfect calligraphy of her stalker, but it didn’t look familiar either. Inside was a single sheet of paper, the same shade of blood red as the envelope, with just a few simple lines scrawled in the same fancy silver writing.

  “Meet me behind the stage at midnight—the witching hour.

  All My Love, O. G.”

  O. G. The opera ghost. It had to be Justyn. The note had his flair for the dramatic. And there was no hint of a threat, like there had been with the other notes, the ones from whoever was trying to scare her away from the play. She knew she would be there at midnight on the dot before she could even fold the note back into the envelope. In fact, she was extremely disappointed when she looked at her watch and realized it was only ten thirty. An hour and a half seemed like a lifetime when all she really wanted was some time alone with Justyn.

  “What are you doing?” Debbie complained. “Come on! The party will be over before we get there.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m coming.”

  Rebecca left the note and her flowers behind. There would be plenty of time to retrieve them later, and plenty of time for her and Justyn to have their privacy. But for now, Debbie was right. She had to get down to the cafeteria and at least put in an appearance at the celebration. If she were lucky, Justyn would be down there anyway.

  They had shuffled about halfway down the hallway when they bumped into Tom. He was still in costume, looking dashing in the fancy tailored suit of the French count. He gave her a wide smile when he saw her. It was so good to see that familiar, boyish grin. Rebecca couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Hey, guys,” he exclaimed. “Great show, huh?”

  “The best.” Debbie agreed heartily.

  “You were terrific, Tom,” Rebecca told him. “It’s easy to work beside you.”

  “Thanks.
But you were the real star tonight, Bec.” He gushed. “All I can say is . . . Wow! You were unbelievable. Really.”

  Rebecca blushed. “Thanks,” she said. Then she paused for a minute, wanting to say so many things but not sure where to start. Finally, she decided to just keep things simple and honest. “Tom, listen, I want to apologize . . . .”

  He shook his head, and cut her off in mid-sentence. “Nothing for you to apologize about. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “That’s very generous of you. But, Tom . . . .”

  “No, really, Becca. You can’t help who you care about. I wish it could have been me.” He gave her a sad look of longing, and then shrugged his shoulders. “But it’s not, and that’s okay. I can deal with it. And I understand. I just hope Justyn knows how lucky he is.”

  She eyed him a little suspiciously. It all seemed a little too good, and too easy to be true. There had to be a catch. “And we’re still friends?”

  “Always.” He reached out to give her an awkward hug. “Listen, I’ll catch you guys later, okay? I need to get out of this monkey suit.”