The Phantom of Valletta

by Vicki Hopkins

  “It’s far too much damage,” he admitted. “I’m not sure what I’ll do at this point.”

  The three stood as pillars of silence observing the devastation and pondering the future. Erik bent down and grabbed a handful of ash, letting the substance filter through his fingers back to the floor.

  “I have no idea what I can do.” He sighed heavily. “Even if I continue with the purchase, Andrea, I don’t have the funds to make such extensive repairs.”

  He kicked the debris with his foot to express his anger over the sad state of affairs that greeted his arrival. “Damn it!” Erik paced around the small area where they stood, formulating a plan to overcome the challenge.

  “Investors,” he muttered. “We will need investors to rebuild.” He knew even with his own funds it would take years to resurrect the opera house—two or perhaps three years would pass before the first performance.

  At the end of his patience, he needed time alone to think. “Would you mind leaving me for a moment?” He looked at Andrea with pleading eyes to mourn among the ashes.

  Andrea nodded her head, turned, and grabbed Darius’ sleeve, tugging him out the exit. Darius remained silent, and Erik saw the worry in his eyes.

  “We’ll wait for you in the foyer, Erik,” Andrea told him, pulling Darius along like a puppy dog.

  He watched until they retreated out of sight and then turned to face the challenge that lay before him. He wanted to make his way to the stage, but piles of debris blocked every step. He grabbed pieces of wood and angrily flung them to the side to vent his frustration. The sun filtered through the ashes rising from the dust path created by Erik’s footsteps. Birds fluttered overhead, leaving their nests built in crevasses of empty boxes.

  Finally reaching his destination, Erik stood and peered down into the remains of the orchestra pit. The stage looked like a hole to Hades, reminiscent of the cellars he once knew.

  Erik stood motionless among the ruins for some time, wondering if he had made the wrong decision. After thousands of miles and weeks of travel, he had finally arrived at what he thought would be a glorious experience. Instead, it turned into the most devastating shock of his life.

  Now, he understood why the opera house lay in ruins and had not been purchased by another investor. The task of restoration would be a monumental challenge. He would need a staggering amount of money to restore the building to its former glory. He had saved enough to purchase the shell and do minor restorations, but did not possess the wealth needed to complete the extensive repairs necessary from top to bottom.

  Unsure what to do, he continued wandering among the remains, kicking debris out of his way. Finding a side door off the pit, he pushed his way through into another corridor and began traversing his way back stage.

  Intent on examining the entire remains, he forged his way in and out of doors. The area behind the stage led to the dressing rooms and staff quarters, which were virtually untouched by flames, but had suffered extensive smoke damage. He sighed in relief over one decent discovery in the hell house he traversed. However, as he checked the rooms, Erik discovered thieves had ransacked the majority of furnishings and nothing of real value remained.

  Erik continued to wander and found a door with a set of stairs leading upward to the floor above. The stairs were still intact. He carefully climbed to the second, third, and fourth levels, finally reaching a door that opened to the lower roof, a level below the highest tier. As he walked to the edge, the fleeting thought of leaping to his death entered his mind. At least all his problems would be solved within a few seconds. Instead, he explored the outer rim of the roof.

  He returned indoors, shut the door, and continued to wander through the building. Even though a vast portion lay in ashes, there were still livable quarters. Erik decided to choose one and take up residence to formulate his plans for the days ahead. He would live amongst the ashes and ghosts. Here, he would pay for his sins, which apparently would come through the sweat of his brow.

  Erik returned one last time to the ruins of the auditorium to contemplate. He closed his eyes and shut out the world around him. The apparitions of performances past began to sing their arias, and the applause of the audience rang in his mind. He imagined her presence upon stage—his Christine, singing for him as she once did at his bidding. He glanced up to the area where Box 5 would have been in the Paris house, and heard an angelic voice speak to his heart.

  “Masquerade, Erik. Masquerade.”

  Inspired by the words that filtered through his mind, a sly smile curled his lips. It would be a perfect idea to raise funds—a masquerade.

  Chapter Three

  Erik chafed at the bit for an entire day, anxious to meet with the owners in order to give them a piece of his mind. The fact that they had not told him of the gaping hole in the roof would soon return to haunt them.

  In order to keep anonymity, Erik devised a way to keep himself hidden during the meeting. He had no desire to meet the scoundrels face-to-face. Besides, keeping his identity a mystery would give him the upper hand. He would wield the tool of intimidation to get his way. A dressing screen proved to be the perfect solution. Darius placed it in front of the desk to mask Erik’s presence. Two chairs were set forward-facing the barrier, which provided the perfect arrangement.

  The meeting started at 1:00 p.m., and Darius went to the lobby to greet their visitors. Erik settled comfortably behind the large mahogany desk. He crossed his arms and raised one booted foot to rest upon the desktop. An evil smirk curled the corner of his lips. After a few minutes passed, Erik heard the door open.

  “Monsieur Dante will receive you now.” He knew that Darius pointed their way to the two empty chairs in front of the screen. Erik craved to see the look upon their faces, but settled for the fact he would listen intently to the inflections of their voices. As for his speech, they would easily hear what he had to say. He planned to use his deep, gruff voice to get his point across during the meeting.

  Erik’s ears quickly took note of the reluctant footsteps and a voice of protest spoken to Darius when they entered the room.

  “Monsieur, this is most unusual,” exclaimed Signore Russo.

  “Gentlemen, please take your seats, and Monsieur Dante will begin the meeting.”

  For once, Darius sounded rather proficient at speaking to them in a strict tone without a hint of nervousness. Erik felt pleased that his new dog had learned a few tricks of manipulation. His new assistant had begun to show backbone on his behalf, but he wondered if it would last.

  Erik listened intently to the footsteps that approached and the veiled whispers between the two men. He noted the movements of the chairs, hearing the cushions swoosh as the men sat down upon the padded velvet seat covers. Darius came and stood off to Erik’s right side, keeping both guests and Erik in view for the meeting.

  On the corner of Erik’s desk lay a loaded pistol, a symbol of his distrust of the men that dared to sell him a shell of a building. They had deceitfully concealed the extensive damage from him during their initial correspondence and were now about to pay for their deceit. Darius nodded in Erik’s direction, indicating his guests appeared to be ready to begin.

  “Gentlemen, welcome,” he announced with a commanding voice. “Have you brought the papers?” He intended to set the tone by sending chills down their spines.

  “Signore Russo speaking, Monsieur. This meeting arrangement is quite, shall we say, unusual.”

  “Yes, indeed it is!” protested Signore Sabatino.

  “We thought that we would be meeting you personally and not behind a barrier!”

  “I prefer confidentiality, gentlemen. There is no need for you to see my face. Money is money. The picture of Queen Victoria on your Maltese Pounds is the only face you need to see.” Silence filled the room and then a final relenting sigh came from one of his guests.

  “Yes, of course. We shall proceed as you wish.”

  Erik noted the sheepish reply. He could already tell that his guests fel
t unnerved by the current situation, giving him the upper hand he hoped.

  “The papers, please,” he reminded them tersely. He heard the clasp of a case snap open and the rustling of documents. “Hand them to my assistant, please.”

  He watched Darius step forward to receive the items and then retreat back to his side, handing over the papers. He removed his foot from the desk and sat upright. Erik grasped the contract and rapidly perused the multiple pages. His dark and attentive eyes took note of every line. After reading the terms and conditions, he settled back into his chair to begin an unpleasant interrogation in order to obtain a reduction of price.

  “I am quite disappointed with you two gentlemen.” He sighed heavily. His voiced filled with annoyance as he shuffled through the documents.

  “This is Signore Sabatino responding. Why are you annoyed?” he asked hesitantly.

  Erik heard the man swallow hard, and he stifled a chuckle over his apparent nervousness.

  “Ah, Signore Sabatino! During our recent correspondence regarding the sale of the Royal Opera House, you failed to mention that there was no roof. Was it because your quill ran dry while penning the description of the damage? Perhaps the trauma you suffered erased your memory of that small fact. However, my gut tells me that you were merely trying to defraud me!”

  Erik’s voice rose in anger. He slammed his fist down on the wooden desktop with a loud thump as he continued. “Why was I not informed of the entire condition, including the collapsed roof?”

  Silence.

  “Did you think you could dupe a Frenchman into a fraudulent sale?”

  “No, Monsieur,” Signore Russo answered apologetically. Erik wondered if his eyes bulged or beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. His voice trembled when he responded. “That was not our intention, I assure you. We planned on telling you these matters before you toured the structure.”

  “And did you plan that tour after I signed the bill of sale and gave you the money? We sit here now about to close the deal, so your explanation is unacceptable!”

  The velvet chair creaked from movement, and a whisper ensued between the two men. Signore Russo asked a question.

  “Might we inquire as to how you obtained entrance to the theater?”

  “Since you did not repair and secure the doors, it was quite easy, frankly. Do you know that most of the furnishings have been ransacked and stolen as well?”

  “I’m afraid, Monsieur Dante, that we have not visited the remains recently,” confessed Signore Sabatino.

  “What about the debris? Why have you not removed the debris?”

  “Well,” Signore Russo answered, “we thoroughly intended to, but…”

  “Spare me the details,” Erik abruptly interrupted. “I’ve already investigated and am quite aware of the amount of debt that you owe your creditors.” Erik paused shortly before taunting them further. “I always view bill collectors like angry dogs nipping at your heels,” he said with a sarcastic drawl. “Perhaps I should walk away from the sale and just let them bite you!” To emphasize the point, Erik growled like a dog.

  Darius glanced at Erik conveying their discomfort, and he nodded with satisfaction.

  “I’m afraid then that the terms of our sale will need to change drastically,” he announced, after a few moments of silence. “Surely you cannot believe the building is worth the price you are asking for without a roof!”

  Picking up a quill pen, Erik dipped it in the ink soaking the tip. With a quick stroke over the contract, he crossed out the price and penned in another a third less than the original offering. As he handed the documents to Darius to pass to the men, he explained his decision.

  “Here is my new offer. Take it or leave it. There should be more than enough to settle your accounts without making a deceitful profit at my expense.” Leaning back in the chair again, Erik continued speaking of his new conditions. “Oh, and before I take occupancy, I expect all debris to be removed and hauled away.”

  “Monsieur,” Signore Sabatino protested. “It will cost us thousands of additional pounds to have the debris removed. You cannot be serious?”

  “Oh, indeed I am,” Erik answered emphatically. “Must I tell you how to do everything? I’m sure the local jailer would be happy to loan you a few lowly criminals for a month’s worth of hard labor to haul the filth and debris away as a service to the fine city of Valletta. I get the impression the general public desperately wishes to have their opera house repaired.”

  Their voices lowered, and Erik could barely hear the whispered conversation ensuing between the two would-be swindlers. He glanced at Darius and shot out a question for amusement.

  “Darius, does Valletta have a debtor’s prison?”

  Before Darius could answer, the voice of Signore Russo blurted out. “We will accept your offer, Monsieur.”

  Erik smiled. “Good!” Pleased they had agreed to the wisdom of his persuasion, he initialed the new figure on the documents and passed them to Darius. “Have the gentlemen sign first, and initial where I have indicated the new price.” Handing him the paper and pen, Darius helped with the signature process and then returned the documents to Erik, who countersigned and retained one duplicate for his records. After penning a check for the exact amount payable to both, he handed it along with the documents back to Darius.

  “Return the sale documents and check to the former owners.”

  Erik pushed his chair back and stood behind the desk, his voice carrying further orders across the divide. “You have one month to clear the debris from the building. Take no longer, or you shall be sorry, I assure you.” One last portion of business remained. “Have you brought the architectural plans as I requested?”

  Sabatino answered, “Yes, Monsieur.” Hearing Darius grasp the rolled sketches, a smile curled Erik’s lips at the thought of touching and examining the drawings. Darius handed him the plans. Erik grasped them eagerly, exhilarated over the simple act of clutching the design. In the palm of his hand lay his future domain.

  “Show them out.”

  He listened as the chairs released their occupants and their feet strode to the door. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he called after them, concluding the meeting.

  Darius closed the door and returned to reassure his master of their departure. “They’ve gone.”

  “Good!” Erik came out from behind the screen. “Well done.” All had transpired as planned and a victory won. Satisfied that he had taken care of two obstacles in one day, plans for future work flooded his mind.

  “We need to make sure they do not renege on their promise to clear the debris. I want you to make sure that it is accomplished. I don’t care if you have to hound and threaten them daily. Make sure it gets done.”

  “Yes, of course, Master.”

  His next course of action would be to take up residence in the opera house and oversee matters as they progressed. He could not do so locked up in a hotel surrounded by human bodies. The building called to his soul, and he wanted to become one in spirit before he resurrected it from the ashes.

  “You and Andrea stay here for a month, and then you can move to your rooms at the opera house. Our first order of business during restoration will be to repair the living quarters.”

  His restless heart wanted to leave and find solace in the dark hallways of his new residence. Evening could not arrive soon enough. His ghostly presence would claim its territory. He would learn every inch of the opera house, with architectural plans in hand, as he formulated his revised design.

  Erik carefully unrolled the plans on his desk. His eyes grew wide when his fingers traced the outline and structure as conceived by its former architect. It would take time to read each detail and reconstruct to his preference. When he finished, he would resurrect a destroyed house from the ashes. In the years ahead, the Royal Opera House of Valletta would be revered and glorified in its restored state, and perfect music would fill every inch. It would be his and unlike any other in the world.

  * * *


  Within a week’s time, Erik found his place within the charred walls. He knew that his living quarters would have to change; they were not at the Garnier. No catacombs existed to hide in the darkness underneath.

  Even though he had moved thousands of miles away, the importance of his concealment reigned paramount in his mind. He would still be an Opera Ghost of sorts, a Phantom, a spectral shade moving about in the shadows known only to his close confidants. This time, no foolish patrons or managers would stand in the way of his creativity. The masses would pay his salary to see spectacular productions, excellent casting, and a well-run theater. The glory would belong to him alone.

  The opera house contained various dressing rooms, storage rooms, an office, and basic living quarters. Its accommodations were extremely different from the 700 individuals the Garnier could house, but at least 75 staff could comfortably live within the walls of the Royal Opera House, if needed. With the architectural drawings in hand, Erik studied his new home in depth, considering the space available to him.

  After careful examination of the conditions of the rooms, Erik found a perfect location that contained a row of comfortable quarters for living and dining. Initially, they would house Darius and Andrea, and perhaps a newly hired staff member. A constructed doorway would barricade their rooms, so other employees or patrons would not be able to gain entrance without a key.

  Erik intended to construct lodgings for his own use. They would be hidden and unnoticeable down the same corridor of the main living quarters, but no door would exist. Only a panel in the wall, unnoticeable to the naked eye, would give way to an entrance when trigged by a secret mechanism. This would allow him to live secluded, but free to wander in the shadows of his newly constructed secret corridors.

  The security measures seemed reasonable. Anyone who intended to breach his domain would first need to know where his quarters were located. Secondly, they would require a key to enter the first doorway. Thirdly, they would have to locate and then engage the secret mechanism to slide open the panel leading into his suite. Although it would not be the lair he had lived in before, it would be relatively safe.