Introduction 2002. London, Her Majesty's Theatre. "In all your fantasies, you always knew . . . that man and mystery." "Were both in you . . ." John Owen-Jones carefully brought the paddle down in to the deep, curling mist. As he listened to Celia Graham (Christine) sing, he was entranced. She really took the part. "And in this labyrinth, where night is blind." He took in a breath quickly, making sure it didn't sound awkward. "The Phaaaantom of the Opera is there . . . inside your mind . . ." He spoke the 'sing my angel' lines while listening to Celia 'vocalize' while continuing to use the paddle. Doesn't it hurt her voice? He turned his mind from her to the orchestra. David Cullen was standing in the pit, conducting. John again allowed his mind to wander. Don't his arms ever get tired? He looked up. Chief of the flies, Andrew Bridge. A nasty piece of work as John had ever met. Inside his mask he chuckled quietly. He wondered what Erik, the real Erik from Gaston Leroux' book, 'Le Fant�me de l'Op�ra.' Well he killed the first chief of the flies, Buquet, even before the book started! What would he do Bridge? Oh well . . . As the scene changed, he quickly changed into his second, more colourful outfit. As the sceneopened, he sat himself at the false organ, and waited for the signal from Cullen in the pit, to start 'playing.' There was a real organ underneath him, he just played the keys. After the organ piece, he sang loud, "I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne . . . to this kingdom where all must pay homage to music . . . music . . ." John strained as he reached the bottom note. He wanted it to sound smooth, not like real opera. He took another breath. "You have come here, for one purpose and one alone . . . Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me, to serve me, to sing, for my music . . . my music . . ." Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his side as he got up from the organ. The pain was spreading around his body fast. He quickly took a sharp intake of breath to begin singing. "Night time sharpens, heightens each sensa-" Suddenly, his entire body burnt with pain. His eyes flashed white, then in a purple flame, disappeared, to be replaced by another . . . 1881. Paris. The Opera House. "Very good Christine. I am under the assumption that Faust is the next opera." She nodded politely. "Yes Erik. I believe so." Erik stopped for a moment and stared into Christine's eyes. She was so beautiful, and so talented. Did she love the Vicomte? It could never happen. He was her teacher, not her lover. "Erik? Erik are you all right?" She looked at him strangely. "Um . . . yes yes of course. So Faust is the next opera. Who is playing Marguerite?" She shuffled her feet. "Carlotta Giudicelli." A brief smile appeared on Erik's face. "Child I shall see that you will play the lead, not Carlotta. She is the lead soprano?" Christine nodded solemnly. "It shouldn't be too hard to convince the managers of my theatre to change their minds. Now my dear, we shall we try the 'spinning wheel' song?" After Christine's lesson Erik had sent her back to her dressing room. After he had left he heard Raoul's annoying voice. Dinner for two. "How romantic," Erik scoffed. He returned to his sanctum and sat at a desk. "Hmm . . . My Dear Managers . . . so it is to be war between-" Suddenly Erik put his hand to his forehead. He felt rather ill. A sharp stinging pain in his chest. "He slowly walked over to his throne and sat in it. Then, as a blinding pain shot through his forehead, Erik thought he would surely die! But instead, he disappeared in a purple flame, to be replaced by another . . . |
| The Phantom of the Opera: 1881-2002 |