The Phantom of Valletta

by Vicki Hopkins

  Within a week, Darius and Erik began the tedious task of retrofitting the hallway to add another doorway to secure the row of quarters from the remainder of the opera house. When they finished that task, Erik removed the obvious door to his suite and replaced it with a new panel-like feature that blended perfectly with the hallway walls.

  It took weeks of work. He wished to have it completed before general construction began and the opera house became filled with strangers. This way, the only knowledge of its existence would rest with Darius and Andrea. He decided, however, after much reflection, that he would show both his companions how to trip the mechanism. It only made sense to create a backup plan should he need to be reached in case of emergency.

  Construction on the door and paneling went slowly. Erik’s temper flared over Darius’ inability to understand basic instructions. His workmanship as a carpenter appeared shabby, and with the perfection that Erik demanded, he would often tell his assistant to rip it apart and start again until he did it correctly.

  Andrea visited during the process bringing food and drinks for both, as well as scolding Erik for his lack of patience. She insisted on helping in the process too, so Erik directed her to start cleaning the rooms for personal quarters. Andrea soon discovered the displeasure of her duties. Smoke damage clung to everything, and she found the smell putrid. All the rooms needed cleaning and repainting, as well as the carpeting torn out and replaced.

  When Erik’s two companions returned to the hotel at night, he continued to examine the architectural prints, redesigning the dressing rooms and living quarters for the staff. Some rooms would remain secure, while others would provide various egresses and ingresses that would be unknown to its occupants. His need to spy on the unsuspecting never waned an ounce, and he cleverly ensured that one room could be entered from his own quarters. Of course, he had no idea what he would use it for, except that it reminded him of his entrance into Christine’s dressing room.

  Within a week, a crew of men arrived, with horse-drawn wagons, to haul off tons of debris. The former owners used his idea and procured able-bodied men from the local jailer, who had been sentenced to hard labor as restitution for their crimes. They began the laborious task of hauling out beams, glass, wires, masonry, seats, floorboards, and everything else imaginable. Erik thought it would be an opportune time to tackle the numerous bird nests inside the opera boxes in the upper tiers. It looked more like an aviary than an auditorium.

  Finally, as the weeks progressed, the debris that had riddled the interior had been removed. The opera house had transformed into an empty shell ready for his handiwork. As he planned the redesign, Erik envisioned perfection. He wanted the opera house to consume its inhabitants and bring them into a world of music they had never experienced. His insatiable desire to succeed in this endeavor became his new obsession. The task ahead had become the driving force to wake him each day and cause his lungs to inhale and exhale. Once again, he had a purpose.

  Only one obstacle to his success remained—the lack of funds. He planned to rectify that problem with his next course of action.

  Chapter Four

  After a few more days of final touches and the delivery of furnishings, their quarters were complete. Darius and Andrea took up permanent residence behind its walls. Quickly, everyone settled into a routine as they planned their future together.

  Erik took particular pride in his own private residence, decorating it to his peculiar delights and taste. He purposely wanted to deviate from his past morbid idea of sleeping in a coffin, while maintaining a certain aura of darkness so he could sleep. To that end, Erik purchased a rather ostentatious Tudor-style mahogany canopy bed, with heavy brocade curtains that could be closed for privacy. He adorned it with deep blood-red silken covers and pillows. Since everything in Erik’s life required perfect order, the remainder of the room held a dark mahogany dresser, nightstand, and armoire aesthetically placed to his liking.

  Erik’s parlor contained a piano, divan, two armchairs, and bookcases that he fully intended to fill to the brim. He placed a side table, with a crystal decanter of cognac that sat upon a polished silver tray, near a small desk. He strategically placed multiple bouquets of various colored roses throughout the room for the sole purpose of filling his nostrils with his favorite aroma.

  He chose an eclectic mixture of abstract and fine art. Andrea had not been too keen on his preferred subject matter, which she expressed to him on more than one occasion as being rather dark and morbid. He merely smiled at the comment, finding the scenes of hell and ghouls being dragged to their ultimate torment rather entertaining.

  In contrast, Erik thought her taste in art boring. Andrea preferred lifeless pictures of flowers and fruit, which lacked emotion and depth, in his opinion. He sneered at her choices of dull subject matter.

  As they settled into a daily schedule, Andrea and Erik created a morning ritual of eating breakfast together. Darius, a devout Muslim, retreated up the stairs to the lower roof of the opera house to face Mecca and pray each morning. Erik allowed his private beliefs to continue, but shared no interest in seeking anything divine.

  Valletta appeared to have its share of domed Catholic churches, which he could see from the rooftop. At night, the location became his favorite place for reflection, as he retreated to view the harbor in the distance and overlook Valletta like a perched eagle.

  Though the upper part of the roof had collapsed from the fire, the outer lower ridge remained intact. The architectural structure provided for various roof levels. The entire length and breadth of the opera house on the first roof level could be easily accessed by a staircase and doorway. Once on the outer level, the roof raised to a second tier smaller in circumference. The flat roof at the very top of the structure had collapsed into the auditorium during the fire.

  After moving into their quarters, the time had arrived to discuss their future. Erik asked Andrea to join him in the auditorium. The bowels of the opera house were clean and empty, waiting and ready for Erik to fill them once again. However, there remained that one small problem—money.

  As they strolled about the stone floor inspecting the final work, Erik shared his plans. “I think now that we finally have room in the auditorium, we should have a masquerade to celebrate.”

  “A masquerade?”

  Andrea’s eyes grew wide with excitement and curiosity over his suggestion. Women always enjoyed parties. Erik, however, kept a solemn face while he walked through the vacant auditorium. He lifted his head upward and peered at the clouds threatening rain.

  “Yes, a masquerade. What better way than to procure funds from the rich of Malta to rebuild this shell of a building filled with bird waste?” Erik walked toward the stage, longing to see it completed. “It’s either that or steal money from a bank. Would you prefer I try that ploy, Andrea?”

  “Oh, Erik, of course not!”

  “I thought not,” he smugly replied. Erik pondered his course of action. It probably would have been easier to steal than to beg from society, but desperate times called for desperate measures and only one choice remained. Certainly, with a little persuasion, he could raise the necessary funds through donations from obliging patrons. He toyed with the idea of offering shares of ownership, but decided that would be unacceptable. He wanted total control.

  There remained one looming problem. He needed a front man of sorts to do his bidding at the masquerade. He envisioned someone acting on his behalf, a representative who could persuade people to donate. Darius lacked the qualities needed for the job, but Erik had another person in mind.

  “Andrea, I only have enough funding to finish half the structure. There is no other way. We must raise money.”

  Erik continued to stroll along side Andrea, his hands clasped behind his back. “We’ll invite the social elite, the governor, government officials, titled aristocrats, and military officers to open their wallets and purses. I’ll play upon their desire for the arts, along with the social necessity that the Royal
Opera House rises to its former glory. It will cost funds to have the masquerade, of course. I’ll spare no expense on alcoholic refreshments, food, and decorations. After our guests eat, drink, and are merry, I’ll have someone convince the attendees that the restoration is a worthy cause.”

  “Who will convince your guests? Do you think the public will wish to invest in your opera house without even knowing who the owner is behind the endeavor?”

  Erik braced himself for the usual lecture about to spew from Andrea’s lips, and tried to keep his growing irritation in check as she continued to badger him.

  “They will need surety that the owner exists and possesses the ability to resurrect this house from the ashes. People do not like to risk their investments. You should make yourself known, Erik. This is the perfect time.”

  As he suspected, her insistent drive to push him into facing society met his ears. His nostrils flared in anger, and he quickly strode from her side, his heels clicking across the stone floor. They were about to repeat the familiar, yet never-ending, argument.

  “Are you suggesting I show my face, Andrea, what I have of one?” He flung the comment over his shoulder, as his feet took him farther away from her peskiness.

  “No, of course not, not your full face, but you cannot hide for the remainder of your life, Erik! You must find your way back into society.”

  He heard Andrea’s footsteps approach from behind, but he continued to walk in the opposite direction.

  “Erik, stop, and listen to me, will you!”

  Relenting, his feet came to a halt, and Erik spun around, resting his dark gaze upon her face. Andrea, he noted of late, flashed a bolder presence when they were together, and he wondered how far she would attempt to push his limits this time. He shoved out his chest and asserted his superiority to put her back in her place.

  “I will do what I damn well please,” he hissed. “I will live my life as it pleases me, not you!”

  Andrea stood her ground before him.

  “Well, I for one think you’re a fool, Erik!”

  Erik’s brow rose when she stood tall and puffed out her own chest, releasing a huff of air from her lungs. Aghast over her brashness, he took a step in her direction, closing the gap between their bodies. He clenched his angry jaw and lowered his head to hover above her 5’5” frame. His eyes, turbulent and dark, examined her closely. Andrea did not flinch.

  “I plan on finding someone to represent me, Andrea, if that is all right with you. Perhaps someday, I shall reveal myself, but I have no desire to do so now. The discussion is over.”

  Erik turned and walked away, his fists clenched with anger.

  “And who will you find to represent you, Erik?” she nagged, following after him. “You refused to meet the owners in person. You’ll have to show yourself eventually, you must.”

  “I don’t need to be told what to do,” he snarled. “Especially by some hen-pecking damn woman!”

  He strode a few more steps and then stopped in the middle of the auditorium and turned his head up toward the gray skies that threatened rain. A touch of weariness washed over his soul. A drop released from the clouds and hit his uncovered cheek, followed by another and another until one by one they left their wet marks on the dusty stone floor.

  “I hope to hell it doesn’t rain on the eve of the masquerade.” He turned around and grabbed Andrea’s arm softly as he passed. “Come, you’ll be soaked in no time. Let’s go inside, and we’ll have a cup of tea to calm your righteous nerves and soothe my foul mood.”

  She insisted on pushing him, challenging him, and trying to change him. Erik had no intention of changing. He had become too accustomed to his personal misery.

  Erik escorted Andrea to their dining room where they sat and chatted for some time.

  “You know, I’ll need your help and expertise to plan the event.” He looked at her, hoping she would find pleasure in his request. “I’m sure Darius can be of some assistance with the logistics.”

  “Yes, it would be good to use Darius,” she replied. “Though I’m not sure how much help he’ll be.” Andrea chuckled. It had been the first time Andrea candidly voiced her opinion and acknowledged Darius’ shortcomings.

  “We’ll have to erect some type of canopy or tent structure indoors since we have no roof. If I know my luck, it will rain the evening of the masquerade,” he noted, convinced of his customary misfortune. “I wish for it to be a merry occasion, if there is one to be had in Valletta, and we’ll spare no expense. There must be music, as well. We will feed them and get them drunk then ask for their money.”

  “I think it’s a fine plan, Erik, now that I hear what you envision.”

  Erik rarely smiled in response to anything Andrea said, but he allowed a small opening to part his lips, causing the corner of his mouth to rise.

  “Andrea, I cannot wait to restore this building. You have no idea how it burns in my soul. I plan to secure only the best performers and musicians to fill this house with music, and we’ll hold auditions for singers from around the world.” Erik paused with satisfaction. “I may even return to composing again.”

  He shifted his gaze to the floor as he thought. “It’s my only food,” he admitted soberly. “Music is all that keeps me alive now. Without it, I’d go mad.” A few moments passed, and he looked up at Andrea. “Let’s hope that we have fair weather, a large turnout, and the investors we need.”

  Andrea smiled and raised her teacup in his direction. “To your success!”

  “To my success!” Erik roared in return, his deep voice filling the room. “Now, all I need is a front man.”

  Andrea’s eyes widened in bewilderment. Erik sported a sly grin and took another sip of tea.

  Chapter Five

  The plans to find a front man went well. It had not been a difficult task, because the gentleman had announced where he planned to retire. After making a few inquiries, Erik took note and found out exactly where he had relocated. Many speculated Richard Mercier had disappeared to Australia or Germany, but Erik knew that Venice had been his ultimate destination.

  He had not retired either, but just upped and left Paris, tired of the Ghost. He accepted a position elsewhere. Apparently, Mercier only wished to retire from the Phantom’s pranks, which amused Erik immensely.

  Erik dispatched a letter dangling a carrot in front of Richard’s nose. Within a week, the answer came that he held interest in the prospective offer of manager at the new venue. Richard accepted the invitation to travel to Valletta to meet with the owner, and a week later stood on Maltese soil. A meeting had been arranged a day after his arrival, with instructions to report to the newly constructed office at the Royal Opera House.

  Darius waited for Richard in the defunct foyer, and upon arrival escorted him to the mysterious owner. At last, the former manager of the Garnier would meet the Opera Ghost.

  Erik had respected Richard for many years, though he never revealed his human appearance to the man. He acted wisely in that he consistently obeyed the Opera Ghost, unlike the fools Armon and Firmin, who later arrived on the scene.

  Richard repeatedly displayed intelligence to Erik and never argued or questioned the Ghost’s demands, especially when they were suggestions on how to run the theater better. Whether he obeyed out of curiosity or fear, Erik never actually knew, but he surmised that Andrea had often persuaded Richard to comply.

  Armon and Firmin, on the other hand, were foolish idiots who thought they could usurp the Ghost’s authority over his domain. Of course, they paid; they paid dearly. Erik made sure of it, by bringing down the chandelier.

  As he pondered the incident that had occurred over a year ago, he carried little remorse for the outcome of its crash. Only one died that evening, who had merely been a victim of necessity in Erik’s mind—a poor soul in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  When the door finally opened announcing the arrival of Mercier into his office, he watched Richard’s face with keen interest. As soon as Richard’s eyes
met Erik’s masked countenance, the poor man’s blood drained away, and he appeared ashen. He looked like a ghost meeting the Ghost. Erik knew he had always wondered about him, and now the time to wonder had abruptly come to a surprising end.

  Erik approached Richard and stretched out his arm. “Go ahead,” he told his guest, offering a gentleman’s handshake. “Touch me. I’m not a ghost, Richard. My name is Erik. In Valletta, I’ve taken the name of Erik Dante.” No use mentioning any other last names he had used in his lifetime.

  Mercier glanced at Darius quickly. Erik noticed his servant give the man a reassuring nod and smile. After a few moments of hesitation, he reached out, took the Erik’s hand, and clasped it tightly.

  “It’s good to meet the apparition who haunted the Garnier for so many years,” he declared, nearly choking on his words.

  Erik watched in curiosity as Richard eyed him from top to bottom. He seemed to take note of his finely made wig of human hair, and his white mask that covered his deformity. His inquisitive eyes traveled over his tailored suit.

  “Take a close look. Make sure I’m real.” Erik encouraged Richard with a smile before turning away and walking over to a side table. He poured two glasses of cognac, returned to his guest, and handed one to him. “You look as if you could use a drink. Have a seat, please.” Erik gestured toward a nearby chair and sat down, as well.

  Darius stood in the doorway, with a hopeful look upon his face, as if he wished to stay. However, Erik denied his request, as he wanted privacy. “That will be all, Darius. We’ll speak later.”

  Darius’ countenance fell in disappointment, but he nodded obediently, turned, and closed the door behind him. When the latch clicked, Erik focused his attention back on his guest.

  “So, tell me, Richard, what have you been up to? How’s retirement?” He grinned at him with a snide smirk. “You really didn’t think I thought you’d retire, did you?” He took a sip of his cognac, while his eyes flashed in amusement. “You were just tired of the Ghost. Confess it, my friend.”