Distant Melodies
Began: March 8, 2005
End: March 28, 2005

Brief Summary: Five band members, one old opera house, a dream of rejuvenation, and a dead presence that can no longer ‘rest in peace’.
Full Summary: The year is now, 2005 and a band of five members leave America to move to Paris, France. However, on the way to their hotel they come across an old and condemned opera building, vow to buy it before it’s torn down, and turn it into a music museum. But upon the start of fixing it back up the building comes back to life and a dead presence returns to haunt familiar grounds.

A/N: This is my first Phantom of the Opera story so please bear with me and don’t be mad if I screw up. I’m going off the movie and the few things I’ve learned from reading other people’s work. The memory of the movie, the soundtrack, the trailer, and the works I read by other fans are all that I’m running off of so please, don’t flame me. ! I wanna’ try and finish this (and that’ll take me a while with how many stories I’m currently writing) and I really rely on feedback so please, review as much as possible!
Remember: feedback is a writer’s fuel to motivation!

“So what are you going to do when you get there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are you going to live?”

“I don’t know.”

“How are you going to stay alive?”

“I don’t know.”

Rebecca closed her eyes and bowed her head as all three questions bore into her mind’s eye.

“Becca you can’t just ignore these thoughts—Paris is a big city! You don’t want to get involved in the wrong ways with the wrong people,” Emily suddenly got in front of her friend and jerked the chair so her friend would look into her eyes. “Do you?”

“No,” Rebecca murmured. “But I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Are you going alone?”

“No, the rest of the band’s going with me.” Rebecca pointed around to the different groups of people in the commons of her campus cafeteria. At least several large crowds surrounded the two of them and in each one was at least one friend who was in her band.

“Okay… so you’re going to Paris—then what?” Emily pulled out a chair and sat down. Tucking her black hair behind her ears, she readjusted her jacket and sat her hands on her lap.

“I told you,” Rebecca raised her voice. “I don’t know.”

“Then why are you even moving to France in the first place?”

Rebecca sighed loudly and rolled her head around her shoulders as a sudden ache tormented through her neck. “To get away from everything. I just… I just got in trouble and they just got out of jail; with their identity being watched so clearly we can’t relax and be ourselves.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “You got in trouble?”

“Um,” Rebecca looked away sheepishly, “yeah.” She hated admitting her failure but everyone got in trouble with the law sometime in their life.

“How?”

Rebecca giggled at Emily’s reaction to her not-so-innocent self and covered her mouth to suppress the laughter. “I’m sorry,” Rebecca said between giggles. “But you just look so funny when you found that out.”

Emily waved her hand around to blow that aside. “But seriously, how?”

Rebecca shrugged calmly. “No big deal.” Emily was about to protest but Rebecca cut in too fast. “I said don’t worry about it. I’ve got it all settled out.”

“Well,” Emily sighed. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you.”

“For now, at least.”

“For a while,” Emily clarified. “Becca, are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“No.” Rebecca said truthfully. “But what does it matter?”

“Well, just be very careful,” Emily pleaded. “France is a pretty old place and I heard not all civilians are friendly there. They can act like Neanderthals.”

“Neanderthals with class,” Rebecca corrected. “But what the hell—it’s not like I’m going to run into any expected ghosts there or anything. I don’t believe in that crap.”

Rebecca stood up and gathered her books in her arms then pushed the chair back under the table. Emily stood and copied her then paused and stared.

“What?” Rebecca asked nonchalantly.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Stay alive?” Rebecca answered and turned to her. “Easier said than done.”

“No, not that.” Emily waved her hand and shook her head. “Can you try and get me a post card of their opera house while your there?”

Rebecca and Emily turned and began heading towards their classes and paused at the staircase.

“You like the opera?” Rebecca stared in shock at her gothic friend. “I can’t see you listening to anything but Dying Fetus or Cryptopsy.”

“No, I can’t stand opera but I loved the architecture they showed. The designs and fashions and even their colors—they were beautiful.” Rebecca was staring at her. “What?”

“You like the opera fashions yet you hate opera—a girl who’d rather become a surgeon in the morgue than an interior designer?”

Emily looked away sheepishly. “I just think their taste is magnificent—that’s all.”

“Whatever—I’m off to class for the last time.” Rebecca began heading upstairs.

“Bye and don’t forget to buy me a post card!” Emily shouted after her.

0 0 0

“Okay—now the movers will be here in four hours so the second we reach the hotel we can phone them and give them directions.”

Rebecca nodded, “Alright.”

“And if we come across any problems, they won’t leave the branching office until we phone them so our stuff stays with them until we get it.”

Mark checked off each box he called out. When he lifted his head to stare off in thought the reflected wall of the airport shined back his green spiked hair and bright blue eyes. Rebecca glimpse at her reflection and to her brown shoulder-length curls and green eyes then smiled. She looked pretty normal and she knew Mark wouldn’t admit he was feeling out of place; in France, apparently no body died their hair to fit a gothic appearance.

“Well, I just phoned America,” Geoffrey stepped up to Rebecca and stretched his arms out to pop his shoulder blades.

“Yeah,” Rebecca smiled up at him. “What did they say?”

“They’re transferring all of our papers to this countries’ security division so we can live here without being fugitives of the law.” Geoffrey was smiling when he spoke about them being fugitives. If they had just left without transferring their papers then they would have been international criminals. Geoffrey sat down in the chair on the other side of Mark, stuffing Rebecca between two totally out-of-place people. Mark was gothic and almost every aspect while Geoffrey was entirely kicker with all the works: large cowboy hat, dark blue Wranglers, the boots that would clank against the ground because of their spurs, and the red plaid top with the dark blue jacket to match.

With the three of them alone they were a show for the French to view and there were five people in the band total; the other two were currently in the restrooms preparing themselves for the streets of Paris, France.

“Becca!”

Rebecca blinked out of her daze and glanced over at the far left where Sean was stepping out of the restroom. His short blonde hair wavered in the air that whipped around his body as people rushed past him to get to their terminals and his violet eyes were dimmed below a broken light; the glimmer of sunlight that managed to get in through the dirty windows sparkled against the gold ring in his left ear.

“Hey—excuse me.” Sean wiggled himself between crowds of people and finally reached his awaiting friends. His blue plaid shirt that was left open at the next barely showed his white undershirt and his tan slacks covered most of his brown ankle-low boots.

“Having trouble, Sean?” Mark looked up at his teen-idol friend with a grin. He returned to his check list and reviewed the list once more.

“How far is that hotel from here?” Sean turned to Geoffrey. “Cus’ I wanna’ see just how much money I have that’ll get me some souvenirs for my mom.”

“Don’t bother buying anything just yet—none of us are,” Geoffrey’s voice, compared to most of the French, was deep and constructive like his southern self used to be back in the day. “But the hotel’s about a twenty minute drive from here if there isn’t any traffic.”

“Which is impossible considering America is the land of concrete and I doubt France has highways built on top of old buildings,” Rebecca added in.

Mark pointed at her. “Mark that as true.”

Sean groaned and turned around as a hand rested on his back. He smiled at the final member of the band and as usual, rolled his eyes from the dread-lock pony-tail. Steve shrugged and shook his head to ignore Sean’s comment.

“So I had to tie it back again. Have you ever dealt with dreads as they get too long?”

“Thank God, no.” Sean admitted. “I won’t get dreads anyways.”

“Well,” Mark stood up. “Now that we’re all here I suggest we get going.”

0 0 0

“Come on,” Sean groaned. “What’s taking so long?”

“I told you so,” Rebecca smiled and stared out the window as rain pattered against the taxi. “There will be traffic no matter where you go.”

“Shut up,” Mark snapped back. Geoffrey, who was sitting in the far back of the van started to laugh. Rebecca was sitting in the passenger seat, Sean and Mark in the middle, and Steve and Geoffrey took up the rear of the van-like taxi.

“And it wasn’t raining when we left the airport anyways so what’s up with that?” Sean added in with a whiney voice.

“Are you heading for the Paris Hotel?” The taxi-driver asked in a thick French accent. “I know a faster way than sitting in this traffic.”

Rebecca turned and smiled at him. “Please?”

“D’accord.” The driver nodded and turned off to an alley that was sitting besides them. “This path takes you right to the back of the hotel—the alley is never used because more people walk it,” he spoke out. “But since it is raining there should be nobody walking.”

“Just get us there—I’m feeling carsick.” Sean slouched in his seat and stared out at the window as the old brick buildings passed by window. The rain pellets hitting the window made small beating noises that sounded like the drums being lightly tapped and it began to drown him to sleep until the car jerked to a halt.

He opened his eyes not even ten minutes after he closed them and cringed. “What now?”

The driver groaned. “Pas maintenant.”

Rebecca turned to him in wonder. “What does that mean?”

He waved his hands before him and signaled at the road. “We cannot get through—the road is blocked.”

“What?” Sean scooted up and stared out the window. “What do you mean it’s blocked? How is it blocked?”

“The road is blocked,” the driver repeated with his heavy accent. “There is a large dumpster in the middle of the road—I cannot get through.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Mark muttered.

“No,” the driver responded with a shake of his head.

“Never mind then,” Geoffrey unhooked his seat belt and scooted up to the door. “We’ll walk—it can’t be far. I know the street names so I know where we are.”

Sean turned and watched as he opened the door. “What are you doing? We’re not walking?”

Geoffrey and Steve jumped out of the van and turned back. Rebecca paid the driver a few American dollars and winced at him.

“Is that enough?”

He nodded. “That is fine, have a good walk.”

“Unlike you—we don’t have large hats on that are made for propelling rain water,” Sean reminded him.

“Neither do I—or even Steve.” Rebecca reminded him. “So shut the fuck up and get out of the God damned car, you fucking asshole!”

Thunder hammered just then and blurred out what most of was being spoken. The rain poured harder and the wind picked up. Steve and Geoffrey agreed silently just then and leant in to grab both band members by their wrists and yank them out of the van. Now all five were standing in the rain and two were very upset about it.

“Happy now?” Sean yelled out. Geoffrey turned and stared ahead of them to the dumpster in the road. “Fucking asshole.”

“Alright,” Geoffrey began. He raised his voice to get it out over the loud thunder. “Let’s get going. We’ve got about a few blocks until we reach the hotel.”

“A few blocks!” Mark screamed. “Geoff, I don’t know if you haven’t noticed but it’s fucking raining and we’re already drenched here!”

“Then it shouldn’t matter,” Geoffrey shrugged. “Come on.”

“No!” Sean yelled out but Steve and Geoffrey already started off.

“Sean, you’re already out so just shut up and deal with it!” Rebecca reminded him before chasing after her two friends.

Sean stayed put to muttered curses and paused when he saw Mark leave his side to follow behind. He blew out a breath of rushed air and chased after his friends.

Behind them, the van backed up and began driving off. The storm didn’t let up and the sky only got darker as the minutes passed by. Even Geoffrey in his kicker set-up was drenched from head to toe and the atmosphere was getting colder and harder to see. He stopped dead suddenly and turned to the right where the back of some off-white and ash-covered building stood with a dark wooden door hanging open.

“Head inside,” he pointed towards the door. “Now!”

All five ran towards the door and piled inside the building. It was all made of wood and there was dust everywhere. Rebecca was the first to step inside the building and when she did she continued over to a banister that looked down onto a concrete path.

“Now what’s the plan?” Sean asked groggily as he leaned against a wood-paneled wall. His arms crossed over his chest and he stared angrily at Geoff.

“Well, it wasn’t raining that badly when we first got out of the car but if you wouldn’t have taken so God damned long then we could have gotten farther before it got worse or even at the hotel by now,” Geoff fought back.

“If you didn’t have to give the stupid idea of walking in the rain to begin with to the rest of us then we wouldn’t be in this situation.” Mark joined in. “We wouldn’t have gotten soaked and cold and one of us could be sick now.”

“Everyone just shut up,” Steve intervened. “Everyone has some part in this doing so just mind your business and chill.”

Rebecca ignored their fighting and walked along the side of the old railing and continued to stare down at the floor below. The area was old and rugged and it looked very condemned but it still showed much of its original shine. She squinted as she neared a red sheet that hung from a coat hook on the wall at the end of the railing and touched it. It felt as if it hadn’t been touched in years and when she looked back around, a familiar sense of dread washed over her.

“Guy,” she called out but their shouts drowned her voice. “Hey—people!”

They continued to argue and Rebecca spun around to scream at them. “Hey!” They all stopped and turned to her, not realizing that she was several feet away and standing on top of the staircase that went down to below the floor they were standing on.

“I think I know where we are.”

“Well, we’re not at the hotel—that’s for damn sure.” Sean added in.

Rebecca only shook her head. “No.” She turned and stared back at the sheet hanging on the wall and the velvety touch of it. “This is the back of the Opera Populaire.”

“The what?” Steve blinked and stepped up to her. “An opera place?”

“Great and we’re breaking an entry incase they’re performing right now,” Mark added in.

“No,” Rebecca whispered. “This place hasn’t been used in about two hundred years.”

“Oh, so we’re trespassing then,” Mark corrected himself. “Great, we’re still criminals no matter where we go.”

“Shut up,” Rebecca growled and glared him. “The Opera Populaire was where the story of the Phantom of the Opera took place. It burned down after a play and though many people made it out alive—few were killed.”

“I thought that was all some made up play based off a book,” Steve muttered. Rebecca turned and began stepping down each step lightly, afraid that it may crack beneath her foot.

“Where are you going?” Geoff questioned.

“To the front to see if it’s true and the place is in ruins,” Rebecca murmured. “If it’s true then their big chandelier would still be in pieces on the stage.”

“How do you know this?” Steve asked, weary of the only girl in the band now. He silently followed behind and soon the rest of the band followed after him.

“Emily,” Rebecca replied. “Did you forget how much of that play she loved?”

“She liked opera?” Mark blinked in astonishment. “Emily?”

Rebecca snickered. “She claimed she liked the designs.”

“Hey, if you’re going to the front why are we going downstairs?” Sean asked as he was last to follow behind.

Rebecca landed on the concrete floor and turned around to see the long hallway stop at a wall on one side or a set of double brown doors on the other. “Because,” she carefully made her way towards the doors at the other end of the hall, “the side we entered at was built up to match the street behind the building. This place is set on a hill and though it doesn’t look it from the front—the second floor really stands with the street behind it.”

“Oh.” The reply came from Sean but it was quiet enough that it sounded as if Steve were saying it.

The doors were large and upon opening they creaked. It wasn’t as easy as Rebecca thought it would be to spread them apart but with Steve’s help she managed. The doors opened up to a room filled with history. Cobwebs draped from the high, painted, cathedral ceiling to the elaborately decorated walls besides it, from the box seating to the walls and even between each withered, fashionable chair. The stage was set just to the right where a massive chandelier sat upon the back of it, shattered just like the dreams of this building. The fragments of glass and crystal reflected over a million different angels, each shining a dull sparkle out for the world to see.

The room itself was too much for words and as Rebecca neared the stage she began feeling the atmosphere changing drastically from happy and whole to sad and lonely.

“Depressing,” Rebecca whispered.

“Oh my God,” Sean muttered as he stepped out to stand before the stage. Rebecca walked slowly up the steps on the side of the stage and began walking out towards the center and over to the broken fixture.

Rebecca kneeled down by the broken light and frowned. Over a dozen times her reflection came back at her, each piece a shard of one whole image. She picked up one of the crystal shard and peered closely at it, instantly feeling remorse for the history that ended when this fell.

“Becca,” Geoff called out. She turned to face him with pity in her eyes. “Come on,” he waved, “get down from there and let the dead rest in peace.”

“Or peaces,” Sean corrected.

“So the story’s true,” Steve was in the middle of the entire room, standing between the rows of chairs and staring up at the picture on the ceiling. “I just thought it was a story somebody made up.”

“This whole thing happened but the story leaked out into a book in nineteen-ten,” Rebecca explained as she neared the edge of the stage. “I thought it was just some dinky story as well but Emily did extended research and found it was true. She’s been dying to come here and see proof aside from the photos but she never had the money.”

“But we did,” Geoff replied. Rebecca nodded.

“She’ll certainly be giving me an earful of wanting to come visit as often as possible or ask us to fly her here so she can move in,” Rebecca gazed up at the ceiling where the line of ripped paint scorched the once brilliant decoration.

“Hey, this place is large enough and probably very unpredictable,” Steve called out. All four band members turned around and glanced down the pathway to see him standing between rooms of the opera hall to the entrance, the door hanging open without suspensions to close it. He stepped back into the room, both arms spread apart.

“Why not live here? Nobody’s using it so it’s not like we’re in anyone’s way and when we have rehearsal it won’t bother no one.” There was a grin on his face.

“Dumb ass,” Mark retorted. “This place is most likely condemned and that means we’re trespassing on Government property.”

“Then let’s buy it,” Steve stepped up to the group, the smile never drifting away. “If it’s condemned we can just them that we’ll buy it from them, fix it up, and turn it into some music hall—perhaps France’s first ever Rock Museum?”

“Stupid idea,” Sean replied. “You think they’ll fall for that?”

Geoff turned to Rebecca. “Maybe not rock but all sorts of famous music and possibly hold performances here, too.”

“Yeah,” Rebecca agreed. She turned to Steve and nodded. “Not a bad idea.”

“What?” Mark faced her. “How the fuck are we going to even afford it then? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the Government a hard thing to come by?”

“It’s not owned by the Government,” Geoff corrected. “The city’s head official—as we have mayors in America—is in charge of what goes on.” He turned to Steve and suggested, “If we can get him to agree that this will bring more entertainment into the streets of Paris, France and possibly more attraction—”

“And tourists,” Rebecca added in.

Geoff nodded at her remark and continued. “Then perhaps he’ll agree to let us have it.”

“And how are we supposed to afford the amount to fix it up? Excuse me if I’m wrong, but fixing up a place takes time and extra money to make the work go faster.” All faces turned to Mark. “I mean, we may have a lot stored in the American banks from when we produced a few hits back in the day but one, that’s back in America and two, American cash isn’t French money.”

“I can get it,” Geoff intervened. “I can get us the money converted to French cash.”

“French cash,” Rebecca giggled.

“Well what do you call it, then?” Geoff fumed childishly.

“Remind me once more,” Sean was staring at the ground and his hand was in the air to signal silence. “Why did we choose France and not England? None of us know French, none of us have French money—unless you can get some—and none of us know anything about the French.”

“It was the next best place to go because England won’t allow people on probation to move there from America and Spain isn’t a wise decision despite what everyone thinks,” Geoff answered.

“So, this is it, then?” Rebecca chimed in, her smile large and fitting for her pleasing appearance though everyone else was dampened from the rain. “Opera Populaire?”

“Yeah,” Geoff and Steve said in unison.

“Opera Populaire,” Sean muttered afterwards in an agreeable tone.

“What are we going to call this new museum?” Mark came in suddenly.

All five looked off to the side in wonder then Rebecca came out with a great idea and smiled brightly. She stared at Geoff and said, “How about our band’s name?”

Geoff blinked. “Faded Glory?”

“Wouldn’t that be like… bad?” Steve muttered. “A bad name for a music museum I mean?”

“No,” Rebecca shook her head. “Think about it. Their glory is faded into history but it’s still known to some.”

“So we’re only showing off those who never made it big?” Mark questioned.

“No, I think I understand what Becca’s trying to say here,” Geoff cut in. “History fades and glory dies—the point of our band.”

“Dude,” Steve snickered. “We bought our band name from a clothing company.”

“Well then we’ll buy it from our own band to use as the museum’s name,” Geoff replied. “I still think it’s a great idea.”

“Yeah,” Rebecca nodded. “I think it’s perfect.”

“Whatever,” Mark turned away and began dialing on his cell phone. “I need to call them and have them deliver our stuff.” He turned and faced Rebecca. “Do they know where this place is?”

“If they don’t then they’re probably not natives,” Geoff replied nonchalantly.

“How much did you guys pack?” Sean asked, exchanging glances from Rebecca to Geoff and back to Rebecca again.

“Erm,” Rebecca looked off to the side and Geoff replied for her.

“Besides our stuff, our instruments—”

“That’s a total duh,” Steve cut in.

“And Becca’s paino.”

“You’re piano?” Sean yelled. “Couldn’t you have left it?”

“What? No,” She rolled her eyes. “That thing’s been given to me from my grandfather—passed down from his grandfather. It’s a really old piano.”

“Also one that’s a grand piano!” Sean reminded her.

“It’s an antique and a family heir loom,” she corrected him. “Besides, if we set it off with this museum idea, I may put it in the show as an original from the seventeen hundreds.” Rebecca smiled and looked away proudly. “Paint still black and polished like new.”

“That’s cus’ you never let anyone touch it,” Sean reminded her.