Phantom, page 1
Phantom
A TATTERED CURTAIN NOVEL
GREER RIVERS
Copyright © 2022 by Greer Rivers
All rights reserved.
Blue Ghost Publishing, LLC
BGP Dark World
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For more information, contact greerriverswriting@gmail.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: TRC Designs
Editing and Proofreading: My Brother’s Editor
ASIN: B09WSVTHP4
Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9861242-2-3
Hardback ISBN: 979-8-9861242-3-0
Contents
A Note From The Author
Prologue
Overture
Act 1
Scene 1
Scene 2
Scene 3
Scene 4
Scene 5
Scene 6
Scene 7
Scene 8
Scene 9
Act 2
Scene 10
Scene 11
Scene 12
Scene 13
Scene 14
Entr’acte
Scene 15
Act 3
Scene 16
Scene 17
Scene 18
Scene 19
Scene 20
Scene 21
Scene 22
Scene 23
Scene 24
Scene 25
Act 4
Scene 26
Scene 27
Scene 28
Scene 29
Scene 30
Scene 31
Scene 32
Reprise
Epilogue
Rouge
Also by Greer Rivers
Escaping Conviction (Conviction Series Book One)
Catching Lightning
Be a Dear and Stalk Greer Here
Acknowledgments
All About Greer
Phantom
She is my muse, and I am her demon of music.
A year ago, I witnessed sweet Scarlett Day’s dark side. She’s been my obsession ever since.
I was content with being her secret. Content with protecting her from afar… until an enemy from my past sets his sights on her.
Our families have a deep history of hatred, and Scarlett is caught in the middle.
Meanwhile, her mind plays tricks on her. When a panic attack goes horribly wrong, I emerge from the shadows to save her.
Now that she’s mine, I can’t let her go.
I’ve mastered the darkness. She tempts me with her light.
But when my mask is gone, will she fear the monster underneath?
Playlist
“Darkness” by X V I
“Twisted” by MISSIO
“Voices In My Head” by Falling In Reverse
“The Devil is a Gentleman” by Merci Raines
“Billie Jean” by The Civil Wars
“Bad” by Royal Deluxe
“Power Over Me” by Dermot Kennedy
“Primavera” by Ludovico Einaudi
“Your Heart is as Black as Night” by Melody Gardot
“Good Things Come To Those Who Wait” by Nathan Sykes
“Monster” by Willyecho
“Beautiful Undone” by Laura Doggett
“La Vie En Rose” by Emily Watts
“Play with Fire” by Sam Tinnesz, Yacht Money
“Pyrokinesis” by 7Chariot
“Scars” by Boy Epic
“How Villains Are Made” by Madalen Duke
“All Is Lost” by Katie Garfield
“Sway” by So Below
“Up Down” by Boy Epic
Get the full playlist here!
A Note From The Author
The Tattered Curtain series can be read in any order and is a series of complete standalones inspired by classic stories and stage productions. Phantom is a dark and spicy retelling of Gaston Leroux’s Phantom of the Opera with mafia and stalking elements set in modern-day New Orleans. Guaranteed HEA.
TRIGGER/CONTENT/TROPE WARNING
Phantom is a dark romance. It should only be read by mature readers (18+).
Full list of triggers/content warnings and tropes can be found here.
Protect your heart, friends. Reader discretion is advised.
If you or a loved one needs help, there is hope. Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 800-273-8255, or go to suicidepreventionlifeline.org and save a life, maybe even your own.
Once Upon A Time…
AUTHOR WITH BIPOLAR DISORDER EDITION
In 2014, I suffered my first full blown manic episode. I had to be hospitalized in a psychiatric ward and thereafter began my bipolar journey. And it has, in fact, been a journey. An adventure sometimes, but a damn odyssey most.
I’ve struggled with my mental health for as long as I can remember and I’ve been going to therapists and psychiatrists since 2009. Even still, there are many ups and downs in my battle for a healthier mind, combatting my manic alter-ego (who I’ve jokingly named Athena), enduring various medications that doctors have prescribed “just to see” how my brain would react (usually poorly), and severe incapacitating bouts of depression.
I pulled much from my own experience to write this story, and every symptom Scarlett has is something that I’ve personally experienced. You, or someone you know, may have bipolar disorder that presents differently and that’s okay. As with most things, bipolar disorder is not a monolith, and there’s no one-size-fits-all solution. For me, writing has been an extremely therapeutic outlet. I honestly don’t know where I’d be without it, my husband, and my therapist. Oh, and medication, of course.
All this to say, if you have been searching for answers to the secrets your brain insists on hiding… keep going. It’s hard. It sucks. But, your health and happiness are worth it. You are worth it.
Never, ever forget: You are loved. You are wanted. You matter.
To my manic side, Athena, you crazy bitch.
Get some sleep, girl.
“If I am the phantom, it is because man's hatred has made me so. If I am to be saved it is because your love redeems me.”
Gaston Leroux
The Phantom of the Opera
Prologue
ONE YEAR AGO
Scarlett
I float on the musical notes hanging in the air. Each one is loud and percussive as they all dance out of the open doors of the Bourbon Street bars. When I spin around, I can capture the high ones and sing them at the top of my lungs.
The tempos are slower versions than I’m used to. But everything is so slow right now.
Even the laughter around me sounds sluggish, battling with the upbeat jazz radio that started buzzing in my head a week ago.
All the words and beats and melodies jumble together. The ones in my head clash with the ones in the street. I’m not sure which I’m hearing loudest at the moment. They’re all blending together into a harsh cacophony.
I stop spinning and stick my tongue out, wondering if I’ll be able to taste the powdered sugar scent that wafts out of Café Beignet, despite it being a few blocks away.
“Get her the fuck out of here, Jaime.”
I stutter to a stop and whip around to face the voice that rumbles low, yet can still be heard above all the chaos in and around my mind. It raises the hairs on the back of my neck and makes me shiver as I curve my long black curls behind my ear.
But when I spin toward the deep bass, I can’t find the owner, only my best friend, Jaime. My poor bestie bites his fingernails and glances around us. Weariness and defeat dull his usually vibrant brown eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, only my voice comes out strange. It takes me trying again to realize my tongue is still out. I roll it back up into my mouth like a chameleon and giggle.
Jaime only curses in Spanish under his breath, looking more defeated than ever. “She’s sick, man. I can see it in her eyes, like you said.”
Who is he talking to?
Confusion tries to filter through the fog in my mind, but I physically wave it away. “You’re no fun.”
“We have to go, Scarlett,” Jaime answers with a wobbly smile, obviously trying to put on a silly face to distract me as he waves my high heels at me. “Let’s put your knockoff Manolos back on—”
I stomp the dirty ground with the balls of my feet and whine, “But they hurt.”
“Too bad, girl. I told you not to wear them to the Quarter, but you didn’t listen to me, so now here we are. Either put them back on or I’ll have to carry you. Hurry up, though. The cops are already thinking you’re straight up loca.”
“Well, that’s rude—”
He reaches for me as I pout, but I twist away, nimble on my bare feet.
“No way, High-may! High-may! High-mayyyy,” I belt his name out in an off-key tune and keep my eyes peeled to find a date for my friend so he’ll finally lighten up tonight. A superhot, short, college-aged touristy looking guy passes by at the perfect time and I grab his hand.
“Come here! My bestest friend in the whole wide world desperately needs to get laid. He’s no fun when he hasn’t gotten a good dick in a while.”
“No joda, Scarlett.” He snatches my ha
“All the fun in me died with my dad.” A high-pitched laugh escapes me, even though a sharp, knifelike pain in my chest tries to break through my euphoria.
“Meirda, Scarlo, I’m sor—”
“Nope!” I roll out from underneath his arm and shove my hand into his apologetic face. “No, no, no. No more sadness! I already did all that. I couldn’t get out of bed for a month and now I feel free! I’m going to fly… dance… no, wait!” I stab my finger at the nearest glowing neon sign. “Let’s get a drink!”
“You spent all your money in less than twenty-four hours, Scarlo. You’re broke.”
My bottom lip pokes out. “Please? Pretty, pretty, pretty please? I’ll pay you back, I swear!”
“Dominguez!” that sexy, grumpy voice shouts between us again. “I’m on my way. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
I try to pretend like I don’t hear it because I’m not sure whether it’s just another frequency joining the jazz radio in my brain, until I realize Jaime’s got someone on speakerphone.
He grimaces and puts the phone to his ear just as a mobile DJ wheels a cart down the center of Bourbon Street. I squeal and clap like one of those cymbal monkey music boxes. Without a glance back at my Debbie Downer friend, I get lost in the dancing, gyrating crowd traveling with the DJ.
Hot guys lean over the railing of the balcony above me, demanding to see my tits. I giggle wildly and rip off my brand-new black lace see-through crop top that I borrowed from a Royal Street boutique today once I’d realized I’d spent all my stipend money. Winding my arm back, I throw it up to them and cheer when they fight over it, ripping it to shreds. I’m still covered by my black bra, but the boys don’t care. The sky rains beads down on me anyway. I try to catch them all but end up tripping and falling over the plastic balls onto the gross pavement, landing on my knees. A burst of laughter rolls out of me, until a burning sensation stings my skin. My black curls spill over my eyes and I pull them back to see better.
“Oh no…” I gasp quietly at the sight of tiny glass shards embedded in my kneecaps.
It’s fine. I don’t really feel it. I’m invincible. A little glass doesn’t hurt, and any pain I feel inside—or out—will all disappear once I finally start drinking.
Jaime reluctantly agreed to go to Bourbon Street to dance my restless energy out, but since we stepped onto the street itself, he’s been nothing but a buzzkill and trying to drag me back into the dorms at the Bordeaux Conservatory of Music.
The school and the New French Opera House take up the whole block from Toulouse to St. Louis and Dauphine to Bourbon. We haven’t gotten far at all. Hell, I bet if I tried hard enough, I could sling one of my new beads and hit a corner window.
As fun as that sounds, I decide against it, not wanting to risk reminding Jaime that he could literally sling me over his shoulder and take me back, no sweat.
A big sigh from deep within my lungs makes my bare shoulders sag in the sticky summer night air. With the exhale comes a huge wave of exhaustion that nearly has me collapsing the rest of the way to the ground.
But I fight it. I’ve been fighting it for four days straight. No sleep means no nightmares. No nightmares mean only happy Scarlett. I figured it out just a week ago and it’s been magical, taking me out of my mopeyness in no time.
To combat the urge to close my eyes, I focus on the pretty strobe light shining from the top of the bar in front of me. It sparkles into the midnight sky, making the stars shine magnificently with the kaleidoscope of colors.
I lie back with my elbows resting on the raised sidewalk and get comfy, ignoring the lumpy shard that’s keeping me from straightening my leg all the way out and has the audacity to try to ruin this moment. A commotion behind me breaks my concentration as I’m about to get situated, and I’m brutally yanked up by both arms.
“Hey! Let go of me!”
“Ma’am, you have the right to remain silent…”
Two hot New Orleans cops read me my rights while they carry me to a parked police SUV at the corner of Bourbon and Toulouse Street, right outside the New French Opera House.
“Fuck!” Jaime curses from somewhere behind us and my eyes widen. My New Orleanian best friend never curses in anything but Spanish, French, or his own personal combination of Spanglench. Not unless shit’s really hit the fan.
“Stop fighting us, ma’am, or we’ll have to tase you.”
“Let go of me and I’ll stop fighting!” I screech and kick. “Jaime! Help!”
“She’s a junior at Bordeaux Conservatory. Her dorm is right behind me. I can take her home,” Jaime offers, having finally caught up to us.
“No can do. She’s hurting herself at this point and we’ve already made the arrest while she was screaming at us.”
“What are you arresting her for?”
People gawk and I glare at them. They only laugh in response.
Assholes.
“Drunk in public and disorderly conduct. Usually we let those types of crimes slide in the Quarter, but she’s out of control, sir. We have to at least stick her in the drunk tank for her own good.”
“Drunk!?” I scoff, trying to escape their hold, but the cops squeeze tighter on my biceps. “I haven’t even drank anything!”
“Yeah, fucking right,” one of them grumbles. “Let’s see what the breathalyzer says back at the police station, sweetie. We’ve still got you on disorderly conduct.”
I growl back at the cop, but stop when Jaime gives me a pointed look and mouths for me to “shut up.”
“She’s actually telling the truth,” he answers out loud. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, but she needs help, not jail. Can you help her?” He shoves his phone in his pocket and carves both hands through his thick, dark-black hair, messing up his pompadour.
Jeez, the guy’s really bent out of shape. His hair is always perfect, and his normally Broadway-worthy timbre has an annoying pleading quality to it.
But a tiny voice rising over the jazz radio in my thoughts tells me he’s right.
Something’s seriously wrong with me.
Nah. Fuck that voice.
“Let me… go!”
To evade them, I suddenly go limp. The cops don’t expect it and drop me on my ass. I immediately get up and sprint like my life depends on it.
The wind whizzes past me… I’m way too fast for the loser cops yelling at me to stop… I’m moving so quickly, I could win any race… Hell, I should’ve gone to college for track and field instead of singing… Oh, shit… maybe I can go to the Olympics after I graduate… Unless I become a huge star on Broadway… Maybe I could even do both… But no, fuck Broadway… I want my own stage—
My face meets the ground violently as something crashes me to the pavement, breaking me from the thoughts that were racing as fast as I was. I don’t feel it. I’m only pissed that someone had the fucking nerve to stop me.
