All I Ask Read online

  Dedication:

  To Gerard Butler (fondly referred to as The G-Wagon, by two people): Your portrayal of the Phantom inspired me to write this. I’d choose you over Patrick Wilson any day. (No hard feelings Pat. . .)

  Hey Karen, you die in this one too.

  Acknowledgments:

  Mom: You are a rock star, seriously. I can’t imagine doing this crazy book thing without your love and support.

  Amanda: Your bullying makes you a great friend.

  Emily: Holy crap, you captured everything I wanted in this cover. You are amazing!

  Ryan: Hey, thanks for not actually killing me while I was writing like a crazy person for nineteen days.

  My favorite co-workers: You know who you are. Thank you for listening to my rambling ideas and for supporting me.

  Cover Design by:

  Emily Wittig Designs

  Copyright–2019 by Kathleen Webb

  Editor: Debbie Richardson

  Formatting & Interior Design: Kathleen Webb

  Inspired by the stories told by

  Andrew Lloyd Webber in both

  The Phantom of the Opera and Love Never Dies.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, folklore, mythology, people, or places are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any similarities to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any way without the express written consent of the author.

  Four Lives Lost in Deadly Blaze

  September 17th, 2008

  Today the theater world grieves the loss of a great man. Two nights ago, the home of Alfonse Durant (42) burned to the ground. Due to his contributions to Broadway, Durant was considered the most prominent composer of our time. Four others were present at the time of the fire, Carl and Violet Overland (46 and 44), musical prodigy Erik Overland (17), and Aria Durant (9). Miss Durant has been treated for minor injuries and superficial burns but is expected to make a full recovery. Mr. Andrew Overland was not present and is the sole surviving member of the prominent New York family. A memorial service will be held at Durant Theater later this month with special guest appearances to honor the lives lost too soon.

  September 17th, 2019

  “I’ve wished to hear your voice again more times than I can count,” Aria told the picture of her father on the mantle of her fireplace.

  For eleven years, she lit a candle every morning to honor his memory, but this day was different. It was the anniversary of the day her life changed forever. Now, Aria Durant sat in front of the only personal picture she had left of her father, the brilliant Broadway composer, Alfonse Durant. It was just before sunrise, and the crisp autumn breeze drifting through the open window of her apartment brought the scent of the frost that had begun to creep onto the grass and fallen leaves.

  It was her tradition to visit her father in the hours before dawn when no one would hear her talk, as though she expected an answer from someone long dead. Now that she lived on her own, she didn’t have to keep up the practice; it just seemed appropriate. There was something about the predawn hours that filled her with the presence of some intangible connection between her and her father’s spirit. Wrapped in a blanket made from the sweaters her father had kept in their apartment, she shifted slightly to take a sip of her coffee. This day was always harder for her than any other. Even after all those years, the monument in the cemetery would be surrounded by people who felt a personal connection to a musical genius. The last thing she wanted was to see the people mourn for a man they never truly knew. Her grief was real and raw, it ran deeper than that experienced by his fans and followers.

  When her father was taken from her in such a terrible manner, Aria was left with a broken heart, a scar on her left forearm, and the memories of a childhood filled with music and laughter. Part of her was thankful she had been given the brief nine years with Alfonse Durant, but she found that most of her was consumed by the bitter reality that she had been robbed of a happy life with the man so many admired. There was no doubt that Alfonse was a brilliant playwright and composer, but he had been much more to his only child. He had been her entire world.

  Aria never knew her mother. The leading soprano and Broadway star died during childbirth, leaving her husband to raise the child they had both dreamed of having. Alfonse had thrown his entire life into providing for Aria in the only way he knew; by sharing his passion for music. His daughter was brought up in the wings of Durant Theater, taught to sing from the moment she could speak and thrust into the spotlight when her Broadway family recognized the raw talent coursing through her. It had been the most magical time of her life, and it had all come crashing down on her in one night.

  She was an orphan. No family to speak of, no one to take her and raise her as their own. Out of respect for her late father, the attorney for his estate managed to ensure she become a ward of the Webber Academy. Many of the performers who had known her since birth became her teachers, preparing her for a life on the path her father hoped she would follow. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than going into foster care and never seeing the people she knew again. She had taken part in many off-Broadway productions during her time at the academy but avoided returning to Broadway itself. Aria was afraid of failing to live up to the name she was born with.

  Aria allowed herself to think back on the many nights she spent sitting beside her father, offering her voice to his latest composition when he needed to hear someone else sing it. Those were the days she remembered meeting the Overland boys. Erik Overland had become her father’s pupil from a young age; his vocal ability and understanding of melody left Aria awestruck. He was much older, but that didn’t stop her from developing a girlhood crush. Erik had a twin brother, Andrew, and their parents had hoped that both boys were musically inclined. Early on, Alfonse determined that Drew did not possess the same musical ability as his twin. Aria’s father always said that some people were touched by the musical angels, but others were not. She hadn’t seen Drew since the funerals for both his family and her father.

  “I miss you every moment of every day,” Aria pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders as a chill rippled across her body. “I’ve been trying to find a way to move on from losing you and live the life you wanted me to live, but I’m afraid.”

  A breeze blew the window open far enough that the cold burst lifted the wisps of hair that were not quite long enough to stay in her messy bun. As she often did in the vacant theater, Aria had the feeling she was no longer alone. Secretly, she believed those were the moments when her father was with her in the form of the spirit of music.

  “If only there were some way for me to know you were still with me, always,” Aria took a deep breath and stood from her couch, “Sometimes I wonder if moving in here was a bad idea. I thought I would feel closer to you, and I do. But I can’t help thinking this isn’t the direction you’d have chosen for me.”

  The sun was beginning to rise over the tops of the close-set buildings. Soon, the endless line of surface mourners would begin to parade past the monument for Alfonse Durant. Sometimes, those people even came to the abandoned theater to leave tokens of their affection that would end up in the dumpster before the end of the week.

  “I’m never going to stop wishing you were here,” Aria set her empty coffee mug on the counter and turned to face her father’s picture again. “I love you, dad. Say hello to mother for me.”

  As she shed the blanket on the couch, Aria again felt the presence she couldn’t explain. She walked to the window and pulled it closed. Old theaters were drafty enough, with many rumored ghosts of their own. Aria wanted
nothing more than to believe her father had not lingered as a spirit, she wanted him to be in a much more pleasant place. Just in case he was still there, she whispered, “My only hope is that you will be the angel by my side, teaching me to live and showing me how to share the gifts I’ve been given with the rest of the world.”

  Another chill rippled along her spine as if in answer to her words. Aria blew out the candle she’d lit for her father, and as the smoke drifted around the picture, she whispered a promise.

  “I’m done hiding my voice. I promise you I will become all you dreamed I would.”

  In the weeks following her promise to her father, Aria had taken to utilizing the stage in Durant Theatre as her private practice space. She relied on recordings of orchestral accompaniments to help her with each song. It wasn’t the most ideal way to practice, but she had no interest in including anyone else in her journey.

  In the beginning, she read the music and practiced each note before singing acapella and finally playing the accompaniment. In time, the songs became second nature to her, and she was able to sing them perfectly without any music or accompaniment. The vocal exercises could be exhausting, but she was determined.

  There were times when she was convinced she could hear someone singing to her in her dreams. Unfamiliar melodies would wake her in the dead of night, filling her with the urge to seek out the source. Aria had to continually remind herself she lived alone. It was simply not possible that someone was singing to her as she slept. On nights when she awoke to those thoughts, she would often try to recapture the song by humming. It was as though the lyrics were somewhere in her mind but always just out of reach.

  On one particular night, she woke with absolute certainty that she wasn’t alone in her room. She was greeted with silence but convinced there had been singing just moments before. In the corner of her room, next to a picture of her father and mother, she made out the shape of a person in the darkness. Aria rubbed her eyes and looked again, but the phantom form had disappeared. After that night, each time she sang in the theater, she felt an unknown presence that she couldn’t explain away. Every shadowed corner became a person lurking beyond sight. Every creak of the old building became the footsteps of an unseen stalker.

  Finally, Aria grew tired of questioning her own sanity. She stood on the stage, looking out at the vastness of the empty theater. The ghosts of the past were often said to haunt the places where they felt strongly connected. Aria decided the haunting sensations she felt were the aftermath of the man who had once lived within those walls. Who would sing to her at night and whisper from the shadows other than her father?

  “Dad, if you’re out there, I want you to know I can feel you. If you’re not my father, I demand that you show yourself to me. I’m not interested in being stalked in my own home,” she sighed at the silliness of speaking to a ghost. “I thought moving into this place would help me, but now I see it’s only making me feel more isolated than I’ve ever been before.”

  Saying the words aloud made them more real to her than she cared to admit. She had come to the realization that living in the theater alone was unhealthy, “Whoever you are; father, phantom, or friend, I may be leaving you soon. I can’t live in constant fear.”

  That night when Aria went to bed, she fell asleep with the quiet hope that her father’s spirit had heard her and understood the decision she had to make. When her eyes opened in the morning, the first thing she saw was a single red rose that lay on her nightstand. An impossible peace offering from her theater ghost.

  Deep in the largely unexplored sub-basement of the Durant Theater, an interloper had taken up residence years before Aria Durant moved in. He’d grown accustomed to a life of solitude and wasn’t impressed with the sudden appearance of a young woman. Until he heard her sing. Of course, he knew all about her father and the tragic fire that ended his life. It only followed that she was blessed with the same musical talent as he had been.

  Nevertheless, this man, known only as D’Angelo, preferred the theater when it was empty. It had become a project of his to donate large sums of money to the Durant Foundation in order to maintain his residency in the abandoned theater. He spent much of his time composing music that would never be heard but made his money selling the musical productions he’d come to be known for.

  From the moment he heard Aria sing, he felt possessed by the need to compose music meant for her voice. Her voice brought him out of the bowels of the theater each time he heard her sing. His interest in her only increased when he saw her on the stage. Possessed by an almost impossible level of obsession, he found himself watching her sleep and singing to her each night. Aria’s physical beauty rivaled that of her voice. More than anything, he wanted to know her soul. It was a new and strange feeling, a connection to another human being.

  In the fervor of his obsession, a story began to unfold in his mind. The story of a young woman desperately lost between the world of the living and the dark realm of the dead. As much as he wanted to introduce himself to Aria, he knew they belonged to different worlds. His isolation was about more than his intense need to be left alone; it was driven by the fact that he believed he belonged to the darkness of death. Nevertheless, the young woman inspired him to compose his first new play in over a year. His latest masterpiece had been completed and sent by messenger to the producer he preferred to work with. The production would debut in the spring, and Aria Durant would never know it was written for her.

  Things changed as they often do, and on a cold October morning, he happened to hear Aria’s voice float down through the old ventilation system until it reached his ears. She was speaking to someone; she was talking to him. D’Angelo stood in the space beneath the stage, listening to her speak to what she thought was a ghost. She was questioning her decision to move into the theater because of his carelessness. D’Angelo hadn’t wanted her there in the beginning, but now the thought of her leaving filled him with dread. His music had become more passionate as he had gotten to know her from the shadows. The rose he left that night wasn’t going to be enough to convince her that he meant her no harm. He had to do something to get her to stay.

  When Aria returned from tutoring a student at Webber Academy, she found something strange lying on the floor in front of her apartment door. A single rose lay on top of a cream-colored envelope with something scrawled on it. She was instantly gripped with fear, wondering how someone had not only managed to enter the theater but knew to leave something at her door. The exterior doors were all locked with a code that very few people knew, and none of those people would leave her a note with a rose just like the one she’d found on her nightstand a week before. Things had been quiet since she found that peace offering, it was as though whatever haunted the theater was willing to leave her alone. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Aria crouched down and picked up both items before going into her apartment. The stationary felt coarse, like heavy linen blended with regular paper. Her name was written in script across the front, a black wax seal of a rose secured the back. It seemed a pity to destroy the seal, so she grabbed a butter knife from the kitchen to help pry it gently open. Had she been expecting anything, the letter she began to read wouldn’t have been it.

  Dearest Aria,

  You don’t know me, and I’m sure this letter will bring you a certain amount of anxiety because of that alone. Before you read any further, please understand that I am not a threat to you. If anything, I have taken an interest in you that guarantees you will be protected from any harm.

  Believe it or not, this theater has been home to me for many years, and I’ve become accustomed to the silence. I’ve kept to myself; I prefer it that way. But something changed recently. I heard you sing.

  Your voice penetrates my soul. You’ve inspired my music in a most unexpected manner. I want to repay the favor in the only way I know how; I want to teach you to perfect your gift.

  I know you don’t know me, Aria, and I know you don’t owe me anything. All I a
sk is that you not leave me here without the inspiration you’ve brought into my life. Meet me this evening at 7 pm on the stage, I will come to you to begin our lessons.

  With my highest adoration,

  D’Angelo

  Aria reread the letter, wondering if she read it correctly. Someone was living in the theater with her. No, not someone, D’Angelo. The famed albeit mysterious composer known only as D’Angelo first appeared on the Broadway scene five years after the death of Alfonse Durant. He was never seen in public and only delivered his masterpieces via messenger. His music reminded Aria of her father’s earlier work, and she enjoyed seeing his productions on stage.

  How likely was it that a strange man was living in the basement of the theater, and that the man also happened to be a famed composer that no one had ever reported seeing face to face? The whole thing seemed absurd to Aria. She closed her eyes and thought through her options. She could quickly call the police to have them search the building and remove any unwanted visitors. But something about the way her mysterious guest wrote gave her pause. If he was squatting in the building, he could easily have found and attacked her at any time. Morbid curiosity may be her downfall, but she made up her mind rather quickly. Aria would meet the mysterious composer.