Disclaimer: I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera.

Chapter 3: Number Seventeen

The phone rang, its voice calling out to the sleeping form of the man nestled in the black comforter and red silk sheets.

A groan was the only response.

A steady hand emerged from beneath the covers, searching for the cause of the noise on the nightstand. It hit the lamp, knocked over books, CD's, and finally felt the cold plastic of the phone. Grabbing it, the hand disappeared beneath the covers along with the noise maker.

"What?" screamed Erik into the phone. He had overdone it last night. The throbbing pain in his head was confirming it.

"Don't you raise your voice at me, Erik."

Giry. The aged woman ran the agency that provided his housekeepers. Every time one quit on him, he received a phone call the next morning by Antoinette Giry. He met her during his recovery at the hospital after the accident. Every morning, before she went to visit her mother, who lay on a bed in the adjacent room, she walked in his hospital room armed with sweet words and encouragements. It was hard to believe that that same women was now blaring at him from the other line.

"This is the last one. Do you hear me? You have terrorizes every single one of my employees."

"Yeah, ok," he said as he hit the black End button on his phone. She had been saying that for months now. Truth was she could not afford to take him off her clientele list.

Closing his eyes, Erik tried to get back to sleep. He planed on spending the rest of the day in his bed, shutting out the world completely. No visits from his investors. No phone calls. No music either. All he wanted was to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But, as always, life never allowed him any simple pleasures.

There was a buzz that echoed in the empty house. Someone was at the door. He ignored it, keeping his eyes shut. Another buzz sounded, yet Erik did not even think about moving from his spot on the bed.
Fifteen minutes must have gone by. His body was gently entering the gates of the unconscious world. He welcomed the darkness with wide open arms. Just as his brain was shutting down, a voice brought him back to the world of the living.

"Sir?" said the voice of a young woman, who stood at his bedroom door.

"Who the hell are you?" roared Erik as he jumped into a sitting position. He began pushing aside his sheets and comforter, but got tangled along the way.

"I'm Christine. Mrs. Giry sent me."

The image of the man fighting with the bedding was making it incredibly hard for her to keep a straight face.

"How in hell did you get in here?"

Erik had finally gotten out of the prison of silk. He had not bothered changing last night, and was still wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and button down black shit. Winkles graced every square inch of his clothing and his raven hair hung loosely, covering part of his white mask.

"Security let me in."

"Those worthless, brainless pigs," he hissed.

The world was spinning. Erik was sure of it. His hand rose to his head, resting it against his forehead. He gently massaged his forehead, hoping to release some of the pain that was trapped within his skull. But no luck.

"Are you alright?" asked a concerned Christine, who was still standing by the door, waiting for Erik's instructions.

His golden eyes rose in anger as his temper kicked in. Erik was ready to unleash his wrath on the girl who had disturbed his peace, who had ruined his plan for the day.

He didn't.

He couldn't.

Her sweet violet eyes and those soft curls that framed her delicate face distracted him, made him forget what he was angry about. It even seemed to make his headache disappear.

Christine did not know what to do. The man looked in pain, and now was non responsive. Mrs. Giry had warned her about her new employer. She had prepared herself for the screams and the tantrums Giry had described, but not this. The man was just standing there, staring and rubbing his forehead.

"Sir?"

The melodic voice of his new housekeeper brought him out of the trance. Erik shut his eyes as his headache returned with full force.

"Coffee. Now."

With that said he collapsed back on the bed, covering his eyes with his hands.

Christine did not respond. She had no idea where the kitchen was, not to mention where the utensils were located in the kitchen. She wanted to ask him, but was afraid of how he might respond. So she left, and began walking though the grand apartment searching for the kitchen.

It truly was a magnificent place. The bright light of the sun shinned in through large floor to ceiling windows. The white walls were covered in countless, breathtaking paintings. Even the furniture that adored each room looked like priceless pieces of art. Christine had worked for various rich employers, but none had such dramatic homes.

As beautiful as everything was, Christine was so lost. She felt like one of those mice in a maze, trying to find the scrap of food left in the end by the scientists. She was sure she had been going in circles. She had been able to find his room by luck, but it seems it had run out quite quickly.

"I thought I told you to get me coffee?"

The threatening voice came from behind her. She jumped at the sound of it. How could a man of his size walk without making a noise? Facing him, her eyes slowly rose to meet his. The man was tall, towering over her. His golden globes shinned with a brilliant fire that sent shivers down her spine.

"I was―am."

Erik did not say anything. He could feel the fear in her voice. Who would not be afraid of a monster in a mask?

"I was looking for the kitchen," she whispered.

His hand rose and pointed to double white glass doors decorated with slashes of red to her right. She had passed by them at least three times. She thought they were art pieces. Blushing in embarrassment she opened the doors and walked into the most beautiful kitchen she had laid eyes on.

Stainless steel appliances were placed in-between black counters with dark stone tops. In the center of the room was an island with two black leather stools on one side. Red objects were scattered through out the kitchen, one of them being a delicate glass bowl filled with luscious fresh fruit. Even the floor was incredible: lined with a dark tile with veins.

It was flawless. It was breathtaking. And huge.

Why did he need such a large apartment? From what she had been told, Erik did not get along with others, so she assumed he did not have many friends, nor did he entertain much. All this for one person, she thought to herself as she walked around the room, trying to figure out where everything was.

Twenty minutes later Christine had managed to find the coffee maker and a mug, but that was the extent of it. She had opened every drawer and cabinet, yet the coffee was no where to be found.

Opening another cabinet, a bit too quickly, ended with the thundering noise of baking pans hitting the floor.

Erik had walked in just in time to witness her little accident. His hand rose to his forehead as the sound of the pans echoed in his head. Groaning in pain he sat in one of the stools at the island, waiting for the headache to decrease in strength.

"Thank you for that," he spat at Christine, who was on the floor, picking up the metallic cookware.

"I'm sorry."

She jumped on her feet, forgetting she was holding one of the dishes, and dropped it on the floor. The noise was met by another groan from her new employer. The wrinkles on his smooth forehead deepened, resembling small dry streams.

"All I asked for was coffee," he hissed. "Is that really so hard to make?" Opening his eyes once again, he watched as the color drained from his new housekeeper's face. "What sort of maid are you, anyway?"

Christine stared at the man in front of her as her hands slowly balled up into fists. A voice within her screamed in desperation, telling her to defend herself, to open her mouth and let her anger be heard by this revolting man. Instead, she held her tongue. She needed this job. She needed the paycheck.

"Where is the coffee, sir?" Her voice was but an inch above a whisper.

She was holding back. Erik knew it. He could see the inner struggle in her eyes, practically hearing the voice that was tormenting her. How very interesting, he mused.

His hand rose and he pointed to a black square contained that was a few feet away from the coffee maker.

Erik rose from his seat.

"Bring it up to my office on the second floor."

As he walked to the door, he turned to look at her once more. "It's the only room up there; I doubt you'll get lost trying to find it." He turned around and exited the room, leaving a fuming Christine behind.

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Erik sat at his desk, reclining on the leather computer chair. He had changed into black trousers and another black button-down shirt. His head was still spinning.

The phone began to ring, sending more shocks of pain to his brain.

"What?"

"Good morning to you too, Erik."

"I am not in the mood, Nadir. What do you want?"

Nadir: the only man Erik had ever trusted. They had met during a trip Erik had made years ago to Persia. He followed him back to the States and became his assistant. That was before the accident, before his face turned to that of a living corpse. Nadir was the only person from Erik's past who did not desert him after seeing the monster that lay beneath the mask.

"Calmen Inc. folded. I just need your signature to make the deal final."

"Fax it over."

"I'm on it."

As he hung up the phone, Christine entered his office with a clear, red, glass tray in her hands. The steam from the hot coffee inside a porcelain black mug gently rose, mixing with the chilled air of the office. Erik watched as she strode toward him in confidence he had never seen in any of his housekeepers. Her long mahogany curls swayed from side to side with each step she took. She never broke eye contact with him.

The girl has guts, he told himself.

Resting the tray on his black wooden desk, she placed a fake smile on her face, desperately trying to hide the anger that lurked within.

"Anything else I can get for you, sir?"

For a split second, Erik lost himself once again in her gorgeous eyes. Only now, they were not the eyes of a sweet, innocent, calm girl. No. He could see the fire in them, the anger she was feeling.

It was refreshing to witness an emotion other than fear directed at him. Maybe this one would stick around for longer than a few weeks.

"What did you say your name was?" he asked as he picked up the cup, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Christine.'

"Does Christine have a last name?"

"DeMarco."

"Well, Ms. DeMarco," he said as he leaned back on his chair, "there is a schedule located downstairs in the kitchen, which I am sure you did not notice. Everything you need to do is listed there in plain English. I do not like to be interrupted, so do not bother me with any questions regarding your duties."

Christine did not say anything. She wanted to. God how much she wanted to give this arrogant man a piece of her mind, to tell him how unnecessarily rude he was being, and that money did not give him the right to treat anyone with disrespect.

Lost in her thoughts, Christine failed to see the frown that had appeared on Erik's face as he waited for her to leave.

"Are you almost done staring at me, Ms. DeMarco?"

Christine blinked twice before she excused herself and left his office.

Usually Erik burst into rage when people stared at him, at the white curse that had forever made him a social outcast. But Christine had not been looking at his mask.

No.

Instead she looked directly into his eyes, as if she were trying to communicate with him. She had yet to even acknowledge the presence of the mask.

Yes, Erik truly hoped that this one would stick around.