Disclaimer - This is impossible! How can Lloyd Webber be so damn mean that he won't let me own any of the characters or songs from Phantom of the Opera, Whistle down the Wind or Cats! Though i am trying my best to own Prima Donna! Even though it's my least favourite song in "Phantom"!

Chapter 6 The Man

The man stood there, soaking wet and shivering. When he had been singing, his voice, though strong, was shaking with the cold and came out as a croak. He sounded like a man who wasn't used to using his voice. He had dark matted hair that fell, damp and dripping, past his shoulders and down to the small of his back. His eyes were sunk in to his skull and he was so thin, almost skeletal, that Eric could see his ribs through the rags like looked suspiciously like prison clothes.

"Who are you?" repeated Eric loudly. "Speak!"

The man shook his head.

"You had a voice a second ago. Your tongue knew how to sing. Use it or lose it, monsieur!"

"I…" he croaked, like a frog. He took a deep breath and tried again. "I… my name…" Then suddenly he split into a wide grin and just as suddenly, his face twisted with sorrow. "I am Jesus Christ!" he spat and then burst into wild laughter.

The man is mad! Grizabella gasped.

"No…" answered the man. "I am not mad. Where am I?" he asked, looking around the lair with a bemused expression.

"My lair!" Eric snapped angrily.

"And where's that?" hissed the man, exasperated.

"The Opera d'Populair! Paris! France!"

The Earth, added Grizabella helpfully.

"I'm in France?" muttered the man, more to himself than anyone else. "I got all the way to France? Alive?" he turned to Eric. "Well… pardon moi, monsieur!" he began to laugh hysterically again.

"How did you get here?" Eric asked, staring at the man with a mixture of horror and confusion.

"Swam," the man shrugged.

But who are you?

"Oi!" he jumped. "Did your cat just speak?"

I am not his cat!

"Blimey…"

"Who are you?" asked Eric for the third time.

"I don't have a name…" the man shrugged again, his rags fluttering pathetically. "But I s'pose you can call me… Blake! That's my name! Or Blakey as the police like to call me."

"The police are after you?" gasped Eric. "Well, why didn't you say anything? Get out! I don't want police in my lair and you might have led them right to me. Get out!"

"Hey, hey," the man, Blake, soothed. "I lost them when I travelled to Europe. I'm just keeping a low profile here before I return to America."

You're from the New World…? Sighed Grizabella. What's it like?

"The land of freedom," Blake snapped sarcastically. Then, he suddenly burst into song.

"The old man at the bank that sneers

The teachers and their slaps

The brutal eyes

The uniforms

The lawyers and their traps

The lonely girls who yearn to love

And learn to kiss and dance

The rich and selfish widow,

In the market for romance…"

By this time, taken by Blake's strength of voice and melody, Eric had run to the organ and was playing hard and rhythmic.

"The soldier with the smell of war

That never fades away

The hero on the playing field

Forgotten in a day

He was so overcome by emotion now that he stopped singing and feel to his knees, shivering uncontrollably. With cold and tears. Grizabella purred and rubbed against him, licking his hair dry. Eric covered him with a cloak and tried to prompt some more answers from him. But the man was having none of it. So Eric half led him, half dragged him, to a dry place.

Give him some dry clothes, urged Grizabella.

"Hell, no!" yelped Eric. "I am not giving him my clothes. They're good clothes!"

You're ridiculous, Eric. He'll die without something warm. He's already chilled to the bone.

So, muttering furiously under his breath, the Phantom passed a clean tunic and cloak and shoes from his wardrobe to the man and left him to dry and change.

You did the right thing. Grizabella purred and stretched.

"If you say so…"

Still, the impact of the good deed was nice. He felt a little happier now that he had helped the man, rather than shunning him. He smiled to himself. He hadn't felt this good about himself since, well, since ever.

Yeah, i know there is too much singing! Don't worry, i won't bore you with songs that you probably don't know anymore! I'll try to keep the singing to a minimum: )

Yours

The Phantom of Quill and Ink!