My apologies for taking so long to post this—between a crappy cold and work, I wasn't able to indulge in this as much as I would have liked . . . I so hate it when life interferes with my fanfic!

-Leesainthesky

Sojourns Ch11 Mission Accomplie

Erik made a swift exit from the eighth ward via New York's backstreets. He dared not push his luck with Lady Fate. Acquiring Paul's sister from the whorehouse had been easy. Suppose someone had seen him leaving with her slung over his shoulder? The authorities would most certainly be combing the main arteries searching for his carriage.

Pauline slept quietly on the bench seat behind him, covered up with a dark woolen blanket. He'd given the girl a good snootful of chloroform. She would remain sleeping for many hours—ample time for Gabrielle to change her clothes and tuck her into bed.

Erik hoped she would make a speedy recovery from her traumatic ordeal—he'd never been comfortable having a house filled with strangers, no matter how pleasant their demeanor.

Bringing Carrie Caruso into the fold had been tricky enough. During her first year at DuPuis manor she'd discovered some of Gabrielle's belongings from the future and accused her of being a witch. Erik, through hypnotic suggestion, erased all memory of the incident from her mind. Yet after two years of employment, she had proven her loyalty to the DuPuis' in many ways.

Concerned for their son's well-being, Erik and Gabrielle made the decision to confide in her. Suppose Gabrielle was called back to the twenty-first century? She wanted her husband and son to have someone they could place their trust in, someone who understood their unique family heritage—someone inside of the household. Nadir Khan, although a cherished friend who knew Gabrielle's secret, rarely traveled and was in his twilight years. Carrie Caruso seemed the logical choice.

Using the power of his voice, Erik lulled the young maid into a state of hypnosis while she slept and told her how he'd been on his way home from a performance at the Opera Garnier when he discovered a confused and disheveled Gabrielle lying in the Rue Scribe's gutter. As for the Phantom of the Paris Opera, Erik saw no reason to bother her with him. Wasn't the concept of time-traveling enough for her subconscious mind to absorb at once?

Oh yes, when he was finished with her, Carrie would believe in time-travel, she would understand that Gabrielle could disappear at any moment, and she could never tell the family's secret to anyone—ever.

When Erik arrived at the rented town house in Gramercy Park, Gabrielle and Paul were in the kitchen drinking coffee. Upon seeing his sister for the first time in many months Paul nearly fainted from shock and relief.

"Oh god," he cried, "My poor, dear little sister . . . how very thin and pale she is. She is still . . . alive, isn't she sir?" he asked Erik, his eyes pleading for a positive answer.

"Very much so," Erik replied, thinking back on how she struggled to scream, then bit his glove. "I'm afraid it was necessary for me to subdue her with chloroform. She was not anxious to come with me . . . do forgive me."

Paul gave Erik a wan smile. "One must do what is necessary in difficult situations. I've no doubt you did what you deemed necessary, I am simply grateful to have her returned to me alive."

"After some rest and a good hot meal, she'll come around, don't worry," Gabrielle added, placing her hand gently on Paul's shoulder.

"Help me carry her to the guest room, if you would," Erik asked Paul. The woman was becoming dead weight in Erik's arms and he didn't know if he could make it up the stairs to the bedrooms without bumping the poor thing's head on the banister.

Paul obliged and together the men carried their precious cargo up to the yellow and white guestroom, leaving her to the care of Gabrielle.

With Pauline tucked safely into bed, Gabrielle headed back to bed as well, hoping Erik could catch a few winks before he began his exhausting day of rehearsals and the trauma of meeting the new operations manager. Paul remained perched in a chair outside of his sister's door, at the ready when she awoke.

Gabrielle was relieved to have Pauline safely under their wing, but she could not shake a feeling of unease. Although unnamable, it clung to her like a dark aura.

Simple fatigue, that's all it is, she told herself as she pulled back the bed sheet to join her snoring husband, whose head was barely visible beneath the covers.

Darn it; guess I'll have to wait until tomorrow for all the juicy details. Gabrielle also wondered what sort of resistance the gentle-lamb-gone-astray had made to force Erik's hand with the chloroform.

Daybreak was approximately two hours away. At seven-thirty, Jon would be up and roaring to greet the day. If his parents were still in bed, he would clamor to join them and his entrances were neither gentle nor quiet. His tiny bare feet would be heard slapping down the polished hardwood hallway, his hands fumbling to open their bedroom door, then he would scramble into their bed, digging bony elbows and knees into unforgiving adult body parts as he clambered get between his parents.

Yep, smiled Gabrielle, most of the couple's lovemaking took place after Jon's bedtime, or in stolen moments here and there. Erik's morning wood had to rise terribly early not to be thwarted by their toddler.

She wasn't going to get much sleep, that was for sure, but Erik's rehearsals didn't begin until three-thirty. He could go back to bed. Lucky sucker.

She wondered how he would get on with the new operations manager. Erik had grumbled about not being given much information on the man. "Did you get his name?" Gabrielle asked during a brief conversation on the subject.

"No, I couldn't be bothered with administrative chit-chat when I have an entire opera company in the throes of rehearsals!" he bellowed back.

She chuckled inwardly at his cavalier reply. How typical of Erik—getting his knickers in wad because he wasn't abreast of every decision being made at the Theatre, yet not bothering with the social triviality of conversation. Certainly the Mosaic's managers would have told him all he wanted to know about their new employee.

All he knew he'd heard from Carmine Antionelli, the orchestra's conductor. The maestro thought he'd seen the fellow in the manager's office before the hiring was announced. "He appeared to be of Italian descent," was Carmine's single observation.

I know, it's short and sweet; the next one will be soon. Props to Barb the beta for her expertise and time.

-LITS