Chapter Fourteen – Illusions Shattered

"Odette! So it is you!" Destine Monette laughed merrily, taking her hand and kissing it with a wide grin. "I never imagined you'd be on the stage of the Garnier! So this is where you've been all this time!" He offered her a large, bountiful bouquet, placing it in her small hands. "May I come in?"

"Yes, of course," she smiled, stepping aside for him. "Monsieur-!"

"Please, Odette, I've told you before, call me Destin," he scolded her cheerfully, hugging her at once. "I was wondering what happened to you. When I came by to visit a fortnight ago, your father claimed he had no idea what happened to you-!"

"I was…taken in as a ward by the Chevalier family," she answered cautiously, her smile wavering for a moment. "Monsieur Chevalier heard me sing and took me in – I'm to take singing lessons and he promised Papa would be taken care of."

"I see…that's very generous of him," he noted, scratching cheek in contemplation. "Well, you simply must allow me to congratulate you – you were astounding!"

"You're too kind," she blushed as he kissed her hands once more. "I had no idea you were in Paris."

"I just came in yesterday. I heard about the show, and I do like to attend every so often…I'm certainly glad I decided to come. I must confess…I was, well, rather worried when your father said he didn't know what had happened to you." Kneeling before her, he softly squeezed her hand, his eyes full of pleading. "You have no idea how much I missed seeing you, Odette."

"W-What-?" she gasped, taking a step back as her face flushed bright pink. "Destin-?!"

"Odette, will you let me take you out to supper?" he asked, rising to his feet once more to bow deeply to her. "To celebrate your great success…and having found you once more."

"I…I don't know what to say," she stammered.

"Say 'yes'," he smiled, leaning forth and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I won't take 'no' for an answer! I'll be out in the alley – the one to the west of the theater façade. I trust you'll find me easily, I'll be waiting for you. I'll give you a moment to yourself." Winking, he bowed once more before letting himself out, shutting the door after him as she stood stock still, in utter disbelief of what was happening.

Glancing down at the flowers, she traced the lines of the petals, her mind swirling with colors and thoughts that seemed as confused and clashed as the flowers before her. "Destin…?"

"How do you know each other?"

She gasped at the deep, dark, ominous rumble of Angel's voice as he stepped out from the mirror, his eyes narrowed at her. She stared in awe at him, unable to believe that he was so rattled at the entrance of her old friend. "I…he knew my father first, he lent him money. He was always kind to us…he brought me little things, food, supplies…nothing much, really. Whatever is wrong?"

"He is," he growled. "Everything about that man is wrong."

Her brows furrowed at this, her blood boiling within her veins as she took a step towards him. "Just what specifically about him is so awful?"

"I've watched him come here for years. I think very little of that cad," he sneered contemptuously. "He's a self-righteous aristocratic pig that takes anything he can get his hands on. This little display he put on? Sickening, really. He does that to every woman he takes." He instantly regretted the words that flew out of his mouth when he saw the pained look in her eyes as she listened to him, her fingers curling so tightly around the flower stems that her knuckles turned white.

"Y-You're…you're lying," she shook her head, remembering all the kind smiles and chivalrous gestures Monette did towards her. "He's…he's not like that-!"

"I've seen him take all kinds of women, poor or rich, and charm them until he had his way," her Angel spoke softly, but his words were needlepoints stabbing at her heart. "He throws them away and moves on, as though they're handkerchiefs for his disposal…I don't want that to happen to you-"

"What does it matter to you about me?!" she snapped, startling him so much his jaw nearly dropped. "You don't care about me in that manner, anyways, and you're not my father! You can't tell me who I can and can't see!"

"Who said that I don't care about you that way?!" he bellowed, his eyes widening as the words mindlessly escaped him. He was certain everything was ruined, that she would gawk at him in disbelief…but it was far worse than that.

"Lies!" she screamed, throwing the flowers to the floor and covering her ears. "Y-You say that, but you're in love with Jeanne, and she loves you! How could you have done that to her anyways?! Do you realize how deeply infatuated she is with you?! Do you? You up and left her without so much as an explanation to your feelings, and she is heartbroken…how dare you hurt her, and how dare you order me not to see Destin when you clearly don't care for me the way you do for her!"

It was as though her tongue had transformed into a whip, the fury and truth she had been holding back, the conflict and frustration she wanted to avoid mercilessly beating him in its invisible form. "Y-You…you don't know anything about what I've been through!" he fought back, pointing at her accusingly, though his fingers shook so much he thought he might collapse. "You have no inkling as to what I feel for either her or you-!"

"That's exactly the problem, I don't know, and it drives me mad!" Tears burst forth from their prisons as she sobbed angrily. "I can't decipher what I feel for Destin, for Erik, or even for you! How can I when you don't even know yourself, and yet you continue to weave this strange, beautiful hold on me?! I can't take it anymore!" Turning on her heel, she burst out of the room.

"Odette!"

"Leave me alone!" she cried, shoving past the throngs as she sobbed on, fighting to find her way to the other side of the theater. Ignoring the stares of irritation and confusion that followed, she felt her heart ache, her conscience hailing curses at her for losing her temper at him, her teacher, her friend, her guardian angel…and yet, she had borne her soul and thoughts before him that night, confessing just what it was that tormented her, ever since Jeanne burst into her room. Wiping her face clean, she hoped that Destin wouldn't inquire as to her current state. She wasn't sure how to explain that the "Phantom of the Opera" was her instructor and was strict about who she could and could not see.

Arriving at the side door, she took a deep breath to steady herself, shaking her head to clear her thoughts of what Angel had told her. "It's not true…it can't be!" Quietly, she slipped outside into the warm August evening air, starting to close the door when a most inappropriate squeal and grunt of delight made her head whip around. Her brows furrowed as she squinted at the semi-wall of crates that were formed against the wall of the Opera House. There was movement behind it, causing her to wonder just who or what was hiding behind it. "Cats? Dogs…?"

"I knew you couldn't resist me, Destin," a sultry voice chuckled as another indecent sound joined her words. "So, didja bring the wife?"

"Never got married," Destin's husky voice growled, frighteningly feral and greedy. "The witch eloped with some man to England or something…doesn't matter, I'll have Odette instead. How would you like to be my mistress, Valerie?"

"Ha! With the way you get with me, I might as well be your 'wife'," she snickered. "Hmm…so this 'Odette', she your lady?"

"Not yet," he said, his voice sinister as he whispered to the prostitute. "Her father's promised her to me. She's his only way to really pay me off for all the money and time I've given him over the years. But I want her…there's no way she's getting out of this little arrangement."

"What is she catches us?"

"She won't. Now shut up and hold still…"

Odette clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. She was frozen in shock and disgust, listening to the pair grunt and sigh behind their hiding place. Her body shook as her innocence wavered, realizing what he was doing, realizing that her Angel was right…

An arm wrapped itself around her waist, a hand covering her mouth and stifling her cry of surprise and fear. "Hush," she heard Angel whisper, her body relaxing as she allowed him to quietly guide her back into the building and down the hall into the empty seamstress's room. It wasn't until he shut the door of the abandoned quarters that she finally felt her knees give out from under her, her face buried in her hands as her body shook violently with sobs.

"Mon Dieu, you were right!" she wept, feeling his presence behind her. Out of her blurry peripheral vision, she could see his hands hesitantly hovering just above her shoulders, uncertain whether or not to touch her. "You were right all along…he's awful! And…and my father-…he sold me!" She gripped her short locks, tugging at them in agony. "And all those horrible things I said just now to you…! Forgive me, Angel, please-!"

"Odette," his shaky, tender voice seeped into her ears, his hands finally landing lightly upon her arms. "Odette, please don't cry…he's not worth your tears-" He choked on his words as she spun around and groped at his fine jacket and shirt, pressing her forehead against his chest.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry!" she breathed, her tears never stopping. "Angel, I-!"

"Odette," he sighed, finally wrapping his arms around her and holding her to his chest. "Don't cry…I'm sorry it had to be like this…I just…I didn't want him to hurt you…he still managed to harm you without even touching you…I only wanted to protect you, mon Belle…" Once more, she was in his embrace, as she had been four years ago, trusting and frightened. Scooping her into his arms, he began to rise to his feet when he was struck back by a memory he never experienced. He saw a man, dressed just as he was, holding a woman in his arms as she embraced him tightly, relief washing over her as he cautiously stroked her hair. "Mother…Father?" Shaking his head, he held her close and carried her off, opening the hidden door in the wall before slipping into the darkness and walking through the secret passages, humming songs to the weeping girl in his arms.

He shivered as he felt her breathe shallowly on his neck, her breath warm and released in soft puffs as she fought to control her tears. She wrapped one arm around his neck while her other hand continued to grasp the lapel of his coat. His cloak swished around them silently, a shield from the elements of the cellars and sewers. The old torches that continued to light the way side by side with new electric lights installed gave a strange, eerie glow that cast an assortment of shadows on the walls.

He ignored it all – he ignored everything around him, his attention solely on the broken young woman in his arms. He avoided the lake – he didn't want to part with her, not while she was clinging to him so desperately. How he ached to feel this emotion – this tingling, fiery, consuming warmth that burned to his core, and now that he had it, he never wanted it to leave. He'd never had a woman cling to him so – he never thought it would happen…yet here she was, this sweet, innocent girl, depending on him or she may shatter altogether. He continued to sing to her, comforting and romantic songs he only dreamed of singing to a woman he felt strongly for. She drank them in, her sobs becoming less frequent as they entered his underground home, never letting go of him. Stepping quickly, he entered her room and placed her upon her bed, thinking she would slip her arm off and lie back to sleep.

She did no such thing.

"Angel…forgive me, please?" she murmured in his ear, her sobs reduced to sniffles as her eyes slowly dried out, her cheeks sticky from the ordeal.

"Mon Belle, you earned it the moment I found you and brought you inside once more," he spoke softly, daring to reach up and run his fingers through her boyish locks. "You were right, in some ways…I heard your conversation with Jeanne Favre. I did care for her…I was infatuated with her voice…but I was frightened."

"Frightened?" she echoed, looking up at him with those lovely green eyes, still moist and glistening form crying.

"This," he pointed to his mask, his hand dropping at once as he gave a mournful sigh and looked away. "I let myself fall in love when I knew I couldn't have her…I didn't want her to see my face…so I became just a voice to her. When she got engaged, however…it was as though…as though a rock smashed through the illusions and hopes I'd had and snapped me out of a dream-like trance. People can't marry or love voices."

"No…but they can love people." She placed her small hand upon his masked cheek, her brows furrowing as she saw him stiffen. "You are a wonderful man, Angel…why do you let your mask rule your life?"

"My mask does not rule – it is my face that creates a barrier between me and the world," he answered, placing his hand over hers in the hopes of removing it from his face. "This is why I wear it, and why I hid from Jeanne."

"But you don't hide from me."

He shook his head, another soft sigh escaping him. "No, I don't. Then again, our encounter was imposed."

"I don't regret meeting you," she whispered suddenly, stretching her neck so that she might place her lips, light as a butterfly, against his exposed chin. "She wouldn't have either." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she embraced him, resting her head on his shoulder. She heard the strangled gasp that he fought to contain, his torso crumbling at her touch. "Have you never been kissed?" she asked, tears pricking at her eyes once more as she realized what she had done to make him react so.

"…no…only by my mother," he confessed, tears streaking down his mask as his arms remained stiff at his sides, like gnarled tree branches left bare at wintertime.

"Hold me," she whispered, curling deeper against him as he placed his hands upon her back.

"Odette…!" he choked.

"Angel…promise me you'll speak with Jeanne again…please, don't leave things the way they are. She pines for you…at least explain to her what you told me." She asked the impossible of him – just how could he tell Jeanne all that he shared with Odette? It wasn't the same…still, her voice, once powerful and free, sounded so small and weak, asking him one request.

"As you wish," he relented at last. "I can deny you nothing."

"Oh, Angel," she whispered, pulling away so she might peck his masked cheek. She wished so badly to rip the mask from his face, but seeing the agony he withheld from her, the terror he felt at the idea of being seen, she buried that desire deep into her heart. She would not hurt him, even if it drove her mad. He shuddered and sigh as he received her second kiss, gazing down at her with eyes full of questioning and adoration. She smiled at him, hopeful that all would be well, when she recalled Destin's charming face grinning at her, his voice a double-edged sword, his tongue that of a snake's as she remembered what he had spoken with the unknown woman.

"My dear, you're shaking!" he said, placing his hands on her cheeks to gently direct her face towards his. His brows furrowed with concern as he asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's…what about Destin?" she asked, genuine fear shining in her eyes. "My father promised me to him as a form of payment…he won't let me go now. Angel, what am I going to do-?!"

"He will never have you," he growled, his eyes burning like coals. "I shall alert the Chevalier family and we will all be on our guard. Men like him can be bought off – we'll find a way to be rid of him so you may be free, Odette…I swear it." He dipped his head forth towards her, pausing suddenly and pulling away, grateful for the mask that covered his reddening cheeks.

"…don't be afraid of me," she pleaded, her fingers running over his pale, semi-transparent lips.

He blinked at her, startled by her words. She inclined her head towards him, making it clear that she would accept his token of affection. Trembling, he leaned forth once more, squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. His heart ached to take her in his arms and kiss her whole face, her forehead, nose, eyelids, cheeks, chin, lips…

"Mon Dieu…I'm in love with her!"

~OG~

Jeanne set her bag down as she entered her dressing room, shutting the door before she hurried to the mirror. She was certain her hair was a mess after the way she rushed out of her apartment to get to the Palais Garnier. Heaving a sigh, she sat down at her vanity and began to toy with her strawberry-blonde locks, pulling pins out of her tangled tresses before starting to restyle her hair once more. Her mind was full of things she was concerned about at the moment other than her hair – preparations for her wedding in December, the dinner party she was supposed to host at the end of August, her mother's slowly improving health, the wait for the announcement on the next production at the Opera House, her weak and strained relationship with Odette in trying to find out more about the Phantom…

She sighed, propping her elbows on the table and setting her face into her open palms. She must have frightened Odette quite a bit when she barged into her room nearly a fortnight ago – Odette fought to stay away from her and answered vaguely whenever the conversation turned to discussing the mysterious tutor they both shared. Jeanne chewed her lip, anxious to know what was going on. It wasn't fair that he suddenly decided to stop speaking to her and choose a new student, not when she pined for him so…

"Mademoiselle Favre."

She stiffened at the sound of the velvety, rich tenor voice that filled the room. The male voice had spoken, not sung out, which made her gasp in shock. "Phantom…is that you?!"

"Oui, mademoiselle…it is I."