I just wanted to clear up something that might have been missed in the last chapter. Erik put his mask back on BEFORE leaving Nadir in the dust. We do not have a maskless Phantom running around the opera house! I promise! :)

Now, onward.

25.

Rehearsals were in full swing by the time Erik reached the stage. How late had we lingered in slumber, he wondered, but the memory of reclining there, on his settee with Jenna wrapped in his arms once again made his stomach feel strange and he pushed the image from his mind.

Erik slinked above the stage in the rafters, wishing to get a closer view at how the scenery and props for the opera were coming along. Joseph Buquet, the stagehand, was slumped in a heap in the corner. Erik crept over to him soundlessly, and the smell wafting off his pathetic form was enough to make Erik's head spin. Buquet was passed out, stinking drunk, when he should have been working the flies. He would become the subject of Erik's next note to the management. Competency was required in the rigging, where inattention or carelessness could not only prove disastrous for the production, but dangerous for the actors as well. Buquet's slovenliness, coupled with his consistent lecherous behavior with the ballet rats, should be more than enough fodder for his immediate dismissal. Moving away from him in disgust, Erik peered over onto the stage.

They were practicing for Hannibal and the large prop elephants were being dragged across the stage by the men in slave costumes. Carlotta was shrieking on about a trophy while brandishing a severed head in her left hand. Poor bastard, Erik thought to himself, a wry smile appearing on his lips. Probably decapitated himself just to make the screeching stop. The diva lifted both arms above her head on a high C and the bloodcurdling racket was mingled with the sound of tearing fabric.

"Oh, non ancora!" she bellowed. "NOT again!" She placed her hand on the side of her bodice where a large hole had torn along the seam. Erik could not help but snicker softly to himself. Cows should not wear dresses, he thought. "Where is that seamstress?!" she screamed. "Seamstress! SEAMSTRESS!"

Erik saw the mane of mahogany curls bob into view, as Christine hurried to the distressed diva's side, her sewing basket on her arm. "Yes, Signora?" she said, keeping her eyes cast down, in a submissive demeanor. Erik longed to reach out and tip her chin up and make her look the unpleasant soprano in the eye. Christine was inferior to no one, especially not this heifer who continued to split her seams, because her vanity forced her into dresses that were at least a size too small.

"I told you to do your job right! These seams. . .they rip—again!"

"I. . .I. . .I'm sorry, Signora." Christine stumbled over her words. "If you will just change into something else, I. . ."

"No!" She spat, sticking her nose in the air. "I will not be further inconvenienced for a little girl who cannot do her job right! You will mend the tear right-a now." The prima donna removed her hand from the busted seam, raising her arm above her head, and jutting her hefty torso toward Christine. Erik saw Christine take in a deep breath and move closer in to the diva's side. As she pushed her hair behind her head before she began her work, so unpleasantly close to Carlotta's distasteful form, Erik caught a flash of red behind her ear, and peered more closely to see the rose Jenna had left behind in his name, now tucked behind Christine's ear.

His breath caught in his chest. Why would she carry his rose with her? She did not seem to be the type of girl who walked around with flowers in her hair. In fact, there had never been even the hint of such vanity any of the other times he had seen her—she was always so modest and meek, almost trying to detract attention from herself. But today, she wore his rose. Could it be that it. . .meant something to her?

Carlotta gave a little flinch and a yowl of pain, when her fidgeting caused Christine's needle to miss and nick her skin. "Be careful, you fumbling fool!" she bellowed, rounding on her, raising her hand as if to strike. Erik's eyes narrowed and he felt his fingers curl into fists. If that sow dared to lay her hands on his Christine once more. . .His own thoughts hit him hard in the chest, momentarily distracting him. His Christine? Jenna's words echoed in his ears, ". . .It is obvious that you love Christine." Was she right?

Christine's own trembling voice brought him back to the present. "Signora," she pleaded, "Just be still and my needle will not touch you."

"Your needle had better not touch me, impertinent brat, if you know what's good for. . ." Carlotta's disdain laden tirade stopped short as she too noticed the delicate bloom tucked into Christine's tresses. "What is this?" she demanded, as she inelegantly pulled the rose from behind the girl's ear.

A look of pure distress washed over Christine's features. "Please Signora," she begged, reaching her hand out toward the diva, "Give it back."

"Where would you have gotten a rose, little wench?" she asked, moving away, holding the flower just out of Christine's grasp, her voice dripping with scorn. "Are you a trollop as well as a dolt?"

Erik felt a low growl rumbling in his chest. The diva was playing with fire, and so help him, if she continued this abuse of Christine, she would be burned.

"Signora, no." Christine implored, continuing to reach for the bloom, that was still tied with the black ribbon. "It was no gentleman caller."

"Then where?" Carlotta again insisted haughtily, holding the rose even farther away from the desperate seamstress.

The other actors and the conductor had all taken a step away from the pair, watching the scene with curiosity. They had seen La Carlotta dispatch underlings before, with her wicked temper and her unholy tantrums. Erik held his breath. Once again, Christine was in an impossible position because of him. He waited to hear if she would tell—if she would reveal her Angel of Music to this bullying diva, as she had to her ballerina friend.

Christine lowered her gaze and stared at the floor. "I cannot say, Signora."

Carlotta's eyes began to darken and she tilted her head, as if in realization. "You have been in my dressing room."

Christine looked up at the diva and her eyes flashed in horror, "No!"

"Of course you have! You need to go there to collect the mending—not that you do any of it right!" she spat at Christine, moving a bit closer to her.

Christine backed away, "Yes, Signora, but. . ."

"Carlotta," the tenor Piangi approached, placing his hands on her shoulders in an effort to calm her down.

"No, Ubaldo!" she declared, shrugging him off of her easily, and continuing her advance on Christine. "You stole from me!"

"No!" Christine shook her head back and forth.

"This is my flower—I earned it with my hard work on the stage." she bellowed at her. "And you, in your jealousy, and your knowledge that you will never amount to anything, decide to take it for yourself!?"

"No! Signora, please. . ." Christine stumbled back in her efforts to get away from the incensed soprano, and fell, a quivering mass, onto the stage.

"Well, nobody steals from La Carlotta and gets away with it!" She lifted her hand to strike the cowering girl, when a large, heavy backdrop and its batten suddenly fell from its suspension in the gridiron, and landed right on the diva's back, sending her sprawling on the floor.

The unintelligible shriek that ripped from the soprano's lips was almost enough to bring down the chandelier, as Piangi and the rest of the cast hurried to Carlotta's aid. The tenor lifted her in his arms, as she continued her rant in hysterical Italian, and carried her off the stage. The managers called irately for Buquet, as they began to ascend the ladder to the fly tower. Meg rushed over to comfort Christine, who was shaking and sobbing on the floor, holding the now mangled red rose in her trembling fingers. The cast deteriorated into a cacophony of gasps and cries. "He's here! He's here!" came the chorus from the Corps du Ballet, "He is with us! It's the ghost!" Madame Giry tapped her cane against the stage, in an effort to quell the madness. "Silence!" the ballet mistress roared, and girls' cries immediately quieted to whispers. And as Meg took Christine into her arms, she glanced up toward the flies to see a billow of a black disappear into the dark.

XXXXXXXXX

It was quiet outside her room. For a while, Jenna had heard Nadir and Erik yelling at each other. She had not been able to make out their words, but she could imagine what they had been yelling about. Nadir had found them, wrapped in each other's embrace, curled up tightly together on the settee. Jenna recalled how she had felt in the seconds before Nadir's discovery had caused her to be so unceremoniously dumped her on the floor. She'd been warm, she'd been cozy, and she'd felt Erik's arms tighten around her, pulling her nearer, as he curled closer to her in his sleep. Jenna had never before floated so close to heaven or clung so dearly to a dream.

She sighed deeply, remembering how much had happened last night. When Erik had come to her room, shattering her first blissful dream, he'd been angry enough to strangle her. Accusations, and condemnations had flown from both their lips. But then he had shared with her the sorrow of the life he had lived—had revealed to her the horrors of his face. And she had held him as he cried, and dried his tears with her words of comfort. And they had ended the night wrapped in each other's arms. She knew it had not been intentional—that they had simply dozed off watching the fire, and their bodies had repositioned themselves in their sleep. But still, nothing had ever before felt so. . .right. . .to Jenna than to be cradled in Erik's embrace.

She brought her own fingers to the spot where he had touched her cheek. His fingers had been so perfect, as he'd gazed into her eyes, unmasked, exposed—just Erik—just for her. She shuddered again at the memory. How she had wanted to kiss him! She had longed to tangle her hands in his soft black hair, and pull his face toward hers and just press her lips to his—feather soft kisses at first, leading to deep, searing ones later. She was not an innocent—she had been around. And still, never in her life had she longed so greatly for a kiss, yearned so deeply for a pair of arms to encircle her—to crush her in their passion.

But it could never be. She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head back and forth. Christine. She knew his heart belonged to Christine. And though she knew she could have seduced him in that raw, vulnerable moment, she would never be Christine. What good would it do to feel his desire, if she could never have his love?

Jenna rose from her bed and paced the floor, running her fingers through her hair. This was ridiculous, she told herself. There was so much about this situation that was impossible—starting with the fact that she was here in the first place! How could she even consider being in love with Erik when she did not even belong here? She had to find a way back to her time—to her job—to her. . .cat. She had to somehow get back. She had to. . . right? Oh, his arms. . .

Stop it! she scolded herself. Of course she had to go back—and that was just. . .that. In fact, Erik said he had been looking for a way to get her home. It was quiet out there now—that had to mean Nadir had gone, because those two could never stay quiet for long. She would go out now and ask him about the progress he'd made. She would not gaze deeply into his eyes, or get so close that he took her breath away. She would simply ask him how she was going to get home.

Jenna straightened her gown and smoothed her hair, before determinedly turning the doorknob and entering the sitting room. It was empty, except for Ayesha who immediately started slinking around her ankles. Erik was nowhere to be seen. There were no glorious, intoxicating sounds from the piano, no gentle whisper of a page being turned at his reading chair. She walked over to the small dock by the lake, but she could see, halfway there, that the boat was gone. Had Erik left her here alone?

"Erik," she called, although she knew it was futile. If the boat wasn't here, he wasn't here. "Erik!"

"Oh, he's out." Nadir said, as he emerged from the kitchen, giving Jenna a start for the second time that morning. "Something about a rehearsal he had to go foul up. Or some such nonsense like that." Nadir waved one hand in the air, while sipping the brandy he held in his other hand. "I found his new hiding spot for the brandy!" He smiled, raising his glass in the air. "Kitchen cabinet this time. I honestly just don't think he's trying anymore."

"Oh." Jenna responded simply, slowly walking over to the settee and sitting down. Ayesha immediately jumped up on her lap, and Jenna absently stroked her fur, her mind so many miles away.

"So, Jenna," Nadir made himself comfortable on Erik's chair, "I'm sorry if my entrance this morning interrupted something. . ."

"Oh, no!" Jenna was quick to refute. "It was. . ." she swallowed a lump in her throat, before she could continue, "nothing."

Nadir looked at her quietly for a moment before continuing. Judging by the way she couldn't look at him, and the sadness in her eyes, the girl certainly seemed extremely affected by nothing. "I see." He said quietly, taking another sip of his drink. "So I noticed his mask was off."

"Yes." she nodded, still not looking at him, still petting Ayesha.

"Well, considering that you're still breathing, he must have agreed to removing it?" he asked, with an eyebrow raised, realizing that getting information out of her was almost as hard as getting it out of Erik himself.

"He did." She nodded again, not adding any more.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Jenna," Nadir finally lost his patience, throwing up his free hand. "You two are both so somber. Did somebody die here last night?" Nadir paused, as if remembering something. "No. . .can't be. . .That wouldn't make Erik somber at all."

"Nadir!" Jenna gave him a scolding look.

"Well, what is it then, Jenna?" he asked her point blank, in exasperation. "What happened here last night?"

Jenna sighed, and saw no real reason for keeping Nadir in the dark any longer. "He told me everything, Nadir," she finally admitted. "All about his mother" she said the word with disdain dripping from her lips. "All about the horrible gypsy camp, all about Persia. . ."

"He told you about Persia?" Nadir questioned in surprise.

"Yes. He told me about Persia." she nodded.

"He told you . . .what he did in Persia?" Nadir clarified.

"Yes, he told me about the drugs, and the torture, and the killings, and how he had to escape because of losing favor with the Shah over a slave girl."

"I am amazed, Jenna." Nadir looked at her in awe. "He never talks about Persia."

"Well, like I said, he told me everything." She took a deep breath. "And then, he showed me his face."

"He just. . .showed you his face? After telling you his life story?"

"Yes."

"Oh, come on! He would never just do that! How did you manage to persuade him?"

"Well," Jenna looked thoughtful, as if she were remembering details of the evening that had just passed. "I tried to get him to strangle me. . ."

"Oh Allah save us!" he swallowed down the rest of his drink in one swift gulp, slamming the glass on the side table so hard that Jenna was surprised it didn't shatter. "Are you insane, Mademoiselle?"

"Nadir. . ." she tried to continue her tale, but Nadir just continued on his diatribe.

"Oh you are definitely going back to the asylum. . . "

"Nadir. . ."

". . .for your own safety's sake. I told Erik you were a mental patient—and that it didn't matter how pretty you were. . ."

"Daroga!" she shouted, finally halting Nadir's tirade, as he looked at her in shock. No one but Erik ever referred to him by his former Persian title, and it was a bit unsettling coming from her. "I only did it to prove to him that he was not the monster he thought he was. I knew I had nothing to fear."

"You have such faith in him, but, oh, Jenna," he began in a worried tone of voice. "That was very dangerous. You don't know Erik. His past. . ."

"I know," she interjected, cutting him off, "That he could never hurt me. And I proved it to him last night." She continued, her eyes getting a faraway look. "I placed his hands on either side of my neck, and listed all the reasons his life would be better if he just killed me right then—if he just snapped my neck. But of course, he didn't."

"You are a brave woman, Mademoiselle." Nadir's look of shock, turned to one of awe and respect.

"No," she shook her head, " I just knew he wouldn't hurt me. And I knew he needed to know he wasn't a monster. And when he protested that his face still made him one, I swore to him that he was wrong, and if he would just show me, I would prove it. It took a little convincing, but he finally did."

Nadir was on the edge of his seat, by now, intrigued by her tale revealing a different side of the man he had known for years. "And what did you have to do to prove it to him, Mademoiselle?"

"I stayed," she said looking in his eyes intently. "All I had to do was stay, and not run from him like so many other people had done before me. That's all he needed." Jenna swallowed and looked away, "And after that, we had some tea in front of the fire. It was late, and we must have fallen asleep."

Nadir looked at this woman before him who possessed the strength of a mountain to be able to confront so many demons with his maddening friend, and come out triumphant on the other side. Of course, he knew the pain that Erik had faced. He'd even mentioned some of it to Jenna himself. But he had gleaned bits and pieces of the information from Erik over the trials and tribulations of many years. Never had he expected his friend to be so open with another. Never would he expect Erik to agree to show his face, or to be so comfortable with another human being that he could fall asleep in her arms."You are truly amazing, Jenna." Nadir declared in a voice filled with soft reverence. "To have done what you did for him. You are like no other."

"Oh, Nadir," Jenna shook her head, suddenly bashful when recalling the position in which the Persian had found them. "I didn't really do anything but listen."

"You did everything he needed, Jenna." Nadir refuted her dismissal. "You listened, and you cared, and I daresay, you showed him the first affection he has known in his entire life." Jenna took a deep breath, but remained quiet, because she knew that what Nadir said was true. "Oh, I am just so happy that you are staying and he will no longer be alone!"

Jenna looked up at him with a start. What exactly did he mean by that? "Um, excuse me?" she asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You just told me that all he needed was for you to stay with him. I agree. You stay, and he can forget this nonsense about trying to somehow send you forward in time, you'll be happy together, and I might finally be able to stop worrying about when he's going to next kill somebody. Although, I will say, you haven't been able to convince him to leave the diva alone. Hmm. . .maybe I will still have to worry about his murderous tendencies. . "

"Nadir, I can't stay," she said plainly, stopping his excitement in its tracks.

"What? What do you mean? You just said Erik needed you."

Jenna felt as if a knife was slicing through her heart, at Nadir's misinterpretation of her words. "No, Nadir," she sighed, "he needed me last night. Not forever."

"After what you told me about last night," Nadir countered, "I'd say he wouldn't mind having you around forever."

"No, Nadir." she shook her head sadly, "He doesn't want me."

"Jenna, don't forget, I saw you," he replied, reminding her once again of how he walked in on them. "I saw both of you—in each other's arms."

"I told you, that was not intentional."

"Intentional or not, it looked pretty comfortable to me. Jenna, I have known Erik for many years, and I had never seen him look so. . .happy."

The knife in Jenna's heart twisted at his words, for she knew where Erik's true happiness lay. "Nadir, he was sleeping. He probably didn't even know it was me."

"Well, who else could he have thought it was?" He asked in exasperation. "Certainly not me!"

"Christine." she said, through melancholy eyes. "I am sure he was dreaming about Christine."

Nadir looked at her through narrowed eyes. "The seamstress? Really?"

"His . . .angel." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "He's in love with her, Nadir."

"He. . .he told you this?" he looked at her very intently, having a very difficult time believing that his friend would admit to loving anyone.

"He did not have to." she shook her head. "I was there for their lesson yesterday. I saw the way he looked at her."

"It cannot have been very different from the way he looks at you, Mademoiselle," he said in all seriousness, for truly, he had seen the way Erik's eyes lit up in Jenna's presence—the way the two of them seemed to spur each other on to one mischief or another—the way she stood up to him, and the way he seemed to relish it. The blush on his friend's cheek this morning when Nadir was good-naturedly teasing him, said much to his inner feelings, and he just could not believe that Erik felt nothing for this lovely visitor who had happened upon his home through some miracle of fate. His comment seemed to render Jenna speechless, and when she made no reply, he asked, "And what of your feelings, for him, Jenna? Do you not wish to stay?"

With all my heart, she screamed in her mind. With everything she had, she wanted to stay-she wanted to love him. But it did not matter if he did not love her.

"Jenna?"Nadir's question weighed on her, making her head spin and her stomach churn. Suddenly, she realized she had to get out of the room. "I've got to go feed Ayesha," she announced, as she quickly rose off the settee, tucking the kitten into the crook of her arm, and hurried into the kitchen.

As Nadir watched her go, a sudden realization dawned on him. He guffawed loudly, shaking his head at the epiphany. "Allah above," he exclaimed. "Now I know why, out of all the places in time and space you could have chosen, you dropped her in Erik's home. She is just like him."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Penny, I think there may be other methods of treating her." Charleson said, as he drove her to her hotel. It had been a difficult visit with her niece, and she had declined his second dinner invitation, preferring, instead, to call in for room service. He had insisted upon giving her a ride, however, so here she sat, in his car, discussing Jenna's case with the only person she had come to trust since arriving in New York. Jenna's own doctor seemed so hopeful, but he could not point her to any concrete sign of any progress she had made, beyond squeezing his hand and smiling at some music. Blaine had explained to her that both of those movements could be considered reflexive, and not in response to any type of therapy at all. And in truth, the therapy being provided seemed nebulous at best.

"What ways, Blaine?" she asked, exhausted, rubbing her forehead. "You said yourself, it was probably too late for surgery to do any good at this point."

"That is true, Penny." He said, as he turned the corner into the well lit driveway of her hotel. "But I have been doing some research into some drugs—drugs that have been shown to have great effects on coma patients, sometimes even waking them up. But it's late, and it's probably not my place anyway to suggest this. After all, she is under another doctor's care and. . ."

"No, Blaine," Penny said, suddenly feeling more invigorated. "It's not too late to talk about this."

"But Penny, we're here, and you said you were tired and just wanted to go upstairs and relax with some room service. . . in bed." He turned the car off and opened his door.

Penny watched Charleson get out of the car and walk around to open her door for her. She had to do some quick thinking. It would probably send the wrong message, but she wanted to hear what he had to say about these drugs—Jenna's doctor be damned.

Charleson opened her door, and Penny took the hand he offered to help her out of the car. "Blaine," she asked, laying her hand on his forearm, "Would you care to join me for some room service?"

A smile flashed across Charleson's features, as he tossed his keys to the waiting valet. Pulling Penny's arm more snugly around his he answered, "I'd love to."

Oh Penny! Charleson is playing you like a FIDDLE! And Jenna, you've been hanging around Erik way too much! You're starting to deal with your problems the same way he does. By running away. (But at least Ayesha gets some food out of this.) And Poor Christine-being so unfairly mistreated by the Italian Diva. But Erik has finally lost all patience with Carlotta. Do you think she'll take the hint? Please, please review!