Twelve 'o clock. Twelve fifteen. Twelve thirty. She was not there. Gwyndolyn had promised…promised to meet him there at the side of the Opera on the Rue Scribe side at 11:30. The day before he'd given her the last of the francs obtained from milking the management more than a hundred years earlier and she'd embarked on a quest to try and find a buyer for the antique currency.
Every so often Erik emerged briefly from his hiding place inside the stone to see if she had shown up. She hadn't. He ducked back inside.
Anger began building inside him and soon he was nearly choking with impotent rage. So it had happened again. How could he have been betrayed for what seemed like the thousandth time in his life? Now he had no money and no clear way to earn any- Gwyndolyn had asserted somewhat gloomily in no uncertain terms that ghosts were rather hard to come by and much harder to find would be a person superstitious enough to believe in one. He rightly believed her.
One more look into the street and he would leave to begin formulating another plan. No. So she was not coming, then. Wait...coming around the corner of the building, hurriedly walking, looking at a watch...a form slowly took shape in the glaring sunlight. It was she.
He stood fully out into the street just long enough to be sure she saw, then disappeared back into the stone wall, taking care that no passersby observed the act. Gwyndolyn walked faster and soon reached the area where Erik had made his appearance. Looking around and seeing that no-one was watching, she began feeling for seams in the stone. A whoosh of air and a tiny portion of stone had receded to her right. She reached for it, but she was yanked to her left by someone strong, someone wearing black, someone very, very angry.
Gwyndolyn yelped but the sound was muffled by the stone that rose behind her. "Oh! Erik, you nearly scared me to death!" She exclaimed in relief, starting to sag against the stone.
They were in a small chamber at the end of a corridor that dropped into darkness a few meters ahead and she guessed that stairs lay at the edge of the darkness. An instant after she spoke, she realized that the air was coursing with electricity. She cocked her head quizzically. Erik was most definitely mad about something and she doubted that her punctuality (or lack thereof) was the cause.
She stiffened defensively. "I'm sorry I'm late, but-" he cut her off mid-sentence.
"Had better things to do than meet me here, did you?" His voice was deceptively cordial. "Perhaps you were dining with a nice young man at a charming bistro...with Erik's money? Indeed, what better thing to do on such a fine summer day as this?"
His inexplicable use of the third person rather unnerved Gwyndolyn, whose lips tightened into a hard line and whose brown eyes hardened into a steely gaze that lifted to meet her antagonist's. He continued painting a whimsical picture with words of Gwyndolyn's lovely day outside and all the while his raw anger passed between the two people in the corridor, amplified by the stone, crashing and flowing like the endless waves of the sea.
Gwyndolyn, the young woman with her eyes and permanent-waved hair of chocolate brown, with her carefully applied make-up and department store styled clothes, the outward epitome of carefree American teen-agerism, met the yellow-eyed stare of a hostile, tormented genius, and knew.
Beyond the anger, beyond the irritation of waiting alone in the dark with only a lantern and his anguished thoughts for company. She knew. It was fear.
Fear was the trigger of this towering rage, the cause of his almost mad raving. Fear of betrayal, being left alone. All that he was saying now was not directed at her, it was his own ineffectualness. His own human failings that he could or would not accept.
She knew in that moment and he knew she knew it. Her features softened as he trailed off in embarassment and a gentle smile curved around her lips as she said, "Did you think I would not come?"
She expected no answer and was not disappointed. She had seen behind his childish rage and he didn't know how to react. The air was different now that the anger had evaporated. He radiated shame, wanted to withdraw and seek solace from the shadows, she emitted something that seemed very like pity, perhaps patronization to Erik, as previous experience had never taught him of empathy.
Without skipping a beat Gwyndolyn told him why she'd been late. "I think I found a buyer. He's a German fellow on vacation; a collector with plenty of Euros to waste. I checked around and nobody will pay much more than 2000 and he'll top that by a hundred..." she trailed off suddenly. Honestly, would the two of them ever finish a conversation without one of them lapsing into silence? She wondered detatchedly.
He'd started to pace in the small passage and the atmosphere was suddenly tense again.
"What?"
He whirled to face her and she was taken slightly aback by the fierce frustration in his voice. "There is considerably more than 2100 worth of francs! That is scarcely enough to live on!"
"Oh!" she exclaimed for the second time in ten minutes and her eyes twinkled mischieviously in the lantern-light as she said somewhat smugly, "I took care of that, too."
She began leading the way down the passage and he was forced to follow. It was once again her turn to surprise him.
"Tell me, if you please- what did you do?" She turned a radiantly excited face to him and said proudly, "next week I begin work as a concierge here at the Opera." She laughed gaily. "Not a terrifically glamorous job and I'm not particularly interested in ballets, but oh! The theatre! The music!"
"It is rather astonishing that you've managed so much in one day," was all he could manage to reply.
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~*~Author's Note: Bah hah! I finally came up with a long chapter. I'm using my literary devices again...*coughcoughforeshadowingcough*
Europa-I worship the ground you walk on, you great goddess of reviews! :) Yeah, I'm still in high school (just a frigging sophomore. Will this torture never end? auugh!), and yeah, it's bloody evil.
Jessica- No, the last chapter wasn't supposed to have the arrows and junk. Either ffn, my computer, or the gods hate me, because I have a mighty lot of trouble getting things formatted. I hope this chapter is better with that, and I'm sorry if its not. I'm glad you're liking the story despite its authoress's ineptitude. :)
Did ya'll notice that I never described my character and then-bang! she was described ever so niftily? I planned it that way. Really. I didn't forget to describe her at a more convetional time (like the beginning...). *slinks off into the shadows* Ohmygosh. Its 1 in the morning. No wonder I'm babbling! Jeez! LOL
Puh-leeze keep reading any reviewing, everyone! I'll stop with the exclamation points! Really! Bah ha ha haa haaaaaa*cough* hah haaa! *cough*cough*cough* Okay. I'm going to go to sleep now. Give me a break- I've been watching my taped episodes of Peewee's playhous all day. Does anyone remember that show? I love it. 'Kay. Really sleeping now. *wanders away singing 'connect the dots, la la la la..'*
Every so often Erik emerged briefly from his hiding place inside the stone to see if she had shown up. She hadn't. He ducked back inside.
Anger began building inside him and soon he was nearly choking with impotent rage. So it had happened again. How could he have been betrayed for what seemed like the thousandth time in his life? Now he had no money and no clear way to earn any- Gwyndolyn had asserted somewhat gloomily in no uncertain terms that ghosts were rather hard to come by and much harder to find would be a person superstitious enough to believe in one. He rightly believed her.
One more look into the street and he would leave to begin formulating another plan. No. So she was not coming, then. Wait...coming around the corner of the building, hurriedly walking, looking at a watch...a form slowly took shape in the glaring sunlight. It was she.
He stood fully out into the street just long enough to be sure she saw, then disappeared back into the stone wall, taking care that no passersby observed the act. Gwyndolyn walked faster and soon reached the area where Erik had made his appearance. Looking around and seeing that no-one was watching, she began feeling for seams in the stone. A whoosh of air and a tiny portion of stone had receded to her right. She reached for it, but she was yanked to her left by someone strong, someone wearing black, someone very, very angry.
Gwyndolyn yelped but the sound was muffled by the stone that rose behind her. "Oh! Erik, you nearly scared me to death!" She exclaimed in relief, starting to sag against the stone.
They were in a small chamber at the end of a corridor that dropped into darkness a few meters ahead and she guessed that stairs lay at the edge of the darkness. An instant after she spoke, she realized that the air was coursing with electricity. She cocked her head quizzically. Erik was most definitely mad about something and she doubted that her punctuality (or lack thereof) was the cause.
She stiffened defensively. "I'm sorry I'm late, but-" he cut her off mid-sentence.
"Had better things to do than meet me here, did you?" His voice was deceptively cordial. "Perhaps you were dining with a nice young man at a charming bistro...with Erik's money? Indeed, what better thing to do on such a fine summer day as this?"
His inexplicable use of the third person rather unnerved Gwyndolyn, whose lips tightened into a hard line and whose brown eyes hardened into a steely gaze that lifted to meet her antagonist's. He continued painting a whimsical picture with words of Gwyndolyn's lovely day outside and all the while his raw anger passed between the two people in the corridor, amplified by the stone, crashing and flowing like the endless waves of the sea.
Gwyndolyn, the young woman with her eyes and permanent-waved hair of chocolate brown, with her carefully applied make-up and department store styled clothes, the outward epitome of carefree American teen-agerism, met the yellow-eyed stare of a hostile, tormented genius, and knew.
Beyond the anger, beyond the irritation of waiting alone in the dark with only a lantern and his anguished thoughts for company. She knew. It was fear.
Fear was the trigger of this towering rage, the cause of his almost mad raving. Fear of betrayal, being left alone. All that he was saying now was not directed at her, it was his own ineffectualness. His own human failings that he could or would not accept.
She knew in that moment and he knew she knew it. Her features softened as he trailed off in embarassment and a gentle smile curved around her lips as she said, "Did you think I would not come?"
She expected no answer and was not disappointed. She had seen behind his childish rage and he didn't know how to react. The air was different now that the anger had evaporated. He radiated shame, wanted to withdraw and seek solace from the shadows, she emitted something that seemed very like pity, perhaps patronization to Erik, as previous experience had never taught him of empathy.
Without skipping a beat Gwyndolyn told him why she'd been late. "I think I found a buyer. He's a German fellow on vacation; a collector with plenty of Euros to waste. I checked around and nobody will pay much more than 2000 and he'll top that by a hundred..." she trailed off suddenly. Honestly, would the two of them ever finish a conversation without one of them lapsing into silence? She wondered detatchedly.
He'd started to pace in the small passage and the atmosphere was suddenly tense again.
"What?"
He whirled to face her and she was taken slightly aback by the fierce frustration in his voice. "There is considerably more than 2100 worth of francs! That is scarcely enough to live on!"
"Oh!" she exclaimed for the second time in ten minutes and her eyes twinkled mischieviously in the lantern-light as she said somewhat smugly, "I took care of that, too."
She began leading the way down the passage and he was forced to follow. It was once again her turn to surprise him.
"Tell me, if you please- what did you do?" She turned a radiantly excited face to him and said proudly, "next week I begin work as a concierge here at the Opera." She laughed gaily. "Not a terrifically glamorous job and I'm not particularly interested in ballets, but oh! The theatre! The music!"
"It is rather astonishing that you've managed so much in one day," was all he could manage to reply.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
~*~Author's Note: Bah hah! I finally came up with a long chapter. I'm using my literary devices again...*coughcoughforeshadowingcough*
Europa-I worship the ground you walk on, you great goddess of reviews! :) Yeah, I'm still in high school (just a frigging sophomore. Will this torture never end? auugh!), and yeah, it's bloody evil.
Jessica- No, the last chapter wasn't supposed to have the arrows and junk. Either ffn, my computer, or the gods hate me, because I have a mighty lot of trouble getting things formatted. I hope this chapter is better with that, and I'm sorry if its not. I'm glad you're liking the story despite its authoress's ineptitude. :)
Did ya'll notice that I never described my character and then-bang! she was described ever so niftily? I planned it that way. Really. I didn't forget to describe her at a more convetional time (like the beginning...). *slinks off into the shadows* Ohmygosh. Its 1 in the morning. No wonder I'm babbling! Jeez! LOL
Puh-leeze keep reading any reviewing, everyone! I'll stop with the exclamation points! Really! Bah ha ha haa haaaaaa*cough* hah haaa! *cough*cough*cough* Okay. I'm going to go to sleep now. Give me a break- I've been watching my taped episodes of Peewee's playhous all day. Does anyone remember that show? I love it. 'Kay. Really sleeping now. *wanders away singing 'connect the dots, la la la la..'*