A/N- Hi there. I'm a Raoul fan. Anyway, this is a random phiclet I just felt like doing for no apparent reason. Certainly Leroux-based, because I've never read Susan Kay and don't really want to. Yeah...
Disclaimer- I do not own Raoul, Erik... or anybody, really. I don't keep a revolver in my underwear drawer, either, as Raoul apparently does. Whatever floats your raft across your underground lake.
He prowled softly through the street, his feet making no sound on the cobblestones. He reached a house – this was the place. A building such as this must be the home of a rich nobleman.
He gazed up at the windows. A light shone from one where the curtains were not drawn. Still making no sound, he crept over to the gutter-spout and climbed up. As he reached the balcony, the light in the room was put out.
He sneaked over to the balcony door, which was opened a crack to let in air. He pushed it open the rest of the way and slid through, still making no sound.
In the darkness he could see a bed with a form on it. He crouched down at the foot and gazed up at its inhabitant.
"Humbug, humbug, humbug!" the handsome young man in the bed shouted. Then he looked up and started, seeing two eyes glowing at the foot of his bed.
Crouched in the shadows, the eyes' owner wondered who he was calling a humbug... certainly not him. He stared at the man coldly. The poor fellow began to tremble under his gaze, then bravely reached for a match. Realizing that the room would soon be lit, the intruder dashed out onto the balcony.
He heard the man talking to himself as he searched the room. He did nothing, waiting for the light to be extinguished. It was, and he leaned up and peeked through the balcony window. The man saw him immediately.
"Is that you, Erik? Man, genius, or ghost, is it you?" There was a brief pause. "If it's he, he's on the balcony!"
The man jumped out of bed and rushed over to his chest of drawers, pulling out a revolver, which he pointed above the glowing yellow eyes.
He realized what was happening and turned to run, but the bullet caught his shoulder. Frantic, he dashed over to the gutter-spout and climbed up to the roof, leaving a trail of blood behind.
There was a ruckus in the house following the gunshot, but he stayed safely on the roof until everything had quieted down, then returned home, his trip unsuccessful.
He entered his house quietly and settled himself on an armchair. He didn't care whether the bloodstains were ever cleaned up – all he wanted to do was sulk.
A moment passed in silence as he gazed rapturously at the dancing flames in the hearth.
"Oh, goodness, you're bleeding!" said a voice from behind him. He turned and saw that Sophie had come into the room. "Poor kitty," she sighed, scratching his chin, "how did that happen?"