The oppressive heat of the morning sun made the tenement room as hot as the inside of an oven. I was absolutely soaked with perspiration. As I stirred in discomfort, my back ached from the lumpiness of the straw mattress.

I was annoyed to see Erik sleeping on his stomach as peaceful as ever I saw him.

Rising from the mattress, I made my way to the wash basin and sponged off. But the coolness of the water seemed to evaporate within seconds of touching my skin.

"Angelica, whatever are you doing?" Erik asked, his voice drowsy with sleep. "Come back to bed..."

Lying back down beside him, he nuzzled against me.

"Aahh, you feel so cool and soft and sweet…so nice…" he murmured as he held me close.

All thoughts of discomfort left my mind with his soothing words. I closed my eyes and pretended things were like they had been before that horrible night. I thought of our nights before the fire, of sitting by his side at the piano, of reading with him in the library. We could be like that again, couldn't we?

I must have slept for an hour. But when I awoke, I was even more wretched. The mattress was even hot to the touch.

Poking Erik in the arm, I woke him up, too miserable to care how angry he would get.

"Erik, it's like Hades in here!" I swore. "We can't stay in this place. It's horrible! This mattress is so lumpy that my back hurts. Pieces of straw have been stabbing me all night. And now I'm sweating like a stuck pig! Oh, what I wouldn't give for a bath..."

After a few moments, Erik sat up scowling.

"I am sorry if your circumstances displease you, madam," hesaid frostily."But I am afraid you have little choice in the matter. They are not to my taste either. But if the bed is not to your liking and you are missing your daily soak, you have no one to blame but yourself for being such a damned fool! At my old home, you could have bathed all day long if you wished it. But I suppose some gendarme is enjoying your tub now."

Well, the tiger had his claws out again! I thought bitterly.

"And I think you are a fool to lay all of the blame at my feet for what happened to you in Paris!" I argued. "As I understand it, Monsieur Firmin was the culprit that night at Beauty and the Beast. Why isn't he the one suffering all of your rage?"

"Oh, believe me…I made that wretch pay dearly!" Erik stated as he left the bed and sponged himself off. "After Christine informed me of his actions, I made sure that he would know no rest or sanity. Day after day, night after night, I played my tricks on him. I contrived horrible images of the tortures he would suffer at my hands if he did not confess. One morning, he awoke with the Punjab Lasso around his neck. His spirit had finally been broken at last and he sang like a bird."

"Did he really have an affair with Carlotta?" I asked, wrinkling my nose at the idea.

Erik startled me with a guffaw of laughter. "Yes, the poor man...what a glutton for punishment!"

I could not help but join him in his laughter. It felt good.

"That sordid little fling had been going on for some time...even before he became manager of the Paris Opera House. It was even a good source of blackmail material for me for a while. Let us just say that I had a few extra little payments on the side in addition to my usual 'salary'. I am sure Madame Firmin is none too happy about this new revelation about her husband."

Erik then proceeded to dress, wearing a simple white shirt and breeches.

As much as I hated to bring up her name, I had to ask. "How did Christine find out that he was impersonating you?"

"I suppose there are only three people that night who would have known that Firmin in the mask was not me: you, Madame Giry and Christine. She had forgotten a prop she needed and had to sneak to the other side of the back of the stage to retrieve it before her entrance. Apparently, there had been all sorts of prop problems going on that night. That is when she saw him backstage wearing my disguise.

"Later on that evening, she sent a signal for my help. Back when she was my pupil, we had a sort of secret symbol between us. Whenever she needed my assistance, usually with a certain song or musical note that she was struggling with, she would wear a small silver angel broach. Imagine my surprise when I saw her wearing it that night on stage in the middle of her performance!

"I met with her through the trick mirror of her dressing room once the opera had ended. She was terrified with the disappearance of her husband and Deveraux. Also, she was quite horrified that Firmin had spotted her backstage. She begged me to protect her from him. So I asked Madame Giry to watch over you. And then I took her to the house. At the time, I did not know where else she would be safe."

I waited for him to say more about what happened with Christine, but he admitted nothing.

"Is that all that happened?" I asked, hoping that he would be honest with me.

"And then de Chagny came with the police in tow…" he continued. "I managed to escape that night, but all of my belongings, my paintings, my organ, my library…everything had been confiscated by the police."

Pain stabbed at my heart that he did not tell me the whole truth. I remembered how angry he had been with me when I had faked my illness in order to get to the Paris Opera House, but his lie was so much worse.

I was trying to work up the nerve to confront him about what I heard that night. Yet, his mood seemed to become gloomier and darker by the second.

"Your betrayal cost me dearly, Angelica."

And what of my betrayal? Didn't that count for anything?

"I am sorry about your house and possessions, Erik."

"Oh, what do I care for all of that? I can buy another house with a fireplace. It was you!" he raged. "I had thought that you were different…that you saw me as a man, as a friend, as a husband…"

"I did, Erik. I swear that I did! But I can say the same. I thought you saw me as your wife!"

"Did I ever treat you as anything else?"

"For God's sake, will you stop lying to me?"

A large explosive bang startled us both mid-argument.

"That sounded like a gunshot," Erik said. Carefully, he glimpsed out of the front door. "I think it came from elsewhere."

"Perhaps we should go to my dormitory, Erik," I suggested. "I really don't like it here. It isn't safe. And at least there, it is cooler and we would have a better bed to sleep on."

"Why? So you can run to your opera house and cry out pleas for help from Captain Butler or Monsieur Wilkes or Watling...or whoever your savior of the day is?"

"It was just an idea. There is no need to be hateful," I scolded.

"If you want a bed and a tub, I can acquire that simply enough. I am your husband now and as such I will provide for you."

"So you plan to keep me in this tenement as your prisoner wife for the rest of our days?"

He shrugged with a smirk. "Why not?"


To my relief, later that day, Erik thought better of staying in the horrid tenement building. He said he was worried about my safety there if I were left by myself. But I really suspected it was because he was also starting to suffer from the stifling heat. We agreed that we would set off for my dormitory in the middle of the night where neither one of us would be seen.

"There is only one problem, Erik. I don't have anything to wear."

As it was, I was only wearing my shift half-torn from Erik's savagery the night before.

For a moment, I swore that I saw Erik blush for a change.

"Well, I suppose we can solve that easily enough."

Rummaging through his valise, he pulled out one of his own shirts and pair of breeches.

"You're suggesting I should wear your clothes?" I asked, eyes wide.

"It will be the middle of the night. No one shall see you."

His clothes were ridiculously long on me. I had to roll up the legs of the breeches so I wouldn't trip on them.

There was no mirror to see myself. But I must have looked silly because Erik was turning absolutely purple trying to restrain his mirth.

"I say, this is marvelously freeing," I said as I spun about. "I could be Viola in Twelfth Night."

"You're much too pretty to pass for a man, Angelica. But you are rather cute in breeches."

And so we set off.


I could not help but be relieved to be back in my old room again. While the room was small, I had managed to make the most use of the space that I could, having managed to squeeze a table, two chairs and a piano in the room, along with the bed. Already, I felt less likely that I would die from the heat.

Erik was not so impressed.

"Well, I suppose it shall have to do until we find someplace better," he said. "While I still have some money left, I have to find a way to make the necessary arrangements to acquire it without being found out. Once I have access to it, we shall set up a house somewhere. In the meantime, you are not to go out and be spotted by your socialite friends."

"No one even knows about you here, Erik, except Brett and Ella."

"And also Beau Wilkes. I had to bribe him to step out of the show. It wasn't hard. That boy has no liking at all for opera. I think he was only playing the Beast to get under Miss Kennedy's skirts."

"Yes, but surely people noticed his absence. His own father was there, for heaven's sake."

"Will you never stop underestimating my talents?" Erik questioned as he walked about the room, observing the furnishings. "I arranged to have the box office manager put in a notice in all of the programs, announcing that he was indisposed and that an unknown was in his place. Only you and Watling were unaware of it."

"That's outrageous! I shall fire the box office manager at once!"

"You shouldn't be too merciless, my dear. After all, I did have to blackmail the man into following my orders. I apologize for taking over the reins of your theater, but I could not bear the thought of Wilkes destroying Song of the Beast with that incessant cawing of his."

I could not hold back my smile. "He does sound a bit more like a crow than a Beast, doesn't he?"

"And the way he was trying to sound so dark and evil as the Beast was annoying to me. All style and no substance. But when I recall the applause of that night, I would wager that all of Atlanta loves our Beauty and the Beast."

"How could they not when you sang it?"

His eyes softened at my compliment.

"That is very kind of you to say, my dear."

"It is only the truth," I admitted. "No one can sing that song like you. Why, if you hadn't been so cursed with your face, you could have been a professional singer yourself."

"Well, I admit I do find singing in front of an audience to be exhilarating although I have only experienced it during Don Juan and last night."

"I love hearing you sing."

He rested his hands upon my shoulders gently.

"Shall I sing something to you now? Perhaps a lullaby before bed…or maybe a love song…"

"That would be so nice…"

There was a knock at the door.

Our pleasant repartee dissolved back into the tension of captor husband and captive wife at once.

"Who in the hell would come to your room at this time of night?" Erik cursed.

As if on cue, Brett Watling called out my name as he knocked on the door.

"Watling!" he hissed. "Do not say a word or move a muscle!"

After he was gone, Erik cursed.

"What is that man to you? Is he your lover?"

"Don't be ridiculous. He's completely smitten with Ella Kennedy."

"That means nothing!"

"Well, maybe it wouldn't to someone like you!" I snapped.

"I don't know what you mean by that little remark, but I will have you know that I will not stand to be a cuckold!"

"Oh, that's rich!" I laughed at the irony.

"After all, it would not be the first time you have lied to me or betrayed me!"

"Alright! Yes, I had told the Vicomte about you! A man had been murdered that night. Christine was missing. You were seen all over the opera house, scaring everybody!"

"That was Firmin."

"I know that now, but I didn't then. And besides, I saw you up there on the catwalk watching Christine. And I know that was you...so don't deny it!"

"You did?"

"Yes," I answered haltingly. "I was serving as a sort of replacement Prop Master that night."

"Oh, no wonder so many things went wrong with the props!"

"Do not try to be funny! And do not change the subject!"

"Your wish is my command, dear wife!"

"And do not be so blasted sarcastic! Then I went to Box Five, trying to seek you out, and there was that horrid doll there…"

"Ahh, that was Madame Giry's doing."

I stopped, mid-argument.

"You mean she was the one who made that doll and put it in there and knocked me out?"

"Exactly so."

"But why?"

"Firmin had forced her to be his accomplice. I suspect you were supposed to be part of his plot to scare Christine. He intended for you to scream that night at the sight of the doll in Box Five and cause a big uproar which would disturb the opera. But Giry had other ideas."

"I don't understand..."

"Despite her help to me over the years, she has always hated me and my face. Yes, she had a sort of sympathy for me, but the idea of me involved with any woman was utterly repulsive to her. She made that clear while I was pursuing Christine. And she knew all about us, my dear."

"She did?"

"Oh, yes. I had often sent her out to acquire things for us. She was the one who acquired the Aphrodite dress for me. So naturally she knew where to get a duplicate copy for that freak show you were exposed to. That night, after I knew of Christine's plight, I asked her to look out for you. Little did I know that she had knocked you out unconscious in Box Five and that she would try to scare you into leaving Paris and me for good. When I came for you the next day and found that you were not there, I nearly killed her. The only thing that stopped me was the idea of little Meg Giry having to be an orphan."

"So you never threatened to kill Meg?"

"Of course not. The child is annoying, but why would I harm her?"

"Madame Giry claimed that you had blackmailed her for years, threatening Meg's life."

"And naturally, you believed that too..." he said caustically. "And I suppose you thought that that doll was my doing as well. Whatever did I do to you to deserve such scorn and distrust? All I ever did was help you with your opera, open my home to you, take you as my wife when you already had a husband! After all that, you thought that I would bludgeon you in Box Five and leave you for dead?"

I felt ashamed. I had not believed it...had not wanted to believe it...but so many things had added up. There had just been too many reasons to believe it had been him. Especially after that night with Christine...but even if he had spent the night in her arms, that did not mean he was a murderer.

"I suppose I should always be a villain in your eyes," Erik said with sadness in his voice.

"Erik…"

"It is late. We should go to bed."

My bed was so small and cramped that we could not lie beside each other without touching, yet my husband could not have been more distant from me.