Chapter 6

Thanks for all the reviews! Thanks, An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin. If you really want to, you can look back and see that I changed that. Constructive criticism is much appreciated ;) Thanks, the Irish lass. I've always thought Noelle was a pretty name. Alright, here goes;

Noelle, with some trepidation, watched the Phantom step forward and sit on the organ bench. It was clear he knew how to play. He looked at her expectantly.

"Care to warm up, my dear?" She nodded silently. He then took her through varied vocal exercises. She sang some trills, and many scales with chords that she would sing, pronouncing the sharp staccato notes 'ah.' During this, she watched his hands and fingers as they played. He played the instrument as if it were a sensitive, living thing. He gently stroked and caressed the keys with care. He had taken the black gloves off, and his fingers were long and handsome. He would sometimes close his eyes, as if envisioning something as she sang. His fingers never halted, though.

She was then done warming up. The Phantom opened the score to an aria in the third act, entitled 'Think of Me.' Noelle frowned, debating on weather to ask a question. Finally, she gave in to her curious and impertinent side.

"Why am I learning an aria which will be sung by Carlotta, and which I have no chance of singing?" she asked tentatively. He looked at her, green eyes seeming amused.

"What makes you think that you will not sing it?" he asked. She found that all her answers slipped away at his gaze, something in it overpowering her ability to speak. He nodded, and began to play at the beginning. Noelle was immediately distracted by the way he played each note, the way he lingered on just the right ones, and the way he flourished them. There was a passion about the way he played, she realized, a passion that almost frightened her. Then the music stopped, and she almost opened her eyes to protest. It was only then that she realized she had shut them, listening to the music.

The Phantom gave her a strange look. She did not know what to say. The way he played the music had somehow enveloped her... and she did not even like the song, from what she had seen and heard of it.

"Pardon me," she said, her voice cold, now that she was in control of herself. "I am ready to start now."

He played the music. Thankfully, Noelle knew how to read music. Her old teacher had taught her that. She started out in a clear soprano.

"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye..."

The Phantom stopped playing and cut her off. A frown was on his face. Noelle briefly wondered if her singing had displeased him. Oh well... he was the one that wanted her to sing. He shook his head.

"No... not like that. You must feel the song, deep in your bones." He stroked his chin in thought. He then gently stood up and came to her, softly. He stood behind her. Noelle did not move, she was so startled. He caressed her neck and shoulders, his gentle hands moving over her body so smoothly she could not protest. He began to whisper in her ear.

"You meet a man. It does not matter who he is or what he looks like. You talk to him, long conversations about love and life. He kisses you, slow and gentle." Noelle closed her eyes and swallowed. She began to wonder if she was sane or not. She felt sheer sensuality in that moment. She had never felt like this before, not while she was flirting; not ever. The Phantom moved to her other ear. "You begin to fall in love with him. Then, he tells you that he has to go, that he has to leave you, for adventure, far a different life." His lips felt good, natural against her ear. She could drown herself in his voice, get lost in it and never emerge.

He had stepped away from her. She suddenly felt weak, as if she could fall down at any moment. She braced herself and came back to reality. She was here, deep in the layers of the Opera Populaire in Paris, with the legendary Phantom. Still, the memory of his words and the feelings they evoked did not fade. They remained permanently imprinted in her memory.

The Phantom sat down on the organ bench once again. His eyes never left hers. "This is the song you sing to him once you are gone. You are not angry with him, but wish him a good life. Try this again."

Noelle closed her eyes. The memories of Michael and that night threatened to come tumbling back. She tried desperately to remember the peace she had felt at his words. She was tumbling around in the darkness, lost and lonely. His voice and the enchantment she had felt at it was her only light, her strong point. She clutched onto it and began to sing, just at the part when the music started.

"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye, remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try." She opened her eyes and looked into the distance, imagining that she was singing this to an actual man, the man that Michael should have been. "If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me." She took a breath at the short interlude she had to breathe. She reminded herself to use diaphragm control. "We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea," Noelle's face changed into one that felt heartbreak and love at the same time, "But if you can still remember, stop and think of me." She stopped and took another breath. The accompaniment was all around her, swirling in patterns of gold.

"Think of all the things we've shared and seen... don't think about the way things might have been." This was the first time she had caught a glimpse of the Phantom's face during the song. His eyes were closed in rapture, although his fingers still played. She felt a sudden up welling of joy at the thought that she, Noelle, might have caused this joy that he felt. She began to sing, louder and with more passion.

"Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned... imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind..." She gently hit the octave jumps with grace and softness. She moved closer to the Phantom, whose eyes were still closed. "Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do..." She trailed off and her hands came almost close enough, but not quite, to touch the Phantom's shoulders. "There will never be a day when I won't think of you."

She stepped back, and the Phantom's eyes flew open as he began to play the accompaniment with fever. For her, the spell was not broken, and she waited gently until her part came. It came, after the many upwellings and surgings of the music.

"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we," she began softly and gently, and gradually began the crescendo. "But please promise me that sometimes, you will think..." She closed her eyes now, with the gentle sway of the music. She began the vocalizing then, soft yet strong staccato. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah, Ahh oof me!" She sang loudly, as the music required. He finished it with a flourish. Noelle looked upon him then, and a question bubbled to her lips, seemingly out of nowhere.

"What is your name? I mean, you must have some other way to be called then 'Phantom.'"

She saw for a moment, unveiled green eyes flash with unease. She quickly saw barriers come to him, as quickly as they had been let down.

"You may call me either 'Phantom' or 'Master,'" the Phantom said coldly. Noelle felt hurt, deep in herself, a hurt that she did not know she had the capacity to feel.

"I see," she said coldly. "Well, Phantom, may I practice my ballet skills now?" He nodded, and Noelle forced her barriers up again, until there were no feelings of anger or forlornness. Her heart was encased in ice once again.

Noelle walked over to the bar and began a plier combination, ignoring the eyes that were watching her. She pretended there was music for her to warmup to, counting in her head four/four time. She pirouetted to the other side, and began again. But before she did, she heard organ music begin to play, in perfect rhythm to the combination she had just finished. She looked over to see the Phantom playing. His green eyes met hers, and she could not help but feel a thrill. She began again, finishing the simple combination with no flourishes.

She began a slow tendue combination, tenderly bending her leg to the beat of the music he played. Noelle began to feel passion then, deep in her stomach, soft tendrils of it beginning to waft upwards, until it encompassed her entire body. She became a tool of the music and the dance.

She finished warming up gradually with a ronde de jambe, frappe, and then finally adagio and grande battement combination. She had danced with passion, more then she had ever felt before. She had danced for him, she realized. The man who refused to even tell her his name. She had decided that he was a man, after all.

She began a combination of leaps and jumps then. His music danced with her, quick beats prompting the flying arabesques, splits and jumps. She finished, and began a slow, tortuous dance. She looked at him, and it took him a moment to come up with the music. He began something of the like which Noelle had never heard before. It was passionate, and her gestures were as well. They were seductive, coming from her very soul. She had never danced like that. She had not realized that she could. She stared at him the whole time, and he stared at her back. His music danced with her, with a slow, aching beat that made her almost roll her eyes up into her head in pleasure. She finished the dance, and sweat was darting down her skin in rivulets and streams.

It was only then that she realized what she had done. She had done it again. She had thrown herself wantonly on a man. She may not have done that actually, but the way she had danced, and the way she had looked at him was enough. Noelle stepped back, horrified. Her eyes were full of only Michael then, and only him. She could not see anything else. She closed her eyes and groped around blindly for her coverup robe. Once her body was thoroughly hidden, she opened her eyes, and could breathe again. She became aware of him then, sitting behind her.

"I want to go back now." Her voice was frigid and icy. She had to show him that she was not interested. She did not know what had come upon her while she had danced, but she would make sure that it never happened again.

He almost touched her shoulder, concern clearly plastered on his face. "Is something wrong?" He was frowning, and was clearly upset, concerned for her. Noelle made sure not to let that touch her in any way.

"No," she said clearly, "I am fine, but wish to be returned."

He stood up, and his eyes were cold, ever so cold. She felt a little frightened for her safety in that moment. Fear threatened to overwhelm her, until he spoke again.

"I will never hold you here or anywhere else against your will." The Phantom's voice was almost indignant, as if he was offended by the mere suggestion that he would harm her. "I will have to blindfold you again, however," he warned. Noelle nodded, and reflected on his promise as fingers that were significantly less tender tied the blindfold around her eyes. She wondered if he would stick to his word, and if she was really safe in his company. She remembered then the hand that had lead her here, the way she had willingly gone with him. If he had wanted to hurt her, he surely would have done so by now, she mused.

Perhaps she could trust him. She would have to learn how to if he was to continue to teach her. But she vowed that she would never dance again as she had for him. Never again, she thought.

The Phantom's hand lead her down once more to the chapel. She once more heard the familiar click and whoosh as she breathed new air. The blindfold was once more removed, and she turned around quickly. She wanted to say goodbye to this man, and to thank him for what he had done. But as she turned around, there was no one there. She took this as an insult, as though he could not bear to have her see him again.

She sighed, and said into the empty air, "I am sorry, and I thank you. But I can never dance like that again. I do not know what came over me, and I was not myself. If that is what you expect, then you can forget me." Noelle was not even sure if he heard it or not. Either way, she felt better. She nodded and stepped up the stone stairs. It was only then that she realized that she must have been there for many hours, for she was suddenly hungry. She looked down at her toe-shoes, and realized that they were ruined, victims of her passion-fest. She bit her lip and went to go get some food.


Erik stepped gently over to the organ. She was watching him. He could not help what wonder what thoughts might have been hidden behind those crystal clear blue eyes.

"Care to warm up, my dear?" he asked. She was still staring at him with those unfathomable blue eyes. Noelle nodded then at him. He took off the black gloves he wore and began to play for her various vocal exercises needed to warm up. Sometimes, he would close his eyes, imagining her singing the various songs and duets he had composed. He felt... inspired. Perhaps when he went home, he would compose songs more songs for her to sing. He imagined her beautiful voice softly going over the notes he had already composed in his mind.

"Why am I learning an aria which will be sung by Carlotta, and which I have no chance of singing?" she asked tentatively. Erik smiled at her. He was amused that she still thought that overstuffed banshee would sing in his opera house.

"What makes you think that you will not sing it?" he asked. Noelle made no further comment. He watched the expression in her eyes go to stunned. He opened the score, wondering if she now realized how he intended to make her great. For he did. She was the only one whom he could deem worthy to be great, to truly sing in his opera. He allowed his mind to wander briefly, imagining the whole world embracing her and loving her. The vision brought a smile to his lips which he was quick to make disappear. For now, he must be the uncaring Phantom.

He began, fondling the notes gently, feeling the song. It came time for her part, and she did not sing. Puzzled, Erik looked over to her. Could she not read music? When he looked at her, he was surprised at what he saw. Her eyes were just opening, and he saw ecstacy in them. She had been enjoying his music. He felt a surge of happiness that she might have had pleasure from hearing him play. That was what he wanted to give her; pleasure.

"Pardon me," she said to Erik coldly. The look he had seen was gone now, replaced with a cold mask of indifference, the same kind he had given her earlier. "I am ready to start now." he began to play. He could feel her behind him, reading the music.

"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye..." She sang sweetly. He shook his head. She was simply singing it. That was not good enough. She had to feel the emotion behind the words, or else it meant nothing. He frowned. How could he get her to understand?

"No... not like that. You must feel the song, deep in your bones," he said at her look of confusion. Erik decided on a way to make her understand. He felt a strange heat which coursed up and down the length of his body as he got up to her. His ungloved hands gently caressed and massaged her. It felt so good to be able to touch her like he had been wanting to touch a woman for so long, he thought. But that was not his purpose.

He began to whisper in her ear, "You meet a man. It does not matter who he is or what he looks like. You talk to him, long conversations about love and life. He kisses you, slow and gentle."Erik felt the words, swiftly fall from his tongue. He did not know where they came from, what it was about this woman that made him feel this way. Erik heard her swallow. He hoped that was a good sign. He moved over to her other ear. "You begin to fall in love with him. Then, he tells you that he has to go, that he has to leave you, for adventure, far a different life."

He managed to pull away from her. It was difficult, and took all of his willpower and strength. He sat down on the organ bench once again, remembering why he had done this, why he had satisfied and tormented himself at the same time.

"This is the song you sing to him once you are gone. You are not angry with him, but wish him a good life. Try this again."

He watched her close her eyes. He hoped that she would remember what he had said, and the feeling of the words. He began to play, softly at first, not to interrupt her. She began.

"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye, remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try." He was tempted to smile. She was doing it. She felt the emotion behind the words, and she was transferring it into her voice. Erik was awed and proud at the same time. "If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me." He continued to play, the notes bending seamlessly into one another. "We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea, But if you can still remember, stop and think of me." Erik had to remind himself to breathe. Her voice was that of an angel, he decided.

"Think of all the things we've shared and seen... don't think about the way things might have been." Erik closed his eyes, allowing her voice to permeate his entire consciousness. It filled him and renewed him. She kept singing, louder now.

"Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned... imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind..." Erik felt her move closer to him. He smiled and kept playing, his eyes still closed. He only had needed to practice this once, and he had memorized it. It was a fairly simple piece, after all. "Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do..." She trailed off. Erik could feel her hands. They were almost on his shoulders. He almost shuddered with secret longing, the longing to be touched, to be loved. "There will never be a day when I won't think of you."

Erik's eyes flew open. With her voice gone, he could now concentrate solely on the music. The magic did not leave him, however, and he still played with emotion and passion.

"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we," Erik closed his eyes again. Her voice was sheer pleasure. "But please promise me that sometimes, you will think..." Erik opened his eyes. He wanted to hear this part, to take her in whiles her was singing this. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah, Aah oof me!" Erik smiled as she hit the last note. She had done the whole thing perfectly. He ended with a happy flourish.

Just as he finished, a voice asked unexpectedly, "What is your name? I mean, you must have some other way to be called then 'Phantom.'"

Erik quickly panicked. He was not ready to tell her his name. He had only known her two days, and was not even sure if he trusted her yet. If he told her his name, it would imply some sort of commitment, commitment that he was not yet ready to make.

"You may call me either 'Phantom' or 'Master,'" Erik said coldly. The remark was worse then he had wanted it to be, but either way, he got his point across. He saw hurt flash across her face. He frowned. He had not wanted to hurt her.

"I see," she said coldly. "Well, Phantom, may I practice my ballet skills now?" Erik's nostrils flamed a little at the cold remark, but he nodded all the same.

She walked across to the bar, and began a combination. He frowned as he realized that she was dancing to music that wasn't there. He did not know much ballet, but maybe... He stepped over, and, before she could begin the other side, he began to play. She looked over, and blue, piercing eyes met his. He raised an eyebrow. She looked down, but complied. No words were necessary between them.

She danced for him. He knew it was for him. It was beautiful... she was beautiful. The passion that she danced with was... amazing. The leaps and jumps were amazing; incredible. It almost seemed to Erik that she was not human, that she was some other creature of grace.

Then she began the slow dance. He saw her begin, her hands reaching and grasping in the motions of a slow, passionate dance. He hesitated. He knew the perfect song... but should he play it? The look in her eyes was enough. He began to play, gently stroking and caressing each note, until the whole thing became a work of art, slowly twisting and unfurling in sync to her emotive dancing.

She danced, the fervor of her steps becoming more and more seductive. That was what she was, he realized. A seductress. She was seducing him in dance. A slow, warm heat began to pulse through him, until it became a fiber of his soul, writhing within him. Two could play at this game. He began to seduce her with his song, the fury of his pent-up passion beginning to shine through in the way he played the music.

Her eyes, burning and passionate, were boring into his. He finished the song, then, the music slowly dying out. It was then that everything shattered. She turned away from him, as if she could no longer bear his eyes on her. Her eyes were large and panicked, more fearful then he had ever seen them. Erik though he saw her lips move, as if there was something, some word, some name, that she could not bear to speak. She backed up, her eyes glazed. She did not see him.

He saw her grasp for her robe. Erik swallowed and almost got up to help, before he figured that would not be the best thing to do. What was wrong with her, he wondered. He was concerned, desperately concerned about her. The look she had just a moment ago tore at his heart-strings. He finally decided that he had to do something. She had finished tying the robe around her waist, and had her back to him. Erik came and sat behind her, wondering what could have happened to turn the woman who had danced so skillfully into this frightened, fragile creature.

"I want to go back now." Erik frowned. What had he done? What made her want to leave? Perhaps she was sick. He felt an instant sense of regret. Dancing took a lot out of a person. He had not thought to deal with time. There was no need for him to use it. She was probably hungry too.

"Is something wrong?" Erik asked, letting his concern for her spill over.

"No," she said clearly, "I am fine, but wish to be returned." She looked at him now, straight in the eyes. It was a look that accused him of something, although he did not know what. She was angry with him, although he could not think of any reason. Erik stood up. Anger flooded over him. He had not done anything wrong, and already she was angry with him. There was no chance of anything, then, if she already was beginning to loathe him.

Once more, he saw fear in her eyes, and he took it as heavily as a blow. She could not fear him. Had he done a single thing wrong? What had he done, to provoke this?

"I will never hold you here or anywhere else against your will."Erik's voice threatened to catch, betraying his emotions. "I will have to blindfold you again, however," he warned. The fear was gone from her eyes, and she coldly stood. Fine, he thought. He tied the blindfold once more around her eyes, no longer attempting to be gentle. He was not rough, but did not spare her the care he had before. He took her down to the chapel, hurrying this time. He wanted to be rid of her now. He still noticed her beauty, and it was haunting to him.

As soon as she was in the chapel, he took her blindfold off and stood behind the drape once more, almost in one smooth motion. He was stalking down the corridors before he heard her voice. He paused and listened to it for a moment.

She sighed, and said into the empty air, "I am sorry, and I thank you. But I can never dance like that again. I do not know what came over me, and I was not myself. If that is what you expect, then you can forget me." Her voice had an odd mix of apology and anger in it. He frowned and watched her through a cleverly disguised hole. She looked at her ballet shoes, and it was clear to him that they were ruined.

Erik sighed. In the heat of the moment, both he and she had forgotten the new ballet attire that he had purchased. Instant regret came over him. She had given him a gift, and then taken it away. All was well still. He did not feel angry any more. Now, he would give her the new clothes. As he walked away, he thought of one more thing.

Using all the secrets of ventriloquy, he pitched his voice so it seemed that he was speaking in Noelle's ear.

"I will see you again."