A/N: I am actually posting this chapter from a hotel room, without having had anyone check it over because I feel bad about not getting this up sooner. Also, in honor of my first really negative review, I thought I'd clarify something to anyone who may be reading. I am basing my story on Andrew Lloyd's Webber's vision of the Phantom as shown in the musical. My Erik both physically resembles Gerard Butler and his feelings and emotions are in tune with his performance. I have read neither Susan Kay or the original Leroux, and if anyone expected my writing to adhere to their visions they are bound to be disappointed. Take from that what you will. I hope the rest of you will enjoy this chapter and let me know what you thought of it.
The day was passing far too slowly for Erik. It was only just noon, but the hours had dragged by ever since he had brought Gia to her morning practice. He had thought to spend the morning productively working on his latest composition, but nothing he wrote satisfied him. In frustration he found himself returning to the familiar melodies from Don Juan Triumphant. But instead of playing the song he had sung with Christine, he played the love theme that had never been performed before the public. He would love to hear Gia sing it, although he would have to transpose some of the notes to fit her vocal range. Strange, in all the time they had spent together he had never had her sing for him. Christine's innocent voice had drawn him in, and yet that had not been a consideration in Gia's case. He had simply wanted her almost from the moment he saw her.
She was no great beauty. Tall women were simply unfashionable, but he had found he liked being able to look a woman in the eye and not have to stoop to do it. It was a shame society declared women who reached their mid-twenties without being married as being on the shelf or old maids. She was just approaching the summit of her attractiveness. Her face was mature but still unlined, and her unusual blue eyes were large and expressive. He could always tell what she was thinking when he looked into them. Her body was so lush with its natural curves that were only enhanced in the proper clothing. Although, he actually hadn't seen her in regular clothing in quite some time, now that he thought on it.
He grimaced at the thought that this afternoon she would be wearing one of those dreadful black gowns. He had half a mind to get rid of all of them and purchase her a new wardrobe, one that would show her off to her best advantage. But she would resent a gesture like that. She would want to be consulted first. That was something he should mention to her this weekend. If they could reach an accord he would place an order for a new gown for her with Madame Collette so it might be ready for the gala.
The rehearsal would have concluded by now, and he had given Gia enough time to change. He waited for her to exit the building and followed her, keeping enough distance so that she might not notice him. She was walking briskly, wherever she was headed, she seemed to want to get there as rapidly as possible, as though the errand was something that she wanted to have over with sooner rather than later. He smiled to himself when he noted that she made the turn toward the local bookshop, but that quickly became a frown as she strode past it purposefully. She was moving closer to the edifice that dominated the small square, St. Etienne's.
The old gray stone church was built in the Romanesque style, and was thus relatively stark from the outside, with none of the Gothic or Baroque flourishes of Paris's great cathedrals. The stained glass windows were on the small side, but were alive with color. Gia was taking the stairs nearly two at a time, and Erik found himself frozen with indecision. He had not darkened the doorway of a church since he had been a small child. Part of him feared the place might collapse around him if he dared show his face in one. Bah! It was all superstitious foolishness!
There was only one reason why Gia would come here on a Saturday in the early afternoon: confession. She was here to unburden herself of the sin of taking pleasure in another person's body. Was she that ashamed of him? She had always said otherwise, but the fact she was here had to mean something. But he would not leap to conclusions, as he had been so quick to do that in the pastand it had only brought him grief. He would simply observe and listen.
Erik was well muffled and his face was hidden from view. Anyone who happened to see him would just think he was here for the same reason as Gia. He watched her intently as she entered the church and dipped her index finger into the small font of holy water and blessed herself. She then made her way over toward what he assumed had to be the confessionals. There were already several people waiting, and he recognized a few of them from the Metropolitan. He took a seat in one of the pews several rows behind where Gia was kneeling and knelt down mimicing the parishioners. The black beads of her rosary were slipping through her fingers in a steady stream. When it came to Gia's turn to enter the box, she turned to the woman next to her and bade her go ahead of her. She did that twice more, and then it became evident that while Gia had come to pray, she was not here to seek absolution.
Within a half hour there was no one left waiting, and the figure of a gray old man emerged from the confessional. Erik quickly and silently lay down on the bench, concealing himself from view. The priest must have spotted Gia and Erik heard him apologize for interrupting her prayers. "I am sorry, my child! Would you like me to hear your confession now? There is no one here except the two of us," he said in a kind and gentle voice.
At the sound of Father Lessard's voice, Gia raised her head, and he recognized her almost instantly. "Mademoiselle Burnside! I have not seen you in quite some time. You have not been lately at Mass," he scolded her mildly. "But even I have heard that you shall be playing a large role in the next production at the Metropolitan. And in a ballet no less! I was even thinking of indulging myself a bit and procuring a ticket." The old priest stopped chattering away as he looked at Gia's solemn expression. There was something on her mind, something she wanted to say to him. What could it be though that she would not want to formally confess it?
"Father Lessard, I am in love," she said quietly, and she looked down unable to meet his eyes.
"There is nothing to be ashamed of my child! It's long past time you fell in love. God wants us all to be happy. I have often prayed that you would find someone," he said as he sat down in the pew next to her. "But there must be problems if you are seeking counsel from me."
"Father, my relationship with the man I love is complicated. I love him and he tells me he loves me. I know he is not lying about that, but I am not his first love. She left him years ago and broke his heart, and now she will be returning to Paris. I fear he will leave me for her. He says he will not, that she is in the past, but I cannot help thinking when he sees her, he will want to possess her. She is beautiful and I am not. I should be content with all his has given me but I do not think I can bear to lose him. Not to her," she sighed meaningfully.
"It seems you do not trust him. That is never a good thing."
"Not when it comes to her. In the past he did some disturbing things to try to win her. He was unsuccessful, or rather he changed his mind at the last moment once he had her. She was an obsession with him, his muse, I cannot live up to that."
The priest looked at Gia and he wanted to tell her that this man would have to be a fool to abandon her for someone who had once rejected him. However he doubted that would ease her troubled mind. It was best if he stayed quiet and let her do the talking. Eventually she would reveal something that he could give her some advice about.
Gia faced the priest and focused on his eyes which were filled with understanding. "Father, I did not want to make my confession because I do not feel I can do it in good conscience. I have been intimate with this man many times, and I do not feel any guilt or shame about it. Fornication is a grave sin, but when I am with him I forget all the rules that the Church and society have laid down. When he holds me, when we fall asleep together I feel safe, loved, and cherished. How can that be evil?" she asked him honestly.
Lessard was at something of a loss to respond to her. He had been in the religious life since he was a young man and he had never been with a woman. Some priests kept mistresses, and still others dallied with each other, but he had taken his vows seriously and remained celibate. He had known Gia since she was a child and he knew her heart was a good one. Theologically, it was easy to tell her that she was a sinner, and that she must repent in order to protect her immortal soul, but what she said made sense. This man made her whole, he fulfilled her, and yet they were supposed to remain chaste until marriage. For a grown man and woman, it was patently ridiculous, but doctrine was doctrine.
"Gia, the sin is not the feeling of closeness you have with this man. The sin is that you are engaging in something that God created for procreation within the strict confines of a marriage. That you feel pleasure is good. I am sure God intended it to be that way. But you really should consider having your union formalized. I would be willing to marry you both. It would be simple enough to do," he advised her.
"I do not foresee us ever being married, least of all by a priest. He has his reasons, and they are excellent ones, for being angry with God. I doubt if he's been anywhere near a church in thirty years. Besides, Father, he and I will never have children. I have my career, and for personal reasons I do not think he will ever want to have children," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. The thought of cradling a child with Erik's eyes brought tears to her eyes. She forced herself to blink them back.
"You cannot prevent children indefinitely, my dear. I know there things people use to try to prevent it, but they are not always effective. What will you do then?"
"I do not know. I will only worry about it if it happens." She would know in a few days anyway. Her cycles had been regular ever since she had stopped dancing professionally. Unconsciously, one hand slipped around her abdomen as if to protect it. The rosary beads brushed against the wooden pew, and the sound reverberated, startling her.
"My child, I can only advise you to be careful. I hope that you and your gentleman change your minds. Do not hesitate to seek me out if you need any help." On that note, Father Lessard made the sign of the cross over Gia and silently asked God to forgive her and this man. He asked Him to bestow some of His Grace on them and protect them. From the little Gia had chosen to confide in him, he surmised that the road ahead for them would not be an easy one.
Gia watched as Father Lessard waddled out of the church to presumably retire to his home. He would no doubt enjoy a nice hot meal and then spend the rest of the day working on his homily for tomorrow. One of the younger priests would preside over the afternoon Mass. Once he had left, she took a few moments to enjoy the silence of the building, and drink in the beauty of the stained glass. She crossed herself once more, and slipped out of the pew. She had taken no more than a few steps toward the side door when she felt someone grab her from behind.
Erik lay in the pew listening intently to the conversation that Gia and the priest were having. He had been so sure she was coming here because she felt shame, but instead she was here because of her lack of it. Her greater concern was what his reaction to seeing Christine would be. He had promised her he would not leave her, but she knew he might not be able to live up to that promise. He did not know if he would be able to.
If he analyzed the situation rationally, the fact was Christine had not been good for him. She had been a great inspiration, but it had all been born of obsession. The opera he had written for the two of them was a monument to it. But what good had come of him knowing her? It had brought them both great pain and confusion. He had deliberately aroused her, hoping that she would confuse love and lust and allow him to take her. If had not shown her that damn doll he had created, she might have been his that first night. He had never forgotten that.
It had been the turning point in their relationship. Christine had enjoyed his caresses, and responded to them ardently. When his hands had skimmed along her corset over her waist and hips, he had felt the heat there. She had been primed for him, and he had thought that night he would finally cast of the burden of his prolonged virginity. But then when he revealed his ultimate intentions for her by showing her the wedding gown he had lovingly commissioned for her, she had fainted dead away. When he had laid her against the crimson velvet coverlet, he had briefly considered unleashing his lust on her, but his desire for an eager, willing participant had won out. And after the events of the next morning, it was impossible to return to those moments where everything he wanted had been within his grasp.
Had fate taken a hand in that night? Had some larger force known that Christine was not the woman he belonged with and prevented their union in order to save him for Gia? Erik had never been one to believe in such things. He had taken his destiny in his hands from the moment he had strangled his gypsy keeper.
Lying back he looked as his hands. They had brought death to many. They were responsible for creating his music. And now they gave pleasure to someone other than himself. What a change Gia had wrought in him! As he listened to her bristle at the notion of marrying him, he flashed back to the dream he had a few days ago. The hand he had taken had grasped his firmly, with no hesitation. It had to have been her. Christine's grip would have never been that sure.
He heard the shuffling footsteps of the priest as he left followed by the soft click of Gia's boot heels on the marble flooring. Erik slid out of the bench noiselessly and approached her from behind. He was close enough to reach out and touch her. Dare he do it in the house of God? He hooked a leather clad hand into her elbow, and she turned to face him, surprise etched on her face. Her lips were parted slightly, and he could see she was searching for the appropriate response to his intrusion, but stymied by the knowledge she was within the walls of a church.
"Is nothing sacred to you, Erik that you would eavesdrop on me in a church?" she asked him harshly. "Will you never let me seek counsel without your knowledge?"
He had known she would be angry with him. He must respond to her carefully because he did not want to upset her anymore than necessary. "I had followed you hoping that you were going to the bookstore. I had planned to get you something there."
"If that was the case, why did you not turn around when you saw where I was going?" she pressed him.
"Fine then, I admit when I saw where you were going I became curious. There is only one reason why you would come here: that damned Catholic guilt instilled in you by your mother." Here he paused, then took a deep breath before he continued, "I am glad I followed you. I heard every word you said to that priest. You feel no need to confess because there is no shame in what we are to each other. And I love you all the more for saying it." When he concluded his speech Erik had the good grace to look down, preparing himself for her to storm away from him.
"You do not hate me for not trusting you with Christine?"
"You know me better than I know myself. Can I help being torn between you both? I cannot be certain what will happen between Christine and I when we meet, but at this moment, I cannot imagine you not being in my life. You have become as much a part of me as she ever was. But I feel something with you that I never did with her."
"And what is that?" she said, almost daring him to lie to her.
"Peace, Gia. You give me the peace I have never known and longed for. You stop the fevered dreams. You make me a real man." He said it quietly, his voice nearly breaking on the words.
"You are a real man, Erik. In every sense of the word. I would not love you as I do if you were not," she replied, as she reached out for him, taking his face in her hands. She even slipped a couple fingers just under his mask to gently stroke the mangled flesh there. Erik brought his gloved hands to her wrists holding them loosely, the black leather easily enveloping them, and he closed his eyes cherishing the sensation of her flesh against his. They stood there for a few moments, the light coming through the stained glass bathing them in blue, red, and yellow light.
Standing where she was, the light had created a halo around her bronzed hair, giving her an almost angelic visage. "You should go back to the Metropolitan. I will meet you there," he promised her.
Gia did not want to make the walk alone. It was not far or particularly dangerous considering it was still early in the afternoon, but she wanted him by her side out in the world if only this one time. "Come with me Erik. Just as far as the dance shop, I can check to see if my stockings have arrived, and then you can go ahead to the opera house."
He was hesitant to agree, they would certainly make for an odd sight strolling through the streets of Paris. But when she took his right hand in her left and entwined her fingers with his, he was loathe to tell her no. They walked out of the church hand in hand, and Erik felt incredibly self-conscious. His first instinct was to flee for the shadows in order to escape the gazes of the masses. His eyes constantly wandered through the faces looking for disgust, and yet there was none. No one seemed to pay them any mind, they were far too focused on the dramas of their individual lives. All too soon they came to the dance shop and they parted company.
He waited for her in the hallways behind the dance practice rooms and she came along not long after carrying a small brown package. She lit up when she saw him, treating him to a wide, happy smile. Her lips were petal pink and he had to have them against his. They met in a bruising kiss, and her package dropped to the floor, momentarily forgotten. His hands were in her hair, and he could feel hers digging into his shoulder blades. He wanted to throw her up against the wall, pin her there with her long legs gripping his waist as he had seen so many lovers in the past. Before he let his passion run away with him, he broke them apart, both of them gasping for breath. He bent down and picked up the package and tucked it under his left arm. He extended his right hand to Gia who took it obligingly. The trip back to his lair could not be over soon enough.
The hallways were not well lit and Adrienne could barely make out the figures in the hallway. From her hiding place, she watched as the two lovers parted. She would have recognized the woman anywhere. The height and size of the woman were a dead give away. Not to mention the unruly hair whose odd brownish red shade belonged to only one person she knew and the ugly black dress. She had come down here hoping to catch Gianna Burnside trysting with her lover, and there she was with her hands all over some strange man. To her great disappointment the man was neither ugly nor ill dressed.
They were standing in profile, and since both were wearing almost all black and were wrapped around each other, it was impossible to see where one ended and the other began. Adrienne could not place the man, indeed she liked to believe that she would have recalled a man with such a fine figure. He was tall, and his dark hair was artfully slicked back. His long cloak looked expensive. She could just make out the gold lining. He was kissing Gia like a man possessed, and from what Adrienne could see the man knew what he was doing. And who would have expected that the cold Mademoiselle Burnside was capable of being aroused by anyone?
When they suddenly broke apart Adrienne feared that she had made some sound giving her away, but to her relief the man only stooped long enough to pick something up off the ground which he then tucked under one arm. It was only when he extended his hand to Gia that she noticed that there was something odd about his face. It looked like there was something white covering a portion of the right side. He must be scarred in some dreadful way if he felt the need to wear a mask. That thought filled her with glee. Oh how she would taunt Gia at the first opportunity on Monday! That insufferable bitch would get what was coming to her!
Adrienne watched, expected them to come toward her or head out toward the stables where the man probably had a carriage waiting for them, but instead they seemed to evaporate into the shadows in the hallway. Where the hell had they gone? She went down the hall to investigate, and she ran her small hands along the wall looking for a catch that would reveal a secret door. When her right hand came across a small latch, she lifted it, and a panel fell away from the wall. Adrienne peeked inside, and stepped into the unfamiliar corridor. They must have come this way, but where were they going? She was not about to go wandering about the opera house without an escort, particularly when she had no idea what could be lurking down here. At the squeal of a rat, Adrienne leaped back through the wall and shut the panel behind her.
What kind of man wore a mask and would take a woman into the bowels of the theater? Frankly, the young mezzo did not care. But she would be sure that Monsieur Dupoix would learn of Gia's extracurricular activities as soon as she had a chance to make an appointment to see him.