Erik: (impatiently) Well get on with it, woman!
Me: (testily) Well if you don't ask nicely I simply wont post anything at all.
Erik: (whispering menacingly, takes stuffed lion from its place on top of a pillow) Well, I suppose Mr. Lion here would hope that you reconsider that particular course of action. (takes out Punjab lasso)
Me: (takes lion, desperately) Ok OK! I'm finished, here is the next chapter! Gosh, Erik, you only needed to ask NICELY!
Erik: (coolly) I don't do nice. Remember the Masquerade Ball?
Me: Yes, yes. I remember (pictures Erik in full Red Death costume, complete with tight red pants, hugging in all the right places, smiles broadly)…
Erik: (puzzled at her goofy expression) Are you all right? I hope you are not worried about that silly stuffed lion. I can't really choke him, you know. He's made out of cotton.
Me: (dreamily) Uh-huh….(continues in daydream for a few more seconds before finally popping back into reality)
Erik: (snapping fingers in front of her eyes) Were you about to post something? Oh, like, let's say, a new chapter! (growls angrily)
Me: (slightly embarrassed) Oh yeah…heh heh (smiles weakly) Here you go. Oh, and say thanks to Sugar Peaches for her nice comments…
Erik: (irritated) No.
Me: (sighs exasperatedly) Oh you really are annoying, you know that?
Erik: Why, because I will not bend to your every whim like that pathetic fop undoubtedly would!
Me: Hm…(thinking) Now there's an idea. Maybe I should bring the fop to read my story…
Erik: (snapping irately) What! Not while there is air in my lungs!
Me: Too late! (grins) Hi Raoul!
Raoul: (looking rather pleased with himself) Hello there! (bows politely)
Erik: (gets ready to jump on Raoul with Punjab ready in hand)
Me: (interferes, dangling new chapter in front of Erik's face like a dog with a bone) Erik! Stop it! Here's your blasted chapter! You're not even IN IT but oh well…
Raoul: (smiling handsomely) Am I in it?
Me: (shakes head sadly) Sorry…er…no…Christine's in it though. And Terry too…
Raoul: I should probably catch up with the rest of you (takes out previous chapters and begins to read)
Erik: Grr (glares at fop, who doesn't seem to notice he's received death rays from the Phantom).
Raoul: (flips the page and continues to read, mouthing words slightly) Oh, well, that's really dreadful! (continues with assorted "oh my's" and "goodness"-sses).
Me: (in impatient tone) Oh grow up, will you? Here's the chapter…(bossily) READ!
Chapter Seven: Of Bloodhounds
Christine needed only one glance at Constable Sheridan's eerily calm face, and she knew he had already come up with some underhanded scheme to catch the Phantom, with Raoul's complete support, no doubt.
She knew the policeman's reputation better than most, having known him for the better part of six years. He had been the man Raoul had consulted when setting the Don Juan Triumphant trap for Erik. There were few minds in all of France, and indeed the entire world, she mused, that could rival Sheridan's cunning and his ruthlessness.
He was just exiting Raoul's recovery room, the rather beaten up old door creaking loudly just as it had when she had been the one to exit the room nearly an hour ago. She wondered, briefly, how it could possibly be that a man so devastatingly beautiful on the outside could have such a repugnant soul. In her opinion, he was no less disgraceful than the very criminals whom he sought to imprison.
She tried to catch his attention, not an easy task when considering that the last thing she wanted was to meet his penetrating gaze.
"Constable Sheridan," she choked out from a corner in the far left of the long corridor.
The tall, athletic-looking gentleman stared at her blankly for a moment. Apparently she had caught him in the middle of a highly distracting daydream, or a sinister plot. She would have wagered on the latter.
The man's green eyes glistened with recognition and he made his way to her corner of the hallway. He stared at her for a moment, his dark brow hanging low over the eyes which Christine tried so desperately to avoid. She mistakenly dropped the small ball of thread she had been using to mend her tattered skirt. She had torn the hem while helping doctor Marek carry Raoul into the small nave of the church. She had not wanted to do anything but stay by Raoul's side since the accident, fearing that his condition might still worsen. But now that he was awake, the doctor had assured her that the worst was behind them, and so she had found the strength to tend to the less significant damages left in the Phantom's wake.
Sheridan bent to pick up the small ball of black string, he scooped it up into his large, rugged hands in a single, graceful movement. He let a small groan escape his lips as he worked his way back to his full height, feigning exertion.
"Ah, Coun-tess, here ye goe." He stretched out his hand to her, offering the ball with a gentlemanly smile, though try as he might, he could not shake the ironic look from his eyes.
"Thank you, Constable," returned the Countess coolly.
"How are ye feeling? I am very sorry that the Count is in such a state. Yer looking well, though, radiant as ehver."
She took the object from his extended hand, shrugging off the compliment as if it were a curse. She hated the way he called her "countess," his thick Scottish accent uttering the title slightly slower than any other word in the sentence. It always sounded as if he were trying to seduce her. She was rather put off by the seemingly innocent comment, knowing Sheridan was always looking for ways to draw attention from the opposite sex, married or not. Besides, she suspected that there very little about Mr. Sheridan which could be considered "innocent."
But, though Christine would never allow herself to admit it, she found the man's raw sexual energy nearly impossible to resist. Despite the plain brown waistcoat and tattered black trousers, she could make out a truly sculpted physique: broad shoulders, long, masculine legs, and strong hands marked with scars and cuts, no doubt from his ten or so years on the force. But all she needed was a flash of those shining green eyes--almost frightening in their intensity-- and all attraction vanished from whence it came.
"Constable, I have something to ask you," she replied, shifting her position anxiously as she noticed his eyes had traveled, though for a mere second, to the line where her corset met the white flesh of her cleavage.
Immediately the sharp green eyes darted back to her face.
"And what would that bee, Coun-tess?" Christine suppressed a shiver as she heard him utter the miserable title.
She kept her gaze as icy as she could, trying not to give any trace of her unease.
"What are Raoul's plans for dealing with—" she allowed her words to trail off. Luckily, Sheridan sensed her worry, interrupting her before she found herself in the middle of a proscribed word: "Phantom."
"I'm not sure yer hubbie wood like fer me to divulge that information, Countess." He gave her a smile which she took as little more than a teasing, sinister smirk. There was something about him that always had her on edge.
"I have a right to know the truth, Constable." She tightened her lips into a straight, pink line, the ball of twine now crushed under her iron grip. She wanted to know what horrors lay in store for her Erik.
She caught herself in mid-thought. Had she really just expressed concern over the man who had kidnapped her own daughter? As repulsed as she was by the idea, something inside of her still ached whenever she heard mention of Erik's name. To her, he was no Phantom, he was not an Opera Ghost either. He was simply Erik, and she had failed him miserably. Now, she just wanted to guarantee that he would, at the very least, have a chance at escaping unharmed.
She had called Sheridan, despite her distrust, because he would guarantee anonymity, if nothing else. She knew Sheridan could be trusted with matters such as these; he was not one to leak to the press, or even the police for that matter. He had his own private gang of ruffians and miscreants, whom he called for just such highly sensitive matters. Even now she could guess that he had worked out some kind of confidentiality agreement with Raoul, and payment in nothing less than sterling gold and silver. The fact of the matter was that the only thing "police-related" about Mr. Sheridan was the badge which he carried in his left coat pocket.
Christine realized she had allowed the conversation to reach a tense pause, which Sheridan now interrupted with a heavy sigh.
"Look, Countess, I suggest you go and discuss such matters with yer 'usband. I am sworn to secrecy, and I'm afred that includes ye too." With an irritated bow of his head, he made his way past the frozen Christine and exited the hallway, presumably moving on to make all the necessary arrangements for the Phantom's trap.
She considered Sheridan's last statement, did she dare ask Raoul? She knew there was no other way, and swallowed the lump in her throat before opening the squeaking door once more. She mentally braced herself for her greatest performance since Don Juan Triumphant.