"So tell me…" I leaned back against the unwelcoming cold stones. "Did that whole incident freak you out as much as it did me?"
"Freak me out?" He sounded both curious and amused by the phrase. "Does that mean you want to tell you how I felt about it?"
"Learning quick, aren't we?" I giggled a little. "Sorry, I do try you know. Yes, that's what I want to know."
You'd think talking to a bodiless voice would frighten most people, or at least make them uncomfortable. But for me, it was, by then, perfectly normal. I knew it wasn't a 'bodiless' voice, as I'd seen the owner of it a total of three times. Just never a real look: mostly his shadow or shape.
My companion mulled this over for a moment. "It disturbed me. It also makes me wonder. Perhaps your friends aren't as naïve as we, or I, might wish."
"No, but they're very good actors, aren't they?" I smiled fondly. 'My friends' were, in fact, actors, so it was often hard to tell what was real and what wasn't.
"Some of them. Others… not as much."
I smiled again, this time almost laughing. I felt a bit like a proud preschool teacher having taught one of my students to add two numbers properly. Sure, it was cynical and a little underdeveloped, but he was, in fact, showing signs of a sense of humor. When I had first met him, he'd been in a perpetual state of depression. I used to chat for hours, knowing he was there and listening quietly. I don't believe he, at the time, really understood or cared about what I was saying. He was just listening to one of the first human voices speaking to him in a long, long time. I think that really moved him.
But that was several months ago. Now, I was teaching him about my own life, relating to him the story of how I'd come to find him. He listened politely and commented on it, occasionally showing signs of going back to the more human state of emotion I knew had once existed in him.
I should not have been happy at the time, however. Certain incidents and strange behaviors from my fellow actors and lovers of the stage had 'disturbed' both of us. I'd just finished retelling them to him, and he was turning it over in his mind.
He was a genius: this I knew. I'd begun to come to him for things such as these, because I think he enjoyed picking apart situations and reacquainting himself with a human way of life. I told him of mostly petty little problems: social or romantic problems of my friends, problems with stage and set Brianne would talk of, and, once, had even come to him for help with an essay for school. I believe he had found this incredibly amusing, because although he didn't laugh or show it in any way (I don't think he could laugh, really) his voice was so expressive it was easy to decipher his emotions.
This problem was more than that, though. This could endanger him, me, and our secret meetings in the chapel or Daae's old dressing room.
He spoke again, but I wasn't listening. Oh, his voice. Time had not changed it: it was still very entrancing and lovely even when he wasn't singing the words.
"Are you listening, mademoiselle?" He sounded amused again, and, strangely, the voice seemed to come from my left shoulder.
I looked, warily, to my left. But, of course, he wasn't there.
"No," I grinned sheepishly at the invisible man. "But I will now."
"That would be kind of you." His voice dripped with new-found sarcasm. I shuddered a little, getting an image of the shadow of the man he was once.
It resonated through me, making me rather acutely aware of how cold it was so high up. I stared at the burning candles I had lit upon my arrival: I couldn't stand how nearly dark it was up there.
"Are you well?" His voice then said. "No, of course you aren't. I've kept you here into the night. Go home, mademoiselle. I will tell you what I think tomorrow."
I stood and stretched, realizing I had been there for some time. After wrapping my coat around me tightly I blew out the candles and headed for the door. I paused, knowing he was watching me leave.
"Goodnight." He said, softly.
I closed my eyes and fought back waves of emotion. "Goodnight, Erik."