Christy Day: Wow! Thank you! I'll try to update regularly!

I started writing this when the summer vacation started. So it's really convenient to just read from my notebook and make any changes, ha ha. Ok, I'm done. Oh yeah,this site is more confusing than I thought.. Is it just me or does it not let you put in tabs? Well, I'm new to this so I just want to make it clear that I meant to put in a tab at the beginning of each paragraph.

Chapter Two: A Peculiar Guest

Michelle looked around frantically, desperate to find help. But not a soul could be found at this hour. Although her common sense nagged at her relentlessly for doing so, she tried to carry the man on her back. He was much larger than her, but she was a strong woman and managed to carry Erik's torso while his long legs trailed behind.

The journey home had taken much time and effort on Michelle's part. She was exhausted but knew she couldn't have left the man bleeding all night. Gently, she laid him on the bed in the guest room upstairs. Feeling extraordinarily rude, but knowing it was for the stranger's own good, she took off his dirtied cloak, silk vest, and shirt so she could clean the wound. As she worked, Michelle's mind began to think up wild stories as to how the man got to this state.

Maybe he returned home one evening to find his wife with another man who shot him in a duel… Perhaps he's an outlaw that had been cornered by the police as he fled town…

Whatever he was, Michelle felt a strange obligation to help him. After finishing, she found a shirt worn by her late husband from the bureau. Luckily it fit Erik perfectly. He stirred some as she buttoned the vest. She gazed down on him with curious eyes. Oh how he looks so much like Luc! She thought to herself.

Luc André and Michelle had wed when they were teenagers. Like Erik, Luc was tall and thin. But Luc's hair, instead of being straight like Erik's (she was not aware that it was a wig), had been a mass of thick, brown curls. But Michelle frowned looking at the mask resting on Erik's face. The stranger's features seemed hardened, while her husband's were soft and playful. Tragically, Luc died of pneumonia only a year after their marriage. Rumors were spread throughout her family and friends that she'd married Luc only for his money. The André family had become very successful in the junk business, or as Luc's uncle would always state, "Scrap metal."

When Luc died, Michelle received enough money for her to live comfortably for many years. She continued to live in the small home she and her husband had purchased shortly after their wedding.

Now, three years a later, a twenty-year-old Michelle looked in the mirror of her room and saw not a happy young lady like in her wedding pictures, but a tired, worn-out woman. Dark circles were under her blue eyes that still sparkled and laugh lines from long ago were located at the corners of her mouth. She had always been quite pretty, but she had never been the same whimsical creature she was known to be after Luc's sudden illness.

She brushed out her wavy locks of hair that could never deicide whether they were brown or black, washed her face, and retired for the evening. During her slumber, she thought she'd heard the man in the room next to hers start weeping. But Michelle slept hard, for it had been an interesting night.

xXx

Refreshed, Michelle awoke early the next morning, made a small breakfast for herself, and went to check on this peculiar man. Erik was still sound-asleep, his chest rising and falling at a steady pace. She tiptoed over to the bed in an attempt to wake him.

"Monsieur? Monsieur you must wake up. You need to eat something."

The eye surrounded by the mask opened, then the other.

"Christine?" He mumbled with a confused expression.

"No, monsieur. My name is Michelle. Michelle Moreaux." She responded with a worried look in her eyes. Who is Christine?

Slowly, Erik realized he was no longer underneath the opera house. Where had he gone last night? He recalled being shot and wandering drunkenly around the streets. His hand flew to the hurt left shoulder. There were bandages; he could feel them through his shirt. Odd. This wasn't his shirt. Erik bolted up suddenly and saw a woman sitting in a chair next to him.

"Please eat monsieur." Michelle held up a bowl of steaming soup and a small piece of bread.

His mind flooded with questions, he began to ask, "Where am I? What am I doing here? What happened?" He was immensely bewildered, for he always preferred to know every detail about his circumstances. Just because he was in the dark literally, didn't mean he wanted to be in it figuratively.

"We are at my home just outside of Paris, monsieur. I happened to discover you last night while I was out walking. You were terribly hurt, so I brought you home," Michelle smiled gently, hoping to gain his trust.

Erik rose from the bed, grabbed his cloak and put it on in one swift movement, then attempted to leave the room. Michelle stopped him at the door, much to her own surprise. It wasn't like her to be so stubborn but she wasn't going to just let the man leave. Arms crossed, her face looked slightly unsure about what she was doing.

"Monsieur, get back in bed. You must rest," her voice came out stronger than she expected.

Thrown off by the woman's reaction, Erik looked at her with a hint of amusement. It was a rare occurrence for someone to stand up to him like this. He was slightly annoyed though, and it showed in his voice.

"Mademoiselle, I thank you for your kindness, but I must leave."

"I do not care," She replied, trying to believe her own voice, "Let me check your shoulder."

Michelle proceeded to undo his vest and change the dirtied bandages as Erik stood dumbfounded. He struggled a little at first, finally just giving up and allowed Michelle to help. Her delicate fingers worked quickly, so Erik took this opportunity to study his surroundings. The room was decorated very simply. There was a bed against one wall, with a cedar chest at its foot. A large window on another with a plush seat for guests to relax on. Opposite the bed was a dresser with a large mirror on it. Along with the mirror, there lay a framed photograph with Michelle and another man smiling lovingly at each other. Erik concluded that it must be her husband.

What astonished him the most was how the woman was not startled by his masked face? Surely there aren't men walking the streets of Paris with half their face covered up, are there?

"Finished, monsieur. Now get back in bed." She handed him the meal and sat back down in the chair.

She's not giving me much of a choice now, is she? He thought. I might as well do as she requests. He was still embarrassed that a woman was giving him orders. I have no intention of return to my opera house at the moment…

Suddenly the events of last night surged into his mind and seared into his heart. Christine, his angel, was gone. She was never coming back. Her days would end with Raoul, the man who really could give her everything she ever wanted. Not him. No. His only gift to her was his music and never-ending love, but she had refused those, hadn't she? How he remembered their kiss! His first and most likely his last. It was the Angel's Kiss that had finally freed him. Tears began to well in his eyes.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Michelle asked in a soft, curious voice, "If you do not mind, monsieur, could you please tell me your name?" Her eyes stared in wonderment.

"Erik. My name is simply Erik, mademoiselle," Came his gruff answer.

"Hello Erik, my name is Michelle Moreaux as you know. Well, Moreaux is my maiden name. May I also ask as to why I found you last night?" She sensed that he was hiding something, but her voice was playful, almost like she was talking to a child which irritated Erik.

"It was nothing, an accident," He turned his head to face her and found himself looking straight into her eyes. They were the brightest blue he'd ever seen. On any other being, those blue eyes and dark eyebrows would have looked out of place, but on Michelle, they looked rather ideal for her.

Trying to change the subject, he gestured toward the photo on the dresser, "I hope your husband does not mind my staying here."

The young lady's eyes fell to the floor. Her voice full of sorrow, "Do not worry, Erik. My husband, Luc, has been dead for three years. If he were alive today, believe me, he would have been the one talking me into letting you stay here. He was so good to me and others."

Now humiliated by his question, Erik quickly apologized for his mistake.

"You need not apologize, monsieur. Many people are shocked to learn that I am a widow at such a young age. Now, please rest."

And with that she stood from the chair and exited the room. Erik realized he was feeling extraordinarily tired and within seconds, he had drifted off to sleep. He dreamt about Christine, she was everywhere it seemed. She had left Raoul to come be with him. Erik held her close, with his face buried into her graceful, white neck, their hands intertwined. But Raoul came from out of nowhere, and kidnapped poor Christine, taking her away from his life yet again.

"No!" Erik moaned into the quietness of the room.