Ack, school started. I'm getting in what I can. I'm a senior so... Anyway, I live for reviews! Please send them. Thanks for everyone who has reviewed so far. Sorry this is shorter than other chapters.
The next week was rather dull for me. Though he didn't hide from me anymore, Erik never lingered in his lair. When I awoke in the mornings, he would be playing his grand organ, and I would lay in bed and listen to the flowing music. As I rose, he always seemed to sense me. He would greet me very formally and take his leave, and I would wander back to the sleeping area to eat my breakfast, and occasionally find a small gift of some sort. He even left me some fresh parchment and art supplies. Well, even if he didn't believe me to be a time traveler, at least he had noted the fact that I was an artist.
During the day, I would draw various things: the glowing organ, the swan-bed... I would hear loud thumps and scraping on occasion, assuming it was simply workers preparing for the grand opening. The Phantom must be busy supervising from the shadows, I thought. In the evenings, he would make his appearance, and every day I would look forward to our nightly lessons. At their finish, he would slip off quite mysteriously, and I would change into my nightgown and flop into bed, wondering where he slept at night.
Running out of things to sketch, I decided to take a stab at The Phantom himself. It took me three whole days to complete the piece, and I tucked it securely beneath my pillow each night. No need for him to see it until it was finished. Once completed, I placed it upon the organ, looking it over. I didn't need him to stand before me as I created the work, his image was emblazoned in my mind. I smiled, quite satistfied.
When I awoke the next morning, I quickly noted the absence of music. I rolled from the bed very uncerimoniously, and tip-toed around the corner, hoping The Phantom wasn't missing. He sat with his back to me, staring silently at his portrait. I made my way cautiously towards him, and this time he did not turn at my presence as he had every morning prior. I continued to approach the piano bench and sat down next to him. He didn't move. I simply watched him stare at the drawing.
After long moments of silence he spoke. "You mock me?" he questioned, his voice low and dangerous. I gaped at him. What was he talking about?
"Of course not Er..." I stammered, but he cut me off, spinning on the bench to face me, his expression furious.
"What is the meaning of this!" I cringed away from his anger, staring wide eyed. This man was beyond unpredictable. He gave me no time to answer, standing briskly and pacing away, his steps quick and agitated.
"Do I fascinate you?" he accused, livid. "Am I some monster for you to study?" I couldn't understand why he was so upset. Did he think I had drawn him for my amusement? "This face..." his voice wavered as he spoke, refusing to look at me, "this gift from hell."
I sat in silence for a moment, trying not to feel sorry for him. He shouldn't jump to such conslusions. Did he think I would have been so completely entranced by him if I had thought him monstrous?
"Erik, calm down. You aren't a monster," I tried to make my voice sound soothing. I was scared of what he might do to me in such an emotional state. He cringed at the use of his name. Perhaps he wasn't used to it being spoken by another.
"You do fascinate me. You are so...suspenseful. You frighten me..." He turned to look at me over his shoulder, a pained expression on his face. "..but it's not your face I am scared of. Its your temper. You must admit, you have been known to be violent, and you have exploded on me more than once." He sighed audibly, covering his face with his hand. I didn't think he meant to be so manic. Perhaps he was doing his best.
"I drew you," I continued, "because you are beautiful." This last sentence caused Erik to turn about slowly, his brilliant eyes finally meeting my own.
"Beautiful?" he questioned, his voice barely audible. He looked thouroughly bewildered, but somehow touched.
"Well, beautiful wouldn't really be the word...I mean you aren't a girl. I guess I should say handsome," I stumbled over my words, realizing what I had just said. Perhaps I shouldn't have made that confession. "...and intriguing and well, mysterious. I just..." I stopped abruptly, realizing I sounded like a complete idiot. My face felt extremely hot and I averted my gaze, staring down at the piano keys.
Silence reigned once more, and feeling awkward, I decided to change the subject. "I feel badly for removing you from your bed," I commented, grasping at the first thing that came to mind.
Erik looked up from gazing at the floor. He seemed to shake himself mentally before answering. "No matter Adrienne, I make due," he smiled slightly, still looking a bit rattled, "there are many rooms available for my use in this opera house."
"But what if you are caught? Its dangerous isn't it? I mean, we could share. I could stuff pillows between us if you feel it would be more appropriate. Its a large bed Erik...may I call you Erik?" I added this last query, noticing how uncomfortable he seemed when I used his actual name, "I just feel so guilty..."
The Phantom seemed somewhat flustered by the idea, but this expression quickly turned to indignation. Perhaps he was using it as a mask to hide his thoughts, or perhaps he simply wasn't accustomed to carrying on conversations with another human for such a length of time, but I didn't appreciate his attitude.
"Certainly not, it is highly inappropriate to do so. I have no fear of being seen. Is this practice common in your time?" He seemed angry, but for what reason I couldn't tell. I had done nothing! "And you may not refer to me as Erik."
It was my turn to act affronted. "Then you may not call me Adrienne. And no, its not common practice in my era, its actually more of a taboo than anything else. But if the need arises, people can sleep in the same bed without raising any eyebrows. Or at least not many..." I glared at him as I spoke, crossing my arms over my chest. "And what in God's name am I supposed to call you then? Opera Ghost? That sounds awfully stupid."
"Teacher is acceptable, Madmoiselle," he declared, plucking his cape from where it hung on the back of a chair. "I shall return for our evening lesson." And with that, he was gone. I stared after him, contemplating whether it would be too childish to stick out my tongue at him.
Erik proceeded up the long, winding staircase towards the building above. His mind whirled, and he had stop as he reached the top, leaning against a wall to support himself. Beautiful? She thought he was attractive? There was no way... No one had thought that before. What was wrong with this girl? He slipped behind the mirror and into the diva's dressing room, sliding it shut behind him. Turning, he stared into the smooth glass.
Handsome? He touched the skin of his face gingerly. Perhaps women from her era were attracted to a different type of man than his own. Slowly, he reached up and removed the mask. The flesh beneath was red and marred, touched by the hand of the devil. But what would she think of me if she saw me as I truley am? He couldn't help but wonder, and he instinctively knew the answer. She would detest him.
He shook Ardrienne from his head defiantly. He would not become attached to this girl. She was his ticket to recognition. He would not allow her to call him by his name either, it would only create the false sense that they were on a friendly level. She was not his friend, nor was he hers. Perhaps he had re-acted harshly to this, and to her suggestions as well. But she needed to realize that he was not to be her companion.
Stealthily, The Phantom slipped through the shadows, climbing lithely up into the rafters above the stage. Workers were running to and fro beneath him, carrying equipment into the building and making final preparations. He had been overseeing the entire operation, adjusting things here and there and ensuring everything was to his liking. Whomever now owned the opera house was very efficient. Erik approved.
As night approached, he glanced once more at the activities below, and a familiar form caught his eye. His eyes narrowed as he attempted to get a better look. Recognition flooded his mind. No...it couldn't be. He darted hurredly across the rickety catwalks, slinking closer to his target. That rich bratt who had stolen his Christine stood backstage, consulting some paperwork. Was he funding the theater once more? Erik didn't care. All he felt was rage.
How dare he show his face here once more. Filled with sudden fury, The Phantom forgot all sense of caution, grasping a coil of rope and leaping down atop that stupid fop, Raoul. He hit his victim with a thud that left the lanky man sprawled beneath him. Skilled hands came down quickly, and the deadly weapon was about the young gentleman's neck in seconds.
Raoul struggled beneath the Opera Ghost, his hands clawing at the rope burning into his flesh. He gagged terribly, fighting to rise. Erik tightened his grip, his expression nearly psychotic. Somehow, Christine's fiance managed to rise, stumbling backwards with the weight of his attacker, and slamming the Phantom into a wall. The air was forced out of Erik's lungs and he gasped, his fingers loosening.
Raoul took this opportunity to slip from beneath the noose, turning quickly and slashing out with an arm. Erik saw something glint in the dim light and felt a cold pain shoot up his side. He lurched to the side, grasping at the sudden wound. His opponent stood before him, crimson blood dripping from a small dagger.
"Madame Giry swore to me you were dead," Raoul declared through gritted teeth, "apparently she was mistaken."
The Phantom looked own at his gloved hand in disbelief. The red liquid glittered dully on his fingertips. "I suppose you have purchased the opera house," he spat, straightening as best he could. He was not in mortal peril. It was a deep gash, but it was not a danger to his life.
"I have not," Raoul replied, poised to attack should Erik make any such move. "but I do intend to fund it's operation once more. And you will not cause trouble for the new owner,"
Erik nearly laughed. "And how do you intend to ensure this?" he asked, smirking devilishly at the poor fighter standing before him. He knew that Raoul was no match for him, even if he was wounded.
Raoul looked nervous as the self assured grin spread over The Phantom's features. He wavered in indecision for a moment before grasping a hold of his misplaced bravery. "By sealing your fate," he declared, lunging at the Opera Ghost. Erik simply ducked to the side, reaching out and loosing a few sands bags that dangled from the rafters. They hurtled towards the startled young man, landing squarely upon his head. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Erik would have dearly loved to finish the job right then, but the action he had taken had created quite a bit of noise, and he could hear footsteps approaching. Cursing under his breath, he slipped from the scene, clutching at his aching body. He stumbled down the steps towards his lair, exhausted. He couldn't afford to hide out within the opera house that night. Though he doubted anyone would believe Raoul, he didn't want to risk the fact that they might search for him. Raoul knew where to find him, but he had installed many new traps that would surely halt his progress, quite literally, dead in its tracks.
The candles had been extinguished that night, and he tripped up the stairs to his bed, grasping the corner to keep his balance. All he could think of was Raoul, and the fact that he was there. Why? And where was Christine? Could he see her again? Forgetting about the woman occupying his bed, he fell into it, falling to sleep almost intstantly. The girl laying beside the emotionally charged Phantom awoke with a start.