The Gypsies:

A/N: I have made some small changes to chapter two (mostly time sequence).

Christine furrowed her brow at Brigitte, amused but slightly worried at her serious tone. The girl had just asked for her help, something that Brigitte had done before. Once, Brigitte had found a cat stuck in a tree, mewling terribly. She had felt so badly for the trapped animal that she had run full out to the summer home, her heart beating madly and her lungs nearly spent. By the time she had reached Christine, she had been breathless and Christine had barely been able to understand her choked words.

"It is – cat – stuck – in tree – please – help!" Brigitte's normally ruddy face was flushed to an angry shade of crimson in her distress.

"There's a, a cat, Brigitte?" Christine worry melted as realization dawned on her. She smiled, barely suppressing a giggle. Seeing the seriousness on the girl's face, Christine had adopted an expression of absolute resolution and marched off in search of the poor arboreal feline.

"What is it, Brigitte? Another cat?" Christine asked.

"No, Christine, oh no, this is much more serious," Brigitte shook her head firmly, her eyes shining with the secret she held.

Christine's face grew serious. "It's a dog, isn't?"

Brigitte allowed herself a laugh at the joke. Shaking her head again, just as firmly as before, she grew more insistent. "Christine! This has nothing to do with stray beasts! You must believe!"

"Alright, Brigitte, alright! Please tell me what it is that has you in such a state of desperation," Christine smiled, then added, "As a Vicomtess, I command it."

"It is a man!" she blurted out. "A man! He is trapped. A horrible thing, these gypsies. And people pay and it's awful, they laugh at his deformity, but he cannot help it, he is but a man after all -"

"Wait, Brigitte, you're not making any sense." Even as she spoke, she was flooded with memories. It rushed back upon her with the force of a maelstrom, despair immediately settling into her heart.

"Erik," Christine began tentatively. "How did you get those scars upon your back?"

Immediately, he had stiffened. Christine watched his elegant formed, swathed in a black velvet suit, a crisp white shirt gently ruffled at the neck, his cravat shining with blinding white that was rivaled only by the immaculateness of his mask. He had turned from her, his back like steel, her heart in her throat. She released the scarf she had been twisting furiously with her hands in anxiety for this moment. She rose, her steps light and reluctant but her mind made up. She touched his shoulder, feeling the hardness of his tense muscles, a small shudder running through her body. She was not afraid, no; the shudder warmed her, rather than chilled her.

Erik felt her quake and felt ashamed that she should fear him still. Though these memories had him twisted in a web of misery, he could not deny her any more than he wished to frighten her. He turned around and was surprised to see the gentleness in her eyes.

"You are not afraid" he questioned, disbelieving.

Confusion puzzled her pretty features. "Afraid? Of you, Erik?

"Oh no, I never wish for you to think I fear you, Erik. I am – intimidated. By your intelligence, you wit, your genius, oh, God, your music." She touched his masked face hesitantly, relieved when he didn't shy away. "Why anyone would hurt you because of this," he ran her fingers over his mask in wonder, "does not make sense with me."

Suddenly, his hands came about her waist and she was forced up against the hardness of his body. She gasped in shock at the quickness of his touch but quieted at the feel of his body against hers. Fire ran in her blood as she stared into his eyes, flashing green and intense at her own wide brown ones. Her mouth parted slowly as she watched his curve into a smile, wicked and foreboding. Immediately, a bolt of fear went through her and she breathed a tiny moan. Erik lowered his face to hers, his lips brushing against her cheek as he made his slow, torturous way to her ear.

"Christine," his words tickled her neck and her skin reacted to the warmth of his breath on her flesh. Erik felt her body quiver against his own. He ran his hand up from her waist to the back of her head, tangling his hands in her hair. "Do you not fear me now?"

"N-n-no," she managed to gasp, her body reacting traitorously to his touch. She only wanted to be closer to him, to put her lips on his own. She blushed at her own thoughts, knowing he did not wish to arouse her in this way.

"No, Erik, I do not fear you," her voice came out as a whisper.

Erik drew back, studying her face, noting the flush of her cheeks and her open lips. He felt his cock stir at her bated breath and quickly released her. His thoughts had turned to Christine, nude in his bed, her body writhing intimately against his own as he rocked deep inside her. He turned away from her once again, willing his thoughts away, disgusted with himself that he could not keep control around this beautiful innocent girl.

"Gypsies," he said suddenly.

At first, Christine did not comprehend his words, so rhapsodic was she from their physical closeness. His words suddenly made sense in her ears, still buzzing from his lips.

"Oh," she said simply, unable to say more. She slumped into the chaise, hoping that sitting down would quiet her body. Quietly, she ventured. "What happened?" She forced her voice to be steady, unwilling to break the spell of trust that he had created in his admission.

"I was captured as a child by a traveling carnival. My mother had abandoned me, so disgusted was she by my face and I had wandered around until they found me. The gypsies. I was caged and given a canvas sack to cover my head with two tiny eyeholes. They allowed me to keep a toy to quiet my cries at night. It was a toy monkey like this one," he gestured to the music box.

"When the crowds came, he would beat me. Because I was 'the Devil's Child,'" he spit out these words with such hate that Christine nearly recoiled. Tears streamed down her face and she was unable to keep out a sob.

"Why?"

Erik whipped around, his cape swirling around him like the wings of a bat. In an instant he was by her side, binding her wrists with his hands. Christine choked on a sob as he wrenched her toward him.

"Why? Why! Because of this!" He forced her hand to his masked face and ripped it from him. She did not pull away from him as he had hoped, but only quieted her sobs. She had seen his face before, when curiosity had moved her. She looked into his eyes and he saw pity. Disgusted, he turned his face from her, tears threatening to fill his eyes.

He felt her hand on his marred cheek and bowed his head in shame. Gently, she turned his face to her, but he could not look at her tear-stained face.

"Forgive me, Erik," she had wanted to say. "Forgive my foolishness. I do not see your face, only your beauty." But she was frightened by the magnitude of her feelings for this man, so she simply said, "Erik."

Christine was ripped from her reverie at Brigitte's insistent voice. "We must go quickly! It is almost nightfall, perhaps by the cover of dark, we can help him escape."

Christine forced a laugh, trying to bid her memories behind her. "Brigitte, really, you are a most imaginative girl. You and your books; you always come up with the most wild schemes." She laughed again, but she was piqued both the seriousness of Brigitte and the remembrance of her words. "This – this man. You said he had a deformity?"

Relieved that Christine was taking her seriously, Brigitte spilled out quickly, "Yes! He has a deformity and that is why the gypsies have him. He is caged because of that. Oh, Christine, I have spoken to him and he is in the most terrible state. He would not speak at first, but when he did, he cried out 'Why must you remind me of her?'"

"Who? Who was he speaking of?" she asked, puzzled.

"He would not say, but only moments before he had said your name," Brigitte replied.

Christine's face paled. "My name?"

"Yes. Well, he said 'Christine' and I told him about you."

"Brigitte," Christine's eyes had grown dark and the maid was immediately struck by her gravity. "What did he look like?"

"His face, the right side of it is disfigured." For once, Brigitte ended her bubbling tirade for she had noticed Christine's reaction.

"My God," Christine breathed, he body falling over. She hugs her knees to her chest, whispering "My God" over and over again. Brigitte sat beside her on the bench, rubbing her back in the most caring of ways.

"It's alright, Christine, I know it's terrible, but we must help him. I have a plan. We can go at nightfall, which will be soon. I can pick the lock – oh, Christine, I should tell you, I've had quite a different life before we met. But I can pick the lock and we can set him free! We should take the horses, in case we need to make a fast escape. Christine?"

Christine ran to the side of the veranda and vomited over the railing. She sobbed out as the bile rose in her throat, silent tears stinging her cheeks. Her teary eyes saw that she had vomited on her favorite rose bed that she had planted for Raoul the year before. The beautiful flowers were stained and ugly in her wake.

Brigitte ran to her side, duly sickened by the affect her words had had on Christine. She should have known a lady of Christine's stature would not be able to handle such disturbing information.

"Oh, Christine, forgive me!" Brigitte cried. "Forgive my foolishness!"

At these words, Christine stood straight. She wiped her mouth with the handkerchief Brigitte had extended to her. "Brigitte, it is not your fault. I was – reminded."

Brigitte was confused by her words, but paid no heed. "Never mind, Christine, forget I even spoke so foolishly. Let us go inside and make some tea." She began to walk.

"No."

Brigitte stalled her pace and turned to Christine. She was about to query her lady but Christine spoke first.

"No, we cannot forget it." Christine stood rigidly, all traces of her earlier weakness leaving her. Her mind was racing furiously and her heart pounded so hard that she was afraid it would break loose from her chest. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Get my coat and fetch the horses. Quickly"

Without a word, Brigitte ran.