He knew that it was a bad idea, but he couldn't resist the impulse to join Remy. She looked so free as she danced to music only she could hear, and he wanted so badly to know what it was about her that allowed her to just be happy, even in the least promising of circumstances. How could she act so carefree when there was so much around her to make her unhappy?

Whatever that quality was, it drew him to her with a pull that he could not move against. Before he could analyze his own motives, he had taken her in his arms, and was moving with her across the rooftop.

He never thought he could feel so...comfortable near this woman he had known for such a short time. He knew that he had been unkind to her, suggesting that her situation was her own fault, but she seemed to have forgotten his caustic behavior. And now she was acting like this was perfectly normal, to dance on the roof of a ruined opera house with a disfigured man. She smiled charmingly, laughed quietly, moved beautifully, and had a wonderfully self-deprecating sense of humor. He wondered at the kind of man who would cast her aside, who would use her so ill, treat her so badly. Little as he knew about marriage, it was obvious that she would make a wonderful wife and mother.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the gentle pink light breaking through the darkness. Dawn was coming, gentle and beautiful, carrying with it the urge to return to his home, deep below the opera house, where the harsh light could not touch him. He stopped moving, and Remy gazed up at him questioningly.

"We ought to be going."

"Why? Surely we can stay a little longer and watch the sunrise."

He didn't want to; he was ugly enough without the unfeeling light of the sun to highlight his deformities. But her blue eyes were so full of hope, he could not bear to deny her request.

"As you wish, Mademoi... Remy."

She stepped away from him, and walked back to the short wall at the edge of the roof, and leaned against it, resting her elbows on the stone, and cradling her chin in her hands, as she watched the delicate hint of pink at the edge of the horizon become a thick stripe of gold, and the sun rose higher in the sky.

Slowly, the darkness was chased away by brilliant streaks of light, and the magic of the night disappeared with it, replaced by the stark reality of morning. Erik drifted back into the shadow of the entranceway while he watched Remy. He had never seen her in open daylight before, and she made a lovely picture now. She seemed to glow, as if the sunlight reflecting off her hair increased in brilliance when it touched her.

When he realized where his thoughts were headed, he turned away from her, and put his hand to his face, reminding himself of why he stayed in the shadows, while Remy stood in the sunshine.

I knew that Erik wanted to go back below, and could feel the tension in his stance when he first became aware of the slowly rising sun. But I knew that I could not return to his lair without seeing daylight come; the perpetual darkness would drive me to insanity if I did not have this chance to watch the morning dawn. And it was a beautiful sunrise, bright and clear, and the streaks of pink and gold across the sky raised my spirits unimaginably, even if it could not compare to the sunrises in Alsace.

I heard his soft footsteps retreating into the shadows, and wished that I had the courage to entreat him forward into the sun with me; his obsession with darkness being, in my own opinion, entirely unhealthy. It was no wonder he was so gloomy all the time, if he never took advantage of this view from the roof, to watch the morning come. I was intensely aware of his gaze, watching me from the darkness, but I was to busy enjoying myself to really care.

Finally, the growing noise from the street below and the insistent gnawing of my empty stomach drew me away from my vantage point, and I walked slowly back to where Erik stood waiting for me. I took one final look over my shoulder at the glorious sun, then returned once more to the gloom of the Opera House.

"So then the bastard says to me, 'You're not done yet,' and tells me I have to go back and find the girl AND her masked friend. After he already killed Jacques! Who does he think I am, the three musketeers?"

Henri was rather enjoying the attention his story was getting from the lovely girl at the bar. She seemed so sympathetic, and he needed the sympathy. Several strong drinks had greatly loosened his tongue, and he had always loved attention from beautiful women.

"What if the man isn't a man at all? I think he must have been a ghost!"

"A ghost? How frightening!" Now he had her full attention, as she leaned in close to pour him another drink.

"He came out of the darkness like a spirit. Couldn't hear him coming or nothing. Just appeared, wearing a dark cloak, and a mask."

"A mask, you say?" This voice came from the other side of him. He turned to see who had spoken, and found himself face to face with a drunken older gentleman. His clothes were finely made, out of expensive fabric, but were worn down and patched. He had the look of a man who once enjoyed wealth, only to have it taken away. "I know all about ghosts and masks and the like!" His voice was slurred, and he spoke very loudly.

"Oh, shut it, Firmin. No one wants to hear your blasted tale of woe again," a man a few seats away interjected. Ignoring the interruption, Firmin continued.

"I once had a ghost. Used to own the Opera Populaire. Me, I mean, not the damned ghost. Me and my partner. Made a fortune in the junk business, that we did. Bought the damned thing as an amusement, to make our way in society. Bloody ghost ruined the whole damn thing. Where's my other drink? My throat is getting dry, and I'm trying to tell a story! Whiskey, damn it! Where was I?"

"Ghost?"

"Ah yes, the ghost. Stagehands used to frighten the ballet girls with stories, whole damn cast believed in him. The Phantom of the Opera, they called him. We knew better, though, Andre and me. Didn't believe in the ghost, wouldn't meet his demands, pay his salary, all that. I mean, really, giving in to the demands of a madman! The thought! Where's my whiskey? That's a good girl, fill it all the way up. Perfect! Yes, demands! He wanted this chorus girl to be allowed to sing, sabotaged our prima donna so she wouldn't get in the way, wrote a damn opera for the girl. Pretty girl she was, too. Married our patron. Yes, she got a good deal out of the whole affair."

"But what about the ghost?" Henri was getting excited; this was exactly the kind of information Leon had asked for!

"The ghost! Killed our lead tenor. Had the nerve to take his place in the opera, to kidnap the girl. Anyway, dropped the damn chandelier on our audience. Whole place went up in flames! That was the end of our opera house. No one would buy it from us, no one would perform in it, no one even wants to tear it down for us." He paused for a moment. "I think I need a stronger drink."

"But what happened to the ghost?"

"Damned if I know! We had the police searching, and a whole mob went down to look for him, but no one ever found him. Vanished. Like a ghost!" He found his own comment very funny, and started laughing, his face red.

"So no one knows where he lives?"

"In the opera house, haven't you been listening? Somewhere in there. I bet that ballet woman knew. She was always creeping around with notes from the ghost, telling us what he wanted."

"What ballet woman?"

"Giry, that was her name. Still lives around here somewhere, in Paris, I'm sure, teaching ballet. Managed better than me, that's for damn sure. Look at me! A year ago, I would have been sipping champagne at some stylish salon, and now I'm here with you, drinking cheap whiskey. Used to be, I could get a ballet wench on each arm..."

Henri left without hearing the rest of Firmin's rant. Now he had something he could use. He would have to tell Leon, so that they could pay a visit to Madame Giry. He had done his job well.