'Poor unhappy Erik' must be plastered over everything here. I know it seems that way, but hey now kids! Easy with the Punjab, Metal & Co. Trust me, he can take a clip and still shoot from the hip, just hang on.

He's not called the phantom for nothing.

This title is especially significant for several characters, I'd say mostly Erik and Ralph. In part it is a reference to the clauses added to the managers' referendum. Another aspect to be considered is the operatic work: Faust, the Faustian pact, etc. Then too, consider, there are things you haven't learned yet, a few letters Leroux didn't know about, that some of you perceptions might be 'mistaken.'

You're probably getting sick of that word.

The contract of the soul

Le contrat de la âme

—

Scene VI

Focus: la Suédoise, la sortie de monstre, et l'entrée de gardien galant

Charlotte shivered, but stood frozen mostly because of the view that swept before her. She'd never seen anything like it, and for a moment she forgot. Who she was with, or perhaps, that she didn't know whom she was with. In a moment of reflective whimsy, she considered; all this fantastic beauty would not be visible without the darkness wrapped around it. After a few moments her dizziness faded and a sound brought her back to the present.

Snapping in a small gust, a billowing black cloak brought her attention back to its owner. Charlotte trembled briefly and drew a deep breath watching the ever-silent shade nervously. Slowly, almost gently, it took a step towards her and she found herself staring into the most fantastic pair of eyes. Golden eyes wrapped in darkness.

Opening her mouth took little effort, however it took several attempts before her voice would service her.

"Who are you?"

The shade said nothing. Charlotte had the fleeting impression that he was trying not to frighten her, although she already was very frightened. After all she was alone, high on a rooftop with a stranger and no one else knew she wasn't at home. They stood motionless for an immeasurable time.

"Please?" she whispered.

A soft sound, a sort of endearment, barely reached her ears. Cautiously, he raised his hand and brushed her cheek so lightly it was nearly imperceptible. Brusquely, he jerked back, turning and evaporating into the night.

"Wait!" Charlotte called without knowing why she should want him to do so. The demand flew from her lips like a startled bird. For a moment the shade paused, turned, and looked back at her. Charlotte wouldn't have known if it weren't for the queer way his surreal eyes had of fairly glowing in the dark.

"You should go. I am the least of the dangers to you here and that is saying a great deal."

As he spoke his eyes glanced down,Charlotte couldn't have known it, but he was looking at his gloved hands and thinking of Persia.

It took her several moments to match the ocher eyes to the unexpected and equally fantastic voice. It took her some more time to recover enough to realize that the shade had fled because he had heard something. Something coming closer, it was getting louder even as she realized these things.

Someone calling.

Calling her name.

"Charlotte!"

Ralph shouted hoarsely, a broken record, obviously panicked, well on his way to hysteria.

Fainter, she heard Maxwell echo.

Charlotte realized she should reply, but hesitated. What a relief it would be to dissolve into shadow, she thought gazing after the vanished shade. The shadows wouldn't question her, wouldn't bowl her over with its emotion, and wouldn't demand to know what had happened. Ralph wouldn't understand; she didn't understand herself. There would be no way to explain it to him, yet he would demand that she tell him. His silhouette appeared and in a moment Max's followed. Reluctantly, she turned to face them.

"Char?" he said more quietly.

"What?" she replied wearily.

"Charlotte! Why didn't you answer us? You must have heard us! Are you all right? Where have you been? What happened?"

"Shut up!" she shouted unexpectedly. Shocked at herself, she covered her mouth with her hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she murmured, stepping out of his grasp. She kept her eyes away from Max as they stung with unshed tears; she knew he'd see through her. They were both angry and worried and Charlotte was too overwhelmed to withstand the emotional onslaught.

"I'm fine," Charlotte said convincingly, "I've been up here, the whole time." She gestured to the skyline and was relieved when they too, fell silent before its majesty.

Unease pressed down on Ralph's shoulders, she had said she was going home. Charlotte had been terrified, only force would have kept her in the building. He glanced at Max but couldn't tell anything from his face in the lighting. The image of that torch beam fading into the darkness wouldn't budge from his mind. She was lying.

"You told me you were going home," he accused, churlishly.

Charlotte drew her shoulders up in defense.

"I was taken by surprise," she whispered, weakly.

"I'll bet," he retorted, sarcastically.

"Stop it, both of you," Max broke in roughly. He was fed up with them. "So long as we're here," Charlotte shivered visibly, and Ralph gave a small crow of triumph, but Maxwell went on, speaking over them, "the only thing we'll accomplish will be to go on biting each other's heads off. Charlotte you can give us your explanation somewhere else."

Feeling desperately alone, Charlotte walked between them until they were out of the opera house. Already, the rift had grown wide.

—

Scene VI

Focus: le monstre

Impassively, Erik watched their exchange from a distance; it was an act of déjà vu, but not the same. Clear amber eyes gazed blindly into the city of light. The pain of reliving the moment was irrelevant to him now. It was easy to see why Christine had thought Raoul would be safe here. He had almost just done the same thing. Almost spoken. Almost confessed. Almost.

Erik knew better, last time he had been the threat in shadows.Wherever they went the threat would remain. Whether he was the threat or someone had usurped him.

Yet so long as the boy was involved he could retreat into his original role. There was a certain amount of security in it. It was a part he knew very well. It put him in control again. Except he knew better than to believe he was in control, this time.

He remembered it all. Every word, gesture, and step down the road to perdition. He had underestimated everything but himself.

This time, he didn't care to hear what they had to say. Instead he sat and thought of the last note he'd ever written. Detailing the management of what he had loved above all else.

—

Contract, contract, notes, notes, notes!

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