3. ----Feeling much better, Gwendolyn took the time to explore about the opera house. She walked
out on stage, and took in the feeling of what it must have been like to be up there performing in
front of all those people and have them admire and adore you. Feeling like you belonged. She
smiled to herself.
Getting into character she straightened her shoulders and held her self up right and proper.
Just as she was about to begin, a light shot down on her.
"Are you going to entertain us?" His voice sounded more powerful with the echo from the ceiling.
"Perhaps," she smiled. "I don't know much, so I'll sing what I know."
"That makes sense," he jested. She gave a small laugh, then cleared her throat. "You messed me up monsieur," she
teased.
"I beg the Prima Donna's forgiveness then," she could see him mock a bow in the catwalk
above the seats. Clearing her thoughts, she pictured herself in front of a full house and Monsieur
Andre' looking out from the wings, and a scorning La Calotte'.
"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said good-bye," she sang.
Erik watched down at her as she sang. He pictured that night when Christine had done that very same thing. As he
watched it wasn't Christine he saw, it was Gwendolyn in full. Though his mind wanted to place Christine there, he could
not. Instead he saw Gwendolyn in a totally different setting.
She was out on a marble balcony; her hair was pulled back at the sides into a loose band in the back. Her gown was a
pale yellow with a white border and underskirt. Her lips and cheeks had a touch of rouge to them and she was looking
into the double sets of French doors where a man stood. It was him. He watched and listened as she went on.
"Think of me, think of me waking silent and resigned. Imagine me, trying to hard to put you
from my mind." He kept staring. Imagine me waking silent and resigned, yes, that would be nice,
he thought, a devilish grin on his face. He would not let her put him from her mind though. He would
make sure that he would be there forever and always.
"Erik?" her voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Yes?" he answered, trying to compose himself.
"You were looking at me as if I were something with nothing to describe," she gave a small laugh.
"I was, but nothing without a description. That was amazing. You've had no prior lessons leading to this?"
"No. I was just born with this voice I guess," she blushed at the compliment. "I can work with you. I can help you," he
hurried along the scaffold and startled her when he suddenly came up behind her.
"How did you," she looked up at where he was then back to where he stood now. "Come with me," he took her hands in
his. She followed but a bit hesitant. "Where are we going?"
"We're going to teach you how to sing like a Prima Donna," he smiled at her then continued their decent back down to
his lair.
--"No! From your gut," he pressed on her stomach. "Well forgive me if I am just getting over being
sick with something that affected my lungs," she retorted. "Your lungs, not your gut," he retorted, smiling.
They had been working on her voice for almost two hours now, and both their patients
were wearing thin. "Why don't we take a break," he suggested standing up and running his hand
through his hair. "What?" he asked when he found her laughing. "Your hair," she giggled, pointing.
"What about it?" he was already annoyed and this was not helping.
She walked over to him and flattened a piece that was sticking up. He sucked in his breath at her touch. She pretended
not to notice, and withdrew her hand. "I suppose I should be going. I feel like I've worn out my welcome."
"Actually, you've earned it," he smiled. She laughed.
"Then I'll go out and find some food. Hopefully I won't get caught."
"You won't if you don't steal," he reached into a desk drawer.
"Whatdo you mean—"
He placed the money in her hand.
"I've never seen all that money in my life," she gaped at him. "Now you have. Take it and buy what you want."
--Walking around the market place she was still on the look out for the constables, but she found
herself cautiously walking towards the vendors. She eyed the people around her, seeing if anyone
was looking when she found what looked like to be a rich viscount assessing a jeweled necklace.
Then she remembered the francs in her pocket and stopped herself before it was too late.
"A pretty necklace for a pretty lady?" she heard the vendor address her. He winked and she, with
haste, moved on, with him laughing behind her.
Coming upon a bread stand she politely asked how much for a loaf. "Why do you want to know? You can't afford it," the
old man snarled, showing his snaggle tooth. "I'll have you know I can," she pulled some of the money out of her pocket
and he assisted her, but still kept an eye on her. "Merci monsieur," she nodded her parting and went
across the street to a boulongerie patisserie.
"Can I help you dearie?" a nice plump blonde woman asked. "Here, I think I have some pastries I can spare for you dear.
Just wait right there," she smiled and headed for the back of the shop. "Non Madame," Gwen spoke up. "I can pay. But
thank you very much for your kindness," she went to the glass display window and peered in at the
sweets. "I'll take two of those please," she pointed to a couple of raspberry filled Danishes.
The lady smiled and went to assist Gwen. Gwen paid and went to leave. "Girl," the woman folded a
piece of cloth over a few extra sweets and handed them to her. "Oh I really couldn't…"
"I insist," she gave her a warm sincere smile.
"Merci," she tucked the package in her pocket. Heading towards the butcher's shop she was stopped by a rough hand
on her shoulder. "There you are," it was the constable that chased her into the Opera House.
"Please, let me go."
"Thinking about stealing your next meal now?"
"No, I have money, really monsieur," she took it out of her pocket.
"Well what do we have here," he grabbed the money from her hand. "That would be enough to pay
tour way out of the stocks plus a little extra on the side," he pocketed it and held her back as she
went for it.
"Please! It's not my money!" his eyebrows rose in shock that she would admit such a
thing.
"Well it is, but…someone loaned it to me to buy food. I swear," she felt tears begin to rise.
"Well isn't that a sob story," he threw her hand back and laughed when she fell into the puddle at
her feet.
--Returning to the lair wet and cold, Erik came to her side. "I got us some bread, but that was
ruined. I also got some pastries, but I don't know how good they are. I ran into the bastard that was
after me earlier," she wiped some mud off of her face. "He threw me into a puddle and the bread
was ruined and I'm not sure about the pastries," he took them from her pocket.
The cloth was dripping wet as where the other pastries. She really began to cry now.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sick of this life," she buried her face in her knees, wrapping her arms around them.
"Now it's ok," he brushed back her hair. She shivered at his touch.
He quickly took his hand away, giving a silent oath. He never felt this way before. With Christine all he felt was a constant
aching lust. But with Gwen he wanted to hold, protect and love her the way she should be. There was no jealous lust with
Gwendolyn.
"Describe this man to me," he got up and went for his cloak. "He's somewhat tall, a
few more inches more then I. He has short brown hair and a mustache. His face is scarred
somewhat, but why? It's too late to do anything now. He's at home most likely and it's nearly dark,"
her eyes still shone with tears. "On the contrary," the cape swirled around him as he fastened it.
"It's the perfect time to act," he almost laughed.
"What are you going to do? Erik?" But he was gone.
--Going from rooftop to rooftop, he made his way through the darkness. He knew the captain of the
guard really well. It was the same man who almost shot him three years ago when he made his
escape from his own lair. Now was the perfect time to pay his revenge. He hurt two things that he
cared about more than anything, himself, and for some odd reason this girl.
Coming upon the man's house, he sat perched on the neighbor's windowsill, peaking in an upstairs window. Working
his 'magic' he unlatched the window and climbed in. Tiptoeing down the upstairs hall he found the
Madame of the house busy folding sheets and putting them away in the master bedroom. The
Madame continued to fold sheets when a hand covered her mouth and suppressed her scream of
surprise.
"Call your husband up here to take care of a rat and run out of the room. Now!" he gave
her a threatening shake, and uncovered her mouth. "Gaston!" she called down the hall and stairs.
She was debating wither to tell what was really happening or to go along with the lie and thought it
best to go with the discussed when she felt the Phantom's blade in her side.
"There's a rat!" With that he shoved her foreword and she fled down the hall. Erik took position on the other side of the
armoire and waited in ambush for Gaston to make his presence. "Where is it—" but before he
could identify anything that was occurring, the Phantom flew over the bed and shut and locked the
door.
"We meet again," the Phantom mocked.
"What do you want?"
"I believe you owe me some money," he held out his palm, his weapon, should the man refuse, concealed up his sleeve.
"What are you talking about?"
"You robbed a poor girl on the streets; you owe me the money you took,"
"She said someone loaned her the money,"
"And that couldn't be me?" he mocked.
"All right," he turned for his coat and reached into one on the pockets, but before he could do
anything, he found a knife to his throat.
"And leave the gun alone," he hissed. The man dropped the gun from his hand and reached further in and grabbed the
money he took earlier that day. "Here," he threw it at the Phantom. He pressed his blade further into his throat.
"Pick it up," he threw the man to the floor. "How do you like being thrown to the ground?" he mocked, avenging
Gwendolyn.
--"Erik! Where were you?" Gwen stood at his desk. "What did you do to him? You didn't…Did
you?"
"Hang him?" he laughed. "No. I didn't," he placed his money in the money drawer.
"What were you doing at my desk?" he eyed her suspiciously.
"Oh," she turned to look at the burnt copy of Don Juan. "I was reading through the play you wrote. I think it's amazing,
though a bit edgy, but what do us street people care? We're used to it," she laughed, but then bit her lip.
"What?" he asked. "Has anyone…any man I mean..." he was careful how to address such a situation. "Are you
upset over…"
"No, I'm…fine, thank you though," she gave him a half smile and turned back to the
broom she was using to clean the place a bit when he was gone. She always cleaned when she
was nervous, not matter how hopeless the case was.
"You need a bath," he noticed, taking in the state of her rags and hair. "You can go just behind that curtain there. The
water's heated there," he pointed to a dark crimson curtain just behind her.
"Thank you," she rested the broom against the wall and disappeared behind it.
--Making sure the curtain was secure she began to undress and stuck a foot into the water, testing
it. It was perfect. She missed the occasional hot baths a kind inn owner would sometimes offer.
She took her time walking into the pond of water, taking in the wonderfulness of it all. How she had
been saved by a masked man, fed by the masked man and now offered a hot bath by the masked
man.
The Phantom was nothing like man she heard and read about. He was kind, secretive, but
kind. Unable to stand any longer, she sank into the warmth of the water. Taking a deep breath, she
closed her eyes to enjoy the moment.
--Slowly he pealed back part of the curtain. She was slunk down in the water but he could still make
out her womanly shape. About every contour of her body was well defined. Shoulder, should
blades, and hips. Her ribs were somewhat bared from hunger but she hadn't been this hungry for
long. She was still beautiful. Slowly he crept into the room. Grabbing the soap on the ledge, he
slowly entered the water.
--Feeling a presence around her she turned and found herself face to face with Erik.
"What are you—"
"Turn around," she did as she was told but not before she noticed his eyes studying her
hungrily. She was perfect in everyway Erik discovered. Her breasts were full, her lips nice and lush,
but most of all he noticed was her eyes. They were an intense blue grey, the most amazing color
he had ever seen. He was familiar with eye colors on many different people, mainly his hanging
victims.
He brushed the soap down the back of her neck and across the width of her shoulder
blades, down her back and around her sides then onto her front. From there he crossed her
stomach and up and over her breasts without stopping, all the while with his head against hers
watching. Flinging the soap to the side he turned her towards him. Her eyes were wide with
excitement, but also a hidden fear. He would show her.
With a quieted passion now awakened he took her mouth with his. He felt her pulse quicken along with his and pressed
harder yet until she responded. Exploring her mouth with his tongue he brought her hands up and rested them on his
chest holding them. She felt his hardness pressing against her stomach and turned away.
"Look at me," he took her chin in his hand and stared in her eyes. He began another assault, this time she
responded with great intensity. Tracing down her neck with one hand he felt to her breast and
cupped it, and began to caress it. She moaned and leaned into him more but they were interrupted
by the sound of something splashing into the water in the next room over.
"Damn," Erik cursed. "Stay here," he looked her over but quickly turned away.
She brought her arms close into herself as cover and in embarrassment. What just happened? She thought to herself.