Disclaimer: I tried to kidnap the Phantom, but failed. Therefore, I own nothing.

AN: Okay, I have to admit to not being from the South; I'm basically going on what I've seen in the film Gone with the Wind, and I apologize for stereotyping my Southern women to be like Scarlett O'Hara. Please accept my apologies, and if you are from the South and would like me to correct it, please let me know. Meanwhile, I hope that everyone enjoys this chapter (and story). Thanks, and please review!

Chapter 4: Of Fate and Illusions:

Erik bit back a curse as he felt another sneeze coming on. 'Blasted!' he thought, holding his handkerchief to his nose in preparation.

ACHOO!

Groaning, he leaned back in his bed and sniffed. It had been like this all day, the sneezing never stopping for more than a few moments before reoccurring in sudden, large bursts. His nose resembled a river, and he was sure to run out of handkerchiefs before the day was up. Then there was the fact that his voice was somewhat hoarse. How could he compose when he couldn't sing in accompaniment with his work?

'I also detest being ill.'

Yes, there was also that as well. When he had lived beneath the Opera Populaire, Erik had hardly ever gotten sick. True, the conditions had been wet, cold, and dark, technically a perfect breeding establishment for illnesses, but that had not been the case; Erik had rarely become ill while living in his underground home, and had been grateful. When he had managed to get sick, however, he had done his duty, drinking hot teas and staying in bed for as long as he dared to leave the managers of his Opera House unsupervised. Once he felt the slightest bit better, he immediately returned to work.

'Not so this time,' he thought, closing his eyes in misery. 'There are no managers or tasks to see to once I am better, besides writing my music and overseeing my lands, which Marcus does anyway.'

He had felt fine until that tea party two weeks ago, where he had first seen the young woman in the white-and-green dress. It was all too likely that someone had brought their sickness to the party, coming out into society too soon after recovering. Now Erik wondered where that person was and he silently hoped that, whoever that person was, he or she was having a relapse as a consequence for making him ill.

A sudden chill went through his body, terrible shivers of cold making him reach for his blankets. His blood felt as though it had turned to ice, the bed not warm enough to comfort him. Raising his hands to his forehead, Erik felt a drop of sweat roll along his fingers. How could he be cold yet sweating?

"Fever," he whispered, wrapping his blankets tightly around him as he laid back down.

He was ill and had chills and a fever. If he had influenza, he could very well die within the next few days. If his fever broke soon, however, he would be fine and make a full recovery. He would need constant care, though, and there was presently no one in the house to give it to him. Oh, why had he given Marcus and his family the day off? They had left for town early that morning, before he had awoken so they could go visit some old friends.

'I can't leave my bed,' Erik thought, his teeth chattering. 'I need to stay warm and rested. I need to stay here in my room until I feel well enough.'

But he would need to eat, too. If Jill wasn't here to cook, and Marcus wasn't here to bring him the much-needed soup, water, and teas, then who was there to help him?

'No one,' he thought as he snuggled deeper into his bed, his eyes closing with sudden exhaustion.

It was hopeless. With no one there to help him, Erik knew he could very well die alone and unnoticed in his bed. But perhaps death would not be so bad. So, closing his eyes, Erik drifted off to sleep.

Letting out a groan of frustration mixing with a sigh of defeat, I did my best to keep my lovely new horse on the road. Today, Sunny resembled anything but her namesake, the mare clearly in an angry mood over the day's weather and muddy conditions. The animal was also likely upset at me, her mistress, who had been the one to insist on horseback riding during a cloudy day.

'"It's not as though I knew it would rain!" I muttered aloud to the mare, who instantly twitched her ears back to listen to what her rider had to say. "I just wanted to get away from my mother!"

The horse merely snorted in reply, and I really couldn't be sure if the horse actually understood me or not. Pushing the possibility of an unusually intelligent mare aside, I tried to focus on anything except my predicament, which quickly failed as I rode towards home in the heavy rain.

'If only Philip hadn't brought up the Ball,' I thought, biting my lip in anger. 'None of this would have happened if he had merely kept his mouth shut like he usually does!'

Unfortunately, Philip was even more excited about this particular Summer Ball than he had ever been before, given that he was now able to flirt and court any young woman he wished. Normally he had been forced to remain under the watchful eyes of our parents; now Philip would be able to socialize with his friends and, most importantly, the young available women that he had had his eye on. This eagerness, of course, had come bursting forth in the form of questions regarding what everyone in the family would wear in the hopes that they would not clash.

And of course, the moment the topic of the Ball had come up, Mama had instantly gone on about how I wasn't doing my "duty" in finding a man and getting married like I was supposed to. She lectured on and on about how disgraceful I was, being twenty-four-years-old and unmarried while girls were starting families at eighteen years of age. I was a "failure," and this time, I couldn't hold back my tears as I ran upstairs and slammed the door behind me.

After calming down and being informed by the servants that Papa had taken Mama out for a ride in the carriage, I had quickly dressed in a green riding outfit and raced to the stables, ignoring any protests from the stable boys and the maids, who declared that it would rain and I would become ill from riding in this weather. Naturally, as is expected, I went anyway, if only to be away before Papa and Mama returned; I truly needed to push the morning's conversation aside from my thoughts, but it would not go. Instead, I kept playing my mother's words over and over again in my head.

'It's not my fault that I can't flirt or hold conversations like the other girls!' I thought as Sunny plodded through the mud of the road.

With the way I stuttered and blushed while talking to men, the situation of my being an old maid was unavoidable; this I knew, and there was nothing I could do about it. True, some women married at a more advanced age than mine, but Mama claimed that no rich man would want to marry a women with wrinkles and the inability to produce heirs and children for the household. I simply had to accept the fact that no man would want me for a wife.

Suddenly, the rain began pouring down harder, now changing from a fairly slow drizzle to a downpour, the water coming down in sheets. I gasped, feeling as though I were going to drown. My skirts were now totally soaked, and Sunny neighed in protest of the sudden change in situation. As I sat in my saddle, sputtering water that ran down my face, I knew I couldn't make it home. Shelter had to be found, but we were miles from anywhere, especially home! The only house nearby was…

"The Clark mansion!" I exclaimed, trying to wipe the water out of my eyes, nose and mouth.

Turning Sunny in that direction, I prodded her until she moved as fast as she dared in the muddy road.

I was never so happy to see a house in my life. Not only was it dry, but it also wasn't my home, where I could be sure of receiving a lecture from my mother about riding outside in such dastardly weather. Instead, I avoided the front door and approached the stable. I frowned when no one came out to meet me. I knew that there were three servants attending the place, and they were always very good about meeting people, no matter where they were on the property. If they weren't here, then they must have either been dismissed by their new master, or had the day off.

'Probably the latter,' I thought to myself. 'If they had been dismissed and there were new help brought on, Henry would have had our house in an uproar, since he loves the Jones family.'

Sighing, I eased Sunny up to the stable door, under the awning so that I had a dry place to dismount. I carefully slid off of my extraordinarily patient and darling mare and opened the door. Sunny immediately raced past me and went into the nearest stall, standing stock-still as she waited for me to catch up and remove her harness and saddle.

All this I did, laying everything out to dry before heading to the door that must connect the stables to the main house. Before I entered, however, I quickly wrung the water from my (likely) ruined dress, so that I wouldn't ruin the floor. That done, I slipped inside, listening for any signs of life. I heard nothing, so perhaps no one was home. I decided to look around for something dry to wear, thinking that perhaps there was a lady of the house that wouldn't mind my borrowing a simple dress.

A quick tour of the rooms showed that the guest rooms were mostly unused, and if they were used, it was only for storage. Male garments were in many of the closets, but in an old trunk lay some clothing that must have been left behind when the Clark's sold the property; the dresses were too fine to be servant clothes, and were too out of fashion to belong to any present lady of the house. Still, they were dry, and that was enough for me. I pulled out a red dress with lace at the sleeves, and some underclothes, swiftly changing into them as fast as I could.

Once I was comfortable, I went searching in the other rooms of the house. I had heard nothing while entering and exploring the house, which could mean that I was alone. On the other hand, perhaps the new owner (or owners) had gone to bed or could possibly be busy…doing other things. Blushing, I realized that I'd heard nothing to suggest anything of the sort, but I kept an ear open anyway.

Then I heard it. A groan of pain and misery, and it sounded male. Perhaps the new owner was a cripple and the Jones' had left him alone to rest, thinking that he wouldn't likely need them today? Marcus would never leave someone like that without having permission, but it sounded like this person needed help right now. So, praying that I wasn't interrupting something, I followed the sound to what appeared to be the master bedroom. The sounds of pain became louder and more miserable, so I cracked the door open and looked inside.

There lay a man on the bed, tossing and turning as though he were dreadfully ill. I crept closer, surprised to see that most of the right side of his face covered with a white mask. He looked as though he were sweating heavily, and his eyes had a glazed look, as though he could not see me. The man seemed familiar, and I recognized him from the party at the Brooks' home two weeks ago, the man who had wanted the chair I had sat in. I also instantly knew that this man was very sick, and that he needed my help. Without someone to care for him, he would die. So, rolling up my sleeves, I sat on the right side of his bed and placed a calm hand on his forehead.

"It's alright," I whispered, hoping to calm him down. Amazingly, it worked, and the man before me stared up at me with green-gray eyes that were so full of pain and longing it nearly broke my heart.

"An angel?" he whispered in disbelief.

I smiled and could not resist a small laugh. "No, I'm afraid I'm not," I replied, gently stroking his sweating forehead. "But I will take care of you until you're feeling better." The man nodded and promptly collapsed into a deep sleep.

Knowing that he would likely be unconscious for quite some time, I went down to the kitchen to begin making some hot broth and tea. Mother would have a fit if she knew that I had taken cooking lessons from the servants, but I did not care; that man upstairs needed me, and I was going to help him. Once the water was boiling for tea and a nice soup was mixed together over a slow fire, I prepared a tray.

On a large tray to take upstairs, I set a bowl of cold water and several dry towels, as well as a cup of good strong tea. Carrying the slightly heavy burden, I slowly ascended the stairs towards the man's bedroom, where I could hear his deep breathing. Good, he was still asleep, which was something he very much needed.

Slipping quietly into the room, I approached the bed and set the tray on a nearby table, sticking a towel into the cool water to soak. Once it was wet and well chilled, I squeezed out the excess water and prepared to set the moist cloth onto his forehead to keep him cool. I frowned once I saw the mask; it would get in the way of the cloth and the cooling process, and would have to be removed. I could only hope that…whatever-his-name-was would not be upset with me. Taking a deep breath, I reached out and pulled the mask from his face, looking at the form that lay beneath it.

His face was odd, but it didn't frighten me. The skin was red, and it was bumpy as well, as though he had been burned in an accident of some kind. The unusual formation stretched from just above his jaw to the edge of his thick, dark hair, encompassing the right side of his nose. There were a few yellowed patches of skin as well, and the right eye was puffy and appeared to be swollen from the mask rubbing against it. The poor man; why did he wear it if it was so uncomfortable?

Gently 'tsking' under my breath so as not to wake him, I set the mask on a nightstand and put the cloth in its place. He winced, but did nothing more as I gently dabbed a dry cloth around his face to absorb any escaping water or sweat coming from his body. Once I felt the moist towel on his forehead had become too warm, I replaced it with another cool rag, continuing the pattern for an hour before I felt his body cool to it's normal temperature.

Sighing, I stood up and retrieved a comfortable chair to sit in as I kept my eye on the sick man before me. I could very well be here for quite some time, so I might as well make myself comfortable and get some sleep. Which was exactly what I did…though only for a few moments.

Erik woke with the oddest feeling that he was not alone in his room. Nor did he feel cold or have sweat dripping down his face. What happened? He remembered a lovely angel peering down at him with warm, caring brown eyes, the kindness in them filling his heart with joy. The oddest thing was that his angel resembled the woman from the tea party at the Brooks estate a few weeks ago. Sighing, Erik opened his eyes and saw everything dissolve into a blur of colors and sounds. The one thing that remained in focus was the angel sitting drowsily next to him in a deep red gown.

She quickly became alert when she saw he was awake. "How are you feeling?" she whispered as she set a cold, wet cloth on his forehead. "Are you hungry? I have some nice hot soup for you."

Erik could do nothing but nod. He let her prop him up in bed and stroke the sides of his face, including the monstrous right side. He winced and raised his hand to his cheek to cover it. A gentle, feminine touch stopped him and pulled his hand away. Looking up, Erik saw the vision beside him smile as she released his hand and picked up the bowl of soup, one hand raising the spoon to his lips.

"No need to hide from me," she whispered. "It's alright, I have seen much worse than yours, so you do not frighten or disturb me in any way." The spoon stopped at his lips. "Now, open up and eat. You need your strength."

Not daring to displease her, Erik obeyed. The soup, he could tell, was made from chicken, and he could taste carrots, celery, onions, and potatoes, all cooked until they were soft enough to mush with his tongue. Wanting to please the apparition next to him, Erik ate the broth until he heard her scraping the bottom of the bowl, which signaled that there was none left for him to eat. Sighing, he lay back onto his pillows and looked up at her.

"Thank you for helping me, Mon Angel," he whispered. "You look so much like her…"

"Like who?" she asked, a small smile on her lips.

"A woman…a lovely woman I saw at a tea party," Erik replied, allowing a dreamy look to settle on his face. "I wanted to speak with her, but she ran away before I could discover her name." A warm, gentle hand patted him on the shoulder, and he could tell it was hers.

"I'm sure you will find her again soon."

Erik nodded before gazing up at her. Suddenly, he felt the need to tell his angel something before he could forget.

I sat there for several hours, listening to the strange man before me babble on in a fever-induced haze about love, loss, and the Angel of Music who had abandoned him after seeing his face. My heart broke for the poor soul lying in the bed, pouring his heart's story into my ears. He seemed so lonely, as though he had never felt love before. He told me of his mother never loving him for his face, a face cursed on him since birth, and of his gift of music. He even sang a few songs for me, for which I rewarded him with a smile and applause; he seemed extremely pleased with my appreciation of his talents.

When he no longer wished to talk about his past, he began to hum songs that I had never heard before. Some were soft and full of love and hope; others were dark, passionate and seductive, making me blush as I sat in my chair. As he finally drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help but wonder why such a magnificent man wasn't married yet. He was clearly a musical genius, and even if his face wasn't what was considered 'normal,' he was still an extremely handsome man.

Shaking my head, I left him to his rest. He was clearly on the mend, and would sleep until the Jones' returned either today or tomorrow. His fever had broken and he no longer had the sweats, so he would be well in no time. I would leave within the hour, as the rainstorm was letting up, but would leave a note for the Jones family to find when they returned. The soup I would put on the stove to keep warm, should it be needed later on. Meanwhile, I needed to change out of these borrowed garments.

Upon arriving home, I received a very sound lecture from my mother about riding during questionable weather. She scolded me on not using sound judgment, and accused me of frightening her on purpose by staying out so late without proper escort. As soon as she was finished, Papa joined in on the lecture, telling me that, from this day forward, I was never again to go riding in the rain alone.

I bore this for over an hour before I was allowed to defend myself. I told of staying in the stable of the old Clark home, as Mama would be scandalized if she discovered I'd been alone in the house with a man for several hours. I mentioned caring for Sunny until the storm broke and allowed me home, which had led us to this moment. Mother gave an annoyed sigh before letting me go to my room.

Once alone, I changed into my nightdress and collapsed into bed, all thoughts of the day's events fleeing from my mind.

The next day, when the Jones family returned to the mansion, they were surprised to find a warm soup on the stove and to hear the bell being rung from upstairs. Marcus raced upstairs while Jill dealt with the soup and read the note on the stove.

"Well, what do you know? Miss Clara Savoy herself was here!" the old woman exclaimed.

Laura leaned in to take a look at the note. "Caught in the storm, was she? Well, I told you it was a good idea to keep old Mrs. Clark's dresses up in that guest room!"

Jill laughed at her daughter's words before dishing out some soup for the two of them. Apparently there was enough in the pot to serve at least ten people, though from the looks of it, Mr. Rousseau had already had his! And as Marcus ran into the kitchen, Jill immediately spooned up another bowl for their master, which was promptly taken upstairs to be served.

Lying in bed, Erik felt much better than he had the previous day. He vaguely remembered having hallucinations about the girl from the Brooks' tea party, as well as soup being fed to him, but nothing more than that.

'Why would I think about her? It makes no sense!'

True, he had felt the need to get to know her better, to find out more about her, but that shouldn't cause him to have visions of her while he was ill! Of course, the mind did very odd things when a person had a fever…then again, who had taken care of him, if it wasn't the Jones'? Erik pushed the though aside and tried to focus on his breakfast.

Glancing down at his bowl of soup, Erik sighed. 'I cannot wait to have decent food again,' he thought. 'A good helping of beef will be the first thing I tell Jill to make as soon as I can have it.'

Cringing at the sight of the mushy vegetables floating around in the liquid, Erik reluctantly dug into his meal.

AN: I hoped that people enjoyed this chapter. Clara and Erik will meet again soon, promise! And it won't be because he's sick, either! Please review!