A/N: I'm modeling this story after the classic Gothic romance novels of the nineteenth century. In those novels, character and relationship development were essential for a good story. In the 2004 POTO movie that this story is loosely a sequel to, the Phantom didn't come face to face with Christine until many years after he first started singing to her. No, I won't wait that long to bring them together. But, this isn't fast food fiction and I'm allowing some slow simmering to take place in this story. I hope you'll enjoy the results.

Chapter 10 Release

He entered his home, and stepped into the warm glow of the candlelit room, his mind spinning with the melody. The song was spreading out, taking root. Like a tree that grows beyond the confining walls of a conservatory, it was crashing against his mind and demanding its freedom.

Pulling out music paper, ink and pens, he laid them on the table.

Impatiently tossing his cloak aside, he partially undressed and freed himself from the restraints of his garb. Then he strode to the organ, and gazed at it with impetuous longing.

He touched its gleaming surface, and stroked the cool, smooth wood. It was of the highest quality. He had spared no expense when he had created the instrument.

The massive organ had sat idle these many months as it waited for his return. Hints of past melodies lingered in its crevices.

Sitting down, he lightly stroked the keys. When he firmly pressed them, a full-bodied groan emerged, and reverberated throughout the room. The rising tone caused his skin to tingle and his body to hum.

As he bent over the keys, his white shirt fell open, and the cool air brushed his bare chest. His body remembered the endless sessions here. His muscles instinctively coiled in preparation for the upcoming marathon.

He played softly as he tracked the music that was winding through his mind. Leaning into the music, he closed his eyes. His face softened as the old bliss returned.

Tipping his face upwards, and breathing in deeply, he let loose the music that had been held in for the last year.

For the next three days and nights he played.

First, he played a melody that sang the delight that he felt as he watched her dance in the empty auditorium. A liquid tribute to her grace emerged.

Then other melodies arose. Some were seductive and sensuous. They pressed close to him, and trailed their fingers across his chest. Others were twisted strains of thwarted passion and longing that would never be fulfilled. The music that his heart had been too numb to feel poured from him.

It charged his soul, and drove him to play hour after hour. He vacillated between euphoria and tears, and played until his feelings were spent.

Eventually his fingers cramped and it was painful to touch the keys. In spite of it he played on until physical need overcame him. Retiring to his couch, he slept fitfully, without peace. After several hours, he rose again, and returned to the music.

By Sunday night, he was finished.

Opening the door to his home, he staggered to the water. He was beaten down by exhaustion. At the edge of the lake, he tripped and fell to his knees, his numb hands hitting the rocks.

He sat on his heels, with bloodied fingers, and dumbly stared into the darkness. Flashes of ghostly lights flickered before him: effervescent colors laid down by his lantern on the hundreds of crossings he had made across the lake.

Realizing that he was hallucinating, he dragged himself back into his home. On his worktable were mounds of music sheets, which he swept into a pile. He wondered how they had gotten there, and then realized that he had created them. They were the tangible result of his outpouring.

He tried to rest but his mind was strained beyond sleep. Like that of a small child that goes far past its bedtime, his mind was spinning like a top. The melodies were crashing into each other and had set up a distracting, vibrating thrill in his body. His ears were still ringing from the volume of the organ.

Abandoning his bed, he stepped outside where the fresh air could soothe his raw nerves. Arriving at the gate that separated the cave from the outside world, he found a cache of food that Jules had left for him several days ago. Much of the food was spoiled from the heat of the previous days. There were a few nonperishable items that he fished out which included a bottle of wine. He left the cave and made his way around the perimeter of the opera house.

The moon was small and full in the cloudless sky. His shadow ran ahead of him as he stretched his long legs. Walking along the bridle path, he worked the stiffness from his limbs, and came to the old cedars that lined the path. There he found a large stump that he rested against. The moonlight struck the lawn in front of him, and lit it up like a great stage. The pungent and musty smell of the disintegrating foliage surrounded him, and nipped at his nostrils.

After drinking most of the wine, he heard voices. A man and a woman were walking together hand and hand down the bridle path. They veered off the path, and walked onto the lawn in front of him. Placing a blanket down, they laid down on it and continued to talk. The woman's soft, light voice blended with the man's baritone. He could barely make out what they were saying. It was about their future together and their dreams, the typical talk of lovers. Eventually, their voices faded, and were replaced with the soft rustling sound of the woman's dress being lifted. Then there were soft sighs punctuated with occasional moans. The man's hands were busily working over the woman's shifting form.

Finishing his wine, he decided to leave. He didn't care to spy on the two that were in front of him locked in an impassioned embrace. It left an empty feeling in him when he chanced upon lovers, and stayed more than a few minutes in their proximity. He shrugged his shoulders, and thought that it was fortunate that they had come at that moment. He was beginning to feel very relaxed, and would soon be able to sleep. Their presence shook him out of his reverie. It was time for him to return to his home.

Then he heard the pounding hooves of a horse that was traveling fast down the bridle path in his direction. He stepped back into the shadows, and watched as the man hastily stood up and looked in the direction of the oncoming horse. The woman was fumbling with her dress, and replacing one of her undergarments.

A large dark horse passed them by moving fast. Perched on his back was Jade, who was bent over his shoulders and hugging his neck. They rode by in a blur.

The horse and rider turned past the cedars and continued on up the road.

He cut through the trees, and emerged on the other side so that he had a view of them as they continued up the road.

As he watched, the horse slowed to a trot, turned, and headed back towards him. Picking up speed, the dark figure raced back in his direction. The rider sat perfectly still, and was a mere shadow on the animal's back.

Glancing in front of him, he noted that the man and the woman were already half way across the lawn, as they hurried away.

The dark horse loped towards him, and was covered with a frothy sweat. The rider was now sitting erect. Responding to an unseen signal, the horse broke its stride, and moved into a trot. Then it left the road directly in front of him and stepped onto the lawn.

The stallion pulled his feet up high in a dancing trot as the woman guided him in tight, figure eight circles. The moonlight poured down upon them like a giant stage light from the sky, highlighting the proud arch of the horse's neck. A light breeze flicked the frothy sweat from his body as his rider sat quietly on his great form.

Their movement was fluid, a ballet. As the beautiful image floated before him, he shut his eyes, and sealed it into his memory.

Then the horse and rider moved away from him, and headed towards the stable.

He followed them. In his altered, exhausted state, he let them pull him along like the flotsam that trails the wake of a great ship on the ocean. The restlessness had dropped away, and he was sliding into deep relaxation.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Horse and rider entered the stable shadowed by the man. It was quiet as the equine residents dozed. She removed the bridle, and rubbed the dark stallion down, quietly talking to him and giving him an occasional pat. She filled his water bucket, and allowed him to drink deeply as she stood at the corner of his stall. The stallion's great shoulders sloped powerfully as he bent down, and filled his belly. He was completely at ease. Leaving the stall, she headed back to the opera house through the passages off the stable.

She walked in the darkness effortlessly, as she had memorized the number of steps from one passage to the next. As she moved down the final passage that would take her back into the main part of the building, she heard a faint sound, a scraping of a foot against the floor. She turned, and looked into the darkness as she leaned forward and waited for something to emerge. Her fists were clenched with expectation, and her shoulders tensed as she prepared to strike out and defend herself. But nothing came. Yet she was certain that there was something there in the distance, something that was following her.

She spun around and in a flash reached the door to the opera house. Passing through it, she closed it firmly. "Come through now, and we shall see what will happen", she whispered to what lay behind the door. Her hand was in her pocket clasping a knife that she carried. She waited, but nothing answered her challenge.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

He had watched her in the stable working with the stallion. His eyes were half closed, as he followed her stroking motions. It was as if she were touching his shoulders and attending to his needs. When she left, he stayed behind her, and noted how well she moved in the pitch black of the halls. He was fast losing his energy. He stumbled as he approached the passage that forked away from hers and led to his home. Her footsteps stopped, and he heard a light gasp of recognition. Suddenly, he had a powerful impulse to pursue her, to creep up on her in that dark space and touch her. The blood rushed to his temples, and the urge of the hunt was so fresh that he could taste it. What would she do if she suddenly felt his warm gloves grasping her waist? Would she scream? Or would she strike out and defend herself?

He shook away the impulse that came from the dream like state that he had worked himself into.

As he headed home, it seemed to take forever to get there. When he entered his bedroom, he kicked off his boots, and laid upon his sheets, finally calm enough to sleep. He began to drift off, and thought of the dark horse and the massaging motion of her hands across its shoulders. He distantly wondered what it would be like if her hands were stroking his back as they caressed him into sleep. He imagined her calm deliberate touch, the smooth repetitive motion, and it carried him into unconsciousness.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

She entered her room, and quickly locked the door behind her. Her heart was still beating rapidly, and she was sweating. Pacing the length of the room for a few minutes, she tried to calm down. Then she pulled the chamber pot out from under the bed, and emptied the contents of her stomach into it.

Seated in the chair, Jade stared emptily at the wall mirror. Just a physical reaction, nothing more, she told herself. She'd been through worse on the streets of Paris in those nightmarish first ten days in the city. Also, she'd been attacked in the provinces, and had defended herself. Still, it was unnerving when the potential threat remained hidden in the dark. It magnified the danger.

She got up and checked the door's lock to gauge its strength. It looked strong enough. And there were residents along the hall that would hear her if she cried out.

Undressing slowly, she washed the sweat from her face and arms. The cool cloth was soothing.

She looked into the mirror again and this time cursed at it, as if whoever had followed her was standing behind it. Damn him! It was most certainly a man who had probably imagined that he was about to capture a sexual thrill in the passageway. He'll regret it if he catches me, she thought grimly.

Lying in bed, she planned how she would manage her night rides in the future. There would be no more walking back through the stable passages in the dark. Riding the big stallion tonight had been exhilarating, and she planned to continue to do so in spite of a lurking presence. She'd just have to be more careful.

The legend of the Opera Ghost that had terrified Gillian, came to mind. Perhaps there was something to it after all. The opera house was a huge building, and it provided ample opportunity for a human predator to hunt the unsuspecting.

It was time she learned more about this place.