Myshawolf peeks out: A double update again. My Master's paper is wrapping up and i'm writing the Precursor to this Fic. Originally It was Angelina's fic the Case of The Honeymooners. But her account and then her computer died losing the fic. So I had to rewrite everything but I may have missed a few things. Sorry and Enjoy. Also I Do'nt own Any of the songs you see inthis fic. Buy the Cabnaret and Chicago Soundtracks. Good stuff.
Stranger Than You Dreamt It
Chapter 5- Through The Looking Glass
Moriarty stared at the computer screen. He hadn't moved in the full two hours he sat there. The only things that said Erika Daae even existed were his memory of that night in the club and a small biography in the Surete's computer files. He glared at the singer's picture. There was more to her than what he was finding out; her bio didn't fit. Rubbing his eyes, he refused to sleep. She was waiting there to tempt him and tease him. He wanted ammo to use on her in his dreams. He slammed down his fist. He wanted her real name.
The computer beeped as it clicked over into another search. Moriarty looked up and puzzled over what he hit. As he tried to cancel the search, he froze as the picture began to bring up several other files. The one that stood out to him was the Noir Murder case.
It jumped out at him. Moriarty wasn't sure what possessed him to click on the abstract, but he did. He licked his lips in anticipation as he opened the page. Here would be where he found his answers.
The first thing he saw was the picture of Erika clutching her father's body. Moriarty felt an ache in his heart as he gazed at her face. She looked so young, merely a child. Unable to resist he put a finger to the computer screen to touch her face. What does seeing such a thing do to one so young?
Reluctantly he tore his eyes away from the picture to read the blurb about the murder. His eyes flashed as he clicked on Erika's name to read her biography according to the Surete. As he read a smile crept over his face. Several things began to make sense. She was a well trained actress with good standing at the Opera House before it was closed when she was twelve. Her father was a bandleader at the club and Erika would perform there during the early hours for the lunch crowd.
It seems the club was a cover for Erik's real profession. The quiet bandleader was really an information hunter and occasional cat burglar. Erik was also an agent for a rising criminal named the Phantom. The Surete speculated that Erika would quickly follow her father's footsteps. However she disappeared from the known world, as did the Phantom from the criminal underworld.
Moriarty smirked as he continued on. Erika would make an excellent addition to his gang. She was a very talented young lady. Moriarty would have to be careful. Looks and intelligence didn't always mix well. He would have to be mindful of any manipulation by her, if he could get over her seductive ways first.
Smirking at her picture, he thought, "It is time to turn the tables, my dear."
He frowned as he hit a snag. It seemed the Surete only kept the abstracts of their cases on their computers. If he wanted details on Erika and her past he only had two options. One was to question her himself. Considering how she affected him, that wasn't the wisest option. The other was to break into the Surete.
Moriarty grinned maliciously. Breaking into the Surete was crazy and foolish. He was guaranteed to get caught if he even messed up slightly. However, if that meant he would gain an edge over his current opponent, it was worth it. The siren was going down.
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Holmes leaned back in the hover car as they approached the café. He wasn't looking forward to this meal. The Count gave him the impression that he would prefer Holmes at the bottom of the Seine itself. However, Holmes refused to let Lestrade be alone with the man. For all they knew the Count was a murderer, and Holmes not about to put Lestrade at risk.
Yet this case was full of risks. Holmes came to that concludes last night when he found the Count still had underworld connection. It was very likely he was one of Moriarty's top allies. Then why bring them to Paris? Why not let Moriarty handle the brother's murder? Unless the Count didn't trust Moriarty, which makes Moriarty a possible suspect. However, Moriarty prefers to be present for his crimes, and by all accounts the Napoleon of crime wasn't there, which lead Holmes back to Erika Noir.
The singer had to be involved. The young man was poisoned. The only thing he drank that night was the drink at that club, a drink the singer touched. But she did so in front of a club full of witnesses and no one saw her put poison into the glass, only her finger and that was only for a brief second. So how did Raoul De Chagny get poisoned?
Holmes was shaken from his thoughts by Lestrade. A worried look passed over her face. Holmes merely smiled, thankful they left Watson back in New London in charge of the Irregulars and an outside consultant. They stepped out of the cab and on to the sidewalk outside the trendy café. The Count was waiting outside. Holmes noticed he was impeccably dressed and looked every bit the nobleman he was trying to be. The Count flattered Lestrade about everything on her from her hair to her dress. Holmes fought the urge to roll his eyes. He had a strong feeling Lestrade wouldn't appreciate it.
As they sat down, Holmes glanced at the menu, waiting for the moment to strike. The Count flirted lightly with Lestrade. To her credit, Beth tried to brush it aside. She still blushed when he complimented her beauty, but she maintained the conversation on a professional level. Holmes decided she had floundered enough and put down his menu.
"M'sieur de Chagny, the Inspector was telling me that you received a note," Holmes stated, bringing the Count's hard glare back to him.
"Oui, that I did," Ruelle remarked sharply.
"May we see it?" Lestrade asked gently.
Ruelle smiled at her. "Of course, mademoiselle."
Ruelle pulled out the small card and black envelope. Holmes took it and inspected it, as Lestrade scooted her chair closer to his so she could see. It was a white card with no blemishes or tears. On one side was the message written in red ink. Holmes decided it was to symbolize blood -- a characteristic he had seen before in another older case.
Gently he flipped the card over and gasped at the picture. The mask stared at him, pierced with a red rose. He looked at Lestrade to see if she remembered it as well. Noting her intense concentration, he knew she was trying.
"Just like the ones we received on the past two cases concerning Moriarty." Holmes reminded her.
Lestrade gasped. "You are right Holmes. It is the same picture and handwriting, but Holmes, what does that mean?"
"M'sieur, does this picture mean anything to you?" Holmes asked pointedly.
Ruelle reached for his drink, "Of course not."
"Then why would someone send it to you? Obviously it does." Holmes leaned back, giving his glare back to the Count, "You should tell us. If you want your brother's killer caught, you need to be honest."
Lestrade noticed the staredown and decided to add her pleading. "Please, Ruelle. If you know who it belongs to, you need to tell us."
The Count glanced at her and sighed. "Very well, my dear Inspector. This symbol is very well known in Paris and has been for over two hundred years. It is the Phantom's family crest."
"The Phantom?" Lestrade repeated, "But how? He is just a story, isn't he?"
"So was I, my dear Lestrade." Holmes smiled at her. "But he wasn't a story during my day. He was very real."
"Indeed. He has been targeting my family for years. We had six years of peace. I figured it was over, that the Phantom was truly gone. And then he struck." Ruelle stated firmly, "I refuse to go into hiding. I want him prosecuted for what he did to my brother."
"We'll find him," Lestrade assured him. "I promise."
Ruelle smiled at her. "Ah, ma chère, I don't want to risk you needlessly."
"Risks are part of my job," Lestrade shrugged.
Ruelle's eyes took on a strange gleam. As soon as it was there, then it was gone. Lestrade blinked. She must have imagined it. Soon Ruelle was smiling sweetly.
"There is one thing I can tell you," Ruelle stated. "The Phantom is a very close friend to the Noirs."
"The Noirs? Really?" Holmes queried, intrigued. "How do we find a Noir?"
Ruelle seemed caught off guard by the question. Lestrade knew why Holmes asked it -- to see if Ruelle had played a part in Erika's disappearance. Lestrade watched his face as confusion washed over it. Ruelle shifted slightly under Holmes' unwavering gaze.
"I have no idea," Ruelle confessed. "I was hoping you could tell me. They have eluded me for years since the death of Erik Noir V."
"Why is that?" Holmes asked.
Ruelle sighed softly. "Our families have never gotten along. Erik Noir was a fine and honorable man. I was in love with Erika, his daughter. Erik didn't approve but he wanted peace, and for his daughter, happiness. The night he was killed, Erika blamed me. That it was my fault. When I tried to explain it to her, she disappeared."
Lestrade looked at Holmes to say, 'I told you so'. But Holmes didn't look convinced. He glared at the Count. He wasn't a bad actor. But he didn't see sincerity; it was as if he wanted them to be moved. Holmes glanced at Lestrade, to see that she was.
Holmes spoke up gruffly. "So you are saying that Erika is involved in this?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," Ruelle nodded. "Find Erika and I'm sure she will lead you to the killer."
Holmes leaned back as he considered his options. He looked up to see Lestrade begin to tell the Count about his discovery in the club. Thinking fast, he swiftly kicked her, causing her to glare. Silently he conveyed a message to keep quiet. Lestrade glared at him but remained silent.
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The Phantom watched the table closely from his spot in the shadows. With grace it picked up its glass and regarded the Count with contempt. It seemed the fool was trying to woo another conquest. The girl seemed to resist but the Count was wearing her down. At least M'sieur Holmes knew what was going on and currently disrupted it.
Smiling, the Phantom saluted the Great Detective with its glass. It was impressed with his skill at discovering the connection between the Noirs, de Chagny, and the Phantom. Now if he learned where, The Phantom would be greatly impressed and worried. But it would cross that bridge when it came up. The Phantom glanced at its dining partner.
"Nadir, my friend. What is wrong?" The Phantom chuckled.
"I don't like all these players running around. It makes me nervous for your safety," Nadir admitted. "Holmes is getting close and the Professor is hacking into Surete files. We are going to get caught. You know that they want you dead."
"I'm not blind, but I doubt the Professor will kill me as quickly as the Count," the Phantom mused, "and I doubt Holmes will willingly turn me over. After all, he doesn't trust the Count."
Nadir smirked. "No one is sure who to trust."
"And let's keep it that way, shall we?"
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Holmes nearly groaned as they entered their hotel room. After the brief discussion on Erika, the Count turned the conversation to himself. Holmes had clicked out of it. Occasionally, he would tune in when the Count would state something that didn't ring true to Holmes.
Glancing at Lestrade, Holmes realized that she had got more out of this evening than he had. Her mind and mouth were going a mile a minute over all the possible places to look. He watched her, amused. When she had a fire lit under her, she was like a firecracker of ideas. He enjoyed listening to them. A few were very close to the actual truth while others were very outlandish -- which helped in its own way.
Holmes leaned back as her voice filled the room. He could hear every word she said and mentally filed it away. Tonight he was too tired to think. Then Lestrade stopped talking. Curious, Holmes looked to see what had caught Lestrade's attention.
Sitting on the desk were two black envelopes. Their names were written on the front in gold. Lestrade hesitantly picked hers up. Obviously, the killer wanted to taunt them as well. Holmes reached for his. Exchanging a glance, they opened them up together.
Lestrade traced a finger down the front. It was a beautiful picture. It was hard to think that someone who'd created such an image was capable of murder. Gently she flipped the card over. In bold red was an ominous message, "Beware the royal mask." Lestrade puzzled over that.
Holmes glanced at the card and smirked. Obviously he wasn't the only one who was worried over Lestrade's trust of the Count. He studied the picture on the front. It was easy to see that it was hand-painted onto the card. Which meant the sender was proud of the symbol. Flipping his over, his eyes scanned the message. It was very true indeed.
"What does yours say, Holmes?" Lestrade asked.
"A piece of advice that we need to heed from here on in," Holmes told her as he turned the card to her, so the message was visible. "Trust no one."