Stranger Than You Dreamt It

Chapter 8- Don't Kill the Messenger

He stared at the gun in his hand. He'd done it. Finally, he had avenged his father and could say he'd killed them all, including Erika. His heart lurched at the sight of her in his head. Beautiful Erika was gone. Erika, the naïve girl he'd wooed and bedded, was gone. For six years, his home had been emptied of her laughter, her smile.

Ruelle shook his head as he put the gun away. He regretted killing her, regretted her bloodline, but he was the Count de Chagny and the name must always come first. Too bad Erik had to be there. Ruelle would have been contented to let him die of old age, but the fool was always there protecting his daughter. So he paid the price for his folly.

Ruelle's mind wandered back to Erika. A wistful smile touched his lips. She was an eager lay, so willing to please. He taught her everything he knew and she learned quite well. However, she was hardly worth marrying. She was a liability, someone who would cause waves when he decided to marry the Countess St. Cyr. She was to be disposed of immediately. After all, she was a Noir woman, only good for pleasure and murder.

It was odd that six years later she would continue to haunt him. She still danced and sang in the shadows of his mind. His brother death screamed that she was responsible. But he didn't dare go to the club, not until he knew for sure. The detectives would do that easily for him. After all with their unwitting help, he could gain all that he lost.

Ruelle returned to his desk. The Countess St Cyr might have rejected him when she found out about the murder charge. However, he'd found one woman who didn't. Picking up a picture of Inspector Lestrade, a twisted smile touched his lips. A Yardie who was easy to manipulate was hard to find, yet this little gem dropped into his lap. He couldn't wait to have her there physically. All he needed to do was separate her from that meddling private detective. Then he could strike. Maybe he'd take her to the Noir Grave to show off that he'd truly won this game.

A chuckle escaped his lips as the plan began to form. Quickly, he worked to have his agents follow the detectives until he could make his move. This time no one would stop him from getting what he wanted, not even the past.

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The Phantom quickly moved down the deserted street of the Rue Scribe. The Rue Scribe was cloaked in the mist of a new day. The Phantom preferred this time of day to run its errands. The law abiding citizens of Paris were still sleeping unaware of what happens in the shadows of the night life. Meanwhile, the members of the underworld were still running about which made his job easier.

The Napoleon of Crime needed to would on his security. It was too easy for the Phantom walk in to his lair and leaves a little token on the Napoleon's desk. The note should be enough to incest the mastermind. The Phantom smirked as he hurried along. He had appointments for the day to prepare for. The Phantom hesitated as it neared the spot where the tragedy occurred. The event with its horrific sounds and screamed played over and over in the Phantom's head.

Shaking off the feelings of that night, The Phantom hurried on. It was due at the Club soon. It didn't have time for such memories. Right now it had revenge to concentrate on. The De Chagny was going to move and soon on his agenda. The Phantom needed to be ready or another innocent was going to fall in battle. Moving quickly the Phantom disappeared into the shadows and mist, like a ghost in the early dawn.

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Holmes silently slipped through the empty club. He was relieved and surprised that no one was around. Of course it was still morning and from what he learned the club didn't start up until about mid afternoon, lunch time for the criminal class. Looking around he noted that the front of the club was much like the nightclubs of the early 1940's. He noted the many hidden alcoves, possibly places for illegal transactions. No wonder Erik was able to get such good information for the Phantom. Criminals would talk freely here and not think they were being listened to. It was perfect.

Making his way back stage he discreetly checked each room until he saw the lilac Siamese from the Theater staring at him. The two stared at each other for a few minutes. Finally the Siamese swished its tail before sauntering into a room. Holmes was about to continue his search when Erika's voice reached his ears.

"Come here, Ayesha. I found it." Erika spoke clearly in the deserted hallway.

Holmes licked his lips. Here was a break; Erika was alone with no one but the cat, Ayesha. The presence of the cat and Erika's obvious ownership of it proved his theory right. Erika did live in the Theater the only place no one would ever look for her. Which meant she was connected to the criminal called the Phantom. Holmes walked cautiously to the door. He has to be prepared for anything.

Looking around the corner of the door, he could see Erika sitting on the small bed. In her small hands was cradling a small orb. Sherlock watched as a sad smile crossed Erika's face. Her blue eyes gazed lovingly at the small orb. Her finger gently caressed the smooth metal surface of the orb. Curled up at Erika's feet was Ayesha watching her mistress with a casually interest.

"I have been losing my focus, Ayesha. Maybe Nadir was right about too many players involved in this game." Erika confided to the cat and unknowing to Holmes as well.

Ayesha merely mewed in response to the statement. Its tail flicked as well, brushing against Erika's arm. A girlish giggle escaped Erika's lips. It reminded Holmes about how young the lady really was.

Erika smiled at Ayesha, "Papa would like Moriarty being back in charge. And he would be intrigued by the Great Detective. It would be like he was back in great-great-great-great grandfather's day. I can understand that feeling. It's fun looking back on the past. Are you ready Ayesha?"

The cat meowed as it jumped into Erika's lap ready for an adventure. Erika tapped the side of the orb. A small whirling sound reached Holmes's ears. Watching amazed, a light shot out of the orb and encased the room very similar to what the Mazarin Chip did when it was activated. Holmes watched as the simple dressing room became the dance floor of the club. Sitting behind the piano was a handsome older man playing with great skill. Holmes never heard Chopin played with such feeling. The man smiled brightly, his blues eyes gleamed with pride as he played. His chestnut hair was streaked with gray but it made him look dashing, not old.

Holmes realized that this was Erika's father. The ghostly image of a man who lost his life to a man he trusted. Glancing at Erika, Holmes could see what this cost her, her last known relative. One bit of poor judgment and this was ripped away from her. Feeling like he was intruding, Holmes turned away. Now that he knew for sure that Erika was here, he could come back another time to interview her.

As he exited the hallway, a pair of voices reached his ears. Diving into an alcove, Holmes became silent in order to listen in. He watched warily as Leroux and Khan walked into view. Melting deeper into the shadow, he listened in with great interest.

"You were supposed to keep an eye on them." Khan growled, "I can't protect her if we don't know what they are up to."

"It's not like they are underlings to me. They are independent investigators. Besides Holmes isn't on the Count's side. Out of the two he is the more dangerous one." Leroux shot back, "He will keep it to himself, Khan, if it meant the Count wouldn't find out."

Khan snarled, "There are too many players poking around. Too many interested parties running around with the Count has renewed the bounty on her head and Moriarty demanding answers to the Phantom's identity."

"I guess the Count's Masquerade coming up isn't helping any."

"Of course not. She is deadest on going and showing up. She wants to let the Underground know she is back and ready to rumble. And she'll do it. Allah, why did you put me in charge of such a stubborn woman?"

"It's your lot in life?" Leroux joked, "Besides you are not alone, Khan. I'll be at this Masquerade as well. With all those criminals involved we must have some law enforcement."

"Just make sure none of them get to her. Or it will be your neck."

The two moved on to Erika's room. Holmes checked to be sure the coast is clear before slipping out of the club. It seemed that card was right. Leroux works for Khan and Khan works for Erika. Erika works for the Phantom and maybe responsible for the death of the younger de Chagny brother. Holmes needed to talk with Lestrade. It seems they must continue this investigation totally on their own. After all, The Phantom did warn them to trust no one.

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Lestrade walked down the streets of Paris. Today she was going to interview one of Dante de Chagny's friends who'd been with him at the club. So far she had several conflicting reports and theories about Dante's last few minutes. Lestrade puzzled over it. Where was the truth?

Lestrade stopped for a second. She wasn't sure what to believe anymore. Not after last night, not after she saw the result of six years ago. Lestrade was sure that wasn't even a scratching of the surface. What did Erika bury deep, far down where no one could see, where no one could touch?

Lestrade was so lost in her thoughts she didn't realize where she was going. Looking up she realized she was on the Rue Scribe, right outside a very old cemetery. Suppressing a shiver she turned away, intent on getting back on track.

As she moved away, she thought she saw someone in black fly by. She turned her head quickly to catch a glimpse, only to see no one there. Slightly shaken, remembering the ghost from last night, Lestrade quickly turned to leave. Instead she ran into Ruelle.

Lestrade stared at the handsome count in disbelief. His sandy blonde hair looked ruffled, like he hadn't slept much. He looked at her with surprise. Lestrade figured he wasn't expecting her to be there. Ruelle seemed to confirm this suspicion.

"Inspector, I wasn't expecting to see your lovely face here," Ruelle exclaimed.

"I think I took a wrong turn. I was on my way to interview your brother's friend, Marco, about what he saw," Lestrade smiled, "I think we have a lead on the singer at the club."

"Really?" the Count remarked with genuine surprise.

"Yes, she is an exact double for Miss Noir. Or at least Holmes says she is. I haven't seen her yet."

"And she was a singer at the club, you say?" Ruelle asked calmly, his mind already going a mile a minute.

Lestrade smiled at him as she nodded. Ruelle was dazzled by her beauty. Tonight he would make his move. But right now, it was time for some pleasure. Slipping a hand around her waist, he felt her stiffen slightly. He just smiled at her, hoping to relax her, while inside he frowned. Apparently, he would need some help.

"You know," Ruelle began smoothly, "I was just going to visit the Noir graves."

"You still visit them?" Lestrade asked, "You must have really cared for her."

Ruelle put on a sad face. "Yes. I miss her at times. I constantly hope to see her again, so much unfinished business between us. But come, I want to introduce you to someone."

Ruelle grabbed her hand and pulled her into the cemetery. Lestrade noticed how roughly he handled her. It was so different from Holmes, who usually pulled her along tenderly when leading her somewhere. Lestrade looked around the neglected cemetery. Stone angels stared down at her. In the distance she thought she saw a shadowy figure follow her. She blinked, and again the figure was gone. Lestrade hurried along. She was starting to get the creeps again.

The Count walked her to a huge stone building. Engraved on the front was the name of Noir. Bright red roses began creeping up the side, curling, and wound their way towards the top. Next to the name, a blooming rose's vine burst through a carved picture of a mask. Lestrade nearly collapsed as her mind saw a flash of the picture on the mysterious cards in her mind. Did that mean there was a Noir in America during the filming of the Honeymooners?

Before she could ponder it farther, Ruelle tugged her inside the tomb. Lestrade stared around at all the names that surrounding her. The male names seemed to stick to a theme, with such things as a couple Christians and Christophers, several Eriks, and one Raoul. They were similar to the name of the original players in the original mystery of the Phantom of the Opera.

"This is the resting place of the Phantoms," Lestrade whispered.

"Yes, sworn enemies of the de Chagnies. They have haunted my family for centuries. All we wanted was peace."

"Peace through bloodshed is no peace." Lestrade looked to him.

"Erik was different, as was Erika. They wanted peace." Ruelle turned to her fully.

"Why, then?"

Ruelle frowned. "Why what?"

"Why shoot them? They wanted peace," Lestrade stated firmly. She was going to get his reasons.

"There are more reasons to that situation than you can understand."

"Try me."

Ruelle looked around for a way to distract her. Finally he decided to move and move fast. Roughly, he pulled her into a kiss. He poured all his skill into the kiss meant to distract her. Instead, Lestrade shoved against him. Ruelle tightened his grip with one arm and he fumbled for the needle in his pocket. Lestrade bit his lip hard as he injected the serum in her. Crying in pain, he shoved her away.

Lestrade hit the wall of the tomb hard. She slid down the wall as dizziness took over her thoughts. The Count glared at her in a strange way. Lestrade wondered if he did this to Erika. It seems Holmes was right about him. Her arms began to feel heavy as she tried to fight the Count off.

"Bloody chit, you should have played along," Ruelle growled as he tried to undress her. "Now you are just making me want to hurt you more."

Suddenly someone in black tackled Ruelle away. Lestrade heard a brief scuffle occur outside. She closed her eyes as nausea swept over her. Please don't let Ruelle return, she prayed silently. Soon a melodious tenor voice called to her. Lestrade opened her blurry eyes to see a sea of white with two sapphire dots floating in it.

"Please don't hurt me," Lestrade whispered, feeling pathetic that she had to plead with this stranger.

"I have no intention to, as long as you don't hurt me," the stranger joked as it lifted her. "Now to get you to safety. The coward ran but he'll be back."

Lestrade noticed something red on the stranger's arm, staining the white shirt it wore under the cape. "You are hurt."

"I'll live. I always do." the stranger replied taking her underground, the safest route it knew.

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Holmes trudged into the hotel room. His eyes ached from digging through the Surete and the library's archives. What a waste of a day. He didn't learn anything he didn't already know. As he shut the door, he thought, hopefully Lestrade had better luck.

Holmes clicked on the light. On the bed was Lestrade, out cold. Frantic, he hurried towards her. Then he saw the syringe on his desk with a black envelope next to it. Torn between which one to go to first, Holmes sighed.

Quickly, Holmes walked to Lestrade's side. He bent over Lestrade, checking her vitals. Soon he was satisfied that she was okay. He just watched her for a moment. She looked so peaceful laying there. Gently Holmes brushed a stray hair from her face.

He snatched the black envelope off the desk. What did their mysterious snitch have to say? He ripped it open and took out the familiar card. He sneered at the card and flipped it over. In the clear red ink was 'The antidote is in the needle." Holmes put down the card and picked up the needle. Should he trust them? So far the writer hadn't led him wrong, but it had warned him against trusting anyone.

Holmes looked back at Lestrade. Obviously, the writer cared about their welfare. Slowly he walked over and injected the serum in to Lestrade's bloodstream. He threw out the needle, sat in a chair that was nearby and waited.

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Erika ran the brush through her hair carefully. Gently, she crossed her legs, allowing the bottom of her robe to fall open. Erika shifted slightly in her seat as she continued to get ready for her entrance, if she had one.

She had had a few close calls today. The Count had discovered that she was alive and now his goons were on the prowl. It was a good thing that she could easily disappear when she needed to. Right now, Nadir was having kittens because the Count was looking for her.

The Count was always looking for her. He hadn't stopped during those six years she laid low. Sure, he lightened up on it, but he never stopped. Erika knew this was going to happen when his younger brother died in the club. It wasn't a shot, it was an explosion; and the Count was answering it beautifully.

Erika put down the brush and reached for one of her perfumes. Tenderly, she rubbed the scent on her neck and upper chest. If she didn't perform tonight, maybe she would drop in on the Professor. A smirk flowed across her face. That would rock him. Lost in her thoughts of ways to torture Professor James Moriarty, she nearly missed hearing her door squeak open.

However, Erika did hear it. Her sapphire eyes looked in the mirror towards the intruder. The tall bulky man in her doorway stared at her with cold hard eyes. Erika didn't flinch. She knew why he was there. The Count sent him to collect her. Well, she wasn't about to make it easy.

She turned around just as he lunged for her. Erika rolled away as he slammed into the vanity. Erika smirked evilly. She hoped he hurt himself. Erika glanced at the door. She could reach it in time. Erika sprinted towards the door. Her finger brushed the frame as her head peeked into the hallway.

Suddenly a burly arm grabbed her waist and yanked her back in. Erika gasped loudly as she began to struggle; she nearly made it. The goon slammed the door shut, chuckling as he did so. Erika grew more desperate as he had her arms pinned to her side.

"Now, now, chère, no need for that. The Count has been searching for you," the goon informed her, "He told me not to damage you and I don't want to hurt such a pretty package."

"Laissez-moi partir, vous hybride. Je ne vais pas n'importe où!" Erika raged in her struggle to get free.

The goon only laughed at her, causing Erika to grow more upset. She tried everything to get free. The goon only tightened his grip on her. Soon he was squeezing hard enough to cut off Erika's air. Dear Lord, Erika grimaced, he is trying to knock me out. I can't pass out or I'm dead.

A smooth british voice interrupted her thoughts. It startled her captor enough to loosen his grip. Erika gasped for air and winced at the aching in her ribs. She turned her head towards the door to see who just saved her, but the goon was blocking her view.

"Scram, M'sieur. This is a private party!" the goon growled.

"You hear the Mademoiselle," the voice spoke again as it approached. "Put her down. You aren't taking her anywhere."