Stranger Than You Dreamt It
Chapter 10 - Untouchable Masks
The cab raced along the gleaming streets of Paris as fast as its driver would let it. The driver glanced in the window at its passengers. The woman looked very worried almost guilt-ridden. Her violet eyes darted out the window every so often while her finger toyed with the hem of her costume. The cabbie thought she was very beautiful. Why the m'sieur was taking her to a place like a nightclub instead of his flat was a mystery. Well, to each his own.
Holmes was slowly losing his patience with how long the ride was taking. Erika was in danger. Hell, by now she could be dead. He was a bit angry with Lestrade. After all, he had asked her not to tell the Count about the club. Yet she still did it. She couldn't even respect his wishes. However, he couldn't yell at her. She'd had a scare in the graveyard. At least now she knew what kind of man the Count was.
Holmes paid the cab's driver generously and jumped out as it stopped in front of the club. Lestrade gathered up the skirt of her costume and ran after him. She smiled at the cabbie before disappearing into the crowd around the club. The cabbie once more thought about what a waste and pulled away.
Holmes stood in the back, veiled in the shadows. Lestrade quickly joined him. Holmes pulled them deeper into the shadows as she began to recognize several wanted criminals. Her eyes lit on Moriarty standing off the side, glaring daggers at someone. How the hell did he beat them here? Lestrade moved closer to Holmes. If they were discovered they were dead.
Lestrade soon spotted the Count sitting at a table near the front. He looked impatient and very hostile as he glanced around the club. His gaze became very murderous when he looked in the direction of an Arabian man who stood stiffly to the side and gave the Count a very cool and level gaze back.
Lestrade turned to Holmes to see if he noticed the animosity. Holmes watched the whole scene, very intrigued. For the first time he could see all of the pieces, and realized it was like a human chess game. He looked down as Lestrade tugged on his sleeve to gain his attention.
"Holmes, who is that Arabian man that the Count is glaring at?" Lestrade asked
"His name is Nadir Khan. He is the head bouncer and Mademoiselle Daae's bodyguard," Holmes whispered as the lights dimmed. "He is a force that no one wants to reckon with."
Suddenly the band began to playing. The audience quieted down to a dull din as Erika appeared and sat at a small table with one chair. Her costume was a red and gold can-can dress that skimmed her upper thighs. Her face was without its earlier mask. Her curly hair was pulled up high and secured by a gold ribbon. A red one graced her throat. She gave a coy smile to the audience. Holmes noticed it was really directed at the Count.
Erika made sure she had the Count's full attention. His eyes seemed to bug out when he saw that she really had grown up. Good. She wanted him to see what he had tried to destroy. Tonight she was going to strip away his mask and expose what kind of a fool he really was. With that goal in her mind she leaned forward to the audience and began to sing.
You have to understand the way I am, Mein Herr.
A tiger is a tiger, not a lamb. Mein Herr.
You'll never turn the vinegar to jam, Mein Herr.
So I do...
What I do...
When I'm through...
Then I'm through...
And I'm through...
Toodle-oo!
Ruelle watched, fascinated by the woman in front of him. He knew her rich, husky voice as it poured over the air like a fine aged wine. As he chased her to the club, he'd thought she was still like the girl he seduced six years ago. Now he could see the girl was gone. As he watched her cross and uncross her leg seductively to the rhythm of the music, he felt the room start to close in on him.
Bye-Bye, Mein Lieber Herr.
Farewell, mein Lieber Herr.
It was a fine affair, But now it's over.
And though I used to care,
I need the open air.
You're better off without me, Mein Herr.
Don't dab your eye, mein Herr,
Or wonder why, Mein Herr.
I've always told you I was a rover.
You mustn't knit your brow,
You should have known by now
You'd every cause to doubt me, Mein, Herr.
Erika slowly stood up and walked to the Count's table. Gracefully, she sat on it with her back to the dance floor. Picking up the Count's partial glass, she gave the audience a flirty smile as she ignored the Count's gaping mouth. Erika pressed the glass to the hollow of her neck. As she sang, it would slide up and down. Erika wanted to laugh as she caught Moriarty's reverent gaze. Instead she smiled in her usual sly way.
The continent of Europe is so wide, Mein Herr.
Not only up and down, but side to side, Mein Herr.
I couldn't ever cross it if I tried, Mein Herr.
So I do...
What I can...
Inch by inch...
Step by step...
Mile by mile...
Man by man.
Erika gently put the cup back down bringing Ruelle's eyes to her face. He brought his face closer to her. He fell into her blue eyes. Suddenly, she was off the table and dancing with the other girls singing. Ruelle had a hard time ripping his eyes away from her kicking legs.
Bye-Bye, Mein Lieber Herr.
Farewell, mein Lieber Herr.
It was a fine affair, But now it's over.
And though I used to care,
I need the open air.
You're better off without me, Mein Herr.
Ruelle jumped as Erika's foot landed in between his legs. Ruelle's one hand gripped the table as his eyes traveled up her leg and her chest to her face. His fingers itched to grab her and carry her off. However, her eyes stopped him. They looked at him with such loathing.
Don't dab your eye, mein Herr,
Or wonder why, Mein Herr.
I've always told you I was a rover.
You mustn't knit your brow,
You should have known by now
You'd every cause to doubt me, Mein, Herr.
You're better off Without me,
You'll get on Without me Mein.
Herr... Herr...
Erika spun away and curtsied to the applause of the crowd. She gave Ruelle a go to hell look as she stood up. Brown met blue in a battle of wills until Erika haughtily turned around and walked away. Ruelle looked shocked at such insolence. He quickly stood up and walked after her.
Moriarty smirked as both Nadir and Josef blocked the Count's progress. Ruelle started threatening both men very loudly. Moriarty glanced after Erika, who seemed undisturbed by the outburst. Moriarty felt the urge to follow her and started after her.
Holmes watched as the Count was escorted out of the club. He wondered if Erika was okay. She had purposely challenged the Count twice tonight and won both times. But how long would she win? She needed to be careful or all could be lost. Holmes looked at Lestrade, who watched as well, as the Count was unceremoniously thrown out into the street.
Lestrade tugged on Holmes's sleeve. Her eyes seem to convey that she felt they'd stayed long enough. Holmes looked towards the way backstage. By now several of the security swarmed around it. Holmes grinned. The Count wouldn't make it back there tonight. Gently, he took Lestrade's arm. Lestrade looked at him as he led her out as discreetly as he could.
"Don't worry. She is safe for now," Holmes whispered.
"Are you sure?" Lestrade asked softly as they stepped outside and into the light rain.
Holmes took a deep breath as he turned Lestrade towards him. Tenderly, he settled his hands on her waist. Lestrade stiffened slightly but Holmes refused to remove them. He waited until Lestrade looked at him. Blue eyes met violet ones in the misty rain. Resisting the urge to kiss her again, Holmes put his hands on her shoulders and smiled.
"She will be fine," Holmes assured her, "She is protected here. I think we should have her followed when she does leave."
Lestrade nodded dumbly. "It may provide us with some answers."
Holmes grinned as he hailed a cab. "Right now, let's go back to the hotel and rest."
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Moriarty walked through the backstage area. He watched as Erika was being waylaid by several of the dancers and staff. They congratulated her on a job well done. Erika gracefully and tactfully accepted as she tried to slip away. Eventually she reached her dressing room and quickly entered, shutting the door behind her.
Moriarty smiled as he went to walk towards it. She had trapped herself for him perfectly. That door was the only way out. Moriarty smiled to himself as he thought about the last few times he'd caught her off guard. He licked his lips as he remembered that desperate kiss they shared just the other day. Using his skill, he dodged the hopeful dancers who tried to catch his attention.
Soon he stood outside Erika's door. He was about to knock when he heard two voices inside. One he knew was Erika's. The other was very familiar, but Moriarty couldn't place it. After looking around to be sure no one was watching, he leaned closer to listen.
"Excellent job tonight, my dear," the tenor voice praised, "You really got under his skin."
"Thank you. I try my best. It's just I hate this waiting." Erika sighed. "I'm tired of it all. I want to rest."
"You will, chère. I swear to you that when Erik is avenged, you can truly rest."
"Thank you, my friend."
Moriarty felt his hand reach for the doorknob. He knew that voice. In fact, he despised that voice. Something about it stated to him that he should despise it. Deep inside a dark feeling began to bubble up. Moriarty tried to force it down as he listened intently and was surprised when his name came up.
"I heard that you picked up a new admirer. He is in the audience every night. Professor James Moriarty seems to fancy you," the tenor observed calmly.
"I doubt that. I'm just another chit to him. One he can use to an end," Erika spoke up quickly.
"I know he thinks you can lead him to me and he is right, but I think his interest in you is beyond that."
"What gave you that idea?"
"Simple. The kiss you two shared in here."
"He probably gets it all the time. I'm nothing special."
"I'll hold the final judgment on that. He is determined to break our connection." The tenor's tone went very soft like a caress. "Is that what you want? For me to go away?"
"No," Erika whispered in reply, "I would never want you to leave me. We are a team."
Erika's voice held a shiver that shook Moriarty's very core. He closed his eyes to bring the maelstrom of emotions that whipped through his soul back under his tight control. In his mind he could see the Phantom gently caressing Erika's creamy skin before maybe planting a kiss on it. His eyes snapped open with fury swirling in their stormy depths. He grabbed the doorknob and tried to open it. The door refused to open with the lock in place.
"We are that," the Phantom's voice stated smugly, "No one will separate us. Come, ma chère, you need to lie down and rest."
"Yes, my maestro," Erika stated gently.
Moriarty rammed his shoulder against the door and lock. It was the Phantom in there. Moriarty wanted to confront him and Erika together. As he hit the door a third time, the lock gave way and the door swung open. Moriarty rushed in and watched the most amazing thing.
Erika was partway through the mirror when he entered. The glass looked like liquid mercury as she passed through. Moriarty felt his jaw hang open as she turned around and looked at him with a vacant look in her blue eyes. He stepped towards her like he was in a trance as well.
Just as he reached for the mirror, the vision was gone as the glass became hard again. Moriarty's fingers brushed the cool smooth surface, forcing him out of his trance. She went through the mirror, he thought over and over again. He pressed his hands against the glass and pushed with all his strength.
"Erika! Phantom!" he shouted at his image as he backed away, "I will find you!"
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Ruelle paced around his study furiously. He'd failed to kill her. That fact was made painfully obvious tonight when he saw her dancing. He slammed his fist into the wall. He had to get her out of the club. There she was too well guarded. There must be something she would leave it for.
Ruelle took a long drink from his glass. The alcohol burned down his throat. It felt good to him. Absently, he wondered if Erika ever took a drink in her six years of hiding of preparing. He stared at the glass as if it held all the answers. The damn chit must have someplace where she seeks her solace.
A rage gripped him as he turned over the facts. In truth, he knew nothing of Erika other then their storied past. He knew she was in the club, the graveyard, and possibly the Opera House. It was rumored that the Phantom had a home underneath the theater, but no one knew how to get there. He cursed his great great great great great uncle, The Vicomte, for not recording anything before he died in the riding accident. He should have lived and kept his woman, Christine. Instead ran back to her Phantom and bore him a bloodline. She could have been a comtessa with Philippe. Instead she chose the night. Well the Comte fixed that with a little poison. However, that drop of cyanide started the bloody war. The drop heard around the world. Now that little bitch was alive still and The Phantom as well. He killed them both he was sure of it. Instead they lived and were now after him. How could he fail his bloodline so miserably?
With a roar, he flung the glass at the wall. It slammed against the concrete and shattered into several pieces. Ruelle stared at it, breathing heavily. He must force the bitch's hand. Right now she held all the cards. He needed to shake her up, get under her skin. A thought flashed through his mind. A twisted grin spread across his face. Maybe Erik would be willing to be a pawn again.
Ruelle quickly summoned his goons as he began to draft out his plans. He didn't have long to work. He knew the Detective were now his enemy. No matter they served their purpose. Maybe before He disappeared He could get what he deserved from The Female detective. After all, She would make the perfect playtoy until he was bored. Erika wasn't the only master at potions and brews.
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The Phantom stared into the fire in the hearth of the underground house. Anger licked at its soul like flames at a log. How dare that wretched man. True, it delivered a hell of a blow to the Count by showing him what he missed and scaring away his associates. However, the Count had no right to look at Erika that way. How dare he ever think he had a chance to regain what he tried to kill.
The anger began to well up causing the Phantom to chuck its glass into the hearth. The flames sprung up at the contact of alcohol. The lilac point Siamese perked its head up at the rare show of temper. Its bright blue eyes looked at its owner questioningly. The Phantom ran its slender hand through its messy locks of hair. The game was changing again.
"That worthless conniving scumbag, how dare he even want back what he killed!" the Phantom raged to the listening cat. "I saw it, Ayesha. I saw what he wanted. He doesn't get it. Maybe I should let him have a chance. Let's see how he feels when I slip my sword between his ribs and through his black heart."
Ayesha merely mewed her opinion before curling back up to sleep. The Phantom grinned at the cat. Ayesha was Erik's cat. After his death, Ayesha had refused to leave the Phantom's side. During those lonely and lost six years Ayesha had made sure the Phantom was safe. As did Nadir. With them by its side, there was no way that the Count could win.
Stifling a yawn, the Phantom scooped Ayesha. Tomorrow, it would visit Erik and consult with him on what to do. For now, it needed to rest. The Count wasn't one to wait and then strike.