Noir47

Erik woke in the darkness, startled by the stillness surrounding him and the warmth at his back. His muscles tensed, his mouth opened in question. Panic filled him as he had expected to wake and find himself beneath the opera house, his existence returned to the hell he wanted to escape from for so long.

And then he heard her sigh and remembered Corinna was there with him. She had found him.

Erik released a soft sigh and eased his head against the silk pillowcase, feeling her breaths against his bare shoulder.

The last thing he remembered before drifting into sleep was Corinna nestled up against him, humming in his ear, whispering that she would be there when he woke. He had been afraid to close his eyes, afraid to fall asleep and find her gone.

But there she was in the middle of the night, her hand resting against his hip, her leg against his. He could hear her breathing. She was still asleep beside him, sharing a bed, sharing dreamless, peaceful sleep.

Erik moved away, lifting Corinna's hand so he could turn and face her in the night. She sighed softly but didn't wake. Her hand rested on his side and she murmured something before she was sound asleep again.

So many years had slipped away since last they had met, yet in sleep she looked the same. Her complexion was still flawless, her eyelashes long and dark. With her face washed of bawdry makeup she appeared childlike.

As much as he attempted to remove the thoughts from his mind, Erik found it impossible to forget Christine. In the years he had lived alone, Christine had kept him alive. She hadn't known it, as she had thought him ethereal, but he had fed off her voice and her innocence.

She was my prey, he thought as he looked away, unable to face Corinna. He had merely wanted to watch over her. As he lay awake he attempted to pinpoint when his admiration had become an obsession, a sickening fixation with a voice.

Erik's stomach twisted. He was making himself ill with the thought of all that had happened. Not even the taste of her kiss was sweet in his memory. It had all been a mistake, one which nearly ended fatally. One that did end fatally, he reminded himself, though the bloodshed could have been worse.

He rose from the bed, unable to lie beside Corinna with his thoughts dragging him into another melancholy state. Still exhausted, he buttoned his shirt and walked to the window, shivering as he left the comfortable warmth he had shared with Corinna. The night was clear, the stars bright and a quarter moon struggling to reveal the empty courtyard below the window.

Night was safe to him, night was protective, an unspoken ally to a man who was forced to embrace the shadows. In the nights between visits to Corinna he had lay awake in the darkness, tucked into a doorway with his cloak concealing him in the night. Sleep refused to pay him a visit, so he would wait until the first light of dawn sent him into hiding, and he would disappear. Several times he had dared to crawl beneath the opera house again. Once he had been met with strangers, though the rest of his visits had been plagued only by guilt.

Erik felt suddenly restless and confined. He added another log to the fire dwindling in the hearth and turned one last time to check on Corinna, who was still sleeping peacefully on her side.

He smiled wanly as he padded barefoot into the hall. There was a single kerosene lamp turned down low on a table. The gas lamps lining the walls were turned off for the evening, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the single lamp revealed the room he stood in.

There was something strangely familiar about the hall, something he couldn't quite place as he stood alone, listening to the tick on an unseen clock.

Erik had no idea if there were servants within the house or where they would be, as he had no idea what the hour was. He stood a moment and pieced the house together, recalling that he had only seen the dining room, the bath, and the master bedchamber.

Something seemed peculiar, but he knew if he walked down the stairs and to the far end of the hall he should discover four bedrooms: two on the left side and two on the right. The master bedroom should have been at the end of the hall, but it was upstairs where the library should have been.

With his brow furrowed, he stared ahead into the darkness, imagining a sitting room and a spacious study.

Erik walked down the stairs, shivering as his feet touched the cool wooden stairs. His fingers skimmed the fresco wall as he lifted his kerosene lamp from the table and glanced at the tapestries lining the walls.

His heart was racing by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs. He was confused but overjoyed.

He knew this place.

Erik swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the layout, feeling the pencil in his hand, hearing the lines drawn on the paper. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, imagining the sun at his back and the decanter of wine set beside him on the table. He remembered how his shoulders and neck hurt, how the sun set before he realized it was even past noon.

He remembered the day he had finished the plans, how he sat back and felt a surge of pride.

The same sense of pride still existed. This was his home, his design.

"Welcome home," Corinna said softly as her fingers intertwined with his.

Erik's eyes popped open, and his breath caught in his throat at her unexpected presence. He squeezed her hand, staring at her face in the darkness until he could make out her features. She smiled back at him and took his hand in both of hers as they lingered side by side.

"I kept the plans with me for years, intending on building the palazzo in India. Calcutta seemed fitting, but the Baleeze family had trade routes along the river, so I decided to stay away." She glanced at him briefly and he caught the glint in her eye when she smiled at him. Erik put his arm around her and held her tighter, wanting to stare into her eyes forever.

"I never liked India," she continued. "I was never…accepted as Indian."

"Did you return to England?"

Corinna nodded. "Ursula and I stayed there for many years. We returned to the flat my father owned and lived there for three years. This, of course, was following the engagement I broke."

They walked to the end of the hall and entered the library where Corinna released Erik's hand and turned the lamps up. She gestured for him to sit, and he collapsed into a sturdy leather chair.

A clock on the desk revealed it was three in the morning. He ignored the time and studied the room, finding rich mahogany wood panels and shelves lined with leather-bound books. There were two brocaded chairs in the corner next to a small round table, with gas lamps for reading.

"Where is Ursula?" he asked, hoping nothing had happened to her, as he couldn't recall Corinna mentioning her companion.

"Sleeping," Corinna answered as she took a bottle of wine from the cabinet and set it on the desk. "She has three sons. You'll see them in the morning—or, rather, you'll hear them running about."

"She has children?"

Corinna nodded and smiled. "Her husband is a good man. They live not a mile away. When I told her I was bringing you home she decided to stay the night."

"I thought they lived here."

She shook her head as she poured two goblets of wine. "I've stayed here, but the house belongs to you." Corinna handed him a glass of wine and grinned, seeing his befuddled expression.

"The palazzo was finished last winter. The month after I knew for certain you were in Paris, I hired a crew." She sat across from him and shrugged. "The layout was modified—at my discretion. As you noticed the library upstairs—"

"Is the master bedroom. It overlooks the garden."

Corinna nodded. "It's beautiful in the summer. The butterflies feed all afternoon, and there are feeders and baths for birds throughout the courtyard. One can spend hours sitting, reading…talking," she said whimsically.

"How did you afford it? If you're not married? Your income…" his voice trailed off. "Have you…sold…?"

"No," she answered before he finished. "The funds are yours. The money you gave my father has been maturing the last fifteen and a half years in several accounts. Once I knew you were alive—once I saw the opera house for myself—I withdrew enough to have the structure built."

"The opera house?" he questioned, horrified.

"I attended Hannibal, and I saw Carmen on opening night when the dancers were more than willing to share their experiences of the opera ghost. I learned you were white as the moon—and you had red eyes…like a bat. They quite enjoyed sharing tales, though none of them knew anything, really. I should have expected as much from ballet dancers and chorus girls."

He nodded, his lips turned down, his chest tightening. He had hoped she wouldn't know the small details surrounding his life—his regrettable existence beneath the Opera Populaire. He didn't want to discuss ballet dancers or chorus girls.

Corinna broke the lingering silence.

"In time, I intended to have Mr. Nadir lure you home, as I imagined you would be much more comfortable here than…in a cellar," she said as she glanced around the room. With a shrug she set her glass on the table and added quietly, "That, however, didn't work."

Erik nodded, averting his eyes in shame as they sat in silence again. He had attempted to kill Nadir weeks ago when the Persian led the aristocrat Raoul de Chagny to the lakeside apartments. For weeks Nadir had attempted to see Erik, and every time the Persian appeared Erik drove him away, threatening him.

It was painful to see the man he had known years ago, painful to see a face from his past. He wanted no past. He wanted nothing but Christine, whom he always knew deep inside was not his future.

He had not expected a future, and once he had released Christine to the arms of her lover he didn't expect to live much longer. Unable to sleep, refusing to eat, he expected to fade away, disappearing into shadow, slipping into sewers and never seen again.

Corinna lifted her glass to her lips and stared at him over the rim. She leaned forward and placed her glass on the table again.

"But here you are after everything that has happened. Here you are at last. Home," she said. "And now?"

Their eyes met. Erik's mouth opened but no words formed in his head. He snatched up his wine glass, drank the contents, and set it back on the table. His palms were sweating, his hands trembling as he suddenly knew what he wanted, what he had always wanted.

It was now a matter of giving his desires a voice.

"Now," Erik started, unafraid to look her in the eye. "I want what I had. With you. I want to be with you."