Salut, dear readers!

I had a visit recently that might be of note to some of you. It seems that Monsieur O.G. had tired of sending notes to me, several of which I hadn't received (I love the postal service). I was coming home from work to what I though was an empty house, when all of a sudden, a voice seemed to call out to me from my refrigerator. Now, I have days that I think I'm going crazy, and that suddenly seemed to confirm it. Cautiously, I went over and opened the door. Nothing spectacular, just some leftover spaghetti. I closed it again, completely confused.

I turned around and nearly jumped out of my skin! He was standing there, in my kitchen! I had two options as I saw it: either faint dead away from fright (last time I fainted someone opened the door into my unconscious head) or squeal with delight. Okay, my mind was malfunctioning. Remember, I had just thought I heard the fridge speak, dang ventriloquist. I regret to say I squealed. It was a rather subdued squeal, if you disregard my jumping up and down.

He seemed rather annoyed and immediately told me to be still. I thought I would faint, despite my earlier choice. He was talking to me! Eee! He proceeded to sit me down and give me a stern talking to about the direction of the story. At least I think that's what he was saying. I couldn't focus on anything but the sound of his voice and the fact that the PHANTOM OF THE OPERA WAS IN MY LIVING ROOM! Deep breath.

So, dear readers, it is with much chagrin that I admit I cannot heed the Phantom's warnings, as I can't quite recall what they are. Monsieur O.G., if you by chance read this, I beg your forgiveness and ask you to email me the requests. I really am much more visual, if you get my drift ; )

Alas, I must continue this tale until such a time without his guidance. Please accept my humblest apologies.

Oh, and for those of you who wonder how he got there and how he left: I really couldn't say. He arrived before I did, and, rapture unexampled, sang me to sleep before he left. Perhaps I should disregard his instructions more often…I didn't truly mean it Monsieur!

I have so much more to tell you, but this letter is by now long, so I will put it all in the next chapter.

Until then, may you hear the music of the night in your dreams,

S.R.

---

Erik slid onto his organ bench. He laid his fingers gently on the keys, the familiar give of each one a comfort. The song that came out was slow to take form or pattern, but he filed it away in his mind to work on later.

He knew Cecily waited in the other room. He thought of her. How he wanted to feel her touch again! She had tempted him sorely the night before, and he wanted revenge. He had catered to her as he never had anyone else in his lifetime, save that spoiled little brat of a child in Persia. He had bought Cecily dresses, gave her rest, played her his music… All things that were unknown pleasures in her small world. Stolen sweets if you would, and he would have his revenge, somehow. She would somehow have to pay…

A small crooked smile played on his thin lips. He leaned forward and jotted a note on one of the countless pieces of paper lying around him. Beneath his pen, the red words that formed both thrilled and frightened him: Poor young maiden! For the thrill on your tongue of stolen sweets you will have to pay the bill -
tangled in the winding sheets!

The sound of her voice calling to him in the next room cleared a bit of the haze from his mind. What was he becoming, to think such thoughts! What was that little sorceress doing to him! Still, he had to admit that the line fit well with the nature of his piece. His discomfited mind wanted to scribble out the offending words, but a larger, more forceful part of him wanted, needed those words in his opera, if only so they wouldn't have to swirl around in his mind.

He entered the room and found Cecily sitting near the head of the bed. An image came unbidden to his mind of her resting in his arms like that, but he forced it away. He put his hand to her side. "Lie down." She obeyed without question, her trust almost childlike, as many of her traits were. He unwrapped the bandage and looked at her wound. It had held, at least enough for her to be able to care for it herself. He prodded gently, trying to feel where the source of her ache was.

What he felt was not a gasp of pain. Rather, the low grumble of a stomach deprived growled beneath his hand. She looked aghast, but Erik gave her a look of concern. "You're hungry." It was more a statement than a question. She nodded anyway, and he stood up. "What a terrible host I am! All this time, you are down here with me, wounded no less, and I only give you one paltry loaf of bread! I will rebind this, and I will see what I can find in this dark place to eat. If nothing else, I will fetch a meal for us! No wonder you were feeling less than well. Certainly your hunger would do as much to weaken you as a wound!"

She smiled weakly at him. "Food is not so important. Three days can be dealt with by the body."

"But your body cannot deal with too much more, little cat." He wound the bandage around her another time, securing it tightly. "Now rest. You cannot have gotten much with me tossing and turning next to you!"

She was about to protest his leaving when he walked out of the room. She rolled back under the sheets. She would rest, as he asked, but not because she had not slept well. She had slept better that night than any she could remember. Nightmares had not touched her sleep, and she took comfort from his presence so near to her, as if he could protect her from the evils of her past. She sighed, letting sleep take her far away, hoping that the mere memory of Erik was enough to drive her nightmares away.

---

She woke a few hours later, as far as she could tell. The sound of Erik moving around in the kitchen drew her from the bed. Bleary-eyed, she wandered into the main room and stood in the doorway. Erik was just finishing what looked to be an appetizing meal, and Cecily's body reacted to the sight. Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled, a sound she muffled with her hand.

"You rested well, little cat?" He cut the last slice of bread and slipped it onto one of the new plates he had bought. Strange, how it felt so good to spend money on things that others needed. He recognized too, that he had called her 'little cat' again. It seemed to fit her and her curiosity, and he dismissed it as another side effect of this overdose of human contact.

That's what it felt like to him, an overdose. She was a drug, one that he had suddenly been exposed to in high quantities after having a clean system for so long. But, he had to admit, she was a different kind of drug. She had never scorned him as much of humanity had, or expected inhuman qualities. In fact, she seemed to urge him toward the better natures of man. What a strange girl she was. She sometimes confused him with her kindness, others taunted him with her sensuality, and still others was so infuriating he wanted to take her life.

She was smiling peacefully at him from the doorway. She still wore his shirt and breeches, and looked almost comical in his garb. She was too short for the clothing; the shirt hung down to her knees and the pants were rolled up, showing the usually hidden skin of her ankles. Apparently Cecily was not one for modern modesty. He forced his gaze back up to her face, hoping she hadn't seen that infernal blush upon his cheek. No, he certainly did not want her to see him blush. It was such an expression that encouraged trepidation in those that saw it.

"I did." Her reply nearly startled him. It took him a moment to remember his question, but he recovered quickly.

"I went out again. I could not have you starving when I have done so much hard work to keep you alive." He knew she would think of their initial meeting and the medical work he had done for her. It was better she did not know of the times he had had to work to suppress the desire to steal her last breath. "I'm afraid I don't have a place for you to sit and eat this at a table. All my tables are currently unavailable."

Her face took on that determined expression again. He knew instinctively that it would somehow involve him. He waited to see what she would suggest now. "Erik, will you not eat with me? There is far too much food there for me alone!" In truth, she was fairly sure she could devour the entire plate without thinking to take a drink, but he did not need to know that.

She looked genuinely concerned for him, and Erik felt his resolve to make her eat alone soften. "I don't have enough chairs…"

"The floor will do fine, since you have plates."

He shook his head in amusement. How this little slip of a thing could so easily sway his mind, made great by its volumes of learning. "I suppose I could have a bit."

He carried the tray out to the main room and set it on the top step, then got a cushion for her. She cast her eyes down in pleased embarrassment at the gentlemanly gesture, accepting the cushion bashfully. He left again, returning this time with a bottle of wine and two glasses. It was a simple meal: bread, cheese and wine.

"Thank you, Erik, it looks wonderful." She bowed her head for a moment, an action that Erik could only interpret as prayer, then took a piece of bread. She bit into it as if it were the Host itself. An instinctive purr of delight escaped her as the bread settled into her stomach. He smiled broadly, the half of his face still visible displaying that rarest of expressions. She really was a little cat.

She looked up, licking the crumbs from her lips. "Erik, it is heaven! You must have some! I hate when people watch me eat as they just sit there!"

For once, Erik did not argue. He simply picked up some bread and cheese and placed it to the thin line of his mouth.

The silence that lay between them for the rest of the meal was of a kind that Erik had never before experienced. Instead of the harsh, foreboding stillness that usually surrounded him, this was an amiable quiet, comfortable in its embrace. It seemed to him that this sort of silence fit the night better. In spite of himself, Erik found himself simply enjoying the company of another human being.