Readers,

This was originally intended as the end of Chapter 21, but I felt it stood better on its own. The words to this song are credited to Marco Marinangeli. Some of you might know them as part of Mi Mancherai as sung by Josh Groban.

Merci et bonne nuit,

S.R.

---

Erik entered his lair late that night. He had been distracted by a fight between chorus members. One had gotten to play a soldier and the other played the hangman, they each hated their roles, and were drunk. It had taken a good punch in the jaw to each from the new Italian boy to shut the two drunkards up. The brawl had sobered the mood, and the group dispersed quickly. The boy had been left alone. "Good show, monsieur," he had called to the bewildered boy.

He laughed to himself at the sight of the young man turning around, trying to find the source of the voice.

He ceased his laughing as he entered his lair. He should write tonight. He felt the need to compose, and it made his fingers itch for the feel of the organ keys.

He was about to step into the organ room when he saw her. She was curled up tightly in a chair, staring at a book. He watched her for several minutes. She never turned a page. Suddenly, she threw the book down and groaned, curling up even more tightly.

Erik was concerned. He had never seen her like this. She looked…broken. Cautiously, he picked up the book. "Cecily, what is wrong?"

She closed her eyes, pain stealing over her expression. "I can't escape it, Erik. I can't leave the past behind. It haunts me, breaks me. It even followed me to the Opera, the one place I thought I was safe." She was empty. Her eyes held none of the sparkle they had when last he saw her.

"What?" He placed his hand on hers, and flinched when she pulled it away, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Cecily…" He tried to wipe a tear from her eye. She allowed him, then threw herself into his arms, sobbing. His heart paused at the sudden contact, but he held her as she cried, silent in his uncertainty.

"Oh Erik! Buquet! He…" she broke down into sobs again.

"Buquet what?" Erik felt the rage rising within him. If that wretch had touched Cecily...

"He tried to hurt me. I couldn't get away and he was drunk and trying to get his hand down my dress and oh Erik! It was horrible. I'm going to be sick!" She threw herself away from him and ran to the lake. She gagged and Erik turned away as she emptied her stomach into the water.

His rage elevated within him. Buquet would pay for this. He knew that Cecily would never forgive him if he harmed Buquet because of this, but Buquet would be consumed by the rage that was within him now. Turning back to Cecily, he wiped her mouth with his handkerchief. She collapsed into him, crying. He lowered himself into sitting position, and held her. "Cecily, my little cat, it will pass. Shh, all will be well again soon." He knew that it wouldn't, but didn't know what else to say. So, as in all the other times he was lost for words, he borrowed those of others.

"Mi mancherai se te ne vai
Ora e per sempre
Non so come vivrei
E l'allegria, amica mia
Va via con te..."

She fell asleep as he sang, her sobs melting into the even breathing of slumber. Carefully, he lifted her off the stone floor and into his arms. He carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. He pulled the cover up around her and sat next to the bed, still holding her hand.

"Mi mancherai se te ne vai
Mi manchera la tua serenità
Le tue parole come canzoni al vento
E l'amore che ora porti via."