Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom or the Opera. Leah, I do.
Chapter 13
Leah was dreaming. She breathes raggedly, unevenly, and she tosses in her sleep. Suddenly, she jolts awake, and sits bolt upright. She has just woken from a terrible, horrible dream.
She puts a shaking hand to her cheek, and feels real tears. She looks in wonder at her damp hand, and rubs the tears between a thumb and forefinger.
Leah is no stranger to sad dreams or jolting awake from one. She loosens the twisted waist of her light nightdress, and she pulls down the covers of the swan-bed.
It is the early hours of the morning, and pitch-dark in the Lair. Water laps slowly at the shore, as it had always done. It was a peaceful scene, nothing like the Lair of her nightmare; blurry, menacing and lonely.
She never wants to go back to that Lair.
Leah lies down again slowly, putting her head gently on the silky pillow, letting her chestnut-brown hair fan out behind her. She turns her head to the side, finding Erik lying beside her. The slow, even rise and fall of his chest is reassuring, and she smiles.
He is wearing no shirt, his perfect, (in her eyes, anyway,) pale chest bared for the whole world to see. But only she could see it. It was for her eyes only.
His mask gleams bright white in the moonlight.
The red sheet is pulled up to below his navel, Leah wonders, but dares not lift it, even though she longs to know.
Instead she looks at him for a moment; props herself up on her elbow, and just looks. She recalls what her mother use to tell her when she was small and she saw beautiful ladies with sparkling jewels and extravagant clothes. "Look, Dear, but don't touch."
Leah smirks. Stuff that, she thinks.
She reaches out a finger with a slender nail, and draws it along the edge of the crimson sheet, crossing the line of hair that reaches from his belly-button to his… nether-regions.
As she does this, Leah leans over and brushes her lips lightly across his, and Erik moans quietly in his sleep.
Their bodies do not touch, and as he searches for her contact, he lifts a hand to find her. It scrabbles with the air blindly, then falls again. Leah draws her lips away and smiles only millimetres from his mouth. All he has to do is lift his head but a centimetre, and it would be a passionate kiss.
But Erik is fast asleep, dead to the world, his breathing still slow and steady.
Leah decides to leave him, he deserves the rest; she had never seen him sleep much before, and he needed it so much. A tired Ghost was no good for haunting.
Leah lay back and sighed deeply. It was a beautiful cool night. She reaches out a hand to place it gently on Erik's stomach.
But her hand does not meet warm flesh; instead it is left to hit the cooling sheets of the swan-bed. Erik is gone.
Leah opened her eyes from her dream. She did not jolt awake, nor was she crying. She smiled lovingly at the wonderful memory of it.
She looked to the side to check that no body lay beside her, hoping beyond hope that she was wrong. Leah looked over to the seat of the organ, but Erik was not there either. She sighed, almost tearing up again.
What was she to do now? It was meaningless for her to stay in the nineteenth century without Erik. She could not save the Opera House on her own, without the Opera Ghost.
Leah couldn't write menacing letters with curling handwriting in French. In this era, she had no power as a woman. Woman in this time sat around and cared for children and looked pretty on their husband's arms at Balls.
But Leah didn't know how to get home, she wasn't even sure if she could. At the present, it appeared as if she had shaken off her twenty-first century home for good.
She drew her knees up and put her head in her arms. It hurt to think so hard, and her stomach was empty.
Leah got up from the bed and searched the cluttered and once-homey Lair for a drink, averting her gaze from the organ and the hastily sketched note on the corner of the parchment.
She picked up a ceramic pitcher of water from a low sideboard; it was painted white and had a small figure playing a violin. Leah's heart thumped loud in her throat, and she swallowed back the fighting tears at the reminder.
Hastily pouring the water, Leah put the glass to her lips and drank quickly. The water hit her gut like a punch, the cold sudden and startling.
She realised she had not eaten anything for an age, and she was starving. She would need to go out to get something to eat… But she wasn't sure she was up to it.
What would Erik have wanted?
Leah chastised herself; those thoughts were so clique and lame. It was true though; she cared and would have at that moment died to be with him again.
Coming to a decision, Leah took her long black cloak off of its hook, and swung it over her dirty white skirt and blouse. She took a small leather coin purse from a table next to the organ and tucked it inside a pocket on her cloak.
With a set expression, she set off towards the Trapdoor.
As she clambered out into the early afternoon, Leah stopped for a moment to listen for any sound. Far off a dog was barking, and somewhere a shouted conversation was taking place.
But there was no low, calm voice whispered at her ear, no commanding presence in her head.
She lowered her gaze, and set off across the building site. It was a long walk, as Leah had chosen to come out from the rear of the Opera House, trying not to attract attention.
When she did reach the street, she made eye contact with no one, she focused intently on the muddy cobbles of the road, and she only spoke a word to excuse herself when she bumped into someone on the bustling footpaths.
As she excused herself from bumping into a particularly old and hassled-looking businessman, Leah recalled Erik's last, long look at her with no trigger at all.
He was just suddenly there in her minds eye, battling back a smile, his eyes shining with something akin to playfulness coupled with regret.
A hiccoughing sob broke from her throat, and she blinked hard. Leah was not going to break down here, in the middle of a busy city street.
After walking for a time, she caught the distinct whiff of warm food on the air, both welcome and nauseating to her starved stomach. She raised her head a little, and pushed aside her hood to peer around. Leah found herself on a small square, surrounded on all sides by high-walled houses, many streets leading off it in all directions.
In the centre of the square there were a few food carts and a scattering of stalls selling everything from glass sculptures to delicately coloured, silky scarfs.
Stall-Keepers called out, advertising their wares loudly, and many people milled around slowly, rugged against the cold of the overcast day.
Leah looked around briskly, remembering her last French market experience with a grimace. This market though was much less busy, and seemed more casual. There was not raucous laughter, no party atmosphere. The people here were normal citizens out on their daily shopping trips, or people grabbing a bite to eat in a quiet corner on a seat.
She set off across the paved square, wandering among the stalls with an expressionless face. A small girl was re-arranging jewellery on one of the tables, and she saw Leah admiring the necklaces.
The girl took one from her collection, studying what Leah was wearing, and held it up to her.
It was a black shining stone, hanging from a fine silver chain to match her raven cloak.
Leah smiled weakly at the girl and shook her head. The necklace was beautiful, and she admired how quickly the girl was able to match the piece to her clothing, but she couldn't afford it.
The girl seemed deflated, and placed the necklace back among the others.
Leah continued to walk, avoiding large crowds of people, and soon found a food cart with no other customers.
She looked at the assorted foods under cloths and behind glass, and her mouth watered.
Erik will never eat again, her mind chastised her. Leah closed her eyes to banish the thoughts; they were something she didn't need at that time.
Leah noticed some form of croissant in a basket on the cart, and decided on that, as it was the only thing that she recognised (and the only thing she knew the name of).
The stall owner smiled warmly at her, and asked her what sounded like a question.
He was a kindly looking old man, with grizzled hair and a short beard. Leah felt immediately draw to him, a need to confide in him, but she held back. She tried to communicate to him somehow that she didn't speak French, and she only spoke English.
When he realised what she was trying to say, he smiled and nodded, laughing a little. He stopped to think for a while; it looked as if he was searching for something inside his own head.
"Would… the mademoiselle be wanting… something to eat?" He said at last, if a little haltingly.
Leah smiled back and nodded. She pointed to the pastries, holding up one finger. "One, please."
The man put her order in a bag as Leah fumbled in her coin purse for money. It was only then that she didn't have the faintest idea about French currency or how to pay the man.
The extent of her knowledge was that there were things called Francs, and that the Phantom had demanded twenty thousand of them a month.
"Er…" Leah took out a palm-full of coins and held them out to the man, shrugging sheepishly.
"Three," He said, and Leah handed them to him, receiving the bag in return.
She turned to leave when the man piped up, "Does something… trouble the mademoiselle? She looks… upset."
Leah ran a hand over her face, sighing and thinking if she looked on the outside as weary as she felt on the inside, she would look a wreck.
"It's been a difficult few days, Monsieur," She said.
"Oh, well… look after yourself. Good day," He returned, sensing her unwillingness to talk.
Leah was touched by the kindness of the stranger, and a little part of her dark heart was illuminated. "Thank you, sir. Good day."
She nodded to him and walked to the edge of the square, sitting on a large brick that had been dislodged from the wall behind her.
She unwrapped her purchase and began to eat ravenously, all the time watching the people passing her with alert eyes.
As she came to the end of her meal, (it had been quite good; the pastry had tasted somewhat like a spinach and cheese pie) a man passing through the square caught her eye. He boldly made eye contact and smiled as he saw her returning his gaze.
Leah quickly tore her eyes from his and looked at her feet, suddenly obsessively examining the buckles on her shoes.
Before she knew it, a light shadow was thrown over her, and there was someone standing before her. The weak sunshine that had broken through the blanketing clouds did little to warm Leah though, and she drew her cloak more tightly around herself as she looked up.
The man who stood before her was smiling at her friendlily, his brown eyes crinkling in the corners. "Good afternoon, Madam," He said.
After Erik being the only male voice Leah had heard for quite a time, this man's voice seemed gravely and uneven, almost grating. She blinked hard, and forced a smile onto her lips.
It did not register immediately in her sluggish brain that he had spoken English to her.
She inspected him more closely, and found that he was not unattractive, with his strong jaw and casual brown hair. He was dressed down in comparison to all the other men of his age that Leah had seen, and he did not have the striking appearance or commanding presence of her dark-browed, masked beloved.
She sighed, and went to say 'Bonjour', but halted with her mouth half open; finally realising he had spoken in her native tongue, without an English accent.
"You speak English?" She asked with wonder in her voice. Leah realised this must have seemed rude and odd, but she was too tired to care much at the present time.
The man chuckled, nodding. "What a strange conversation-opener, I can't say I've had that one before," He said. "Yes, I do."
This time, Leah caught an American accent in the way he pronounced his 'r's. Leah settled on the fact that she was becoming quite the accent connoisseur. "I'm sorry sir, it's just I've been in France a long time without anyone but…" She swallowed her next word, her stomach flipping, "Without another native English-speaker. I apologise again and hope you can forgive my brashness. Please sit."
Leah shuffled over slightly on the large brick, and smiled up at him. He sat and sighed, looking sidelong at her.
Leah didn't feel the slightest bit threatened by him, and would quite happily have divulged her deepest secrets to this man, but it seemed she was all too ready to do this of late. She needed a talk.
"I saw you across the square when you were ordering your lunch, and overheard you talking. You see, I too have been a long time in France without an English-speaking friend, but I can speak French at least," He said with the amusement unsuccessfully masked in his voice.
"Yes, well, I was thrust rather suddenly and unceremoniously into my current situation," Leah said, thinking that only days ago she could not have been happier with her state of affairs, even though it had been a great change. "I don't believe we have been formally introduced," Leah continued, turning to him and straightening her cloak about her shoulders, fixing her tousled brown hair, "My name is Leah, pleased to meet you," She stuck out her hand to shake his, momentarily forgetting what century she was in.
The man looked at her outstretched hand for a moment in puzzlement, then took it and turned it slightly, bringing it to his lips and kissing it gently. "The pleasure of making your acquaintance is all mine, Mademoiselle. My name is Jack. Jack Tracey."
"Well Jack Tracey, what brings you to this lonely square on this overcast, cold day?" Leah enquired conversationally.
"Not the same thing that brings you here, I'm sure," He answered. "You look tired. And depressed. Have you lost someone?"
Leah was startled at his perceptiveness, and this must have registered on her face, because he nodded solemnly. Murmuring an 'Ahh…'.
"Yes, I have lost somebody recently," Leah continued, anticipating his next question, "He was a dear, dear friend." She looked down and began to cry, her shoulders shook with the effort of trying to keep the whimpers at bay.
Jack put a hand hesitantly on her shoulder, and expressed his condolences, "I'm sorry, so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you… I think I should go…" He went to get up, but Leah reached out and grabbed his coat tails, preventing his departure.
"No, no please stay, I…" She didn't know what to say, but Jack seemed to have read her mind.
"You looked as if you needed a companion, a talk. You looked so alone."
Leah sniffed and smiled, "You are very good at reading people. More so than most," except Erik, she wanted to say.
Jack pulled her to her feet. "A walk, perhaps?" They set off across the open space together at a leisurely pace. "That would come from me being an artist," He held out his hands for her to see, and under his short nails she could see paints of all colours. "They won't come out," He explained. "When you study people for as long as I do, when you draw them every day of your life, you learn. Observing can do a lot, I know many people who would benefit from just sitting back and looking once in a while. I have learnt what the slightest twitch of the mouth means by studying the faces of my subjects."
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish, and presented it to her. "You need it more than I do," He said.
"Thankyou, you've been kind," Leah said to him as they came from the closed in streets out onto one of the many small canals that ran off the Seine.
Jack continued, "That was why I was strolling today, I'm always on the search for new subjects and sceneries to paint and draw."
They walked in silence for a few moments, both deep in thought. "Have you heard of the return of the Opera Ghost? It seems the old fellow is back haunting the skeleton of the old Opera House," Jack said suddenly.
Leah was unprepared, and it almost caught her off-guard, but she gathered herself to answer him. "Yes, curious, I've heard tales of the Ghost and his haunting."
"Why do you think he picked now of all times?" Jack pondered.
"Maybe he has came back to ring in the new century in a big way?" Leah smirked to herself at the though of what her and Erik may have done for the New Year. She could just imagine crashing a party with the Phantom.
Jack nodded, "Maybe so, maybe so. Did you ever go to the Opera Populaire?"
Leah shook her head.
"I was a wonderful place, gloriously opulent. The Operas were so-so; people went more for the social element of the place. It was a somewhere to see and be seen, brilliant spot to study people. Marvellous costume Balls."
"A pity I never saw it then, I love theatre." Leah said, playing dumb.
"You would have enjoyed it. The resident Phantom was an added attraction. Most hated him and wished him gone, they though him a mere nuisance. A few though, thought him fascinating. Interesting character that Ghost, someone who walks around in costume and formal wear all day long, lurking in secret Lairs. I should have liked to meet him…" Jack told her.
Leah had nothing to say in answer to his speech. He was an extraordinary man. Strange, but extraordinary.
Leah sniffed again, dabbing at her eyes with Jack's handkerchief, "What are you working on now? In your painting, I mean,"
"A commission for one of the thousand Duchesses in Paris. I'm almost finished," He answered with passion; he clearly loved his job. "That reminds me. Leah, I really would like it if you would pose for me one day, as a subject. I would love to paint you, you have very expressive eyes; and at the moment they are full of exceptional sadness."
This man was full of surprises. "I don't know…" Leah said unsurely.
"Please, think about it. Take my card, and remember my offer, it will always stand." He pulled a small business card out of one of the pockets inside his coat, and handed it to her.
Leah examined it. It was simple, his name and an address, a small picture of a portrait and 'Professional portrait and landscape painter, at your service.' "Thank you, I will remember."
"I must be off, paintings don't finish themselves. It was wonderful meeting you, Leah." Jack tipped his hat, and headed away. "I hope whoever it is you've lost is never too far from you," He called back to her.
"Goodbye!" Leah waved frantically, having enjoyed the talk and walk.
For almost half of the day it had occupied her mind with thoughts of both Erik and other things, but she was not nearly as depressed as she had been when Jack had met her in the lonely square.
She smiled, looking again at the small card, and realising she had no idea where she was, picked a street at random and began to head back to her secluded abode in the Opera House cellars.