Hi all. Someone finally bought me Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera DVD! Leah, if you're reading this, which I doubt because you haven't actually seen the aforementioned movie, I love you! In a friend way. My guinea pig and I watched it on Thursday. I think he liked it, but it can be hard to tell with cavies. I cried at the end. But I noticed something: the Phantom's right ear looks really fake. It's a weird colour compared to the rest of his skin. Is it supposed to be like that? Is it actually the wrong colour, or am I just stupid/insane? EMAIL ME!

So ya. Sorry this took so long! Please don't hurt me, there's no need to. I've already smacked myself multiple times. Wow that sounded emo . . . (Laughs). I've had writers' block something awful. Sorry!

Chapter 19: Starting Anew

Genevieve tucked her last dress into her suitcase. They had been at the Brunet Manor for a week now. The girl had been excused from school for a few days because of "family matters", as they had told the head mistress. Henri still couldn't walk well, but since he couldn't lean on his oldest daughter all the time, he had taken to using a cane. The girls teased him about it. They thought it made him look like an old, pall, rich snob. Armand would laugh and say, "Are you making fun of my father or yours?"

The little girl stopped mid-thought as she came across a small dilemma. Her baggage wouldn't close. Oh, not again! This happened every time she went on a trip, even if it was just an overnight school outing to a neighboring village. It was as if the clothes were like a sponge in water. During the time they were away from their drawer, they expanded. Sighing, Genevieve remembered the best method of closing the suitcase. She climbed up on the bed the case was sitting on. She then turned around plunked her rear quite flatly on top. She had to bounce up and down a bit. Finally, she heard the satisfying click of the suitcase closing.

Feeling triumphant, the child started to make her way down the stairs

---

The group waited in the entrance hall for the carriages to be brought around from the back of the mansion. Henri, Erik, and Armand were saying their farewells. Madeline was in the corner, double-checking to make sure she had everything. Just as she finished, the awaited means of transportation arrived at the door.

"Has anyone seen Genevieve?" asked Henri with a start.

"Not since breakfast."

"Oh, no, this could take hours." Henri remembered how huge the Brunet manor was, not counting the grounds surrounding it. "Genevieve!" he called.

"I'll check the room she was using." offered one of the maids that had been sweeping the adjacent hall and had heard the discussion.

"I'll see if she's in the kitchens." said Erik, and ran off.

Before long, the whole party and a few of the servants were rushing around frantically, calling the girl's name. Twenty minutes later, Henri walked back to the main entrance from the second storey, flabbergasted. His youngest daughter was not to be found anywhere. They had checked all the upstairs floors and most of the main rooms downstairs. He limped down the staircase muttering to himself.

"Where in the name of Heaven has she gotten to? Probably hiding just to spite us. Thinks it's funny, likely. All this can't be good for my leg. Or my nerves, for that matter. If I find her, I'll let Erik lock . . . GENNY!"

Genevieve was standing by the door, frowning and tapping her foot impatiently. "It's about time you got here, Papa." she said "I've been here for a least a quarter of an hour, waiting for you! Where are the others?"

"Where were you?!"

"Here."

"No! I mean when everyone else was here!"

"Oh. I was coming down the stairs. You know the ones by the kitchen? The ones that no one ever uses? The ones with the spiders? Well, I wasn't even five steps when my suitcase just popped open. My stuff went all over the place and I had to pack it up again."

"You used the stairway by the kitchen?" Henri felt angry. That was rare. "Why on Earth did you do that? It's behind a door, between a laundry shoot and a washroom! Why did you even bother to look?!"

"Did you expect me to ignore it?"

"That place smells like molding paper! I don't even think I've ever seen anyone actually use it! It's behind a tiny, ugly door. What were you thinking?"

"How do you know about the stairwell, then, if it's so hidden and boring?"

Henri froze.

"Well played, Genevieve." said a voice. They both turned the see Erik enter, chuckling to himself. He had been happier than any of them had ever seen him this past week. He had spent the whole time in the mansion and around people, though he barely spoke to anyone outside of their party. The love between the Phantom and Madeline had flourished like the climax of a wonderful but terribly short novel. There had even been occasions where Erik had gone without his mask.

In contrast, Henri had become rather withdrawn and crabby. He was endlessly worried for his oldest daughter. He knew that deep down half the reason Madeline had grown so close to Erik in so short a time was because being around other people took her mind off her own struggle. Henri did not deny the couple's love. In fact, he thought the two went together beautifully. He could almost see an artist asking permission to paint them holding each other. But before this whole incident, Madeline would've insisted things go slower. Erik was, in a way, a distraction. Henri's anxiety for her was so great it made him horribly grumpy. He had only been like this once before in his life. His wife had died that day.

---

Madeline and Erik rode in the coach side by side. Genevieve and Henri were in another behind them. Madeline was thinking about their destination. She was excited about being able to see her friends again. They are going to drop our family off at our home, and Erik is going to walk to his . . . Madeline's train of thought crashed abruptly.

"Erik?" Madeline broke the silence, and her companion's ponderings. He faced her.

"Yes?"

"Erik, where do you live? You've never mentioned it."

Erik smiled a little. "Come to the west side of the Opera Populaire at half past fifteen and I'll show you. And dress warm."

---

"Oh, Maddi, you must've been terrified!" Marie squealed. Madeline almost laughed out loud from happiness, despite the topic of their conversation. She had missed so many things while she had been gone it was delightful to experience them again. Armand's house had been lovely, but it had not been the Boufard family's apartment, with the shop just below it. As soon as she had returned, Henri had set to work with his shoes and Genevieve had gone out to play. Madeline's long-time friend Marie had dropped by and the two chatted over lunch. The other girl's motherly worrying attitude always made her feel protected.

"Bakar fed me very little. Most of it was the things he had not eaten at his own meals. And there was the wine-"

"I don't want to hear anymore of what that dreadful man did to you!" her friend said. "You've told me already about how he hit you. Can we not speak of something a bit less solemn? I heard you spent some time at the Brunet Manor. Tell me about that."

"Oh, it was very nice. Armand was terrible kind to me. I learned an interesting piece of news there."

"What?" asked Marie, eager to hear.

"I'm pregnant."

Silence.

"Oh . . ." Marie was very pale. "Oh, how . . . goodness . . . are you sure?"

Madeline nodded.

"Whatever are you going to do?"

"I can't honestly say I know, Marie. It's only a week along; I have a bit of time. I have a new "friend", if it makes you feel any better."

Marie caught the hint and brightened immediately. "Really? What's his name? You must tell me about him!"

"His name's Erik."

"Is he handsome?"

"Yes. He is older than me by at least twenty years, but he is a wonderful man. He's so sophisticated but sensitive all the same time. And his voice can make any girl melt."

"Oh!" Marie giggled "What's his family name?"

The pregnant woman froze. What was Erik's last name? Did he even have one? Of course he did, he had a mother she had been told about. But he had never told his lover, if he remembered it at all, which she somehow doubted. She thought of the first thing that came to her mind, using the name of a character in a romance novel she had read once.

"Destler, I think. I may be wrong. I'm a bit tired today; my memory isn't at its best."

As Marie continued to throw questions at her, Madeline secretly decided in her mind she would ask Erik some things herself.

---

Henri had been at first hesitant to let Madeline go "wandering about the streets alone at such an hour", as he put it. She reminded him that she knew exactly where she was going, someone he could trust would be taking care of her, she knew many people who lived along her route, she would maybe be outside for a grand total of fifteen minutes, and it was nowhere near dark outside. After much consideration, her father consented. Only after she gave him the pleading, innocent, "how could you ever say no to me?" eyes, though. Even after that he had her dress in multiple layers.

"It's cold at Erik's home. You'll need this. Trust me."

"Wait . . . you never told me you'd been to Erik's home."

"I have. Most of the few memories I have of it were not what most people would call pleasant. There was a torture chamber involved."

"When did this happen?"

"While you were . . . gone." Henri chose his words carefully. "How did you think I got Erik's help?"

"I'm not sure. I hadn't really thought of it. Oh well. I should go. I'll be late." Her father followed her down the stairs to the door of the shop.

"Be careful." He said, and she was gone.

---

Madeline waited impatiently by the west wall of the opera house. She saw from the church across the street's clock that Erik was ten minutes behind schedule. Perhaps he was the type that would try to be "fashionably late". She wouldn't put it past him. He had class; he would be able to get away with it with most people. Madeline wondered whether she would even be able to follow that crowd at this rate. Grumbling, she decided to at least make herself comfortable and sit down.

The city looked so busy. A woman led a little group of small children through the streets, patiently answering their questions and gently urging them to continue walking. A newsboy (A/N: that word always reminds me of that amazing Christian rock band Newsboys. I saw them live and it was fabulous!) hollered the most intriguing headlines at the top of his voice. A young couple walked arm in arm. A group of boys on bicycles played a game where they rushed headlong at an inattentive pedestrian and swerved at the exact moment they were going to collide, much to the displeasure of the aforementioned person on foot. The antics made Madeline chuckle and inspired her. She pulled out her sketch book, which she had brought in case she did end up having to wait, and started to draw the scene in front of her.

Time lost all its importance as she worked. She was so absorbed, in fact, she did not notice when one of the very male youths that amused her tried to scare her with his bike. So absorbed, in fact, she did not notice Erik until he commented on her drawing.

"There could be a bit more shading on that house."

The familiar voice startled her so much she dropped her pencil. Erik picked it up and handed it to her. He was wearing his long black cloak, the hood covering his face. He was an oddity on such a warm day. "I apologize that I am close to half an hour late. I was waiting for some people to leave, so there'd be fewer witnesses, but there has been no lull. Hopefully they'll all be so engaged they won't see anyway." He helped her to her feet.

"Witnesses for what?" after all she'd been through, she couldn't help but be nervous.

"Forgive me, I did not choose my words wisely. I don't like having uninvited guests. I would have preferred it if no one could se the way to my home. No one except for you, of course."

"Where are we going?" she asked when they stopped next to a large grate in the wall that Madeline assumed was part of the opera house's ventilation system.

"Watch." Erik touched left top corner of the grate. Madeline saw it was the only corner with a screw or anything fastening it in place. But as she looked closer, Erik pressed down on it like it was a button on some kind of machine. The grate popped out of its niche easily. Erik caught it and looked around. When nobody else seemed to be focusing on them, he dropped the grate and jumped up and slipped right into the hole in the wall. Madeline gave a little squeak of surprise. The tunnel in the wall was huge, big enough for Erik to crawl on his hands and kneels and turn a complete circle in. "Follow me." He said "And don't forget to put the grate back. It snaps right back into place." Madeline complied, surprised at how easy it was to put the metal grate back in its place.

She followed Erik through the dusty stone passageway. The ceiling dripped on her head and hands. What kind of liquid fell, she did not know, for it had a strange stench. She decided she didn't want to ask.

Soon the sounds of the busy streets receded, and silence settled in. The warmth left, too, and for the first time the young woman was pleased she had worn so much.

Suddenly Erik turned and spoke. "We're at the end of this duct now. There's a room just beyond." He turned around and lowered himself to the ground outside. Madeline shuffled forward and looked over the rim of the circular exit. Erik was standing on the shore of a little stone harbor. Lanterns hung from the walls. In the murky water's edge there floated a sleek black gondola. The place seemed to glow with a strange golden quality, like the stones were sprinkled with shimmering dust.

"Jump down." said Erik. "I'll catch you." Madeline did as he said. As soon as she was in his arms, all her worries left her. He hugged her close, stroking her hair, and then released her. He held her hand and helped her into the little boat. He took the pole that had been leaning against the wall and joined her in the tiny craft. He pushed off from the shore, and Madeline began the true decent to his world.

She sat at his feet like a cat, looking around this new place with wide eyes. The walls had strange sculptures protruding from them, depicting of the great Poseidon in his proper realm.

"Did you make those?" she asked.

"I have a disturbing amount of free time."

"They're beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you."

Madeline blushed. It was much more flattering hearing such admiration from Erik than it was from an older relative. Erik's compliments were far more special. He did not say such lovely things about anyone.

But her wonder only grew as they reached their destination. The boat stopped in a cave that had been turned into a home. A pipe organ stood in the center, amidst a collection of broken mirrors and sheet music. A desk cluttered with papers also held a miniature replica of the theatre. Candles were everywhere; on the organ, on the desk, even raising out of the water were elaborate candelabras. Madeline was so spellbound she had to get out of the gondola and explore. Erik followed her, answering all her questions.

"Is this where you live?"

"For the past twenty-five years, this has been my home."

Madeline stroked the mighty musical instruments keys, fascinated by the way the candlelight made the ivory shine. "Can you play me something?" she asked him, remembering the music of Don Juan Triumphant.

"I will," Erik said "If you will sing with me."

"I suppose . . . I suppose I could stay for a while . . ."

Whistle whistle!

PLEASE REVIEW! I know this took me waaaaaaay too long, and I know it wasn't all that great, but please! This is the second last chapter. Next update is the very end! For my sake, tell me what you think!

Remember how long this chapter took me? Look and see how many reviews I got.

I'm sure you get what I mean.