Chapter 156 Behold what Blind Eyes See

Erik watched as the sleigh moved away. It was both joyous and heartbreaking to know that Christine was there with him in Paris, a city that revered both siren and specter. He took comfort in knowing that she'd be somewhere safe in but a few minutes time. He found a haven within the shadows of a building, waiting and watching until the sleigh was no longer in view. He closed his eyes, raising a silent prayer. "Let this night hold no treachery for this woman, nor the men whose care I've now entrusted her to." He paused, "and allow it to hold no more treachery for any others than that which you have fated."

He pressed his eyelids tightly shut, exhaling heavily, deliberately as if freeing one being and embracing yet another. He inhaled slowly taking in a full lung of the Parisian night air. A mental if not physical transformation taking place in the mere act of it. He lifted his chin, looking out now with different eyes. He turned, his cloak in hand swirling about him. Instinct had taken over. Erik, the husband, the lover, the father…he had ridden away in the sleigh with the mellifluous angel, his darling Christine. What remained now was the creature of darkness…the Phantom had returned to his City, his haunt, and none knew it better than he.

XXXXX

Christine's heart broke as the sleigh ventured away to destinations unknown to her, leaving Erik behind at the City's edge. She knew he was more capable than any mere mortal handling any happenings with surgical precision; she did not worry in that regard. She sighed, a sad melancholy sigh. The moments between when she'd first woken from the dream, tangled in the web of sheets, and the sleigh she now sat in, seemed like a surreal sequence of events that twisted and twisted themselves until they'd become an intricately interwoven, complex knot. Though she grappled with it, trying desperately to make sense of it, to unwind it, to sort it out, it would not release its grip on the present circumstances. So oft these last months she'd wanted to be in a time other than the one she occupied, unless they were in Erik's presence. She'd found herself longing for the past, or dreaming of the future whenever he was not at her side. But oh, when he was with her, those moments were like spun gold strands of time, dripping with amber honey. The more time she spent in his presence as his wife, the more alive she felt.

Christine had resigned herself to the fact that she'd no control over these next hours. Erik was nothing if he was not a dedicated friend, and Nadir was like a brother to him. Meg…she held a special place in his heart. Only Erik had the ability to remedy this, if in fact there was something to remedy…though Christine was certain that Nadir and Meg were in danger.

Minutes only passed until the sleigh came to a halt. She'd barely had time to lament Erik's departure before the door opened, Erphan's hand coming in to assist her. "Madame Courtland," he said with all the politeness and respect that a seasoned footman would possess.

Christine took his hand, carefully tucking the leather pouch beneath her cloak. The young man that had kept Erphan company was already rapping at the door. He turned to look at Erphan, question on his face. "Monsieur Courtland said that she is blind not deaf, knock again, with a bit more force this time."

Christine stood next to the sleigh watching as Erphan took her bag from the sleigh, along with the several baskets that had been brought to accompany them. She turned as the door opened. It startled her, no light had been lit indicating the woman had risen. Then Christine looked down chastising herself, the woman was blind, lamp light would be of no use to her.

No doubt she had candles and lamps in her house for the benefit of her guests only. The young man was conversing with her. Christine could hear him talking, "Good lady, we are terribly sorry to intrude upon your slumber so late into the evening. We are here at Monsieur's, an old benefactor's bidding. We've his wife among the three of us, she bares a request from him."

The woman gruffed, "he's no wife sir, now do be off with you." She started to close the door, the young man trying in vain to protest.

Christine moved quickly forward. Perhaps it was Christine's soft kindly voice, but whatever it had been, it gave the woman pause. "My dear lady, my husband and I are newly wed. He has sent me here on his business as he is otherwise detained, he has asked me to convey to you that an old friend an old benefactor has requested your most important services."

There was a long pause. The woman smiled opening the door, "ahh yes, you must be the angel he spoke often of. How wonderful to see that the longings of his heart finally came true, my dear, do come in, and bring that precocious boy you've brought along in with you as well."

Christine smiled, nodding to the boy and Erphan "Madame, there are three of us, does that sit well with you?" The woman nodded, "I might be blind child, but I am not deaf. Have your horseman bring his horse and sleigh around the back. I've room for it out of the weather."

"Thank you kindly," Christine said. The woman had a bit of a coarse personality, and it was obvious from her comments that Erik had spent a bit of time with her. Christine smiled. She was just the sort of woman that she could see Erik taking a fancy with…she'd not judge him with her eyes…it was her heart and her mind that gave shape to what she'd think of the man, and Erik would be beautiful on both counts.

Erphan nodded to Christine, he'd heard the woman's offer and would see to it. Christine smiled at him, something of a worried smile. Erphan had no reason to fear as he knew not of the real reason they'd ventured to Paris. If he had any inkling that Erik might be in danger, he'd have handed the reins off to the other young man to be at Erik's side. No he had only the knowledge that there was urgent business that his master had to tend to and nothing more. Of course he'd been cautious, the knowledge of Crawlings still roaming about had been well known, though the thought was that he'd be far from Paris now, certainly with the guilt of the death of the innkeepers still fresh.

Erphan followed the building round to the back. There was a rather large porticus at the rear, large enough for the sleigh to fit in as well as bed for the horse. Once he'd settled them in he would join Madame Courtland in the warmth of the woman's house. He'd hoped she'd have lit a lamp by then, as he'd no want to insult a woman who'd just been roused unexpectedly from her slumber.

"Come in, come in my dear, you'll catch yourself a dreadful cold if you stay out of doors." The women ushered Christine and the young man into the entry. "Wait here," she said as they heard her shuffle off into the darkness.

The young man cleared his throat. He'd never been in Christine's presence alone. He thought her to be beautiful, and his master to be a fortunate man.

Christine heard the strike of a flint stone and the room toward the back of many lit just slightly. The woman slid her hand along the wall as she made her way back down the long hallway. The building was long and narrow suitable for a seamstress Christine thought to herself as she watched the old woman reenter the small room that they stood in.

"Do come in, follow me." The woman handed Christine the small lamp. She'd no use for it herself.

Christine and the young man followed her down a few doorways until she turned abruptly to the left. Christine's eyes grew wide as the room came to life with the small light. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes beheld the pictures that adorned the walls. She knew instinctively who had painted them.

"Yes child, you see it was a long while that he'd been visiting before he realized that I could not see." She moved over to a small chair, no doubt one she occupied often as she looked quite at home there. "You see child at first when he came to me, he'd followed me from the Opera House. He'd no way to pay for his first garments, and offered in trade to paint my portrait for a suit. I'd not the heart to tell him that I'd not be able to enjoy it myself, and had no children to leave it to, and I could tell by the way he asked that he had much pride but little money or he shan't have been there asking at all. His first suit, I remember it well. It was of the finest cloth that I'd worked with in a great long while. It was left over from a rather large order I'd made for a fine Parisian family. They'd brought it back from another continent on their travels, I shan't be able to recall where just now. He told me he wanted black, so black it was."

The young man asked, much to Christine's chagrin, "however did you know the fabric was black mum, not having…" Christine shot him a discerning look. The boy immediately hushed.

The old woman laughed a bit, "it is alright my dear, you do not have to silence the boy, it is an honest question."

Christine quickly realized the woman was more perceptive than even those who had site. Surely she'd heard his abrupt end, and it would not have been done of his own volition.

"That is a fair question young man," the woman said smiling, rocking back and forth in her chair. I recall what the family told me when they'd delivered the bolts of fabric. Then, I remember fabric by the feel of it. It was most exquisite. It felt like the velvety petals of a leafy plant I shan't be able to name just now. Somewhat like the feathers of a dove. It was thicker than silk, and thicker still than cotton, but thinner, yes, decidedly thinner than wool." She smiled. "I remember them by touch young man."

The woman's voice had blended into a nearly mute tone in Christine's mind as she wandered around the room looking at the various paintings. Ballerinas, like the ones on the ceiling of the winter house, all in various costumes, Christine recognized some of them from productions in recent years. They'd been set in simple yet elegant frames of polished wood. She turned around and was going to ask the woman a question, and again she was taken back. What lay before her now was an even greater wonder.

"Ah yes. Those are the very ones most oft spoken of….the faceless beauty with long dark curls…whoever could she be they ask? Now mind you I've not seen them for myself but I've so often heard my patrons speak of them that I nearly feel as though I have."

Christine blinked, her hand unconsciously rising to her face. He had followed her, away from the Opera House. There was no other plausible explanation. As Christine's eyes began to roam each one, the woman began to describe them.

"They tell me the first is of the same woman, though she is but a girl. She is walking in the park, her hand in that of another young girl with flaxen hair, she too lacks the benefit of lips, eyes, and nose. They are carrying parasols and I recall them saying something of stuffed bears with flowing ribbons about their necks, one brown, one black."

Christine's eyes roamed the picture, the swans carved into the ornate gilded frames that lay as a back drop. She closed her eyes. She could see that afternoon in the park. It was her first summer in Paris, and Madame Giry had taken her and Meg to the fair. Each had managed to beg for a teddy bear. Though Madame Giry had thought it a quite frivolous expenditure, she'd relented. Meg had the black, she the brown. They'd walked hand and hand all the way back to the Opera House at dusk, Madame Giry strolling just slightly behind them.

"Then the next, the girl has grown slightly, though they say it she. She is walking along a sidewalk, there is snow on the ground, her cloak just barely above it. She is carrying something…what was it…"

Christine interrupted, "a wreath." she said in a nearly breathless voice. She was on her way to her father's grave. She recalled that afternoon well. She'd been in the stables, one of the kindly men there had helped her to fashion it with pine bough and holly, affixing it with red ribbon she'd taken from the scrap bin on the third level of the Opera House where the garments were made. After she'd finished it she'd planned to take it to her father. Of course Madame Giry had somehow become aware of her plan and found her just as she was venturing down the sidewalk. The down turned head of the picture, Christine knew exactly when that had been, she was on her way back in, she'd be taken by sleigh to her father's grave, she'd been properly scolded.

"Now the third, I am told it is something of a mystery. None can say quite what the surroundings are, but they imagine it's a church or another holy building."

Christine caught herself before she blurted it out. It was the chapel at the Opera House. She remembered the occasion well, it was the evening of her fourteenth birthday. She recognized the box that lay open, ribbon discarded at her side. It had been a gift from her father. Madame Giry had hidden it for safe keeping all those years. It was the tiara that her mother had worn when she'd had her debutante ball. Yes it was a bit premature the note from her father had said, but he'd wanted her to have it for several years before the event so she could dream of it properly. She smiled. How often she had caressed it and thought of the woman that she'd never known. She nearly cried at the very sight of it, knowing that Erik had watched and perhaps for the first time had wondered if his young love would one day leave him.

"Then the fourth, she's a bit older still, I understand it is the first where one can tell she is wearing a proper lady's dress, a corset. It is odd how some have started to discuss her, as though she wer of flesh and blood. She is dressed in a crimson silk dress…."

Christine closed her eyes. It had been the day she'd graduated from finishing school. It was an oddity really that chorus girls were sent to such a school, but Madame Giry insisted upon it. It was not a choice, rather compulsory for each and every one of the girls in her care to attend. Madame Giry had always said that she was raising ladies who would go on to be wives and mothers, not sewer rats that oft were the products of other establishments of ill repute in the city. Christine had been so pleased that day, and Madame Giry so proud. She even remembered the red rose with the black ribbon that she was holding in the painting, it had been a gift from an admirer Madame Giry had told her.

"Now the fifth, they are certain that the painter simply had a fascination with ballerinas."

Christine cocked her head, this one was not familiar to her. Her eyes roamed every corner of it for some clue. Perhaps it had been incorrectly placed with the collection, but no, it was the same girl, though the costume, the gown she wore…… Christine gasped. She knew the gown, she knew it well. It had been the gown she'd admired of the ballerinas that Degas had painted in the Opera House. Christine had told angel that she'd one day wish to be as lovely as this ballerina, to have a dress of such fine silk, to be as elegant and refined as she. A tear grew in her eye as she beheld it….she could nearly feel the fabric of the dress on her skin. He'd been imagining the dream with her, and for Erik, it had flowed out of him into the colorful oils that had been blotted and blended to perfection on the canvas, now held taut and steady in its frame. Though he could not provide the dream, he could immortalize it for her.

Christine's eyes wander from frame to frame as the woman described them in detail. It left Christine wondering how the woman could describe with such accuracy that which was portrayed that she'd never beheld with her own eyes. She felt as though the woman was telling of some of the most intimate moments of her life.

"Now turn child, you should see the final in the series. The woman was smiling as she heard Christine reposition herself. There child, above the hearth."

Christine lifted the lamp carrying it over to the mantle. She slowly looked up taking the painting in inch by inch. Her eyes traveled from the swirling flow of cascades of ivory fabric that had been painted that led up to an elaborately beaded gown, and on the crown of brown tendrils of the faceless woman was a veil…he'd painted her in her wedding dress….the one he'd had for her in the Opera House. Christine looked closely, reaching out her hand to touch the frame. In the shadows of the painting where all manner of flora and vine creating a mystical backdrop. In the midst of it all, if one looked with keen eye, was the smoky figure of a man…off in the distance. No doubt it was the groom for this bride. Christine smiled. He'd tried to imagine it, even then, he'd hoped, though it was evident that he shan't ever have felt worthy to claim her as his.

The woman sat silently, knowing that this young bride was still taking in the glory of all of it. "Yes, this was the last he'd done for me. He said he could do no more of her, his heart simply could not bear it."

Christine's eyes immediately welled. She'd so much she wanted to say but so much more she'd want to ask. The primary question would set the stage for the rest. "Did he not know you'd not be able to see them? Why would one make such a barter for something that would be of no good use?"

The woman laughed heartily. The chair beginning to rock back and forth once more. "My dear, when he'd requested his first garment in exchange for a portrait, I'd agreed. One should always do what one can for those less fortunate."

Christine looked at her, who could be less fortunate than one whose eyes deprived them of the very beauty of life? She knew none.

The woman laughed, "I'd agreed, taken his measurements, and tailored for him an exquisite suit. Now he'd been most insistent that he'd not take the suit until he'd delivered his end of the arrangement. It was when he had finished and displayed it for me that he'd truly discovered my secret." She sighed…. "he was a clever one that man. We'd laughed over the incident a number of times over the following years. He'd suspected that something was amiss, and it was not until he'd displayed his work that his assumptions were confirmed. I told him it was the most beautiful painting that I'd ever seen, to which he was quiet for a moment and then replied, woman the beauty of it is in your mind, for surely the canvas that lays before you is entirely devoid of color and shape. You can imagine my surprise, and the great pleasure he'd taken in proving his hunch correct!"

Christine laughed, yes that was exactly like Erik. "However is it that you agreed to more when you'd not be able to enjoy them yourself?"

"You see my dear, it was quite a suitable arrangement for the two of us. I was quite new to being a seamstress when first he'd visited. There were many who doubted that a woman without vision would be able to perform her duties, and if she did, not do so well. My mother had been a seamstress for many of the families in our city, and it was because of her that any had even allowed me to try. So it went that I did have enough to feed myself and keep a roof over my head, though I could find no other business." The woman smiled, coughing a bit, rocking back and forth before she continued.

"He had made mention on his second visit, after he found the portrait he'd done of me sitting against the wall still covered in canvas, that he could be of some assistance to me if I'd work in exchange. Though he'd never said, he knew we both had our considerable prides to think of, neither would receive something out of pity. As it went he agreed to fashion my greeting room, this one we now sit in, making it more palatable to receive guests. He went about arranging the furniture you see, roaming all the rooms of the upper floors, pulling things from here and there. My mother had left all of her worldly possessions to me, and when I moved here, I'd simply had them stored in the rooms above, I'd no use for them." The woman shook her head.

"It wasn't long and he'd arranged rugs and sitting areas with the furniture, I understand that he polished the wood on the walls to a bright sheen. Then he began to arrange collections of portraits that he'd paint for me in exchange for garments. He'd gone on to make for me three formal dressing rooms for my patrons, those are just down the hallway there." The woman motioned with her arm."

Christine looked down the corridor. She'd no doubt be exploring them on her visit.

The woman rocked back and forth just smiling. "He spent quite a little time here. Then he'd been gone for what seemed months, returning one day with an apology and a request. He'd wanted a woman's garment made, most unusual I'd thought. I inquired if it were for his wife, and that is when he'd told me he'd no hope of ever marrying, that he was not an attractive man. Strange to me, he had such a good soul, how could one not love such a kindly man?" She smiled shaking her head. "As it went he'd brought with him one of her garments for measurement. So I agreed, making the dress for him using the fabric he'd brought with him this time, it was special he'd said, it had come from a far off land."

Christine listened with hungry attention. This woman might very well be able to put together pieces of Erik's past for her….ones that she could, nay, would never ask Erik for.

"Again we were parted by what seemed months before he returned, though this time when he paid a call he was a much happier man, I could hear it in the timbre of his voice. When I inquired he'd simply said that he'd found a muse and he'd brought me a gift. It was the first in the series that you'd just been gazing upon. Well you see my dear, my business had grown. The improvements that he'd made to my surroundings had indeed provided sufficient atmosphere for new customers. Soon I was having at least a family a week arriving at my door. They'd as much wanted to come to admire the work in this room as they did to procure new garments."

The woman smiled wide. "Then as this first painting was hung on the wall, it began to be a bit of a conversation piece, who was this young woman, who was this mystery painter? I of course had been sworn to secrecy by him. Soon my business grew into something that became more than I could even do alone. I'd taken in an apprentice to keep up with the requests. Periodically he'd add to the collection, filling in here and there with paintings of ballerinas, and the likes of other things, but I must say whenever he added to the collection of the faceless girl, I seemed to have a sharp increase of visitors! Over the years this room has become a favorite for my families. Though I've slowed a bit, and my apprentice has gone on to open her own dress shop in the City. I've retained some of the families that I've done for all these years. I do not have to travel outside of my home, they all enjoy coming here, seeing the paintings, enjoying the dressing rooms, and of course a nice cup of tea." The woman sat smiling rocking back and forth.

Christine leaned back in the divan as she came to rest. He had ventured outside of the Opera House, he had at least one other friend in his life, one who knew nothing of his life or where he'd come from or where he'd gone. She looked upon the woman, she was quite alone and seemed to enjoy the conversation so. "He wanted me to convey to you that he misses you, and has hopes to see you soon." Though it were not true, somehow Christine knew that Erik would not mind her improvising for the sake of a woman whom he'd spent much time with.

The woman smiled, then sat upright in her chair, her feet coming to rest. "Now child, what is it that he asks of me?"

Christine looked over her shoulder as Erphan came into the room. "You see, we've, the three of us, have need for a place to stay until sunset on the morrow. He, my husband, has business in the City, and he shan't return for us until then. He hoped that you would not mind having us whilst he was tending to it."

The woman's face tilted and questioning. "Not that I mind the visit my dear, but wouldn't it have been more suitable for you to be at an inn or one of the fine hotels in the city?"

Christine had to think quickly. "You are quite perceptive, though all the hotels are full from the recent storm, and he also has need for a new smoking jacket, black of course."

"Ah, yes the storm, I'd nearly forgotten it." The woman was rising. "I suppose there are couches in the dressing rooms that you could make use of to rest. We'll have to build fires in them, they are not warm now."

Erphan stepped forward. "Madame, my name is Erphan, I am but an escort to Mrs. Courtland and her husband. I shall tend to whatever you like if you'd be so kind as to tell me of its whereabouts."

Christine blinked, a bit of horror coming over her. She'd no idea of what the woman had known of Erik's name, and hoped, desperately hoped that this would not raise an issue she'd no way to address. She was holding her breath as she looked at the woman.

"Mr. Courtland? Ahh, that is his name?" She started to shuffle off to the hallway, "I never knew him as anything other than young man, or his favorite, dear benefactor." The woman laughed.

Christine exhaled, trying to be rather discreet in her relief, another situation averted slimly. She wondered in the back of her mind how many more of such would they encounter whilst in the City. Her mind wandered to Erik…dear Erik….wherever her love was, she'd pray he was safe.

XXXXXX

Madame Giry was brushing Meg's hair. The pair had retired to Meg's room. Madeline had brought them a pot of tea. She told them that Raoul had been detained, some matter or other for the household was the delay. Meg stared at herself in the mirror as her mother ran the brush down from the crown of her head to the ends of her hair. This task had been done certainly thousands of times, and each time, without fail, it relaxed her. She was tense, though was decidedly calmer, and the methodical brushing assisted it.

"Mother, how do you think they are…if they are well." Meg said, trying to change the focus of the conversation to anything other than she.

Madame Giry put her hand on Meg's shoulder, then her other on the top of her head, turning it forward so that she could put in the proper braid. "My dear, I am certain they are fine." In the back of her mind she hoped that Christine was feeling well, that she wasn't longing for her company, that she'd not had questions that none could answer for her. She knew Erik would no doubt be doting on her. She smiled, "I'm certain they are happy, and even now are taking comfort in one another's company." Her comment making Meg smile. She'd always wish for the best for them, always.

Author's Notes: O.K., I'm certain that everyone in the Phamily is scratching their head…yet another woman in the story? But I must confess, I've always wondered, really a nagging thought, if Erik was below the Opera House, wherever did he get all of those garments he wore, that fit him oh so perfectly? They surely were not left over from Opera House productions. You see I simply had to resolve that in my mind. So now we all know! And of course, the exchange of work for work before Erik had money, that seemed to make sense to me, because he was a man of honor in that regard. He is a deeply complex man, torn between what longs to be good in him, and that which his hands found themselves forced into that was less so. It seemed only fair that since he'd been suffering so from the fractured memories of a turbulent past, that we see the opposite side of him portrayed in generous acts of kindness. The fact that the woman was blind…it gave her the opportunity to do what I think all of the world should do for one another. If only we would simply close our eyes and listen with our hearts… that is where we can discover who a person truly is….it is not what our eyes see, it is what our hearts feel that truly should define a person for us. The world would be a much better place if we all would do that wouldn't you agree?

Phantomsrogue: Thank you dear for your review. "Little Sultana", I rather like that dubbing. I am trying desperately to create references to the prequel if you will, to the POTO story, without robbing any of her story, so I am taking a bit of a creative, though vague license to create a bit of a past for our dear Erik and Nadir. Oh, thank you for your trust in regard to why Crawlings is so important in the story. I am simply wiggling in my seat with that part of the story!

As far as the 'Pelican Brief', I don't mind Julia and in some things I actually like her, but I understand how a leading actor/actress can make one choose not to see a movie. I do not care for movies with Kirsten Dunst or Julia Styles, but sometimes the story line is just too good to miss the movie. I think you'd like 'Pelican' especially if you like Denzel…he does a great job in the movie…completely believable.

Music boxes…yes…there is something entirely haunting about the music from them, especially antique ones. When you lift the cover, turn the crank, whatever sets it in motion, it is like looking into the past…wondering who the first person was to receive it as a gift, what was going on in their life, was it a gift from one lover to another, a forbidden love, a gift from a father to a daughter, a gift from a far off soldier to his new bride that he had to leave behind…. Ahh…the mystery of it all. Music, and good literature links generation to generation…speaking to us with more than mere words…it is the feeling that is conveyed when one beholds it….that to me is the true essence of living, connecting.

The masquerade you refer to sounds completely wonderful. Now I suppose you could hold the knowledge of the web-site you refer to until I've returned your e-mail, it would only be fair! LOL! The mask, yes of course, it is the quintessential part of the ball, and one must choose wisely! Something about it being crafted in Venice…makes it all that much more intriguing!

I shall reply. I am a bit afraid to start dabbling in the 'Darker Side', but I was heartened by a recent conversation that I had with an old friend. She told me of a new book that is coming out, apparently on the top of the NY best seller list…. The two authors collaborated entirely by e-mail while they wrote the book! How fortuitous for her to have told me this just at a point when I wondered if we would be able to do this successfully! I shall find the name of the book she referred to so that I can share that with you! So take heart…there might indeed be hope for us to pull this off!

Oh, I was going to ask if you are planning to see 'Pride and Prejudice'? I can hardly wait…I only hope that they've done justice to the story…it is such a beautiful one! Now for a true confession, I've heard the calling of old literature once again….last week in my travels…I picked up a hard-cover of 'Great Expectations', a bit of an early birthday present for myself. Tonight I'm going home to a nice hot pot of tea, a fire, and a good book. I was able to get my holiday decorating nearly finished (yes…it is very early but I do love it so)…so by the light of the tree, the fire, the tea…I shall delve into the book…I am a bit tingly just thinking of it!

Bon Nuit mon cheri!

WriterMuseoftheNight: Interesting indeed…thank you for your comments. The woman I referred to is the maid at the Opera House that Nadir gave a letter to that she was to deliver to the undertaker on LeMortem Street. She is technically someone who has to do whatever Raoul asks, since he is the Patron of the Opera House and could have her removed of her duties if she didn't. So, because he had given instructions for the staff at the Opera House to do whatever Nadir asked of them, she feels obligated to deliver the note. And about the man, no, he not another Phantom, not at all. He is one of those people who are outcasts just because of their appearance, and what he did for a living at the Opera House. He was charged with making all of the props for the productions that included axes, swords, basically anything that would be used to injure or torture people. That made him less than desirable company for anyone. Then, given his rather gruff appearance, no one really wanted to associate with him, which is why he was a recluse in the lower cellar of the Opera House. You know how rumor begets rumor? Well, when no one could explain why or how the Phantom came into being, or how he was able to do the things he did and never get caught, people started gossiping that perhaps it was this employee who was making up an elaborate ruse just to taunt everyone else at the Opera House. Of course when the Phantom started to become more and more visible, and then finally appearing when Raoul started courting Christine, then everyone knew it was not a ruse cooked up by the "props man". Sort of a long explanation, but perhaps it helps understand why this man isn't really a part of the normal Opera House group that one would normally see.

Sebastian and Pyotr…they will have some explaining to do won't they? You see if Erphan discovers that the reason the carriage house was in such a disarray is because of all the stuff they have hidden there…..we'll you can imagine…and if he tells Erik….it could get rather interesting couldn't it!

Yes, our dear Lady C. The similarities are a bit uncanny aren't they? And what fell between them….I think I've told you this before…you are a rather clever one my dear!

Damnant quod non intellegunt - They condemn what they do not understand

Nordygirl: My dear N.G. …have you ever noticed how close your initials are to that of which our dear Phantom used to sign all of his communiqué O.G.? Hmmmmm…just a thought…a little too much caffeine on board I'm afraid! LOL! Yes, cliffhangers, name changes, and alter egos….I am an odd duck aren't I. The more complicated it becomes, the better I seem to like it, and the faster my mind works to interweave all of the different parts of the story together! I am glad that you are enjoying it…It is a story not for the faint of heart or the impatient I'm afraid!

Have a wonderful night!

Musicofthenight13: Thank you for the compliment on the story. It warms my heart to know people are still out their enjoying it with me….and believe me I could use some warming because it is 7 degrees Fahrenheit where I am today! Yikes! Now, as to when the babies will be born. As near as I can estimate, she will have those babies late September to mid October… I know Erik and Christine are both getting very excited about it! LOL!

Have a great night!

PhantomFan13: Thank you…I rather enjoyed penning that chapter. I could nearly smell the peppermint tea she drank, and feel her heart break when she realized the old woman had died…. Yes…the thought of Claire seeing Erik….can you imagine the shock in her eyes! It would be like seeing a ghost! Yes, it is truly exciting to see which secret will finally make its way out into the open…or if some will remain forever a secret…. Laughs heartily as she walks off into the mist

Hope you have a good night!

Faeriecatcher1: Poor Erik…I agree. To have to wrestle with one's past like that. You see for as intelligent as Erik is, he's never had to try to deal with emotions the way that he has in recent months. If something was painful, he buried it in his mind, beneath layers and layers of haunting music, or released it on canvas or walls, or ceilings…..ahhh…perhaps we are on to something….why now…perhaps it is in part because as of late, he's not had any creative outlet…. Though he has loved spending time with Christine!

As to his deception with Christine, you are right, he is indeed very clever. He knew she would never agree if he told her…but he did technically keep his word. I think in the back of his mind, he also wanted her there just in case there was an opportunity for him to reunite she and Meg, even if for a brief time. He no doubt can tell that she has been missing her, and would love to see how she is doing, and to share of their good news. I think he's been considering that as well. His mind is always at work you know! They say that the greatest successes occur when preparedness and opportunity meet! No doubt this is a lesson that Erik has learned well over his lifetime!

Wishing you a most pleasant evening!

SoaringSpirit27: Welcome to the Phamily my dear! We hope your stay with us is a long and very happy one. It is humbling to know that you have been following the story….and further still that it brightens your day! You are most welcome, bows graciously, thank you for following along with this story! It is a great journey of hearts and lives that are intertwined, one that is so alive in my mind that I feel as if they were real people! I too worry about Crawlings, but something tells me there will be a proper dealing with this young man not far in the future, though by whom and how, I am not at liberty to say, lest I spoil it! Again, thank you for staying with this story, and for joining our little Phamily!

Now, as come to be tradition, we simply must have a go at that tag name of yours. SoaringSpirit27…… my first instinct is to think that you are an optimist at heart, always hoping for, and looking for the best in situations and people…27 could be your age…or maybe the last two digit of your phone number….perhaps the day of your birth…or yet another significant number the origins of which we will not know unless you are so kind as to tell us. The other thought I had about SoaringSpirit…perhaps you are of Indian heritage? I have a dear friend who is a direct descendant of Sitting Bull! No, I do not jest! So, please do share if you are so inclined. We love knowing something about our newly adopted Phamily members!