Hi readers. This is an intense chapter. Enjoy it and please don't forget to post a review.

-- Leesainthesky

Re-cap: Snooty people insult Erik on the streets of London. Gabrielle tells them off and Erik goes ballistic, calling off the shopping trip…

Ch 35 Strange Angel

If not for the rich meal, substantial wine and sheer exhaustion from last evening's amusements, sleep would never have come at all. Crying myself to sleep was becoming a regular occurrence for 19th century Gabrielle. I wondered if some angry warlock had put a hex on the female sensibilities of women of this century. I'd never been prone to such emotions before. Sometime after sunrise, I awoke to the sounds of London coming to life.

With no reason to roll around in bed and ruminate over my misfortunes, I made my way to the washstand to splash water on my face and tossed a blouse and skirt on over my chemise. I rubbed in a dollop of moisturizer on my face, combed my hair, and then crossed the room, leaned over a petite writing desk and brushed back the curtains. I hefted open the window to allow a breeze into the stuffy room.

On the street below, not too many citizens were milling about just yet. The costermongers and other peddlers were setting out their wares up and down the street where allowed.

I must get out of this hotel and pull my thoughts together; I considered taking an early morning stroll.

First, I had to feed the nagging hunger to write. It would be a letter where the writer throws words onto a page like pieces of a puzzle, then attempts to construct a plausible picture from all those random pieces.

The letter began: Dearest Erik, my hope is that it is not too late for an explanation and an earnest apology.

I sat at the writing desk, pulled out one of my last working ball point pens, tore a sheet of paper from my journal that I had brought with me, in which I planned to record my Victorian adventures, and began composing. Free writing was a marvelous way to get the poison out of my system.

I wrote to Erik about my late night revelation of how I unwittingly embarrassed Erik in my attempt to defend him. I mentioned that my unladylike behavior could be traced to my need to unload months of frustration and sadness on someone deserving of my ire. I also assured him of how much I loved him, and I begged for his forgiveness.

Upon re-reading the letter, I decided to edit out the hastily scribbled, unintelligible and misspelled words and re-write it for Erik's eyes.

With the way my foot insisted on popping itself in my mouth, I thought it best to communicate through written, rather than spoken words. Written words are easier to fix than spoken ones.

Maybe my nickname really should be Gabby, I considered disdainfully.

Ever hopeful for reconciliation, I'd left the bedchamber door open a crack before going to bed last night, in case Erik chose to join me. This was a fortunate move, since I wished to exit the suite without waking Mr. Super Sonic Ears. Slowly I opened the door. Erik had curled up on the love seat with his back to me and his feet on the armrest. The blanket still lay over him and he had the pillow stuffed under his head and one arm.

With my shoes and cloak in hand, I crept through the room and lay the letter on the table in front of the loveseat where Erik slept. I then crept to the door and gingerly turned the brass doorknob. I cringed when the door squeaked open, and exited quickly. Halfway down the hall, I realized I hadn't bothered to check our suite number. I backtracked, noting the brass plate on the door with 307 engraved on it.

Number 307, okay Gab; lets not forget lest you surprise a sleeping nobleman and his wife or mistress.

I slipped into my shoes and cloak at the top of the staircase, and then descended to the lobby where Monsieur Fitzgerald was busy working at the front desk. I approached him to inquire where I might find a nearby bakery.

"My dear lady, you shall find many a good bakery in the vicinity. Are you in search of traditional English fare or something more like a patisserie?"

"I have a yen for some of your wonderful English scones," I said.

"Very good then, Austin's on Baker street is an excellent choice." he leaned forward and squinted in the direction of the street. "Upon exiting the hotel, turn to your left and walk down Gloucester Place until it meets with George Street. Turn right down George then left to Baker Street. Walk up Baker one half-block. Across the street you will see Austin's Bakery; of course, your nose will tell you before your eyes do," he chuckled.

I offered the man my thanks and headed out of the hotel. A dense fog still hung in the air, cloaking the neighborhood in dampness. Chilled, I drew the cowl over my head and walked, re-iterating Fitzgerald's directions in my mind. The man was correct, I could smell the pastries and fresh breads baking before I could see the sign for Austin's.

The shop was already buzzing with several hungry people when I entered, causing me to stand in queue for several minutes. I considered the glass cases filled with many delectable freshly baked breads, scones and turnovers. When it was my turn to order, I chose four apple cinnamon scones and a cup of tea.

I situated myself on one of the small tables inside the bakery's large window and drew out a piping hot scone. While sipping and munching, I thought about Erik and the letter. I hoped my written words made more sense than my spoken ones. Last night had begun with bright promise and ended in disaster.

My cup of Earl Grey finished, I supposed I ought to make my way back to the hotel. Once inside the lobby I requested that tea service be delivered to the suite. Fitzgerald assured me the process would take a scant twenty minutes to arrange and deliver.

After offering my gratitude, I hurried off, reasoning that if I dashed up the stairs to our suite, I would not have time to think about what l may face on the other side of that door. Running was not proper decorum for ladies, but I didn't give hooey. I sprinted up to the third floor and down the hall to room number 307.

I found the door locked. Dang nab it Gabrielle, I cursed myself silently, you should have guessed that the door would be set to lock after you.

Having to knock was humiliating. "Erik," I called softly, "its Gabrielle. I've locked myself out, please let me in."

There I stood like a dork, clutching my little brown bag of scones, waiting for Erik to open the door.

I watched the knob rotate. Erik pulled the door open wide. He appeared rumpled, not customary for him, and he was still wearing the white shirt and trousers he'd slept in. "Entré, svp, mademoiselle," he said evenly, making an exaggerated sweep with his arm, "Out and about already, dear?"

"I brought something to eat…scones; tea is on the way too, if you feel like partaking of any."

Erik remained silent. I walked past him and placed the little bag on the table in front of the love seat then flopped down in an armchair.

"Not staying then?" he asked.

"Of course I am; why would you say such a thing?"

"Your cloak, you still have it on."

"Oh, that. I'm chilly; I'll remove it when the tea gets here."

Erik nodded and took the love seat opposite me. We pondered each in silence.

I sat fidgeting. Erik looked around, pretending to study the room.

The silence made me anxious. I could take it no more, "Did you have a chance to read the note I left for you?"

"Indeed, I did."

More silence while Erik observed me calmly, which did nothing for my nerves. I averted my eyes, rose from the chair and approached the table with the roses. I reached out to touch one of the tender petals. Yellow, the color of bright promise—another urban legend, I thought sadly.

"Gabrielle," Erik began hesitantly, "No one has ever bothered to apologize to me for any manner of wrongdoing, nor have they ever paused to defend my honor. Your actions last night, no matter how puerile, proved to me one important fact that I cannot ignore no matter how much discomfort I have suffered. I fully realize that you truly do love me for me."

Stupefied by this remark, I spun to face him, "What, pray tell, kept you from believing me before last night Erik?"

"I'm not sure…it is complicated, Gabrielle. That is my quandary. Why on earth would a woman of your spark and intelligence shame herself by loving me?"

I uttered a short, exasperated sigh, "First off, I do not shame myself by loving you—how insulting, Erik! Secondly, you infer that I hang around your gloomy ass because I need the creature comforts you provide. I am so very pleased to know you figured out how wrong that perception is!" I was highly annoyed.

Erik released a deep breath and stood abruptly, "Forgive me for being perplexed by this—this emotion that permeates the prose of poets and lyricists as far back as authors can be quoted, the very apparition which has eluded me since birth, the elusive butterfly all of humanity peruses with such vulgar enthusiasm," Erik spat sharply.

"Never have I been able to touch her fragile taunting wings, until you come to me from another century and claim to love me. I have convinced myself that love in your century must mean something much less than it is in mine. Perhaps it is a simple expression of basal, physical desire."

"That's what you believed—I said I loved you because I was hot for your touch? Holy $hit, Erik!"

He continued his stoic discourse, "In the beginning, I imagined you pitied me, but your kind attentions assuaged my craving for human touch. I reasoned that you were lonely and in need of masculine contact, but I now realize that your ardor transcends the boundaries of such physical needs."

I leaned against the tall table where the roses were, clasped my hands in front of me and leaned toward him, "Oh Erik," I sighed despondently, "I engage in those activities with you because of my affection for you. Please listen to me; I love you for your brilliance, your talent, and your wit. Your compassion for my plight touches my heart. And yes, I am enormously attracted to you. Is that unfathomable?"

I watched his forehead wrinkle into a frown.

"All your living days you've been violently rejected for your looks, but where I come from, people are not so ignorant about such things. As I have told you numerous times, Monsieur, your very essence attracts me to you. I do not find your looks offensive; in fact, I wish you'd ditch that mask, especially when we are intimate."

Erik stood and raked his hands through his hair. I'd never seen him as rattled as he was now. He paced the length of the parlor, pursing and un-pursing his lips. Suddenly, he swung around and smacked his fist in his hand, "If I were angry with you, or indifferent, I would know how to proceed, but I am mystified by these new impulses and intentions that consume my very being."

He paused, reluctant to continue, "You see, Gabrielle, I—I thought I had loved Christine Daae, and in my way, I did. In truth, I knew her only as a talented and adoring young pupil. I was in love with her voice and her exceptional beauty. Lustful obsession compelled me to act as a madman— I had not the experience to recognize the difference between love and obsession. I made a horrid mess of my life and placed the lives of others in peril as well. It is not a mistake I aspire to repeat."

I dropped my head and spoke with quite culpability, "Your current confusion is partially my doing, Erik. I should know that any man of your time would perceive my enthusiastic response to your ardor as wanton. How could you take me seriously when I am forever indulging your lusts? I am not a loose woman, Erik, but where you are concerned there is a depth of affection, a spiritual connection that I can neither explain nor deny no matter how much mental tussling we engage in. I crave you in so many, many ways. Have you any idea what I'm talking about?"

He wandered to the love seat and propped himself against one of its arms. "Indeed I have, yet I am bereft to explain what it is. This irregular emotion is beyond mere sexual desire, could it be love Gabrielle—pure, honest love?"

I blinked at him, "You want me to tell you whether or not you love me? Oh Erik, only you are capable of answering that question."

There was a knock on the door. "It must be the tea," I said thankful for the diversion.

Erik answered the door. He allowed the servant in to place the tea on the table, tipped the man and watched him exit.

He took up pacing again, and then rounded on me, startling me by coming within inches of my face while I was pouring a cup of tea. "Did I not tell you that I was incapable of discerning what I am feeling? If I knew, we would be beyond this nonsense!"

I started and bit of the hot tea sloshed out and burned my hand causing me to drop the partially filled cup. Quickly, I jumped away to avoid further damage.

Erik was at my side before the cup hit the floor. He grabbed a napkin and dabbed at my dress and hand. "I've made you burn yourself. Is it bad? Here darling, let me fetch a wet towel for you," His voice laced with regret.

He disappeared into the bedchamber and returned with a wet cloth. "Sit and give me your hand," he ordered as he seated himself next to me. I obeyed, watching while Erik tended to my hand, placing the cool cloth on the burn.

"It's not that big of a deal, it just stings, that's all," I said.

"Forgive me, Gabrielle. It seems I have found a way to hurt you once more."

"I'm not really hurt, you just startled me. I'm a little jumpy today, not much sleep you know."

Erik shook his head, "Again, I am deeply sorry; you are not accountable for interpreting the chaos in my heart."

I began to pour tea, but Erik gently gripped my wrist to halt my progress.

"Look at me, Gabrielle. Would you wish to spend your life with someone like me? What could that be like for you?"

My eyes met his. "No one really knows what their life with another will be like, Erik; one can only hope for good things and work toward those goals. Could I see myself living with you forever? Most definitely—if you learned to accept your goodness as well as your shortcomings, and if you allowed yourself to trust me."

"Trust is something that has been beaten out of me."

"Without it you will distrust my every word and action, and I cannot exist in a household where my actions will always be suspect. Surely you know what that feels like, Erik."

I hit a nerve because Erik's eyes blazed sharply. He clenched his jaw and fixed his gaze on the wall past my shoulder.

"Touché, Mademoiselle. The idea of love terrifies me. Yet when I contemplate a life without you, I see only emptiness and despair. Since you have come to me, I have lived as a man should live—with passion, with purpose, with hope. I could not bear to lose you now." He dropped his gaze from the wall to my eyes, "Please Gabrielle; tell me you that will not leave me."

With these words, Erik knelt next to me and took hold of my uninjured hand. He looked heartsick.

"I'll not leave unless you ask me to Erik," I reassured him with a smile.

With this, Erik kissed my hand, rested his forehead on my knees and wept.

"Oh sweet dear Gabrielle; I know it to be true – I do love you."

- O -

Wow, thanks for your reviews. If you do read this, please forward an occasional review so I know you're out there. As many writers know, it is weird to have a high reader count, but a low review count. I know people do get busy…

Thanks to Amy, my fab beta.

-Leesa