There they sat for several moments in silent observation of each other, until Amelia got the courage to say the line she had been practicing over and over in her mind since her journey began. She exhaled slowly and began, "My name is Amelia Porter, and I must thank you for caring for me. Please forgive my intrusion on your privacy."
Erik did not react at all but stood up slowly and spoke, "Mademoiselle… je ne parle pas l'anglais mais…" he spoke much more in French and Amelia almost laughed at herself for being so ignorant. She held up her hand and continued to converse, this time in French.
"Forgive me, I am an American, but I speak French. My name is Amelia Porter and I wanted to thank your for your kindness and ask your forgiveness for my rudeness in invading your privacy."
"You are well-learned for a woman. I confess I never worked very hard to improve my English. That aside, I find myself confused. You do not look the least bit surprised or frightened for a woman who happened to get lost in the depths of the opera house. If you were indeed lost." Amelia had not anticipated his suspicion of her but tried to remain cool.
"Is it your insinuation that I desired to fall into your hands?" Immediately she knew this was the wrong approach.
"You tell me, Mademoiselle."
"Perhaps you might allow me to freshen up a bit and then provide a more apt explanation."
If he had not been masked, Amelia felt he might have raised an eyebrow but he said nothing and left, silent. Amelia sat back hard in her bed and stared at the ceiling overwhelmed. She had just spoke with him, HIM. Life unraveled in a confusing manner and as she dressed she took great care to improve her appearance the best she could.
Her hair now looked more presentable and she jokingly pinched her cheeks to induce natural color into them. Giggling girlishly she twirled and, satisfied with her appearance, stepped out of the room. She bumped into something soft and looking up saw her captor staring down at her with penetrating eyes. Perhaps this was strike two.
"Follow me," he said with obvious distrust in his voice.
Amelia obediently followed him into a room where his beautiful organ sat and was surprised to find a small sitting area. The lair never looked like this on stage, this place was the correct darkness but it had a homey feel to it almost. Filled with stage sets and antique furniture, the lair looked much different than she could have imagined. Somehow she could only focus on the man himself. She watched him closely, taking in every movement, his walk, which defined grace as she had hoped.
His hands swayed with masculine strength and yet his steps seemed to float on air. Amelia followed him staying many small steps trying to keep up. At last he stopped and turned, making sure she was still with him, and then invited her to sit down. She complied and felt her hands shaking, she felt nauseous and nervous.
He mistook her symptoms saying gently but stiffly, "You need not be afraid of me. I am not going to hurt you."
Although she had not considered this possibility, she felt calmed a bit, "Thank you, Sir. I must confess I am not afraid of you. You cared for me when I was ill, thus, I cannot assume that you would have taken all that trouble if you were going to kill me. That would have been your ideal chance."
He did not respond but there was a touch of amusement in his voice, "You confuse me, Mademoiselle. I cannot help but feel you know something. I should be harsher with you for invading my privacy, which I cannot assume was not unintended, but my curiosity compels me to find out more."
"Crap, crap, crap, he's going to think I'm nuts, how can I explain anything without sounding like a psycho. How, how, how, this is nuts!" thought Amelia panicked. She attempted to regain some composure and smiled coyly, "I would tell you but I think you'll laugh or think me insane. Either one would not be very flattering to me."
She wished he would take that wretched mask off so she could detect any emotions from him. But for the moment he remained seemingly detached, "I think you'll discover that little in the world surprises me. I would be interested to hear."
Amelia breathed and stood up, she knew she might have to lie a bit now, but it was unavoidable, "Alright, I'll tell you. I had come here to the Opera House for a chance at training as a singer but they had no openings left. I heard a bunch of the ballet girls giggling and chattering as I was about to leave upon my rejection. They spoke of a man, dressed in black, with a mask, with a face of death, who had the voice of an angel. They spoke of him so… jokingly I assumed they were just gossiping. Then…I saw him… you…only for a second, just, hiding in the shadows watching. Although I saw you for just a second, there was something in your eyes that moved me, sadness, or jealousy, something so human and passionate I knew that you weren't a ghost. I admit my curiosity got the better of me, I wanted…" she stopped with the fiction and now spoke truly from her heart, "I felt compelled to meet you, to find out who you were, why you lived here, why you seemed so lost. I could identify with that and I guess… I guess I lost myself in that curiosity. I never expected to find you. And now… now I feel foolish." Amelia stood up and felt flustered, "Please forgive me for wasting your time, and disturbing you."
Erik stood up just as rapidly and approached her, "Mademoiselle, I must ask you to stop apologizing. If you were disturbing me, we would not be having this conversation." Amelia lowered her head and tried not to let him see her emotional reaction to standing so close to him. She could not stop shaking.
She tried to control herself but her voice faltered a bit, "Monsieur, please, I… I don't know why I'm here. Honestly… I…"
He seemed uncomfortable by her reaction but she felt him grab her arms gently, "Mademoiselle, you are still weak from being ill. Perhaps, I should escort you back to sleep to get well."
This contact did not help her to stop shaking but she allowed him to lead her back to the guest chamber. With all the courage she could, without thinking, she asked him, "Monsieur, you… why will you not remove the mask in my presence? I cannot read your face for emotions… it is confusing."
He stiffened at this remark and increased the distance between their bodies, "If you have sought me out, you must know the reason for the mask and know never to ask me to remove it."
She moved closer, countering his previous move, "I have heard. Perhaps you underestimate my rigidity and take me for a fainting, foolish ballet girl?"
"I will not be a means for you to test your ability to withstand horror, Mademoiselle, for your own curiosity."
She attempted to rephrase herself by moving even closer until they were a nose apart, "Monsieur, I only meant to gain your trust. If gaining your trust requires you to keep on your mask, then so be it; I want to earn your trust."
"Mademoiselle, you will not have my trust until you are honest with me, mask aside. Your story has some holes and I feel as if you know more about me then you are revealing. Then way you look at me… it…" he paused as if trying to be delicate, "it is more familiar than someone who searched for a myth out of curiosity, is it not?
Amelia felt trapped again, she moved away from Erik slowly, backing up searching for a way out. The distance between them grew more and more until Erik started moving towards her. It amazed her how fast he moved without seeming to move at all. She started running and gasped for air, not used to exerting herself while constraint by a corset. He eventually caught up to her and grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to see his face which was still covered.
"Why have you come here?" he shook her and continued to raise his voice, frightening her, "What are you hiding?" She began to cry involuntarily and with that he stopped and looking at her, panting from irritation. He look at her unsure of how to react, did he look at her with anger or pity?
She swallowed hard, "I do know you—but not how you think I do. I know your name is Erik," upon uttering that name he drew away in surprise, "I knew you lived down here, and have for many years, using your skills in ventriloquism and gifted talents in illusion to masquerade as the an Ghost of the Paris Opera. I have an idea of what lies beneath the mask; I know you were humiliated and hurt as a circus freak because of something that was not your fault. I know your gifts of music are far superior to any musician out there but your talents have been squandered because of your face. I know you're alone and unhappy and desire love—but I only know this from spending time with you and from seeing how much care you gave me.
You have compassion within you, despite your remarkable ability to kill men at your hands. If I explained to you how I know what I know, you would not believe me, and it should not be important. What matters is that knowing what I know, and what I have learned, I just wanted to spend time with you, learn from you… that is all I could ever hope for… I feared you might think I was a spy or a silly school girl hoping for a glimpse of the opera monster…" She breathed and realized how much she had said, too much perhaps since she still received no response from him.
Then he spoke, "It easy through mere words to say this, Amelia, but it is your trust I need before I am willing to share all of myself with you. You may have to patient with me." He tentatively stroked her hair and she held his other hand tightly wishing she could really see him.
How she longed to kiss him, to give him the love he deserved, would he think her a whore if she kissed him? Could she resist this situation? Their bodies were moving closer and closer together His arms moved up awkwardly and ended up on the few bits of bare skin on her back. He wore gloves but shed them earnestly and she felt goose-bumps on her arms at the shock of cold contact. He trembled as he moved along her skin, never having touched anything so smooth in his life. Eager fingers hesitantly found their way under the material of her dress, but only for a second making her crave more from him. More than she felt she deserved yet.
Quickly she pulled away, her hands flexed to her sides. He stared and her hungrily, knowing that she might give him more. It was too soon, she did not want to be his pity whore. "I cannot, it's too soon, I don't know you yet," she said answering his unspoken question. Realizing the irony of her statement she continued, "I want you to know me, to…" the way he looked at her made her body grow warm and she could feel her face flush. "I feel as though I am taking advantage of you."
He smiled, for certain this time, "Then we agree on one thing."
She blushed again, "This is crazy… I'm crazy…" he continued to smile at her, "why did you do it?"
He kept his smile, "Do what mademoiselle, many actions have transpired since you arrived here." Now he was playing with her.
"Remove your mask, Monsieur; I gave you no reason to trust me."