Chapter Ten

"I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain, I am the voice of your hunger and pain. I am the voice that always is calling you, I am the voice, I will remain..." -Celtic Woman

A Voice for the Centuries

It was unfortunate that he had so little time to see the sights of Rouen that night, the Phantom thought. He'd had to make a slight detour to the dress shop across the street from the hotel. Alana needed some new clothes after their encounter with those dreadful thieves, and the sign marked "Closed" and the locked front door was not enough to deter him. He always carried lock picks with him wherever he went, and even when he encountered doors that wouldn't respond to the lock pick, he knew they would respond to the right amounts of pressure in the right places. In this instance, he opened the lock easily with the pick and quickly entered the building, closing the door behind him. It was dark inside, but he found a gas lamp and lit it, and proceeded to look through the empty store like any normal human being would do during shop hours. Once he had found two nice-looking dresses that he knew would fit Alana, he pulled out a few hundred francs and placed them on the abandoned front desk for the shop workers to discover that morning. They were expensive dresses on their own, but he always liked to leave a little more than the items he took were worth. Besides, he had far more money than he knew what to do with. Erik found some boxes intended to put the dresses in, so he boxed them up as the workers would have, and left the store, leaving the lamp burning but locking the door behind him again.

He moved as quickly as he could through the city streets, trying not to limp. His body and his head still ached, but his newfound energy kept him going. Carrying the boxes with him and staying in the shadows, he made his way to the sight he wanted to see most of all before he left Rouen. Soon he was standing directly beneath the Rouen Cathedral, which looked spectacular and menacing in the darkness. It towered above him and the entire city, and he longed to enter the cathedral and see the beauty on the inside, but there wasn't time for that. He had to keep moving if he wanted to see anything else before the sun came up. He took a final, lingering look at the tallest building in all of France, one that he had always wanted to see, and continued on his way.

As he walked, he saw many wonderful buildings and admired their sometimes stunning, sometimes quaint architecture. He realized, with an odd feeling he hadn't gotten used to, that he was enjoying himself. He'd felt this feeling before, when he heard an exceptional piece of music, whenever he'd been with Christine and especially when he'd taken her to his lair for the first time, and also when Alana had called him her friend. Usually he only felt these pleasant feelings when he was deep in his world of music, but as he gazed at the charming city around him and remembered how he'd felt when Alana had said those words, he realized, perhaps for the first time, that the outside world wasn't always terrible. Sometimes it could be beautiful, too.

Of course, music still reigned supreme in his mind. Nothing on the planet could compare to the power music held over him. What joy, sorrow, pleasure, rage, and contentment it could instill in him! At times he could feel all of human emotion wrapped up into a piece of music, experiencing each one as it seemed he left the earth for a little while, entering another, special place. Without music, he was nothing. Music was the one thing that had kept him alive in all his miserable, lonely years. For him, music made the unbearable bearable.

Now he found himself standing before Rouen's own opera house. It was a magnificent building, but nothing compared to the one he had once called home, the one he had a faint hope of returning to someday. His thoughts drifted away…he longed to walk the familiar, sparkling halls, and the corridors of the catacombs, to spend countless hours playing his old organ and composing, to amuse himself by frightening the opera house's inhabitants into believing the place was haunted, to sit in his normal seat, Box Five, and to enjoy an opera being performed, be it a classic or one he had penned especially for the Opera Populaire under a false name. But, he thought bitterly, he couldn't do any of that anymore. The opera house had burned. He had burned it himself, destroying the one place he had grown to love.

Erik clenched his fists involuntarily, fighting off the depression that tried to creep inside. No. He would not let it in. Memories from the past had followed him throughout his journey with Alana, first with his breakdown at the cave and second, with the unexpected attack by the gypsies and among them, the appearance of Emilian, a face from the childhood he wished he could forget. There had also been numerous instances where something Alana had said had reminded him of a painful memory. But he refused to let his old experiences cripple him. No more. He tried to distract himself by examining the posters for upcoming productions at the Rouen Opera House. Perhaps he could come back someday and see a performance here, with Alana. She had probably never seen an opera before; he was certain she would love it. Then he encountered a poster that made his heart stop.

Large golden letters boldly announced "The Countess: A Voice for the Centuries," but Erik didn't see the words. His gaze was fixed on the portrait of the "Countess" and he could not look away. The deep brown eyes, that were still wonderful but not like he remembered, missing the depth of innocence, curiosity, and beauty that he had known and loved. The dark brown hair, the at-times wild curls pulled back in an elaborate style and decorated with shining jewels. The porcelain skin. The charming smile. The artist hadn't captured his subject's image quite correctly, but the face was still unrecognizable.

Christine.

He was overcome with emotion. He felt like he was choking. The world around him was spinning; he felt dizzy, sick to his stomach. His head hurt again, worse than ever. He gazed into the artist's rendition of Christine's eyes, desperately wishing he was looking into her real, gorgeous eyes. Slowly, Erik reached out his hand and touched the poster, stroking the image of her face on the canvas gently with his fingers. If he closed his eyes and imagined hard enough, he could make himself believe he was actually caressing her beautiful, sweet little face…

Love.

The word repeated itself over and over in his head. That was what he felt.

Love.

In spite of all the terrible things that had happened, he loved her. They had both betrayed each other; she had left him and chosen another man, and he had led her to believe he was something he was not, and eventually the truth had all come out, in front of the entire audience of the Opera Populaire.

But that didn't matter. None of it mattered. Nothing would ever change the fact that he loved her. Nothing could ever make him stop loving her. He would give anything to have her next to him now.

"Beautiful, isn't she?"

Erik started. He had been so lost in the image and his thoughts that he hadn't heard the short, stocky man dressed in shabby worker's clothes approach on his left side. His good side, he thought absently, making sure not to turn his head and reveal the mask he wore.

"Yes. She is."

"Ever seen her before?" the middle-aged man seemed bored, overly eager for conversation.

"Yes." There was so much emotion in that single word that the other man fell silent. Eventually Erik dared to ask the question, and though he had just sworn he would never fear anything again, he was afraid of the answer. "Is she…still here, in Rouen?"

Beside him, the worker shook his head sadly. "No. In fact I'm here to take this poster down and put up a new one. Pity. I'm Adrien, by the way. I work here at the opera house. I hear a lot of things. I heard that the Countess returned to her home in Paris with her husband. She'd been staying here in Normandy for the past few months, while all that Commune nonsense was going on in Paris, but since Versailles got the military involved, she and her husband must have figured it was safe to return home." He sighed. "It's such a shame, isn't it? The opera house never made so much money as when she was here. I would hear her sing, every night. People came from miles around. Hers truly is a voice for the centuries."

"Yes it is," Erik said. For once, he didn't mind talking to this stranger, since they were speaking of Christine. "Do you know who taught her to sing?"

"It must have been an incredibly gifted teacher," the man remarked, "but nobody knows who it was. The Countess won't tell anyone, either. I heard that whenever someone asks her, all she says is, 'I never knew his name'. Very interesting, if you ask me."

Erik nodded in agreement, sending feelings of gratitude out to Christine, wherever she was now. He had begged her not to tell anyone what she knew about him, to speak of his secrets, and she hadn't. He loved her even more for that.

"Say…" there was a tone of curiosity in Adrien's voice. It was husky and rough, ruined by years of smoking, Erik could tell. "Have we met before?"

Feeling panicked all of a sudden but forcing himself to keep his composure, Erik said, "No, I don't believe we have." Oh God. What if this man knew who he truly was? Every fiber of Erik's being screamed to run, but the Phantom had control of the situation. He stood his ground, and acted as if nothing was the matter.

"Hmm." Adrien scratched his graying red beard. "I've definitely seen you before, somewhere. Come here often to see the shows? I always can recognize the regulars."

Erik decided to go along with that idea, still careful not to turn his head any further. "Yes, I come here often."

"Did you manage to get a seat to see the Countess sing? It was quite a show, very hard to get in, and expensive as anything."

"No. But I have seen her before."

"Something special, isn't she? The way you're looking at that poster, you must be a fanatic of hers. Maybe you can catch her in Paris."

"Perhaps." The thought of seeing her, hearing her sing, and maybe even speaking to her made him dizzy again.

"You know, I spoke to that husband of hers one night. He'd managed to break his seat in his box somehow, don't know how he did that."

Erik almost laughed at the thought.

"He's a vicomte, you know, so I had to make myself all good and respectful, but the whole time all I could think was, what a fop this one is! Such an irritating man. I don't see why someone like the Countess would marry him." He elbowed Erik in the ribs. "She needs a real man by her side. Am I right or am I right?"

Strangely, almost feeling…glad…to encounter someone who shared in his loathing of the very foppish Vicomte de Chagny, Erik answered, "Very right indeed."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Alana slept fitfully, nightmares waking her from time to time. In her terrifying, long, drawn-out dreams, the thieves attacked her again, and this time Erik was nowhere to be found. They could do anything they wanted to her, and they did. She fought as hard as she could, but they were stronger. In one nightmare, she struck one of the thieves in the face, digging her nails into his skin and slashing across his cheek, sending him reeling back in pain. Then he came back after her, and this time, the man wore a different face.

Her father loomed over her, his face distorted with rage.

She woke in a cold sweat.

Someone was standing over her. She screamed. The person jumped back, and as her eyes came into focus in the dimly lit room, she realized it was Erik.

"Oh," she breathed, "it's only you."

"I came to bring you something," he said, gesturing toward a pair of flat boxes lying on a table. "I saw you having nightmares."

Alana nodded, embarrassed that he'd been watching her in her sleep, but strangely glad to see him first thing upon waking. It was quite unnerving, however.

"Were they about what happened last night? Are you sure that man didn't do anything to you?" Erik had come closer, standing over her again.

"No, he didn't do anything, but in my nightmares all of them were after me, and they did horrible things, and then one of them changed, and his face…his face became my father's…and this time you weren't there." She was trembling, almost on the verge of tears.

"I'm here now," Erik said softly in that deep, soothing, almost hypnotizing voice of his.

"Yes." Alana's hotel room was huge, but Erik seemed to fill up the entire space. She was so happy to see him, so glad he was with her now, making her feel better. All her fear slowly melted away in his warm presence. She wanted to reach out and hug him, but somehow she felt he wasn't exactly the hugging type, so she just said, "Thank you for staying with me."

"Not a problem," he replied in a silky tone.

Alana glanced up at the clock on the wall, squinting in the unlit room. "Oh my goodness, it's five o' clock! How could I have slept so long? We'll have to be on the road again in a few hours!"

"Most likely not," Erik said, moving to the other side of the room, toward the big window with its curtains drawn. He began to open the curtains. What's he doing? Alana thought. He hates the sun.

But the window scarcely let any light in. It was pouring down rain outside. "Oh no."

"It's been raining all day, and shows no sign of stopping. We could be here at least another day," Erik said.

"Oh. Hmm. What are we going to do with all this time?" Alana wondered. "I, for one, should take a bath and go to that lovely little restaurant down the hall." Her stomach growled. Yes, that was definitely the plan; it felt like she hadn't eaten in forever. "Care to join me for dinner?"

Erik stared blankly at her for a second. "No."

Alana's heart sank, but he had reacted as expected. She sighed. "Very well. Would you like me to bring you something then?"

"If you wish." Here he was, being all aloof again. His manner was so cold, and yet his presence was making the room hotter. "The money I gave you is sitting on the table next to the boxes."

"Thank you."

Erik nodded to her and went to the door, opening it. "If you should need me, I will be in my room." And with a sweep of his cape, he was gone. As soon as the door closed, Alana felt as if she had awoken from another dream. There was that light-headed feeling again. She looked across the room at the two boxes on the table, and curiosity seized her.

She got out of bed, made her way over, and slowly lifted the lid on the first box. Could it be? It was another new dress of white and rose pink, even finer than the tattered blue thing she still wore ever was. Inside the other was a royal purple gown, more beautiful still. She held both dresses up to her, one after the other. Both seemed like they would be perfect fits. How did Erik do it? Rather, how could he afford such fine dresses as the three he'd bought for her? He tossed around his money like it were nothing. Where has all that money come from? She wondered.

After cleaning herself up-the warm bath felt glorious after the previous days' adventures-and putting on the purple dress, Alana made her way down the hall to the hotel restaurant. She felt odd going to eat alone, and she got several stares from other guests and some workers as she was seated by the window, making her even more uncomfortable. Still, she made herself smile and act decent, maybe even a little more dignified than usual. Wearing that dress made her feel much more sophisticated than she was accustomed to.

She dined on Quiche Lorraine, finishing the entire, monstrously huge plate with ease after going so long without eating. The food was so delicious that she almost didn't mind eating alone. Then, as she waited for the server to bring out her dessert, a chocolate mousse, she was surprised to see a dark-haired young man, very splendidly dressed, making his way over to her table. At first glance, with a rush of joy, she thought it was Erik, deciding to join her after all, but she soon saw it wasn't. This man was a bit younger, with a more amiable, cheerful expression.

"Good evening, mademoiselle," he said, bowing.

"Good evening. Monsieur." Alana was feeling a little disconcerted by this friendly new arrival. What could he possibly want with her?

"Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing to the empty chair on the other side of her table.

"Oh, no, monsieur." This was odd. Talking to strangers made Alana nervous.

"I saw you dining alone from across the room. I'm here by myself as well, and you looked to be lonely, so I thought I would join you for a little while, if you didn't mind. You're sure you don't mind, mademoiselle?"

"No, not at all, monsieur." Alana was slightly worried by the fact that she'd had someone watching her the entire time she ate her dinner, but she had been wishing for someone to talk to. Erik wasn't here, so this stranger would have to do.

"Please, call me Damien." He held his hand out, and she shook it. "And you are?"

"My name's Alana."

He flashed a stunning white smile. "That's a very pretty name. So what brings you here to Rouen, Alana?"

"I'm here with a…a friend. We're headed for Paris, as soon as the weather clears."

Damien's eyes, hazel like Alana's, grew wide. "Paris, you say? That's where I'm going, too. What is the nature of your trip? Visiting family? Sightseeing? If you need a guide to the City of Lights, I'm your man." Damien had such a warm, inviting attitude, brimming with friendliness and self-confidence. Alana found herself opening up to him easily, despite the fact that they had just met.

"I have an uncle there, and I think I'm going to be staying with him for a while."

Damien nodded in interest. "Where in Paris does your uncle live?"

"Sacree Boulevard," Alana replied. "Near the church. He's a clergyman, actually."

"Sacree Boulevard? Really?" Damien grinned. "I live near there, just a few streets away in Parc de Seigneurs."

The server came with Alana's mousse, and she offered Damien some. After some persuasion, she managed to get him to agree to share it with her, but just a little bit.

"What a coincidence," he remarked, "that we should both be heading to Paris, and that we'll be staying so close to each other. Have you ever been to the city before?"

"I used to live there when I was younger," Alana said, between spoonfuls of delicious mousse, "but I don't remember it. I was too little."

"Well, like I said, if you ever want to see the sights of Paris, come find me and I'll give you the grand tour. You can bring that friend of yours…where is she now? I'd very much like to meet her."

Friend? Oh. Erik. "Actually, my friend is a man." She saw Damien's face fall. "Oh, but the two of us are just friends," she assured him. "Nothing more." Alana felt a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach as she said it, but she attributed it to the vast size of her dinner.

Damien brightened up again. "Then I would be delighted to give both you and him a tour of Paris. Where is he now?"

"He's in his room, down the hall." She wished Erik were here. He certainly was aloof, but she was on the shy side as well, and was getting along fabulously with Damien. Surely Erik could, too.

The young man looked taken aback. "He didn't accompany his lady to dinner?" He shook head in surprise and joking disapproval.

"I'm not his lady," Alana laughed as Damien flashed another smile her way. "And he doesn't like to…go out. He's very shy," she said, thinking of how he avoided contact with people as much as possible.

"I pity the shy and reserved," Damien said seriously. "There are so many interesting people around to talk to. Like you, for instance." Alana blushed. "Tell me, why do you think your friend is so shy?"

She felt uncomfortable talking about Erik without him being there, but she found herself chatting away. "Well, I can be a little quiet myself, so I can sort of understand where he's coming from. But just between you and me, I think there's a lot more to him than just shyness. He wears this mask…"

Damien started. "He what?"

"He wears a mask," Alana repeated, "on one side of his face. I've never seen him without it, and I don't know why he wears it. I'm afraid to ask him." Why am I telling Damien all this? But she just kept talking. "I feel so bad for him. He seems very sad, lonely, and can get extremely upset by little things at times. I do care about him, a lot. But he's so confusing sometimes."

Damien nodded, looking very interested in what she was saying. "I understand. I went to war, last year."

"Did you really?"

"Yes. I didn't see much of the action, though, and I was lucky enough to come home early. But some of my friends weren't so fortunate. They came back from the war changed men. Sometimes, I'll be talking to one of them, and they won't respond to what I was saying; they just stare off into space…"

Alana could recall several times where Erik had done exactly that. Damien went on.

"After they came home, they would never want to go out with the rest of us, they would always want to stay at home alone, and when I came to visit them, they would be depressed, uninterested in everything, overly emotional at times, or sometimes they wouldn't show emotion at all. They would talk about how they couldn't sleep at night because they kept having nightmares, and they'd have flashbacks during the day, constantly reliving their battles with the Prussians." Damien shook his head. "It's very sad. Any reminder of the war sends them into a downward spiral. It happens a lot with soldiers, I've heard. Your friend, now, did he fight in the war?"

Alana thought hard. Erik certainly did behave with many of the characteristics Damien had described. "I don't know; I never asked him. But you know, he does seem a lot like the friends you mentioned. Perhaps he did fight in the war."

"Yes, perhaps," Damien agreed. "And maybe he got injured in the war. I saw plenty of men who ended up with disfigured faces after a battle. Your friend could have hurt his face somehow too, and that's why he wears the mask."

Damien was brilliant. That had to be it. Everything fit…Erik's sometimes calm, sometimes overly emotional, erratic behavior, his constant wearing of the mask. "You know, you might be right, Damien. I'll ask him."

"Your bill, mademoiselle," the server said, handing her the slip of paper.

"Right." Damien took out his wallet and took out some francs.

"Oh no, don't," Alana said, bringing out the money Erik had given her. "I have plenty."

"No, I insist. A lady shouldn't have to buy her own dinner." Damien set the francs on the table. Alana pushed them back to him.

"I can pay. Besides, this isn't even my money. It's Erik's, and he said I could use it." She set the money down firmly.

"Very well," said Damien, defeated but still just as cheerful. He looked out the window; the rain had stopped. "If I can't pay for your dinner, I have another request."

"Oh really?" Alana asked, interested. "And what would that be?"

"I was wondering if you would like to take a walk with me."

Alana smiled sadly. "That sounds wonderful, but I have to…"

"Have to what?"

She didn't have the faintest idea. "Have to…have to…bring my friend something to eat."

"You could have the hotel staff send the food to his room while we take a walk," the ever-smiling Damien reasoned, amused with her.

Alana was hesitant.

"Come now," he coaxed. "It would be an honor for you to join me, mademoiselle."

"Well…I suppose I could come, for a little while." Normally she wouldn't go somewhere with someone she knew so little, but she reminded herself that she had been willing to run away from home with Erik after just meeting him, and besides, she had just spoken to Damien more in a few moments than she had the entire first days she'd spent with Erik. This new young man was so friendly, so charming, that she just couldn't say no to him.

She ordered another Quiche Lorraine and had it sent to Erik's room, and she and Damien set off on their walk. The air was fresh, cool, and clean after the rain. At Damien's recommendation, they decided to take a stroll down by the river Seine. He offered Alana his arm, and she took it gladly. For once, she felt like a sophisticated, rich young woman from high society, walking along with Damien, wearing her fine purple dress. Though she was having a lovely time already, she had an aching feeling inside, wishing Erik could be there, too.

They passed the stunning Rouen Cathedral, towering over them. It was the tallest building in France and maybe even the world, Damien said. They had to crane their necks just to see the top of it. After strolling for a little while longer, they stopped at a little footbridge, and watched the sun set over the Seine river, as Damien chatted away, making pleasant conversation. Once the sun had mostly gone, they headed back for the hotel. Alana sighed. "That was such a beautiful sunset," she said, unable to keep from recalling the other, lovely sunset she had seen with Erik the other day.

"Yes it was," Damien replied. "I shall miss Rouen. But Paris has sunsets just as good, no, even better!" When they had reached the hotel and gone inside, he stopped, let go of Alana's arm, and took out a pen and a little slip of paper from his jacket pocket, leaning against a nearby table to write something. When he had finished, he handed the paper to Alana. "It's my address," he said. "When you get settled in Paris, you can stop by anytime, or write me, and I'll come visit you. I'd very much like to see you again, Alana." He smiled at her, his hazel eyes sparkling.

She smiled back. "I'd like to see you again, too."

"Well," Damien said with an exaggerated sigh, "I'd best be getting upstairs to my room. It was very nice meeting you, and even nicer having you join me on our walk this evening." He took her hand and shook it again. "I'll be leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Hope to see you in Paris, Alana." He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it, and with a final smile, Damien headed up the stairs and left for his room.

In an exceptionally good mood-Damien's pleasant manner was contagious-Alana almost skipped down the hall. She wanted to see how Erik was doing, so she stopped at his door and knocked on the white painted wood, waiting for the answer. There wasn't one. She knocked again. "It's me. Alana."

This time the door opened, and Erik pulled her quickly inside, closing the door behind him. He turned to face her, his expression clearly distraught.

"Where were you?" He demanded.