Chapter Eleven

"Give me thy hand oh fairest, whisper a gentle 'Yes.' Come if for me thou carest, with joy my life to bless" - La Ci Darem La Mano, Don Giovanni

Give Me Your Hand

"I…I…I was at supper," Alana stammered, backing away. Erik realized he'd let too much emotion show in his question, and he had frightened her. But his emotions were hard to hide at the moment. She didn't know how he had felt when she was gone.

"It is nine o'clock," Erik said, gesturing dramatically towards the clock on the wall. There was no way that she had been at the restaurant for three hours. He looked at her coldly, expectantly, waiting for her to explain herself. Her face was red, and she appeared very nervous, as she should be.

"I know…." Alana was searching for words. "Oh no…after sunset! And it stopped raining…we're supposed to have left by now, aren't we? Oh." She covered her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry. How could I be so stupid?"

Erik just motioned for her to come in. She obeyed, and he drew the curtain back from the window. It had begun to rain again. "We will be staying here another day," he said. "But you have not answered my question. Where were you all this time?" He hadn't expected her to disappear for so long.

Still nervous, Alana answered, "I was at dinner for a long time, and then I went for a walk."

"Alone?" Erik had been afraid of that. When the sun began to set and she still had not returned to her room or his, he had begun to pace the floor, growing more and more distraught by the second, wondering where she was, if she was safe. After all, she had been through so much already. It wasn't right, what had happened to her and her family. And he wasn't about to let anything else happen to her ever again. He'd debated whether he should go after her or not, eventually opting to wait a while longer, to see if she would come back on her own. But time passed by, and still she hadn't returned. He had been about to go search for her when she'd knocked on his door. "Walking the city streets at night alone is dangerous," he said. There were dangerous people out there who roamed the streets at night. He would know. "You should not have gone."

"But I didn't go alone," Alana said.

Erik was taken aback. Not alone? Who could she have possibly gone with? They didn't know anyone here in Rouen that he knew of. But maybe Alana did. Suspicion crept into his thoughts. "So you were with someone." The thought of her walking around the city with a stranger troubled him, even angered him. "Who?"

Alana looked reluctant to talk about it, but she succumbed to his icy glare and said, "Another one of the hotel guests. He joined me as I was finishing my supper, because we were both sitting alone. He was very friendly, and we talked for a while and then he invited me to take a walk with him, and I didn't think I had anything better to do, so I went with him."

Didn't think she had anything better to do? Anger gnawed at Erik's insides. So, she would rather saunter around Rouen with some overly forward stranger than come back and spend time with him, the person she called her friend?

"I'm sorry," she looked genuinely apologetic. Good. "You must have been very bored sitting here alone. You know, when I was walking with Damien, that's his name, I wished that you were there, too. But I didn't think you would have wanted to come."

Erik nodded. If she had asked, which she hadn't anyway, he would have said no. It wouldn't have been dark enough then. "It's all right," he sighed. "You would rather spend your time with someone else. I understand." He had been a fool to even think that just because she said he was her friend that she would spend all her time with him. She could have a much more enjoyable time with someone, anyone, else.

"Oh no, Erik, that's not it at all," Alana assured him. "I'm here now, aren't I? I like spending time with you. If I didn't, why would I have come to see you?"

Erik thought a moment, but no answer came. He began to calm down. He'd let paranoia and his unsteady emotions get the better of him once again, and he needed to get himself under control. Everything is all right, he told himself, feeling the strength and cool head of the Phantom returning to him. He just needed to hold onto that inner strength; with it, he could get through anything. Years ago, when he hadn't been able to get by on his own, the Phantom had appeared, an idea of everything he wanted to be, an idea that he'd adopted, and grown with, until he'd gotten everything he wanted. He had enormous wealth, an entire opera house full of people who had no choice but to give in to his every demand, and a girl who believed he was an angel, the best thing that had ever happened to her. But in spite of all of that, he'd still felt empty inside. He didn't have what he really wanted. He knew that what he wanted most was to be loved, but there was something else too, more than that, and he wasn't sure exactly what it was. What other people have, he decided. Whatever that is. Whatever Alana has.

"So, what would you like to do?" Alana asked him. "We have a lot of time before we leave for Paris."

Erik had the answer long before she'd finished talking. He knew what would make him feel better. "I believe it's time for a voice lesson."

"Now? But it's getting late…people might hear. They might complain." He could tell she really wanted to get out of her lesson. She was still so afraid to sing, afraid of failing, of making a fool out of herself, disappointing him. But he knew she was a quick learner, and she had potential. Teaching her the night before had been like a breath of fresh air. He had felt at peace with the world for once, and he knew why. Teaching the world about music was what he was born to do…but that only meant that he had been born in vain, for no one would listen to him, no one that is except Alana. And Christine before her. Music and Christine and Alana were the three things that had made his pathetic life worth living.

Alana soon gave up trying to escape her lesson, and listened attentively to him, hanging on his every word and doing her absolute best to sing the way he instructed her. He admired her determination, and her focus. She was abandoning thought, and feeling the music of the songs they sang. Her voice was interesting to him, almost a soprano but not quite. She was a coloratura mezzo-soprano, and he was excited to discover that Alana could sing a high C, sometimes even a high D, which was a rare thing indeed for a singer of her type. Perhaps he could even train her to hit a high E as well, but her voice wasn't strong yet, and she sometimes failed to breathe correctly, so when she would attempt a high note, her voice would falter about half of the time. But he had faith in her; with practice, she could become a very good singer, able to sing both mezzo-soprano and as a soubrette, with the bright, sweet tone she had.

He was stricter with her this time, both because of the bad mood he was in and because of the potential he saw in her. When she made too many mistakes, he would stop her, and they would sing scales or do breathing exercises instead, and he would make her sing until she got it right. He found she was excellent at transposing music, changing the key of a song if it was too high or too low for her, and when she sang together with him, she improved greatly. The lesson began to go extraordinarily well, pleasing him tremendously.

"Now, to conclude our lesson, I believe it's time for something a bit more difficult," Erik said. Alana looked crestfallen, but he continued, "Do you know Italian?" Not surprisingly, she shook her head. Of course she didn't; she had spent most of her time supporting what was left of her family and caring for her alcoholic father. There was no way she could have received a proper education, and besides, she was no trained opera singer. Yet. "Do you know what that means?" Alana shook her head again, looked worried and wide-eyed, which he found a bit amusing. "It means you have some time to relax. I have to write something down for you."

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

As Erik took out ink, a pen, and several sheets of paper from his seemingly never-ending sack of supplies he'd brought and began writing feverishly, Alana entertained herself by taking out a book he had taken with him from his house. It was a large collection of Edgar Allan Poe stories and poems. Poe was an American author, she knew, but fortunately for her this compilation was translated into French. She flipped through the pages, full of strange, dark, mysterious tales, and came across a story with its first page folded back. It was called "The Masque of the Red Death", a horror story. Alana had never cared for horror stories, but she found herself reading the entire thing, intrigued even though it was frightening, nauseating, and depressing.

"And darkness and decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all." She read the last lines and shuddered, already regretting having read it. Apparently, however, Erik had spent a lot of time reading and studying the story, because there were words scribbled all throughout the margins, written so hastily and chaotically that she couldn't read them. There were little drawings too, that appeared to be of the mysterious guest in Poe's tale, the Red Death, who appeared at the masquerade ball and ended up killing everyone there. The drawings began early on in the story and continued until the very end. On the last page, there was a slip of paper that Alana had thought to be a bookmark, but when she unfolded it, she found a larger drawing. The pictures had slowly evolved throughout the margins of the story's pages, culminating in the image drawn on the piece of paper Alana now held in her hand. Though the figure in it was wearing an elaborate costume and a skull-like full face mask, it looked somewhat like Erik. A chill went down Alana's spine and she leafed through the book's pages, worn by obvious years of being read. But all the stories were dark, Gothic tales, and she closed the book, not wanting to read any more.

"I've finished," Erik suddenly said, holding up several sheets of paper. "Come look."

She got up and took the sheets. In that short amount of time, he had written down an entire song, complete with music and lyrics, her singing parts marked with a cursive A. "Is this an opera piece?" She asked, dreading the answer because she already knew what it was, and that she was not an opera singer.

"Yes. It is from Don Giovanni, one of the best operas of all time. What you have before you is actually not the original, but a variation of one of its most famous duets, which I composed myself several years ago in my own musical style. Now, since you do not know Italian, you should first practice saying the words, making sure you pronounce them correctly." It took a little while, but Alana was able to master the pronunciation, and Erik began to teach her the melody of the song called "La Ci Darem La Mano," showing her how to sight read, which she picked up surprisingly quickly, and having her repeat the lines back to him after he sang them first. "All right," he said finally. "I think you're ready to sing the entire song now."

Alana gulped. The song was difficult; it would be so easy to pronounce a word incorrectly and sing the wrong note. Erik must have sensed her nervousness.

"Relax." His voice was soft, soothing. She relaxed instantly. "I will help you."

And so they began the duet. Erik had the first part, his deep but versatile baritone voice singing each note with perfection. Alana came next, her nerves gone after listening to Erik sing, and while meeting his encouraging gaze, which kept her fear in control and filled her with the drive to succeed with the song. It must have given her the ability to succeed as well, because she too sang each note correctly. She began to lose herself in the song. Soon the world was made up of her, her teacher, and the combination of Mozart's song and lyrics and Erik's dark but romantic style of music. When the two of them sang together, their joined voices sounded even better than before. Alana found her voice soaring to new heights she could never have imagined, and Erik…his voice sounded as if it were not of this world.

When Erik reached another solo, Alana opened her eyes, after having been lost in the music. She found her teacher staring intently at her as he sung. There was something about him…something different.

Still singing, he moved closer to where she was standing, slowly, cautiously. Confused but still in somewhat of a trance from the music, his voice, and his impossibly commanding presence, Alana stood where she was, meeting his gaze. Erik kept coming closer, until he was standing mere centimeters from her and she had to look up to continue staring into those blue-green eyes. He had stopped singing, and she realized, distantly, that it was her turn to sing. But she didn't. She just stared into twin blue-green seas, aware of nothing except the fact that he was looking into her eyes as well.

Suddenly his arms were wrapped around her, folding her tightly into a warm embrace. Her face buried itself in his soft black jacket that smelled of candles, new paper, and him. He was running his fingers through her hair, still holding her close to him.

"I love you," he whispered.

Alana was speechless. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was shocked and in utter confusion. What is happening? But the rest of her was completely absorbed in the moment. She felt so warm, and safe, and at the same time there was that strange, light-headed feeling again, accompanied with a chill throughout her entire body.

After a long moment, Erik let go of her. She looked up at him and noticed for the first time, that there was something strange about his countenance. It seemed…off. He was still gazing at her with an expression on his face that was full of so much emotion. He had never looked at her this way before. It was almost as if he were looking at someone else…

Inexplicably, Alana's heart sank. She looked harder at him, and saw that something was very wrong. Erik gently took her face in his hands and pulled her to him, leaning in closer.

Then Alana found her voice. "What are you doing?"

He pulled back. His eyes changed a little, but he kept stroking her face gently with his fingers.

"Erik? What are you doing?" Alana repeated, louder.

She watched as his overwhelming, complicated, and unreadable expression transformed into disoriented confusion, realization, and then, pure horror.

He dropped his hands and backed away from her. Then, in a matter of seconds, he ran to the window, pushed open the panes, and disappeared into the stormy night.