Chapter Sixteen

A real friend is someone who walks in when the rest of the world walks out- Walter Winchell

Familiar Face

Spinning around to face this new attacker, panicked but determined to destroy the opponent in hand-to-hand combat, Erik suddenly found himself facing a slender woman leaning on a walking cane, her long hair tightly braided.

"Good evening, Monsieur Erik," said Madame Giry.

Erik felt a strange combination of extreme surprise and immense relief as he stood face to face once more with the person he had known longer than any other. His heart hammered in his ears and he tried to speak, but nothing would come out but a single word.

"You."

Madame Giry raised an eyebrow. "I can see your manners haven't improved since I saw you last." She looked knowingly at the wanted poster he still clutched in his hand. "What are you doing here?"

"It doesn't matter. I have to get out of here, now. I was just shot at, and whoever the shot came from could still be after me." He heard shouting from somewhere nearby and turned to run off, but Madame Giry seized his wrist.

"Come with me," she said, and wordlessly Erik followed her. The shouts grew nearer, and the two of them broke into a run, Madame Giry pulling Erik along by the arm through the winding alleyways. In time, it seemed they'd lost Erik's pursuers, but neither one of them slowed the pace for a second. By now they'd come out of the dark alleys, but Madame Giry led him through a series of backstreets, making sure to stay out of sight. As they ran, Erik couldn't help but be reminded of a time, long ago, when a younger Antoinette had helped to rescue him and led him to safety.

In spite of the breakneck pace Erik noticed the buildings around them becoming finer and finer. Finally Madame Giry stopped at the back of a large building. As they both stopped to catch their breath, Erik set down his suitcase and looked at the wanted poster in his hands once more. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, but there was no one else in the backstreet at the moment. He wondered how many people were out there, looking for him. Hunted down by everyone, met with hatred everywhere…

He tore the paper to shreds, and the pieces blew away with the summer breeze.

"Wait here," Madame Giry told him as she opened a back door and disappeared inside, leaving Erik standing in the street. He looked up at the building…it was huge, and its architecture was old-fashioned, but it was in excellent condition. If there wasn't the threat of him being arrested or shot on sight, he would have liked to go around and see the front of the building, which had to be stunning if the back was this impressive.

Then Madame Giry opened the door again, looking nervously to her left and right, and behind her. "Come inside, quickly. The hallway is empty for now but we must hurry." Erik took the suitcase and rushed inside, following her at a brisk pace through a hallway and down a flight of stairs that led into another hall, dimly lit. Surprising, for a building that had appeared so fine on the outside.

They came to the last door and Madame Giry went to open it, but it was locked. She muttered something under her breath and felt around for what should have been her key, but she couldn't find it. Then they heard it…footsteps coming down the stairs. They exchanged panicked glances, but Erik had a solution. He reached into his cloak and pulled out his skeleton key. He fiddled with the lock, but his hands shook and were slippery with sweat.

"Hurry!" Madame Giry urged him through clenched teeth.

Why couldn't he open the blasted lock? The footsteps had almost reached the bottom of the stairs…they would be here in seconds and the game would be up. He, and probably Madame Giry too for helping him, would be dragged off to prison, and…

The lock clicked.

"Go!"

He pushed the door open and they both rushed inside, Antoinette slamming the door shut behind them. They both just stood there panting, backs against the door. They'd made it.

Then there was a knock.

"Quick, into the bedroom!" Madame Giry whispered. Erik ran into the room, very sparsely furnished, with nothing but two small beds, a washbasin, and an armoire. There. He let go of his suitcase and threw open the armoire, squeezing past the hanging clothes into the cramped dark space, and closed the door behind him. Even shut inside the armoire, he could hear everything that went on in the parlor through the apartment's thin walls.

More knocking on the door.

"Who's there?" he heard Madame Giry ask. A muffled female voice from the outside answered, and then he heard the front door open.

"Maman, are you all right? You look as if you've seen a ghost!"

No response at first, then, "Oh, I'm quite all right, my dear."

"That's good. You scared me." A pause. "Wait a minute…I had the key to the apartment right here, and you were still out when I left to help serve the dinner upstairs. I locked the door when I left…so how did you get in?'

"You must not have locked it after all," Madame Giry's voice said. She sounded tense. "Because I got in."

"All right then," Antoinette's daughter's voice replied. "I'll just go into the bedroom and change out of this hideous uniform…"

"No! Wait!"

"What?"

"Meg! You can't go in there, not yet!"

"Maman, are you sure you're all right? You're scaring me again. I'll just be a second."

"No, my dear…"

But Erik heard the footsteps approaching. His heart started pounding again. But maybe she wouldn't need to open the…

The door was thrown open, and a hand took a dress from its hanger.

Then Meg saw him.

She screamed, jumping back and dropping the dress. Erik just sat there paralyzed, not knowing quite what to do. He saw Madame Giry hurry into the room and clap her hand over Meg's mouth.

"Hush, Meg. It's all right. Erik, come out of there!" Painfully, he squeezed his way back out of the armoire and stood up. Madame Giry took her hand away from her daughter's mouth. Meg just stared at Erik, eyes wide.

"What's he doing here?"

"I just found him a little while ago, roaming the alleys around the Opera House. Someone had taken a few shots at him, and I had to get him out before they found him again. He'll be safe here, as long as we don't let anyone else see him."

By now Meg had calmed down a little from her initial shock at seeing the former Phantom hiding inside her armoire, but she still eyed him warily.

"Come with me, Erik, we'll let her change." Madame Giry pulled him out of the bedroom and closed the door. "Have a seat," she said, gesturing toward a battered old couch. "You look exhausted."

Erik sank down, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted.

"Here you are, then," Madame Giry said. He opened his eyes-it had only been a few moments but he had already almost fallen asleep on the couch. Meg had come out of the bedroom wearing a rather shabby blue dress, and Madame Giry instructed her to pour a glass of wine and hand it to Erik. Meg's eyes grew wide, but she obeyed silently and walked slowly toward him. Erik saw her biting her lip. She was trembling, too, and though she stared at him, she would not meet his gaze. He reached out and took the wineglass from her shaking hands, and downed the drink immediately.

"Thank you, Meg," he said softly. He knew she was afraid of him, and he didn't want her to be.

"Y-you're welcome," she stammered. Why wouldn't she be afraid of him? She'd never truly met him, only seen and heard of the things he'd done, witnessed him murder Joseph Buquet, and had been there when he'd brought down the chandelier and destroyed the Opera House. Anyone in their right mind would be afraid of him after all that. Even Antoinette feared him, as she always had; he could see it in her eyes.

"Pour Monsieur Erik another glass of wine, my dear, while I warm up the stew. There's some bread here on the counter for him as well."

Meg poured him another glass, three more in fact, and watched as Erik wolfed down all the bread and the warm meat stew as soon as it was put in front of him. Madame Giry shook her head as she too watched him devour the meal. "When was the last time you ate?"

Erik didn't answer; he was too busy finishing off the last of the loaf of bread.

"You have not been taking care of yourself, have you?" she asked, looking concerned.

"I have," he answered, indignant. "But the past few days have been…rough, for me."

Madame Giry raised that eyebrow again, while Meg sat silently in a chair on the other side of the room. "Where have you been all this time?"

He sighed. "I left Paris and found a place to hide near Détente, a small town north of here."

"And what brings you back here now?"

He'd come to bring Alana to her family, and teach her music. And to find Christine. But he wasn't sure Madame Giry would react well to such news. He decided to say, "I was helping…someone to find their family."

"Really? That was a noble thing for you to do," she said, taken aback. "And did you succeed?"

Erik nodded.

"So what do you plan to do now? Honestly, your timing could not possibly be any worse. Had you returned a few months ago, you would have been hailed as a hero for destroying the Opera House, a place supposedly infested with rich aristocrats. But now that the Commune has been finished off, you're a wanted man again. Take my word for it, there are many people out searching for you. You're not safe here. And who is this person you speak of?"

"One of the people from Détente…she shows great potential in music. I was planning to stay in Paris to teach her, but now I am not sure…"

"Teach her?" Madame Giry interrupted, looking worried. "Who exactly are you talking about, Erik?"

He knew what she was thinking. She was wrong. This was a completely different situation. "Her name is Alana. She needed my help, and I brought her to a place where she could be safe. She's my friend." His heart began to beat faster as he spoke. It felt so good to say those last three words, even better than he had dreamed it would be as a child.

Madame Giry gave him a strange look.

"Like I said, she's a friend." Why is my heart beating so fast? "Nothing more."

"Very well," Madame Giry said. "Where is this…friend of yours now?"

"Staying with her uncle. And where exactly are we?" Erik wanted to know.

She took a deep breath. "This is part of the servants' quarters in the Marquis de Bellamy's city house. Meg and I have been working here for the past two months. You are welcome to live here with us as long as you need to, providing you stay out of sight at all costs. This city is a very dangerous place for you now."

"You work here now? A dance instructor and a ballerina? What do you do?"

A shadow passed over Antoinette's face briefly, but she quickly regained her composure and said, "I am the new housekeeper here, and Meg helps to serve the meals and wash the dishes."

"No…you both are so talented…this is such a waste of your gifts." He glanced over at Meg, who blushed and looked away. "You deserve better than this." He motioned toward the suitcase. "I have my life savings in that case, and I'm willing to share whatever I have with you, to help you buy a new house and whatever else you need."

Madame Giry shook her head, looking at the suitcase of money as if it were an illicit substance. It wouldn't surprise him if she refused to touch any of it…she knew how he had gotten that money. "No, Monsieur Erik. Meg and I have always taken care of ourselves. Besides, the Marquis de Bellamy and his family are very kind, and my daughter and I are happy here. But…" she seemed rather surprised by something. "It was good of you to offer us your help." Erik could see her looking at him, studying him, as if she were searching for something. Like somehow she was having trouble recognizing him. But that was just foolishness; she had known him longer than anyone. He was about to check the time when there was a sudden knock on the door.

"Quick! Back into the bedroom!" Madame Giry whispered to Erik, who, way ahead of her, was already rushing inside.

From the bedroom, he heard a man come to the door, inviting both Girys to come across the hall and play cards with the rest of the staff. Meg made a hasty escape, but Antoinette politely declined.

"All right Erik," she said when the door was closed. "It's safe to come out again."

While he'd been waiting for the guest to leave, Erik had pulled out his pocket watch. Nine forty-five. He was meant to meet Alana in fifteen minutes!

"I'm going out," he stated as he went back into the main room.

"What? No, Monsieur Erik, you can't go out there now. It's past curfew. There will be soldiers everywhere."

Erik just shot her a look that said he couldn't possibly care less about the curfew; he could easily keep out of sight. "How do I get to Sacree Boulevard from here?"

Madame Giry sighed. "A little while ago you were running for your life after being shot at. It's dangerous out there, Erik. For everyone. Especially a wanted man."

He frowned, and moved closer. "Tell me," he said coldly, looking down on her, "how to get to Sacree Boulevard."

She backed away and let out a deep breath.

And in no time at all Erik was climbing out the window down the hall. Outside, rain had begun to fall, the drops hitting the hot pavement, and sending up a wave of steam into the evening air. Erik made his way around the front of the beautiful city house and stopped for a moment to put up his hood. He also happened to glance inside a window.

Behind it he saw a brightly lit room full of people talking and laughing together. They seemed so…normal, so happy. They had something he could never have. It was surprisingly hard for him to tear his gaze away from the happy picture before him, as he stood alone in the rainy street.

But then two almost ominous figures appeared directly in front of the window, blocking the view. A dark-haired man and another, red-headed one, their faces blurred by the rain on the windowpane, seemed to stare out at him, seeking to drive him away from that place where he knew he would never belong.

Erik stole away into the night, to the place where he knew Alana would be waiting for him.

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

Alana read and reread her new letter to Madame Marguerite back in Détente, trying to take in everything that had happened, attempting to make sense of it all. Ten years ago, her life had been complete. She'd had everything she needed; a safe home on beautiful farm near a wonderful small town where she had many friends her own age, and most importantly, she had a perfect, happy family. And then her mother had to die.

At first she was as bitter as her father, but then she'd realized that Una wouldn't have wanted her to waste her life being unhappy. She would have wanted her to be content, and move on, not to think of sadness but to dream of the day they could see each other again. To make each one of the days of her life matter. Alana still thought of her mother often, and her heart ached every day and night from missing her, but she had slowly learned to move on with her life.

Her father hadn't. She worried about him so much. She feared for his health, physical, mental, spiritual. He was a completely broken man, and he'd alienated himself from everyone in his life, even his daughter. Alana prayed for healing for her father every night, but ten years later, no help had come for him. As she looked over the letter she'd written, asking about how things in Détente had been, but mostly about how Andre had been, she wondered if help would ever come. She wanted to believe that he would get better, but maybe her faith wasn't as strong as she'd thought it was, or maybe God just didn't want her father to get better, for whatever reason. Why? she wondered. Why did this have to happen to our family?

She tried to push her questions and doubts and unhappy thoughts to the back of her mind. Earlier that day, she'd been able to get reacquainted with her aunt Amé lie and her cousin Cerise, who'd arrived from a shopping trip soon after Erik had disappeared. They had welcomed her with open arms; her aunt was the very image of hospitality, and Cerise was delighted to see her long-lost cousin again. There was the sad time when Alana and Raimond had to tell them what had happened to Una, and Andre as well, but her aunt, uncle, and cousin were so full of hope and inner joy that they couldn't stay sad for long, choosing to rejoice that Una was with the God she had loved so much.

Alana had made her best effort to be happy like they were. They were all such pleasant company; she and Cerise had talked all day about the long-ago memories they shared of playing together as little children, and of Cerise's new plans to show her all the places she liked to go and to introduce Alana to each and every one of her friends. Now as she sat alone in the spare bedroom lit by candlelight, listening to the raindrops on the roof and reflecting on the day's experiences, she could say that she was glad she had come. But as she looked at Raimond and Amé lie and Cerise and how happy they were together as a family, she couldn't help but think how much they were like what her own family had once been. They had the life she'd once had, and lost, the life that she wished she could have back more than anything in the whole world. They'd welcomed her into their home, and she appreciated their kindness so much, but she still found herself feeling out of place there.

Like an outcast, moving through life like a phantom, watching the world go by around her without truly being a part of it, without belonging anywhere at all.

She glanced up from her letter to the clock on the wall. Ten o'clock. In spite of everything, a smile spread across her face. She tiptoed quietly down the stairs, careful not to disturb her sleeping relatives, and made her way to the large window in the front room, pulling back the curtain and looking out across the rainy streets, waiting for Erik to come. The thought of his return made the dark night seem just a little bit brighter.