Her phone rang as she was fixing herself breakfast. It was Raoul, and they quickly got the morning pleasantries over with. "How about coming over. I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure, in a little while. After I eat and take Lucy for her walk. I'll see you then, okay?"

She stuck her phone in a pocket of her jeans wondering what was so important. After her breakfast, she took Lucy outside, letting the little dog explore on her own. She relished the warm feel of the day and the smell of fresh cut grass heating up under the morning sun. She looked toward the parking lot beside the driveway; she waved as Mr. and Mrs. Jeffries got into their red Ford for another day of sightseeing. She was just about to turn around and head for the field with the pug in tow, when she watched Erik walk out and get into his car. Never looking her way, he left the lot and headed toward the Fairfield Rd. She thought again about last night and the old coin he'd given her; she would take it to the jeweler's and have him put it on a gold chain.

After her walk, she took Lucy back to the house and set off across the field to Chagny.

Raoul and his brother Philippe lived in a large, rambling house of no formal design. It had been in their family for years, ever since the first de Chagny graced America's shores in 1883. It had many different architectural influences, Georgian being the foremost. It was a graceful old home, built early in the 19th century, and was mostly a mellow red brick. Over the years though, additions had been added, giving the home an eclectic, but pleasing to the eye design. Somewhere along the way, it had gone from a simple farmhouse to a mansion of dramatic proportions.

Raoul came around the side of the house and walked over to give her a hug. "Bout time you came over for a visit." He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a grouping of lawn furniture under some red oak trees.

Christine slid her hand from his and sat down in a chair. "All right, so uh, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Near the front of the house, the gardener perched on a lawn tractor, made another pass in his mowing.

"What did you do last night for fun?" He sat down beside her and leaned back. "And don't tell me you were with What's His Name."

She looked at him unsmiling. "Okay, I won't, but for the record, it's none of your business if I was with him."

"I thought it was, Christine," he said quietly. "We used to be closer than this."

She shook her head. "If you remember, we decided to cool it a little bit. You even had a few dates with other women if I recall."

He waved his hand nonchalantly. "They didn't mean anything though; you pretty much insisted on it, but you seem intent now to go on dates with a man you don't even know."

She stood up quickly. "I think it's time for me to leave. What's up with you, Raoul? Mamma doesn't even give me the third degree. What right do you have?"

He took her hand. "Sorry," though it was obvious he wasn't. "The guy just sounds creepy." He tugged on her hand. "Sit. I'll be good- promise."

She pulled her hand away, curbing her irritation. "All right. But no more about Erik. Deal?" At his nod, she sat back down and eyed him warily. "So. What did you want to tell me?"

Raoul sat forward, elbows on his thighs. "You are invited to the party my brother is putting on. This is unofficial- the invitations have just gone out, but I thought you'd like to know as soon as possible."

He was all smiles now; clearly, this was something he wanted her to be excited about. "It's a masquerade ball, Christine. You can dress up as anything you want."

"When is it?"

She worked up more enthusiasm for him and put a smile on her face. It could be fun. How often does a gal get to dress to the nines?

"It's set for July 2nd. It's in honor of the Philippoteaux painting and the French president. He won't be there of course, but it'll be fun anyway."

Christine looked up at the sky, noticing the build up of clouds and the small gusts of warm wind, then turned to her friend. "I would love to come. I accept."

He went in and got them some iced tea and they sat under the trees talking as they used to about everything and nothing.

She stood up an hour later and glanced at the sky again. "I better take off. Looks like it might rain soon."

He offered to drive her home, which she declined. He reached out and gave her a gentle bear hug. "Still friends?"

"Sure we are. You know most of my secrets. If you get mad at me, you might blab them all." She laughed and started across the field for home.

By the time she got back to the house it was still cloudy, but no rain. She walked through the kitchen door and almost immediately heard the piano music. At nearly the same time, she spied the note propped up against the vase of daisies on the table. The note was from Mamma. She had gone out to lunch with her friend Helen.

Good for you, Mamma. And now, Christine thought, who's playing my dad's Steinway?

Her parents bought the piano early in their marriage; both had played and enjoyed evenings singing around it with friends from the college. After Christine's mother passed away however, the piano fell into disuse, only being played occasionally.

Until now.

She went into the parlor, loving the sounds being coaxed from it. Last Date was one of her favorites. It was Floyd Kramer's popular piece in the slipped note style he made famous with the song.

She knew who the pianist was before she saw him. Erik sat there looking right at home, agile fingers stroking the ebony and ivory keys. He turned and looked at her, never ceasing in his playing. He nodded, indicating the bench. She walked over and sat down beside him, captivated by his long, pale hands and the beautiful melody. The piano was slightly out of tune, but still sounded wonderful; it should, it was being played by a master musician.

They sat side by side; it felt curiously intimate with their thighs nearly touching. The song ended, and as the chords died away, Erik put his hands in his lap and quietly waited for her to speak.

"That was lovely. Is there any instrument you don't play well? And where did you learn that particular song?"

There was so much she wanted to know about this man, and she wasn't sure where to begin. He chuckled and started playing another tune; it was light and breezy, unknown to her.

"I already told you Christine, music has always been important to me. As to your second question," and he paused, looking sideways at her, a gleam of amusement in his eyes, "we do get sheet music from America once in a while."

She blushed. "I always thought of you in a more operatic style of music- more classical, less mainstream."

He chuckled again, which she loved to hear. "Mostly opera," he agreed, "but I enjoy many different sounds and rhythms."

He segued from the melody he'd been playing, into E flat, and the introduction to one of the loveliest songs ever written in Christine's opinion. She was blown away when he began singing the lyrics in a very excellent tenor. She closed her eyes and let the luscious timbre of his voice wash over her.

The words were rich and full of emotion; from that moment on, Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel, would always remind her of Erik. His tonal quality was black velvet- soft and darkly enticing; a powerful instrument that she had never heard the likes of living or dead. She shivered at the pure sound, and unconsciously leaned closer to him.

His voice was doing strange things to her nervous system; her emotions ran the gamut; great joy, sadness, hope, and the realization that she wanted to join with him- her bell-like tones and his, twining around one another, sensuous and sultry, reaching heights never dreamed. Christine trembled, and with a start, opened her eyes.

The song ended in a dramatic finish, and so too his magnificent voice on that last powerful, drawn out note. The last chords died away and she realized that she was breathing hard and her cheeks were wet with tears. She sat there in embarrassed silence, wondering at this man's vast talent; the beauty created from his fingertips and voice, juxtaposed with his gaunt and forbidding appearance.

Erik's hands still rested on the keys, thin and delicate looking, but she knew that was a deception; they were actually quite strong and very capable. Finally he turned to her and smiled crookedly in a way that she found strangely charming, almost as if the act of pleasantness was new for him.

Still in awe of his skill, she smiled shyly. "I think I could listen to you all day long. You're wonderful. My father would have loved you too."

Nice going, Christine. She blushed after she said it, unsure as to why it had come out of her mouth that way. He noticed her rosy color and said gently, "I know how you meant it."

Very carefully, he reached out a thumb and wiped away a tear. "The piece has a majestic sound to it, nearly religious in tone and feel. It can be very emotional. Wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded and gave him a watery smile. "The way you perform it, it is. I've always loved the song- like, well...like someone is watching over me. It gives me a feeling of hope."

Among other things, she thought ruefully, especially with him playing and singing the vocals. She paused, looking at her hands. "You were incredible, Erik."

She was sitting and swinging her legs, much like a child would do, an action that he found amusing. He gestured toward the keys. "Do you play, Christine?"

"A little, but nowhere near the level my father played, and most definitely not in your league."

She leaned forward and reached for the sheet music on the stand, grasping it, but not firmly enough. The sheets fluttered to the floor, and at the same time, they both leaned down to gather them up, heads coming close together in the process. Slowly they sat up, never taking their eyes off of the other.

He released the music into her hand, fingers brushing against hers. His cool fingers gently grasped hers and he leaned in toward her, his eyes glowing. Christine couldn't look away from him; she felt spellbound- trapped in that yellow gaze. With some difficulty, she dropped her eyes from his, and instead focused on their joined hands. Hesitantly, she turned his over and ran a finger across the calloused pads of his fingertips. His hands were actually beautiful. Long and supple, they were well made for the purpose of creating art through music. He was an artist, she thought, only his canvas was the piano and violin. She was inadvertently leaning in toward him too, feeling something that was fast overwhelming her senses.

Erik was having his own moment of discovery; when she touched him, it had been electrifying. No one had ever willingly done that in a gentle way; he had always been treated as something to be kept apart from most of humanity. As a child, he'd been scorned- beaten and rejected, until his self-preservation and cunning had taken over and he learned to fight back. As an adult, he'd been feared and given a wide berth; no one willing to get too close. But with this young woman he felt for the first time as any man would, albeit a very cautious one.

He looked at Christine in confusion, his hope for a woman's touch- no, for this woman's touch, unintentionally rekindled and painfully alive once more. He wasn't certain how he felt about it, but he leaned in even closer, waiting inevitably for her to pull back, frightened by his nearness. He wasn't sure what he would do if she didn't move away. Kissing was an entirely new experience for him, therefore his movements were slow and deliberate. Erik stared at her sweet mouth then, wondering if she would let him kiss her. He was so very close.

Just one small kiss...

"Well, well. A piano lesson?"

They broke apart and looked over at Raoul standing in the doorway. For a few seconds, she felt guilty, feeling as though she'd been caught doing something wrong. But before she could speak, the two men took exception to each other, and things got terribly out of hand.

"Because if it is, you're not getting your money's worth. Who's this?"

He said it with an uncharacteristic sneer on his face, and Christine was pretty sure he already had the answer. Looking at Raoul nervously, she figured an introduction would be a bad move at the moment. She stood up, but not before Erik had already gotten to his feet, and with surprising speed, walked over to stand directly in front of him.

"What makes Christine your concern?"

He said it quietly, but she heard the warning in his voice. Why couldn't Raoul? He stood looking down his long thin nose at her friend, dwarfing the younger man with his far superior height.

"Being a lifelong friend of hers makes it my business! You're that new tenant she mentioned. You just blow into town and make yourself right at home. Is that it?"

Raoul had paused in the doorway, stunned to see Christine leaning so close to the painfully thin man. From where he'd been standing, she seemed about to grant Reauchard something she had denied him for a long time. He damned well knew who the guy was, seated at the piano with her, and acting like he belonged there. Just from Christine's description, he figured this was the new tenant. He simply waltzes into her life and now expects to get to first base without even swinging at the damned ball. He would later wonder to himself why he was feeling this way, but never being the introspective type, he didn't realize that his primary reason was jealousy. He would never have suspected it; not in a million years would he have thought Reauchard worth that emotion. He was jealous of a man simply because Christine held him in some regard. It sure as hell wasn't his good looks.

So he reacted, but with no insight into his reasoning, but more importantly, no understanding of his adversary.

"Who are you anyway?" He peered closer at Reauchard's face, noting the telltale edges of the mask. "Why the hell do you run around hiding your face? I mean- come on, man! That's a gutless way to live. Show her what you look like, since you were just about to ram your damned tongue down her throat!"

Erik's hand shot out, and his fingers wrapped around Raoul's neck, lips pulled back from his teeth. Christine gasped and yelled Erik's name, frightened at this rapid turn of events. She ran over to the two men, grabbing Erik's arm and giving it a frantic tug.

"Please, Erik. It's okay, it's okay. Let him go!"

He ignored her, instead choosing to answer Raoul. "Calling me a coward, are you? I fear, boy," his tone icy, "that you would not wish to find out what cowardice truly is."

The sound of that beautiful voice chilled her to the bone. This was someone completely different from the gentle man who played and sang for her. The man she nearly kissed...

With a horrifying strength he backed Raoul to the wall, seeming content to choke the life from him. The young man struggled, trying desperately to connect with the madman, his arms windmilling around, looking for something to hit. How could someone so damned skinny be this strong? he thought in panic.

Grabbing Erik's arm again, Christine pleaded with him, anxious to stop this scary turn of events. The arm beneath hers was hard and implacable, but through the red haze of anger, he finally became aware of her, and suddenly removed his hand from her friend's neck. He backed away, fighting for control. The whole thing had lasted no more than a minute, but it felt so much longer to her shattered nerves.

Released suddenly, Raoul dropped boneless to the floor and grabbed his throat, wheezing and coughing painfully, trying to pull enough air into his starved lungs. Christine knelt next to her friend and put her arms around him, both of them shaking badly. She turned to Erik, not really sure what she was about to say, but it didn't matter. He was gone. She felt bereft at that moment, the sweetness she felt earlier, replaced with shock at how quickly things went bad.

She helped Raoul to his feet and moved with him over to the couch. She sat there, her arm still around him. "You...you need to see a doctor. Let me drive you to the emergency room."

He shook his head and rasped, "I'm okay, I think. It hurts like hell though. He's got a grip like a damned vise."

He tenderly rubbed his throat. She stood up, intending to get him some water, when he grabbed her arm. "Wait. Sit down..."

He coughed again and swallowed painfully. She took Raoul's hand, her heart still trying to pound its way out of her chest.

He let out his breath and said hoarsely, "Now do you see what I'm talking about? The man is obviously hiding from someone or something he's done. He's dangerous, Christine; we sh-should call the police, and get him the hell away from here." He turned to look behind him, almost expecting the madman to be advancing on him again.

"No." She was as surprised at what came out of her mouth as he was.

"What do you mean, no? He tried to strangle me to death! Don't you consider that a little, oh, I don't know- insane?" He felt on shaky ground now, but said it anyway. "Are you protecting him?" His voice was a croak, and the pain in his throat caused difficulty with speech.

She jumped slightly at that. "Of course not! How can you even suggest such a thing? But you did say things to him that started all of this."

He was flabbergasted. "Shit, Christine. I'm so sorry I ruined your tender moment with the psycho and hurt his feelings! Guess I did deserve to be throttled for that."

"Raoul! You know I didn't mean it that way at all! I'm just s-saying you did provoke him a little. B-But he let you go..." Unbelievable. I'm defending the indefensible! She took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly, speaking a little quieter. "What were you here for in the first place?"

"I was on my way into town and stopped to ask if you wanted to come along." He looked at her disgusted. "I can't believe you're protecting him! If you're not concerned about me, then at least consider Mamma. He really shouldn't be here and you know it!"

"I've already told you. I'm not protecting him! That's just ridiculous!" Is it, Christine? asked the sly little voice. "But I uh, I need to talk with him first."

She sighed heavily and put her hand on his arm. "Please let me handle this. He's been a complete gentleman since he arrived. I don't understand what happened between you two, but please let me speak to him before you do anything. Okay?" she pleaded with him.

"Please?"

Raoul continued looking at her, not understanding her defense of Reauchard- certainly not agreeing, but finally he nodded in defeat. "All right, not just yet. But you better be damned careful around that dude."

He paused a moment, massaging his throat. "I don't know what was going on with you and him, but if I were you, I'd think twice about getting involved with that."

She still felt defensive of Erik and had to reply."You know nothing about him, Raoul. He did overreact, but from the little he's told me, he hasn't had an easy life."

"You don't know anything either, so why pretend you do, huh, Christine? You wouldn't be talking this way if it was anyone else. But shit, normal people don't go for someone's throat just because they didn't get everything they wanted growing up." He leaned closer to her. "What if he got a tiny bit upset with you? Care to have him wrap those nasty fingers of his around your throat?"

He was about to say more, but finally admitted defeat- for now. Besides, his throat hurt like a bitch.

She walked him to the door, still insisting he needed to see a doctor. She watched him leave, pondering what her next move was to be, at the same time moving toward the stairs. Here goes nothing. Time to beard the lion in his den.

Erik left the two in the living room, silently making his way to his apartment. He was still angry and frustrated at the way things had turned out. He unlocked the door and glanced wildly around, wanting nothing more than to break something. Instead, he walked over to the couch and sat down, putting his head in his hands.

His outburst had probably cost him Christine's regard; he very much regretted that. He was angered by de Chagny's contempt for him; he had always maintained his dignity, no matter what. To be looked down on by a mere boy, and called a coward in front of the girl, was more than enough to stir his anger. But what brought on his temper the worst was the opportunity that was taken from him.

A kiss.

Something so simple to most men, but always a world away for him. But the miracle in all of this was that she seemed to like him too. It was a sweet moment for him to come to that realization, and in an instant it had been lost. She would never forgive him for attacking her friend. He had been so close to feeling her lips on his; he had wanted it very much, and as always, luck strove to point out that it had never been on his side. Something very important had been stolen from him, and he really didn't think it would ever be his now. She wouldn't want to be anywhere near him.

He removed his mask and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, wincing when he encountered a tender spot on one cheek. To make matters worse, he was developing a sore. Tiredly, he pulled out his phone and called the Persian.

"Daroga," he greeted Nadir. "I will be seeing Moncharmin again on Friday, but I sense nervousness on his part, more so than would be caused from my presence alone; I don't trust him. Anything you can tell me?"

"Nothing whatsoever. It's been as quiet as the tomb on this end. I'm sure Moncharmin is just afraid of you, my friend. What's wrong? You don't sound well."

He was about to reply when there was a soft knock on the door. "I must go. I will let you know of my visit with Andre when I'm through with him."

"Erik?"

It was Christine, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to speak with her at the moment; it was certain to be painful.

"Please Erik, can I talk to you? It's important." Her voice held a pleading note that he couldn't withstand.

Replacing his mask, he opened the door and stood aside to let her in.