The Man Behind the Mask: The Sequel to Gaston Leroux's the Phantom of the Opera

Chapter Twenty: Erik (Almost) Kills Grace

Shadows fell from every direction. She was thoroughly encompassed within the arms of the night. The five men below her didn't feel her eyes upon them, nor did they feel her presence, as elusive and fleeting as a sixth sense.

   She surveyed them from her high perch, writing down every word they said. Unfortunately, she did not catch their names, so she had to settle for descriptions. Her little notebook appeared as thus:

   Monsieur Lefay: Bienvenue, Messieurs.

    Fat blonde man with blue eyes: Merci, Lefay. How are you and our hidden manager?

   Fat blonde man who rolls his r's and has green eyes: Is he coming tonight? I've been a patron for three weeks and I still haven't made his acquaintance yet.

   Skinny, tall, brunette fellow: Oh he never shows. I've been a patron for three years, since the place opened. Very evasive that one.

   Pampered Italian Prince who needs a haircut: Please slow down, I can't pick out a word you Frenchman are saying.

   She didn't take a particular liking to any of the men, but she observed them and wrote everything they said or did down.

                                                      🌹

    Her hair was silken, as was her rich, pale skin. Everything about her was so perfect, so beautiful, from the dainty curve of her lush, pink, perfectly shaped lips, to her adorable, pert nose, to her large, dark eyes sparkling brightly with innocence and life, shyness and glory. He could stare at her for hours and not desire to touch her, or speak, feeling content just to witness her incredible beauty. He could get lost in her eyes for days. He remembered her kiss. Sweet, kind, soft. He could kiss her for days as well. Oh, his lovely little Angel, his Christina. She was a natural anomaly because of her unmatched beauty. Her perfect face, gorgeous soul, untainted. Ravishing but never to be ravished, only to be handled with extreme care.

   "Erik," she said his name, the soft sound of it on her lips brought him back to earth, out of his dreams.

   "Yes?" He quickly thought back to what she had been saying lest she ask if he'd been listening. How could he not listen to such a heavenly creature -

   "I know that look." She stopped walking, crossing her arms over her chest. Erik's hands stayed behind his back, eyes growing concerned. How well he remembered that tone... the last time she'd taken that tone of voice with him, it had been the prologue to a story that broke him and still gave him nightmares.

   "What look?" He asked, pleased that his voice never faltered or cracked, that it came strong and steady now.

   "Your hazy, fond eyes and loving little smile. I've seen it before, enough times to memorize it and fear it. Thought about it enough..." she turned a marvelous shade of pink. "Please know... I - Angel, I can never be yours. I am not yours. I suggested tonight as a friendly truce, and so that I may better myself. This is a friendly meeting. I belong to Pierre."

   You are not an object for someone to own! He wanted to scold her for thinking as many women do. Though, being his wasn't an unpleasant thought.

   "I don't know what -"

   "Yes you do. I shall not be accused of leading you to a path I will not follow you down. Your music and creativity intoxicates me, but it intoxicates me no more than it would the next woman. You've already destroyed so much trying to make me love you in the way you want, when I only love you as a friend. I don't obsess over you as you do me."