chapter 22

H is kiss tasted of sugared pecans and coconut, baked in desire.

Sarah would have loved to hear about how I made out with the Phantom. How his touch was so strong, yet almost unbearable in its tenderness.

I wanted to live in that moment forever. The perfect kiss. Simple. Unexpected and overdue.

I didn't expect it to go as far as it had. When the blindfold came off, I wasn't sure what I was going to be met with. Gerard Butler was totally wishful thinking. With my luck he was going to be some variation of the Lon Chaney version or the fucking Crypt Keeper.

For a second, I even questioned whether he'd be human. Everything else was still unbelievable, so why not that?

He was none of it. He was just Erique. And fuck, he was beautiful.

The soft light on his mask only intensified his stunning eyes. The suit he wore, surprisingly clean and in pristine condition, hugged his slender frame and broad shoulders.

He really did look like he was going to the opera. What a weirdo. Every day he dressed like that.

The thought made me chuckle a little. But the moment was fleeting.

The terror in his beautiful eyes as he hid behind his hands overshadowed the memory. It was like we were always taking one step forward and two steps back.

Oh, Erique.

The theater was usually empty on Sundays. This Sunday was no different.

I hadn't stopped searching for him since I woke up. Which was pretty early, since I couldn't sleep. My voice was already hoarse with how much I'd called out for him. But he never showed me how to open the damn panels from the outside. Searching had been a bit difficult to say the least.

"Ms. Reilly!" M. Fournier called out.

Before I could slink off as if I hadn't heard my name, M. Fournier hurried down the grand stairway toward me, curls bouncing like kids on a trampoline.

"Might I borrow you a moment!" he asked. He seemed in better spirits as of late. He must have had a wonderful night. That made one of us.

I was supposed to meet with Antoinette for lunch today, but I sent word that I was sick. Now I wish I had gone to see her.

But I needed to find him.

Tell him whatever happened was alright. That I really didn't care. I just needed him back.

Needed him.

No. I just needed to know that he was alright. So I could keep trying to get home.

"Yes, Monsieur?" I asked, reluctantly.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, his curls somehow still bouncing. "I have been asked to give you this," he said, pulling a letter from his pocket.

Since when did the managers deliver notes?

My stomach dropped when I saw it. Was Erique not even going to talk to me? He would really have the manager relay a message?

"It seems Comte de Changy has taken a liking to you."

Oh. Great.

I thought I dealt with this. How many times did he need to be rejected?

"Did you read it?"

His eyes widened as if I had the audacity to ask. "No, of course not! It came only twenty minutes ago from his personal messenger. I was just glad to catch you when I did."

Though my heart was lighter knowing it wasn't from Erique, this was another problem I sure as fuck didn't want.

"You seem displeased," he said.

"He's asked me to dinner again… well, more like demanded that I join him tonight. I don't want to. I have plans." That is if Erique shows up . "And I'm not interested in him. I've told him…"

"You would be so lucky. He's an infamous bachelor and for him to be interested in…" he paused, looking me up and down. "Wouldn't you like to be out of here someday? A family of your own perhaps?"

I hadn't planned on leaving this place with him at the very least. As for family… "uh, that's not..."

"You may have a lovely time. Please go. It would be a favor to M. Leblanc and myself."

"Will I lose my job if I don't?"

He hesitated a moment, glancing around as if he were about to get caught doing something. He cleared his throat, "You have secure employment."

Bless you, Erique.

"Thank you. Have a wonderful day," I said.

"Then you'll go?"

"Nope. And you can tell him that."

***

The twisting in my stomach was cruel as I got closer to the practice room.It was dark and cold, even with the light on. Usually, it felt like this until he arrived, unless he was already there, then it was a cozy spot by the fireplace on a winter day.

Not this time.

"Please come out," I said. Even though I couldn't feel him, I still hoped.

When there was no answer, no sign that he was there, I wandered into the dark part of the room, and sat at the piano.

I pulled the mask from my bag and stared at it.

There was nothing really special about it. Not like the movies or stage or anything.

Plain white and beautifully hand crafted. It covered two-thirds of his face, leaving open his mouth and a cheek, and was held on by two leather straps. I didn't know the material of the mask itself, but it was sturdy enough to crash to the floor and not crack.

Yes, I tried it on.

A bit big. Even with my round face.

I had noticed a partial distortion of his mouth. Like he'd been burned or something. Same with his hand. But they felt no different while they touched me.

Erique was punctual, if he was going to be here, he would have been. I still waited a while longer.

I knew I was going to leave the mask for him. That was the plan when I came in. But I couldn't do it just yet. I didn't want to risk someone finding it.

At least that's what I told myself when I packed it back into my bag and left for my room.

Normally getting ghosted wouldn't bother me to the point of tears. I was used to it, no matter how much it sucked. But once I hit the mattress, the overwhelming reality took over, and I cried silently for a while. I hoped that tomorrow would be better.

It wasn't.

Work was undisturbed for the next few days.

No Ghost sightings to be heard about. And I was still sad.

There was a moment that I swear I saw him while I forced myself to that restroom. My throat dried and my chest pounded.

Nothing came of it.

I showed up to the practice room for the fourth night in a row. Ready to either see him or leave him behind.

The room was empty. Just like the days before.

I pulled the mask from my bag and held it to my chest. Every step to the piano was like walking the plank. I was either going to jump off or get pushed.

I set it down on the lid of the piano hesitantly.

It hurt to know that he was here somewhere and chose not to see me.

I took a seat and ran my fingers lightly over the ebony and ivory keys. I wasn't much of a pianist, really at all, I knew very little and hadn't touched one since high school.

My unpracticed fingers found middle C anyway and settled into the first notes.

It'd been so long since I played this piece. It was really the only one I knew. Moonlight Sonata always soothed me. In my current mental state, it felt appropriate.

I fumbled through the piece. Not sure what I was even doing it for. I guess in some weird way, I hoped it'd coax him out if he was nearby.

The moment I'd fantasized about with Erique had come and gone, just like him. And now I had nothing here.

I'd become too attached.

The music stopped abruptly. Even playing held no joy for me. I stared at the keys he'd played many times before. It was clear he wasn't coming.

My eyes raked over the mask one more time. Memorizing every detail.

It didn't matter that he was Erique, the Phantom of Palais Garnier. I couldn't waste any more time being a pathetic sack like I had over the past few days.

I was never meant for any of this.

If he wasn't going to come to me, after I'd clearly shown that I was here for him, then it didn't matter anymore, and I was done.

Maybe I should have gone out with Philippe again.

My stomach turned at the thought of it and I instantly regretted it.

It didn't matter what century I was in, it felt like all the men were cowards and I was over it.

Tomorrow, not one thought will be for him. Every attempt home would be without remorse.

I left the mask where I sat it down and closed the door to us.

It was late when I started back toward my room. I needed to sleep the sadness away one more night.

When I rounded the corner, ice stilled my veins. Exiting from the salon down the hallway, was Philippe. He seemed agitated.

"Ope!" I gasped and jumped back before he could see me.

Usually, I would just avoid this part of the building at this time of night because of the stumbling, handsy patrons.

It reminded me of the times I'd pick up Mom and whatever shitty boyfriend at the bar when they were too wasted to drive, only to have to listen to her be treated like she was a waste of life the rest of the night. All while being accosted by the nasty old drunk dudes.

I didn't want to deal with that or Philippe tonight. I already felt like shit and didn't need someone to make it worse.

The door to the backstage was always unlocked. Too many needed in and out at any given time, it was also the second quickest way back to my room from the practice room.

A small part of me hoped Erique was hanging around back there. Maybe under the stage, waiting. I don't know.

" Stop it! Stop!! " A woman's muffled shout echoed over the stage. " Stop! Stupid, vulgar pig! "

At the bottom of the stairs to the catwalk, Joseph Buquet, the dirty stagehand that shook me the day Erique saved me from the sandbag, had one of the chorus girls pinned against the wall. Forcibly groping and kissing on her.

"Hey!" I shouted. No one came to help me when I was attacked. That wasn't going to happen again.

Buquet ignored me and continued with his assault. The woman was obviously distraught, swatting at him best she could, trying to get away.

Without any thought, I pulled the knife from my pocket and flipped it open. With all force I jammed the little pig sticker into Buquet's hip and twisted. He squealed and fell onto the stairs, moving enough for the small, terrified brunette to get free and dash off.

I yelped when a hand gripped my shoulder tightly and yanked me back. As the sharp edges of the stairs stabbed into my back, I gasped at the pain.

He towered over me. A crazed look in his eye. This was going to be revenge for humiliating him.

I crawled up backwards frantically, as he lurched forward.

"Ghost whore!" he yelled, just missing me.

I reached the top, not sure of where to go except over the hanging catwalk. The thought of running away from someone on them was almost as terrifying. The unstable rope railings and the swaying… Still a better option.

Pain shot through my arm as it twisted. It felt like it was going to rip from my socket. I didn't even know what hit me before I was on the ground. The ringing in my ears was deafening as my head spun. It was like I was slapped by a thousand bees.

It was hard to focus as my head pulsed. He was flashing in and out of sight. Like an old moving picture machine.

"The Ghost!" he shouted.

I found my bloodied knife on the floor and managed to my feet. If I couldn't get away, I was going to fight the losing battle.

In all the dizzy darkness, Buquet's terrified face came in clear. So did the white of a mask and eyes that were full of wild darkness.

" Vous voulais the Ghost! Me voici! " Erique growled. His menacing laugh and wicked smile chilled me.

This is who the Phantom was. Who he was.

Even then, I still worried for him. Buquet was much larger than Erique. If he was enjoying the fight, he could still lose.

" Batard du devil ," Buquet yelled, as Erique whipped a rope over his head.

Erique's hands pulled it tighter around the stagehand's throat. His glowing eyes cut to mine. Pain was alive and bright in them. "Do not watch this, my Angel."

The Phantom dragged the kicking and gurgling beast out onto the swaying catwalk. Buquet's face turned purple and his swinging arms slowed.

Focused on the struggle he was winning, Erique hadn't noticed the rope running across the surface of the platform. His grip on Buquet loosened when he tripped over it, and the pig broke free just enough to swing at him.

"Erique!" I screamed, running to the ledge.

I wanted to run out to help him, but my feet were concrete. All the courage I once had was gone.

I was going to watch my… I was going to watch Erique die because I was scared.

The wretched man grabbed at Erique. Had him nearly off his feet, pushing against the railing. It was astonishing they didn't both just fall.

Glowing eyes burned with hatred. Gritted teeth bared beneath a grin. There was no mistaking it. Erique loved this. The fight. The chance to kill.

A sinister laugh escaped the Phantom's throat, and in a burst of energy he broke free.

Erique grabbed hold of the noose that still hung around Buquet's neck, and yanked him toward the ledge. The stagehand's eyes locked onto me as if to ask for help. The same fear I saw in the officer's, eyes.

It was like slow motion for a moment. I almost didn't believe it happened.

The rope pulled taut and the sound of a twig snapping jolted me. The creaking from the rope under the weight of Buquet's lifeless body and Erique's exhilarated heavy breathing filled the stage.

"Erique..." I said through quivering lips as I stared at the swinging body.

Pulled from his frenzied ecstasy, Erique was by my side in an instant. He looked me over, finding the bloody knife in my hand. Taking it from me, he closed it and put it in his pocket.

A large, thin hand took my face and held it gently. "Are you alright, my brave girl?" he asked. His tone was fragile and tender, unlike what had just happened.

I couldn't take my eyes off Buquet. I just witnessed the man I care about kill and enjoy it. After saving me again.

"Melody," he called gently.

My eyes walked back to find him. The pain and concern were heavier now that I could really see them.

He was also disheveled from head to toe. Hair all over the place. An untucked white shirt and black slacks. By the way he smelled, it was obvious the disarray wasn't from the fight. Alcohol and sweat emanated from him, like he hadn't bathed in days.

"Come," he commanded, low and pleading.

Voices crept in nearby, probably coming to check on what the commotion was.

"No. I can't…" my voice shakier than I would have liked.

"Don't force my hand, mon c?ur ."

The voices grew nearer and fear along with them.

Without further hesitation but still shaken, I took his hand and followed the Phantom of the Opera into the unknown.