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Do I Dream Again?	By : LaurieBaker Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 10050 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Relaxing with the warm cup of tea, Erik replayed the conversation in his mind with Christine over and over again. Just being near her...just hearing her sweet voice once more made this stay in this strange new land worthwhile for him. How he had missed her! Even drinking from one of her own teacups was a slice of heaven, if he believed in such a place. How he wished he could be this cup which knew the feel of her lips every day!

Then he cursed himself for being a fool. Since when did he develop such a poetic soul? And he did not even have the excuse of alcohol to justify such ridiculous musings!

After all, he was not here to win her back. He was only here to watch over the silly girl who had run off all on her own, determined to get into all sorts of trouble.

And what on earth was he going to do with himself if he couldn’t play his violin? He could sleep during the hours of the voice lessons, but then what would he do if he was up in the middle of the night? As odd as it was for him, he needed to actually be awake in the daytime and sleep at night. If he was scuffling around or playing music in the wee hours of the morning, he would only draw suspicion. Perhaps he should peruse the local bookstores and purchase some reading material. All he knew was that his plan was already becoming much more complicated than he had expected.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, startling him so that he nearly spilled his tea.

Was it Christine again? He hated how his heart raced with excitement at the thought.

“Yes?” he asked gruffly, disguising his voice as he opened the door a crack. Although he intended not to be seen, he placed his mask on just in case.

“See ‘ere, Tomkins! What do you think you’re about?”

The shrill voice with the Cockney accent definitely did not belong to Christine. He assumed it was the landlady, Mildred Hobbes. And of course, his blasted lasso was halfway across the room. Even so, killing the landlady would definitely cause a stir.

“Please go away!” he rasped. “I am very ill!”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” the voice complained before he felt her push roughly at the door. “You’ll say anything to avoid payin’ your rent, won’t you!”

So Tomkins left him with a back payment of rent, did he? He knew he should have killed the man! It was not that he could not afford it. It was the sheer audacity of the act that offended him.

“I shall write you a cheque immediately, Madame.”

“What’s wrong with you?” the woman harped. “You know I like me money in cash. And what’s this Madame hoity-toity talk?”

Then the blasted woman leaned forward and caught sight of him in his mask through the crack in the door.

“Who are you!?” she shrieked. “You’re not Tomkins! I am going to call the police!”

Now that things had completely deteriorated out of all control, Erik had no choice but to pull her out of the shadowy corridor and into his dark room, grasping her by the throat.

“That would be quite unwise, Madame,” he warned in his normal cultured tones. “For then I should have to kill you right here on the spot.”

Mildred Hobbes was attractive in a coarse sort of way. Granted, her face was more striking than pretty. She had frizzy ash blonde hair and unusually large blue eyes. While appearing to be younger than Erik in age, she was obviously an older woman and no stranger to the ways of men. Wearing a low-cut coral-colored muslin blouse, her breasts were being shown off to their best advantage. And her hips were voluptuously curvy, just the right size for a man’s hands. While Erik was unswervingly faithful to his Angel now he had found her again, he would be a hypocrite not to acknowledge that the generous curves of her body pressed smugly against his own was not unpleasant.

Once she had recovered from her fright, she managed to regain her speech.

“Who are you?” she asked. “What have you done with Tomkins?”

Erik allowed his grasp to move from her throat to a tight grip on her shoulder. As it was, he keeped her pinned firmly against the door in case she decided to be foolish.

“Monsieur Tomkins and I arrived at a convenient arrangement.” Erik had to hold back a chuckle as her large eyes became even larger. No doubt she thought that the old man was buried in the cellar by now. “He is quite alive, I assure you. He has agreed to allow me to stay here in his absence.”

“Why are you wearing a mask? Who are you? Why are you here?”

“So many questions,” he chided, clucking his tongue. “Has no one ever told you that curiosity killed the cat?”

Cornering her against the wall, Erik was amused to see her feebly struggle against his strength.

“Let go of me,” she begged, her voice becoming less harsh. “You’re hurting me!”

Despite her protests, if Erik did not know better, he would have sworn that the woman found him rather attractive in a perverse sort of way. The longer he lived, the less he would ever understand women. As it was, she stared up at him with her eyes glazed and chest heaving, undoubtedly thinking…no, hoping…that he would take advantage of her. It was not something obvious, yet he sensed it.

Deciding that she was no longer a viable threat, Erik released her.

“There is no need for things to be unpleasant, Madame Hobbes,” he advised. “I shall pay you your due rent in a timely fashion. And you shall keep your mouth shut about my presence here. I am a man who values my privacy. It is very important to me, vitally so.”

His veiled threat seemed to make her pant even harder. Lord, he thought the woman was about to shrivel up into a swoon right before him!

“I won’t say anything,” she whispered. “Just don’t hurt me, please…”

“I trust our business relationship will be an agreeable one, Madame Hobbes?”

Licking her lips, she nodded.

“You shouldn’t have so many lit candles in here, Mister. It’s a fire hazard, it is...”

“I shall take it under advisement.”

For a few moments, Mildred Hobbes was unmoving, almost reluctant to leave him, so it seemed.

“Oh, and Mister?” she called out before leaving.

“What is it now?” Erik snapped, anxious for her to leave so he could go about his business.

“It is Mademoiselle,” she advised him. “I’m not married.”

He raised an eyebrow as she shut the door. What a saucy wench!
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Do I Dream Again?