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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.

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On the street across from the boarding house, Erik could not hold back a heartfelt gasp as he saw Christine leave the building accompanied by Meg. Oh, he felt as if his heart were being ripped right out of his chest at the very sight of her! Even dressed as she was in that horribly dull black frock, she was still every bit as lovely as she had been in the wedding dress that he had made especially for her. But all was not well with his Angel. He could plainly see, even from across the street, that she looked thin and tired and pale. Obviously, she was not taking very good care of herself.

Having a taste of her within his sight again, he was suddenly starving for more. Along the side street, he followed the women for as long as he dared until at last they entered a tea shop. The store was small, too small for him to wander about unnoticed. He had no choice but to walk away from her for now.

Yet perhaps he could make good use of the time while she was away.

Feeling energized, Erik returned back to the boarding house and crept along the dark gas lit corridors with great curiosity. The place seemed so dismal that it made his old home a paradise in comparison. How could she stand to live this way? She gave up a life in the Vicomte’s chateau for this?

Erik stopped by Christine’s room on the third floor. Closing his eyes, he could even take in the scent of her familiar perfume. Just that small familiarity was enough to make his heart race.

Climbing up another flight of stairs, he observed the room directly above her own. This would be a perfect place to make his new home! He would be on the top floor, thus insuring as much privacy as possible in an establishment such as this. She would be within watching distance. But best of all, he would be able to hear Christine sing through the thin walls. Even if he spent the rest of his days merely watching over her, never making his presence known, he would at least have that.

When the doorknob of the room began to rattle, Erik quickly scurried around a corner by the stairway. An elderly man exited, apparently to throw out some garbage. It was fortunate that the tenant was an old man, very much so for if he were to meet with an ‘unfortunate accident’, the police would probably not look into the matter too thoroughly. Grasping onto his lasso, he prepared to strike like a cobra. But, no, that would leave a suspicious mark. But perhaps with finesse, he could get a good chokehold on that frail throat and not even leave as much as a bruise. The deed would not take much effort.

But for something was holding him back. Inexplicably, he could not bring himself to go through with killing the man.

“Monsieur,” he approached the tenant from out of the darkness.

So scared was the older man of the sudden appearance of the masked apparition that Erik halfway hoped the man would die of a heart attack and save him further trouble of negotiations.

“Who are you?” the balding man asked with wide blue eyes. “What do you want?”

“I want your room,” Erik answered simply. “I am willing to pay you for it, a good deal more than it is worth.”

The man shook his head as if he were hearing things.

“Good lord, man! You must be daft!”

“Oh, that is true,” Erik replied with a smirk. “Most definitely so.” Before the old man started to do something foolish like scream for help, he continued to explain. “Please do not be afraid of the mask, Monsieur. You see, I am a wealthy man, always having to fight off crazy old ladies trying to shove their marriageable young daughters in my face.” He fought to hold back a snicker at his wicked lie. “I value my solitude and privacy, you see. Thus, I wear this mask to avoid being recognized.”

“A millionaire, eh?” While the man was skeptical, he looked Erik up and down, recognizing fancy clothes when he saw them. “I can’t say that I blame you, lad. Women can be a blasted nuisance at times! I know! I was a bit of a ladies’ man myself back in the day.”

“Indeed?” Erik asked, attempting to appear sincerely interested. “At any rate,” he continued. “I should very much like to rent this flat from you.”

“Well, I’m not in charge of this boarding house. You’ll want to speak to Mildred about that.”

“Mildred?”

“Aye, Mildred Hobbes. She’s the lady who runs the place.”

“I really don’t care to deal with bothersome formalities,” Erik shrugged, reaching into the lining of his coat and pulling out a large wad of bills. “We are quite capable of making a bargain between ourselves as gentlemen, are we not?”

The man started to shake his head, yet he glared at the money, almost drooling.

“The offer is tempting, Mister, but I’m really too old to be moving right now.”

“Surely you would like to settle down somewhere where you could be more comfortable. Climbing up and down four flights of stairs every day just to go out of doors must be quite wearing on you, Monsieur...?”

“Mr. Tomkins,” the man answered, considering with a nod. “Well, yes, I suppose that it is awfully rough going on my old knees.”

“I imagine that with the sum of money I just gave you, you would be able to find some apartment on the first floor where you should never have to suffer with your aches and pains again.”

“That would be very pleasant, very nice, oh, yes...”

“So we have a bargain?”

“Wait a minute now! I did not agree to anything,” Tomkins said quickly, obviously still suspicious. “If you’re as rich as you claim, why are you interested in this old dump?”

Erik became increasingly annoyed. He really didn’t want to fool with dodging this man’s invasive questions. Conscience be damned, he should just killed the man and be done with it. Really, it would have been so much easier in the long run.

“Monsieur. Tomkins, you try my patience!” he snapped. “Do you want the money or not?”

“Right,” the man nodded, not needing to be told out loud to mind his own business. “Very well then. I suppose I’d be crazy if I refused.”

“A pleasure doing business with you, sir. How soon do you think you should be able to leave here?”

“In a week.”

A week, Erik thought dejectedly. A whole week without being near to Christine. He definitely should have just killed the man. Still he had thought that he would never see his pretty diva ever again. What was a week compared to eternity?

“Very well.”

Erik tipped his black fedora and set about on his way to find an inn to stay at in the meantime.

Odd, he mused again, about his sudden sense of sentimentality about life and death. He had never had a conscience before about such matters. Maybe he simply wanted a fresh start in this foreign land.

----------------------------------

For the rest of the week, Erik wandered about the city, learning the streets of London. He felt a bit intimidated by the new city, although he was not sure why. After all, if he could survive the barbaric country of Persia, England should be...well, for lack of a better phrase, a tea party. Despite his fast held belief that he was his own creature, owing loyalty to no God, country or religion, he found that he had a healthy contempt of the English, although he had never considered himself much of a patriotic Frenchman. For the life of him, he did not understand why Christine had run here of all places.

He had found a nice small inn with an innkeeper who could easily be bribed and not ask any questions. Yet, he did not sleep well at all. It had been so long since he had lived in a normal room with normal temperatures. He had become so accustomed to the dampness and chill of the catacombs that comfort almost seemed to hurt. And he was tired, too. Damned tired. In the throes of creativity, he had been known in the past to stay up well beyond forty eight hours, scribbling away at his parchment as the ideas flowed. But without such motivation, he was beginning to feel exhausted more easily.

Also, he was constantly shaking and suffering headaches in his attempt to give up alcohol. If he were seriously going to watch over Christine, it would not do for him to be in a drunken stupor. That is precisely when some young puppy like the Vicomte might try to take advantage of her. No, he had to be sober and on his guard. Even if she tried to disguise herself as an old maid schoolteacher, she was still a damned attractive woman underneath it all.

Finally, the end of the week arrived at last.

Mr. Tomkins informed Erik that he had left the large pieces of furniture for him if he wanted them. He didn’t care to go to the expense of keeping the shoddy old pieces. Observing the bed and bookcases left behind, Erik agreed to keep them.

Everything seemed satisfactory except for one thing...

The room was entirely too bright for Erik’s taste. Before Mr. Tomkins left, Erik paid him a little extra to obtain some large fabric rolls of black velvet and candles for him. Draping the cloth along the windows, he felt a little better. The sunlight had burned at his pale skin and hurt his eyes. Even in the foggy London weather, the daylight was still unbearable to him.

With that, he bid Mr. Tomkins adieu.

“And if Mildred starts spitting at you like a wildcat, you’re on your own, fellow!”

“I shall take it under advisement, Monsieur Tomkins.”

With the room comfortably darkened, he proceeded to place the candles all about. Even gas lighting was a bit too modern for his taste. And the bed would be a problem. The mattress was not hard enough. In fact, he truly yearned for the security of his nice hard coffin. To his surprise, he realized he was becoming horribly homesick. If he only had his pipe organ with him or his violin...something to keep him occupied. He made a note to himself that after he had slept, he would brave the daytime to purchase a violin in the morning. After all, while he would look odd in his mask, how many people in this country had ever even heard of the Phantom of the Opera?

Shaking his head despondently, he sat down on the bed, removed his mask, and wondered if he had not made a horribly foolish mistake by coming here. He had lived underground in the dark for so long he really did not know how he was going to manage now. He was not sure he liked this city of London at all. In fact, he suspected that he rather hated the place.

And as for Christine...

If she knew he was here, she would run as far away as she could. She did not need or want his protection. Indeed, she probably was quite happy to think him dead. Why could he not just leave her be? Why did he keep wishing for what he could never have? Was this whole adventure just opening up the old wounds that so badly needed to heal?

Like a bolt from the blue heavens, the dulcet tones of Christine resounded from the floor below. He recognized her melody at once as the aria from Il Muto. Covering his mouth to keep from crying out in sweet agony, Erik closed his eyes as he let the adored voice wash over him. He undressed and reclined back upon the bed. In the chill of his previous underground home, he almost always wore clothing whenever possible, even during Elissa’s visits. He was unaccustomed to feeling so deliciously free with all of his clothes off. Suddenly, the bed had become a lot more comfortable now. In fact, the feel of the fabric against his bare skin was almost erotic. The covers were warm and soft, just like Christine would be if she were in his arms.

“Oh, Christine...” he sighed with pleasure, rolling onto his stomach. “Christine...”

Even though he was far away from Paris, just hearing his darling Christine made him feel as if he had come home from a long journey. And as if she were the mother he never had, she sang him softly into a deep sleep.
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Do I Dream Again?