25.A Furtive Instant

The dress was still as gorgeous as it was when Mrs. Pautt handed it to me. I passed my fingers across the cloth, feeling its texture as it laid on my bed. Remembering, remembering... the dance... his eyes...

How dear those moments were to me! What was that dance? Even today I wouldn't know how to describe it... It was the first time I took complete awareness that I was ready to give up everything for him, if only he'd asked me to. It was also the first time I felt that he might actually ask me for doing so, one day. Was it all things that my mind was making up?

And what could I possibly give up? My life was slowly becoming pretty dull, not much left for me in that city either. No especial interests, a few aquaintances here and there... There was nothing I could offer him, that would interest him...was there?

"The dance gave me, as a bonus, the satisfaction of letting every person who attended the ball, from the Opera's artists to the rest of Paris, see us together," I thought with a smile. For some strange reason, I couldn't help but feel extremely proud of being by his side. Something seemed terribly wrong about that, but I couldn't avoid it!

I wouldn't know why exactly he accepted dancing with me, but if for nothing else, I didn't leave him much of a way out, with my insistance and impulsiveness... No, I knew Erik better than that. He was not the kind of person who would do things if he didn't want to, so I suppose he was not completely indifferent to the dance either.

My confirmation was detecting in him what I had never expected to - surrender. He allowed himself to be off his guard with me, if only for some brief moments. Having his trust was the best gift I could ever wish for.

The main problems about Erik laid deep underneath his face, even if they were somehow related to his physical appearance. I didn't know him well enough by then to know that his face would be one of the easiest things to accept and look past, if I decided persuing him.

I slowly folded the dress, replacing the paper around it. That step was finished. We had achieved something new, though I was not sure what it was. I could tell with some certainty what was going through my head, but what were Erik feelings towards me? Maybe not even he knew... Now I was waiting to see what would be next...and I knew in my heart there would be things following the masquerade. It had been too intense to finish there.

I turned off the gas, extinguishing the last light I had in my room. I hadn't noticed this dress was that heavy before. Maybe it was all the excitement before the Ball that made me carry it so easily! That same happiness and anxiety had not faded, but it was manifesting itself in a different way now...calmer...more secure of itself.

Out in the corridor, I couldn't hear the orchestra playing anymore. What time was it? Were the musicians already done with their rehearsing? I hadn't noticed spending so long in my room. It couldn't have been too late, for they hadn't started to light the House for the night performance yet.

There were some people standing in the corridors, which was unusual for the time, especially on a weekday. They looked like some sort of detectives, checking things out and questioning one of the manager's assistent about the Opera employees. "Had this assistant been my friend Claude, they would have gotten nice answers in return." I thought, amused.

Since the night when the chandelier went down, the policemen hired to keep an eye on the theater had become fewer and fewer. I couldn't imagine why they seemed to be back... unless another "accident" had happened.

I was quick in reminding myself who was actually responsible for those "accidents," fearing he had struck again, and that that may have been the reason for those people being there. Every little tragedy performed by the ghost brought the managers eagerly to Erik's heels, and I could tell it wouldn't take too long for them to start a serious inspection of the underground floors.

For a while he would be safe, concealed by his wit in having placed the house into a true maze of corridors and chambers. But there must have been some maps of the area, and sooner or later they would reach him.

I faced the floor on purpose, depreciating the idea of being approached by any of those men to be asked endless questions. I decided to take another corridor to Mrs. Pautt's room, rather smaller than the main one, but certainly more deserted. Would she be there at that hour?

As I ventured further into the corridor, I was suddenly grabbed forcefully by my waist, having a hand placed on my mouth. Quickly I was pulled inside a narrow passageway, surrounded by complete darkness.

He whispered, "Silence! It's me," in my ear fast enough to keep me from panicking and screaming.

Why was it everytime we met it was exactly the same thing?

With the scare, I dropped the package with the costume, which Erik picked up as fast as he had grabbed me. The wrappers had spread open and the dress was insisting on leaving the papers. He threw the whole thing in a corner behind us, carelessly, but silently. He also pulled me to the corner, so that our shadows could not be seen at the entrance by one who passed outside.

"Is it you they are looking for?" I asked, whispering.

"Yes, me as well."

"What have you done this time?" I inquired, more amused than scared.

"Oh, nothing! I just came to receive my monthly wage from the kind managers. It's you I'm worried about. They want to..."

He didn't finish his whispered sentence. The resonating sound of multiple steps on the wood floor warned us of their presence, and we ventured further inside the cove. I didn't know why I was hiding, or from whom. I just knew I had to obey Erik, and his unquestionable commands.

The room was minuscule, probably designed to keep cleaning materials, and that placed me incredibly close to him. Dangerously close.

Even as the steps became more and more distant, I felt as if we were still drawing closer and closer to each other, and something inside of me didn't seem to fight it, but rather anticipated this closeness. With him besides me, I lost all sense of objectivity, and just did as he asked me to. I just hid against him, in a feigned innocence that promised me what I really wanted. Him.

There was nothing in the corridor. And I had Erik behind me, in that darkness of an infamous little room that was giving me the opportunity of coming closer to things I had only secretly imagined in the back of my mind.

I muttered his name, unsure of what I meant to tell him. In response, he passed his arm over my shoulder, bringing his hand to my mouth and covering it lightly, silently asking me to keep quiet. But as he did so, he stopped halfway, never fully touching my mouth, and I never fully felt his hands on my lips. Why was he keeping this distance? Didn't he know I had grown accustomed to his chilling hands? Unable to retrieve his gesture, he lowered his arm, which ended up casuallly pressed against my breast. A powerful shiver spread all over my body.

Oh, what did he think he was doing? I didn't need any further encouragement to want Erik clearly in my mind. One little sign from him, and that was all that I needed to free myself in a forbidden but real instinct.

It was more than clear that the cause of the hiding had obviously passed. No living being was to be spotted in the area; but nevertheless we were petrified in that position. Neither of us dared say a word, and I was completely unable to think clearly. One word clung, or rather burned, into my mind: desire! And I could almost hear him muttering the same word to me, victim of my pernicious attempt of changing things, of forcing things into my way, of surrending to my selfish wanting.

Not even during the dance had we dreamed of coming this close, and without the costumes I could actually feel his body against mine with great accuracy, every muscle and surface of it obvious and bewildering.

This body that maddened me was the same that had once carried me, the bony and still strong structure, so puzzling and so compelling. His arm, never fully retrieved, didn't rest over my shoulder anymore, but embranced me tightly and determined, while he held my wrist tenderly but firmly behind my back. Oh, I only wished he would consider taking advantage of that situation, of his total control over me, and do whatever he wished.

His face was extremely close to mine, his warm and inconsistant breath on my neck, and the side of his mask lightly touching my cheek. I wanted to kiss him, eager and lustily, without caring if this should be condemned. I was not paying attention to rational thoughts anymore. I just prayed he wouldn't reject me, that he wouldn't let me go from that grasp without giving me something to calm the longing he had provoked in me.

The stupor made me wonder if I was still awake, alive. I had never in my life felt like that, and instead of scaring me, it made me want to live it intensely, drink it all, extinguish this overwhelming energy. I attempted to feel my body, make sure I still had material existence. And as I tried to increase my perception of reality, I felt Erik, his maddening presence and proximity inflaming me.

I smelled again the pungent but not at all unpleasant smell of his clothes, of him, intoxicating me as much as his touch did. I noticed I was breathing unnaturally deeply, for the first time in my life feeling so terryfingly vulnerable and dominated by my emotions and needs.

Oh, I had been with other men before, and a lot more intimately, too. I was not like those virginal dandy girls who wouldn't know what their duty was until a marriage night. And I had thought I knew all that there was to know of wanting, and that I had learned to control that, rather than be controlled by impulses.

And yet never in my life had I felt such an intense and sudden aching overwhelming my body as I felt now, warm and painful at the same time. Erik couldn't be human.

I couldn't tell how long the moment lasted. I felt his hand on my shoulder, clawing at it in a bewildering grasp, loaded with emotions I could perfectly understand and match inside myself. I turned around in a total loss of control, my eyes wide and begging for release, for satisfaction, and faced him. I was ready to throw myself upon him, to be consumed by him. But I met that hateful mask!

Always in the way! That damnable barrier, assuring him some control, some advantage of the situation that I didn't have. I wanted badly to tear it off, to toss it miles away, to free both of us from that eternal burden. But I knew his prison was way beyond a piece of disguise.

I saw a sparkle in his eyes as I looked deeply and mercilessly into them, and I found fire inside me to meet it. I grabbed his sleeve, as desperately and savagely as he was doing with my shoulder, feeling the last bit of consciousness escaping from me.

It was in this exact moment that he fled from me, freeing himself from my grip, recoiling his hand.

He was standing in the middle of the light corridor, unaware of the people who cruised around the theater. I walked slowly towards him, trembling, my nerves almost giving way to an outburst of crying or laughter. I had never imagined the dismal extent of desire before. I stepped back inside the dark passage, unsure of what to do, once the hypnotic effect was broken and we had to face reality and each other. We were both so close to losing control, we had both desired each other so clearly. Why did I feel so embarassed and wrong about it? I watched him from the darkness, in confusion, as he used to do with the world.

I sheltered myself inside the little room, leaning against the wall, rubbing my hand over my face. What was happening to me? Was I going mad for good? Did it all actually take place, or was I at last hallucinating, bordering the edges of madness? Had he looked at me in the way I thought he did, consuming with his misty eyes?

When I looked at him again, his mask bright and defined under the light, he was back to his distant dignity, casting me an impersonal look, few traces of the intensity that had overwhelmed him just a moment ago.

"I apologize for my conduct." With some effort I could still distinguish some shivering in his voice. I only nodded in return. "I...I don't know what fell upon me." He brought his hand to his mask, in an exhausted gesture of regret, more disturbed than me, if that was possible.

I noticed the costume spread on the floor and quickly bent to pick it up, not for the sake of the dress, but to have an excuse to avoid facing him. His cold attitude made me ponder if I hadn't exaggerated things, if I hadn't overeacted in an inexcusable way with him, exposing myself in a ridiculous and vulgar behavior.

Erik had this damnable power of twisting reality, hiding my identity from me, confusing my feelings, disturbing my thoughts. It was the most impossible task drawing a profile of his, concluding his personality, having a fixed image of who he was.

He had a thousand different characters inside of him, blended in such a perfect and contradictory way that made him have the appearance of a supernatural spirit. It was impossible to predict his attitudes, or guess his next movement or the complex and sometimes distorted feeling behind it. He drove me to the edges of madness, and it was a relief abandoning reality led by his hand.

I thought of his underground world, that gloomy tomb, lit only by the life that burned inside of him. I wanted to join him, forget for good whatever reason I still might have inside my heart to live above ground in that Opera House. If only he knew how much of myself he had already conquered... Would it matter to him?

"Allow me to explain to you more clearly what is going on. I suppose you noticed the policemen around the House..."

What in the world was he talking about? So I had imagined everything, for now I couldn't tell a single sign of distress in his soft voice.

"The Persian finally gave up looking for me on his own, and contacted the policemen and the detective, providing them with a few investigations he had taken upon himself to make. They came here today, among other things, to interrogate you."

I kept nodding, dumbfounded.

"I regret not telling you before that it was going to happen, and I apologize for being so... impulsive...when I saw you heading this way in the corridor."

At this point, he seemed to realize he was standing in the middle of the same corridor he was so worried to avoid before, exposing himself clearly to whoever passed by. He slid to my side, keeping some distance.

"I'm afraid I shouldn't continue with this conversation any longer."

I said, deluded, "I guess it wouldn't be wise for the Phantom, hum?"

He looked intensely offended by what I'd said, and confessed, almost to himself, "for some reason I don't like it when you address me like that."

Sincerity. It was not his option becoming a shadow, having to hide in this humiliating way, and worring about policeman invading his house. But he sometimes seemed to take refuge underneath the Phantom, the liberties that this masquerade allowed him, and not assume things. So now he was just worried about the beaurocracies of the Opera House and its respective Phantom. Fine! So I would treat him like a spirit, or maybe the madman people believed him to be.

But if he didn't like me treating him like that, why, every time that allowed us to talk as regular people, did something happen that it had to end in a strange way, cut shorter?

He didn't wear a mask to hide his face. He wanted to conceive his whole self. I felt despair invading me. Sometimes it seemed like there was no way left to get to him, to convince him to share the world he had inside of himself. And I was so obvious in my attitudes he could probably read all my emotions just by my face. Could it be that I was...amusing for him? Could he have some sick pleasure in dominating me, as he did with Christine?

At least she thought she was obeying an Angel, while I would follow him blindly not even knowing what he was.

Was it a matter of time? Would he, in time, be more natural with me, tell me more about him? No, as time passed, I felt like my deadline was coming due. I had to solve that riddle. But he was not a riddle, he was a man. Without facing him, I just let feelings out of me in a low, tired voice.

"I'm sorry, Erik. It seems like I always say the wrong thing."

He cocked his head slightly, truly missing what I meant.

"God damm it, Erik! I spend the days thinking of you, wondering when I'm going to see you again, when I'll be able to talk with you, and everytime we meet something happens, or we just engage in some stupid trivial conversation!"

He looked completely blank, as if he had failed completely in understanding what I was saying. Did he think me crazy? Or was he just...surprised with what I was saying?

"Nevermind," I concluded, picking up the rest of the dress and walking out of the passageway. He didn't say a word, nor tried to stop me.

As I headed to Mrs. Pautt's room, I kept my thoughts flowing hurridly in my mind. It was a lost case...

Chapter 26

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