Unmasked Read Online Free

could not see me, and right now, that was all
that mattered.
     
     
Her
     
    When we had finished our meal, he led me back
to the outer room. He seated me on a comfortable chair near the
fireplace, and then poured us some port wine.
    “What is your name, monsieur?” I asked him as
he took the wide settee across from me. His breach of conduct at
dinner had empowered me to ask him anything.
    He took several moments to respond.
    “Erik.”
    He spoke his name as if it were new to him,
and I surmised it was probably the first occasion he had mouthed
this word in a long, long time.
    "Erik," I repeated, liking the way it felt on
my tongue. "How is it you came to live here?"
    "It is a long story, chérie. One filled with
much pain and anguish."
    "Share it with me," I said, more out of pity
than curiosity. "Please."
    He studied my expression. He was ever
vigilant for a hint of dishonest or patronizing sentiments, I
think, so I quickly learned to speak from the heart.
    "I was commissioned to help build this opera
house about twenty years ago. I was but twenty-one at the time, and
my patron desired to establish the most beautiful, most elegant
theatre in the world."
    "You...created this magnificent building?" I
asked, a childish wonder betrayed in my voice.
    He nodded slowly, patiently, though evidently
pleased by my compliment. "I designed the palace of the Shah of
Persia, you see, and Monsieur Garnier knew I had a talent for
creating splendor. What he didn't know was that I had also designed
an intricate maze of hidden rooms and secret tunnels through which
the Shah could maneuver at will, and escape from his many
enemies."
    "You apparently did the same for the
opera.”
    "It was an ideal location for my own secret
palace. Only I know the way around it. Though I admit I was a fool
to leave unlocked that panel through which you came and found
me."
    The one with the cobwebs, I thought. "Don't
you ever leave this dungeon?"
    He chuckled, and it gave me much pleasure to
see him do so. "I suppose you are right: my palace is nothing more
than a 'dungeon,' after all.” He stared deeply into the glittering
etching in the crystal goblet. "I used to go out and explore the
city. Late at night, when the moon was tired, I would walk the
streets of Paris and take care of my business affairs."
    "You do not go out anymore?"
    "No. Not since..."
    I waited patiently for an answer, but none
was forthcoming. He was lost in memories. Deep within the holes in
the mask, his eyes closed tightly, shutting out the painful
remembrance of whatever made him seal himself up in this tomb of
his own creation.
    "Not since her ." The word barely made
it out of his lips before the great Phantom of the Opera crumpled
like an autumn leaf.
    At that moment, I forgot all the frightened,
warning voices in my head. Instinct, compassion, or perhaps
something more profound compelled me to go to him. I sat beside him
on the settee and wrapped my arms around his trembling
shoulders.
    At first, he recoiled at my touch, unexpected
as it was. But then, he embraced me, too, more tightly and more
desperately. In that instant, I became aware of a deep and powerful
urge to protect this man who trembled in my arms, whose tears were
unseen behind his mask. Something maternal sprang up within me, an
urge to protect and nurture, a deep instinctual violent coil that
grew angry at the threatening, imaginary presence known only as her . Still, there was something else, more private and more
disturbing, a vague realization that I held a man in my arms, a
feeling that was quite new and very, very pleasant...
    I felt the cold mask upon my cheek. He
loosened his embrace and drew back. He looked into my face, and for
the first time that night, I could see the features the mask did
not hide. Tears still misted his eyes, which were the transparent
blue of the sky in summer. His mouth was wide and perfect, and his
masculine lip trembled slightly.
    "Why are you being so kind to me?" he