-Erik (The Phantom), Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux, Edited and Abridged by Doris Dickens, Diamond Books, 1993

"Who’s that?" Lynn jerked her head to one side and asked the stillness of the room- a stillness perforated by a sudden knocking. She had been trying to catch some sleep so she could fresh and ready for tomorrow’s action- that was if Elijah had any plans.

But Isaiah was calling to her- the sweet, tormented face; the lips that trembled slightly each time she told him she could not commit yet. His sensitive spirit embraced her like a second skin and she could not, for the life of her, forget about him even for one night.

"Elijah," came the soft reply. A little puzzled and surprised, she stood up and walked away from her dressing table where she had cradled her head in her hands on and cried to just let go of the remorse in her chest. Cautiously drawing the door opened, she saw Elijah, impassive and vacuous in front of her, with a packet of tissues in his hands.

"Whatcha doin’ here?" She tripped over her words, not knowing that the walls of the motel were so thin that he could have heard her crying. She thought she was being quiet about it, not wanting to disturb anybody.

But then again, she had probably lost control in the middle of her outpouring. Her yearning for Isaiah was just too breaking on her spirit.

"To shut you up." He droned and handed her the tissue packet but did not leave. For some unknown reason, he lingered on. She split the plastic covering opened in the middle and drew out a piece, thanking him with a slight, strained smile.

Dabbing at her eyes, she sniffed a little but was feeling too self-conscious to blow her nose in front of him. For an awkward moment, she did not what to do. To say goodbye or just close the door in his face, for like a statue, he just stood there, watching her with expressionless sight.

"Hmm… sorry about that… guess I don’t know my own decibel." She shrugged and stepped aside, letting him in. He entered her room unceremoniously and sat down on her bed.

"So…" The word was being dragged out as she shut the door and glanced at him, knowing how haggard she must have appeared with her tear-streaked face and ruined make up. "Hmmm…"

"I just came to tell you to turn in early. It’s a long drive back to Manhattan for you tomorrow morning." Elijah saved her from her stammers and though she knew he meant as well as he could possibly muster, the patience in her just snapped.

"It’s not that easy, all right? I’m not like you! I don’t dismiss my sadness as another stupid emotion to drown away! Yah, you keep telling me to go back to Isaiah and I am hoping to go back to Isaiah with you! I know the case is important but this is how I feel. That you should… just… talk to him. Maybe I can’t reach him but you can! I know you can and all you do is… is…" She stopped, lost for words. If all he did was nothing, nothing could be said. However, he did do something. He got his act together to work on the case- alone. Right after Isaiah slipped away from them into a coma. What was he trying to prove? Was he trying to avenge Isaiah?

And it was not sadness that she was feeling. It was the dreaded feeling of being alone. She was lonely and whenever she felt like she was doing a solo, lonesome dance, she could always count on Isaiah to engage her into a slow, intimate waltz. She could call him and no matter where he was, if he was not embroiled in another damn terrorist sighting or something, he would rush over with her favorite Chinese take-out and they would drive to some private spot and he would just let her hold him until she could feel his presence creep into her skin and complete her.

He completed her.

Elijah was wrong. Isaiah was not wishy-washy. Isaiah was just quiet on some matters while he thought it through in his mind and looked at it from every angle until he was satisfied. And he always wanted to marry her. He must had looked at all perspectives and seen nothing but beauty- no matter if it was flawed or perfect.

"I just miss him. How can you not?" She sat down next to him and buried her face in her hands. Tears, she was so sick of them.

"I hate him! I hate him for just sleeping and leaving me here wondering! I hate it. It’s only a couple of days and I hate it. What if he sleeps forever? I can’t… I can’t watch… I can’t stand it… I can’t be alone… can’t be alone, lonely for him…" She sputtered through her sobs as the ice-block next to her just listened without a word.

An arm was placed around her shoulders and suddenly, without warning, he turned and drew her close. That stopped her from crying as her heart pounded in her chest, not knowing what to make of his atypical show of affection. Thinking that he had a fuse that shorted suddenly, she was afraid to move, afraid to even make a sound; a whimper. With her breathing frozen by shock, her mind spun many explanations for his weird behavior.

Gently, he pulled her slightly away and with his hands still on her shoulders, he gazed into her and smiled. She sucked in a deep breath. Her startle now was for another reason besides irrational fear. His eyes, those deep blue eyes like the ocean shone with the reflection of the night stars; their sight cast far away from the present world. And the smile, it was not the usual cynical sneer.

There was something ethereal about it, something to be cherished like a drop of an angel’s tears.

She thought she saw some beauty in his heart that finally illuminated his sculptured white-clay face. Night sapphire eyes widened then with something innocent; wistful.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward slightly. She was hypnotized as much as she was mesmerized. Naively, she thought he was probably going to say something sweet and comforting to her. Maybe he was not such a glacier after all.

His lips planted a kiss on her forehead.

She gasped and noise from her sharp intake of breath woke him from the dream her words must have lulled him into earlier. His eyes flashed and he glared at her; his hands gripped her shoulders so hard that she winced.

"Hey! Stop that! It hurts, damn you!" She pushed him away and stood up abruptly, wiping the unwanted kiss away from her forehead while fuming at being outraged. "You pervert!" She bellowed and took a step back, ready to kick his groin if necessary.

He was angry as well but the more she watched him carefully with threatening eyes, the more she felt that the anger was directly at himself. Letting out a guttural growl, he punched a fist hard into the bed. Knowing how destructive he could be and not wanting to pay gold for derisory furniture, she ran to the door and threw it open.

He stood up and just when she thought he got the idea, he drew a sleeve back and punched the wall just behind the headboard with such brutality and force that it shook her, literally. A slight smear of blood could be visibly seen against the stark whiteness of the wall and she gazed at his fist and as her sight traveled up his exposed hand, her brows raised and a breath choked her.

For she saw that his forearm was riddled with scars- a canvas that knife so cruelly carved out. Some scars seemed to be freshly reopened or inflicted. It was then she realized that Elijah never wore any clothes that would expose his limbs. He would always be in his usual working suit or, when the weather became too unbearable, a sweatshirt.

Never had she gave it anymore thought than that of personal fashion style. Now, she knew the reason why.

"Gosh…" Her hand reached out as if to touch the wounds but he was too far away, at the other side of the room. She wished Isaiah was there instead, Isaiah would know what to do, would know how to let those big-brother instincts that he wrenchingly suppressed take over. She did not know with what pen or plot Fate wrote her life with such that, somehow, she was always the sole witness to Elijah’s outburst.

And she could not handle it- helpless in her lack of understanding.

He glowered at her with narrowed eyes- eyes that shot chilling electricity through her veins. Threatening her. He was threatening her with soundless menace for her to keep her mouth shut at what her eyes had seen.

She gulped as he brushed past her and walked out of the door. But he did not go back to his room. Pausing for only less than a second, he raced down the stairs instead.

***

He drove recklessly and aimlessly in the rented Toyota around Eaeshore, chewing on his left thumb’s nail. Why did he even enter her room? Could not he just pass her the tissue and leave? Halfway through her rant on loneliness, she resurrected a ghost from his past and somehow, all that happened afterwards, were all lost to him, with only the remembrance of kissing her loitering behind, giving voice to the Judas in his mind.

But he was not kissing her, no, he was kissing the apparition that danced before his eyes, seducing him with its tears; hypocrite’s tears. The apparition who won his heart and bare his soul- the two items which he jealously hid from everybody for motives unknown even to him. After she had her fun, she trampled on them with her Ferragamo stilettos, gloating and laughing at his broken pathetic pleas, making him feel cheaper and further tainted than he already was.

"Damn!" Elijah cussed out loud when words failed him. He pulled the car to a sudden stop and leaned back against the rough, cushioned seat. Breathing in deeply, he suddenly chuckled. For all his iciness that everybody seemed to hate and took as a personal offense to themselves, he might be fired and saddled with heavy compensation for a vastly different reason instead- sexual harassment.

Soaking in his surroundings, he realized that he was back at the small little café where he and Isaiah shared a few meals together out of necessity. The café which was just right in front of the car park where Isaiah got shot.

"Never saw it coming…" he whispered as a sudden thought hit him. The high voltage of excitable knowledge shocked his system, pushing him into action.

Elijah threw open the car door and strode purposefully towards the small café.

It was closed for the night. Glancing at his watch, Elijah saw that it was already slightly past one in the morning. Along the whole stretch of the lane the café was situated it there was only one flickering streetlamp guarding it gloomily with its dying light. Thus, the café, at the outer orbit of the circular halo of artificial light benefited more from the omnipresent moonshine which, on that night, was wanting.

Elijah knew the velvet darkness would shield him from discovery.

He quickly did a final check with his penlight and saw that the café was not protected by any cameras or alarms as he was trained to identify in most common shapes and forms. Using his lock-pick, he fiddled with the lock and was surprised to find it extremely simple- too simple for a commercial premise or any kind.

Eaeshore must have been an extremely boring town with no extraordinary happenings prior to the killings. So mundane and insipid that everyone took safety and routine for granted and precautions measures against even the simplest crimes were not taken. Creeping inside the cafe, he shut the door gently behind him and flashed his penlight at the usual table which he and Isaiah would sit, joined once by Lynn.

He made his way to the table with careful haste. Clicking his penlight off because it was no longer necessary and would only be a liability if he allowed it to pierce sharply into the blackness for longer than needed, he pocketed it back and found himself much happier without its aid. Once again, he was at home with the night.

Running his hands underneath the table, he felt an alien lump, no bigger than perhaps two cm in diameter stuck somewhere in the centre. Pulling it out, he realized it was planted there- a magnetic bug.