Here is my new story. The Phantom of the Opera is owned by Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lydd Weber and thus I own nothing, but the plot of this story. This story is a mix of the musical/movie and the orignal book. Thank you to my wonderful BETAer for helping me craft this story. So, please enoy. :)

A lump formed in her throat as she stared at the ruins of the once grand Opera Populaire. The frame of the building had somehow remained intact though the once polished walls had darkened and had begun to crumble from the damage of the large fire three months ago. Christine Daae's eyes grew wide.

Had it only been three months? It felt like another lifetime. There had been rumors that it would be restored in all its grandeur, burying the ghosts of the past.

She shook her head as the sorrowful reality came to light. It would never be the same as it had been.

Apprehensively, she glanced over her shoulder, but the carriage that delivered her had vanished back into the hustle and bustle just beyond the perimeters of the opera house; the driver perhaps not wanting to be near the haunted place. Still, she could not stop the feeling that he wanted his distance from her as well.

Since she had returned with Raoul to the country estate, most of the servants had kept their distance from her. Raoul had reassured her that it was only a customary social order. Nonetheless, she could not help, but feel that the servants hated her for having risen above them overnight with all those cold stares she received when they served dinner. Yet, pity also shone in their eyes each time they caught her by the grand piano in the parlor.

Christine shook her head, pushing those thoughts away as she coughed into her handkerchief. It was all in her overly active imagination and there were more pressing matters to attend too. The driver had said he would return in an hour's time. She had to move quickly. Taking a deep breath, she pushed onward and entered the place she had once called home.

Fragments of light filtered through the broken windows, illuminating the faded white and pink colors as she stepped into the foyer. Dust hung around her as she moved forward. Her footsteps echoed across the marble floor as she silently made her way toward the theater. Each step seemed to match her racing heart the closer she drew to the doors.

She paused and stared inside the once grand auditorium, unable to remember the last time she had been on this side of the room looking up at the stage. She had loved the anticipation just before a performance as she hid backstage with the others: watching and listening as the lights would dim and the chatter of voices quieted to a hushed silence, everyone waiting with baited breath for the curtain to rise. Even when she had been in the chorus, the stage had been hers, a place where she and the music became one.

Only now the music had died.

Quickly, she averted her gaze, her hand resting on her throat as another cough echoed throughout the silent the hall. Closing her eyes, she could still hear the audience's screams of terror before she and the Phantom had fallen down below into the cellars. It was those same cellars that were her destination as she turned and made her way through the dark, dusty, and deathly silent corridors. Even in the off season, the house was filled with laughter, chatter, and most of all music from the company.

She shivered.

It had vanished and was now only a tomb of unheard music where the ghosts of the past still lingered in the halls. The once familiar passageways had become a labyrinth nearly as complex as the catacombs which ran beneath the building. Fallen timbers had blocked some of them while others barricaded certain rooms. She only prayed that Carlotta's old room had remained untouched as she continued further down the dark route.

Releasing a sigh of relief, she smiled to herself at having found the diva's dressing room unharmed. Quietly, she slipped inside, lit a tiny candle enclosed in glass, and moved over to the mirror and paused, staring at her reflection. She could still remember the first evening her angel had appeared to her through this very mirror after her success at the gala. He had come and taken her down to his lair where he introduced her to his passionate, heavenly music.

She longed to call out for him, but how did she even know he would be there to answer her? It had been three months since the great disaster. How could she expect him to still be here? Surely he would have gone into hiding to escape the mob. There had been no news of his death in the paper, unless the authorities had wished to keep it a private matter. She shook her head. No, he was still alive.

Carefully, she moved her hand down the gold frame of the mirror until her fingers hit something hard midway down.

Ah, so that is how he does it. A small smile twitched at the comers of her lips before another cough racked her body. Soon, it subsided as she undid the latch and slipped into the dark and damp passageway. A shiver ran down her spine. It was so different than the golden glow she had seen her first evening.

Taking a deep breath, she started down the empty gray corridor, leaving the mirror ajar to allow at least some light to shine through and guide her, each step taking her deeper into the darkness. After a few minutes, she paused, resting against one the walls. She glanced over her shoulder; the light from behind the mirror had dimmed into a tiny speck within the dense blackness.

How much further could she go without becoming hopelessly lost? She turned back to the path before her. Her eyes squinted trying in vain to see what lay ahead of her. There were no visible sign to indicate what was hidden within the tunnels depths.

"What are you doing here?" A rich, silky voice asked from behind her, a trace of confusion and irritation beneath his words.

Christine's heart leapt in her chest at the sound of his voice.

It was the same voice which still haunted her thoughts and dreams. Indeed at times it had seemed as though he was there with her at the estate calling her and pleading with her to sing for him once more. Each time it had only just been her wild imagination playing tricks on her mind. She tried to turn around, but something kept her frozen to the spot, her mouth dry.

A low chuckle met her ears. "Ah, so even in this darkness you cannot stand to speak to the monster, is that it?"

She cringed at the cruel mockery in his tone. She swallowed hard and shook her head. A blush crept onto her cheeks as she remembered that he could not see her.

Biting her lip, she turned around, her arms flailing out in front of her, yet her fingers only closed around air. Was he not just here beside her? Another rough cough escaped from her throat as she looked wildly around the dark.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

She tried to speak, but the words would not come. Perhaps this was a mistake after all.

"I believe I told you once never to wander here alone. Less worthy souls have become lost forever in this darkness. Let us return you to your world of light, my sweet, Mademoiselle."

A gloved hand slid into hers and began to gently pull her back the way she had come.

She yearned to speak, but his voice had left no room for objections. Still, her mind raced with questions. What was he still doing here? How had he escaped the mob? How had he survived since then?

Before she knew it, they stood back in the former diva's room. As quickly as his hand had slid into hers, its presence vanished, her fingers again curling around air. She looked about the room as though she was still lost in the dark passage, the flickering, dim light still concealing him in the dark.

Had he truly been there at all? He had to have been. Even her active imagination could not fool her senses of sound, sight and touch. She tried to watch him, feeling his presence rather than seeing him as he moved about the room from one table to another.

As though reading her thoughts, he said, "Let us have some more light, as I recall you are afraid of the dark, oui?"

Christine blushed faintly at the mention of the childish fear she had not overcome. He had always been so considerate to her, never making her feel foolish.

The sound of a match being struck and then a flicker of a single flame, unbound by glass, danced in front of her; its light seeming to bounce off the walls.

Her hand flew to her heart as her breath began to come in short, gasping waves. She could feel the heat of the flames on her neck and feel the smoke suffocating her, her heart racing as she tried to cover her mouth from inhaling the dangerous toxins in the air. In the distance, she heard someone calling her name asking after her welfare, but she could not answer. She felt a warm gloved hand slide around her waist, holding her up just as she slipped into darkness.

XxX

Erik's heart jumped as she swooned against him, her head now resting gently upon his chest. His right hand gripped her waist tight as he tried to think past all the chaos in his mind. Was he truly such a monster that he had scared her in the light of the candle?

Apprehensively, he reached up with his free hand to the left side of his face, his fingertips grazing the hard material of his mask. Even with it on, did he frighten her so? No…even in his fits of rage, she had never been frightened by his appearance in such a way. Yet, why had she come back?

Quietly, he tried to rouse her, by calling her name and shaking her, but nothing worked.

"Oh Christine…why? What has happened?" he muttered.

Throwing the match away, he scooped her up in his arms, bridal style. His heart swelled at having her so close, her sweet perfume filling his nose as he breathed in deeply. He turned and moved over to the bed. It had once been a room fit for a queen, but now only the filthy ruins remained.

Gingerly, he laid her down on the worn pink coverlet. He watched her shift and turn as though in a fitful slumber, but dared not to wake her too soon.

What had happened to her? That fateful night, he had released her and the little Vicomte de Changy to happiness. Or so he had thought. If they were so happy, why had Christine come back…alone? Had something happened between the two lovers?

Uncertain, he reached out and grabbed her hand tenderly in his, muttering soothing words to her.

A low moan escaped her lips as she blinked, coming back into consciousness.

Erik released her hand, jumping back into the shadows, silently watching her.

The hand which he had held rose and rested against her head as she pushed herself up, her large brown eyes scanning the chamber as though to remind herself where she was. Her gaze soon rested upon the spot where he hid, a spark of something unnamed in her eyes, as though she could see him through the darkness.

Clearing his throat, he called out to her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded just before a coughing fit came on.

Erik felt his foot take a small step forward, but paused as she held up her free hand in his direction. He waited, anxiously, until the coughing passed.

Christine gingerly placed her hand against her throat, averting her gaze from him.

Erik stared at her, concern filling his heart. "What's wrong, Christine? Why did you pass out?"

She opened her mouth then closed it as though searching for the correct words. Each second seemed to last an eternity as he waited for an answer.

Finally, she looked up at him, but her eyes were now filled with such a sorrow that he could not comprehend.

A million questions burned on the tip of his tongue, but only one slipped out. "What happened, Christine?"

She gulped and glanced around the room until her gaze settled on the mirror passage. A far off look came across her face as she began to speak. "The mob was coming…Raoul did not want to get lost in…the catacombs and there was only one way to escape…up into the fire." She paused and swallowed. "It…was so hot and…the fumes made it…so hard to see…and the smoke…filled my lungs…and my vocal chords-"

"No!" The snarl of denial escaped his lips as he tried to block out the implications of her words.

Yet, he could hear it in her voice when she had spoken. It was no longer the light, angelic soprano he had trained for years, but a stranger's rough, broken one. He stumbled back, trying to grab hold of something to steady himself as he stared at her. In every other way, she was still his Christine, but the voice he had crafted and treasured was gone. His gaze fell to the floor, unable to look at her.

He heard Christine slowly rise from the bed. "Please…don't be upset…Angel."

Erik apprehensively glanced over at her. Anger swelled inside his heart at his own pride as her words ran through his mind, his fingers curling to fists. He was beyond his one chance to make Christine his, he had robbed her of the one the thing they both cherished… her musical voice.

He took a deep breath, fighting to remain calm and controlled. "Why…have you come back?"

Christine shifted, her hands twisting together from nerves. Her eyes lowered to her lap while her body began to tremble. Did she truly fear him? Once more, he felt his temper rise in frustration. He opened his mouth to question her again, but paused as the sound of a choked sob met his ears.

"I…had to come back…to hear the music or at least feel the presence of it again." She gulped and looked away from him. "Music for Raoul's family is only for social gatherings and meant to be in the background."

And yet did the boy and his family pretend to be patrons of the arts? He felt the mocking words upon his tongue but restrained himself from voicing them.

She had sought him out for comfort not for such comments. Slowly, he knelt down and reached out to touch her, to console her. His hand rested upon her arm and she did not pull away.

Tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear, she looked at him. "You are not mad at me?"

Erik shook his head, a growing sense of self-loathing forming in his chest. How could he blame her when he in his recklessness had caused the whole disaster to begin with?

Though he would never admit his folly vocally, the weight of blame still rested upon his shoulders at having single-handedly destroyed everything he had ever loved…including his most precious.

He stared up at her. "Non…I could never be angry at you, Christine. I have only one question. Why did you come back? The life of a Vicomtesse would be a dream most girls would envy, with not a care in the world for anything again. A life any father would wish for their daughters."

Christine's head snapped up, her back straightening in defiance. "My father cared for none of that. Music was life itself for both of us. It was why he asked Madame Giry to bring me to the Opera House to begin with." Another short burst of coughing and then a deep sigh.

"Pardon me; I only sought to speak to a friend. The only one who would listen and has always listened to me even as a troublesome child who was foolish enough to believe in such stories as the Angel of Music. You were always there for me when I needed it most… but I should go…" She stood, dusting off her blue gown. "It was foolish of me to come."

She turned on her heel and made her way to the door.

Erik sighed and shook his head. Oh…Christine why are you torturing me so?

He had made the choice to release her to happiness, but now she was here again. Rising to his feet, he asked, "So that is it? Now that you have unburdened yourself you can go back to your precious boy guilt free?"

She hesitated, her hand resting upon the door. "Non, I…I cannot give you want you want."

He made no reply, uncertain of her meaning.

Slowly, she turned halfway around. "You…when you brought me to the lake…." She coughed and continued. "At the lake the first time, you said you needed and wanted me to perform your music for the world to hear. I cannot do that anymore." Her whole body began to tremble from the sorrow which seemed to fill her heart at having spoken the words out loud.

Erik took a step forward. "Non, my dear, you have nothing to feel ashamed of." He paused, deep in thought. After a moment, he said, "And you will be able to sing again."

Her head snapped up, her face tearstained. "What…it's not…"

"Possible? My dear, you must know that the Phantom is all about making things possible. Was it not I who helped raise you to stardom when most others thought you a mere chorus girl…an impossible feat, non?"

A soft, weary smile crossed her face. "Oui, I suppose so, but…how?"

"I have a few remedies which will help to heal your throat and from there we can work on your singing again."

"But where-"

"It would be best that it is done here. The medicines required need to be prepared in such a way that it would not do to be anywhere else."

Christine took two steps back, her mouth slightly agape. "Oh…I cannot go with you…at the moment at least."

Erik took a step forward. Was she merely toying with him after all? Was it the boy or her fear of him that kept her switching her mind at each turn?

He fought to keep his temper under control. "What do you mean, my dear? Do you not wish to even try it?"

"Non, it's only that I promised the driver I would only be an hour." She glanced over at the tipped over clock. "And it's close to that time."

Erik glanced at the clock and said nothing. Time meant little to him. He could disappear before a driver would be able to secure the horses. An entire mob had not been able to find him down in his realm beneath the Opera House.

As though reading his thoughts, she said, "I simply do not wish for another mob to come hunt you down."

"And why would that occur? Most believe me to be dead, including I imagine your precious Vicomte." He spit out the last two words in disgust.

"Angel, please….let me go and speak to him, saying I need some fresh air and time to myself. I am certain he will not deny me that."

"And if he wishes to accompany you?"

She brought her handkerchief up, averting her eyes.

Erik frowned. It would be so simple to take her into his arms and bring her down to his home, never letting her go. Damn the consequences. He had escaped the little Vicomte's traps before and he could do it again with ease. If he let her go, how could he be certain she would return as she claimed?

Non, it's not reasonable, he told himself. You already tried keeping her against her will.

His lips tingled with the remembrance of her lips freely pressing against his in an act of…pity, compassion? He had known it was not love she had felt, but still the memory warmed his heart. He could not break his own vow to her by forcefully dragging her back into the darkness now.

"Do you truly wish to resume our lessons as it were?" he asked.

Again, she nodded, though her eyes still did not meet his.

"Very well." He moved over, opened the door, and swung his arm out. "After you."

The two traveled back to the main foyer in silence; both of them lost in their own thoughts.

While a part of him was planning their lessons, another part of him was savoring every moment. Over the many years of isolation, he had dreamed of this very thing: walking out in the world with a woman by his side. With the Opera House deserted, he did not have to hide in the shadows when he wished to be near Christine. It was such a simple activity that most did not waste thought on, but he cherished each step he took as they strode down the corridors side by side.

Yet, the dream could not last.

Sunlight floated through the entrance doors.

In an instant, he slipped away from her side, pressing himself behind a pillar, retreating back into the shadows.

"What is it?" Christine asked, startled by his sudden departure. She began to look over at him. "Is something-?"

"Look ahead." He watched her turn her attention back to the entrance. He took a deep breath. "When you come, go to the chapel where you first heard your angel. I will be waiting. Go now; I believe your driver is here."

She nodded, tried to calm a cough, and then hurried outside without another word.

Erik turned, peeking out of a small window, and watched from his hiding place as she stepped up and disappeared into the enclosed carriage. With a slap of the reins, the horses pulled away from the curb and drove back into the bustling city.

His fingers clenched as he turned away from the window, leaning against the wall. Would she return? All her actions had spoken of her delivering honest answers. Even as a child she could not hide anything from him if her words were false. Still, the doubts would not be silent in his mind.

If she lied to him, she would feel the wrath of the Phantom as she had that fateful night.

He shook those thoughts away. For the time being, he had other matters to see about. His home beside the lake did not offer good places for medical supplies to be grown or kept.

He mentally ran down a list of proper herbs and other plants which would be the most useful when she returned. The plants he required were not so easily available in markets or hospitals. Wordlessly, he turned, retracing his steps back down to his home. He first needed his cloak and then he would pay a visit to an old friend who had traveled with him across the globe.

Should I continue? Please let me know what you think as reviews help me to write. :) Again, a huge thanks to my BETAer. More coming soon if you think I should continue with this story. :)