Mirror Images, Book Two

by wanderingchat

The images of POTO refracts from the movie in this part of the story, as the triagle between Raoul, Christine, and Erik gets more complicated.

PART TWO

Three months had passed since Erik suffered the brutal blow to his heart and soul of Christine's betrayal. For the first week after Buquet's death, he had worked at his organ like a man possessed, not eating or sleeping, just working on his music, trying to find solace, but only finding loneliness and despair.

After a full week of no word from Erik, which was a highly unusual event, Mme Giry ventured to the lair to check on him. She found an exhausted, gaunt shadow of a man hovering over the organ, playing music that both thrilled and depressed her.

Gently, but firmly, Mme Giry removed her old friend's hands from the keys, and forced him to turn to look at her. His eyes were red from the many tears he had shed, his face unshaved, his clothes unkempt. If she hadn't known better, she'd had thought Erik had been on a week long alcohol binge!

"Mon ami! You MUST stop this! You're going to kill yourself if you keep this up!" She cried, hoping her words would reach the sharp mind she knew was buried somewhere in his misery.

Unseeing eyes burned into her own, searching but mocking. "As if anyone cares whether I live or die!" His voice was hoarse, he tried to remove his hands from hers, but he couldn't find the strength to do so. "Leave me alone!"

"Non! I will not leave you alone. I care! I've always cared! I would not have helped you flee the authorities all those years ago! It is your distress that makes you talk this way, and it is not like you!"

Erik shrugged away from her, not caring that he was trying to hurt the only friend he had in the world. "What do you know of my distress?" he cried harshly.

"Do you think I am blind and deaf? I know what went on the night of Buquet's death! Christine looks to me as a mother, and told me of her feelings for the Vicomte, and his for her! I knew that if you learned of this you would be devastated, but not to this extent!"

She opened her arms to him, and Erik lay his weary head against her shoulder, accepting her mothering love and empathy for what they were, his body shuddering with the sobs he fought to keep inside. "I can't lose her! I just can't!"

"I know, Cherie, but you cannot win her if you continue in this manner. Come, you need to rest," she half led-half carried him to the swan bed, where only a few days before, he had laid Christine to recover from her faint. The pillow still held a hint of her perfume.

"Rest, now. I will be here when you awake," Mme Giry crooned soothingly to him, much as she often sang to Meg and Christine when they were smaller and had been frightened by a bad dream. "Go to sleep," she continued, her hand gently brushing his hair from his brow. His skin hot to her touch, even though the lair was a bit cool. She drew a cover over him, and within moments, his breathing was deep and even as he fell into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, Erik felt better than he had since the night of Buquet's murder. He felt less depressed and more focused than ever before. Just because Christine had declared "love" for the Vicomte did not mean that she was forever lost to him, and a plan had come to him during his sleep. A plan that would make Christine his forever.

"Ah, you are awake, and hungry as well, I suspect," came a voice from behind him. He sat up, surprised that he felt so weak, to find Mme Giry holding a tray, which she placed on a nearby table. She helped him sit up in the bed, and plumped up the pillows so he could recline comfortably.

"You look better than the last time I saw you awake, if you can call what you were at the time as awake," she added, helping him settle back against the pillows. "You were quite a mess."

To his relief, she placed the tray, containing a bowl of soup, some bread, and a plate of other light items on his lap, instead of trying to feed him like an invalid. "Thank you for looking in on me. I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble."

"Bah!" she waived off his apology like swatting a fly. "Worry and concern, yes. Trouble? Non! Depending upon your definition of trouble. " Though she was speaking in a light manner, he could hear the great amount of concern for him that lay beneath the banter.

"You are too good to me, sometimes," he replied contritely. "I take it you know what has happened?"

"Yes, Christine is enamored of her childhood sweetheart, and the feelings are reciprocated. You thought you'd been shut out, and that caused your depression. I believe you still have a chance, but you cannot dictate people's feelings, my friend. You can guide, and hope, but where free will is involved, the outcome is not always resolutely what you demand it to be. Christine is young, and she is in love with the idea of being in love. She knew the Vicomte from years ago, and it is that happier time that she is clinging to. You know she has always been this way."

He nodded affirmatively. How well he knew that to be true.

"If you wish to win her, you must prove yourself worthy of her. Youhave to find a way to remind her of all that you have meant to her these many years!"

He listened intently to his friend, while enjoying the dinner she had brought. It wasn't so light as to leave him wanting, but not heavy nor rich enough to make his stomach upset. There was a lot of truth and wisdom in Mme Giry's advice. .

"What do you intend to do?" she asked, when he had remained silent for some time.

"I'd rather not say," he replied. "Not because I don't trust you, but that I need time to plan. How long was I out?"

"You've slept an entire day, but you made no contact for well over a week. As far as Buquet's death, it's been ruled an accident caused by his overuse of alcohol. However, that has not kept the 'Phantom of the Opera' from gaining another legend."

Erik sat in thought for a moment. "I appreciate this, more than you can know. As far as the opera house is concerned, OG will indeed seem to have disappeared for awhile. You will continue to keep me posted on events that occur, if you would. I promise to remain in contact more frequently this time. When the time is right, the Phantom of the Opera WILL appear again, and reclaim ALL that is rightfully his!"

The Calm before the Storm

Christine was happier than she'd ever remembered. Three months had passed since the night she and Raoul had pledged their love to each other. Each day was a new adventure in contentment and fulfillment with him. Meanwhile, it seemed that her teacher, the one time Angel of Music, had departed the Opera Populaire. Nothing had been heard nor seen of him since Buquet's death, a death which had been ruled an accident, yet Christine continued to believe otherwise, though she kept her thoughts to herself.

Though she was no longer receiving lessons from her teacher, Christine continued to practice, keeping her voice at the performance level her teacher had demanded of her, and that she demanded of herself.

Every day she spent with Raoul, she also spent wrestling with inner demons of her own. She had no doubt that he loved her, but she did sometimes doubt that she could belong to his world. She was not born of the aristocracy, despite her father's musical ability. Once her mother had died, their existence was hand to mouth, and they often wandered from one town to another as Gustaave sought work. It wasn't until a particular patron took an interest in Gustaave, and set him up with the Paris symphony that Christine enjoyed any kind of a normal home life.

She feared Raoul's family and friends might look down upon her, but he did not share her fears. "They will accept you as I do, or they will do without me," he had told her more than once. When she considered the alternative, living the life that she believed the Phantom wanted her to lead with him, she felt more determined than ever to believe Raoul could make her his wife, and they could be happy.

Therefore, when he asked her to marry him, about a week before the Bal Masque, she accepted eagerly, but with one condition, that the engagement remain a secret between them. Despite the Phantom's continued absence, she still felt his presence whenever Raoul was absent. She feared the Phantom's reaction to her engagement, and wanted to put off that reckoning for as long as possible.

Raoul naturally was confused and unhappy with the idea, but he agreed to keep their engagement secret, for awhile, because of his love for her. He knew she still feared the man who had been her teacher, but he felt those fears were groundless. The man was just that, a man, and obsessed with a woman. Men, the Vicomte had learned, could always be dealt with, and the so called Opera Ghost was no exception.

Meantime, they looked forward to the gala, and the time they would spend together, one of many functions they would later enjoy as man and wife.

Firmin and Andre, were also looking forward to the Bal Masque, and were very pleased with their current situation. For three months, the Opera Ghost had not plagued them with notes demanding a monthly stipend, commanding certain people be disciplined or re-trained or rewarded depending upon their performance, or otherwise interfering in their management of the theatre. They had successfully freed themselves from his malevolent oversight, the continued nightly sell outs at the box office proof of their ability to run things their own way. They enjoyed their freedom, at long last, and the Bal Masque was going to be their crowning celebration of achievement!

Carlotta and Ubaldo were enjoying themselves, now that the annoying pranks designed to remove Carlotta from the prima donna spot in favor of Christine Daae had come to an end. Carlotta was once again in her element, and often took great delight in reminding Christine that she was now relegated back to the chorus, where Carlotta believed the ingenue belonged. Carlotta made no secret of her wish for the managers to banish Christine Daae for all the trouble she had indirectly caused. That, Carlotta stated often, would be very sweet satisfaction!

Ubaldo, did little to dissuade his wife from tormenting the hapless soprano. His was the opinion that anything that made his wife happy, made him happy. Though he did at times feel some sympathy for the girl, his loyalty lay with his diva and wife, and he kept his counsel to himself.

The last three months had passed quickly for Erik, and his opera was ready to be presented. At first, he had no idea what he could do about Christine giving her heart to another man, much less alleviating her fears not only for his disfigurement, but of his being the embodiment of the famed Opera Ghost, despite his assurances to Mme Giry to the contrary. As he continued to work on his opera, Don Juan Triumphant, an idea did take form.

When Mme Giry told him of the upcoming Bal Masque to celebrate the New Year, Erik knew it would be the perfect time to appear once again as the Opera Ghost. He planned to spirit Christine away from the opera house, and from her sweetheart. In doing so, he could take all the time necessary to bring her to an understanding that he was not the ogre she believed him to be.

The Bal Masque would be a good time for him to deliver his finished opera to the managers and remind them that HE was the true force behind the opera house's success and they were merely the tools that carried out his decisions. Though he intended to put the persona of the Opera Ghost to rest, he still needed to ensure that the Opera Populaire would continue to flourish for Christine's sake. By the end of the Bal Masque, not only would he leave an indelible impression upon the managers, but upon Christine as well.

The Bal Masque

It was a grand celebration! All Parisian upper society was present and MMS Firmin and Andre were in their element. With no contact from the Opera Ghost, they were happy. Everyone present was in good spirits as they gathered to celebrate a successful season past and the advent of a new year.

There had been rumors that the Daae woman and the Vicomte had been seeing a lot of each other, which came as no surprise to the managers, as they firmly believed that the ingenue's disappearance on gala night was from her liaison with the Vicomte, and nothing more. If the Vicomte wanted to wed the singer, that was his business. It would certainly be a help to the managers, but they kept their opinions quiet and secretly hoped that a union between the pair would come to pass.

Erik stood at the top of the stairs, resplendent in an outfit of blood red jacket, cape and pants. The only contrasts were his white death's head mask and his black leather knee boots. His silver skull's head sword rested at his side, and in the crook of his arm, lay the black leather-bound opera he'd composed. He watched as the party goers sang and danced, his attention particularly captured by a certain young couple.

As he'd planned, the trick candles he'd put in the rotunda candelabra during the night suddenly winked out, leaving the large room in near darkness. Only those candles held by the golden-painted men and women along the balcony, and beyond the rotunda itself gave illumination to the room. The musicians ceased their playing, and all eyes turned to him.

"The Phantom of the Opera!" whispered many of the gathered party-goers, as he sedately surveyed the throng below him.

Slowly, deliberately, he walked down the stairs. He had seen Christine dancing earlier with the Vicomte, and witnessed his lover's kiss to her. It made him more determined to take her away with him, so that Christine could come to know him for the man, not the legendary spectre.

"Why so silent good Monsieurs?" His voice held a sarcastic sneer as his blazing eyes surveyed the silent throng. "Did you think that I had left you for good? Have you missed me good Monsieurs? I have written you an opera! Here I bring the finished score; Don Juan Triumphant! " He threw the black leather portfolio to the landing below him, right in front of the managers, drawing his sword with a flourish.

He couldn't resist taunting Carlotta, Piangi and the managers. They cowered in fear of him, even as they bristled with anger at his comments. The sight of his sharp sword, the faint candlelight flickering over the metal gave them cause to refrain from responding. He saw Mme Giry standing off to the side with her daughter, Meg, then turned his attention upon his one time student.

"As for our star, Miss Christine Daae, '' he continued, his voice taunt with silken menace, "no doubt she'll do her best. It's true her voice is good, she knows, though, should she wish to excel, she has much more to learn. If pride will let her return to me, her teacher. . ."

He stared intently at her, his eyes betraying to her the feelings that his voice tried to hide. He wanted her to come to him, and his eyes entreated her to do so. He had watched the Vicomte flee from her side the moment he had started down the stairs, and he felt sure that his plan was going to work. He moved to her, his eyes never leaving hers, as slowly, almost inexorably, Christine started moving up the stairs toward him.

"...her teacher," he said again, softly this time. His voice almost a caress.

They moved closer and closer to each other. He was breathing hard, and he was shaking with nervousness. Ever closer to each other they moved, until they were face to face on the same step. He looked deep into her eyes, searching for what he had seen there weeks ago in his lair after she had embraced him. .

Christine couldn't take her eyes from the man who had once been her guide, guardian, and teacher. Her heart ached as he had tormented Carlotta and Piangi, even though she secretly enjoyed their getting some of the treatment they had given to her! Still, she could hear the deep anguish beneath the taunting voice, and while she feared him, she felt that same deep emotion she had felt after she'd unmasked him.

She crept up each step as if in a dream, unaware of the astonished looks of the people around her, and not knowing nor caring that Raoul had left her side. She even forgot that the ring she wore on a chain around her neck was visible to all and sundry. All she knew was the beseeching gaze of the man in red before her.

Soon they were face to face on the same step, their eyes hungrily taking stock of each other. His gaze was caught by the flash of fire at her neckline, he looked down to see the thin gold chain, and the jewel that hung from it; a large diamond ring, symbol of a promise given and accepted.

Erik felt that old familiar rage boil within him. 'Betrayed again?' he glanced quickly at Mme Giry, wondering if she had kept this news from him. No, he decided just as quickly, she would not have done that. She protected him from hurt, but she had never deliberately kept anything about Christine from him before.

He waged an inward, unseen battle to keep his anger at bay, but he was too hurt by the sight of that blasted ring! 'I must keep calm! I must remember what I've come to do!' he raged to himself, struggling to keep his mind clear, his focus on the plan he'd carefully concocted. But his pride won out, and his hand seemed to reach out on its' own volition. He felt like an onlooker, unable to prevent himself from grasping the chain and pulling it from Christine's neck.

"Your chains are still mine! You belong to me!" he grated, shaking the chained ring in his clenched fist with the fury he could barely contain.

Audible gasps rose from the gathered men and women surrounding them. Christine's eyes widened in fear and disappointment at his action. Erik saw out of the corner of his eye that the Vicomte was rushing back, buckling a sword belt to his side as he ran down the hallway.

Erik knew he had to abandon his plan immediately. There would be another time to remove Christine from the young man's influence, but now was the time to make his departure. And a grand one it would be!

He turned from the stricken singer, his cape billowing about him as he strode back to the landing. He quickly drew a pellet from his pocket while drawing the cape about him. In a quick motion, he threw the pellet to the ground, causing a great flash of firelight and red smoke to billow about him just as a trap door opened beneath him, and he dropped to the floor below.

Raoul rushed up the steps to the still open trap door, ignoring the smoke that still billowed about the landing. He dropped to the flooring below, blinking his eyes to get used to the rapid change in light as the trap door suddenly closed above him.

He heard movement, and drew his sword, holding it before him as shield and weapon. He was standing in a room of revolving mirrors, and many images of himself were projected. As he watched. he saw multiple images of the Phantom, and slashed at them, only to find himself slashing at air. He continued turning round and round as the mirrors revolved, watching for the Phantom, and slashing at anything that seemed to move, including a dangling Punjab lasso.

He jumped when a hand grasped his shoulder, and turned quickly, the sword ready to confront his adversary, only to be both relieved and disappointed to find Mme. Giry standing there, holding a lantern, an opened door behind her. She drew him out of the mirrored room to the safety of the hallway.

Above them, pandemonium continued to rage. Carlotta and Piangi were angrily screeching in outrage at the managers, who had picked up the leather bound volume of Don Juan Triumphant along with the scattered drawings and notes. Meg rushed to comfort her friend, while the gathered guests, singers and dancers gossiped over the preceding events.

"I don't understand what just happened, " Christine moaned, trembling in her friend's embrace. "One moment, Raoul and I are dancing, the next moment, he's gone, and my teacher is here before us, and then he becomes so enraged. I guess it's no secret about Raoul and I now."

"Christine, it was never much of a secret to us," Meg replied, leading her friend from the rotunda. "You've never told me much about your teacher, but perhaps it's time to do so, oui?"

Christine shook her head sadly. "I've told you everything I know about him, about how he became my unseen teacher."

"But you've never spoken of the night of the gala, when you disappeared with no trace from La Carlotta's dressing room, and just as mysteriously reappeared. Even maman won't speak of the events, and I know she knows more than she lets on! Don't you trust me, Christine?"

They had reached the dormitory, and were sitting on Meg's bed. Christine clutched the cloak her friend had draped over her shoulders, but she was still cold. Perhaps Meg would understand, she certainly believed in the Opera Ghost more than Raoul. So she spilled the whole story of what had happened from the moment Raoul left her in the dressing room until her return to the opera house.

Meanwhile, Mme Giry and Raoul were having their own conversation about Erik. Raoul had deduced from the ballet madame's rescue of him from the mirror chamber that she knew more about the Opera Ghost than she let on, and he implored her to tell him all that she knew. At first, Mme. Giry was reluctant to tell on her friend, but the Vicomte gently persisted until he wore down her defenses, and she told him the incredible story of how she befriended the Opera Ghost in their youth.

"Christine, this is so incredible!" Meg gushed in response to her friend's incredible story. "To have two men in love with you!"

"Don't you understand, Meg? The Phantom's plans frighten me more than the face behind the mask! His disfigurement cannot be helped, but what that disfigurement leads him to do is more terrible than his face!" Christine flung the cloak from her, rising and pacing around the dormitory.

"I do understand your fears, Christine! I do!" Meg hastened to reassure her friend. "Forgive me for being caught up in the momentary romance, as any woman would enjoy having not one, but TWO men love her! Perhaps the Phantom can be redeemed by your love!" Meg added, seeing her friend tense again. "You can't honestly believe that he killed Buquet, do you? The police ruled it accidental! Besides, the Phantom has always struck me as a mischief maker, not a killer!"

"I don't know WHAT to believe about him anymore! It may be true that he had nothing to do with Buquet, but he WAS in the auditorium that night, and wasn't very happy about Raoul having box five, and he certainly did do something to Carlotta that night! She didn't sing for weeks afterward!"

"That's what I mean, Christine," Meg implored her friend. "Mischief over mayhem, and much of that mischief has been to your benefit! Perhaps you've allowed all the stories Buquet told of the Phantom and the brief glimpse you had of his face to influence your thoughts? Admittedly, the Vicomte is gorgeous, but is that enough?" Meg herself stood up, embraced her friend, and stepped back. "Don't answer now, just think of what I've said. You're upset, and it's late. You'd best rest for now. I'm sure the Vicomte is all right; Maman went after him when he jumped after the Ghost. Perhaps things will be clearer to you in the morning."

Raoul sat in silence as Mme Giry brought her tale to an end. That she had taken the young murderer under her wing astounded him, despite the fact that the youth had been maltreated by the gypsy, the fact remained that the young Phantom had committed murder at an early age, and had undoubtedly found murder to be a useful tool. Perhaps the police were wrong about Buquet. It was not unknown for people with a fantastic intellect to think themselves above the laws of Man, and to commit murder without qualm. The mirror room was proof enough to Raoul that the Opera Ghost clearly thought himself better than Humanity.

"He is a genius, monsieur!" Giry exclaimed. "A genius!"

"Clearly a genius gone mad, Madame," he replied quietly. It was obvious to him that the woman was torn between her love and loyalty to Erik, and by her love and duty to Christine. He thought to himself "I intend to everything in my power to protect Christine, just as you have protected HIM all this time."

He rose to his feet, a sudden weight dropping over his shoulders that felt like stone. "I'm staying in the Opera House tonight, and how ever long I have to stay, to keep her safe. Thank you for confiding in me, Mme Giry. I know how difficult this was for you." He held up a hand to stop her impassioned plea for Erik. "It's no use saying anything more, as I know

you want me to understand why he is the way he is. I feel sympathy for his plight, but that does not excuse what he has done. Good night, Madame."

WANDERING CHILD

"It is well that you have come to me with this, my friend," Erik consoled the ballet mistress. "You did what you felt was right, in hopes that it would help. It is not your fault that it backfired." His hand grasped Mme Giry's shoulder briefly before falling away. He had changed from the Red Death outfit, and was back in his daily black garb. He looked tired, but elated as well.

"The Vicomte's reaction to your story only proves that I'm on the right track. Only by taking Christine away from his influence will I be able to succeed with her. But how?"

Mme Giry remained silent, as she knew the question was rhetorical and needed no response from her. She was thankful that Erik understood why she had divulged their past to the Vicomte, though she felt dreadful that the idea had backfired on her. She only wanted the best for her children, even though, at one time, she'd harboured decidedly non familial feelings for Erik. Time and circumstance had brought her to an honorary parental position with him, and she would give anything for him to find the comfort and security that only a true love could give to him, just as she wished it for her blood daughter and for Christine.

"I can tell you this, mon ami," she replied at last, "Meg told me last night that Christine was extremely troubled, and whenever she is very upset and confused, she often seeks solace and counsel at her father's grave. She may do so sometime soon. "

"And she will want to take a gift," he stated. He gathered a few roses from a vase, pausing a moment to sprinkle the pedals with the contents of a small flask. Wordlessly, he handed them to Mme Giry, who held them below her waistline, in order to avoid inhaling their perfume.

"She usually likes to go at dawn, doesn't she? Take these to her room, put them in a vase where she'll be sure to see them. I'll handle the rest."

Mme Giry looked as if she were going to protest, but he waved her to silence. "Go, my friend. Please. And do not worry. Everything will be all right."

The following morning, Christine awoke early after a fitful night's sleep. The grey light of dawn filtered through the dormitory window, and she rose from her bed, tiptoeing to the door, grasping the very cloak Meg had drawn over her shoulders the night before. In her hand she carried a small pouch of coins, with which she intended to pay the coachman to take her to the cemetery where her father was buried.

She had decided that she would pray at her father's grave, and ask him to give her guidance. Even though he had obviously not sent the Angel of Music to her, she felt that her father was still watching out for her, and perhaps in this greatest hour of her need, he would somehow give her the guidance she so desperately needed.

She quietly opened the door, and her heart quickened to see Raoul sitting slumped on a chair outside the door, his head resting against a post. 'Poor thing has sat there all night, guarding me!' She considered reaching out a hand to him, but she didn't want to wake him. What she needed to do, she wanted to do alone. She crept down the stairs and hastened to the stable, spoke briefly to the coachman, and then hurried back to the dormitory to dress.

Raoul was still as she'd left him, sleeping deeply. She dressed quickly, her eyes darting about the room for something she could take with her to her father's tomb. There! In a small vase, looking fresh picked sat a spray of red roses, some were very light pink while others were so dark as to be nearly black. Those would do perfectly. She gathered the roses in her hand and hurried back down the stairs

Erik watched the coachman hook the horses to the carriage, and had heard Christine ask him to take her to the cemetery. The coachman, however, would not be the one conveying Christine to her destination.

Once the horses were safely harnessed, he crept behind the coachman and hit him over the head hard enough to knock him out, but not enough to do any permanent damage. He carried the inert body to a clean stall where he would be hidden from all but a thorough search. He removed a stoppered flask from his pocket, sprinkling a few drops of the liquid onto the carriage seat. A light snow was falling, and Christine would think that the drops were melted snow, if indeed she noticed them at all. He then leaped to the front bench of the carriage, carefully wrapping the cloak around him so that Christine would not recognize him.

Shortly, he heard her footsteps crunch along the snow, and felt the carriage give as she climbed in. He noticed that she carried the flowers he had given Mme Giry. A small thrill of triumph surged through him.

"To my father's grave, please," Christine stated as she drew the door of the carriage closed.

Wordlessly, Erik slapped the reigns to encourage the horses to move, and the carriage moved away from the opera house.

The sound of horses' hooves started Raoul awake. He felt cold and cramped from sleeping in one position all night. He noticed the dormitory door stood open, and his heart filled with dread. He rushed inside to find Christine's bed empty.

Where could she have gone? He ran to a nearby window and looked down in time to see the back of the passing carriage, and her unmistakable form in the back seat.

"Foolish child!" He groaned, taking the stairs two at a time, willing his protesting muscles and joints to move faster. His only thought was to protect her. By going out on her own, she could fall easy prey to that madman!

He rushed to the stable, and found the coachman walking about, groaning and messaging the back of his neck.

"Where are they going?" Raoul asked, meaning the carnage that had left without its' driver.

"The cemetery," The coachman replied with another groan.

Raoul was torn between wanting to get help for the coachman, and rushing after Christine. The coachman, however, was in no grave physical danger, so he felt justified in chasing after the carriage. But how? With what?

A horse neighed as if in response. It was unsaddled, but Raoul wasn't about to waste time with putting one on the beast. He jumped onto the horse's back, causing it to rear. Grasping the reins, he pushed both feet into the horse's sides, urging it into a full gallop.

Christine remained silent as the carriage moved towards the cemetery, the horses moving at a trot. Her troubled eyes didn't see the softly falling snow or anything else around her. It didn't bother her that the normally talkative coachman remained silent. She welcomed that, as she felt no interest in small talk. Her heart was heavy as her mind replayed the confrontation with the Phantom the night before.

That he still wanted her was evident, why else his violent reaction to seeing her ring? He told her she was still chained to him, that she belonged to him! But her heart belonged to another, to Raoul!

The differences between the two men were as different as night and day. Where the Phantom was brooding and quick to anger, Raoul was warm and giving, never upset at anything. She felt safe and relaxed with Raoul, while the Phantom always left her feeling unsure of herself, and afraid to say to wrong thing or make the wrong move.

Yet, to be fair, she had spent so much more time with Raoul than with the Phantom. All she knew of him was what little she had experienced in his underground lair. That, and their many sessions together as he taught her voice to soar the heavens. The Phantom was so full of contradictions!

What OF her feelings for her teacher? Were they merely those she would feel for someone who had given time and talent to guide her, or was there something more, something she didn't want to acknowledge. Something that she was too afraid to recognize for what it was?

Oh, what was she to do? She wanted to be happy, and she didn't want to hurt her teacher, who had given her so much! Could she be truly happy with the Phantom? Did he really love her, or did he just want her because she represented everything that he was not?

The white horse obeyed Raoul's commands to greater speed, running as if running for its' life. Raoul appreciated the steed's valiant efforts, even as he urged it to run faster and harder. The horse wanted to use the road, but Raoul was trying to make up time, and kept the horse to the brush, trying to make up distance and speed, hoping that he would be in time.

The carriage had drawn up to the gates of the cemetery, and Christine waved the coachman to remain seated as she let herself out of the carriage and to the ground. She murmured a low 'thank you' and walked slowly to the gate. Erik, still wrapped in his cloak, watched her progress, then moved the horses slowly away from the gates as she crossed the threshold and walked slowly to her father's tomb.

He stopped the carriage a few yards from the entrance, and tethered the horses to a tree. He patted them, thanking them for their service to him, and offered each an apple that he had taken from beneath the front bench.

They nuzzled his hand as they took the apples, as if they approved of his intentions.

He scaled the fence and crept quietly around the cemetery until he came to the Daae tomb. Christine was kneeling at the bottom of the steps, the roses near her face. His heart broke as he heard her say "Help me say good bye."

Was she saying goodbye to her father, or to the idea of the Angel of Music? Either way, the girl looked as forlorn as the day he'd first seen her when she first came to the Opera Populaire. He drew his violin from its' case, and began to play the lullaby he'd sung to her.

The soft strains of the violin music reminded her of her father, and she raised her eyes to the tomb, a light of hope shining where just moments before, her eyes had been clouded in despair. As she watched, a soft orange glow shone from inside the tomb, and the doors seemed to open, as if in invitation.

From his perch above the tomb, Erik continued to play, and added his voice to the music, altering it from the lullaby to an entreaty. "Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance."

Christine rose slowly, still looking directly at the entrance to her father's tomb, the doors fully open now, the orange glow much brighter and welcoming.

"Angel or father? Friend, or Phantom?" She asked, as she walked slowly up the steps to the mausoleum. "Who is it there staring?"

"Have you forgotten your Angel?" He sang, allowing a melancholy, yearning plea into his voice.

She answered as she continued walking slowly up the steps, her heart pounding with each step. It never occurred to her to question the presence of her Angel of Music, nor of the violin music. Her father had heard her cry for help, and her father had finally sent the Angel of Music to her at last! "Angel! Oh, speak! What endless longings echo in this whisper?"

"Too long you've suffered in winter, far from my fathering gaze, " Erik continued, his voice continuing its' hypnotic caress.

"Wildly my mind beats against you, " she replied, coming ever nearer to the tomb, reaching the top step.

"But your/my soul obeys!" they sang together. "Angel of Music I/you denied me, turning from true beauty!" She walked slowly, purposefully towards the entrance of the tomb as she sang with him, the orange glow nearly blinding her. She heard nothing save for the violin and that angelic voice that had always guided her. She knew no fear, no sorrow, no confusion.

"Come to your Angel of Music, '' Erik crooned in the same hypnotic manner, moving from his perch above the tomb to follow her into its' depths. He could hear the thunder of a single horse's hooves racing towards the cemetery, but he knew that he had plenty of time. He continued to croon to Christine as she crept closer to her father's concrete covered coffin, which rested in the center of the mausoleum. He walked carefully and quietly behind her, closing the doors to the tomb.

"I am here, Christine, " he spoke softly. She turned in surprise, but no fear showed in her eyes at the sight of her teacher, instead of the Angel of Music. Christine's mind was open to his will, to his commands.

He held out his hand to her, and she took it willingly, much as she had that night in Carlotta's dressing room. He lead her to a secret door in the tomb, which, when opened, revealed a hallway that would take them back to the Opera house. His black horse nickered a welcome, as it had waited quietly for him since he'd brought it there the night before.

Erik patted the horse, giving it an apple he'd saved from the carriage. As the horse munched its' small breakfast, he closed the door, and lit a torch. He listened carefully, and heard the Vicomte outside the tomb, calling for Christine, calling for the Phantom, raging that the Phantom was a monster, not her father, calling her to come to him.

'Nice try, Monsieur,' Erik thought to himself, a small grin of satisfaction crossing his face. "But she is mine, now and always!" He handed the torch to Christine, and leap up behind her. She held the torch as he urged the horse into an unhurried walk back to his lair.

Outside the tomb, Raoul rushed all around the cemetery, looking for Christine, or the Phantom, or both. Her footsteps ended at the entrance of the tomb, but the tomb was locked. It was as if Christine had vanished! How? Of course, it was all the Phantom's doing!

He heard horses snorting and neighing not far away. He led his own horse along as he walked from the Daae mausoleum, following the sounds to the carriage. Christine was definitely with the Phantom. Of that he now had no doubt. He tied his horse to the back of the carriage, and untied the opera house horses from the tree. As he started back to the theatre, he'd never felt so defeated.

Erik was enjoying the ride, and the feeling of Christine leaning lightly against him, his arms to either side of her, holding her secure as he held the reins. He felt completely human, and happy, for one of the first times in his life.

For her part, Christine remained quiet, not moving within the protective circle of his arms. The drug left her mind open to his suggestions. She would not come out of the drug's effect until she had slept several hours.

They reached the lair, and he handed the reins to her, taking the torch and extinguishing it. When she made a move to get down, he raised a hand to stop her. "No, my dear, we're only stopping for a few moments. We won't be staying here."

She wordlessly remained in the saddle, loosely holding the reins, while he tied a bag to the back of the saddle, secured his violin in the lair, and then leapt back behind her. Taking the reins from Christine, he clicked his tongue at the horse, who followed his directions without complaint.

The pathway was well lit for them, and shortly after leaving the lair, Erik directed the horse out of a cavern a few miles from the city. Though still grey and cloudy, the increased light caused both humans and animal to blink rapidly. As his eyes adjusted, Erik thought to himself, 'By now, the Vicomte will have found the carriage and returned it and his borrowed steed to the Opera House. He will not likely return to the cemetery for another search.'

With his eyes adjusted, and sure of the horse's ability to see well, he urged the animal forward at a brisk walk. A few miles from the cemetery, he had rented a small farmhouse, which had a piano, a kitchen, two bedrooms, a barn for the horse, and plenty of privacy. Except for the occasional postal delivery, they would be left alone. It was in this house where Erik hoped to show Christine once and for all that he was NOT the ogre she thought him to be!

He ordered the horse to halt, jumped from its' back and tethered the animal to a tree. He then helped Christine down, and held her closely as her legs wobbled and refused to hold her. The combination of the events of the Bal Masque, a sleepless night, and the events at the cemetery, plus the drug were taking its' toll on her. Just as he had on their first journey to his lair, when she fainted at the sight of the mannequin, he picked her up and carried her into the house, and on into the bedroom that would be hers.

He gently laid her upon the bed, removed her shoes, and drew a cover over her. She sighed like a small child, and was soon asleep. He stood near the bed, watching her with a protecting, almost paternal air. This time, he gave into the urge to lay his hand along her hair and stroke the long silken tresses. Leaning closer, he placed a very light, very gentle kiss on her lips, then closed the door softly behind him.

He quickly led the horse to the barn, unsaddled it, gave it a good brushing and rubdown for its' service. He then led it to a stall filled with fresh hay, plenty of water, and a pail of oats.

Returning to the silent house, he locked both doors and safely hid the key. He was tired, but elated that his plan was working. He could reach Mme. Giry by post whenever he needed, but otherwise had kept her in the dark about his whereabouts, so that she could truthfully say that she knew nothing about Christine's disappearance.

He went to his own bedroom and closed the door, after leaving a note for Christine where she'd be sure to see it. At long last, he allowed his heavy eyes to close, and he was soon dreaming of a bright, golden future with his love.

The Vicomte sat dejectedly in the manager's office, having finished his tale of going after Christine and the Phantom but missing them, and that he had brought the horses and carriage back when he couldn't find any sign of them.

"It's as if they vanished from the Earth!" He moaned, holding his head in his shaking hands.

Firmin and Andre glanced uneasily at each other. Christine had a major role in the new opera foisted upon them, this Don Juan Triumphant, and now their star was absent, presumably in the clutches of the Opera Ghost himself! This was NOT a good sign! And what were they to do about their patron?

Andre rose from his desk, and poured a shot of whiskey in a glass, handing the glass to the distraught Vicomte. "Drink this, man. You've had both a chill and a shock. It'll help."

"The only thing that will help right now is for Christine to be found, and brought back from that monster!" Raoul replied, accepting the glass and downing it with one gulp.

"So what do we do now?" Firmin asked, wringing his hands. He felt completely overwhelmed by this new situation. He was not used to taking orders, and now it seemed like the Opera Ghost situation had gotten completely out of hand. It was much more obvious that they were dealing with a madman who changed the rules at whim and expected everyone to keep up with him, regardless. The Phantom was a very dangerous man, and Firmin was becoming fearful.

"We involve the police," the Vicomte replied forcefully.

"But, Vicomte! Surely you can't—"

Raoul angrily cut off Firmin's sputtering protests. "I can, and I shall! You worry too much about poor publicity, Monsieur! The police should have been called in long ago, when Miss Daae first went missing, but you were more interested in thinking she had a liaison with me to placate La Carlotta than to look for the truth! Well, this time, I will NOT sit back and let things work themselves out! This time, we will do things my way!"

"Where are you going?" Andre asked, as the Vicomte stood up and strode angrily to the door.

"To find my fiancee!" He spat, slamming the door after him.

Raoul strode purposefully to Mme Giry's room. It was still early, breakfast was not yet ready, and he hoped she'd be present. He knocked loudly, and she seemed surprised to see him. "M. Vicomte! What–?"

He forced the door open further and strode into her room. "Don't pretend that you don't know that the Phantom has abducted Christine again! I'm sure he told you what he plans to do!"

"You are mistaken, Monsieur! For I truly know nothing of this!" Mme Giry exclaimed, her surprised indeed genuine. She knew that Erik had intended to spirit Christine away, but not this soon

Raoul glared angrily at the woman, who met his baleful stare unblinkingly. The tableau lasted several long minutes before Raoul sank into a chair. "If you don't know where she is, she is truly lost to me!"

"Perhaps not, Monsieur. Love is not something that is dictated. My boy loves Christine as much as you do. Of this I know, he wants only the chance to show her the person he truly is, deep inside, beyond his face and beyond the legend. In the end, however, you must know that it is HER choice, and her choice alone! You must believe that!"

"It is very difficult, Madame. You said yourself that he is a genius! He will stop at nothing to own her, body, mind and soul! He is just insane enough to find a way to keep her his prisoner!"

Raoul strode out of the room as quickly as he'd entered, leaving Mme Giry to wonder just what Erik was up to. She didn't have to wonder long, as a letter arrived for her with the morning post.

"Do not worry yourself about Christine. She is safe, and we are not far away, but we are not in the lair. We are staying someplace where I hope, in time, to be able to teach her who I really am, and to conquer her fear of me. Wish me luck, my friend. I will keep in contact with you by post. You may write me at this address; the letters will reach me and I will respond. ''

From what she was then able to piece together from Raoul's visit and the gossip of the opera house, the Phantom was said to have overcome the coachman and carried Christine away from her father's tomb, right under the Vicomte's nose! Though Mme Giry feared for Erik's safety more than Christine's, she tried to relax and behave as though she, too, were surprised by this latest action of the Opera Ghost's.

Christine awakened from her sleep, feeling momentarily disoriented. The feeling reminded her of the night Phantom took her to his lair. She remembered entering the carriage, carrying roses to place on her father's tomb, and of entering the tomb, but everything after that seemed hazy, like a badly out of focus picture. She remembered hearing violin music, and an orange, welcoming light in her father's tomb, the usually closed doors opening of their own accord.

She remembered riding a horse, first to back to the Phantom's lair, and then out in the country, but then she remembered no more. Her throat was dry. She threw the cover away from her, and sat up, taking in her surroundings.

Instead of her dormitory bed, or the great swan bed of the lair, she was in a simple country bedroom. A dresser and mirror faced the bed, a wardrobe stood in a corner. There was a small fire going in the hearth, and someone had thoughtfully provided not only a pitcher and basin for washing, but another pitcher and glass for drinking. She poured some water into the glass and drank, then poured more water into the basin and washed her face and hands.

Lying on the dresser was a folded note, the words "Christine" in dark black ink scrolled on one side. She unfolded the note, which read "Welcome to your temporary home. Do not be afraid; you are not going to be harmed. You may explore this small house as you wish. There are books to read, food in the kitchen if you are hungry, and a fire is going in the main room. Do not attempt to leave; the doors are locked and only I know where to find the key. The windows will not open to you, either.

I am most likely resting in my own room. When I awake, you will have questions to ask and I promise you will receive answers. I remain, your obedient, loving angel of music ...

Erik."

Christine's heart sank and fear rose like bile in her throat. She was the Phantom's prisoner! That which she dreaded most had come to pass, and he had taken her from all she held dear, including Raoul! For how long? The note didn't say. For what reason? She had a sinking suspicion of the answer.

Her mind raced back to his reaction to being unmasked, to his rage filled tirade. "Now you can never be free!" He had told her he didn't intend to hold her captive, but now he had taken her prisoner! No matter that she was expected to practice for the new opera he'd given the managers the night before! He intended to keep her his prisoner!

She reread the letter. She might be a prisoner, but there was nothing sinister about the message. In fact, it was most cordial. And at last, she now knew the name of her teacher. Erik.

She quietly opened the door leading into the main room. As promised, a fire was glowing in the hearth. Logs, looking freshly cut, lay near the hearth. She opened the grate and added a couple of logs to the dying fire, watching as the embers caught the dried wood and the fire roared back to life.

The curtains were open, and sunlight streamed into the room, which appeared very pleasant. There were simple furnishings: a couple of chairs, a rug, some oil lamps for nighttime, and a small piano. She walked to the piano, and saw a copy of the opera Don Juan Triumphant. Undoubtedly, he intended for her to practice her part here. So, if she were going to be practicing, she would eventually be returned to the opera house to perform. It was meager reassurance.

Despite the warmth of the fire, she shivered, and drew her cloak about her. She wondered if the Phantom...Erik... was still asleep. She listened, but heard only the crackling fire. If he were asleep, he certainly didn't snore! She considered going to the door and peeking, but the thought that he might have removed the mask prevented her from giving in to curiosity.

She moved silently into the kitchen. It was stocked with all kinds of provisions, and a bowl of fruit stood temptingly on the table their colorful array beckoning to her. The cold room had cheeses and bread and butter and other items. Her stomach rumbled, yet she was hesitant to eat, lest she be drugged again, even though the water had been untainted. .

She moved back into the main room, and looked over the books on the shelves. There were mainly novels from the masters, including Shakespeare. She took a volume, and sat in a chair near the window, but her mind was too full for her to read. She merely flipped through the pages, trying to find ways to occupy her mind.

Erik awoke, and listened for a few moments before sitting up. There was no mirror in his room. He felt for the mask; it was still in place. The house was quiet, save for the crackling fire in the main room. Christine must be awake and added a few logs to keep it burning. From the light outside, it was probably mid afternoon.

He slowly rose from the bed and walked to the door. He listened a moment, drew a deep breath and opened it.

Christine looked up from the unread book, as her teacher, walked into the main room. He was wearing the mask, but she tried hard not to show her fear and upset, much less her relief.

"Good afternoon, Christine," he spoke cordially, warmly, as to a friend instead of a prisoner. "I trust you rested well."

She just looked at him, her hands still clutching the book.

"This isn't a lot, at least not that one could obtain at a moment's notice, but we shall not need much for now," he continued, moving to the fire for a moment. Then he moved to the piano and sat on the bench, turning so that the unmasked side of his face was presented to her. "Have you eaten?"

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"Fearful that the food and drink are drugged? I can understand that. However, it is not my intention to nor desire to continually drug you. Come into the kitchen, and I shall prove to you the food and drink is safe." He gestured for her to precede him, and he followed her into the sunny kitchen. He held out a chair for her, and she sat. She watched as he sliced bread and cheese for them both, and poured fresh milk into mugs.

She continued to hungrily but suspiciously eye the repast he sat before her, keeping her hands in her lap. Erik smiled at her. "My dear, please eat. It will do you no good to starve yourself. See?" He added, taking a piece of cheese and bread in his mouth. "There is nothing to fear of the food. It is harmless. You watched me prepare it, did you see me doctor it in any way? Of course not!"

He picked up a mug and held it up in a semi-mocking salute, then drank.

Christine watched him eat and drink, and when he showed no ill effect, she picked up some bread and sniffed. It smelled heavenly! Freshly baked it was, and inviting. Despite herself, her stomach rumbled hungrily. She tore a small bit from the middle and nibbled. It was as wonderful tasting as it smelled!

She looked again at Erik, and noticing that he paid little attention to her, and that he still showed no ill effects, she gave in to her hunger, eating and savoring each bite until she was full. Once the meal was over, Erik cleaned up after them, and then resumed his seat across the table from her.

"I trust you read my note?"

She nodded again.

"Then you have questions. Please, ask, and I will answer."

She remained silent.

"Do you not have questions, Child? I'm sure you want to know why you are here!"

"It's obvious that you have brought me here as your prisoner." Christine replied quietly. "Why else have you locked the doors and made certain that there is no escape?"

Erik felt his stomach lurch. "That is more for your safety than to imprison you, dearest," he replied working hard to keep his voice from shaking. "We are miles from town, it is a very long walk, and there is little traffic. A lady on her own could face numerous perils trying to return to Paris."

"Then why hide the key? Why have you locked me in?" she persisted.

"I am keeping others out. Those who would interfere."

"Like Raoul?"

"Especially the Vicomte," he admitted. "From the day of our – - misunderstanding – in the lair, I have wanted to give you the opportunity to know who I am. Not some kind of legendary phantom to be feared, and not as your teacher, but as a man who loves you."

She glared at him, anger and disappointment in her expression. "And you think that taking me away from all I know and love - all that I hold dear - is going to help make me fear you any less?"

"I - I don't know, Christine. I only hoped that by getting you away from other influences, if even for a little while, you would come to see that I am not what you fear. Ever since the night I overheard you tell the Vicomte of your fear of me, I've wanted nothing more than to have you get to know me better."

Christine felt her heart skip several beats in learning he had been on the roof that long ago night, and had heard her voice her fears of him and his intentions for her future with him. "You know that Raoul and I are engaged to marry. How can you expect me to change my heart?"

Erik turned pleading eyes to her, "Christine, I have always loved you, but you do not know me. Won't you at least let me try to win your love?"

She could see the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes, and her heart ached for him. "Don't you understand that I don't want to hurt you? You have given me so much! You've been my teacher, and my friend, and I can't bear to be the cause of further hurt and pain to you!"

"So your mind is made up?"

"It will do no good, Master."

Erik stood up and turned his back. He closed his eyes to keep the tears from pouring down his cheeks. He'd come so far, done so much! How can she deny him at least one chance! But would anything be gained by forcing her to stay, by truly making her a prisoner?

He stood with his hands clenched into fists in front of him, fighting to keep his composure. Another angry outburst was the LAST thing that he needed to put her through! Mme Giry said that love is not something that can be forced, but it can certainly be led, and if he couldn't convince her one way, there were other ways, tried and true methods!

He turned with a sigh, his hands outstretched in a gesture of surrender. "If you are that certain, I am no monster to make you stay against your will. I would ask only one favor, to be allowed to play for you as you sing your role in my opera for the first time. Once we are finished, I will return you to the opera house, if that is your wish."

Christine looked at him intently. A song for her freedom seemed to her a small price to pay. She inclined her head and together, they moved into the main room. He took his seat at the piano and she stood to the side of the bench, her hands holding the sheet music he handed to her. Only the slight quiver of the sheets in her hand betrayed her nervousness.

Softly, Erik's hands caressed the keyboard, urging clear sweet notes from the old piano, as one by one, Christine's voice sang the words he'd put to the music. The sweetness of it was like a knife in his heart as Erik played, but he did not allow his pain to show. He closed his eyes as the tears threatened to overcome him once again.

They came to the song "Point of No Return", and without realizing it, he began singing the part of Don Juan. Their voices blended as one as they sang. To Erik, the words were more than simple lyrics. They spoke everything that he had ever felt for her, and he wished that the moment could last forever.

Christine herself was not unmoved by the depth and feeling in his voice as he sang. She felt something stir within her, something she had touched months ago but had thought she'd hidden away. The feelings the Angel of Music had aroused in her that long ago night of the gala were all coming back, crashing over her like tidal waves over the sand. She felt her senses pounding in time to her heartbeat as she listened to his voice.

The emotions of the moment overcame her, and the pages fell from her nerveless hands. The room seemed to spin and she felt as if her mind and body were separating.

"Christine!" Erik cried, leaping from the bench to catch her before her head hit the floor. To his relief, she was breathing slowly, but evenly. He had never known her to succumb to music's passion in such a way before. It momentarily frightened him, but once he was sure she was physically all right, his fear gave way to relief.

He picked her up and carried her into her bedroom, laying her once again on the bed. Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he brought out his trusty vial, and sprinkled just a couple of drops on a handkerchief, which he then placed directly under her nose.

"I would have preferred you stay by your own choice, but you have forced my hand, my dear. I told you once before that fear can turn to love, now you'll learn that it is true!" He placed the cover over her again, and then removed the handkerchief, certain that Christine had inhaled enough of the drug for him to be able to use his powers of persuasion to change not only her heart, but her mind.

"Now, my love, when you awaken, you will not wish to return to the Opera House for awhile. You will agree to stay with me, in this place, until one week before Don Juan Triumphant debuts. During this time, you will allow me to show you that I can be everything your handsome Vicomte is, even if I am not as attractive as he!" He repeated this incantation several times, caressing her face and hair as he did so.

Minutes later, he ended his recitation by imploring, "When you awake, you will not remember our luncheon conversation, nor will you remember fearing me. You will only remember that you wished me to help you with your part, and that you are here of your own free will." He bent over her face, and gently brought his lips to her still ones, tasting the sweetness of her lips for the first time in a lover's kiss.

He stood up, sighing deeply, and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly after him. He picked up the scattered sheets of music, put them in order, then sat in the chair she had vacated to await her awakening.

As the days following Christine's disappearance became weeks, Raoul became more and more despondent. He had searched and inquired throughout Paris, but his efforts brought no results into finding his missing love. She had not been to the church they attended, nor to any stores, not to the post office, any doctor or hospital, and she had not been in contact with Mme Giry nor Meg! Wherever she was being hidden, Raoul feared for Christine's well being, as he knew the Phantom was holding her incommunicado.

He knew that the Phantom was desperate; it had been evident the night of the Bal Masque when he tore Christine's necklace away. Heaven alone knew the horrors that Christine was being subjected to; and Raoul could imagine much. Those imaginings haunted his dreams, whenever he was able to fall asleep.

He literally haunted the Opera House, day and night, as it was the only place where he felt any connection to Christine. He hoped that some day, somehow, she would suddenly reappear, safe and sound. It was the only way he could find any peace of mind.

Every time the postal deliveries were made, Raoul would ask Mme Giry if she had received news from Christine and/or the Phantom, only to receive a negative response. Eventually, Raoul took to examining each and every piece of mail that arrived at the Opera House, no matter WHO it was addressed to, which began to irritate the denizens. Much as they might have sympathized with the Vicomte, the idea that the aristocrat was poking his nose into business that was not his greatly vexed them, and their sympathy wore thin.

Once she had read Erik's note, Mme Giry knew that the Vicomte would be watching her like a hawk, and she wrote to warn him not to send notes to her via the Opera House, as the Vicomte was watching for anything coming by mail concerning Christine. She suggested he send letters to her via the general pick up window, and she would check every third day for a letter.

She was delighted to know that Erik and Christine were doing well, and that she was slowly shedding her fear of him. Whether the girl would be able to give Erik what he so desperately wanted and needed, her love, was an entirely different matter. She hoped, for all their sakes, that Christine would come to love the man behind the blemish, and to forgive the dark deeds he had done. But, she was realistic enough to know that love did not follow a strict path, especially one that was set out for it; love often followed its' own lead

Weeks passed, and Erik found himself enjoying his time alone with Christine, despite having used the drug and his hypnotic power to control her feelings and bond her to him. He was patient and careful to keep his temper from erupting when events didn't always seem to go as he wanted them to.

As he grew more certain of his hold over her, Erik allowed her more freedom about the property, so that she could walk in the sun and get fresh air. Often, he would go walking with her, just to be near her. He felt more and more like a normal man each passing day.

After the initial dosing after her faint, Erik refused to rely on the drug to keep control of Christine. The drug had done it's job of opening her mind to his hypnosis, and with her power over her growing stronger every day, he was certain that her mind was remaining open to his suggestions.

He had almost reconsidered that idea, however, the first time he made an affectionate gesture to her, and she had flinched away from his touch. At first he'd thought that, despite the strong hypnotic suggestion he'd given her, that she was resisting his power. But one look at her sad face told him that she'd momentarily remembered the last time he'd reached out to her, which was in anger when she'd unmasked him. He remembered, too, how she had reached out to him then, and when his hand fell to his side, she reached out, touched his arm tentatively, and had apologized.

"You do not need to apologize for your feelings, child," he replied huskily, his throat thick with emotion from the moment. "I only hope that one day, you will be able to accept my touch without remembering that angry moment."

"I will try, Maestro. I will try," she had promised, taking his hands in both of hers, and placing her cool cheek against the back of his hand.

She kept her word, when next time he reached out to tenderly brush the hair from her face, she did not flinch from him, and she became more accepting of his gestures and caresses, even returning them from time to time.

Christine found herself missing Raoul and the opera house less and less. Life in the country with Erik seemed idyllic, peaceful. They practiced Don Juan Triumphant, they ate together, they walked about the property, and Christine found herself relaxing more and more in her teacher's presence than she'd ever been able to do before.

She also found herself thinking of him more as a person and less as a fearsome and controlling Phantom. The mask that he continued to wear in her presence was the only reminder that he was not physically like anyone else. In his actions and his words, he was the consummate gentleman, and her heart and mind opened up to him.

"Erik, would you ever consider leaving the underground lair for good, in order to live somewhere like this? Out in the country?"

They were walking along a small pond on the property, and Erik was surprised by her question. Even more so than the fact that she had slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, allowing him to escort her as any gentleman would escort a lady. Ever since Mme Giry had rescued him from the gypsies, he had known nothing else but the lair for a home. Yet, during this time with Christine, in this place, he didn't know how he could be satisfied living underground again.

He turned to face her, holding her by the upper arms, so that she couldn't avoid his gaze. "Had you asked me this same question weeks, even days ago, I would've said 'no'. But now, I would be happy to live above ground, in a real home, as long as you were there to share it with me."

It was the first time that Erik had given any indication that he would be willing to change his entire way of life for her, and it moved Christine nearly to tears. She had seen such a difference in Erik's attitude and behavior since their arrival at the house. It seemed that her teacher, one time Angel of Music, and now a man courting her attentions, was more gentle, loving and kind than she'd ever dared dream!

She realized in that moment that while she cared for Raoul, she was coming to love her teacher as well. Not just as a father figure, nor just a good friend. She felt a deep stirring of her soul with him, something that was missing in her relationship with Raoul. That emotion became deeper when she and Erik sang Point of No Return. She hadn't experienced any more lightheadedness from the song, but the lyrics touched her heart more than any song she had ever heard.

She remembered also how as a child she had often dreamed that her Angel of Music would one day become real to her, and that he would love her and want to be with her for the rest of her life. Now, it seemed that the dream was becoming reality.

And his voice! She had only heard him sing once before; as he'd never sang when he was her tutor. She'd never realized a man could sing with as much passion, power, and emotion as Erik. He sang as though he believed each word, as well he should, as he wrote them with her in mind!

The only thing that marred this idyllic interlude was the nagging feeling that all was not as peaceful as it seemed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, just beyond her ability to touch it, was that she had once greatly feared Erik. She couldn't remember why, as the memory lurked past her ability to retrieve it. She decided that if she HAD feared him, he had changed for the better, and that memory didn't matter anymore.

Little did she realize the memory would remain lurking in the shadows of her mind, waiting for the right time to take front and center when it was necessary.

We Have All Been Blind

Andre and Firmin were growing desperate as the final week of rehearsals for "Don Juan Triumphant" approached, as their star was still missing. The newspapers themselves had been having a field day reporting about the new work by an unknown composer being chosen as the first offering of the new year, but as always, the box office was enjoying a

healthy business.

So far, the papers had not gotten word of the star's disappearance, and the managers did everything possible to keep that news from getting out. This wasn't an easy task, with their young patron going all about Paris looking for his intended!

Practice for the new opera had been going on since Christine Daae's disappearance, but Piangi was getting more vocal in his dislike for having to practice with a fill in singer. It was bad enough that his wife was relegated to a secondary spot, but to be humiliated in this manner was more than he could take. He made certain that he got many chances each day to tell the managers of his unhappiness. And they thought leading ladies were a pain!

Between Piangi's complaints and the Vicomte's haunting of the Opera House, both managers were finding themselves nursing nasty migraine headaches as well as other ailments. It was understandable that they would not feel very comfortable about finding a note from their unseen assistant waiting for them one morning.

"Gentlemen, no doubt you have pondered and concerned yourselves into poor health over Miss Daae. She has been safe and sound since her disappearance, and has been practicing her part in the new opera. She is more than ready to perform, and will be returning for the dress rehearsal.

I remain, your obedient servant,

OG."

Andre and Firmin looked warily at one another. They were happy to know that their soprano would be able to attend the dress rehearsal, but so much was left unsaid!

"Should we inform the Vicomte that Miss Daae will be returning?" Andre inquired, after re-reading the short missive.

"I don't know!" Firmin replied, pacing around their office. "If we do, he'll want to know how we know, and if we tell him that, he'll launch into another tirade against the Phantom! None of this is helping my nerves at all!"

"You've been complaining about your nerves ever since we bought this theatre!" Andre snorted, rummaging in his desk for an aspirin to take against the headache he could feel coming on, and before morning coffee yet! "Your nerves are just going to have to deal with this, same as always!"

"Deal with what?" The Vicomte, looking like he'd not slept well in several weeks, which was quite true, asked as he walked through the opened doorway.

"Whether Miss Daae will return in time for opening night," Andre explained, glaring at his companion to say nothing about their latest note from OG.

"I'm sure the Phantom will bring her back in time for dress rehearsal," the Vicomte stated. "He wrote this thing with her in mind, so I'm sure he intends for her to sing it! That, my friends, is when we make our move!"

"What ARE you talking about?" Firmin asked.

"We have all been blind, but the answer has been staring us in the face!" Raoul replied earnestly, his eyes blazing with a feverish gleam.

"Go on!" Firmin urged, intrigued at the aristocrat, unaware that Piangi, Carlotta, their entourage and Mme. Giry were standing outside their office, listening to every word.

Raoul explained that, as he saw it, everything the Phantom has done at the opera house had to do with furthering Christine's career. He had written Don Juan Triumphant as a vehicle for Christine, and the Phantom would want to watch his protégée sing his work.

"And when he does, we will be ready!" Firmin replied, almost gleefully rubbing his hands together.

"We'll make certain the doors are barred," Andre added.

"We'll make certain the police are there and armed." Firmin smiled.

"The curtain falls, his reign will end!" They all agreed. Carlotta and Piangi applauded this, as did their ever-present entourage. Mme. Giry did not like what she heard. She hoped she could get word to Erik in time for him to avoid the opera house and capture.

The Question

Erik gazed across the table at Christine, never tiring of watching her. Tonight, they would be returning to the opera house, but he had not yet told her. There was something else that he wanted to do before they left, and perhaps now, relaxed after their luncheon, would be the time for him to act.

"Christine, you know that we can't stay here forever, much as I wish it were possible," he smiled across to her, taking one of her hands in both of his. Her hand felt warm in his grasp, and his thumbs absently caressed the back of her hand as he spoke. "I cannot tell you how much this interlude has meant to me."

"It has meant a great deal to me, Erik. I know that we must return, as the managers are staging your new opera, and I have missed so much rehearsal!"

"Don't worry about that," he assured her. "You have practiced the work, you will have no trouble blending with the rest of the performers in rehearsals before opening night. There is something I want to say to you before we return to Paris."

He released her hand and stood up, moving to kneel on the floor beside her, and drew a box from his jacket pocket. "I've made no secret of my feelings for you, dearest, since the moment I took you to my underground home. I ask that you do me the honor of becoming my wife, and to come back to this home with me."

He opened the box to show her the simple gold ring, adorned with a single diamond in the center, that he had specially made for her. Not as lavish as the ring Raoul had given her; but just as beautiful in its' simplicity and beauty. He took the ring from the box and placed it on the fourth finger of her left hand. Adding a light kiss to the hand and the ring as he did so.

Christine sat in stunned silence. She had wondered if this moment would ever come, and now that it had, she felt thrilled but uncertain. She had been through this same scene before, but with a golden Adonis instead of a dark Vulcan. She loved Erik, but did she love him enough to become his wife?

Erik could see the conflicting thoughts racing through her mind; they were mirrored in her eyes. He drew a deep, steadying breath and rose to sit next to her at the table, still gently holding her be-ringed hand.

"It's not necessary to answer now, beloved. I have waited a long time, a little longer will not hurt. Take all the time you need to think on it; perhaps until after opening night of my opera. Now, we must prepare to return to the opera house."

He stood up, drawing her up to him. He bent his face close to hers, and gently kissed her forehead. He was thrilled that she didn't recoil from the touch of his lips to her soft skin. While he wanted to give her a true lover's kiss, he was still finding his own way along this new path, and he was content to take his time and not frighten Christine. So much had changed since their first day together in this house, and he was filled with hope for the future. THEIR future.

The trip back to Paris was in a carriage pulled by the very horse that had brought them to the house weeks earlier. Though Erik would've preferred to have taken her back the way they'd come, he wanted Christine to feel comfortable, and believed she would be less tense by riding in a carriage than in front of him on the horse.

They each remained silent as the horse brought them ever closer to the opera house, each lost in their own thoughts of the past few weeks. Erik was lost in his hopes and dreams of the future and would, on occasion slip one arm around Christine's shoulders to give her a swift, reassuring embrace, because he knew the turmoil her thoughts were in.

Christine would respond to those embraces with a small, but wan smile. She wasn't too worried about all the questions that would be asked of her upon her return. She already knew how she'd handle the questions. She had asked the help of her teacher, the very composer of the opera, with her part, and they'd spent the time away from the opera house so she could study in peace. That should be enough to satisfy the most curious.

What concerned her most was the upcoming reunion with Raoul.

Raoul! What would she tell him of the last few weeks! What COULD she tell him? She knew he wouldn't be satisfied with her cover story. He would want to know why, after expressing such fear of the Phantom, she would agree to allow him to tutor her, and to go off in private for that tutoring!

Was it just a few weeks ago that she had accepted his proposal of marriage? Did she still want to be his bride? How could she when she was even considering the possibility of accepting someone else's marriage proposal?

She knew Raoul would not understand her reasoning. She did not look forward to their eventual reunion because his questions, his very behavior, was going to be much more difficult for her to handle than any catty remark from Carlotta.

Did she still love Raoul? She knew that would be his foremost inquiry. Yes, she did love him, but she wasn't sure just how deeply. Was it only because Raoul represented a link with her happy childhood? Was that enough to sustain a lifelong commitment? What else did she really know about the young Vicomte? Only that which he had allowed her to see, and how could he be so sure that she, a chorus girl, would fit into his world of the aristocracy?

Yet, she wondered if she be completely happy with Erik. She felt much closer to him than when she thought of him only as her Angel of Music. He would do anything and everything in his power to make her happy. He'd even offered to change his way of living for her! Despite this, she felt uncertain in his presence; there were still many secrets between them and so much about him was still a mystery to her.

Could she bear to hurt Raoul by choosing Erik? Would she be able to withstand causing Erik considerable pain by choosing Raoul? The more she puzzled and pondered the variables, the more uncertain and scared she felt. The only thing she knew for certain was that she was caught hopelessly in the middle between two men who loved her dearly, and she had no idea which man she loved most.

Erik could see that Christine's conflicting thoughts and emotions were running rampant, and felt it was time to take her mind off them, so he reached over to give her one of his comforting embraces, and followed it with a light kiss to her cheek.

"Dear, you once asked why I consider the Opera House as my property, instead of the managers'. No doubt, the Vicomte has told you the story of how I came to the Opera House, the story that Mme. Giry shared with him?" He reigned the horse to a slow walk. Keeping a loose hold of the reigns, he allowed his mind to wonder back to those long ago days after he'd left the gypsies.

Escaping the Gypsies

"I wasn't born of the gypsy tribe that caged me, and showed me as 'the Devil's Child'," Erik announced, his gaze fixed upon the horizon as he recalled the past he'd kept locked away for years. "I was actually born to a well-to-do family; my father was an architect, but both he and my mother were horrified by my - disfigurement - and rarely acknowledged my existence. My care was left to nannies and teachers, and my best friends became books.

"Books taught me of different places, and of many things. I learned music, art, literature. I learned many languages from books, how to draw buildings, how to build things. The more I read, the more I learned. But, the one thing I wanted, love, was not given to me.

"For whatever reason, my mother asked me to name my birthday wish, and I asked her to hold me. She couldn't bring herself to do so. I ran away that night, and didn't return until long after she and my father had died."

His eyes were bright from unshed tears at the memory of that shunning, but the tears, thankfully, didn't fall. His voice, however, was thickened by emotion, so that Christine laid a comforting hand on his arm.

"It was many years ago, but sometimes that pain seems as fresh as yesterday," he continued, silently thanking her for the small comforting gesture. "I moved from town to town, always having to move by night because of my face. Never allowing myself to get too close to people, because I knew how they'd react.

"One night, I allowed myself to get too close to a gathering of carts and wagons that had the markings of a gypsy caravan. The barking dogs that guarded the camp at night gave my presence away, and I was caught by the man who would become my master. We moved from town to town, and I was forced to display my face to the gathering crowds for whatever money they left.

One day, we arrived in Paris, and the caravan set up not far from the opera house. That was the day that Mme. Giry helped me escape from the gypsies. Yes, I killed my captor, and did not shed a tear for his loss. He was a cruel man, who beat me mercilessly, fed me little, and only considered me worth his while as long as he could make money from me. It was a miserable existence. Rats and other vermin lived better than me," A slight shudder coursed his body, recalling the many beatings he had received, the insults hurled at him by the on-lookers.

"Mme. Giry, herself just a slip of a girl at that time, helped me escape from the gypsies and the police. She brought me to the opera house, and helped me hide from those who hated me for my looks alone. She did all that she could to help me, whenever she could, but it wore on her. Eventually, I found it necessary to forage for my existence; food, clothing, supplies. I would go about the opera house at night, taking what I needed to sustain my life, and my soul. I "borrowed" musical instruments, and made music, and found clothing and food. Soon, the ballet girls and boys and others started whispering about a ghost haunting the theater."

He grinned a little at the memory, continuing, "As the legend of the opera ghost grew, I decided to put that to my advantage, and played the part of the Phantom of the Opera, earning from the owners a living that allowed me to continue advancing my own education in other endeavors. It has been a comfortable life, and one that I enjoyed, up to now. That, my dear, is why I consider the opera house my property. In exchange for a few thousand francs a month, I assisted the management in making it the success that it is."

Darkness had fallen by the time Erik ended his story, and they had arrived at the stables of the Opera Populaire. Christine accepted a last, brief embrace from Erik before departing from the carriage to slip into the building. Erik, pleased to note that the stable manager was not present, unharnessed the horse, groomed it, and returned it to its' stable, leaving the carriage for the stable master to deal with. Undoubtedly, it would be one more mysterious disappearance and reappearance of an item attributed to the legendary Opera Ghost.

He patted the horse, then slipped into a secret passage that would take him back to the lair. He felt happy and hopeful, looking forward to the night of his opera's opening.

"You have returned, mon ami. I have been concerned for you."

"Whatever for, Mme. Giry?"

The ballet mistress rose from the chair she'd been sitting in, waiting for the Phantom since she'd received the note announcing his return to the opera house that very evening. She was anxious to alert him to the Vicomte's plan.

Quickly, she outlined the plot that the Vicomte and the managers had concocted. She was not pleased to see the amused smile playing across her friend's face. "You must be careful, Erik! The Vicomte is extremely upset with you, he means to do you harm!"

"He can do nothing to me that hasn't been done before!" Erik replied flatly. "He is trying to use his wealth and supposed power to beat a rival, as opposed to other, more time-honored methods. He thinks to entrap me? Hah! He is nothing but a spoiled little rich boy!"

Mme Giry drew a deep, shuddering breath. She didn't want to reopen old wounds, but sometimes Erik could be very stubborn! "The gypsy seemed to have no trouble entrapping - and keeping - you for several years, or do you forget?"

Erik's face flushed in anger. "No, I have NOT forgotten, woman! Do you really think I could forget each lash of the whip, each cruel laugh at my expense?" He stalked towards her, pushing one sleeve up his arm to reveal ancient scars. "Do you!"

Mme Giry, though fearful of his temper, refused to recoil from his advance, nor did she let her eyes show her fear. "No, mon ami, I know you have not forgotten the past, but I also do not believe that you are so foolish as to dismiss the Vicomte. He is not a stupid man. He is very proud, and he is convinced that you are a threat not only to him, but to Christine! He is angry and he will not be happy until you are bound and chained again as the animal he believes you to be!"

Erik turned away from her, so she stepped around him, to block his retreat. "I have supported you in your endeavor to win the girl, because I know you love her as you've loved no other woman. Do not forget that I have loved you as one of my own, and still love you as much as ever! Because of that love, I have protected you. If I didn't care about you, Cherie, I wouldn't be here now!"

Erik bowed his head so that she wouldn't see how much he regretted his outburst. Mme Giry had given him the gift of her love long ago, but he had not been able to accept it. He had been too afraid to accept her love, fearing that one day, he would be rejected for a more handsome suitor.

Instead, he had engineered her betrothal to Claude Giry to ensure that she wouldn't be alone in the world, and when Claude had died, and he had been well established as the Opera Ghost, he had arranged her commission as ballet mistress so that she and Meg would have comfort and security.

He knew it had hurt her deeply that he refused her love, and that she had hoped their friendship would grow into something more when she returned to the Opera House. He had then hurt her again when he gave his heart to the forlorn, mourning Christine Daae. Mme. Giry only wanted him to be happy, and when he could not give her what she wanted, she had helped him to obtain his heart's desire. She was the only woman - the only person - who had ever shown him any kind of compassion - and he had time and again thrown it back in her face. He knew she deserved better treatment for she had given him, and he was ashamed to have treated her so badly.

Mme Giry reached a hand under his chin, forcing his face up to look her in the eyes. "I understand, Cherie. And I thank you for all you have done for me. You must continue to be careful. The Vicomte believes the only way he can be happy with Christine is to destroy you. Don't make me have to see that happen."

Erik enfolded her hand in both of his. He laid his unmasked cheek on the back of her hand for a moment, then kissed that hand by way of unspoken apology.

Christine was relieved that no one was around as she crept to her bed in the dormitory. All she wanted to do was settle in, and prepare for rehearsal for the following day. She was too keyed up to go to supper, so once she had put her few items away, she went to the chapel to light a candle for her father.

The chapel was quiet and empty as she entered. She knelt and looked at the picture of her father, silently wishing she could hear his voice once again, wishing she could ask him what she should do. She sighed, and struck a match to light the candle over his picture.

"So, you have returned,"

"Raoul!" Christine was startled, wondering when, and how, he had entered the little chapel without her noticing him. "I'm so glad to see you!" She rose and turned to run to him, but something in his expression stopped her in mid step.

"Are you?" He was frowning at her, his face looked tired and haggard.

"Of course I am!" She exclaimed, unsettled by his behavior. "Why do you question me so?"

He stepped forward and took her left hand, bringing it up to the candlelight, fingering the gold band with its' small diamond. "Perhaps because you are now wearing HIS ring." He allowed her hand to drop from his grasp as if it were red hot.

"What?" She looked at her hand. She'd completely forgotten about the ring Erik had given her. "Oh, that," she sighed softly.

"Yes, that," Raoul replied, somewhat mockingly. "I don't need to ask where you've been all this time. You've been with him, the notorious Opera Ghost! Don't even try to deny it!"

"Of course I won't deny it!" Christine replied, feeling a little angry over Raoul's attitude. They weren't yet married, and here he was, treating her as his property, of all things! "He is my teacher, and this role he has cast for me seemed overwhelming. He offered to tutor me, and that's all there is to it!"

"That is certainly NOT 'all there is to it', Christine!" Raoul shouted, misery and worry making his voice harsh. "You've been missing for weeks! You were nowhere to be found in all of Paris, no one had seen you since the morning after the Bal Masque! I looked all over. Once you arrived at the cemetery, it seemed that you had vanished from the face of the Earth! I was frightened for you...of what that monster had done to you!"

Christine felt her anger melt away at Raoul's expression. He looked like a lost and forlorn little boy. She could imagine him searching through the city for her, and fearing the worst. "But I've come back, and I'm here, and safe, and well. As for this ring," she continued, removing it from her finger and placing it in her pocket, "The question was asked, but no promise has been made. You asked first, and that answer has not been taken back. Please, Raoul, let's not fight. Not now. Not again. It seems that is all we've ever done since you proposed."

He rushed toward her, and enfolded the girl in his arms. Unshed tears thickened his voice as he held her close to him. "I'm sorry, Christine! So very sorry. It's just that I love you and want only to make you happy! I don't mean to argue with you!" As he stroked her hair, breathing in its' fragrance, he vowed silently, "I don't know what hold he has on you, beloved. But rest assured, I will free you from him, once and for all!"

Christine returned the embrace, but her expression was troubled. She remembered how happy she'd been when Raoul first presented his ring to her, the ring that Erik had taken from her at the Bal Masque, and wondered if she'd EVER know such happiness again.

She'd felt a momentary happiness when Erik had proposed, and put his ring on her finger. That ring now nestled in her gown pocket, and her hand felt strange without its' presence. In the short time she'd worn it, the ring had felt a natural part of her, and now that it was off her hand, she felt lost and alone and more confused then ever.

After Mme. Giry left, Erik had walked to the chapel corridor. He knew that Christine would go there upon her return, to pray for her father, and he felt a need to be near her. Despite the unease he felt over the news Mme. Giry had delivered, just remembering that Christine had not removed his ring during their journey back to the Opera House enveloped him in a warm state of happiness.

Once again, however, he found himself an unwilling audience to a conversation between his beloved and the Vicomte, and his heart broke when he heard her assure the Vicomte that his proposal was still alive, while her voice casually dismissed the ring he had given her.

Hot tears ran down his cheeks as he continued listening, wanting to flee before he was hurt further and cursing the leaden limbs that refused to obey his commands.

"Old fool! You have her under your spell," he reminded himself. "You gave her until the premiere to make her choice. She shall not choose unwisely! You must trust her to do what you want her to do. Go, now!

Leave this place, and remember that you hold the ace!" One after the other, his feet moved silently from the wall, and back to his lair, where he started to plan the final showdown with the Vicomte.

The one thought that helped him maintain his fragile composure was that Christine had not said that she was NOT considering Erik's proposal at all. It was the only hope he had left to hold on to. Unbidden, a song came to mind, he was singing not only of his love for Christine, but of the unrequited love Mme. Giry had offered.

"Then at last, a voice in the dark, seemed to say 'I hear you!'...No one would listen. No one but her, would hear the unwanted me." It was a melancholy song, and yet, he felt better having sung it. And, in allowing his feelings to come out in song, he knew precisely what he would need to do to defeat the Vicomte on opening night.

Preperations

There's a superstition in the world of performing arts that a bad dress rehearsal means a fantastic performance. If the final dress performance for Don Juan Triumphant was any indication of the power of this superstition, then the premier of the opera was going to be quite grand indeed, but Monsieur Reyer had his doubts.

Both Piangi and Carlotta had been badly off key throughout rehearsal, and both were in a bad temper. Piangi had also been rubbing his arm from time to time while he was singing, which was NOT part of the portrayal, and Monsieur Reyer had remarked upon this several times, causing Piangi to walk off stage in a huff, Carlotta following after him.

The ballet dancers had been off their marks quite often, and the scene changers were having difficulties with the elaborate set the Phantom had designed. Monsieur Reyer was convinced opening night was going to be Hell on Earth for him, superstition or no.

"Ubaldo, my love, what is wrong?" Carlotta huffed, running to keep up with her husband's angry strides.

"I am seeck of this opera!" He roared, his face red with anger and exertion. "It is, how they say, a farce! It is not art, it is noise! And for you to be relegated to a minor role by that–that THING that haunts the opera! Pah!" He ran his hand over his arm again, sweat pouring down his face.

"Hush, husband! Do not worry about this performance, it is one piece of garbage in a wonderful career! It is not something for you to be so angry over! After a week, it will be over, and things will go back to the way they SHOULD be!" Carlotta placed a warm, loving hand on her husband's face, not allowing the fear she felt over the amount of sweat that was pouring over his face.

"Come," she continued, leading him to his dressing room. "You shall enjoy a rest, and you'll feel better. I shall leave word that you are not to be disturbed for awhile!"

Piangi endured his wife's fussing over him with quiet good humor, as he didn't often get a chance to enjoy her treating him with such concern. He was rather enjoying the attention, and only wished the tightness in his chest would go away, along with the unpleasant feeling in his arm.

"You are right, my love. A little nap would be nice!" He allowed her to help him to bed, and to wipe the sweat from his face with a cool wet cloth. "Thank you, wife."

She kissed him, fully and deeply, and then left the dressing room. He heard her ordering her maid to let no one to enter the room for the next few hours, until it was time for him to dress. He sighed, feeling some of the tightness give in his chest relax, and he dozed.

Twisted Every Way

Christine was kneeling before her father's picture in the chapel. Raoul had told her of his plan to entrap the Phantom. What bothered her was that she was to be the bait that would draw him out to be captured by police. She had wanted to protest, as she knew that Erik was not the foul creature Raoul believed him to be, but she knew the protests would fall on deaf ears. Raoul could be very stubborn when he wanted to be, and he was obsessed with getting the Phantom - Erik - out of their lives.

She wished there was some way to get word to Erik to avoid the premier, but she didn't know how to contact him. Erik had always come to her in the past. She knew he often contacted the managers through Mme. Giry, but she wasn't sure if Mme. Giry could get word to Erik without Raoul finding out.

Why did everything have to be so difficult? All she wanted was to have someone love and care for her; to take care of her, just as her father had done for her. His death had left her alone and unguided for so long, and now she had two men she loved wanting her to spend the rest of her life with them, and neither could stand the other!

"Raoul, I'm frightened, " she cried softly to him after he had told her the plan. "Don't make me do this."

"You must, Christine! Can't you see that it's the only way that we'll be free of him? He is a monster of the worst kind! Look at what he did to Carlotta, to the managers, even to you! You're not the same as before you disappeared! While he lives, he will haunt us til we're dead!"

Tears of fear and frustration fell from Christine's eyes. How could she explain her conflicting feelings to Raoul? "Don't you understand that I'm twisted every way by this plan? I want to help you, but how can I turn against the man who brought out my voice, who encouraged me for to sing?"

"The man who lied to you, let you believe that he was an Angel of Music, when he is more a Devil in disguise?" Raoul sourly mocked her. "How can you support a man who has used trickery to get his way? Is THAT the kind of person you could live with, Christine?"

His eyes blazed with an almost maniacal fury, whether that anger was directed at her, or Erik, she didn't know and was too afraid to ask. She knew from their time together that Erik had a ruthless streak, but so did Raoul! The two men were more alike than either would care to admit. She didn't want to help Raoul capture Erik, but she didn't have any good reason to turn the Vicomte down.

As far as being haunted was concerned, the Victome had all the power and money at his disposal to seek out and destroy Erik, even to the ends of the Earth! Erik had already made it plain that he would leave his underground refuge if that would make her happy, what had Raoul done to show her he would make her happy, other than offer her his name?

She was frightened and confused, wishing she knew what to do, and for someone to tell her, to guide her, to save her from a no-win situation.

Raoul's face softened as he enfolded Christine in what he meant to be a comforting embrace. "I forget sometimes just how much of a child you are, my dear," he murmured, stroking her back and kissing her neck. "I know I'm asking you to make a very adult choice, but you have it in you to make that choice, Christine. You cannot expect others to protect you from life forever. It's time to grow up."

Christine shivered as she rested her head against Raoul's shoulder. She was being pulled in too many different directions, and she was being given no opportunity to make an honest decision with herself. Who to hurt? Erik? Raoul? Herself? So much rested on her making a choice, and if she should choose wrongly? What then?

Raoul mistook her continued silence for acceptance. He drew her away from him, nestled her face in his hands, forcing her to look up at him. "You'll see, Christine. Everything will be fine in the end. I promise you."

Gazing at the candle blazing behind her, Raoul's eyes glinted solid steel as he added, "This time, my enemy, the downfall will be YOURS!"

A gust of wind whipped through the little chapel, and the solitary candle was extinguished. Only the torchlight above them illuminated the small room. They both jumped from surprise, then Raoul led Christine from the chapel. As they crossed the threshold, Christine felt a small chill run up her spine.

Carlotta knocked softly on her husband's dressing room door, but there was no response. She pressed her ear to the door, and was rewarded by the reassuring sound of Ubaldo's thundering snores. 'Poor theeng!' she thought to herself. 'Thees entire sham of an opera has been veery hard on heem! When dis is over, we shall take a well earned rest!'

She silently entered the dressing room, and crossed to her husband's side. His face seemed a little pale, but otherwise, he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. She dropped to the floor beside his couch, and placed her hand over his. Resting her head against his side, she closed her eyes, taking solace from his quiet breathing and warmth. Soon, her own breathing matched his as she slept, not knowing it would be the last time

she would rest with him in this life.

Seal My Fate Tonight

The opera house was humming with activity as it always did on opening night of a new work. The managers were happy that the house was full again, but they were also on edge. They didn't like the image that having armed police stationed throughout the building, and they tended to get so loud in their progression throughout the building!

The Vicomte De Changy had a uniformed police office with him in box five, in hopes that the Phantom would show and be an easy capture. So far, however, both men had been disappointed as the Phantom was no where to be seen. Could he have possibly heard of their plans and was deliberately staying away?

Christine, dressed in her gown as Arminta, watched nervously as the gendarmes took their places throughout the theatre. She wised she could be anywhere but on stage that night. But duty called her to be the bait, and she knew that her teacher would be somewhere in the building watching her perform his work.

Far below stage, Erik was preparing for his debut on the opera house stage. He planned to take over from Ubaldo to sing with Christine. He carefully applied concealing makeup to the parts of his disfigurement that the green mask would not cover, and brushing his black wig to a glistening shine. His shirt was immaculate, the pants and bolero type jacket fit snugly. He was ready.

"Seal my fate tonight, I hate to have to cut the fun short, but the joke's wearing thin. Let the audience in. Let the opera begin!" He spoke grimly as he touched a candle to his opera stage model, sending the wooden piece into a blazing fire, reducing the model to ashes in seconds.