The Predestine Kiss

by Ayesha56

Based on the 2004 Lloyd Webber movie: What if? In this case, what if, following their predestined kiss, the Phantom had not told Christine to leave him? Story based on the mystery as defined in the movie. Completed phic.

Based on the 2004 Lloyd Webber movie: What if? In this case, what if, following their predestined kiss, the Phantom had not told Christine to leave him? Story based on the mystery as defined in the movie.

THE PREDESTINED KISS – By Ayesha56

The stripping of the mirror had been symbolic. Surely he understood that his malformation lay not so much in his face as it had in his soul. For one brief moment she had glimpsed a deep, searing conviction, as he seemed to hang his head momentarily in abject shame. And because of his conviction, that brief, transitory moment altered everything for her.

But before she could react, the Phantom looked out toward the lagoon with a jerk, alerted by a foreign presence within his domain. As the Phantom announced sarcastically the presence of a guest, she cried out in horror as she realized that the guest was Raoul.

Alarmed, she called out her lover's name as the Phantom quickly approached her and pulled her to him in a possessive embrace.

"Let her go," Raoul cried heatedly from behind the Phantom's portcullis.

But the Phantom held onto her stubbornly as his large hands glided up and down her body in caressing exploration.

"Get your hands off her," Raoul cried out in outraged disgust and demanded arduously,

"Let me see her!"

The Phantom stood for a moment as his hands rested possessively round Christine's slender waist. He stared at Raoul guardedly for a brief moment, then shrugging, he threw up his hand and said, "Very well, Vicomte!" He turned away and came upon a lever that rested on the shore of the lake. Pulling the lever, he welcomed the Vicomte into his lair, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

But once Raoul was inside and the portcullis descended behind him, a large noose dropped seemingly from the sky and wrapped viciously round his neck. The rope was yanked roughly and powerfully as if by unseen hands as it lifted Raoul off his feet and pulled him back against the portcullis.

Christine screamed in terror as the Phantom descended on the hapless victim like a hawk on its prey.

The Phantom stood over Raoul like a towering menace, his body submerged to his hips in the lake. He watched with a smirk as Raoul struggled severely with the rope round his neck, trying futilely to loosen its stranglehold grip. The Phantom looked up at Christine, his green eyes ablaze with crazed vehemence.

"Well, what will it be, my Dear? You have a choice. Either choose to spend the rest of your days with me and your lover lives, or deny me and send your lover to his grave!" When the Phantom cried this last, the rope jerked mightily as Raoul gasped laboriously against its force.

Christine looked to one then the other as tears, large and overflowing, ran freely down her pale cheeks. She stepped into the lake and as she walked toward the Phantom, she cried, "All of these years, I believed in you. I trusted you."

"Make your choice," the Phantom insisted impatiently.

She placed the ring that he'd given her earlier onto her wedding finger, lifting her hand so that he could see her answer. When she reached him, she looked up at him imploringly, and whispered tremblingly, "If I give myself to you, will you promise to let him go?"

As the Phantom gazed down at her, his face one of incredulous wonder, he nodded and replied quietly, "I promise."

"Don't do it, Christine," Raoul interrupted onerously, his voice strained, choked by the Punjab tied tightly round his throat. "He's a liar, a demon—you know he is!"

The Phantom turned furiously on Raoul, his fist raised in order to strike him.

"No! Please, don't hit him, don't hurt him. I will do whatever you want—anything. Only, please don't hurt Raoul."

The Phantom gazed heatedly at the younger man, his fist still raised, his face full of fury. Panting arduously, he slowly lowered his arm as he growled fiercely, "Shut your mouth, Vicomte! It's her choice, not yours."

Christine reached out and touched the Phantom's arm. When he turned to her, she raised her hands to him as she placed one on his wide, bare chest and with the other, she caressed the damaged side of his face. Rising onto her toes she kissed him full on the lips. When she released him, she discerned a look of wonder on his face, an expression as that of a little boy who'd just received an unexpected but much-coveted gift. She raised herself onto her toes once more. This time she wrapped her arms around him as she pulled him down to her. She kissed him deeply, urgently and when she released him again, he looked down at her, his breath quickened and strained as his emerald eyes grew dark with a need that she had so unwittingly aroused.

He swallowed roughly then took her in his arms and held her close to him as he pressed her head against his broad chest.

But when Raoul cried out again, Christine broke the embrace. The Phantom held onto her, his back still facing Raoul. He looked down at her and commanded, "Return to the shore of the lake. I will set him free."

Christine gazed up at him imploringly as she whispered, "You promise?"

The Phantom nodded. "Yes, now go. You can watch me from the shore as I release him. Then you will know that he is free."

As Christine walked through the waters back to the shoreline, the Vicomte reviled the Phantom heatedly. But the Phantom ignored him as he stood resolutely, his back to the Vicomte. When Christine reached the shore and looked out toward them, he turned slowly round to face his rival tied to his portcullis.

The Phantom stared murderously at Raoul, his chest rising and falling rapidly as anger, fierce and dangerous, exerted his breathing. "If it wasn't for her," the Phantom warned ominously, "I would kill you."

"Go ahead, do it," Raoul goaded rashly as he gasped painfully against the Punjab. "Do it!"

The Phantom gazed at Raoul, his face full of hatred. When he spoke his voice was deceptively soft and laced with menace. "You're free to go."

At those words, the rope that had been tied so fiercely about Raoul's neck released its stranglehold and rose instantly toward the top of the cavern to disappear from sight. The portcullis rose along with the rope, but just as quickly another gate descended, separating the rivals.

Raoul grabbed the newly descended portcullis and stared at it in surprise. He looked back to the Phantom and cried desperately, "She's staying with you not because she loves you, but because she loves me! She fears and despises you. How can you live with yourself, knowing that every time you are with her, she will be thinking of me?"

The Phantom stood as tall and resolute as before, but something in his facial expression changed slightly and Raoul discerned that the Phantom had perceived his words as truth.

"Mark my words," Raoul continued zealously. "I will stop at nothing to find and capture you. I will hunt you down like the vile animal that you are. I will have you tied to the end of a cart and beaten throughout Paris and from town to town for raping Christine. She surely would never willingly give herself to you! Then you will be hung for the murderous lecher that you are!"

The Phantom stared momentarily at Raoul then he approached the portcullis slowly. As he placed his large hands on the gate, his long fingers grasped the grating powerfully. His eyes bore into those of the younger man as he retorted, his teeth clenched with anger and hatred, "You had your say, Vicomte, now I'll have mine. You will never capture me, as you will never be able to find me. And as for Christine—" He paused, his voice deepening, his words pronounced distinctly and with authority. "Tonight, Christine will be my bride. And all through this night and every night hereafter, she will share my bed and all that entails. She will be mine, totally and completely. Think on that as you endeavor fruitlessly to track me down and capture me."

With that, the Phantom turned from the enraged younger man and proceeded across the lake toward his future bride.

The Phantom led her deeper into the belly of the opera house, if that could be possible. Her mind kept wandering back to when he led her from his lair and into this other realm of the opera house—if, indeed, it was even part of the opera house. She no longer knew. She couldn't remember how they came to be here. When the Phantom came back for her after he released Raoul, she asked him what they'd said to each other. But he didn't answer her. He led her beyond his bedroom, back where the shrouded mirrors stood, back beyond the mirror from which she'd removed the covering. She heard the shattering of glass as it splintered across the floor before them, and then…

And then they were here, where ever "here" could be. She couldn't remember anything from the time she heard the glass shatter until she stood inside the Phantom's second realm.

The walls of the second realm were made of stone, just like the lair, but it was comfortably warm here. A large piano dominated this new domain. Bookshelves, piled with beautifully bound books, filled one wall and a large table stood along the opposite wall. A large, blazing fireplace claimed the other side of the room in front of which was strewn a large bear rug, soft and luxurious. Facing the fireplace was a large armchair with a small table next to it. Two huge heavy oak doors were located on either end of the room. And it had been through one of the wooden doors that the Phantom had disappeared on his way to bring the Magistrate who would perform their marriage ceremony.

In spite of everything, she couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Raoul. Had he made his way safely back to the surface? She knew that the mob had been on their way down to the lair. The Phantom said he could hear their approach, although she had been unable to hear anything.

Left alone to ponder all that had transpired, she wondered if the Phantom would have killed Raoul had she not agreed to stay with him. The unmitigated certainty that he would have indeed killed him rested heavy upon her heart. But ever since her two lovers fought in the cemetery, she knew to whom she belonged.

How she'd wanted to stay with Raoul, sweet, safe Raoul! But her Angel of Music was a part of her. In fact, he had been a part of her ever since she was a small child. Her father had promised to send him to her. And even though she once realized that her Angel was a mere mortal, she sensed that he had known her father, that her father had asked him to go to her, to teach her. Perhaps he had been chosen by her father to be her husband.

That thought never occurred to her as she was growing up. But ever since he'd fought for her, ever since that conviction pierced her heart, she knew that her father would have wanted her with him. And so, all fear and trepidation aside, she must be ready to make that commitment.

She heard the turning of the lock and when the heavy door opened, a tall, sandy haired man entered followed by the Phantom. Christine was surprised to see that the man was not a Magistrate but a Man of the Cloth.

"And this is the bride to be?" the man questioned benignly as he gazed at her curiously.

"Yes," the Phantom replied stoically.

"And the ring?"

Embarrassed, Christine took the ring off her finger and handed it to the priest.

The Phantom had changed his clothes once they'd entered the second realm. He looked handsome, in spite of his disfigurement, in his close-fitting dark trousers, vest, and dress coat. But although her gown had been wet, he would not allow her to change. She was to wear the bridal gown for the ceremony. He told her that she would be warm in spite of the dampness of the dress. As she stood facing the minister, she realized with a shock that the Phantom had been right.

When it was over, the Phantom led the Man of the Cloth to the doorway. Handing him some bills, they conversed briefly yet so quietly that Christine was unable to discern what they were saying. Then the Man of the Cloth departed and Christine was left alone with her new husband.

The Phantom turned to her and gazed at her intently, his expression so searing it made her blush. He held out his hand to her and when she took it, he led her to the other oak door. He pushed it open, leading her through a short narrow hallway into another room.

Lamps on the bureau and along the walls lent an incandescent glow to the huge four-poster bed that dominated the room. The sheets were turned down in a seductive invitation to their wedding night ahead. Christine hesitated and the Phantom turned to her.

"Relax, my Love, I won't hurt you." The Phantom removed his dress coat and then his vest, placing them neatly atop the bureau. He unfastened his shirt and removing it, placed it atop his other clothing.

He stood with his back to her and when Christine caught her first glimpse of his broad back, she gasped. Spread across the length and breadth of it were scores of unmitigated scars, a mélange of the consummation of human ignorance and hatred.

The Phantom turned round to her. Realizing the source of her shock he explained sadly, "I wasn't born this way, my Dear. My back is a testament of the cruelty of ignorant and malicious men. Many of whom were very much like your Vicomte."

When the Phantom perceived the tears that welled in his young wife's eyes, he took her into his long arms and held her close to him. "But that was long ago." he reminded her softly. "Those days are gone forever. From now on, our lives are fresh and new. Thanks to you, Christine, I can live like I've never lived before." He held her close to him and when he let her go, he shed the rest of his clothing.

Christine turned away from him as he undressed, too shy to gaze at her new husband in all his manly splendor.

The Phantom looked on her kindly in sincere appreciation for her virginal timidity. He donned his robe and when it was tied about him, he said, "You can look now, Christine."

She turned to him demurely and embarrassed, began to apologize.

"There's no need for apologies," the Phantom said mildly. Looking at her pointedly he continued, "There's plenty of time for us to get to know each other." He moved to the nightstand next to the bed and when he turned back to her, he held two wine goblets in his hands. He proffered one of the goblets and said, "Drink this. It will help you to relax." He sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for her to sit next to him. He turned to her and entwining his arm around hers, they shared their wine in a lover's embrace.

When they had their fill, he took her goblet from her and placed both of them on the nightstand. He turned to her and stood. As he gazed down at her, he took her hands in his gently lifting her to her feet.

He gazed at her with such intense longing and searing desire that it tugged at her heart. Placing his hand along her cheek he whispered, his voice choked with emotion, "Oh, Christine, I've loved you for so long! I can hardly believe that you are willing to give yourself to me."

He ran his hands tentatively along the bodice of her gown, as if he expected her to push him away. Instead, she encouraged him as she lifted her arms to him, pulling his face down to hers, kissing him as she had done when they had been in his lair. She gazed into his eyes lovingly and whispered with a slight quiver, "I'm yours, my Angel. Take me and make me your own."

His breath caught in his throat as he discerned her willing submission to him. With faltering fingers, he slowly unfastened her dress and as he pulled it gently from her, he kissed her bare shoulders. He ran his mouth along her smooth, soft flesh until he reached the bodice of her chemise. He lifted his head from her as he looked into her large, sloe-like eyes, as he trembled with desire for her. Her eyes were wide with new sensations and as he began to unfasten her chemise, he felt her body quiver from his touch. "I won't hurt you, Christine," he whispered hoarsely. With that, he slowly removed the remainder of her clothing, savoring each uncovered part of her as he planted light tentative kisses along the way.

When she was naked, her long dark curls concealing her young, feminine form, she stood before him, shivering more from nerves than from any chill since the room was warm. She looked down coyly, for he was the first man to see her thus. When he moved to take her in his arms, his manhood, huge and pulsing, peered out like a lofty sentinel from beneath the fold of his robe.

Frightened, Christine turned from him and ran toward the door of his bedroom. He quickly chased after her and catching her in his arms, he held her close as he whispered heatedly in her ear, "Don't be afraid, Christine! I won't do anything to hurt you. Trust me, my Love." Taking her hand, he led her to his bed.

He took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, his tongue gently probing her lips until they parted. As he kissed her, his large hands explored her naked body, his anxious fingers caressing her shoulders, her back, and her small but firm breasts. Then he lifted her into his arms and settled her on the bed so that she was lying flat on her back. He crawled in next to her, his breathing heavy and ragged in his ardor. He fastened his mouth onto hers once again and after he kissed her, he confessed, "I've never…" He hesitated. "This is new to me, just as it is for you. I don't want to hurt you in my desire to have you." He paused as his eyes took in her youthful loveliness. "You are so beautiful, Christine." His voice rasped with emotion.

Christine shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's just that—I don't know what I should do."

He gazed at her expectantly then kissed her lightly. "Do you know how a man and a woman make love?"

At that, Christine looked away, thoroughly embarrassed as she admitted candidly, "There was a game the other ballerinas used to like to play during production parties. They insisted that we join them as they spied on some of the stagehands and chorus girls while they…" Christine looked back at him, blushing. "…as they made love," she finished haltingly.

The Phantom smiled slightly and said, "Then you have a general idea…although I wouldn't call what they were doing 'making love'."

Christine blanched again and looked away.

The Phantom touched her gently as he turned her face to him. "I may be inexperienced, my Love, but I am not totally ignorant." He paused then continued, his voice growing husky with his excitement, "Just do as I ask you."

He kissed her, lightly at first then more passionately. As he kissed her, he ran his hands along her nakedness, his strong fingers kneading her tender flesh with strong, passionate caresses.

He took her hand in his and then placed it against his naked manhood.

Christine's first reaction was to pull back, but he held her hand firmly against him. When she ceased her resistance, he began moving her hand along his manhood, squeezing and releasing her hand alternately. "Keep your hand pressed against me and keep caressing me as I just showed you." He moved his hand down to her most secret place and with his long slender fingers, he began to probe and explore her soft, wet lushness.

Christine gasped then sighed as exquisite sensations coursed through her body.

"I shall enter you, gently," the Phantom continued to explain, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "When I do, I will move like this, just as my fingers are moving inside you."

As Christine moaned involuntarily, the Phantom once again fastened his mouth onto hers. Raising himself up above her, he took his manhood in his own hand and guided himself inside her, gently probing her tender, virginal opening with his hot, pulsing staff. As Christine's ardor increased, she opened herself to him and he entered her, carefully thrusting inside her.

As their passions mounted, he kissed her and she returned his kiss with equal intensity. He strained to keep his thrusting at a gentle pace so as not to hurt her. But when he felt her constrict against him in a steadily augmented rhythm, his rhythm increased to match her own until he exploded, the product of his love erupting inside of her like the intense detonation of a powerful seismic release.

In the aftermath of their lovemaking, they panted against each other, quenched and deliciously satisfied. He kissed her repeatedly, her mouth, then her throat, down to her pert breasts that he suckled like a contented infant. When he raised himself onto his arm to look at her, she smiled up at him lovingly raising her hand to caress the damaged side of his face.

"Did I hurt you at all," he asked her, his voice filled with concern.

She shook her head. "No, not at all," she replied honestly. "I never felt anything like it before," she continued breathlessly.

His panting subsiding steadily, he gazed at her adoringly as he responded, "No, and neither have I."

Settling next to each other, he held her in his arms until they both fell into a deep sleep. As sleep overtook them, the Phantom relaxed, more content than he'd felt in his life while Christine wondered what life had in store for her as the young bride of the Phantom.

These thoughts lent themselves to dreams that eventually disturbed and disrupted the young ingenue's slumber. For in her dreams, she realized that she married a stranger. He was a man who was not what he claimed to be. He was a man who fought viciously to win her, and who was willing to kill ruthlessly to control her. He was a man who lived in the bowels of the earth like a hunted animal because he bore the scars of the hatred of so many.

And in the peaceful quiet of that secure yet deeply buried bedchamber, the ingenue awoke with a terrible fear that awakened her suddenly. She wanted to beat against the constraints of the buried cavern; to desperately catch a breath of fresh air as the walls around her seemed hard and unforgiving, imprisoning her in their suffocating rigidity.

Remembering where she was and to whom she belonged, she remembered her promise to him as well. Yet her mind warred with her soul, demanding freedom, demanding security. She tried desperately to quell the steadily growing paranoia within her breast that threatened to consume her. In her anxiety, she turned toward him as she wrapped her arms about his neck and buried her face into his chest.

Her frantic maneuverings awakened the Phantom in alarm. He wrapped his arms around her as he asked gravely, "Christine, what is it? What's wrong?"

She pulled herself from his embrace as she sat up to gaze at him. He pulled himself up beside her and tentatively, lest she should push him away, he put his arm around her.

"Tell me," she gasped. "Will we live in these caverns for the rest of our lives?"

Stunned, he gazed at her uncomprehendingly. After all, this was his home. Why would they not live here? But when he saw the panicked fear in her large brown eyes, he asked quietly, "What do you mean, Christine? Don't you like it here?"

She hated herself for upsetting him this way. This had been his world probably for most of his life. Did she really expect him to abandon it? He didn't live in the real world, and now that she had become his wife, she must go wherever he may lead her. How could she explain to him her need to live a normal life?

She looked at him pleadingly and then her eyes widened with a sudden and conspicuous realization. How fatuous of her not to have realized it sooner! For years, she'd known him as her Angel of Music and lately, as the Phantom. For most of her life, she referred to him as "my Angel". Never once had he told her his name. Believing him to be an angel, she never thought to ask him his name. But he was not an angel and he was not a phantom; he was a man. And now that she had become his wife, she didn't know what to call him.

As his expression changed from stunned bewilderment to overt concern, he placed his large hand behind her neck tilting her face to his. Desperately he asked, "Christine, what is wrong?"

With trembling fingers, she pulled his hand from her then clasped his hand in both of hers. "Please don't be angry with me," she pleaded imploringly. She looked at him, hesitating to go on, not sure how to say what she so desperately needed to tell him. She swallowed and lifting his hand to her breasts, she rushed on, "I do not regret marrying you, my Angel. But, in all honesty…I don't know whether I could live here, underground in this cave, without ever seeing the sunshine again. I can feel these walls closing in around me, and it frightens me!"

She began to tremble and witnessing her fear, he pulled her to him as he gently pressed her head against his strong, bare chest.

Ever since his role as her guardian and teacher had insidiously melded into that of an ardent admirer and a hopeful, if not obsessive, lover, it never once occurred to him that she might be unable to live as he did. In his impassioned desire to teach her and his overzealous need to possess her, he never truly considered the sacrifices he may need to make in order to give her the happiness that she deserved.

Any dealings that he must see to on his own, he had seen to in the darkness of night. He rarely ventured outdoors in the light of day. Not because he hadn't wanted to bask in the sunshine that, in the early years he had desperately missed. But because he couldn't take the risk of being seen—ever! How could he forget the despicable human beings that, catching a glimpse of his mask never failed an attempt to rip it from his face? And at the sight of his face, they glared at him in horror before they hissed at him with inevitable hatred. Any wrongs that had been done, any crimes that had been committed, he had been the one who had been blamed. Then came the inescapable punishments, the innumerable lashings that he endured for days on end, the countless lonely nights that he spent chained to a post in filthy cages or in damp abandoned basements. His most prevalent memories from his pre-opera house days were that of other people's scorn and derision—and their inevitable and abject cruelty.

His only reprieve had been his music…and his bizarre yet extraordinary intelligence and talents. They alone had kept him alive. And so, when he finally escaped the horrors of his youth and early adulthood years, he vowed never to live in the light of day or to have any more direct dealings with those of the human race other than to those few whom he'd chosen to interact.

He knew every nook and cranny of the opera house, and here he was the ruler of his kingdom. The hapless managers were forever indebted to him because it had been through his correspondence that he and he alone managed the opera house; the managers merely gave the public a face to relate to and a name to refer to. They might have been reticent in their desire to pay him his allowance, but deep down, they knew he deserved it. And it worked admirably for him. For in the belly of the opera house, he constructed his home. In order to accomplish this, he had made arrangements with certain private and trusted individuals in the outside world to assist him. They were discreet because they wouldn't have dared to be otherwise. Although they never saw his face, they feared him just the same, admiring him as well for it had been through his genius that they had prospered. One hand fed the other, did it not? As long as he stayed isolated from the world...

But with Christine as his wife, his world had irrevocably changed and he had been foolish not to realize this inevitability. Did he really expect her to live the kind of nocturnal life that he'd known for so many years? Suddenly, he knew that she wouldn't survive in his underground world, that for her health and happiness, he needed to secure a real home for them. And he needed to secure that home in the outside world.

He sighed heavily as he kissed the top of her head through her dark, luxuriant hair. "I can acquire a home outside of these caves." At her look of surprise he replied, "I do have connections in the outside world. It may take several days to accomplish it and it would have to be outside of Paris, in the country. I prefer my isolation."

She looked up to him then, her eyes filled with anxiety. "Will it be safe for you?"

Her genuine concern for him touched him deeply. "I have my ways of avoiding detection, my Love. You needn't worry yourself over me."

She smiled delightedly, then kissed him fervently on his lips.

As the sensual touch of her soft, milky white breasts against his bare chest coursed through him, he returned her kiss with increasing passion. He pushed her back onto the bed and as they continued to explore each other with their lips, he made love to her for the second time that night.

When their lovemaking was over and Christine was nestled, sound asleep beside him once again, he thought on those things that they had discussed. He realized that even though she didn't say it, he knew what she really wanted. She wanted those things that the Vicomte could have given her – safety, security, a peaceful life that included carefree walks in the light of day and the natural inclination for human companionship outside of marriage.

The Phantom held her for what seemed like hours, but was in fact only a few moments. He gazed down at her longingly as he gently brushed her lovely dark hair away from her face. As his heart constricted with his love for her, the Vicomte's words came back to haunt him.

In the days following the events at the opera house, the Vicomte de Chagny worked closely with the Chief Inspector in order to find and capture the elusive Opera Ghost.

When Raoul met the gendarme followed by the mob on the stairs that led down to the Phantom's labyrinthine domain, he tried to convince them that they wouldn't find either the masked man or his beloved fiancé. But they persisted. When they reached the masked man's lake that bordered the alcove from whence the young ingénue had been abducted, the portcullis that had prevented Raoul from inspecting the area from which the demon and his betrothed had disappeared momentarily stalled them. The gendarme proceeded to torch the heavy wooden portcullis and when the blaze died down, they entered therein.

As Raoul suspected, no trace of the Phantom or his fiancé was found. Convincing the Inspector to allow him to join in their investigation, he had zealously assisted them in their quest, but so far, no progress had been made. Outside of the handwritten notes written by the Phantom that were still in the possession of the opera house managers and the obvious living quarters that they found in the bowels of the opera house, no other viable evidence had been found. So, as other incidents began to require the attention of the police, the Inspector became increasingly reluctant to continue the search for a ghost.

And as days turned into weeks, the police and the public in general had grown tired of the fruitless search. But Raoul, frantic for the safety of his beloved, refused to give up and so he continued the search on his own against the adamant wishes of his parents.

The house was small, nestled within the sanctuary of a forest of pines and hemlock. It had two stories, the first floor that included a living area, a dining room, a small kitchen, and a study. The upstairs consisted of an expertly drafted alcove from which her husband composed and played his music. Beyond the alcove was their bedroom, spacious yet comfortable. Large French doors dominated one wall of the room that led out onto a wooden balcony. The balcony overlooked a portion of the lake that was situated 20 yards to the front and side of their home.

Her Angel had been true to his word. Several days following their marriage, he'd informed her about the home that he'd purchased for them. But during the interim of those several days, Christine had been left alone during most of the time and, thus, had become frantic in her desire for her freedom outside the close confines of her husband's domain. By the evening of the second day of her confinement, she'd decided that she would demand that when he went out the next day, that he should take her with him.

She'd tried to keep herself busy with the myriad of books that her husband had lining his extensive book shelves. She had been amazed at the variety of literature he'd collected, and at first, the books held her interest. But one can only read for so long. The silence and loneliness nearly drove her mad, and at those times, she'd wondered how her husband managed to live so all alone, holed up like an animal, for so many years.

She'd seen only one other human being outside of the priest who had married them, and that had been her husband's servant, Jules. He dutifully brought cooked meals to her on a beautiful silver covered dish, with matching utensils. But Jules was a quiet man and merely mumbled, "Oui, Madam, non, Madam", or that he didn't know the answer in response to her attempts at conversation. She didn't know if her husband had instructed him not to converse with her, or if Jules merely didn't wish to speak.

So, with no one to talk to, nowhere to go and nearly nothing to do, her mind began to take on a life of its own as a myriad of questions and intangible fears leapt upon her inactive brain like a cat that pounces on its prey, only to play with it cruelly before it mercilessly kills it. Where was he going during the day? What if he were to be captured?

Then she'd remembered that in her relief at finding herself wrapped in his long, strong arms and how she'd so easily succumbed to his ardent lovemaking, she'd forgotten to ask him his name. She was truly married to a Phantom, to a man who had no name! But no, he was not a phantom anymore than he was an angel. She was his wife; she had a right to know his name – a right to know what her name had become. And she'd decided that no matter what, she was going to ask him his name when he returned.

And what about Raoul?

Raoul! Again thoughts of Raoul dominated her consciousness. Remembering his handsome face and caring demeanor towards her, her image of him became one as that of a knight in shining armor, for truly that was what he had been to her. Her handsome cavalier who risked his own life to save her from the madman who has kept her hidden in a cave away from the world, away from the one who would never have confined her in such a manner. Raoul lived in the light of day and was all that was good and decent. And then she'd imagined that he'd never made it out of the confines of the opera house. That somehow, he had gotten lost in the myriad of tunnels and alcoves that comprised the Phantom's labyrinthine maze; that he was either still wandering in its dark and musty corridors, weakened from hunger and fear, or that he had indeed died in its murky depths. Perhaps the Phantom had lied to her after all. Perhaps he'd known all along that Raoul would never make it out of his domain alive, but merely led her to believe that he'd set him free.

It was with these thoughts that her instinctual fear of her husband returned in force so that by the time he'd returned from his day's activities, she was nearly frantic with her crazed thoughts, loneliness, and isolation. Following this second day of her confinement, she practically sprang onto him as soon as he'd entered through the door.

The sound of the unlocking of the door served as a catalyst to her nerves that prompted her to bolt out of the easy chair that she'd been sitting. The book that she'd held in her lap fell to the floor, its pages crumpled underneath its weight. She watched with bated breath as her husband took off his magnificent black cape and hung it on a wooden coat tree in the corner next to the door.

He was dressed much like he had been that night he'd initially led her down into his lair. The tunnels of the opera house had then appeared to her as if they had been lit with incandescent lights; an illusion that lent an enchanting, gossamer veil of wonder and splendor across his kingdom. It hadn't been until the night he'd abducted her from the stage that she realized that his kingdom was not beautiful and enchanting in the least; instead, it was dirty, filthy, musty, and rat-infested. It was nothing like it appeared to be; just like he had been nothing like he'd appeared to be, either.

She watched him, her eyes narrowing and untrusting as they beheld his presence.

He looked at her, a smile forming on his seductive lips as he removed his black gloves. But when he saw the strange expression on her face, he froze and asked, "Christine, what is it?"

She turned from him abruptly and didn't answer him.

The Phantom's gaze wandered from his bride to the untouched plate of food on the table that Jules had brought her. "You didn't eat today? Why not?"

"I'm not hungry," she retorted testily, her back to him in an obstinate display of defiance.

He watched her, his brow furrowing as he finished removing his gloves and tossed them onto the table next to her untouched supper. He strode purposefully to her as he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. "What's the matter, Christine?" He could feel her bewildering resistance as she gazed at him with large, frantic eyes, and it upset him.

She placed either hand along the smooth fabric of his labels. She watched as she ran her hands along their length and gazing up at him once more, she whispered, "Who are you? Phantom, friend, or angel?" And when he merely gazed at her quizzically, she asked, "What is your name?"

He looked at her fixedly, his expression not having changed and when he didn't answer her, she said desperately, "Don't you have a name?"

"My name," he echoed incredulously. He stared at her intently and as his expression turned from one of questioning to torment, he turned from her and confessed miserably, "I haven't used my given name in nearly 20 years."

"Am I to call you My Angel throughout our marriage? Do you not have a Christian name?" she pressed. "If you refuse to use your given name, then who am I? How shall I be addressed? Christine what?"

He gazed back at her, realizing with dread that he had never considered telling her his name. Even the priest had not used it because he'd requested that it not be used, although he had given the priest his name—he had to for their marriage certificate. But he had asked him not to mention it during the ceremony and Christine hadn't noticed. He'd meant for her not to notice. Was it possible that she was breaking his spell over her so early in their marriage? Of course, he wanted to tell her his name…eventually, but not yet. There were things that he didn't yet want her to know for fear that if she knew all about him, she would turn from him, reject him, and that she would run back to that boy!

He walked slowly to her and taking her in his arms, he held he close to him, pressing her head gently against his broad chest. "My name is Erik," he told her, holding her more tightly than he'd intended. "Will that suffice for now?" He pulled her from him and gazed down at her, his piercing green eyes beseeching and filled with a sorrow that she couldn't understand.

"Erik," she whispered. She raised her hand and touched the unmasked side of his face. "Erik," she repeated with wonder. She smiled for the first time as she nodded in reply to his question. And as she looked at him, her frantic fears and misgivings melted like molten wax beneath his burning gaze.

He smiled with relief and held her close to him as his hand stroked her long, dark curls lovingly.

As he held her, she'd wondered why it was that while in his embrace, all her other worries seemed to vanish. But she knew that she didn't want to spend another day trapped in the confines of the cave, so she looked up at him and asked, "Did you find anything today?"

He pulled her from him as he replied, "I'm making progress, my Love. Jules shall be making several inquiries for me, but I shall be gone again tomorrow to look further."

"Can I go with you," she entreated him anxiously.

"No, I can't risk taking you with me."

"Why not?"

He looked down at her, not only surprised by her question but also by her anxious tone.

"There is a massive search for us, Christine. On my own I am able to elude them but if you were with me, I may not be able to elude all of them fast enough. I can't risk it."

She turned from him abruptly as she folded her arms tightly around her body, her hands clasping either arm.

He stared at her rigid back with growing concern and apprehension. As he watched her closely and silently, he realized that the confinement, no matter how temporary, weighed heavily on her fragile psyche. As much as he would enjoy taking her with him in search of their new home, he knew it was too dangerous at this time. The public and the gendarme were intractable in their search for him, a search being propelled by the urgency of the Vicomte de Chagny. His fear of losing her far outweighed his desire to have her with him on his daily outings. Here, in the confines of his hidden lair, she was safe.

But he knew what he had to do. And so he opened his mouth and sang to her, softly and enchantingly. With his illustrious voice he soothed her.

The next few days flew by for Christine in a contented state of satisfaction. She ate when Jules brought her meals, she read, and she practiced her scales and arias. By the end of the fourth day since her husband's refusal to take her with him, she'd realized with stunned amazement that her waiting was over. He'd found a new home for them.

In the dead of night, Jules drove them through Paris and into the country. Christine didn't know what sort of documents Jules presented to the Authorities when they were stopped at the border of the City. But the gendarme stood back respectfully and let them pass. And strangely, her husband didn't seem the least bit concerned for their possible discovery. He smiled down at her and held her close to him.

When she stepped across the threshold of their new home, she was surprised to find it completely furnished.

In the sweet confines of the swan bed that she had slept in when her Angel first led her to his lair, they made love exactly one week since the night of their wedding.

Seven agonizing months had transpired since the incidents at the opera house and Raoul was no closer to finding his beloved than he had been the night that she and her tormentor had disappeared behind the strange gossamer veil of shattered glass. The local government had long since abandoned their search for the Opera Ghost, and the memory of the mysterious happenings at the opera house had faded from the public's mind.

The opera managers had sold the opera house several months ago and renovations had progressed over the passed several weeks by the new owner. Having heard rumors that the new owner was overseeing the renovations, Raoul made a point of visiting him while he sojourned the premises with his inquiries. However, he was disappointed to find not the owner but the owner's representative, Monsieur Jules Mercier, instead.

Noting that the fallen chandelier had already been removed, Raoul questioned Monsieur Mercier as to the disposition of such prime evidence. But when the benevolent representative explained that the chandelier and other artifacts were put in storage to be later sold at auction, Raoul was astonished. His subsequent interrogation of the calmly efficient representative proved unfruitful. As Raoul looked around at the transformation of the house where his beloved had known her great triumph, his heart sank within him.

It was as if he and he alone knew of the Opera Ghost. No one else would admit it or else they no longer cared. For most of Paris, it was as if the nightmare of so many months ago had never transpired. But for Raoul, the nightmare had never ceased.

And so on this hot mid-summer's day, as he rode his steed along a backroad outside of Paris, he realized with great dismay that his latest quest had proven as unfruitful as the others. For every solid lead that he followed, he found at least one obstacle that negated a satisfactory conclusion. He suspected the Phantom's hand at play, his way of keeping one step ahead of him. But as frustrating as the search was, he adamantly refused to give up. He had sworn that no matter how long it takes, he won't give up his search for his precious Christine.

In the distance, he perceived a dark brougham parked alongside the road next to a small fruit stand situated on the front property of a local farmer. There was a young woman with long dark curls having just purchased a basket of fruits from the farmwoman who had just retreated into the confines of her home. He reigned in his horse from a trot to a walk as he approached the young woman. She adjusted her purse and made one final inspection of her purchase.

Raoul breathed sharply as he recognized the young woman. Her gestures, her movements, surely that must be Christine, he thought feverishly. But when she turned, he noticed that the young woman was obviously with child. Hearing his approach, she turned to him and recognizing the young man on his steed, her large eyes widened in surprise.

"Christine!" he cried anxiously as he urged his horse forward. When he drew nigh unto her, he jumped from his steed and approached her quickly. He stood a few feet from her as he gazed at her, his expression revealing a myriad of emotions as they crossed his handsome face. Shock, dismay, happiness, and remorse all melted one into the other as pained confusion settled within the young man's breast.

"Raoul!" Christine breathed as she silently thanked God that Erik had allowed Jules to take her on the outing while he attended to his compositions.

"I've been searching endlessly for you, Christine," Raoul cried breathlessly, his face now flushed from the heat of the day and his raging emotions.

"I'm fine, Roul," Christine assured him tenderly. "As you can see, I'm doing well."

"Are you?" Raoul asked wretchedly. When he glanced at her protruding abdomen, Christine lowered her gaze timidly.

"Yes, I'm with child, Raoul. My husband's child."

"And who is your husband," Raoul asked arduously, as jealously insidiously tinged the passion in his voice.

"My husband is Erik."

"Erik? And who is Erik? The Phantom? The monster that abducted you out of the pits of the opera house? Christine!"

"Erik is not a phantom or a monster. He is a man and he's my husband." Christine paused and as she swallowed, she added desperately, "And I love him, Raoul."

"How can you love that despicable fiend," Raoul cried, his emotional chaos nearly overwhelming him. "I've been searching high and low for you! I've continued the search even though every one else has given up. And now after having found you, you are not only his wife but the bearer of his child?" As his frustration and anxiety reached their climax, he cried desperately, "I can't bear the thought of him touching you!"

"Raoul, he is my husband. It is as it should be," Christine insisted reasonably.

"Is it?" he asked miserably. "After all that he'd done? After all that he'd put you through, after what he put the management through, after having killed poor Buquet and Piangi, it is all as it should be? His bottomless bag of tricks, his endless lies… Have you forgotten how he enchanted you? How he deceived you, Christine? How do you know that you are still not under his spell in some way? How do you know that he is not still deceiving you?"

"Oh, Raoul!" Christine looked at her former lover with sympathy and compassion. She set down the basket of fruit as she clasped his hand in hers. "Listen to me, Raoul. I know how everything must appear to you – that Erik killed Joseph Buquet and Piango – but he didn't. Buquet's death was an accident and Piangi died of a heart attack!"

"Oh, yes!" Raoul cried sarcastically. "Is that what he told you? What convenient excuses!"

"But it's true!"

"That fiend is a liar, Christine!" He paused and putting his arm around her, he said, "Who is in the carriage with you? I'm sure he didn't let you drive out here by yourself."

"Our manservant," she answered nervously as he picked up the basket of fruit and began to lead her towards the carriage.

"Fine," Raoul answered as if satisfied. "I'll have him take us to my parent's estate…and then he can drive back and tell – Erik – where he had taken you. That will bring that fiend out in the open and I'll have him arrested!"

"Raoul, you can't!" she cried as she tried frantically to pull away from him, regretting feverishly that her husband hadn't accompanied her.

He paused as he turned to her, his strong arm holding her securely against him.

She saw the lines of worry and frustration that had etched themselves into his handsome face over the months since her marriage and her heart broke for her precious Raoul.

"Christine, please let me help you! Perhaps you can't see him as a despicable monster, but your perception has been clouded by his sorcery. Your marriage – if there indeed had been a marriage – can be annulled."

"Raoul, you don't know what you're saying."

He led her once again towards the carriage and when they came unto it, he whistled for his steed. As the horse cantered toward them, Raoul guided Christine toward the door of the brougham.

"Take your hands off my wife and step away from her!" The voice resounded powerfully in the stillness of the country lane. The couple gasped and turned toward the direction from whence the voice resounded.

From behind the protection of several trees that bordered the lane, Erik emerged. He stood tall and steadfast as a strange powerful aura seemed to envelop his dark, cape-shrouded figure. He wore a flesh colored mask that covered the distorted half of his face, rendering unto him a normal, unmarred visage at first glance.

Raoul gently pushed Christine behind him. He grunted arduously as he pulled his scabbard from its sheath.

"Put the sword away!" Erik commanded severely

"Draw your sword, you hellish Fiend!" Raoul retorted fiercely. "I defeated you before and I'll do it again!"

"You never defeated me you ignorant boy," Erik spat viciously. "One last time, Vicomte! Put the sword away!"

With a cry, Raoul attacked his mortal enemy. But as he raised his scabbard to slice a mortal blow to the man he'd known as the Phantom, sharp pain, like thousands of burning needles pricked the tender flesh of his wrist as sparks flew like buckshot off the shiny metal blade of his scabbard. Raoul dropped the sword to the dirt road as he grabbed his seared wrist with his other hand. With shocked surprise, Raoul gazed painfully at the masked man.

The Phantom glared at him then bypassed him heedlessly as he strode purposefully toward Christine. He helped Christine into the carriage and then he followed swiftly behind her. He clucked to the pair of matching Thoroughbreds and with a flick of the reins, they departed.

Raoul stared after them in stupefied wonder as he rubbed his numb wrist methodically. As he watched them disappear out of sight, it never occurred to him that he had never seen the manservant that Christine had earlier referred to.

Two months later, shortly before Christine was to bear their first child, Erik divulged his identity to her. With the original Family Seal and the sacred documents signed by his grandfather attesting to his rightful heritage laid out before him, Erik revealed them for the first time to his wife.

When Christine beheld the name of her husband, she inhaled sharply in stunned disbelief. "How can this be," she whispered as she gazed at him in wonder.

"I was a horrible embarrassment to my parents," Erik confessed sadly. "They hated me from the moment I was born. It was my grandfather who made sure that I was brought up as the nobleman that I was intended to be. There were those of influence in Paris who were aware of my existence, and for my grandfather's sake, respected his wishes that I be treated as his son's rightful heir. Before his death, my grandfather had given me these documents because he feared for my safety after his demise."

When Erik said no more, Christine looked at him searchingly as she asked quietly, "What happened then?"

Erik's emerald eyes hardened from the pain of those horrible memories. "I hid the documents within the walls of that grand estate. When my grandfather died, my parents had me bound and I was taken to an orphanage far from the City of Paris. And there I was confined within the dank basement of the orphanage, treated worse than an animal. I was nine years old when I escaped. In my wanderings, I was found by a traveling band of gypsies and forced to live as a freak, to be caged and gawked at by unfeeling and uncaring thrill-seekers. I eventually escaped the horrors of the traveling sideshow and returned to Paris." He sighed deeply as he gazed longingly at his wife. "I learned to be lonely in the confines of the opera house; I forged the old dungeons into a home of my own, and I'd never intended to leave – until you came." He kissed her as he wrapped his arms tightly about her. "And when I realized what was meant to be between us, not just the music but you as my wife, I retrieved the documents and decided that our son will also inherit what is rightfully his." He placed his hand tenderly, lovingly on her swollen abdomen.

She smiled up at him and touched his face gently. Then she retrieved the seal in conjunction with the other documents and as she gazed at them intently, she whispered, "What about Raoul?"

"I am hoping that he will be able to put his rivalry behind him, but I believe he will have a very difficult time accepting the truth." Erik paused cryptically. "He may never accept it," Erik predicted perceptively.

"And your parents?" Christine questioned with concern.

Erik looked at the documents inscrutably as he replied fiercely, "They will have no other choice to to accept it!" He wrapped his arms around his wife securely and held her close to him.

As she nestled in the arms of her beloved husband, Christine wondered what the future held for them as the Comte and Comtesse de Chagny.