Chapter 1:Your Fears are Far Behind You

Erik looked over at Christine as she slept. How many times had he stayed up watching her sleep? He did not know. But his ange slept peacefully as he sat up, music running through his brain. How close he had come to losing her…losing the hope for children, and a real life.

He ran his hands over the satin sheets and rose. He went over to his desk by the window and looked out at the snowy night. There was no one in the streets except a policeman twirling his baton. Erik shut the curtains and sat at the desk. He took out a piece of paper, inked a quill, and began to draw the five line staff on the paper. He had a new idea.

Just as he sought to write it down, he heard a small cry from the room connecting to his. He looked over at Christine, who still slept, and went to the door. He could hear his daughter, Clarissa, crying and saying "papa, mama." His little angel was quiet as a mouse.

He went in the door and saw her sitting up in her bed, tears running down her face as she looked expectantly at him. He walked over quickly and picked her up. Her little arms surrounded his neck, and she buried her face in his cheek. His unmarked, unmasked cheek.

"Papa…" she sobbed softly.

"What is it, child?" She raised her three year old head.

"A ghost in the closet, Papa." Erik winced at her use of ghost. He'd been called that, but so far had yet to scare his own daughter.

"Let's go see my little diva." She giggled a bit but sobered as he walked over to the closet that held her clothes. She shifted in his arms, trying to create a distance between her and the closet. He opened the closet and rifled through her little frocks of pink and yellow.

"There's nothing here. Let's go back to bed before you wake your Mama."

"Mama!" Clarissa pointed to the door. Too late.

Christine stood there in her robe and held out her arms to her daughter. Erik handed her over and Christine accepted her with a smile.

"My little one, what's the matter?"

"Papa scared away the ghost!" Christine's eyebrow rose at her husband. He shrugged.

"I don't know where she got it from."

"Maybe from the other children."

Clarissa's eyes started to droop again, so Christine towed her over to the bed and put her down. She began to sing an old tune to her, as she sat on the bedspread. Erik joined her.

…I'm here, with you beside you

To guard you and to guide you…

Clarissa dropped back off into sleep and Erik pulled up her covers. Christine tookErik's hand and smiled at him, tiredly.

"Our little angel is not afraid of her Papa, Erik." He nodded.

"I know."

"Why were you up?" she asked.

"I couldn't sleep." her eyes showed sympathy.

"Are you writing something? Something new?"
"Yes. I'm not sure of the story, but I have such a tune going through my head."
They got up and went into their own room.

"I hope it's nothing like Don Juan," her eyes twinkled, " I almost married the wrong man after that one." They both laid back down in their large four-poster bed. Erik wrapped his arms around her and they snuggled deeper into the warm blankets.

"Yes, I know. But you did enjoy it, darling." He spoke of their duet that had inflamed Christine and made her choose her passionate love of him over her childhood sweetheart, Raoul.

"I know. But tell me, will you try to get the managers to do this one, or go to another opera." She spoke of Firmin, the surviving manager after the opera disaster. The chandalier had crashed after Erik cut the rope in a jealous rage. A rage he ought not have gone into, since Christine had no intention of leaving him.

When he cut the rope and took her down, down into the stage and back into his lair, she revealed that she'd taken off his mask in a fit of pressure. She was expected to reveal him, to turn him in. She couldn't do that now. And she kissed him.

He kissed her now, remembering then. She kissed him back and sighed.

"I'm glad you're writing again. Poor Firmin, when he lost Andre after the fire, I thought the opera would never re-open." She stroked Erik's face.

It had taken years, but he' finally felt comfortable around her without the mask. He still wore it a lot, especially with the servants around. When they'd moved to the secluded country, he'd go without it more. But now that they'd come back to the city, he vowed not to go out without it.

Even at their wedding, a month after the disaster, he wore the mask. A near sited priest performed the ceremony , unconcerned. They'd lived under the opera house for a few months, before Christine conceived. When they found out they were having a child, they moved to the country.

The 20,000 francs he'd acquired every month from his old managers held them over still. And as far as anyone knew Christine had married a very shy composer.

"Perhaps you should sing again, Christine." Christine started.

"But…I don't know, Erik. I would love it…but after the scandal at the Opera Populaire, I don't know if I should."
"I could take care of that," he said darkly. She slapped his arm.

"No, no more phantom sightings. It's bad enough you…" she stopped. She didn't want to think of the two men he'd killed. It frightened her…worried her. It made her reconsider marrying him a few times. But seeing him now, and their child, made her know she'd made her choice wisely.

"Perhaps, Erik. But I'm tired now, please try to sleep. We'll talk of it in the morning."

"Yes, mon ami. I'll contact Giry tomorrow. Perhaps we'll visit Meg, or Firmin himself, eh?"

Christine nodded and let her eyes droop.

"I love you…" She fell asleep before Erik. Erik sat up in the bed and admired her for a few more minutes.

"I promise you will sing again. No matter what it takes."