A/N: If you actually liked my first story (and I can't imagine why), then I'm sorry. I got sick of it, I hated it, and it was no joy to write. So, I'm writing this. This is the way I wanted my previous story to end. I just had problems getting there.
By the way, I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera. Maybe someday I will, but not now.
Raoul stared at the scene before him, his insides boiling with anger. How could she do this to him? Betraying him and siding with that…that monster. Angrily, he turned to the guard behind him.
"Well?" he said. "This is why you're up here. Shoot him! Shoot him!"
The guard looked uncertain. There was nothing in his orders about shooting one of the performers, even if the Vicomte said to. He glanced nervously at Raoul's crazed eyes and then at the embracing couple on stage.
Raoul was growing impatient with the guard. Angrily, he ripped the gun out of his hand and held it, aiming right at the man's back, the one who had stolen his Christine. Erik.
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Christine was happy. Tonight, the night she was supposed to betray Erik, she had made her choice. The second she had heard Erik's voice on stage, she had known. There was no going back now. She was fine with that. In fact, she had almost forgotten that they were standing on stage. Embarrassed suddenly, she looked up over Erik's shoulder. She saw Raoul, his gun aimed at Erik's back. Her eyes widened in horror as she saw Raoul's crazed appearance.
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Erik was in a daze. He couldn't believe it. Christine was his. All his. Then, he heard the gunshot. Before he could tell where it had come from, he was pushed aside. He tripped, and scrambled to a sitting position, looking for his attacker. All he saw was Christine, her face deathly pale. She was clutching her side.
At first, he couldn't tell what was wrong. Then, she took her hand away. Blood coated it, dripping and fresh. Erik watched in horror as Christine, his Christine, fell to the floor.
Before she could really fall, he caught her, cradling her head.
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Christine was numb. She couldn't feel anything anymore. She knew she was bleeding, but there was no pain. All she felt was sadness. What would happen to Erik without her? No, she mustn't think that way. Still, the blackness seemed so welcoming, so peaceful. The last thing she saw before the darkness overcame her was Erik's face.
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Raoul was overcome with horror. What had he done? He stared at his hand, in which the gun was still smoking. The gun clattered to the ground. He stared at the prone figure of Christine, blood gathering around her in a pool. Then, he heard the sound. An inhuman howl, one that could only be made by someone going through the worst grief imaginable. It was coming from the stage, from Erik. Then, the masked man, with Christine still in his arms, turned directly to Raoul's box. A deadly glare hit Raoul, making him shudder with fear.
He turned and ran, out of the opera house, away from his deed. His carriage was waiting, and he leaped into it. Riding to his home, he wallowed in remorse. How could this have happened? What had he done? He thought of Christine, the beautiful, talented girl she was. Her face haunted him the whole way home, and wouldn't go away. He didn't think it ever would.
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Erik carried Christine's body in his arms, weeping and howling. A doctor who happened to like opera checked her, but it was too late. No one could help her now. Still Erik refused to let go. He ran from the stage, traveling to his lair below the opera house. She couldn't be gone. He wouldn't let her go.
Once he reached his lair, he laid Christine gently on his swan bed. He didn't worry about staining it with blood. Nothing mattered but her. Wailing and sobbing, he begged her to wake up, not to leave him alone. Nothing he could say could wake her, though. She was lost, beyond his reach, and everyone's, forever.
