One

"Is she going to be all right?" the nervous young man asked as he was met in the waiting room. The doctor was shaking with age and nodding slightly, but the Chagny family had been visiting Dr. Sanis for two generations, and were not about to question his skills in medicine. Psychiatry was a different story.

"As far as I am concerned, your fiancé does not belong here. I am referring you to an associate of mine, Dr. Verain." The wizened hand scribbled down a note and placed it in the Vicomte's youthful one. "Give this to Jacques Verain and he will treat your fiancé."

The young woman followed her husband to be out of the small medical office and into a chaise parked just outside. They would visit the psychiatrist tomorrow, but for now they would sup. Christine would return to her shadowy bedroom, confused and cold; Raoul would return to his master chamber with a nightcap and the newspaper and fail to sleep due to the fear which rose at every creaking board and sighing wind.

The next day brought a crisp yellow sunshine and a moist air to the pair's travel back into the city. Dr. Verain's office was across town from the wreckage which weeks ago had been the Opera Populaire, but had it been any closer Raoul may have reconsidered the visit. This is for Christine. She has experienced a great trauma, she gave her mind to the Phantom and he never gave it back. The door to the office was a dark violet interrupted by patches of pine where the paint had worn away. The place was a little worn, but not uninviting. They walked in.

"Is there any way I could be of service to you?" a young man asked from the desk. He was clearly no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, possibly an apprentice or a ward of the doctor's. He stood up to take their coats and direct them towards a pair of slightly under-stuffed armchairs opposite.

"Yes," Raoul began, removing the note from his vest pocket, "Dr. Sanis recommended this office. I don't know if Dr. Verain has an appointment with us--"

"Dr. Verain is not in. He has been in the hospital for the last few days with a bronchial irritation. He was at the opera when it…well…"

"I see."

"But his associate is here, Dr. Rubis. I can tell him you are here, and he can arrange an appointment with Dr. Verain after his recovery."

"Is this Rubis fellow a competent psychiatrist?" Raoul asked. The apprentice gave him a puzzled look. "You see, I am very anxious for my fiancé to get some attention and soon. Is Dr. Rubis available at the moment?"

"I believe so, Monsieur. Let me ask if he has time for a session." The youth adjourned to the hall and knocked on a door before leaning his head in. Raoul rocked backward and forward nervously on his heels.

"He is available Monsieur. Is the patient here?" Raoul took Christine's hand and led her toward the hall. He was about to follow her into the room when the young man held him back. "I'm sorry Monsieur, but the sessions are conducted privately between doctor and patient."

The door closed behind Christine and Raoul was left outside to pace and bite his fingernails.

The thudding of the door seemed to encompass an eternity in Christine's mind. Between the time when the first sound waves of the closing door bounded toward her ears and when the lock clicked behind her, a tumult of thoughts came whizzing through her head. Am I really crazy? Wasn't he there? I could feel Erik's flesh beneath my lips, I could hear his voice whispering to me as though he were standing right behind me. Raoul insists that Erik does not exist, that he is just a manifestation of my lost father. Would Raoul lie to me? Would I lie to myself?

"Come closer, my child." There was a man sitting in the chair which faced the window. Christine did not come closer.

She knew that voice, that voice which haunted her nightmares and softened her dreams. That voice which reached within the bowels of her soul, which tugged at her heartstrings and ripped at her mind had returned like a snake to slither into her ear. Oh, do not torture me! If this voice is indeed only in my mind, then I shall kill it now! Why...why...

He had stood up. Indeed, Erik had grown thin over the last few weeks, indeed he was not so strong in appearance as he had been when he had dragged her down to his hellish cave beneath the opera house, but he was still Erik. His face was no longer concealed by a mask, but now by a thin tannish powder, as of the foundation used by the players of the opera. He was not half as ugly in form now, but the old manic smile glimmered in his eyes. Christine took a step toward him and then withdrew to the door. Locked.

"I know you, Christine," he began, stepping past the desk, "I know you. You belong here, a woman of two minds. Your mind is a chessboard and a game is played over your heart between the ebony pieces, my minions, and the white pieces of your little vicomte." He moved still closer, and though they were still separated by some hideous upholstery and a few feet of worn carpet, he seemed to tower over her. Christine shrunk in response. "I know you more than you know yourself. I know that a war rages between your passion and your innocence and that it will take a great effort for either to win over. I could have ripped your innocence from you that first night, the first time you really heard…" Erik took another step closer. He was whispering now. "And your passion would have been mine."

"Erik… Why are you here? What do you want from me?" Christine was trembling, nearly crying. She hoped to God that she would not cry in front of him, that she would not crumble in his grasp.

"Why?" a less controlled, a less desperate man would have been angry. "Christine I love you. I love your innocence and your passion. I just wanted to give you a chance to see-- to see that my soul has bloomed as beautiful as your voice, though late, and that all distortion has healed."

"Erik… I'm engaged to be married. What do you want me to do? Tell you that I could never love you more? That I almost died at the thought that you had killed yourself-- or worse, that you had never existed? Do you want me to tell you that I wish I could live both lives at once? But no one could ever settle for half!"

"You're wrong, Christine. I am very happy to settle for half," Erik was now standing close enough to touch her, but she beat him to it. She grabbed his hand in her own and kissed it. Erik looked to the stars that no one could see save himself and thought, I will settle for half until her war is over… and then I will know the truth…

Christine raised her head to meet his lips but he turned his head away. She would come to know what it was like to be denied, so in her depravation she would appreciate his love ever more. She paused for a moment before brushing her lips against his cheek, the untainted flesh which taunted his imperfect half. His flesh was cold, colder than it had been when she had kissed him by the lake, but for her the warmth of his heart beat beneath every corner of his skin. And as the French say goodbye, Erik returned to the chair facing the window.

She was about to leave when she turned and asked him to unlock the door.

"Christine," he smiled, "You know perfectly well that the door was never locked."