Author's Note: Thanks for the great reviews--they made my week. :) I hope this lives up to expectations. I'm having great fun with it. And thanks for the reference to Mme. Giry's name. It figures the one book I couldn't wade through would have it. LOL! As for the titles, since they used the English ones in the movie (see the spelling on Christine's gravestone in the epilogue), that's what I went with.

Chapter Two

The burning building filled the night sky with long tongues of flame. Smoke rose above that, cloaking the pureness of the stars and the moon with its black deceit.

Mme. Antoinette Giry stood in the courtyard of the restaurant on the far side of the entrance, watching it. Beneath her hand, Msr. Reyer shifted, trying not to cough and wrack his slim body in spasms. She squeezed his shoulder, giving him what little moral fortitude she had to offer, but her eyes did not leave the inferno.

Somewhere in its bowels, her daughter had gone with others to capture the fiendish Phantom. Bravely gone, but gone nonetheless. Despite all attempts to dislodge her and take her off to someplace safer, Antoinette refused to go until there was some word of Meg's fate.

Msr. Reyer took hold of her hand, drawing her attention away for the first time. Her eyes burned even though they no longer looked at the fire. She followed his point. The bulk on the litter could only belong to Piangi. Carlotta followed, but her stance was no longer a woman weeping over her dead lover, but a woman with hope. Perhaps Erik had not killed him after all, but only stilled him for the time he would need to sweep Christine away.

She turned her gaze back to the front of the opera house. Yesterday, she'd prayed for such a miracle. Tonight, she found it impossible to believe.

Figures moved from around the side of the building, dark and tiny against the immense light of the fire. Her eyes watered as she squinted to see them, but quickly recognized some of the stage hands who'd gone down with the gendarmes to the catacombs below. She stepped around her long-time friend and moved towards them. Her steps faltered, fearing the worst when she couldn't see the young spry figure of her daughter among them. How much more would this night cost her?

In answer to her silent prayer, Meg stepped out from the shadow of one of the men and hurried to her. Professional reserve be damned, she hugged her daughter and stroked the soot-covered blonde hair.

Meg held her for a moment then stepped back, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Dear God in Heaven," Mme. Giry whispered, "what now?"

"We found his lair," Meg explained, "but there was no one there. Christine's costume was there, but there was no sign of the Viscount. We found the Phantom's escape route, and followed him—"

"You fools."

"But he was gone. His lift had smashed at the bottom and we cannot trace him. Mama—" She paused, looking over her shoulder as one of the gendarmes stopped nearby. "Mama, I know he had to have confided in you. Please, he must have Christine, I'm sure of it. We have to rescue her. Tell us where he's taken her. Please."

Mme. Giry looked beyond her daughter's anxious face, back at the dying opera house.

She'd grown up within its walls, met her husband and fell in love there. Her small office held every treasure of her career as a dancer, the mementoes of joys of her marriage, her child's youth. It was more than her career, her home, it had held her life. Been her life.

There, she'd hidden a deformed boy and protected him against the cruel world. She'd given so very much to his service, little things she'd thought nothing of giving. She'd loved him as the family she'd never had in her childhood. She'd been loyal to him above even her own career. Sometimes her own family.

And this was how he repaid all her years of love and loyalty, by carelessly destroying everything else in her world for his own gains.

Besides a sense of charity, had he ever given anything back to her outside of the most cursory "mercis"? Hadn't he always demanded more of her with every passing year?

Finally, she closed her eyes against tears.

Her voice broke slightly as she recited the address for the flat she'd rented for him two days before.

XXX xxx xxx XXX

The night had always been Erik's realm. He moved through the darkened streets. He didn't need light, he held the map of every place he'd ever been firmly in his mind, from the catacombs and mazes beneath Paris to its rat's nest of streets above. At night, no one peered closely, no one questioned, everyone scurried away about their own business. At night, he was free.

Yet, tonight was different from all other nights. Tonight, there was a lightness to his step he couldn't remember ever before.

Tonight, he had done something wonderful.

He hadn't realized it at first. Pushing Christine away had been the most difficult thing he'd never conceived, but totally the right thing to do.

As he smashed through the mirror, he thought he'd done it to make his own departure faster, but that was a lie. He'd calculated having her with him from the start. It's what he had wanted, had worked toward for weeks. Months.

As he paused in the tunnel to change his clothes, his memory drifted over his choices of the evening. He'd dropped from above intending to kill Piangi. He'd had the rope tight around the man's neck, his unconscious body pulling on the hold, begging for the final twist that would end his pitiful existence. At the time, Erik convinced himself that he didn't have time for the final twist and let him down. Now, he knew that to be a lie as well.

Something had been changing inside him since Christine spared his life at her father's tomb. He realized that now. He'd declared war on them, but it had turned into a war within himself. Christine's Light against his lifetime of Darkness.

Yet, tonight, the Light had begun to claim more of his soul. Not killing Piangi for all his sins against Music had only been a small part of it.

Erik turned a corner and caught a glimpse of the raging inferno in the distance. Pausing, he looked at it, almost amazed that it had taken hold so violently and so swiftly.

For some time, the Opera Populaire had been his realm, his sanctuary beyond all evils of the world. He'd always believed he'd held it well, done the best for it and all those within its walls. When this evening began, the only thought in his mind was to destroy it if he was defied in his desires. The accursed managers had attempted to steal it from him and didn't believe he could take it from them so easily. It was his, after all, and always had been.

And he'd succeeded in destroying it brilliantly.

Yet the thrill of success had a bitter aftertaste he wasn't accustomed to. Yet another part of his changing, but not the whole.

His mind flashed to the moment he stood on the bridge with Christine, publicly declaring his love for her. Her betrayal had had brought back all the Darkness full force, all the rage and hurt he knew so well. There was no dawn again until that moment he had to make the final choice. To keep Christine by his side though she openly loved another, or release her to her love and continue on alone.

That was when he realized that keeping her would only destroy the sweetness in her he treasured, extinguishing the Light he craved forever.

He had freely given when he had nothing to gain and everything to lose. All he had to give her was the chance to be happy, to set her free, and he'd done it without qualms or second thoughts.

And he felt joyous despite the sacrifice. Light had gained a hold in his soul.

This was a power he didn't know. He knew the power of hate, the power of fear and of command, but never considered there could be a power in doing the right thing. There was true power in the Light he'd shunned for so very long.

He liked it.

He liked it a great deal.

It sang through his veins like the finest aria, pure and clear and perfect.

Yet, like a fine soprano's voice, there was a razor's edge to it. One falseness and it was the screeching hell he'd just walked away from. One he never wished to return to.

Perhaps Piangi lived. Perhaps he hadn't trapped the managers in their box and they'd escaped. It would be good if the theater could be rebuilt.

It would be good, but he knew he could not stay to see it.

He would leave for Vienna, as planned, but alone. Money, clothing, train tickets, everything he needed to start a new life sat in the apartment rented for him.

He turned away from his old life, surprised to feel a sadness at the departure. A short walk down the boulevard, up a flight of stairs, and he would be there.

His new life will begin in earnest in just a few more steps.

He diverted into an alleyway to approach the boarding house from the back, where the stairs to his room was. Long experience as the hunter and the hunted prickled the back of his neck. Erik paused, looking around, but could see nothing unusual. No shadows lurking where shadows should not be. His approach to the door became more cautious, but he did not stop. Stopping told the predator it had been recognized and gave away any advantage of surprise.

By the time his fingers touched the handle, he convinced himself that he was still too nervous after the evening's excitement. It was impossible for anyone to know where he'd gone. Dearest Antoinette Giry would never betray his confidence. Perhaps it was wise he'd given himself time to nap before going to the train station.

The stairs creaked as he climbed them. As he reached the landing, he saw the too-dark shadow before his door.

Behind him, the door opened and footsteps entered the narrow stairway.

Against all common sense and belief, someone waited for him.

"Halt or we'll shoot."

Erik studied the figure at the bottom of the stairs. A touch to the wall, a jump and he could plant his feet squarely in the man's chest and probably kill him. Then he would be free. Once out into the night, they would never find him. So very simple.

Yet, to do so would slide him back down the path to darkness, away from Christine's legacy into his life.

The gendarme stepped forward so the moonlight showed his youth, his fear and his determination.

Erik stopped and raised his hands.

XXX xxx xxx XXX

"So, please confirm what you did tonight," the Count deChangy said slowly. Raoul recognized the tone all too readily. His father had a lecture in store. The young viscount had no patience to sit quietly through such a tirade tonight like an obedient school boy. "You abandoned an entire theater full of people to their fate against catastrophe and ran after a single woman."

"The woman I love."

"You are the patron of that establishment. You are an officer and you are a nobleman. Your responsibilities are far more to than just one woman. Anyone who died in that conflagration is certainly on your head for your rash decision."

"Any deaths are the responsibility of the lunatic who caused it," Raoul retorted.

His father leveled a look at him that had quelled more than one strong man into submission before him. It was too familiar, opened too raw a wound this time. Raoul straightened and returned the gaze for the first time in his life.

A small, mocking, smile curled his father's lip. "All for a glorified chorus girl."

"Do not –" he caught himself before he completely lost his temper. "Maman was an actress, as I recall. You have no right to judge me, sir."

"I have every right to judge the worthiness of my son."

Without thinking about it, Raoul started to ignore the all-too common litany of his failures as a man and as a son. Why had he even thought that his father would note, or even value, his heroic efforts to save Christine this evening? His mother fussed about pittances like ruined clothing and his father chastised him for abandoning a theater filled with gendarmes who were perfectly capable of handling emergencies.

"Your brother would never have been that irresponsible."

Raoul's eyes flashed again, but he kept his gaze turned away. "Oh, you don't know how irresponsible he can be, Papa. Not at all."

"I know the boy he was. The man he should be is no different. Not a vain, self-centered egotist concerned for his own desires. How many people did your little plan put at risk tonight? All for what?"

"To bring down a madman, a terrorist plaguing that opera for years. Our investment, Papa, do remember."

"And you destroyed that investment."

"He destroyed it."

"Because of your idiocy."

"You don't know the half of what happened, Papa. Nor do I think you're willing to listen to anything close to reason, so I will bid you good night."

He gave his father a formal bow and left before any objections could be raised. Raoul knew the truth, too many truths. It was just a matter of time before he decided to reveal them, but it would be his choice and not done out of a fit of temper.

XXX xxx xxx XXX

The gendarmes pulled Erik from the building and manacled his hands before him. He watched them distractedly, his natural nobility cloaking him from any shame at the proceedings.

"Where is she?"

He blinked to focus on the pretty young face before him, framed in dirty sunlight hair. Another blink before he recognized Antoinette Giry's daughter, Meg. Meg, whom he remembered as a small child, playing with her toys as he spoke to her mother. Meg, the young dancer with so much promise, a true gem in the troupe. Pleasant memories he hadn't expected tugged a smile to his lips.

Yet, her expression was far from pleasant. Her dark eyes accused him of atrocities beyond expectation before he'd answered her question. The smile died instantly. He narrowed his eyes.

"Where is Christine?" Her voice quivered, more from rage than fear. "What have you done with her?"

It would be so easy to tell her the truth, to ease her concerns. Just say she'd left with her fiancé and all would be over. Erik realized that in the instant he knew he wouldn't say anything. His gaze reflected his disdain for her distrust in him, in her mother's obvious betrayal of his location.

Meg shivered under the steady gaze and backed away. Her eyes darted around, seeking anything else to look at but him. She was obviously convinced of the worst of him now.

The largest gendarme grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him out to the boulevard, pushing him into the small wagon waiting there. He took the steps easily and seated himself with some amount of dignity despite the attempt to shove him into place.

Through the small grated window, he could still see Meg Giry standing there, looking like a lost soul.

Destroying her hope should have brought him some pleasure. Erik wasn't certain what to do with the fact that it didn't bring as much as he expected.