I closed my eyes, willing the sound of his voice to stop. I imagined myself leaping from this spot, grabbing him around the throat, squeezing hard, the veins on the back of my hand raised and pulsing with the fire of my blood, listening to him whimper and sputter. He was becoming less and less arrogant as he begged me, pleaded with me to release him. His face was contorting, his eyes bulging and his skin a sickly grayish blue. I would snap his neck right now and watch the light leave those swollen, ignorant eyes. Then to her, grabbing her around the middle and pulling her close, crushing her lips with my own. She wouldn't fight me; her soft, sweet lips would caress mine, only wanting more. Her scent was filling and intoxicating me, and the feel of her own small hands at me neck, needing me and pulling me even closer as I backed her to the wall…

The thrill that ran through me at these images was like wildfire. My chest was heaving, struggling to take in enough air and my breath was ragged because I couldn't. This is how it should be. This is what I wanted. But this was madness. My fantasies would get me nowhere, well; besides sitting here in this heightened, aroused state listening to that complete imbecile make plans for my capture and ultimate demise.

I didn't want to play these games anymore. I wanted to be rid of that smug bastard and I wanted her. I wanted to take her with me and make her love me. I wanted to see that needy look on her face, her eyes filled with ferocious longing as I had imagined. But I had tried that and failed. Anger crept in slowly, not like the usual crashing wave, but crawling, like hungry insects, up my spine, burrowing in my mind, driving away the thrill and excitement of moments ago. I needed to listen; I had to know if she could be part of their plans. I had to lock the tempting fantasies away…for now.

CHRISTINE…..

Of course Raoul would be the one to find me here. This was fate's way of trying to tell me something, always throwing him in my path, while I was searching for another. The last time I had been on these stairs with Raoul I had been frantic and afraid; afraid that I would never escape from him. Now he was the one I most wanted to see…and…I felt the tiny hairs raise and shiver on the back of my neck, and the warm, welcome wave as my pulse quickened. That could only mean that he was here too, and I couldn't suppress a smile.

Raoul came towards me, as if to kiss my cheek, surly expecting the smile was for him. I couldn't fight the urge to turn away, feigning a need to cough. At the last minute he changed maneuvers and hugged me briefly. I felt hot and uncomfortable.

"Christine, we are working on a plan…" there was no need for him to elaborate. I knew what he was talking about. But he went on, "we may need your help to catch this opera ghost." Absolutely not! Never! I refuse to help; I can't imagine this place or this world without him. That is what I wanted to say, what I should have said. Why was this so obvious to me now?

"No, Raoul. I am not comfortable with that," is what I did say. It didn't help his anger, but it was refreshing in a way that he was most likely the angrier of the two. He stepped closer to me, and even though we had kissed many times, this somehow seemed too familiar.

"You may not have a choice," he said, not angrily, but resolutely. Then he came closer still, it was intimate and unpleasant. This time he did kiss my cheek. I repressed a shudder. My choice was becoming clear with every passing moment. "You will sing, and he'll come, he won't be able to stay away from you". I didn't know if he was right about that, but I didn't want to hear anymore. An image came to mind of Raoul and indistinct others dragging him away, beaten and- I felt ill at the thought, my stomach tightened with a lurch, and the acidic tang of bile filled my throat. "I must speak with my brother. Think about it, Christine." He turned to go, not nearly soon enough, but then stopped and said, "We can end this all very soon, and you will be the greatest help of all." He smiled, waiting for a response. I did not want to have this argument with him right now, I wanted him to leave. In an effort to placate him I tried to smile back, but it wouldn't come.

I watched him go, just to be sure, and then I turned to the costumes. He was there, tall and dark and magnificent.

"Was that performance for my benefit?" His voice was cold and lifeless. His face was sternly set. But he was here, in all his dark glory, banishing the clouds of uncertainty that had been hovering for days. It felt so good to finally see him. I wanted to take in every detail of him, all of the things I had been to blinded by awe or fear to see before.

My throat felt thick and sticky with a mixture of the fading bile, wild elation and slight trepidation. I was sure I wasn't ready to speak, so I shook my head. I tried to swallow, but there was still a large, stiff lump stubbornly lodged there. He was waiting for me to speak, waiting to hear what I had to say, as I was sure he was that night. The awkwardness of that didn't escape me either, since I was the one who had pleaded that I needed to speak with him. I tried to swallow again, praying my throat would loosen, even a little.

"No," I whispered hoarsely. At least it was something. I cleared my throat before trying again. "No, it was for mine." I was waiting for his expression to change, possibly lighten a little, but it didn't. "Should we, maybe…go somewhere to talk?" The stickiness was gone, but now my voice sounded high and unnatural. I really didn't want to stay here, I didn't want to be interrupted, and I didn't want Raoul to return. What I wanted was to run to him, throw myself into his arms and beg for forgiveness. How could I not have known this? How could the sight of him, angry and unbending, pull these feelings from the hidden places in the depths of my heart?

"Where is it you would like to go?" His tone was slightly mocking, and his face was as rigid as the mask, unreadable and devoid of emotion. I was surprised that I didn't feel afraid of him, and even more surprised that it suddenly seemed silly that I ever was, but I was afraid of saying the wrong thing and bringing that out in him again. If I ran to him, as my legs yearned to, and were shaking with the effort of restraining from, he may push me aside again. I had to focus, remain rooted here in the moment. I had to make him understand how things had changed, even though I didn't understand it myself.

"Below, to your-" I stopped when I saw him slowly shake his head.

"No." No explanation, just no. I could feel some of the color draining from my face, and my hands were starting to feel clammy. He no longer trusted me, and that hurt more than I expected.

My next thought was the chapel, like always. But he had never shown himself to me there and on the few occasions when someone else had come down they assumed I was there singing to myself. He would have nowhere to hide if someone came down while we were there together. "I don't know…" I struggled to stay calm. This wasn't going very well so far, "Maybe the roof?" I regretted it at once.

"How fitting," He said dryly. He certainly wasn't making this easy. But it wasn't a no, and at least it was some place private, with a door. I pulled a heavy, fur lined cloak off of one of the racks closest to me, not caring about the size. I met his eyes again, wildly hoping for something other than the stony stare. His gaze was searing, but both sides of his face were still cold and formal. I started the long journey up the stairs, taking the opportunity to try and figure out what to say. About halfway up I had a realization; it was sudden and sharp, like stepping on a tack. The hazy images, the dreams, the iridescent bits of memory and the nagging uncertainty were messages, signals from my soul, or my heart, trying to break down the ramparts my mind had constructed out of fear. His mesmerizing voice could slip through so easily, but left on my own, without him for days, I was locked away in the tower.

ERIK…..

I could no longer trust her, but her response to both of us had sounded sincere. Did she seem as anxious to be rid of him as I thought? Or was this another, more subtle ploy by my imagination? Still, I was defensive, sheltering myself, always expecting the worst. I had trained very hard to become strong and agile, and I had studied all manner of weapons in an effort to fight back against the many cruelties this face seemed a magnet for, but I had not prepared myself for this particular brand of torture. I was unskilled at defending my heart, never having believed there would be a need for it.

I followed her through the door and slid the lock from the outside. There was no need to take unnecessary chances. The night was perfect, cool, crisp, and cloudless with only the slightest hint of a breeze. I took a few steps to the left of the door and leaned back against the cold stone, sure I would need the extra support at some point. I chanced a peek at her and my mouth fell open, my breath catching in my throat. Her pale skin was glowing, resplendent in the moonlight, her beautiful hair was slightly disheveled from the climb and a few stray spirals wisped tantalizingly in the air. I shook my head slightly to scatter the vision, preferring the protection of my icy detachment. In an effort to regain it, my eyes eagerly sought the spot where I had first seen the rose; the pain was stabbing, acute, as if it had just happened. The resting place of the ravaged flower and my dying heart looked just like anywhere else; no trace of the recent catastrophe lingered. She put on the cloak she had taken, thankfully oblivious to my thoughts, and turned to face me. She was nervous, flushed and jittery, but that was not my doing, and I could tell she was ready to speak. I balled my fists tightly, letting my fingernails bite the flesh, and braced myself.

"First, please let me ask your forgiveness…" her voice fell to a whisper before saying "…for the last time." That was an unexpected and very welcome start. But could I forgive her for that? My mind was hopelessly bitter and highly resentful. I had the urge to touch the petals, let them know I remembered their sacrifice, but I didn't want her to see.

"I was afraid." It sounded like she had more to say, but she cast her gaze toward one of the lifeless statues. I knew her almost as well as I knew myself, or I thought I did. But I was sure she was trying to gather her courage to ask about Buquet. I could make this a lot easier for her; I took no pleasure from watching her struggle. That was a lie; there was a tiny part of me smiling at her struggle. But she had asked for this meeting and I would wait until she was ready to tell me why.

"You killed that man." She said very softly. It wasn't a question, and it didn't sound like an accusation. She put her fingertips to her mouth after she said it, a familiar sign that she was thinking hard about something. The appearance of them caught me off guard. Normally she had the hands of a goddess, but her fingernails were now ragged and rough, and her thumb nail was bitten nearly to the quick. She had definitely been worried about something. I was waiting for her to ask why I had killed him, but she turned back to face me without saying anything else. That tiny part of me grinned; two could play at that game.

"I did." It was childish and irritating, I know, and I couldn't help it. But this was the game I hated, it was so awkward between us, but again, it had been her doing, maybe not all of it, but most of it.

Part of my mind was screaming at me, filling my ears with the pounding, resonating urge to take her, bring her below as she had so enticingly asked, end this relentless and tiresome back and fourth. Or be a man, my heart yelled back, and tell her what you feel. Tell her she is the sole glimmer of brightness in your life, that you would slowly wither away, shrinking and dying a little more every day if excluded from that brightness. What more could I possibly lose? My dignity was gone, ripped away from me unceremoniously and discarded with the mask that night that seemed a lifetime ago. My heart was shattered, left in bloody pieces on the snow five days ago. Now I was a hollow shell, only my mind in tact… barely, an empty corpse waiting for the death blow she would deliver at any moment.

"I don't want it to be like this between us." She said suddenly, tearing me willing from my gloomy thoughts. "I miss everything about the way it used to be…" the stirring loveliness of her voice was seeping in like sunlight, melting the carefully constructed and much needed icy detachment. Her eyes were darting about, not fixing on anything in particular. She was avoiding looking at me. Was it because I made her nervous, or because she was hiding something? "I…I…" The words broke in her throat, she was trying not to cry, and that's the reason for her refusal to look upon me. My façade was thinning. I could see the glistening droplets forming on her lashes as she turned further. I took a step away from the safety and support of the wall. My mind was far from ready to abandon the righteous anger, she deserved no more. But the rest of me was clearly ready to let it go, release it into the night and go to her.