The two men entered the residence separately. Erik refused to wait for Jacques to put his mask on, and in addition, he did not want to draw attention to himself should Jacques begin to act like an idiot. He entered alone, stepping onto the porch and into the brightly lit house. A man at the door took his coat and hat for him. Beneath a gorgeous crystal chandelier, the room was bustling with masked guests. The men dressed in frills, high collars and long tails, the women in extravagant, lacy dresses with slightly exposed shoulders and a generous view of their lifted busts. They fanned themselves and giggled, while the men eagerly chatted on with them, red-faced as they tried not to look at the ladies' scandalous display of skin.

It was quite a strange experience for Erik to see everyone wearing their decorative masks. In this moment, he did not have to anticipate odd looks or whispers, nor did he have to witness nervous people leaving the room. Not one guest here even glanced at him. A well-dressed servant offered him a champagne flute from a silver tray, and he did not pale when he looked upon him; he even gave a polite smile as Erik took the flute from the tray.

For this one night only, Erik was a part of mankind.

He sipped the fine champagne quickly, starting to wander about the room, his eyes shifting across the room. There was a string quartet playing good music in a large corner of the room; they were also masked. A few guests were dancing, and some seemed slightly tipsy already, especially the women. One in particular, an older woman, was laughing very loudly and staggering a bit in her steps.

"Bonjour, monsieur!"

A middle-aged man, appearing seemingly from nowhere, paused by him and extended his hand. Erik gave him a stony look, and slowly shook the man's hand. He tried to force a friendly smile, however he thought that looked like, but he quickly erased it from his lips when he saw the man's slightly disturbed expression.

"Ah...good evening to you, then!" the stranger said hastily. The man left, approaching a woman Erik assumed was a romantic partner, whispering something to her. Perhaps something akin to "look at that frightening man over there. He bared his teeth at me."

Grinning to himself, Erik sipped the last of his champagne and took a seat on an overstuffed chair to watch the festivities and to keep an eye out for his targets. He saw Jacques finally enter, and already he had a female on his arm. Erik saw this as a possible advantage. If Jacques became distracted, he could take care of the targets on his own and not have to worry about that man's crudity and bumbling.

"May I have this dance, monsieur?"

A female's finely exposed bust shifted into his view and Erik found himself face to face with a young woman in a frilly white dress and mask who had clearly had a little too much champagne. She batted her eyelashes in a fashion she obviously thought was attractive.

"No," Erik said flatly, flicking his hand to indicate that he wanted her to go elsewhere.

She frowned and pouted, swaying a little as she leaned closer to him. "Oh, why not? Don't you think I am a pretty girl?"

Uncomfortable with the closeness of her, Erik pushed her away firmly and stood up, quickly walking away. He hoped that not everyone here would be so damn pesky. He only wanted to observe, not participate.

"Good evening, monsieur Vicomte!" someone sang out.

Erik turned immediately at the name of his intended victim. The Vicomte and his fiance had indeed made an entrance into the room. The young man was finely dressed in black evening wear and masked just like all the other male guests in the room. However, Erik found himself staring uncontrollably at Miss Daae.

She wore a emerald dress, heavily decorated with silk flowers, ribbons and lace. Elegant white gloves sheathed her tiny hands. At her throat she wore a pearl necklace. Her head was the most exquisite. Her dark hair was pinned into a tight coil atop her scalp, and decorated with various pieces of jewelry. She wore a white satin mask. Her soft blue eyes gazed at the surrounding visitors with a warmth that stirred even Erik's cold heart.

What is the matter with me?

Erik tore his eyes away from the woman, staring hard at the polished wood flooring. The room was too warm and stuffy. The rate of his breathing and pulse had increased slightly. His hands and feet felt cold. He was loosening his hold on his control, something that should never happen, especially during an assignment.

Moving away, Erik tried to collect himself as he stood in a corner, in front of a table beneath a mirror on the wall. He could see the woman in the reflection, but he forced his eyes to remain on himself. He couldn't be having feelings for this girl, could he? He had heard stories of love and had always thought them irritating, boring and far too sweet for his taste. The women acted like harlots, the men acted like children.

He tugged restlessly on his fingers, bending the joints into his palm repeatedly. He must be ill. He had never behaved or thought in this fashion before. That was the only explanation. Illness...or perhaps fatigue. He had not gotten much rest over the past week. Perhaps he needed to eat.

"Is that them?"

Erik jumped at the familiar voice next to his ear. He turned to see Jacques staring hard at him from behind his black mask, and he gestured slightly at the Vicomte and his fiance.

"Yes. Yes, it's them," Erik replied.

He caught Jacques' eyebrows raising just before he turned to look back in the mirror. "I say, you're suddenly quite jumpy," Jacques said in a mock pitiful tone, as if he were speaking to a child. "What's the matter, phantom? Has a little lady ghost piqued your interest here?" He smirked and took a drink from the wine glass he held.

"Silence," Erik snapped shortly. "You must focus."

"I'd say the same to you," Jacques said, his smirk widening as he slipped his hand in his pocket. "Before I forget, Hughes told me to give this to you, in case something went wrong and you needed to finish the job quickly." Drawing a revolver from his pocket, he quickly pressed it into Erik's hand before it could be spotted by someone.

Erik stared at the heavy weapon in his palm and glanced up at Jacques. "I do not like guns."

Jacques shrugged. "I'm not the one who made the decision. He gave me one as well."

Reluctantly, Erik slipped the cumbersome thing in his jacket pocket, hoping no one would notice the lump. He was annoyed with Hughes; didn't the man trust him to do the job properly?

"I'll be by the door. I'll catch your attention, or vice versa, when the time comes," Jacques said, and walked off. In the meantime, Erik tried to become invisible as the excitement of the festivities heightened. The music became more jolly, the guests drank more champagne and wine, and the volume of noise in the room started to escalate as the men and women danced about and laughed.

Erik tried to keep his eyes on the Vicomte and Miss Daae. They were dancing together at the far end of the room, hidden behind the heads and hair of the other guests. The jewelry in her hair glittered in the lamplight.

He couldn't keep his damned breathing under control. Feeling as if he was not receiving enough air, he continued to inhale and exhale quickly and heavily. If he did not calm down he could faint, drawing plenty of attention to himself then. The job needed to be done, and then he could go home and take care of his illness. Only a few more hours...

Erik stood warily at the edge of the room hands held behind his back, occasionally changing his position and moving to a different location, never taking his eyes off his targets. They were both smiling and speaking in a fond manner with each other as they danced, their eyes glowing.

The room was growing warmer. Erik could feel sweat on his forehead pressing against the leather of his mask. His heart had not calmed. The guests were whirling around him at an apparently astonishing rate. The smell of wine and champagne was too strong in his nostrils.

Then he saw the Vicomte and his fiance stop dancing. They grasped hands and headed for a doorway to the right. A servant opened the door for them and they disappeared.

Erik made eye contact with Jacques across the room. The time had come.

Smoothly and slowly, Erik exited the house, passing Jacques at the front door and looking hard at him. The man lowered his head in a nod, indicating that he would follow.

After taking his cloak and hat from the man at the door, Erik left the property, made a wide half-circle around the building, and silently approached the side of the house. Shortly afterwards, he saw Jacques follow suit and walk quietly to his side. They looked up to see a dimly lit, curtained window, the only one that was lit on the entire second floor. There was a balcony and a door for access into the room.

Bathed in moonlight, the two men climbed up the lattice onto the roof, crawling like a pair of cats to the window beneath. Erik lay down on his belly and lowered his head over the side of the roof to examine the window and door more closely.

Jacques' feet scratched the tiles of the roof as he sat down.

"Did you hear that, Raoul?"

Erik's heart skipped a beat. By the sound of her muffled voice, Miss Daae and the Vicomte were directly beneath them, near the window.

"Let me go see, my love."

Erik's heart thudded painfully in his chest. The moment to kill was fast approaching. His hands were damp with sweat in his gloves. Damn it, why was he so nervous? He retrieved his noose and wrapped it around his hand, readying himself for someone to open the window. Jacques crept up beside him, pulling his large dagger from his cloak just as the latch on the window began to rattle.

A hand pushed the window open, and Jacques leapt onto the balcony before Erik could stop him.

"No!" Erik cried. He jumped down onto the balcony and turned to look through the open door. Jacques was in the room now, on top of a smaller man on the floor, the Vicomte, who was trying to shout through Jacques' hand over his mouth. Erik saw the blade of the dagger flash in the dim lamplight and come down with a firm, tearing thump. Again and again, the knife came up and back down onto the Vicomte's body. The man's screams were muffled.

Gripped by a bizarre urge to perform an act of good, Erik grabbed Jacques' shoulders and pulled him off the man on the floor. The two of them fell to the ground, Erik on top of Jacques. He glanced over at the Vicomte; he was bleeding from the abdomen and chest, gasping like a fish out of water and making strangled noises that sounded like cries for help.

Erik's pulse in his ears was deafening as he struggled with Jacques on the floor, both men twisted in their cloaks. Jacques fought to push back Erik's spindly hand as it tried to grasp his throat, while Erik continued to force away Jacques' dagger from his neck.

"What the hell are you doing?" the killer roared at Erik. His shirt front was spattered with blood. His eyes were mad, his hair wild, and his arousal obvious again. Erik didn't, or rather, couldn't, reply, as Jacques drew up his knee and struck Erik directly in the groin. The impact immediately crippled him, pain exploding in his abdomen. Choking and groaning, he loosened his grip on Jacques, giving him a chance to wriggle out from beneath him.

"Christine!" the strangled voice of the Vicomte cried out from the floor. Erik looked up at him through his blinding pain. The man lay crumpled on his back, face white, eyes wide, his shirtfront torn with several holes and becoming rapidly soaked with blood. "Run, Christine!" he rasped. Miss Daae, sitting on the chaise with her mouth open in horror and shock, did run—but she ran towards Raoul, falling to his side and taking his head in her arms, tearing off her mask and his. She began to cry and wail when she saw his wounds.

Jacques, having gotten to his feet, started to move towards the woman, his hand holding the bloody knife stretched towards her head. Erik, still crumpled on the floor, saw him move and grabbed his ankle. The man staggered and toppled to the floor beside him, where they became engaged in a struggle again.

"What...is wrong...with you?" Jacques hissed in Erik's face, his mad eyes wide.

"Don't kill them," Erik whispered.

"What?"

His astonished face was met with Erik's fist several times. He beat his knuckles into his jaw and the side of his head, trying to render him unconscious...however, the man seemed to be built of solid iron and did not show signs of weakness until Erik had gotten a hold of his throat and cut off the blood supply to his head. Jacques' eyes slowly became unfocused as he partially fainted, the bulk of his weight collapsing on Erik.

Erik crawled out from beneath him, got to his feet and approached the Vicomte and his crying fiance. Panting and bleeding from the and hands, he knelt and tried to assess the man's condition.

"Raoul! Raoul!" she wept, completely hysterical. She held his head in her arms, sobbing as she kissed his forehead. "Raoul, you'll be all right!"

Erik examined the Vicomte visually. He was still alive, breathing harshly, but the wounds in his chest and abdomen looked bad. The blood was beginning to soak the floor. He started to open the man's shirt.

"Go away! Get out! You've hurt him!" Miss Daae gasped when she looked up and saw Erik. Her beautiful eyes were screwed nearly shut, tears dripping down her cheeks and her chin. Her entire frail body was trembling violently from fear and shock.

Erik didn't respond as he continued to open the man's shirt and looked at the stab wounds. He could see that there was a very slim chance of survival. At least one wound had pierced his lung. The others, at least four or five, had nearly opened up the man's gut entirely; it was a miracle his intestines were not spilling onto the floor. The blood was everywhere.

"Christine, run," the dying man gasped, his glassy eyes half-lidded. His face was as white as a sheet, with a trickle of dark blood running from between his lips. He didn't have much time."Get out now..."

"No," she whispered, kissing his cheek again. "I'm staying with you."

The young man took a deep, shuddering breath. "I love you very much."

Erik felt a lead weight slowly drop into his gut. He looked at the young woman, who stared in disbelief at her fiance who lay dying in her arms. "No, Raoul. No...we'll make you better. We'll get a doctor."

The Vicomte only smiled at her...and then his eyes gently slipped closed and his head dropped back. A rattling breath left his one remaining lung. He was dead.

Miss Daae didn't move. She stared at the white face of the man, her jaw set very tightly, tears still spilling from her eyes. She began to breath much too quickly.

A horrible cough from near the chaise lounge meant that Jacques had come to. He saw the man rising to his feet, swaying and wiping his mouth. He stared blearily at Erik, then at Miss Daae, and began to walk towards her, reading his knife in his hand.

Erik didn't know what sort of madness possessed him to seize Christine in his arms, toss her over his shoulder and run to the balcony. Before his brain could properly register what was happening, he had leapt over the railing of the balcony, one hand outstretched to break his fall and the other holding the woman tightly to his body. The impact of his landing sent an excruciating shock through his ankles and knees, nearly disabling him, but still he managed to run, his eyes set on a small horse paddock.

A deafening bang sounded behind him and a bullet struck the dirt beside him. Jacques had remembered his gun. Erik attempted to throw off his aim by weaving back and forth as he ran, but the man had a good eye and a steady hand. Another bang, and there was a blinding pain in his shoulder. He staggered, letting loose a cry.

Don't stop...keep running...

There was yet another explosion, fainter this time, and another bullet pierced his side, just beneath his ribs. Erik cried out again, almost losing his balance, but still he forced his exhausted legs to continue carrying him. They had almost reached the paddock...

"Merde!" Jacques screamed as he fired off his last rounds and missed the man entirely. He was too far now. He watched, seething, as the man grabbed a horse from the paddock, tossed the girl onto its back, mounted and rode off. "Bastard."

"What the hell is going on up here?" A man cried, the door to the room banging open. Several concerned guests stood in the doorway, gasping when Jacques turned with the smoking revolver in his hand. Their horror was intensified when they saw a body on the floor.

"Call the constables. A man has just murdered the Vicomte and made off with his fiance!" Jacques shouted.

You won't get very far, Opera Ghost.


A/N: Thank you again for your feedback! Apologies for the length of the chatper; is it a lot longer than the previous ones.