We must have stayed there, in each others' arms, for nearly half an hour before we were interrupted by a crash so loud that it shook the very walls around us. I gripped Erik tighter, both of us staring at the ceiling in surprise.

"What was that?" I whispered.

He pulled my chin down so that I was looking at him. Smiling, he replied, "Nothing that can hear us from down here. There's no need to whisper." Even as he said this, his voice was barely audible.

I laughed, blushing slightly. Erik pulled himself up from the ground, then offered his hand. I took it, and he brought me back into his arms. I had been trying to understand how new this was for him. All his life, Erik had lived without love, and, suddenly, he had someone who loved him more than she loved herself.

"Stay here," he said, breaking away from me. "I'll go see who is disrupting my opera."

"Can't I come?" I called, following his as he gathered his cape and mask.

Erik refused to meet my gaze as he donned his Opera Ghost wardrobe. "No. It's too dangerous. Someone might see you and report back to your loving fiancé."

I scoffed and reached for my own mask. "I won't go back to Raoul," I promised. Placing the mask onto my face, I added, "No one will recognize me. I'm hardly Christine Daae anymore."

We faced each other, and I could feel his eyes examining me. I tried to stand tall, but it was difficult not to shrink from Erik's gaze.

With a crooked grin, he taunted, "Do you honestly think that you could be mistaken for the feared Opera Ghost?"

I smiled, mirroring him. Casually shrugging, I said, "It worked for Buquet."

At this, Erik's eyes filled with worry. His fearless act dissolved, and he stepped toward me. "What are you playing at, Christine?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and agitation. "Joseph Buquet is dead."

"His brother, Rupert, is very well alive," I sighed, reliving my terror from the night before. "He attacked me in the street last night."

Erik grabbed my arms, searching my eyes for tears. "Did he hurt you?" he demanded, brushing my cheek with his thick leather glove.

"No," I replied. My voice shook. "But he would have. He saw my mask and thought I was the Opera Ghost. He thought I was his brother's killer."

Erik's eyes fell, and he ran his hand over his head. Pressing his wig over his scalp, he sighed. "Come. If nothing else, the fear surrounding my name will protect you."

My heart skipped a beat. I followed him from the lair, stopping once to check myself in the mirror. If I wiped the goofy smile from my face, I made a pretty convincing Opera Ghost. My dark hair framed my pale face, and my left eye glinted behind the mask. Erik must have noticed this, for he gave me a teasing smile, taking my hand and leading me to the surface.

The theatre was the same as before, only now it was bathed in patches of light from the holes in the roof. The destruction, in daylight and with Erik at my side, did not seem as miserable as it had the previous night. I longed to pick my way through the wreckage, to uncover every memory. Erik, seeing me step forward, pulled me back to his side.

"The Opera Ghost is patient," he whispered, his breath tickling my neck as he spoke. We stood in the shadows of one of the upper-level boxes. Glancing up, I watched his eyes studying his opera house, searching for something out of place.

Erik's eyes lingered on a statue that lay destroyed on the ground. I followed his gaze to the box directly above the shattered form. I gasped, and Erik's eyes narrowed.

A figure, perfectly still and framed by the tattered remnants of the velvet curtains, was sitting in the Phantom's seat in box five.

My false bravery left me. I clung to Erik's shirt, refusing to be left alone. "Who is that?" I whispered, trying to be as quiet as possible.

"I don't know," Erik replied, pulling me backward until we were in the hall. He rushed along the passages, and I almost had to run to keep up with him. "Whoever it is, they wish to speak with me."

I grabbed his arm, stopping and turning him to look at me. "And you plan to meet him?" I cried in disbelief. "What if it's Raoul? Erik, he might be armed! You have nothing!"

A dry laugh escaped his throat. With a flick of his cape, Erik presented me with a small, silver dagger. "The Opera Ghost is never without a weapon."

"What about you?" I asked, weighing the knife in my hand. Never had I been trusted with a real weapon, much less expected to use one. Had I really been so foolish as to think I could compare to Erik, the mastermind and murderer? I glanced up as he pulled a thin length of rope from his pocket. I barely had time to inspect it before we began moving and he had concealed the rope once again.

"The Punjab lasso," Erik explained, rounding a corner.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes," I gasped. He laughed darkly, then slowed to a halt and escorted me into a small closet on the left side of the hall.

Moving aside a stack of crates, Erik showed me into a narrow hall that ran parallel to the one outside the closet. "Go to the end," he whispered. "Be quiet. If I pull the lasso into full view, that is your cue to go to the chapel and wait for me there. Do you understand?"

I swallowed hard, gathering my courage. Looking into Erik's eyes, glittering in the dark of the passage, I abandoned my fear and nodded. I can be the Opera Ghost, I thought.

Erik smiled, kissed me once, and left.

My heart pounded as I crept my way toward the end of the hidden hall. By the time I reached the end, I had already guessed where it would lead me.

The view from box five was breathtaking. I could easily view the entire stage from where I stood behind the wall, looking over the seats from a small window. During the performance, with the lights dimmed, someone could become invisible from back there. My eyes caught sight of the person before me, and I sighed in relief, seeing the long braid that ran down the woman's back.

No sooner had I thought this than Erik entered the box. "Madame Giry," he started. I could tell he was surprised, even though his face betrayed no emotion.

Madame Giry stood. She gave Erik the look I had seen her give Meg many times when she arrived to rehearsals late. "Are you mad?" she yelled.

Erik brought a hand to his chest in mock horror. "I, a madman?" he gasped.

"Do not toy with me, monsieur!" Madame Giry huffed, stepping closer to him. Erik, however, did not cringe like any ballet girl would have. "The Viscount De Chagny knows that you have stolen his bride!"

Erik laughed once. "And he sent a woman to retrieve her? Why did he not come himself?"

Madame Giry's face was bright red now, and her fists were balled at her sides. "He knew you would kill him the moment he stepped through the door!" she wailed. "Where is Christine? I know you have her!"

"I assure you, Madame," Erik replied coolly, "I have not kidnapped Christine Daae."

With this, he took his seat and pulled the Punjab lasso from his pocket. I ignored the hint that it was my time to leave. Twisting it between his fingers, he turned back to Madame Giry. "When did he discover her missing?" he asked innocently.

"This morning," she replied, now calm. "He went to her room to bring her breakfast and found her gone. A servant met him with a note that asked him to not search for her. He thought the note was a ruse and sent me here to ask if she was in your possession."

"What if she is?" Erik's voice had grown dark. He glared at her menacingly. "Did you plan on taking her by force? You are a strong woman, Madame, but not that strong."

Madame Giry shrugged, obviously not bothered by this. "I was told to ask," she said. "Raoul De Chagny has asked me not to speak with her myself. He does not wish me to see her, for what reasons I do not know."

I felt tears forming in my eyes. I had left him, and still Raoul was trying to hide me from the world. Would it never end? Would he never realize that I did not want him, that I did not want the life he had tried to force me to live?

"I promise you, Madame, I have not kidnapped Miss Daae. She was free to leave the night of Don Juan Triumphant." With a slight tilt of his head in my direction, he added. "The Opera Ghost does not break promises."

I followed my orders. I ran back down the hidden hallway and to the chapel, not caring how much noise I was making. No sooner than I had arrived before my father's picture than I ripped the mask from my face, sobbing openly.

"Look at me, Father," I cried. "Look what has become of your little girl. She is broken and burned and mangled. And for what? My fiancé cannot bear the sight of me, Madame Giry does not even know where I am, and my Angel of Music expects me to be brave. How am I to be brave when I can barely face my reflection?" I stared down at my hands, one holding the dagger, the other, the mask. Tossing the dagger to my side, I cried, "I cannot do this, Father! I cannot live like this!"

"Christine?" someone whispered behind me. The voice was gentle and feminine. I quickly put the mask back onto my face before turning.

Meg was startled to see me in the mask, but ignored it as she ran and embraced me. "Meg!" I cried, weeping into her shoulder. "Meg, I thought I would never see you again!"

"I thought the same!" she laughed. Pulling away from me, her face grew dark, and she reached for my mask. "Why are you wearing this? You look just like him in it!"

I could not help but giggle. With a sigh, I said, "I look just like him without it. Please, do not think differently of me once you've removed it."

With her confusion plainly written on her face, Meg pulled the mask from me face. I closed my eyes. The sound of her gasp was partially concealed by the clatter of the mask against the stone floor, but I still flinched when I heard her intake of breath. I expected to open my eyes to an empty room, but was pleasantly surprised to feel her arms wrap around me so roughly that I was almost knocked to the ground.

My eyes flew open as I heard my friend's sobs. She loosened her grip enough to grab my shoulders and face me with a determined look on her face. In that moment, I could have sworn she was her mother.

"Christine," she choked, "I don't know what happened but I am not afraid of you. I will never be afraid of you."

I laughed, truly content for the first time in what seemed like years. "You are too kind to me," I whispered, hugging her again.

"Maybe that will make up for my mother," she sighed.

"What do you mean?" I asked, honestly confused.

Meg's eyes dropped to the floor. "She's furious, Christine! She thinks the Opera Ghost has kidnapped you again!" She gasped, reaching up to brush my burns. "Did he do this to you?"

"No!" I yelled. "I was hurt in the fire! My precious fiancé abandoned me after we were free. Now he expects me to marry him and stay locked up in a De Chagny mansion for the rest of my life."

"Oh, Christine," Meg whispered. I could the compassion in her eyes. "Your life with him was so secure! You were both going to be so happy!"

"I will never be with him again, Meg," I said, determined now. "My heart belongs to the Opera Ghost."

I know the ending of this chapter was kind of boring and cheesy, but I wanted to bring Meg back into the picture, and I had people asking about her! More Giry's in the next chapter! Also, I know Christine is out of character for the beginning of the chapter, and I meant for that to happen! She's kind of rediscovering herself, if that makes sense. Thanks to everybody who reviewed and who is keeping up with this. I'll be updating again in the next few days.