Ooooh chapter 8! So exciting! I love this story so much. Thank you for the reviews! They mean so much, truly. Please, please review if you want me to continue!

These perturbations, this perpetual jar

Of earthly wants and aspirations high,

Come from the influence of an unseen star

An undiscovered planet in our sky.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Haunted Houses

Erik/ Le Viscount Raoul de Chagny

Erik gingerly stood up, brushing the dust off of his—the viscount's—traveling coat. He examined each of his fingers and stretched out each arm as far as it would go, testing the limits of his reach and strength. He slowly extended each of his legs forward and backwards, feeling each of his muscles contract according to his will. Well. At least the boy kept his body in good condition.

Erik ran his fingers down his chest, feeling the expensive material of his shirt. He again raised his hands to his eyes. The fingers were shorter than his own, and the skin paler and smoother, upon hands that were altogether smaller and more elegant, no doubt the result of good breeding. He spread his fingers up his neck, feeling the delicate skin there, before dragging it up his chin and across his cheeks.

Glorious.

Erik's heart—the viscount's? he wasn't sure—skipped a beat. G-d, it was amazing. To have a face! To have a face, young a smooth, with a nose, and regular lips, and, and—Erik wanted to cry. He tried to imprint this feeling in his mind, to make sure that he would never, never forget what this felt like. Incredible. Incredible.

Suddenly a great force pushed on Erik's heart and the body lurched forward, and Erik felt the eyes shoot back into the head. Steady! He grasped his head and tried to refocus the eyes. Now, now, boy. Be calm. He tried to push the boy as far away from control as possible. This was not his triumph.

"Raoul?" Erik's head shot up at Christine's lovely voice, which sounded much different reverberating in this young fool's head. She was approaching him, her brow furrowed. "I thought you were going to meet me by my room?"

"Oh—" Erik nearly choked on the words. Was that his voice? How awful! How truly repugnant! To speak with such a voice—it was an affront to everything Erik had ever lived for.

"Raoul, are you all right?" Christine dusted something from his lapel, and Erik was suddenly focused on the divine smell of her hair.

"Yes, Christine. Yes, I am all right. Shall we?"

She gave him one more once-over, before nodding tiredly.

"Wait." Erik grabbed at her wrist. She turned back to look at him.

"Raoul, if we don't leave now we might miss the train. We really should—"

He smiled, feeling the air upon his cheeks as he did. "I only wanted to give you a proper greeting," he said. And he leaned down over her hand and kissed it. Magnificent. He would have her. The boy would lose.


Erik managed to keep his mouth shut most of the way to the train station as Christine chattered and worried about missing the train. He was still trying to walk in the viscount's body without looking like a complete fool, and was loathe to hear that high pitched squeak come out of his throat again. How did anyone live with any sort of dignity with a voice like that? When they reached the train station, Christine approached the line for the ticket booth, and it occurred to Erik that any respectable gentlemen would offer to pay for him and his lady, but Erik had no idea where the viscount kept any of his accoutrements. Keeping a close eye on Christine, Erik surreptitiously searched each of his pockets. A pocket watch… a monocle… a folded piece of paper… ah! Erik drew out the viscount's money purse and slipped into the line beside Christine. When they reached the booth, Erik stepped swiftly in front of her.

"Two tickets to Perros, please."

"Oh Raoul," Christine said, her voice hushed. "You don't have to—"

"Nonsense," he said. The ticketer passed two tickets under the glass and Erik led Christine towards the track. He had an incredible urge to put an arm around her, to hold her head close against his shoulder, to run his hands through her hair… but he was the viscount, was he not? Erik was torn. He wanted to take advantage of having a real face and smooth hands to be close to her in ways he could never have otherwise imagined, but on the other hand, he wondered if he should act like a complete vagrant, to try to make her despise the boy. Would it work, anyway? He didn't know the boy that well, didn't know his mannerisms. If he did something too boorish, would she start to become suspicious or think that the boy was merely playing a joke? He didn't think that Christine would ever come to the conclusion on her own that Erik had possessed the boy; she was clearly distracted by thoughts of her father. On the other hand, he did not want to do anything to alert her to the fact.

They took a private box on the car and Erik had to restrain himself from singing her to sleep, as she looked so pensive and distressed. Besides, he was sure the boy's singing voice left much to be desired.

"What ails you, Christine?" He asked, as the train began to move out of the station.

She looked up at him, and he was sure he had seen tears in her eyes before she blinked and looked away, out the window.

"There are just many things on my mind, that is all."

Erik hesitated before laying a hand atop her own. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

Christine shrugged, the sun through the trees throwing changing shadows across her pale cheeks. "I think I've done a horrible thing, Raoul."

Erik tried not to flinch. He had to remember that to her, she was the boy. But… did the boy know anything of him? What if she had been telling him things about Erik this whole time? He shuddered. "You could never do something horrible." He said distractedly, trying to decide what the viscount would have said in such an instance. He had only ever heard the boy talk so many times!

Christine sighed. "Oh Raoul, you wouldn't understand."

"Please tell me," he said, surprised by her words. He wondered how close they actually were. It was clear the boy had some sort of romantic intentions, but Erik could not decide if Christine reciprocated or was even aware of them.

She drew her hand away from him and looked at him. He could see her eyes roaming over his face, and it felt incredibly odd to know that she was likely comparing those smooth cheeks to his own ravaged ones.

"There are such awful things in this world," she said after a minute, and Erik's stomach clenched. He had hoped that after a week away from him she would perhaps remember his awful fate with some pity… did she still think him a monster?

"Are there?" he asked faintly.

Christine let out a breath but said nothing, and in that silence he wished nothing more than to hear her voice.

"Why don't you sing something, Christine? Maybe it will calm your nerves."

She turned pale. "I can't sing," she said. "I don't think I can ever sing again."

"What?" His voice left his throat more harshly than he intended. He willed himself to remember with whose voice he spoke.

"I don't know myself when I sing," she said, tracing her finger down the window. "I cannot sing anymore."

"But Christine, you must sing."

She looked at him sharply, and he clamped his mouth shut. "What do you mean?"

"I just mean that your voice is so lovely. Surely you intend to continue as the principal soprano."

She shook her head. "I just told you, I can't sing anymore. Why do you ask? You've never been this interested in my career before."

He tried to look nonchalant. "But why would you not want to sing again?" He thought quickly, trying to pull their childhood connection into the conversation, trying to steer her mind away from anything he did not want her to consider. "After all, your father would have wanted—"

"My father wanted a lot of things," Christine said, her voice strangled. "Many of them did not happen."

"I—I do miss him," he said awkwardly, praying that this was not the wrong thing for the viscount to say.

Christine cast him a sideways glance. "Do you?" She asked. "Don't you… At least I have you to remember with, Raoul." She tried to smile at him, but it faded quickly, and she leaned her head against the pillow and closed her eyes, intending to sleep. Erik felt incredibly uncomfortable with the entire conversation. He was awful at pretending to be the viscount, and he did not like that the last thing she had said had intimated such affection for the boy. He must make sure that when she wakes up he tells her that he has intentions to go away for a long time, perhaps on an arctic expedition, as the boy had had naval training. Perhaps he was even considering proposal to some lady or duchess… anything to drive her away from him, to drive her back to Erik…


They arrived in Perros and made their way to the Setting Sun. Erik asked and paid for two rooms, and Christine said she wanted to go to church to talk to the Priest there. Erik said he'd be waiting for her in the parlor, but after she left he wandered down the streets of the little town. It was such an odd experience, to walk through streets populated by normal people, having each one of them glace at him and then away, as if he was as normal as a tree. Little children ran past him with no second glances, and young ladies even laughed behind their gloves. Was this what it meant to be a normal man? Erik slowly understood, as he continued to walk, that no matter what plans he had had when alive to make masks that made him look like regular men, he never would have known what it truly meant to be normal. He never would have fit in among Parisian society, never would have had the appropriate social graces, never would have been able to make friends or control his wild emotions.

Was it fair? Was it fair that such a face, something that he never chose, meant that he would never have been normal, not matter what he could have done? He supposed it didn't matter. He wasn't alive anymore, and he had already chosen his way.

And Christine—did she truly hate him? He was terrified and confused about what she had said on the train. He had done this incredibly risky thing just to be close to her… but what if she admitted that she never wanted to see the monster again? Would he continue on with his life, possessing the viscount? He desperately wanted to confront her about it… and at the same time was wildly scared to hear her answer.

He returned to the smoky parlor of the inn and looked surreptitiously to make sure that no one was around before sitting down at the piano for a few minutes of stolen bliss. He found that the viscount's fingers did not give him the range he was used to, but the body responded to him nonetheless, and beautiful melodies swelled inside his head and he lost himself inside the music. A soft clapping came from the back of the room after several minutes and Erik pushed himself forcefully away from the piano. He looked into the shadows but could not see anyone. His heart clenched. G-d, what if it was Christine? If she had heard, she would know for certain—

"Bravo, Monsieur."

Erik looked wildly around him, before his eyes settled on the portly figure of the manager. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

"You play very well," the man said, smiling.

Erik nodded his head, and then slipped up to his room and splashed cold water on his flawless face. He needed to be more careful. He could not risk destroying this whole plan… Suddenly he clenched the side of the sink, a force rising in his chest and causing the body to twitch sideways and then bend backwards. Erik struggled against the boy, loosing sensation in his fingers as they began to claw, of the boy's accord, at his face and eyes, which were quickly losing their vision.

"No!" Erik's voice ripped through the throat, sounding strangely deep and torn, while the boy continued to fight for control of his body.

There was knocking at the door and Christine's voice called for Raoul through the wood. The boy reacted strongly to this, clawing at his chest and pushing as hard as he could against Erik's presence. Erik clamped down the muscles in the jaw and stopped breathing, and the boy's hands began wildly clutching at his nose and mouth, but Erik had complete control. The more oxygen starved the body became, the more feeling returned to Erik's fingers, and the more his vision returned. Eventually the boy had lost enough strength that Erik was able to force him down. He straightened his spine and closed his eyes, trying to draw as much power as he could to keep the boy away. He needed to stay strong for at least another day. He didn't want to think about what would happen to him if he let the boy push him out of his body while they were away from the Opera House.

"Raoul, are you all right?"

Erik scampered to the door and threw it open, and Christine looked pale and worried.

"What happened? What took you so long to answer?" She glanced past him into the room as if looking for others.

"I apologize," he said, his voice a bit hoarse. "I was resting and did not hear you."

She nodded. "Well, I am going to the graveyard tomorrow, and I plan to catch an evening train back to Paris. You may accompany me in the afternoon if you like, but I think I should like to have the morning to myself and my father."

Erik nodded. "Have you eaten?" He asked. "Come, we shall go to supper." She took his hand listlessly, but he secretly delighted in being able to use the boy's very words and take her hand. He led her to the small dining area on the first floor, where the manager happily seated them.

"Ah Monsieur," the manager said, smiling, and Erik stiffened and tried to avert his gaze, hoping he would not mention the music.

"Do you know him, monsieur?" Christine asked, looking between them.

Erik swallowed and quickly picked up a menu. "What wines do you have tonight?" He asked loudly. The manager bowed his head and took their order, and Erik let out his breath. He hoped the fool would keep his distance. He reached across the table and took Christine's hand. She looked up at him.

He tried to smile, and then began to deliver the speech he had practiced on the train. "Christine, it has been so great to see you again, after all of this time."

"Yes," she said quietly. She looked down at their entwined hands.

"I haven't told you yet, but I think you should know. I have been appointed a member of the official expedition on board the Requin, which is to be sent to the Arctic Circle to search for survivors of the D'Artois expedition. As you know, nothing has been heard of them in three years."

"Oh," Christine nodded, looking out the window. "How exciting, Raoul."

"Yes," he said, glad that she seemed to be taking this very well. "I will be leaving soon."

"Oh." Suddenly she was looking at him with wide eyes. "Sorry, I don't think I heard right—did you say the arctic circle?"

"Yes, my dear."

She clutched his hand a little harder.

"What did you say?"

Erik inwardly cursed himself. He assumed the viscount did not use such endearments. "Nothing—I—yes, yes I will be leaving soon with my ship."

"Leaving." Her voice was very small. "How soon?"

"I'm not sure, I—within the next few months, I'd say…" Damn. He hoped he could be rid of the boy in that time…

"Oh, Raoul." Tears began to fill her eyes. Erik had not expected this, and it made him angry. He pulled his hand away and she blinked at her empty hand. "I'm so frightened by everything. What shall I do without your friendship?"

"Surely you have other friends," he said. Surely you have Erik.

"I don't know." She shook her head. "I don't know anything anymore."

Erik clutched the ends of the table. "But—" he said tightly, "but there must be someone at the Opera House who cares for you. Someone who—"

"Your entrée, Monsieur." The manager set two plates before them, and Christine tried to smile at him. He bowed, and then made a gesture towards Erik.

"Perhaps you shall play for us later, Monsieur." Erik glared at him, and the manager moved away. Erik felt Christine's eyes on him but tried to concentrate very hard on eating his dinner.

"What did he mean, Raoul?"

"I haven't a clue." He said, focusing on his fork.

"But he said—"

"Maybe he has mistaken me for someone else."

Christine stared at him hard. "It doesn't seem likely, Raoul. We're one of the very few people here tonight."

Erik shrugged and Christine seemed perturbed by his attitude. He ate quickly, thinking that if he could get them away from the manager maybe she would forget about all of this. At least he had been able to tell her he was going away. At least something positive came of this.

They ate in silence, and when Christine was finished she stared out the window and clanked her fork repeatedly against her plate. Ready to strangle someone at the sound, Erik eventually stayed her hand. She slowly turned her head to look at him.

"Do you remember the last time we saw each other?" She asked.

Erik hesitated. He somehow had not thought of what would happen if she wanted to reminisce. He coughed. "I—I suppose."

She had a faraway look on her face. "That was the end of my fairy tale. You weren't there, after. You weren't there when Papa died, when—"

"I'm sorry, Christine."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault that you weren't there. But when I was in the orphanage, I—I used to think of you."

Erik felt a twinge in his heart and didn't know if it was his ache or the viscount's joy. "Yes?" Erik whispered. How could he touch this, this history that they had together?

"Yes. I used to hope you'd come and rescue me, like you rescued my red scarf. But you never did…"

Erik didn't know what to say. He couldn't imagine that the boy, in his position, would have come up with anything brilliant to say, either.

"Christine…"

She had a faint, twisted smile on her face. "I think I loved you, for a very long time."

Erik's heart squeezed. No. No, no no. Christine, you must be mine! It wasn't fair! How could he possibly compete with this?

"It was silly though, wasn't it? To hope that an orphan, a dirty orphan like me, could ever become the wife of a viscount. It was the silly dream of a girl, I guess."

"You're not dirty, Christine." In the midst of everything she was saying, he couldn't believe that he still tried to comfort her. And yet the words hurt so much that all he could do was try to focus on not letting on who he was, staying in character…

She laughed. "Yes, everyone is telling me that now, aren't they? Oh Raoul, I held on to you for so long, but things changed. They had to change."

He coughed. "What do you mean?"

"Things happened to me, Raoul. Life happened to me, in a different way than it happened to you. I'm so much different than I was that last time we saw each other…"

Erik desperately wanted to know what had happened that day.

"And now it doesn't even matter, because you're leaving me again. Leaving me again, when I need you most."

"Need me?" He asked. "Why do you need me, now?"

Christine shook her head. "I can't—I don't think I could tell you. It's too—horrible."

Erik understood that she was talking about him, and he stood, not believing that he could hear another wretched word from her mouth. This anguish was sapping his energy, and he could feel the boy clawing at his mind.

"Maybe we should retire, Christine."

"Retire?" She stood too, with tears in her eyes. "Why won't anyone ever listen to me? Why does everyone want me to go away, to go to sleep, when I start talking about these things? Oh, you're just as bad as he is!" She turned away and fled, and he stood rooted to the spot. She had mentioned him, mentioned Erik, and had not said that he was a monster. Perhaps she had criticized him, for making her sleep, taking her to the dormitories, no doubt upset about that night when she had mentioned her past—but still, she had mentioned him! After standing a second longer, he took off after her, figuring that the only place she would run now was to her father.


Erik followed Christine on her trek to the cemetery, hiding behind trees and trying to make his step as light as possible, although he was not as good at masking his sounds as he used to be, after having been a ghost for twenty years. She threw open the gate to the cemetery in the pitch black of that moonless night and ran towards her father's grave, which was off to a corner on the left. Erik slithered up one of the paths and hid himself behind a tombstone not far from her. He edged himself down onto the ground and pressed his back against the stone, trying to hear her breathing. He heard the swish of her skirts as she sat before the grave, and her quiet breaths as she cried. How he wanted to hold her…

"Papa," she said. "Jag saknar dig." I miss you. She continued to talk to him in Swedish, asking him to pray for her, and hoping that he was happy in Heaven. "There is nobody here for me, papa," she said, and her voice shook. Erik clawed at the ground. Did she hate him that much? Surely she must know that Erik was there for her, always!

"I have ruined everything with everyone," she said. "Raoul is leaving, as he should, because he has a wonderful life without me. And Erik—Erik hates me forever."

Did she not know? Erik tried to recall every conversation they had had up until—that one. He had never outright told her that he loved her—he wasn't an idiot, didn't want to be rejected, reviled—but… did she not know that he cared for her immensely? That he would do anything for her? Had it not shown? Did she truly not know?

"Oh, papa, it was so horrible. You have no idea." Erik cringed. So she did hate him, after all. Why couldn't she just outright say it and be done with it? Even in talking to her father she was roundabout and confusing! "I don't think I shall ever be able to face him again." She took a deep breath, and Erik tried to control himself, tried to make no noise at all.

"He was so good to me, when no one else was. He helped me find your music again. I don't know how I shall continue on, now that everyone is gone, and nobody will be there for me. Oh Papa… I don't want to live like this any longer. I want to be with you. You know I tried, once before… I hope you won't hate me too much, if I try again? Nobody is coming to save me this time, because nobody cares. Even Mama Valerius will probably be happy that she doesn't need to waste her money on me anymore…"

Erik clenched his fists, and at the same time the boy reared up at him, and the shock of Christine's words made him too weak to fight. He fell over onto the ground, and Christine screamed and stood quickly, brandishing a stick as a weapon, before her eyes landed on his twitching form. She approached him slowly, holding out her stick in front on her.

"Raoul?" She whispered into the night. The boy let out a gargled scream and both of the arms flew backwards as Erik tried to regain control of the body. The boy fought hard, and the eyes popped open and the neck snapped down so far that it strained every muscle and every vein.

"Raoul!" Christine stood several steps away from him, and the boy suddenly stood, his spine bending until it almost snapped, the shoulders misaligned and the arms forced straight out like branches on a tree.

"Are you trying to frighten me?" She screamed. "Stop it, Raoul, stop it!"

The boy took one staggering step towards her, before Erik seized onto the body with all his might and forced it back to the ground, wrestling the hands away from the face and trying to focus on what it felt like to hear her sing, the connection that music brought… he garnered just enough energy to push the boy away, but he could tell that he was extremely weak, and that the boy would not stay dormant for long. He opened his eyes slowly, and looked over at Christine, who was staring at him wild-eyed, her cheeks stained with tears.

"Christine." He reached out to her, but she took a step back. "I'm so sorry."

"What—what happened to you?" She shuddered.

"I—I believe I am ill," he said. It took so much concentration to keep the boy at bay that he could hardly think of an excuse to keep her satisfied.

"Ill?" She asked. "How long have you been here? You—you've been spying on me!"

Erik gingerly tried to stand up. He wanted to talk about what she had said, but even the idea made him weak enough to allow the boy to give him a little push. "I'm terribly sorry," he said. "I wanted to make sure that you were all right."

She stood with her arms crossed. "Oh? And what have you discovered?"

He hesitated, because he did not know if the viscount knew Swedish or not. The boy pushed hard and Erik stumbled, holding a hand to his chest. "I apologize, Christine, but I must take my leave of you."

"What?" She took several threatening steps towards him and pushed the stick into his chest. "After everything you just heard you are really going to leave?"

"Christine—" his heart ached for her, but the boy was dangerously close to gaining full control. "I'm so sorry—"

She let out an inhuman scream, and he began to run towards the gate of the cemetery. He heard her collapse onto the ground in sobs, and he was terribly afraid for her safety in getting back to Paris. He hoped that she would hold on long enough to hear his music again, so that he could save her again—again and again, for the rest of her life if need be. He didn't care if she hated him. It didn't matter. It was more important to him that she live than that she love him. It was imperative that she live. Without her… he shuddered.

Tearing back into the inn, Erik penned a very quick letter to Christine, informing her that he had returned to Paris because of his illness and would very much like to see her when she returns. He hoped that was enough to convince her to come back and not to do anything unthinkable in Perros. He reminded himself to sign the viscount's name, and then headed as fast as he could towards the train station. He took the earliest express to Paris that he could get on, and closed his eyes the entire time, trying to focus on having enough energy to keep the boy back until they got to the Opera House. They arrived in Paris very early in the morning, and Erik was sure that the sight of the viscount, with his clothes all disheveled and covered in dust, running through the streets of Paris like his life depended on it would elicit much gossip among the residents of the Fauborg-St. Germain. The Opera loomed above him, several blocks ahead, and Erik willed himself to hold on, willed the boy to stay back, just until he could reach those steps… just one more block…

The boy roared forth at him and Erik fell to the ground, causing a nearby horse to spook and gallop in the other direction. Several people turned their heads. Erik clawed at the ground and tried to drag himself towards the Opera. The boy was taking control of his legs and began kicking out, but Erik focused all of his energy on moving the arms, dragging the body along. He was so close, so close…

His finger touched the outermost step of the Opera, and he closed his eyes and rose out of the body, all of his energy completely spent, having no ability to move from his spot, falling into the very stones of the steps as the Opera absorbed his presence once more, made its hideous claim on his spirit. He remained there, lodged in the steps, for a very long time. He remained when the first subscriber found the viscount lying on the ground, and remained still when the last medic left the scene with the viscount on their gurney. He had no energy still when the day turned to night, and languished beneath the feet of every Parisian who treaded into the Opera Garnier. It was only early that next morning when he saw two very precious feet above him that he finally felt able to move from his spot, and he followed her into the dormitories, so euphoric to see her alive that he understood that he must protect from everyone, even herself. Even him.

Soooo, the possession! What did you guys think? I wanted this chapter to end much differently but this is the way it happened! I didn't realize Christine was suicidal but apparently she is. Anyway I'd love to know what you guys thought! I had to look up creepy pictures from the exorcist to decide on what sorts of movements the possessed body would make… so I hope you appreciate my sacrifice for you!

I have to say that generally speaking I used to dislike Raoul although that is kind of mellowing out. I still sort of hate him, but the truth is that he's not really all that bad. I just can't totally hate him because he really does try to be a good guy here. So for the record, I'm not trying to fop-bash in this chapter. I'm just trying to accurately portray how Erik would have seen him, which was the deal with the whole high-pitched voice thing and any other slur Erik may have made against him. I mean, that's just how a story from Erik's perspective is going to be! But I do like this Raoul character. He's really pretty innocent.

Tell me what you think, leave a review!

I love you guys forever!

~Ice Cliff