A/N: Lots of angst in this chapter!!!!

p.s.- Litagirl- if you're reading this.... write me a nice LONG review, savvy??

Chapter 9- The Demons of the Night

Late in the night, Clare awoke to a strangled yell. She sat bolt-upright in bed, first trying to remember where she was. And then she remembered.

She was in the labyrinth. And if she was here, then the yell must have come from...

"Erik," she breathed, swinging her legs out of bed and hurrying down the hall. When she came to his room, she found him thrashing about in his own bed, which, on closer examination, she realized was a coffin. She cringed at the sight of the long, narrow box.

"No..." she heard Erik cry out.

"Erik!" she said loudly, gripping his arm firmly and shaking him awake.

He sat up, looking around wildly, breathing hard. "What- what happened?" he panted.

"You were having a nightmare, Erik."

He didn't meet her eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Fine," he said shortly.

"What were you dreaming about?" Clare asked. "You were thrashing around pretty violently..."

He didn't answer.

"Erik, answer me," Clare commanded.

"Everything," he said hoarsely. "Memories... too many memories...." he held his head in his hands. "Just go," he moaned into his hands. "Just leave me."

Clare stood up reluctantly. She was in the doorway when she heard Erik say

"Wait."

She turned back.

"Stay," he pleaded. "Please stay," he said, conflicted.

She crossed the room in a second and knelt down beside him again. "I'm here, my angel," Clare whispered. "I'm here."

Her voice soothed him, and his body relaxed from its tense state. They sat together in a peaceful silence, as Erik calmed down from his restless fit.

Awhile later, Clare asked, "Why do you sleep in a coffin?"

Erik shrugged. "I guess I was hoping that maybe I'd just die while lying in it... but that hasn't happened yet."

"I wish you wouldn't," she said. "It's frightening.... it's.... cynical. And it can't be very comfortable," she added.

"It never really bothered me," he said. "I used to pray the day would come, anyway."

They were both silent again.

"You should rest now," said Erik finally. "You'll need to be ready for tomorrow night."

"Are you sure?" she said hesitantly. "Will you be all right?"

He nodded. "Yes. Go."

"Very well. Goodnight, my angel."

After Clare left, Erik lay back against the pillow in the coffin, eyes wide open, having no intention of going back to sleep. He didn't want to wake Clare again with another one of his raving nightmares. He wished she hadn't found out.... what would she think of him now?

Despite his efforts though, Erik found himself drifting into a thankfully dreamless sleep.


When she awoke the next morning, Clare tiptoed down the hall to his room. He was sleeping peacefully, rolled over on his side. She smiled at his sleeping form. With the absence of his flashing eyes, Erik looked much less dangerous- almost childlike. Pieces of his dark hair fell across his forehead, casting shadows over his face in the dim light. His mask was still on- it suddenly struck Clare how uncomfortable it must be for him. Something made her want to remove it, but the promise she had made to him the night before held her back. It wasn't worth betraying his trust, and aside from that, Clare was afraid of what Erik might do. He wasn't exactly harmless- she had seen his temper flare up a few times, but knew that his wrath would be much worse if she took the mask off. Still, she was dying to know what was behind it. She had heard horrible things from the girl's gossip; some said he was a hideous monster, others said he had no face at all- that the only thing behind the mask was lat, blank skin. Still others said the right side of his face was dead- blackened and decaying. But Clare refused to believe any of the stories- not until she had seen Erik for herself. Which might never happen, she thought, given the fact that she had stupidly promised never to remove the mask. Why hadn't she thought more about it? She asked herself. Why didn't she realize that after she promised, she would never be able to slake her curiosity? But what could she have said? He had asked her, in his pitiful way, asked her for her word, her promise. He had looked at her with his sad eyes and begged her never to expose him.... how could she not have agreed?


Above them, in the opera house, it was after ten o' clock, and no one knew the whereabouts of Clare. Rehearsals had started nearly three hours ago, and she was nowhere to be found. Her understudy had been called in to sing her role, but as Christine stood on the stage, she knew that the girl was nowhere near as good as Clare. Christine was slightly worried for her friend- hoping that she was safely in the Angel's care. She thought of the possibility of Erik holding her hostage.... she didn't think he would, but she had no way of being sure. She knew, though, that if Erik had her, she would at least be safe- Erik couldn't harm her.

Raoul and Martin were frantic as well- standing in the theatre, talking in hushed voices. When the actors were given a break, the two hurried up to Christine.

"Any sign of her?" Martin asked frantically.

Christine shook her head. "Nothing."

"Do you think- Christine- do you think that he.... took her?" Raoul asked fearfully.

"He- you mean the opera ghost?" Martin demanded.

"I'm not certain," said Christine. "But no one's seen her since last night."

"We should go after her," said Raoul.

"If she isn't back in an hour, I'll go down there," she said.

"I'm coming with you," said Raoul.

"And me," said Martin.

"No!" she said quietly, but forcefully. "You aren't even supposed to know where the labyrinth is, Raoul. And we swore to Erik that we wouldn't tell," she shot a meaningful look in Martin's direction. "Besides- he might try to kill you."

"Not if we get him first," said Martin savagely.

"Have you heard nothing I just said?" Christine said in frustration. "Neither of you are coming!"

"But-" Martin protested.

"Miss Daae! Er- I mean, Madame deChagny... we must begin again!" the conductor called her over.

Christine shot a last look at both men. "Don't either of you think about going down there. Or I promise you- if Erik doesn't kill you... I will."

She hurried back onstage.

Martin looked at Raoul. "You know where the entrance to his lair is?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes," said Raoul slowly.

"I don't care what Christine says- I think we should go."

"Maybe...." said Raoul. He was beginning to think of something. Ever since they had come back to the Paris Opera House, Christine had been having strange dreams- that she wouldn't share with him. And just two nights ago, she had awakened calling out that monster's name. Raoul's fists clenched with rage at the thought of Christine thinking about that horrible excuse for a man.

"What is it, Raoul?" Martin asked, seeing his friend's look of distress.

Raoul seethed. "This business with the opera ghost has gone too far. He took Christine, and now he's taken Clare. And he.... he still holds Christine's mind. She has dreams about him- she calls his name in her sleep. It disgusts me... more than anything else on this earth. It wasn't enough for him to let us go. I want revenge."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"I don't know. But I'll think of something. We're going to end the monster's reign of terror, Martin. Once and for all."

Moments later, Clare came bolting onto the stage. "Sorry I'm late!" she apologized.

"Where have you been?" Madame Giry asked sternly.

"I was.... I... I..." she stumbled. "I was... out."

"Out?" Madame Giry raised an eyebrow.

"We should continue," Christine put in quickly. "We've already wasted enough time."

Later in the day, when the rehearsals were ended, and Christine and Clare were getting into their costumes, Christine took her friend aside.

"Raoul and Martin are suspicious," she said quietly, so none of the other dancers could hear.

"Of what?" Clare asked.

"Of Erik. They believe he took you... like he took me."

Clare shook her head. "But he didn't- I went myself."

"I know. And I'm glad. But you can't do this again. I'm afraid of what Raoul might do, Clare. He is unsettled lately... I fear he might want revenge on Erik."

"I didn't mean to stay that long-" Clare said under her breath. "But you can't tell the time of day down there.... I didn't realize how late it was until we returned."

Christine smiled wanly. "I know. Erik has that way of making you lose yourself, doesn't he?"

Clare nodded. "He made me promise him something last night, Christine."

"What was that?"

"He made me promise to never take off his mask, no matter what. I said yes, but now that I think about it, it's driving me mad. Whatever he's hiding.... it can't be that bad, can it?"

"I suppose not," said Christine.

"Can't you tell me?" Clare asked.

Christine shook her head. "No. That is Erik's secret. Only he can choose whether or not to reveal it."

"I want him to show me, Christine. I want him to be able to show me his whole self, without fear."

"You have to show him that, then."

"How?"

"I don't know. You have to let him know that you care for him no matter what. He has to see that, then maybe he'll let you in."

"But I do," Clare protested. "I know I do."

"Then don't tell me," said Christine pointedly. "Tell him. But in the meantime, be careful, and be wary."

Christine left, leaving Clare to her thoughts. She wanted to tell Erik how she felt... but the voices in her head again stopped her. She was too afraid of not being loved in return.

As the curtain rose on the stage, Erik sat forward in his seat, in Box Five, which had been left open for him, waiting to see Clare. He was dressed in jet-black evening attire, wearing his white porcelain mask, as usual. When Clare came on, his breath caught in his throat. She was stunning- dressed as a beautiful Egyptian princess, hair piled half-up and half-down, curled into ringlets that framed her thin face. Her dress was sleek and form fitting, and sleeveless. When she sang, her voice echoed through the whole theatre, melodious and flowing. She was perfection. As she sang, he fell under her spell, transfixed by her presence on stage.

When the opera was finally over, he stood and applauded with the rest of the audience, before making a quick exit so as not to be seen.


"You were wonderful, Clare!" Christine gushed when the show was over. The women were backstage in a dressing room, taking off their costumes and stage makeup.

"Wasn't she?" put in Meg Giry. "You two were both positively stunning!"

"I was so nervous," Clare confessed. "I don't think there was a moment when my heart wasn't pounding. It was like I was walking around in a dream..."

She looked rather dazed.

"Its the harsh stage lights," said Christine. "I remember my first time... I thought I had died and gone to heaven, it was so bright."

She slipped out of her costume and back into her dress. "I've got to run," she said. "Raoul's taking me to dinner somewhere- he said its a surprise. So goodnight!" She hugged each of the girls, then, with a final smile and congratulations, she left.

Meg finished changing before Clare.

"Shall I wait for you, Clare?" she asked her friend.

"No, Meg, that's all right," she said with a tired smile. "I'll be along in a minute."

"All right," said Meg. "I'll see you later on, then. You were wonderful, Clare! The opera has a new prima donna, I think!" She hurried off, no doubt to gossip with the other girls.

Clare heard most of the other cast members leave also, bidding her goodnight. She slowly changed out of her costume. She sat down before a large mirror. Taking a soft cloth and a basin of water, she began to remove the dark stage makeup. The thick eyeliner took some scrubbing, but she somehow managed to remove all traces of it from her ivory skin. She jumped when she heard a door creak open.

"Meg?" she called out into the silence.

No answer.

An involuntary smile spread across her lips. If it wasn't Meg, then it probably was....

"Erik?"

Still no answer.

She wiped the last of the makeup off, and stood up quietly.

"Erik?" she called again. She heard someone move. "Erik- if that's you, come out." She realized that her heartbeat was abnormally rapid, and she prayed that it was Erik there. She looked around expectantly, but her angel did not appear. She heard more footsteps. "Erik?" she said, voice now fearful.

"Who the hell's Erik?" came the sound of a drunken voice from behind her.

Her heart was suddenly gripped by icy cold fingers of fear as she turned around to face her father.

"So," he said, looking at her rather cross-eyed. "Here ye are. Thought ye'd seen the last o' me, didn' ya, girl?"

Clare tensed. Her father's bulky frame was blocking the way out.

"Yer workin' now, ain't yeh Clare?" he slurred. "How's 'bout slippin' yer ol' man a few francs like a good little girl?" he asked.

Clare narrowed her eyes. She didn't have that much money in her possession- she wasn't paid tremendously, and even if she had, she wouldn't give it to him. "You'll not get a cent from me," she said scornfully, though her voice wavered.

He advanced, and she backed up into the vanity bench.

"Ignorant little chit!" he growled, striking her hard across the face. He grabbed her arms firmly, his dirty fingernails puncturing the skin on her bare arms. "You wanna rethink that answer, girl?" he asked viciously, shaking her.

Defiantly, she shook her head. She had been too passive before- she was resolved to stand up for herself now- even if it meant her death. He shoved her hard into the wall. She hit her head on the stone, and fell to the floor, cowering in fear, realizing how truly defenseless she was.

"One last chance, Clare," he said tauntingly, moving closer to stand over his daughter.

She shook her head. "Worthless little whore!" he spat, kicking her in the chest. She cried out in pain. Her father raised his hand to strike her again, when he was suddenly knocked off his feet by a black-cloaked figure.

Clare gasped in relief- her angel had come for her.

With a strangled yell, Erik threw Clare's father back, ramming him into the opposite wall. The other man, surprised by Erik's great strength, grunted at the impact. Erik let him fall, then went for his throat. Clare's father kicked out, hitting the phantom in the stomach, and used his moment of pain to force him off of him. Erik's only coherent thought was of inflicting as much pain as he could on the man. He punched him with all his might- feeling blood flow.

"Erik-" he heard Clare's strained voice say.

He looked over at her.

She was huddled in a corner, shivering from fear. She looked so forlorn that he dropped her father and went over to her- leaving his half-conscious body on the floor. He needed to get her out of that room- get both of them away from this attacker. He took her hand and helped her up.

"Come on," he said.

On the ground, her father was rising. "I'll kill you, bitch!" he spat.

Erik made a move, but Clare stopped him. "No- let's just leave."

She sounded petrified.

They ran, going through secret passages.

"Where are we going?" Clare asked weakly.

"Far away from him," was the reply.

They came to a set of steep stairs and ran up them, coming out onto the roof, breathless and tired. Tears were streaming freely down Clare's cheeks as she buried her face in his shirt, broken and weary.

He held her thin body close, feeling her shivering. It was fairly cold on the rooftop, and he realized that she was only wearing a thin, sleeveless under shift. He took off his black cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Did you know that man?" he asked. He felt a shiver coarse through her body. "He's- he's my father," came the muffled reply.

Erik's eyes widened in horror. "Your father?"

She nodded, ashamed that he had seen.

He gently tilted her chin up to face him, studying her face closely. He could see a dark bruise forming beneath her eye, and there was blood on her lip.

"Does he always treat you like this?" he asked, running his hand over the side of her face gently.

She closed her eyes and shuddered, nodding. Opening them, she said, "I- I think he would have killed me tonight..... He was drunk..... it made him c-crazy. Thank god you were there, Erik or he might have....." she broke off.

He rested a comforting hand on her cold cheek. "I will always be there to protect you, Clare."

"Promise me," she whispered.

Their faces were so close, only inches apart.

"I promise," he answered, in his soft voice. His body was shaking, screaming at him to take advantage of their closeness and kiss her, but it wasn't the right time or place, he knew. She needed him there to comfort her now, to protect her. As she fell into his waiting arms, Clare, physically and emotionally exhausted, began to sob.