Final-Threshold: I assure you, I am quite undeserving of you love haha. I am, however, glad that you enjoyed that last chapter. And of course Christine is acting like a childish brat: she has a habit of that…and of being indecisive (wink)
Phantomann: Ahh, sweet tension! I had to do a chapter like that, my friend who requested something at least mildly EC hates it when I don't go through with a steamy scene. I just love to be contrary like that.
PhantomsHeart: "fop-cold"…that made me choke on my snack lol. For some reason Raoul just seems like someone who would be violently allergic to dust, since he lives the high life and probably doesn't come in contact with it much. And I'd steal the fedora as well, but I just put it in the story! Nobody can have it yet!
Carolinus the Opera Ghostess: Christine needs some dang food. She could do with putting on a few pounds lol. Now I'm hungry too…
Erik'sLady: Glad you like it! Be sure to keep reading…I love new reviewers (happydance)
Son Kat: Thanks! Christine needed to be taken down a few notches…thinking she can pout and yell at Erik. (shakes head) I like to torture her on occasion.
Dove of Night: Another new reviewer! I'm glad you like it so far; be sure to stick around for a while!
Tryptophan: You are officially the keeper of my new favorite word: Porkchoppery. It makes my soul sing (cue angelic voices)! And Erik's always hazardous to your health. That's why he comes with a warning label (nods twice). Yay for the summer!
Trallgorda: You flatter me immensely! Look, you're making me blush…thanks for the praise, and I hope you'll continue to let me know what you think of my little tale.
Soccernat11: I shall most certainly try my best. I tend to enjoy writing details, but sometimes I worry that it'll bore people. Thanks though, I was rather fond of that chapter myself.
Kagome1514: Thanks, for some reason I thought you had said Blindly…which could account for my not being able to find it. I'll save your spot while you're gone haha!

This chapter is mainly here to hint at Erik's devious new plan. Erik has got to get Raoul out of the picture somehow…or die trying. And Christine is addicted to being around Erik. Stalker girl. (jk) Not my fav chapter by far, but it had to be done.


Chapter Nine: Morbid Musings

Thick candles flickered and sputtered fitfully in the sitting room as wax dripped slowly down their sides and pooled beneath them. Glancing around at the numerous musical instruments scattered about the room with his hands in his pockets, Erik sighed contentedly and allowed a smile to grace his features. This was his favorite place in the world. Here the harsh realities of life melted away in the awesome flame of his musical genius. Here he created the soul-stirring melodies that had once captured Christine's heart. Here was the birthplace of the music of the night. Well, not exactly "here." Here had to be relocated.

Moving to some of the shelves that were completely covered with different instruments, Erik brought one hand to run along the smooth strings of a violin. Many of his original instruments had been looted during the raid upon his lair, never to be seen again. Those imbeciles probably used them for firewood. They most certainly couldn't play them, he thought with a sneer. No matter the brave front he showed in the face of such loss, his eyes stung at the mere thought of his old haven. Why did they have to destroy the music room? There was nothing remotely sinister or intimidating about it. It was pure. It was innocent. It was raped. A lump formed in his throat and had to swallow and take a few deep breaths to regain composure.

Erik had managed to rescue a few pieces of singed music and even fewer instruments from the burned and broken rubble. The violin that he had played in the graveyard in Perros had been saved, miraculously untouched. Maybe there was a God. Or maybe the mob had just overlooked it in their haste to set fire to everything they could in as little time as possible.

He needed to play; his emotions were running away with him.

He would have liked nothing better than to be able to sit down and pour his confusion and anger into playing his pipe organ, but instead had settled on the gentle sound of the piano. Soft, delicate notes swelled suddenly as Erik composed his music in the semidarkness.

Time passed in a blur, but Erik didn't care. Time held no meaning in his world. He knew it was late (or early, he couldn't bother himself to look upon the clock) and Christine had finished her meal. He had heard her dainty footsteps as she tiptoed back to her room, trying not to disturb him as he composed. It was only polite that he return the favor and try not to disturb her sleep with the jarring sounds of the organ. She was, in fact, the one that he could thank for his returned interest in music.

Erik's fingers danced over the ivory keys, drawing forth a sweet lullaby. He needed something to soothe his mind. Thoughts cascaded around his skull, colliding and crashing together and making him feel restless. Ironic that I recently spent the past six months in a fog, and now I can't seem to stop thinking, he mused idly.

The vicomte's search of the Opera demanded his immediate attention, however. Casting aside all other conflicting thoughts, he focused solely on what was to be done about the intrusive, pompous boy.

His fingers halted their movements as Erik savored a particularly pleasing revelation that brought a malicious grin: I could just kill the bastard. His eyes glazing over slightly with ecstasy, Erik imagined the many ways he could accomplish the task. The Punjab lasso would be too easy, too quick. He desired to draw it out and let the boy suffer for all the pain he had caused him. A bit of torture would definitely be acceptable; he would take great pleasure in slowly destroying the impeccable appearance of the pretty-boy. Vaguely he wondered if his torture chamber of old was still functional. He was sure the mob had not dared to touch it. The vicomte would be quite cozy in there…

Shaking his head, he resumed playing the soothing notes of his composition. Somehow I doubt Christine would approve. But did he need her approval? She was his…and yet he still wished to please her in whatever he did. Erik held Christine in the palm of his hand: he could do with her as he desired; he had ultimate power over her. He could keep her here in his lair for the rest of his days and she could do nothing about it. And yet he constantly found himself wishing to follow her around and cater to her every need like a faithful dog. The thought made him slightly nauseated. But he couldn't help it. He wanted to please her. She deserved to be doted upon and loved and cared for.

You brought her here determined to change your ways and take the upper hand. Start thinking like the master, not the dog, he berated himself as his music took on a heated edge. I will not be used and abandoned again. I would not survive it.

Realizing that Christine had once again consumed his thoughts, he slammed his fists down onto the keys. Keep your mind on the task at hand! Christine will not be here much longer if you don't take care of the damned vicomte!

Discarding his previous idea to efficiently and permanently dispose of the man, Erik resumed his soothing melody. He stared into the hypnotic flames of the candles before him. There were other ways to be rid of Raoul de Chagny. He just had to think.

Erik held a definite advantage over the oblivious boy. He was believed to be dead. Logically, that would rule out the possibility that Christine had been whisked away by the infamous Opera Ghost. Then again, I doubt that boy is thinking logically. It's difficult enough to think logically with Christine around; it's nearly impossible when she is gone.

Women. It wasn't as if he had much experience in the matter, though.

Erik also knew the innermost workings of his domain through the use of trapdoors and passageways. He wasn't called the lover of trapdoors for nothing. If it boiled down to it, Erik could easily spend the rest of his days skirting the police and whoever else decided to comb the Opera House in search of him. But I shouldn't have to. It is MY Opera.

He could not kill the vicomte and he would not simply ignore him.

He will likely hunt us until the day we die, Erik thought with a groan, closing his eyes wearily as his hands continued to run along the piano keys.

The music that wound through the darkness stopped abruptly as his golden eyes snapped open and widened in the skull mask.

Until the day we die.

I am already believed to be in the grave…perhaps I will be forced to drag my angel down with me.

Raoul would certainly abandon his chase if his fiancée met a tragic end.

How Erik had missed his devious epiphanies. With a wicked chuckle, he leaped from his seat in one graceful motion and turned to leave the room.

Christine was curled up on the settee before him, simply gazing at him curiously.

XXXXXXXXX

A few awkward moments passed. Erik stood completely still, barely breathing, as if Christine would perhaps not notice him if he didn't move or make a noise. He was not so lucky.

"If this is how you spend your nights, then I'm not surprised you look like death warmed over," she said softly, her voice tinged with concern. When his ungloved hand flew to touch his skull mask self-consciously she quickly added, "Not like that: tired."

Nervously he lowered his hand, his fingers twitching. What is she doing awake? How long has she been here?

Why am I just staring at her? He frantically tried to tear his eyes from her. But he couldn't. She was reclined before him, wearing her grey silk nightgown with a thick midnight blue robe tied around her. She had drawn her knees up before her and wrapped her arms casually about them, resting her chin on her knees and contemplating him over them. His eyes traveled to the creamy skin of her neck as she brushed her loose hair over her shoulder.

Does she delight in tormenting me? Or does she even know…? He swallowed hard and dragged his eyes up to lock with hers. His confidence of earlier evaporated like mist in the afternoon sun; he no longer played the part of the hunter. Christine had surprised him this time, and the tables were turned.

The silence between the two lengthened as they merely stared at one another. Erik fought the overwhelming urge to run under her soft coffee-colored gaze. His muscles twitched nervously, prepared for flight. He fought for air desperately; his lungs refused to work properly.

Seeing that Erik was not about to break the calm, Christine pulled her robe closer around her slim frame and shivered a bit. "I couldn't sleep…and I heard you playing," she said hesitantly, wondering if he was angry at her for eavesdropping. She could read some frenzied emotion in his golden orbs, but could not determine what it was, much less the origin of it.

Somehow Erik managed to regain control of his frozen body. He bowed slightly to the young woman before him, falling back upon etiquette and courtesy to conceal his passions.

"My sincerest apologies, I did not realize my music would disturb you. I was just finishing up-"

"No!" Christine broke in, startling Erik and making his eyebrows shoot up.

"E-Excuse me?" Had he somehow offended her? Should he leave?

Blushing furiously at her outburst, Christine's eyes traveled down to the floor as she idly played with the tie of her robe. Why did I yell that? He probably thinks I'm daft…

"I'm sorry, I meant you didn't disturb me…in fact, I came in here to listen. It was soothing. It seems like I haven't heard music in an eternity," she confessed uncertainly to the floor, trembling visibly as she whispered, "My father used to play for me when I couldn't sleep…"

Erik's heart softened at her blushing uncertainty. The poor child. She's alone in a new place and scared. Of me. He sighed sadly, unshed tears threatening to fall. Every fiber of his being ached to change that fact, to restore the trust that Christine had once had in her Angel of Music. The past is past. Her angel is no more. But I love her as much, if not more than I did then. I can't live without her, and the least I can do is calm and reassure her.

His mind screamed in warning: it was dangerous to be this close to her. It was dangerous to offer her comfort and compassion…to offer her a glimpse of his weak heart. She would crush it as she had before.

Sympathy overruled caution. Walking over to stand before her, he knelt on one knee. Christine's eyes remained locked on her knees, and she seemed to have begun trembling more violently as he moved to her.

He was so close to her. She had been shivering from the cold air earlier, but now she found herself shivering as she sensed the heat from his body before her. Christine didn't dare to raise her eyes as visions of earlier flashed through her head. The feel of his warm breath upon her lips, his strong arms on either side of her, his exasperating smirk, the brush of his lips upon hers…

Christine sensed him move and her breath hitched in her lungs. Time seemed to slow as she awaited…What am I waiting for? She blushed deeper.

Gently chucking her under the chin with his finger, he forced her to look at him and smiled kindly as he tilted his head. His eyes glimmered, catching the light from the candles and making them appear as if they held a fire of their own.

"I will play for you."

Her heart began to race at his words. She was relieved that he was not angry with her; she was more than furious enough at herself at the moment. You just couldn't sleep…it doesn't mean you have to find him. You've spent nights tossing and turning. It doesn't give you a right to seek him out. And it most certainly doesn't mean your heart should be pounding.

Walking to a shelf and picking up the ornately carved violin that had been rescued from the fire, Erik leaned against the wall casually. He brought the violin to rest on his shoulder and leaned his chin upon it. Taking up the bow, he began to play The Resurrection of Lazarus, the familiar melancholy tune recalling to Christine's mind vivid memories of her father. It brought a strange calm to her troubled heart and her conflicting emotions were forgotten as she let herself be carried away by the comforting melody.

Erik's piercing eyes watched as Christine stretched out on the settee, yawning hugely and fighting off the droop of her eyelids. When her eyelids became too heavy to keep open, she gently let them drift closed. He continued to play until her breathing became slow and deep as sleep overcame her.

Hesitantly he lowered his violin, and when Christine did not stir he replaced it on the shelf. Glancing back at her sleeping form, Erik decided against moving her. She seems so peaceful. I don't want to chance waking her needlessly; she's exhausted.

Retrieving a blanket from the back of a nearby chair, he draped it over Christine; she sighed contentedly and snuggled herself deeper into it. He found himself leaning over Christine to brush a stray curl from her face and stopped himself before his fingers came in contact with her cheek. Just touching her isn't a sin, he convinced himself. It felt like one though.

Extinguishing the few candles around the room, he left one lit to cast some light should Christine awaken. She doesn't like the dark, he recalled with a sigh. Darkness was all he had known; it was all he could give her. Perhaps she could learn to not be afraid of the night…

Quashing his hopeless fantasies, Erik yawned and stretched his lean muscles. He ran his hands through his hair and groaned tiredly. A bit of sleep wouldn't go amiss.

Before leaving to seek refuge in his own bedroom, Erik looked back at his angel.

He was a devil and she was a creature of heaven. There was no doubt in his mind that he would never see her in the afterlife, if it existed.

His protective nature rose within him along with fierce jealousy. He would gladly damn himself to the fiery depths of hell before letting Raoul de Chagny take her from him. But Erik had a plan for that.

He knew it was selfish and cruel, but he would deceive her once more if it meant having her: his very own angel to brighten his living hell.