Author's Note: Well, here it is… the ending. I hope I've built all your anticipation enough to this point. With the ending of this one, I am already planning my next phic piece that I plan to call "Obsession." It is still a bit in the workings as far as how it is going to play out, but I was inspired on day and really want to get it started. It will be a bit different from this one, though (one major hint: Modern :X).

Anyway, thank you all so much to those who have followed this story, reviewed it, and sent private messages about it. I really appreciate any feedback I can get and it really drives me to continue. :) So, without further ado, the final chapter of "The Voice."

Raoul's astonishment at the Persian's words took a moment to take full effect. He stared at the foreign man, shaking his head at first, his lips trembling on his opened mouth. He stroked his chin for a moment, then stepped away from the Persian and the door of the house on the lake. Surely, if he were back with Christine, it must have meant that they were behind that door, together. The man who had once cursed the monster had allowed them time together, alone. Was Christine his prisoner again? It was all that he had feared, yet it couldn't be true. It couldn't be…

"He's alive?" Raoul asked finally.

"Not quite, Monsieur," the Persian said with a deep breath.

With his age, he seemed especially old now. He seemed to act like a father telling his son that he was close to passing, yet the details were deeper than that. They were much more unexpected than that of an aging father.

"Not quite?" Raoul protested.

Raoul was prepared to start at an argument, yet the Persian held up his hand for silence. Raoul didn't know why, but he complied to his request.

"Monsieur, she has seen the monster again. But it is not how you may believe."

"Go on," Raoul urged.

"When I first encountered her, I didn't know what to think. She seemed to be looking for something, but I didn't realize she was looking for him."

"Of course not," Raoul said in frustration.

"Yet that was precisely what she was looking for."

Raoul stood in silent, unsure how to react. It couldn't be, she'd never go looking for him. Not with the happiness they had shared for the past three years…

"And did she find him?" Raoul asked hoarsely.

"I believe she's seem him well before making a trip here, Monsieur."

Raoul clenched his hands into a fist and curled his lips. He began to rush toward the door, prepared to storm in and confront Erik face to face, yet a surprisingly firm hand pressed against his chest.

"Do not block me, Monsieur," Raoul cried. "I will not let him take advantage of her mind again!"

"It is too late for that, Monsieur," the Persian said sadly.

Raoul stopped and looked down at the man. His eyes were filled with a genuine sympathy. The stare of his jade eyes held Raoul in place, like a charmer calming a snake. There was a different manner in the pity he showed. Rather than being the father informing the son, he was like the doctor addressing the family. Like there was no hope of recovery and all was done but unable to be resolved.

"Monsieur le Comte, I believe your wife has been having visions."

"Visions?"

"Yes, delusions of the monster being back in her life."

"No," Raoul said, his firm stance growing weak.

"I've contained her within the monster's house, but there is no telling if she is awake until we go in to check."

"So, he is really dead?" Raoul whispered.

"Yes," the Persian said.

"But she thinks he is alive?"

A silence fell between the two. The Persian stared at him intently for a moment, and then waved his hand for Raoul.

"Please, follow me," the Persian advised.

Raoul hesitated before staggering behind the Persian, fumbling with his footing in the darkness. The Persian had slowed in his movement and it seemed his clumsy attempts at opening the door weren't any faster. Raoul's heart pounded beneath his chest, vocalizing his concern when finally a loud latch seemed to release and light came into the dark cellar from a wall that seemed to be solid through.

The Persian held his hand out to keep Raoul out for a moment, but Raoul rushed past him and entered the vaguely familiar room. He searched the room for a moment before finding his Christine, chained against a wall and sitting on the floor.

"Raoul!" Christine cried, rustling against the chains.

"Christine!" he called, tears flooding over his eyes and relief beaming from his face.

Raoul ran to her and scooped her into his arms, ignoring the heavy iron wrapping around him. He ran his fingers through her blonde curls, pulling her close into his embrace and looking harshly to the foreign man standing by the entrance to the terrible house. Raoul stood in a rush and pointed an accusing finger at the Persian.

"What have you done to her?" Raoul demanded.

The Persian gave an annoyed glance at the man, crossing his arms over his chest. Raoul glared back at him defiantly, crossing his arms in a similar fashion. He couldn't believe the circumstance they were in. Once, this man was his ally, and now he was clearly against them. Christine looked fine; radiant, in fact. And there was no Phantom in the room they stood in. Raoul stepped back to comfort his wife, when she let out a loud gasp.

"Careful, Raoul!" she said, grabbing hold of the back of his leg.

Raoul stumbled, trying to avoid whatever it was she was concerned for. He turned to face her and saw nothing in danger of his path.

"What is it, Christine?" Raoul asked.

"Why, you almost stepped on him," she said.

"Who?" Raoul asked.

"Erik, of course!"

Christine gestured to the empty space beside her. Raoul looked at the spot and then looked around it, turning in a circle about himself and then going back to his love. His eyes grew with sorrow as he saw the truth.

"Oh, stop," she said to the air. "You know Raoul is my husband. I love him very much."

A long pause and then she gave a face of disapproval.

"Now, don't start that again," she said. "I told you how I feel for you."

Raoul stooped down beside Christine, forcing her hands in his and pulling her attention away from her imaginary companion.

"Christine, listen to me," Raoul began.

The Persian stepped forward, gaining Raoul's attention and turning him to look for assistance.

"Monsieur, might I suggest—"

"No!" Christine yelled.

Both of the men turned to stare at her in astonishment. Her once calm and cheerful spirit changed so quickly.

"What is it, dear?" Raoul asked slowly.

"Do not listen to him, Raoul!" she said like a child.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't listen to him," she repeated. "Erik doesn't trust him anymore."

Raoul turned back to the Persian, begging for help with his eyes. The Persian's generally calm demeanor turned hot with anger as he took a few steps forward and pointed down at Christine.

"This is exactly why you're confined," he said.

Christine glared at him, her eyes on fire. Her nose wrinkled with distaste as she held his gaze, intently waiting for more out of him. Her attention suddenly turned, as if she was spoken to.

"It's okay," she whispered. "Raoul's here now. He'll unbind us."

Raoul backed away from Christine, horrified by the ordeal. Where had this come from and why had it taken hold of his wife? He didn't know how to react to her words. He couldn't find the proper technique to console her. Yet he still couldn't come up with the reason behind her madness. She may not have been herself at home, yet how did it all come down to this? And when?

The Persian slowly approached Raoul while Christine was preoccupied to supposedly adjusting Erik's mask to spare her husband. He placed a steady hand on his shoulder and pulled him to the side, his eyes filled with urgency.

"I have seen this before, Monsieur," he said quietly. "Back in Mazenderan. It is a mental illness that causes the victim to fall prey to false images. It appears Christine has created her own version of Erik. It is as if she took the qualities she found most desirable in him and created him to her own fancies."

Raoul moaned, looking over to his wife, who was now beginning to hum soft melodies toward her angel.

"In creating this version of Erik, she has also grown to create a hatred for me," the Persian said, trying to hide his aggravation. "This is why I was forced to confine her, aside from needing time to find you, Monsieur."

"What must I do?" Raoul asked.

The Persian looked down at the woman, now reliving her full triumph loudly on the floor, stopping herself for correction from her supposed maestro.

"It has been so long, Erik. I'm not sure I can handle that range quite yet," she said.

"Monsieur, there is no reverse for this illness. None that I have seen," the Persian said.

"None at all?" Raoul pressed.

The Persian shook his head reluctantly.

"Then I must care for her myself, then?" Raoul asked.

"I wouldn't advise it," the Persian said. "She is capable of acting out."

"She wouldn't," Raoul argued.

"I beg to differ, Monsieur," the Persian said.

At that, he raised his arm and pulled his coat off of his shoulder, revealing a gash running down his arm, still fresh. Raoul gasped and backed away, shaking his head in disbelief.

"She would never do that to me," he protested.

"This was from informing her that she could not stand in the torture chamber," the Persian said dryly. "She is not stable enough to trust."

Raoul collapsed to the ground, tears flooding over his eyes. He knew that Erik's control was over Christine again. The mystery of The Voice was ever present again, but this time, there was no getting rid of it. As his hands covered his eyes, he felt a small pair of hands clasp on to her arm. He looked over and saw Christine looking at him with concern.

"It's alright, Raoul," she said. "He is only going to work on my voice."

Raoul tried to smile, but his tears continued to flow.

The Persian helped him to his feet and began to work at tying Christine's hands behind her back. She struggled and even kicked at him a few times. Raoul finally gained the courage to take over for him, assuring Christine it was for her safety. Her eyes turned cold to him. She kept her silence as they removed her chains and carried her out to the boat. Meanwhile, she would whisper to Erik, who was apparently walking by her side, telling him that it seemed they were on their own now.

She kept calm on the ride across the boat, occasionally looking over into the water, seeming to be searching for the terrible hands of the siren to reach out and overturn the small vessel.

The Persian went ahead of the couple, going back to the surface to find a member of the police to assist them to the asylum.

Raoul sat beside Christine's tied body and tried to speak to her seriously.

"Christine, you know we are not trying to hurt you," he tried.

"Do you believe him?" she asked Erik.

After searching within Raoul's eyes for a moment, she looked to her invisible counterpart and nodded.

"Raoul," she finally said. "Are you angry that I came back?"

"No," Raoul said, though his mind was enraged. "No, my love. You've returned to your angel."

And in an odd way, he truly felt it was true. Though he was only in her mind, the man who had haunted her days at the opera was truly watching over her again. Even in her weak state of mind and her frail brain, he was bringing her strength. As Raoul thought it over, he began to realize that even in their time at home, it was the moments he suspected Erik's so called presence the most that Christine seemed her strongest again. Though she was weak with fear and thought, she was free of the confines of their status and her results on the stage. She was paired again with her Angel of Music, and for once, both she and Raoul didn't fear The Voice.

Fin.

Forgive me? :D