Thank you so much for your reviews! As some of you noticed, I double-posted the last chapter. Anyways, I was so touched by the amount of reviews recently, that I felt I HAD to post something new! This is why I updated.

This chapter has a bit more action, and I would write more immediately, but I have a lot of other stuff to do. Thanks again for the reviews, and I promise to update more frequently. If anyone has any questions or anything feel free to email!

Blah, blah…story time.

He glared back with insolence. "As you have said before. Madame." He bowed and led her to the gondola.

"Erik…there is another reason you must leave. The police may come looking."

Christine, who had heard only a part of their argument, watched the boat disappear and the gate close behind them. As the light danced across the walls of the cave, she found she felt rather strange. It had been less than a year ago that she had been a child essentially. What had happened? In that short time she had become a wife and a mother….a woman. Change….

But was it for the better? Did she love Erik? Of course. And now she would have his child.

Of course, had I married Raoul I would maybe be carrying his child instead. But where would that have left her? In a beautiful mansion with servants and coachmen.

But no passion. No one could arouse her as Erik could. His music hypnotized her to compliance. She was his, thoroughly his. Nothing would ever change that…

She shivered, and silently wished for his return to be in haste. With a feeling of lethargy she yawned, and retreated again to the strange cast-iron bed, sculpted as a peacock. Strange that Erik chose such a bird when it is a symbol of vanity.

Erik did not return immediately. He planned to leave that night if at all possible. Someone was on his trail. He was being hunted.

He hired a coachman to take them through the city, hopefully to reach the country before dawn, so they could move in to the small shack and be undisturbed. That would perhaps shake these men from their scent.

Erik purchased many new things while he was out, and though taciturn he was when out and about, he spent a great deal of time selecting new garments for Christine and items for their precious child. One beautifully sculpted crib drew his fancy, and he ended up spending more than he should have on such trivial things.

At least Christine will like it. As he turned to leave the shop he was confronted by a man dressed in nearly as much black as himself.

"Is there something I can help you with Monsieur?" He was squeamish as the man stared at him with conviction and purpose.

"No, though I do wonder what kind of man wears a mask as he browses the shops on a beautiful day as this. You know, you may get arrested. They are looking for such a man."

"Excuse me Monsieur." Erik brushed past the man, and hurried away from the shop. Though the man made no move to follow him, the man did watch him until he was out of his sight. Erik felt a bit of fear, and reminded himself that they would be leaving as soon as they could. This, however, did little to sooth his nerves.

It was practically evening by the time he made his way back to the Opera, the sun barely visible against the shining gold-plated roof of the burnt out shell that was one such beautiful architecture. It was a shame to have the glory lost, but now it seemed to pose a threat as well. Erik disappeared into the cellars silently and stealthily, descending with haste, for their departure would have to be tonight.

Christine greeted him lovingly as he docked the gondola, wrapping her arms around him in a warm embrace. He could feel her warmth, and reveled in it, as she clung to him. Yet he did not have time to languish.

"Christine, my dear, we are leaving this place."

Christine looked up to him. "Why Erik? It suits me fine. There is no need to depart from the Opera. It has been my home since I was just a child."

He unwillingly pulled himself free from her arms. "I apologize my dear, but we must leave, and quickly. Time is now the enemy. Rest until we must leave. I have to gather our things."

"Erik I have been resting all day! And why must we leave with such urgency?"

"The Madame believes someone is tracking me. After all, I am a murderer. No longer just a ghost. It is only a matter of time. Besides that, this is no place to raise our child. Now please rest. You may need to conserve your energy."

Erik had made several trips with the gondola by now, and had accumulated enough supplies within the carriage for their needs for the first few days. The remainder of their belongings would have to be left, or hidden. He would return for some of his mementos, though most of them were now really useless.

Christine had managed to rest for a few hours, as Erik worked ceaselessly, as every time she offered, or lifted a finger to help him, he stopped what he was doing and had her sit down again. She had finally given up, and succumbed to sleep.

Erik had finished his work now, though it was nearly midnight. He stood beside Christine's prone, sleeping figure, and watched as her chest rose and fell with soft breath. He did not want to disturb the scene, though time was slipping though their fingers.

He gently lifted her from the bed, and carried her toward the gondola. She stirred, and still almost dreaming, stroked his face, and smiled. "I love you."

"I love you too, my angel." He gently laid her down in the boat, and pushed away from the dock.

The passage was dark, and Christine had not risen still. Erik tried to arouse her senses, but she merely groaned and pushed him away. She began to stir, but never spoke, and could not walk. As he held her, he could feel she was warmer than usual, and had broken into a cold sweat. Wishing he could take her somewhere else he reluctantly carried her to the coach, and surrounded her with pillows, holding her gently. The coachman whistled to the horses, and the carriage began a rather jostled journey.

In merely minutes, however, the coachman came to an abrupt stop. Erik, quite irked by this, was about to get out and berate the man, but from within the vehicle, heard the coachman speaking to an officer. Though there words were muffled beyond recognition, he could tell by their hushed and urgent tone that he and his precious cargo were in danger.

Silently, he kissed Christine's forehead, which was now covered in a film of cold sweat, and slunk out of the compartment.

"So you have the masked murderer with you? At this moment?"

"Yes, and a young girl as well, however, I do now know if she lives. She looked deathly pale, and he carried her the entire way."

"The fiend! We will have another victim to add to the trial then, won't we?" The man was silent for a moment. Erik tried to maneuver around the coach without being seen.

"Just take them straight to the station. It shouldn't be to difficult, I will follow you."

"As you say, though perhaps YOU should drive the coach. I do not have a death-wish."

The officer scoffed. "Fine then. Get out, and I will continue to the station."

Erik swore, and found his way back to Christine's side. She was waning quickly, and began to moan in pain. Her hair had begun to cling to her face, and she writhed as if something were assaulting her, squeezing her.

"Erik? Where are you? My angel?"

Erik cradled her head. No time! No time! He waited until the coach had picked up speed, and then made his way to the driver's bench. With the unused whip, he strangled the officer, and was about to dispose of his body, when he noticed another officer was following them. He left the body beside him, and only increased the speed by a tad. When the crossroad came, he threw the officer's body from the bench, and whipped the horses. He heard the coach behind them screech to a halt before the corpse, and took off at full speed. They fled through the small cobblestone streets of Paris, Erik only thinking of one thing.

At last the horses could gallop no more. Erik leapt from the seat, and thrust the door open. Christine lay on the floor of the coach. She was grasping the seats, and her face was contorted with pain. A familiar, and detested smell came to his senses.

Blood.