Sorry for the delay with this update but here's a longer chapter for you all! Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far.

The lagoon cast an eerie light on the wall of the cavern as a lone figure sat at the water's edge, his face concealed by a mask of black and white, with the usual flesh coloured mask underneath. He was not blowing up the Opera House. He was not swearing vengeance on all mankind, as his father probably assumed. He was just sitting there, allowing his fingers to trail in the water, watching his distorted reflection and feeling as though his heart would break.

Removing his masks, Erik glared into the water at the face he had expected Christine to love.

"How could I have thought she could love this? How? I frightened her. I wanted her to love me and now she's gone… She has been rescued from the monster…

By his father. His own father had taken her away from him, believing she was in danger. He wept as he thought of how she had run from him, screaming and frightened, having walked hand in hand with him only minutes before. He could not return to the forest now, for that was where he had spent some of his happiest moments. With her.

Instead he made his way to the bedroom he had given her and sat on the bed which he had carried her to, when he brought her down here. Yes, and he had laid his angel in this very bed, while singing her a lullaby, unable to understand or control the emotions and desires coursing through him as he watched her, trying desperately to resist the urge to lie beside her and hold her for a while.

For a moment, he was no longer the powerful phantom but that little lost boy in the mask, staring in bewilderment at the picture of the sun and trying to understand concepts entirely alien to him.

Why had Gerard never told him about these kinds of feelings? Why did he let him find out through harsh experience that his heart was so fragile, that one day he might fall in love and that he would have thoughts that scared him and longings that he did not understand?

Why above all did it hurt so much to be human?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Please Christine, tell us what happened!"

Gerard could see that the young girl was becoming agitated at the Comte's well-meaning but overbearing concern and his incessant questioning.

"Philippe, why don't you go and get Christine some water? She must surely need some."

"I can call Agnes-"

Gerard shot him a warning look.

"I think-" he began pointedly, "that you could go downstairs and ask for some, couldn't you?"

Philippe glared at his friend, upset at being given an order in his own house, but he left without saying a word. Once he was out of the room, Gerard sat down once more at the chair beside Christine's bed and took her hand.

"Now, my dear," he began gently, "Why don't you tell me everything that happened, after I left you down there?"

"It was fine..." she whispered, "He never hurt me, I promise you. I only hope Philippe will believe that."

"I will help you persuade him, don't worry. What did happen though?"

She sighed and sat up a little, feeling rather lazy at being in bed during the day. But they both had thought this was best for her and she was too upset to argue with them at the time.

"I sat in the room for a little while, looking out at the lagoon and wondering what I should do next. So I decided that I would go and find Erik, perhaps talk to him and persuade him to take me back above. I still couldn't believe that he wouldn't let me go, you see."

Gerard looked away, ashamed of how he had judged his own son. But he allowed the young girl to continue, her voice becoming stronger now.

"I found his bedroom and knocked on the door. When he invited me to enter, he had just put on his mask. He was so kind and thoughtful, making sure I had slept well. He showed me around his home, telling me about his books and his curios and all the music he had written. We passed by that crib… you know the one, with the doll with no head? " Gerard nodded. "I saw it earlier you see, and I was scared. Erik noticed that I had crept closer to him and told me gently that there was nothing to be afraid of. Then he suggested that we go on a picnic together in his forest. A picnic – in a forest, beneath the Opera House! I was so surprised that I couldn't answer him at first. But he even had a picnic basket ready for us and so I let him lead me by the hand into his forest. I can't describe what I thought when I saw it all…"

Gerard smiled encouragingly. "You mean the stuffed animals? Yes, I can imagine it was very strange for you. It was for me too, at first."

"He was so proud of his... realm as he calls it. He was telling me about all the different animals and birds, about how... how I belonged there…He kept making sure I was comfortable and that I liked everything, especially the music that was playing. Oh M. Carriere, he was so happy!"

She sounded as though she was about to start crying again and Gerard squeezed her hand. She seemed determined to continue though, despite her emotions.

"We came into a clearing and he set out a picnic for us, with plates and glasses and everything. I sat with him, bewildered by it all but for some reason I could not help looking at his mask and wondering what was beneath. I have often wondered that, you see…. There was so much food, all the things I liked. I remember him asking me about my favourite foods once, after one of our lessons and he must have remembered. All the trouble he went to…"

She named some of the items and Gerard could not remember buying any of them.

He must have gone to the market early one morning and bought it all… For her….

He felt even more ashamed of himself as Christine continued, her voice shaking a little.

"He asked me to sing for him and I agreed. It seemed to mean so much to him, just to hear me sing. And yet I hesitated… Oh I cannot believe what I did, now that I think about it all! He looked up and asked me if anything was wrong. I told him I would sing if he granted me a favour...He told me that I should not sing for gain and I felt a little ashamed but then he told me he would grant me anything I wanted, regardless of what I did. It was then that I knew how much he loved me. And yet…"

Gerard waited patiently, thinking over her account so far. A bird sang on the branch outside the room.

"It was then that I asked him to show me his face." She closed her eyes. "He pleaded with me, warned me, told me no-one should ever have to look at his face… and yet I kept asking him… "

She opened her eyes but the memory was clearly upsetting her and she buried her head in her hands.

"I told him I could look. I told him that I knew about his mother and how she had loved him, and that I could look at him too, that his face would not matter to me… I asked him to let me love him! Oh, God forgive me, I gave him such hope…"

She looked up with tears in her eyes.

"And he took it off, ever so slowly and he looked at me and…"

Gerard took her hands in his, trying to offer her a little comfort.

"I told you that I have seen his eyes. And yet when I looked at his face I never noticed his eyes, just… those hideous scars and the skin that's been ripped off…oh it was horrible, horrible!"

"And that was when you screamed?" he asked gently.

"Y-yes… And he reached out for me with a cry of pain, I have never heard anything like it… Then, I ran away…Oh M Carriere, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me! I have hurt your son so badly… You tried to warn me, both of you did…"

"Christine, please, don't cry… You thought you could look at him. I know you never wanted to hurt him. And I know that he would never hurt you. He was angry when you ran away and at the time helping you escape seemed like the only answer. I was wrong to take you away from him. I should have faced up to my responsibilities and tried to help him. "

"How is it possible?" she whispered, "How can he be so gentle and yet so full of anger? How is it that he seems like two different people?"

Gerard sighed. "Believe me, I have wondered that myself many times. But I know in my heart that I have made him the way he is, and now I have to put this right."

"Maybe we could both put it right? Maybe, when he's calmed down I could speak to him. Could you arrange that, perhaps?"

She smiled at him and for a moment she looked so much like Belladora that he could not help but agree.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Philippe leaned against the piano and tried to gather his thoughts before turning to his friend.

"I can't understand this Gerard. All this time I felt sorry for you, being at his beck and call, receiving all those notes and demands… And now you tell me you were helping him!"

"Not helping -protecting."

"But why?"

Gerard sighed. "It's difficult to explain."

Philippe walked over to him, still determined to believe the worst. "He has some kind of hold over you, doesn't he? Why haven't you told Ledoux that you know where he lives? He would have put a stop to all of this long ago."

"It's not that simple…"

"Why not? Don't you want him to be punished for what he's done? He cut down the chandelier, Gerard! Two people died – my mother knows the mother of one of them; she's going to be devastated. You could have prevented all of this! He could kill again… For God's sake, tell Ledoux what you know about him."

Gerard stood up from his armchair and walked across the fashionable drawing room to the window which looked out on the sweeping lawn of the de Chagny estate and gazed out on the colourful flowers and the copse of beech trees swaying in the gentle breeze. Then he slowly turned to face his young friend who was waiting expectantly.

"No, I do not wish for him to be punished. That is what makes it so difficult for me." He swallowed before continuing. "You see... I cannot hate him. Oh, I know what you're going to say – he has done terrible things. And he has, I cannot deny that. But so have I, in the past. And I have no right to hate him, although sometimes I wish I could. It would make things so much easier, believe me."

"You have done terrible things? Somehow I doubt that."

Gerard walked towards him, shaking his head and when he spoke his voice was a mixture of sorrow and anger.

"You think I was always the Opera House manager? You think I was always this amiable, mild mannered gentleman? I have re-created myself over three decades. I was young like you once, only not half as rich, and I have made mistakes, mistakes which I have paid for, over and over, which I will go on paying for, for the rest of my life. And possibly… possibly beyond that too…"

Philippe was staring at him, his mouth slightly open in disbelief.

Gerard sat, his gaze never leaving the Comte, who poured out another glass of brandy for his companion. He could not allow himself to dwell on his past again, not now.

"And that is why you must be sure that you love Christine. I don't mean that you treat her as one in a long line of women. I know how you live, and it must change. Your father is no longer with us and I feel I must advise you of this in his stead. If you love Christine, the others must go. Yes, I realise that people of your…social class have often had their cake and eaten it when it comes to women but with you and Christine it must be different. She needs you. She loves… him, but believe me it is not the same love she feels for you. She will always need you, all of you. Don't say anything; you need to contemplate all this and make sure it is what you want, for it will require a great sacrifice on your part."

He sat and when he spoke again it seemed as though he were talking to himself rather than Philippe.

"Learn from someone who knows what it is like to be entranced by beauty and the outward appearance. It is no way to live, believe me."

Both men were silent for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. All the events I set in motion, all those years ago! Gerard thought sadly. Events I could never have predicted, not in my wildest dreams.

After a while Gerard got up to leave.

"If you will excuse me, I need to go back to Paris. There are some…matters that must be attended to. But please, look after Christine and, for now, do not allow her to leave here without you. And thank you for luncheon by the way, it was most delicious. Your new cook is excellent."

"Y-you are welcome... Please, can I offer you the carriage?"

"No need, I'll walk down to the crossroads and take the public coach."

"You will do no such thing, not after all you've done for me and Christine. I insist on lending you the carriage and I won't take no for an answer."

It was a more sombre, thoughtful Philippe that bid farewell to his friend and mentor and who returned to the guest bedroom where Christine was resting. He could not understand any of this. What was Gerard talking about – making mistakes, doing "terrible things", being entranced by beauty? He always seemed so respectable. The young Comte began to realise how little he truly knew about his friend and his past.

Well, he would think over things, just as he had promised but one thing was for sure: If his future did indeed lie with Christine he was damned if he was going to share her with a masked lunatic.

Meanwhile, Gerard sat in the comfortable carriage, looking out at fields and houses without seeing them. They passed through a village and by the inn where a porter was carrying out some trunks for a guest who was probably about to take the public coach. He could not dwell on the sight, for that would make him think of his own brief time as a hotel porter, all those years ago, which would make him think of the town he wanted to forget, and then he would think of Elise. And no good would come of that.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Brandy, Ledoux?"

"No thank you, I'm on duty at the moment. Although I would dearly love one, after the morning I've had."

Choletti called his servant and asked for a cup of coffee before settling back in his chair with a cigar. His wife was brushing her hair at her dressing table, glancing over at the two of them from time to time.

"It seems I owe you an apology, Choletti."

"Oh? What for?"

"You were right about Joseph Buquet. You weren't imagining things that day, as I thought. It looks like he wandered into our friend's domain and was killed, possibly by accident although there were no witnesses and I doubt the man himself will join us for a friendly chat and enlighten us."

"Then how do you know he is indeed dead?"

Ledoux took a sip of whiskey before setting it down with a firm gesture.

"Carriere told me. Who do you think? And he knows a great deal more too, although I cannot imagine why he should protect such a man."

"Joseph Buquet is dead? Oh that poor man!" Carlotta stood from her chair in a dramatic gesture and put her hand over her heart. "Such a terrible tragedy, isn't it darling? Oh he was such a good gardener until he hurt his back-"

"-And my lovely wife very kindly allowed him to become her costume assistant, as she was planning her new career around this time, weren't you, my little songbird?"

Carlotta fluttered her eyelashes at her husband and giggled childishly, while Ledoux wondered what Anne-Marie would say if her called her "my little songbird." She'd probably think I was up to something…

"So good to see you are recovered from that horrible ordeal! Oh, they will find that monster, my darling, don't you worry."

"Oh Alain, I was so frightened!"

"Of course you were my dear, but I came running as fast as I could."

Ledoux rolled his eyes, remembering how Choletti had fainted on seeing the rats. Feeling slightly nauseous at the silly conversation they were now having, he left quickly, leaving his coffee untouched.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Far below them, Erik stood tearfully in front of his mother's portrait, wondering what his life would have been like if she had lived. He would have known Gerard as his father. He might have had brothers and sisters. Perhaps they could have lived above ground. But what troubled him most was why his parents had never married. Hadn't Gerard loved her? He did not quite understand these things. Oh, he sometimes overheard the whispers and exaggerated gossip of the patrons, "such-and-such a person had to send her maid away for getting into trouble" or "he must have a dozen half siblings in that village, you know what his father was like…" But to realise that he himself was not the product of a marriage; that bothered him and upset his innocent morality a great deal.

Everything in his lair was in pieces or torn in two. He had been so angry and now it was all purged; there was nothing but sadness and emptiness now as he thought of the lonely years ahead of him, without her, without his Christine. She would always be frightened of him now. She would return to her Comte now, her handsome Comte, who would protect her and marry her and give her a far better life than he ever could.

"I wish you were still here, Mother," he sighed, touching the cheek of the portrait. She would know what to do… Somewhere, in his blurred, jumbled memories of his early years, was the knowledge that his mother had loved him, that at some point in his life, regardless of how brief, he had mattered to one human being.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Gerard did not go straight back to the Opera House or even to his home. Instead he bought a sandwich from a street vendor and ate it on a bench in the Bois, then fed a few crumbs to the swans that flocked around him. When they had returned to the lake, he sat quietly, watching the people walking past. It was the weekend and the park was full of children playing with kites and boats, nannies pushing prams or couples taking a walk; all the usual busyness of the everyday world.

He usually liked watching the children at play but today it reminded him of the childhood that Erik could not have. Instead his son had flown his kite from the roof of the Opera House and played with his toy boats on the lagoon; a strange, serious child, content with his own company which was a relief for his father. So different to his own childhood; he was always outside with the other children, running around, swimming in the lake or climbing trees.

A couple around his age walked past, arm in arm, the two of them in companionable solitude and Gerard's imagination was piqued. He liked watching the world go by in this way and sometimes wondered about the lives of the people he saw. He wondered how long this couple had been married, if they had any children, if they often walked here. As they walked off into the distance they seemed to be talking to each other but he could not make out the words and he wondered if they were talking about a particular plant or shrub that they liked, or the weather, or their grandchildren. He envied them, as he often envied happy, contented couples of his generation.

He sighed. Such contentment was denied to him, as far as he knew. How he longed to be walking with Belladora like that, instead of sitting here alone, with all his thoughts and regrets. They should have been able to marry as other people did and raise Erik together, away from that dark, damp cavern. It was probable that being raised above the ground with at least one loving parent would have made all the difference to Erik. Perhaps in time he could have grown to love his poor, unfortunate son. But of course, marriage was not possible for them, and so he hid his little family away from the prejudices of the world, with Belladora still silently wondering to her dying day why they could not marry and Gerard too afraid and too ashamed to tell her. It was odd to think that he was a husband, that he was, in the eyes of the law anyway, part of a couple like the one he had just seen, that somewhere out in the world he had a wife.

Not that there was much to show for it, of course. Three weeks and five days of shouting and accusations, of long silences and icy glares; then that one civilised conversation where he agreed to leave for Paris. How could he ever advise Philippe about marriage?

Shoulders stooped, he set out for the Opera House at a deliberately slow pace. Other happy couples were passing him now; arm in arm or hand in hand. I should never have left St Michel he thought sadly, remembering his father's forge and the travellers' tales that had inspired his wanderlust. But in his heart he knew he could never have stayed in that tiny, narrow minded community of his childhood where you could hardly sneeze without everyone knowing about it. Oh, if he'd never done this or that, if he'd never moved to Belleville, if he'd never gone to the tavern that night…if, if, if…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Inspector Ledoux was in a terrible mood and his men knew it. All of them assembled at his command, afraid of making things worse. He knew that if the phantom was not caught soon the Commissioner would have his head on a plate. He could be demoted; forced to work alongside the very men who were now under his authority or perhaps transferred to some rural backwater where he would spend the rest of his career putting up with semi-articulate idiots and rescuing their cats from trees. And he would be damned if he would allow either of those scenarios.

"This phantom business has gone beyond a joke!" he shouted, and a few of them winced.

"His behaviour is increasingly unacceptable. Fortunately Mlle Daae has been rescued from his clutches by the former manager or goodness knows what would have happened to her. Unfortunately for him, this means we have no choice but to go down there again and find him."

There was a flurry of protesting voices, but Ledoux silenced them sharply.

"Yes, I know you are thinking of your three colleagues but there are other routes to our friend's home, and I know just the person to tell me about them. In the meantime, search this place! I want you to look in corners, behind statuettes, pictures, benches, all the secret, hidden places. You are looking for hollow sections of walls that might reveal secret doors or panels, perhaps hidden levers or buttons… Look, use your common sense, you are police officers – I am not going to draw diagrams for you. You will be broken up into pairs and assigned a particular section-"

"Maybe we could try saying "Open Sesame"?" one young officer interjected with a smirk.

Ledoux walked over to him, his face as dark as thunder.

"Another remark like that and I will have you disciplined, do you understand me?" he snarled.

Just then, Jean Claude emerged from his little office and tentatively walked over to the bad tempered inspector.

"Not now, please Jean Claude."

"Inspector, there is a telephone call for you from the chief inspector and he was very insistent that he should speak to you personally. He needs you back at the barracks, it sounded urgent-"

"Probably something to do with that robbery on Rue Madeleine," he sighed, following the elderly doorman to his office. Very well, our masked friend shall have a reprieve, but not for long. His reign is almost over!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Just before going into the Opera House, Gerard stopped at a little café for a cup of tea and to write a note to Erik, apologising for taking Christine away from him. He put all he could into that letter, feeling that writing everything down would be better than stammering his way through an apology. In clear sentences, he explained how he believed the young lady to be in danger and thought at the time that he was acting for the best. He also wrote about how she had explained about the picnic and how sorry she was for asking him to remove his mask. But it was difficult, and he looked around for inspiration, trying to stop him mind from wandering on to useless things again.

"Elise, we're over here!" called out a voice, and Gerard turned his head quickly towards the door. But the lady in question was no more than twenty, much to his relief. He was very jumpy today, that was for sure. Years ago, when he first became the manager he used to imagine what would happen if his wife actually did arrive in Paris in search of him. He would envisage her marching across the busy foyer just before a performance and announcing his secret to everyone, ripping off his mask of respectability, just for her own amusement. With a sigh he returned to his letter.

Finally he was finished. He paid for his tea and left quickly, determined to leave the letter in Box 5 where his son would surely find it. No, on second thoughts he would go back down below and give it to him. Then, after giving him some time to read and understand it he would comfort his grieving son, as he should have done this morning. This morning… It felt like a hundred years ago. He shook his head sadly at the sight of two of Philippe's mistresses loitering around the entrance clearly waiting for him, but raised his hat politely as he passed them by.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Several miles away, Philippe was thinking about that mysterious panel in the wall and all it entailed. Just because the phantom hadn't hurt Christine didn't mean he wouldn't in the future, and he was not putting her in any more danger. Suddenly there was a cry from the landing and when he hurried out to the hall, Christine was running down the stairs, clearly distraught.

"Oh Philippe, I dreamed he was dying! I dreamed Erik was dying and it was all my fault, he was dying of a broken heart… Oh, what if he does die?"

He clung to her and reassured her but she would not be comforted. She was convinced that she would be the cause of his rival's death and nothing he could say would convince her otherwise.

"I have to go back! I have to make things right between us. Please Philippe, he can't die like that, all alone. Please say you will help me."

"I can't let you go back to him, don't you understand?"

"It's too late to go back down there; he's smashed everything up. But M. Carriere will arrange a meeting for us, I have asked him and he has agreed. Please, Philippe, will you take me back to Paris?"

How could he help her make contact with someone who had kidnapped her? He trusted Gerard and wanted to believe his explanation about all that had transpired down in the cellars but he was confused and did not give a definite answer at first. Instead he gently told Christine to get dressed and took her for a walk around the grounds to try and take her mind off her great sadness, which did them both a world of good. She seemed calmer afterwards, but still anxious to talk to him, which he promised to think about.

Later on, after dinner he reflected on the events of the last few days as he sat alone in his study while Christine was being shown around the chateau by the housekeeper. And several things became clear. He loved her. This was nothing like he felt for the others, nothing at all. He wanted her to be his wife and to live here with him. And he knew that he would not be able to tolerate the rivalry of another man, no matter how pitiful he was.

After further thought, he sat down at his desk, lifted the telephone receiver and asked the operator for Inspector Ledoux…