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The Phantom's heart constricted at Christine's wistful query. His lips formed her name in whispered response, though he knew she could not actually hear or see him. However, somehow she had sensed his nearness in the present … could she sense him in the future as well?

"Madame." A servant stood in the entrance of the room.

Christine collected herself, straightening in her chair as she looked toward the door. "Yes, Giselle, what is it?"

"Mademoiselle Giry wishes to see you. Shall I tell her you are otherwise occupied?"

"No, no. I will see her." She set the oak box on a small table near an oil lamp. "Please, show her inside."

With a curt nod the servant left, her disapproval evident by the expression of her tightly drawn mouth. The Phantom studied Christine while she waited for her friend. In the dim glow of candlelight, she looked like the shadow he had striven to be. Smudges of gray ringed her eyes, and her skin shone so pale it was almost luminescent, ghostly ...

"Bonsoir, Christine!" Meg's cheery voice interrupted his troubled inspection. "I have news I must share!"

She gripped the chair arms and sat forward. "They have found him?"

Meg's smile faded. "No, Christine, that's not the news I bring."

Christine closed her eyes and slumped back into her chair. Her forehead wrinkled in dismay as she frowned.

"You no longer need fear him," Meg soothed in a gentle voice. "I think you've heard the last of the Opera Ghost."

Christine gave a cheerless laugh. "Fear him? No, Meg. You misunderstand. I hope he will come - and that hope condemns me to break my sacred marriage vows, if only in my heart, causing no end to my shame."

The Phantom's heart lunged. Could it be...?

Meg blushed and her eyes widened. "You shouldn't say such things!" She darted a glance toward the closed door. "What if the servants should overhear? This isn't like you, Christine."

"I am beyond caring what they think, they think so little of me, regardless. I've heard them whisper among themselves about my former occupation as a chorus girl - and the horror that happened … that night. They blame me for that too, you know. Everyone does, thanks to that horrid write-up in the newspaper. Yet even matters such as my reputation seem trivial and cause me no great concern. I must speak to someone or I fear I will go mad! If I haven't slipped into madness already …" She gave a humorless laugh and bowed her head into her hand, pushing her fingers against her temples.

Meg rushed to her and knelt beside her, at the Phantom's feet. She reached for Christine's hand clasped over her stomach, and held it between her palms. "You always know you can confide in me, dear friend. I'll never break your trust."

"You mustn't, Meg. You must swear never to tell a living soul, for that would cause no end of pain to all involved." Meg nodded, and Christine continued, "I cannot release him from my mind. I've tried, Meg - oh, how I've tried! At times… at times I think I can hear him, his beautiful voice, his music … but it's only in my mind. If I knew where he was and what's happened to him, that he is alive and well, I think, then, I could learn to be content." She sounded doubtful and clutched Meg's arm in desperation. "God, Meg, he must be well! I couldn't bear it if he died! But I am denied any relief of the knowledge of his welfare, punished for my sin of desiring to be in the company of a man other than my husband. Oh, Meg, what's to become of me?"

Lines of deep concern appeared between Meg's brows. "You truly are so unhappy? Is life as a Vicomtess not all you imagined?"

Christine grew introspective. A faint smile ghosted her lips.

"There were a few moments at the beginning that brought some happiness, yes. But I have long felt as if I am fading to nothing. We both know Raoul can be officious, always insisting on his own way, as the nobility are wont to do. And being Vicomtess, I am expected to obey my husband without question in all matters; it is the lot I have chosen. I know that, I accept it." She cast her eyes down to her stomach. "However, I find deep gratitude that my condition excuses my involvement in the endless stream of balls and banquets my new title demands. Raoul insists we attend each one, but I weary of the countless social obligations expected of me as his wife."

"You always did prefer to secret yourself away when the festivities became overwhelming," Meg commiserated. "Yet, despite all that, I thought you were happy. You appeared to be."

A hopeless, sad smile touched Christine's face. "I tried, Meg; I truly did. I thought marriage to Raoul would … free me, be a, a safeguard. He is kind and understanding, and we do share interests that stem from our childhood. Life as a noble hasn't been without some merit. But the truth is: I married a man I do not love to escape a future I couldn't bear. And yet this is the future that has become intolerable!"

"Oh, Christine… No." Meg's tone offered gentle concern.

Christine gazed across the room, into space, and the Phantom felt his heart jump at the longing that misted her dark, eloquent eyes. Suddenly, they opened wide. She rose from the chair as quickly as she was able to in her condition.

"Christine?" Alarm rang through Meg's voice.

Christine brushed past her outstretched hand and hurried to the terrace. Throwing open the door, she rushed into the chill evening air and desperately scanned the immaculate grounds. Her fingers clutched the stone balustrade as she leaned far over. Meg, who had followed, grasped her arm hard, as if afraid she might fall. The Phantom also experienced a sharp twinge of fear and hurried toward her, though he knew he witnessed only a shadow image and could do nothing.

"Christine - what is it? What do you see?"

"It's him," she breathed, her words full of awe and apprehension at the same time.

"Him? You mean…?" Meg studied the grounds in alarm.

The Phantom never looked away from Christine's white face.

"There's no one there, Christine." Her words soothed, as though to reassure a frightened child. "You only imagined it. From this distance and the angle of your chair, it wouldn't have been possible to glimpse anyone walking along the grounds with what little light is left in the sky."

"I didn't see him, Meg; I sensed him. Even before you came into the room I felt him with me. He's here … out there … somewhere hiding. As he did before. He must be..."

Her adamant whisper heightened the Phantom's regret. To his despairing shock and Meg's clear confusion his Angel of Music stared soulfully toward the grounds and softly began humming the song he had sung to her at the mirror, almost as if she wasn't aware she did so …

His heart torn, he glanced to the fringe of dark wood. His impeccable vision detected a hooded and cloaked figure slipping among the shadows, no doubt the future image of himself. He doubted any external influence - be it physical murder or the murder of his own heart in witnessing her marriage to another man - would have prevented him from watching over Christine. He would have continued somehow to be near her as long as he drew breath, even if to do so would condemn him to remain forever in shadows and absent from his beloved. And he did love her with all that composed not only his soul and his music, but also his heart! The irony did not escape him that the full awareness of such a revelation should become clear as he witnessed her future wed to his enemy - his half brother! An hour ago such knowledge might have sent him over the brink of composure into a fit of rage; he did feel angry, but it was eclipsed by a tremendous sorrow that their lives had evolved to this moment. That Christine, his beautiful Christine, was on the verge of madness …

Her humming stopped but she continued to stare out into the darkening twilight, as if she inhabited another world of time and space and had forgotten Meg's existence.

"My Angel has a hold over me … so strong, I cannot escape him," she whispered softly, like a little child. "Nor am I certain I wish to. Since the night I first saw him in the mirror that bond has strengthened, more so with each passing day." She closed her eyes. "Heaven forgive my betrayal, yet I cannot help yearn for the day he will come to me. In death. In life …No, he is alive. I feel it. And when he does come to me, when again I see his face, I will be both utterly complete and wholly desolate … for I am his, you see." She looked at Meg with a sad little smile. "I realized that in full measure the night I kissed him. No matter his past sins, he has bound me to him. I will never be free…"

"Oh, Christine..." Meg was flustered, uncertain what to say or do. "In time, such memories will fade. It's not yet been a year -"

Christine angrily shook off Meg's comforting arm and moved away. "No! They won't! They never will. The memories grow sharper each day I don't hear his voice, each day he doesn't come to me. Is that not strange …? Why doesn't he come to me, Meg?" She tilted her head like the little seven-year-old girl he'd first met in the chapel, and the words that followed mirrored those of that child. "Angel? Are you there? I know you're there…"

A wet trail glistened against her cheek, and the Phantom's heart broke. He did not bother to wipe away the moisture that covered his own face.

"Christine …" Meg looked away a moment, careful with her words, speaking softly and slowly as if to a child. "Your angel is no angel; he's a murderer. Wanted by the gendarmes. It's because of him Senor Piangi is dead, that the Opera House has been condemned - "

"You think I don't know all that!" She glared at Meg. "That I don't tell myself those very words day after day, after endless day?" She gave a humorless laugh through her tears. "I did attempt to escape the truth, my feelings - all of it - frightened by what he'd done, by all that happened. But Meg, I was a fool! See where it got me? He never would have harmed me. Never."

She clutched her bodice. "I've missed him so much I feel as if my heart is punishing me for leaving him, as if it's withering inside, little by little. I can feel it ... if he were to come to me I would go to him, even now, even like this, if he would but ask. I would be his ... his friend. If he would forgive me. I would hide him away from everyone, especially Raoul, and for that I am a wicked, sinful, evil woman! And do you want to hear the insanity of my confession? I don't even know his name!" She let out a despairing laugh bordering on hysteria. "Each time I thought to ask, circumstances interfered, and the moment was lost."

Meg moved to Christine, tightly wrapping her arms around her. Christine laid her head against her friend's shoulder. "Raoul deserves so much more," she murmured wretchedly, "but I can give him only a shell of the woman I was. We barely talk. He knows I hold secrets, many of which I've told you. But I tell him nothing. I've hidden from him the deep secrets of my heart, and in so doing I've hurt him. But to tell him the truth, that would destroy him."

"Not all is lost, Christine." Meg smoothed her hair, her hand trembling. "Think of the child. You will give Raoul an heir. Concentrate on your child and on the joy this babe will bring. Perhaps he or she will be the answer to your troubles."

The saddest smile touched Christine's lips as her manner mellowed and she calmed. "Yes, of course, the child. I've been faithful to produce what could be an heir for the de Chagny line; his family cannot fault me for that." She sighed sadly. "You're right, of course. I must think of the child…" With her fingertips, she wiped at the tears on her cheeks and lifted her head, giving a soft laugh. "I've been selfish in more ways than one. You have news to tell me?"

"It can wait."

"Nonsense," Christine insisted. "Tell me news that will cheer me, Meg. I so desperately need to find some semblance of joy again. And you seemed happy when you first came into the room."

"Well, yes, I am," Meg admitted with a cautious smile. "Do you remember Adolph, from the chorus? He's asked Maman's permission to court me!"

"Meg! That's wonderful. You've liked him since we first started dancing together." The two women hugged, sharing girlish laughter, though Christine's still sounded hollow, her smile not the effusive one he remembered.

To the Phantom's dismay, their forms began to dissolve into mist.

"No …" He turned his plea up to the dark, unrelenting sky. "Do not take her from my presence! Allow me a few minutes more …" His desperate gaze returned to Christine. "… that I may look upon her dear face..."

Her image grew fainter, while the haunted sadness in her eyes remained constant.

"Oh, Christine," he whispered. "Why ...?"

The enormity of her confession was too much to bear or comprehend. No matter her wealth of strong feelings, he had not failed to notice that not once did she speak the word "love" with regard to him - as if she ever could love the monster he was. Only that she felt eternally bound to him and helpless by the chains of his unwanted control. Weighted chains that were steadily pulling her down into the very depths of madness…

The cloaked form of a heavyset woman brushed past emerging from the dense, gray fog.

Had she been composed of substance and not vapor she might have knocked him down. Shocked by the intrusion of another being into this ghostly realm, the Phantom hesitated, again looking toward the beloved image of his Christine that once again became only mist.

Shaken from the experience, he then followed the strange woman through a patch of distant, swirling fog.

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