Yes, I know this has been a while, and I'm sorry. I was/am suffering from SEVERE writer's block that not even Phantom music can cure D: 'Twas exceptionally distressing.

However, despite any of my excuses, as doomsday is tomorrow I felt the need to get this up before the entire world ends.

Merry day before the world ends!

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Chapter Nine

Gondola

Christine's curiosity was raging out of control.

The only person this could possibly be was her angel. After she had passed out in her room, she had gotten a few seconds to commit a blurry outline of his shape and face to memory. They seemed remarkably similar. She remembered part of his face as exceptionally pale when she had seen it the first time... that must have been his mask, and her vision had just distorted it.

But how had she gotten here? Oh what did it matter, she was with her angel!

Finally... she was finally meeting him! Oh, her teacher of all those years... at last she had truly met the genius, the one who had given her voice its flight; happiness overwhelmed her senses and made her radiate exuberant joy.

Her hands, which had been previously knotted together in her lap, broke free and she raised a tentative hand towards his face, toward that mysterious mask that blocked him from view.

"MROWWW."

A profound screech echoed throughout the room, startling the two people and making them jump apart, breaking their gaze. Again, the wail came from across the lake, becoming more and more desperate each time it was repeated.

Christine's entire body felt weak, and she could barely move. However, she would recognize that terrified noise anywhere: her cat was in trouble.

She forced herself off the couch, commanding her stiff limbs to cooperate and carry her towards the sound. She passed through a doorway, and reached the edge of a dark lake; she leaned against a post alongside the house to keep her balance, and searched for Sir Marque on the other side.

Sir Marque was across the lake -and surrounded by enormous rats. These rats were the size of possums, and had formed a circle around Sir Marque, dashing in and out of the ring and attempting to fight him. Sir Marque was evidently quite irritated by these beasts that dare wreck his peace, and was fighting them tooth and nail: the growing pile of dead vermin at his feet testimony to the enraged killer his furry face hid. However, for every rat that he killed, two more appeared.

Within seconds of her first glimpse of the fight, Christine had spotted the gondola Erik had left on the shore. She jumped in, shoving it from shore and paddling frantically across the water towards her cat. Even with the adrenaline rush from panic, her limbs still made her move slowly and her muscles ached with each motion.

Erik's shock released him, and he shot out his front door. Where? He spotted her shoving his craft off and flailing the paddle over through the water, sending her floating at a decent clip towards the fight.

Erik's panicked. "Christine! NO! You're too weak, and there are rats!" Erik gripped his hair in horror, practically ready to yank it out. Christine glanced briefly over her shoulder, but continued paddling across with even more determination than before.

There was simply nothing else to do. He threw himself into the water, and frantically swam to catch up to Christine on the craft. Each stroke was deliberate, sending him surging forward and rapidly catching up to the gondola. They had almost reached shore.

Christine was only a few feet away from the path across the lake when she felt a hand grabbing the back of her boat, knocking her off balance. Her change in balance forced a powerful stroke of the oar, only to result in a clunk as her oar hit something that was definitely not the water.

A white mask flew across the water, and landed in front of her, accompanied by a cry of pain. Christine's head whipped around and she saw her angel floundering in the water, one hand covering the right side of his face the other flailing about wildly.

She gasped at her own foolishness; turning to extend her hand towards the man his arm flailed once more, and a furry bundle leaped into her lap at exactly the wrong time.

The combination of imbalance, a leaping cat, and an arm hitting the boat finally toppled it. The shaky craft went tumbling over, sending Christine and Sir Marque flying over the right side of the boat and into the cold water.

Christine's lungs screamed for air after the first huge gulp of water she swallowed. She kicked her legs, frantic to reach the surface and get the oxygen her body needed. The surface was rapidly moving away from her; she gasped again underwater and kicked her legs, the heavy weight of her soaked dress dragging her down more and more every second.

"Christine!"

He yelled her name, grabbing her arm and dragging her across the water and up and over the edge before setting her down, coughing water up the entire time into the sleeve of his jacket.

A small and wet face nosed her own, prodding her for evidence that she was alive. She raised her head towards him - just in time to see a rat running full speed towards her.

And then it disappeared. A hand reached down and grabbed it, flinging it across the stone path where it hit the wall with a sickening crack, falling to the floor lifeless. Eyes widened in shock as she saw three more rats go flying in the same manner, each flight ending with a similar, sickening crunch.

Eyes searched upwards, and she saw her angel, and a glimpse of something that must be his face...

She rolled over and scooped up Sir Marque - who had been attempting to feast on one of the more recent flying rats - and scooted closer to the Phantom. She grabbed his coattails as he gripped another rat scurrying away.

"Angel! Let us go and avoid these rats..." The man above her looked down and gave a half smile, before becoming an expression of horror.

Erik's head pounded as he looked down at Christine's wide blue eyes. My mask! One hand shot to cover his face, the other gripping Christine's dress sleeve, pulling her up and she stumbled along; he righted the boat and mumbled that she must go inside, which she nodded enthusiastically to.

Sweeping his gaze across the stone, he saw naught but the rat bodies beneath the wall or in the cat's stack of kills. Turning instead to the water, he saw it bobbing up and down, eerily white against the darkness the night cast over his lair.

Snatching it from the surface, he flung it on haphazardly, damaging his already tender flesh with its hasty placement. He straightened it out and turned back, hands calmly placed behind his back, and he strolled back - kicking an oncoming rat to the side as he went.

He stepped into the craft and extended his hand for the oar. Christine looked at him in baffled confusion for a second before realizing what he wanted, and then promptly grabbed the paddle and shoved it into his hand, nearly upsetting the gondola again.

His hand shot out, steadying the gondola before placing his other foot in, and began paddling back towards his lair.

Christine looked up at him in wonder: he was so regal, but yet so uncomfortable with the position at the same time.

He was tall and his frame was very lean, but evidently strong enough to send the gondola cruising at a fast pace. His mask... he had been so scared when he had lost it, so concerned about it. What was behind there that he feared her seeing so much? It could only be something about his face. Her small glimpse hadn't been that terrible... just something different from the smooth skin on the left half of his face.

Christine snorted. Not that different was bad. She was quite different from the typical dancer tart, and that was quite obviously a good thing, considering she hadn't been thrown out onto the streets with a prominent bump by her stomach.

His eyes moved down and he locked gazes with her. She stared back, quite unperturbed by the unnatural length with which he held her gaze; they only broke off when the collision with the shore startled her, making her jump.

Sweeping Sir Marque up in her arms, she proceeded to stand up shakily and clutched the edge of the gondola for support.

"No, no, no! A lady should not exert herself like that!" The Phantom's arms swept around her and he lifted her in the air and set her down on the bank, holding her elbow and guiding her back to the couch.

Her entire body relaxed as she sat down, and she glanced back up at Erik for a fleeting second.

"You're looking at me because I am all wet? Oh, my dear, it's raining cats and dogs outside!" Erik smirked, and Christine chuckled lightly.

"I was thinking more along the lines of raining cats and rats outside..." A small chuckle escaped Erik's lips, surprising none more than him.

Moving his feet uncomfortably, Erik stared down at the carpet. "Well... you must be frozen from that swim. I'm terribly sorry that I subjected you to that... Would you like a bath to warm you up?" Christine nodded in reply. "Very well. I shall make you some tea while you bathe, and then we can talk about... ah, well, we'll see when we get there. The bathroom is right over here." Erik caught one of Christine's hands and walked past two rooms: one was empty except for a bed frame, and the other was obviously his: a large box shaped bed lay within, almost coffin-like in nature. Christine squinted her eyes, trying to adjust her still fuzzy vision to get a better view, but was whisked past in less than a second.

"Here we are. You can have a nice, warm bath and before you know it you'll be out for tea," he grabbed part of her sopping dress, examining it with a scrutinizing eye, "Get yourself out of this as fast as possible. It won't do your health any good to be stuck in something cold and wet. I'll find something suitable for you to wear." Erik awkwardly paused before releasing her arm, turning on his heel and heading back towards the sofa, to presumably what was the kitchen.

Christine's eyes followed his form for the next thirty seconds before he disappeared from her sight. Turning back, the bathroom door opened with a light touch and she peered inside.

The entire room reeked of cleanliness. Everything was in perfect order, and there was a small tube of toothpaste next to a carved toothbrush with bristles on a shelf; several of those newer terry cloth towels were folded in a neat pile, and there was a large, clawed bathtub with two knobs for hot or cold water.

Dropping her wet clothes to the floor in a pile in the corner, Christine stepped into the bathtub and shivered with cold. She hastily turned the hot knob, and was rewarded with searing hot water nailing her in the foot. Jumping back, she nearly slipped before catching herself. Carefully extending her foot, she tested the water with her toe before deeming it a sufficient temperature to bathe in. Waiting for the tub to fill, she settled down with a sigh.

After thoroughly washing blood, dirt, and lake water from her body, Christine simply stayed in the clean fresh water, enjoying herself immensely.

While sitting, she thought long and hard on her journey down. She couldn't really recall anything after discovering the hidden room where the Angel of Music watched operas... it was all kind of a blank until she had woken up down there. How had she gotten there? Had he found her? Why hadn't she remembered him finding her then?

Her brow creased in concentration. Why couldn't she remember something that had happened so recently? Surely her angel would tell her... she was sure they would talk for quite some time, there was so much explaining and apologizing to do! And then maybe afterwards they could make some music together, oh, she had seen a piano! Singing would be wonderful with a piano!

Christine's excitement grew and grew, and as did her fit. In one swift moment, her vision began to go blurry again, and she opened her mouth, but words wouldn't form on her lips and all she could make out was a quiet slur of words. Her limbs again would not cooperate, and she lay in the bathtub, helpless, virtually mute, and with scattered vision.

Erik bustled about the kitchen, reheating his earlier remedy and set about preparing some tea.

A tentative meow came from behind him.

Erik spun around, his spoon pointed at the cat and growling. His eyes locked with those of that ignorant puffball; his arm lowered and he glared menacingly at Sir Marque.

"So... you. You know, you're the reason she exerted herself! Now she's probably going to be incredibly tired and sore and worn out... all because of you." Erik shot the cat another glare. "Think of that when you decided to go on your leisurely stroll to bite off more than you could chew? Know what you're eating before you attack it, fool!"

Still as a statue, Sir Marque remained completely unaffected by Erik's words. In fact, his words seemed to have increased Sir Marque's pompous air, if anything. Sir Marque's tail flicked back and forth, and he continued to glare directly back at Erik.

"So, this is how it's going to work, hm?" Erik knelt down on the floor and looked straight at him, not breaking eye contact the entire time. The pair glared at each other, each calmly sizing up the other, and seeing that this fight had to be won by brute stubbornness.

The tea kettle whistled, jolting Erik, and giving Sir Marque the moment of distraction he had been waiting for. Sir Marque leapt at Erik's leg and once again returned to his work of shredding his pants.

Hands flew around the cat's neck and ripped him off. Growling the entire time and clawing at Erik's hand, Erik lifted him to eye level and scowled. "So, you think my body doesn't have enough scars as it is? Want to add your own? I think not."

The Phantom marched out the room and into his music room. Snatching a box full of sheet music off of a table, he emptied out the papers and promptly flipped the box on top of the cat. Setting a heavy book on top and propping the box up slightly, he left just enough room for air to move underneath, and enough weight to trap the cat until Erik decided his time-out was over.

Hurrying back to the kitchen, he snatched the still whistling tea kettle off the stove. Hastily pouring it into a cup, he made his way to the bathroom and knocked on the bathroom door.

There was no reply.

Erik's brow creased. He rapped on the door again.

Still no reply.

Erik started to feel uneasy.

"Christine? Are you in there?"

Christine tried to raise her head, but she couldn't. It felt like she was being pulled down, and every time she opened her mouth and tried to answer him, no sound came out. She tried to move her limbs, to make some kind of noise, to slosh the water around, but her body remained trapped and she could barely move.

Erik swiveled around, eyes sweeping every room, looking for any sign of Christine. Oh, where had she gone? Had she run off when he was distracted? Some of the traps were still activated in the passageways, she could get hurt! And there were rats everywhere as well... Oh, and he still needed to watch for the poison's effects!

Stopping only to switch shoes - his previous pair were still quite wet from his recent swim - Erik set off in search of his angel.

The lake was calm and quiet. His gondola was still in place... how had she gotten across? Had she found some other way across? It was the only possibility... Shoving the gondola off the shore, Erik leaped inside and paddled across. He hit the other side and set off running down the corridors, going to the only place he thought she could possibly be.

Light from her room lightly illuminated the passage he was in. He stopped directly at the mirror and pressed his hands and forehead against it, desperate for a glimpse of Christine.

She wasn't there...

But Madame Giry and Meg were.

Madame Giry sat on a chair, rubbing her fingers over and over one well worn spot on her cane, while Meg paced across the room.

"Maman, we always have lunch with her on Saturdays! She knows better than to disappear... and nobody has seen her all day long! I'm the last person who saw her, and that was last night. She's been gone for a whole day! Oh Maman, where could she be? She could be in trouble, or lost, or hurt..." Meg's panicked words broke off, and she began running her fingers through her curls in an effort to calm herself.

She exhaled deeply and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Where, just where?"

Madame Giry looked up from her cane; "Well, you're not going to find the answer by sitting around whining. There's only one solution: search the room for clues about where she might have gone." Meg perked up, shaking her head vigorously; she then jokingly proceeded to examine each of the pillows for any incriminating evidence.

Rolling her eyes at Meg's antics, Madame Giry stood up and walked over to the dresser; "It's likely there'll be better clues in here than on the pillows Meg, fooling around isn't going to help us find Christine."

Meg's cheeks turned bright red, and she hung her head in embarrassment before shuffling over to Christine's dresser.

Each drawer slid open easily, but revealed absolutely nothing about Christine's whereabouts. There were all of her things: her ballet shoes and clothes, but nothing more personal than that.
Groaning in frustration, Meg slammed the drawer she had been examining shut.

Several pieces of paper fell out of the dresser.

Meg snatched the papers out of the air during their descent down; she eagerly shuffled them, hoping for some sign of Christine, but found nothing. Meg sighed. "Maman, oh, there's nothing here to help us find her! Only some handwritten sheet music and her stuff..."

Madame Giry's head shot up. "Handwritten sheet music? Let me see!" She grabbed the music from Meg's hands. Her face paled.

"Keep looking. Don't stop until I tell you." Shrugging her shoulders, Meg continued her work.

How did Christine get this music? Does she know who he is? Madame Giry worked with a purpose now, flinging open every drawer within her reach before hurriedly shutting it, finding nothing.

At one of the last drawers, her luck changed. There was something in that drawer: a single red rose with a black ribbon around it.

It was obviously a few days old... but that black ribbon trademark was proof that they knew each other, quite well, she expected, if Erik was giving her roses. That meant he likely had something to do with her disappearance...

If she was with him, she would be perfectly safe. Erik was responsible enough with things he cared about, and he knew the Opera House like the back of his hand. However, the catacombs beneath the Opera House were not a place one wanted to be if they didn't know the way...

"Meg... you said you were the last one to see her?" Meg nodded. "Err... what exactly happened when you last saw her? Did she say anything about a suitor?"

"Oh, yes, she did! I accused her of having a suitor, and she didn't deny it! That little scoundrel... anyways, she was making some kind of joke of all the questions I asked about him, and we were about to leave... when she told me she was ill and couldn't go. So, she's with her suitor somewhere?"

Meg picked up a book and repeatedly whacked herself in the head with it. "AGGHHH TYPICAL CHRISTINE."

"Don't worry Meg, if that is who she's with, she's in good hands. We'll just have to continue our lunch without her, unfortunately. Let's head out."

The drawer slammed shut, Meg was dragged out the door; the pair headed outside.

Madame Giry suddenly stopped and smacked her forehead. "Oh, I forgot, the owner of our favorite cafe is out of Paris for the week. Would you go see if there are any other cafes that look good? I'll stay here until you find one. You know my joints aren't what they used to be, I prefer to spend as little time in the cold as possible, else they ache."

"Okay I'll come get you when I find one."

Madame Giry smiled and waved goodbye - before promptly turning and heading up to the private boxes.

Meg walked back into the Opera Populaire less than a second later. "Maman? What about that crepe place two blocks over? Maman?" Her mother's figure slipped around a set corner off in the distance; she was going towards the private boxes... What was she doing there?

The little ballerina followed at a safe distance, curious as to what her secretive mother was up to.

Slipping to the back of the theater, Madame Giry slipped past the manager's office -where she heard quite the argument raging- and up a floor to the private boxes. Walking down the golden hall, Madame Giry was constantly turning her head over her shoulder, and her nervousness was showing despite her effort to hide it. She stumbled over her feet, whacked vases of flowers with her cane, and had the startled look of a hunted animal.

Madame Giry walked past the next few boxes, heading closer and closer to the front. With one last glance over her shoulder, the ballet mistress dove into Box 5 and poked her head up nervously, completely unaware of her daughter tailing her a few boxes behind.

Madame Giry scanned the area around her; she was all alone. She let out a sigh of relief - the last thing she needed right now was more inquiries about her knowledge of the Opera Ghost... Slipping to one of the pillars, she poked around the carvings, and found what she was looking for: the carved head of a snake.

She smirked as she saw it. Oh, Erik always was one to enjoy such twisted jokes: the way to find him was by following the very same creature that ended up driving Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden... To find him, you had to follow the path of the Devil's servant.

Tapping it lightly on the head, the wall shifted to reveal a small ladder inside. Madame Giry smirked as she began her ascent into the Phantom's personal box.

Meg just looked on, stunned. This was the Ghost's box... So then that ladder must be the Ghost's too. Her mother knew of the Phantom's secrets? She must know him as well... Meg shuddered. There had been several deaths over the years that had all been attributed to him... Was that where Christine was right now?

While she thought, the wall slid closed.

No! Meg ran over to the pillar, poking it all over to no avail.

Meg paused and collected her thoughts, rolling back on her heel and spinning in small circle while she considered her course of action. Thinking back to her mother, she concluded the best way to find the ladder was to imitate her exact actions.

A cane... she needed a cane.

Kneeling down on the ground, Meg spotted a piece of loosened wooden molding along the base of the wall. Pulling at each end, the piece easily sprung free. Smiling in victory, she went back into the hallway, and began copying her mother's movements.

Jumping into the box, Meg glanced around and stood up, sweeping her cane around and exaggerating her steps, to make sure there was no hidden button in the floor she was missing.
Meg sidled up to the pillar, and tapped all around the carvings with the tip of the wooden block.

Nothing happened.

She tried again.

Still nothing happened.

Her breathing slowly increased, as anger began to flood through her veins. Whacking the cane to and fro, Meg jumped and swirled from side to side of the pillar in a mad dance, hoping to in the random movements find the spot her mother had touched.

Back and forth, up and down, swirling round and round the pillar, Meg's touches mounted in intensity, moving from the small taps she had initially done, to a sturdy rap, before culminating in a mad free for all slamming the cane as hard as she could against the wall and all over.

And still nothing.

Defeated, she slumped against the wall, holding her head. What to do now... She lifted her head and looked across the stage, turning to look over the seats, only to find a very curious Vicomte de Chagny looking at her from the back row.

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A/N: As aforementioned, it was really difficult to write this chapter. I am extremely sorry for the wait. I would really appreciate any advice on the chapter or just any thoughts so far, as they do help with writer's block (and therefore time) and in improving my writing style.

Seriously, super sorry about the wait. There's no reason I should have let the writer's block and what not continue so long.

Thanks!
~Partypenguina3