Author's Note: Thanks again for all the lovely reviews! I hope you enjoy this new chapter. I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to update! First it was my first term at university, and then I got swept up in all the excitement about the new Phantom movie, so you can blame those things for my failure to update sooner!

I had hoped to complete this story by the time the new movie was released, but since early last year this story has developed into a much more complex piece of writing than I'd initially thought, so there are still a few chapters to go. I hope it hasn't lost its appeal.

I'd like to say thank you to Cat for her motivating demands for this new chapter, and again to Olethros for posting the links on It was very much appreciated!

Artymas: You're making a spin-off comic? That sounds very interesting! If you can, please scan it and email it to me. (My email address is accessible from my profile page) I'd love to see it!

Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Phantom of the Opera' or 'Dracula.' The 'Phans' which appear in this chapter are not based on any real fans of 'The Phantom of the Opera,' so any shared personality traits or names are purely coincidental. Thank you for reading.

'The Price of Fame.'

Chapter Eleven: The Bizarre Behaviour of Phantom Phanatics

Erik took a deep, calming breath.

"So," he began, slowly. "Let me get this straight. You've just murdered a man in cold blood because you were afraid he would steal some circular sugary treats filled with strawberry jam?"

Angel looked down at the floor, suddenly ashamed.

"Well, that's not quite true. It was blackcurrant jam, actually…"

"Oh, that's all right, then," Erik replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Please don't be angry with me," Angel whimpered. "Where are you going?"

Erik had jumped into the lake and was swimming towards the opposite bank.

"We can't just leave the poor devil to rot on the edge of the lake, can we? Come on!"

The two Phantoms swam together in silence. Erik's mind was racing. A journalist had met his doom in the domain of the Phantom. What would people say? What would Nadir say? Erik shuddered as he imagined the inevitable lecture.

They reached the bank and hoisted themselves out of the water. Erik peered into the shadows around them.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Angel?"

"Yes, Erik?"

"There's something not quite right about this."

"What?"

"Well, for a start, there doesn't appear to be a body."

Erik heard a voice beside his ear. He could not be sure exactly what it was saying, but it sounded like "Forgive me, O Great One."

Erik did not have much time to consider this because, half a second later, someone hit him on the head.

---)---)---

It was dark. Candles flickered in several large, black candelabras, casting a dim glow over the rest of the room, which, Erik realised, was also predominantly black. Whoever owned this room evidently had very little imagination when it came to choosing wallpaper.

They also had a terrible taste in beds.

Erik leapt out of the coffin with a cry of terror, almost causing it to fall off its dais. He had banished his coffin from his lair years ago, and the realisation that he had just been asleep in one made his stomach lurch.

He lifted a hand to his head, which was throbbing with agony. Someone had hit him, he remembered that much, at least. Someone had knocked him unconscious and brought him to this awful place. But why? And where was Angel? Surely he hadn't left Erik at the mercy of his unseen assailant?

"Angel?" he whimpered. "Are you there?"

There was no reply. Erik was alone.

Or was he?

Erik got to his feet hurriedly. Although he could not see a door, he could definitely hear footsteps approaching.

Footsteps and voices.

"I don't care what you say," said a female voice. "Lon Chaney is the best movie Phantom ever!"

"No he isn't!" said another, outraged female voice. "Charles Dance is!"

"Lon Chaney!"

"Charles Dance!"

"Lon Chaney!"

"Charles Dance!"

"Will you two shut up?" said a male voice, which sounded oddly familiar. "We've had this argument a hundred times before, and usually one of us ends up in hospital after being hit by a falling light bulb. And anyway, everyone knows that Robert Englund is the greatest Phantom ever to haunt the silver screen!"

Oh God, thought Erik. Please don't let this be real. Please let it be a nightmare.

"How can you say that?"

"What nonsense!"

"Charles Dance!"

"Robert Englund!"

The voices were undoubtedly getting closer. His current panic overriding his revulsion, Erik climbed back into the coffin, closed his eyes, and feigned sleep.

There was the sound of a door opening and closing. The voices were now in the room.

"Charles Dance!"

"Shush! He's asleep. You'll wake him up."

There was a pause. Erik could feel their eyes upon him.

"Awwwwww…"said the female voice who obviously loved Charles Dance. "He's so cute! Look at his little face!"

"Are you sure he's the real Phantom?" said the other female voice.

"Of course he is!" said the male voice. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, he's a bit fat, for a start…"

"You didn't have to carry him out of the cellars!" said the male voice. "I think I've pulled a muscle in my back! Who would have thought that a man who lives underground and never eats anything could be so damn heavy?"

"Awww, leave him alone!" said the first female voice. "He's a sweetie! Anyway, who says the Phantom has to be thin?"

"Gaston Leroux, actually."

"Oh, you're such a purist! Who cares what old What's His Name…"

"Gaston Leroux."

"…Gaston Leroux says? He's a lovely cute Phantom! Can I cuddle him?"

"NO!" Erik screamed, opening his eyes and staring at the besotted female Phan in horror. "Keep away from me!"

The three Phans gazed at him in silent wonder. The young woman who had been about to horrifically cuddle Erik looked about sixteen, with brown eyes and short dark hair. The other woman appeared to be in her early twenties. She had long blonde hair and green eyes. The man was probably in his mid-twenties, with dark curly hair and a pale, handsome face.

All three of them were wearing Phantom sweatshirts and big grins.

Erik was both furious and terrified. He wanted to scream and rave at these lunatics until they let him go. He opened his mouth in order to do so, but unfortunately his courage failed him.

"Eeep," he said.

"Awwwww!" said the youngest Phan. "He's frightened! That's so cute!"

Erik stared at her and shuddered. There was something about this particular breed of Phan which had always baffled him. He suspected that, if he had said something along the lines of "If you do not let me go this instant, I will brutally murder you with a Punjab Lasso," this young Phan's reaction would have been pretty much the same.

"It's ok, Erik, don't be scared," said the other female Phan. "We won't hurt you."

"Of course we won't! We love you!"

"We are very honoured to have you in our humble abode," said the male Phan. "Would you care for a glass of wine?"

Erik shook his head.

"No? How about brandy?"

Erik shook his head.

"Lemonade?"

Erik shook his head.

"Organic carrot juice?"

"No!" Erik cried, his annoyance finally overcoming his fear.

"Well, how about something to eat then? I have some lovely chocolate chip cookies, or maybe you'd prefer something savoury? A sausage roll, perhaps?"

"I don't want a sausage roll!" Erik shouted, his temper finally exploding. "Where the hell am I? Who are you? What's going on?"

"Awwwwww! You're so adorable when you're angry and confused!" said the youngest Phan, reaching forward in another attempt to cuddle Erik. "My ickle tubby Ewiky-Wewiky-Phantomy-Kins!"

"Stop that!" said Erik, pushing the Phan away. "What do you want with me?"

"I want to cuddle you and give you all the love and affection which your mother and that horrible woman Christine never gave you and marry you and live happily ever after and make the music of the night on a regular basis and…awwwww! You're blushing! That is soooooooo cute!"

"Enough!" said Erik, whose cheeks had, indeed, turned a considerably darker shade of yellow. "I mean apart from all that!"

"There's a perfectly legitimate explanation for all this, Mr Phantom, sir, I promise," said the male Phan, politely. "But first, please allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Charles Bloom. I talked to you on the phone yesterday, and you have recently done me the great honour of trying to kill me with your Punjab Lasso. Not many Phans can say they've almost been killed by the Phantom of the Opera!"

He seemed to swell with pride.

"You're the journalist?" said Erik, bewildered. "The journalist I invited for an interview?"

"Yes, only I'm not really a journalist," said Charles Bloom. "I'm a founding member of the 'Save Erik From Evil Filmmakers, Directors, Reporters, Vampires, Former Love Interests, and Others Who Seek To Do Him Harm Campaign.'"

"Or the S.E.F.E.F.D.R.V.F.L.I.A.O.W.S.T.D.H.H.C., if you would prefer," said the older female Phan helpfully. "I find it easier to remember that way."

Erik looked at them both blankly.

"I decided to pretend to be a young, naïve, yet slightly annoying journalist because I thought you were more likely to grant an interview to a journalist than an obsessed Phan," Charles explained. "I pursued Mr. Frankenstein's Monster in the hope that he would call you and let me speak to you which, surprisingly, he did. I admit my cunning plan did backfire a little, but I don't blame you for trying to kill me in the light of recent events. Journalists can be a troublesome bunch."

"How did you escape the Punjab Lasso?" Erik asked, genuinely curious.

"Oh, that was easy," said Charles, dismissively. "I had my hand at the level of my eyes."

"Of course," Erik sighed wearily. "I should have known." He turned to look at the two female Phans. "And you are…?"

"I am Michelle Dubois, Leroux expert," said the blonde-haired phan. "I am delighted to meet you, Monsieur Erik."

But not too delighted to comment on my physique, Erik thought, tentatively shaking Michelle's hand.

"And I'm Hermione Harris!" said the youngest Phan, grinning madly from ear to ear. "I love you!"

"Right," said Erik, unable to suppress a shudder. "Well, that's…good, I think. But why exactly have you brought me here? Where is here come to that?"

"This is my apartment, just a couple of streets away from the Opera House" said Michelle. "We're using it as our top secret headquarters. Don't you just love the interior decoration? I prepared the coffin specially!"

"Er…yes," said Erik, manufacturing a smile. "It's very…nice. Thank you."

Michelle beamed.

"We've brought you here because we have something very important to tell you," said Charles.

"You could've just told me at the Opera House," said Erik, irritably. "Surely you didn't really need to sneak up behind me, knock me unconscious, and kidnap me for no apparent reason?"

"It was just a precaution, really," explained Charles. "When you tried to kill me, I naturally concluded that you weren't in the best of tempers, and that you had changed your mind about granting me an interview. But we really need to talk to you, so I decided to resort to desperate measures. I'm very sorry. I meant no disrespect."

Erik stared at him.

"But I didn't try to kill you. It was…" he broke off, realising that it might not be such a good idea to tell these Phans about Angel. "It was one of my numerous other personalities. Erik can be very violent at times, can't you, Erik?"

"Awwww!" said Hermione, delightedly. "He's talking in the third person! That's so cute!"

"It's all right, Erik," said Michelle, patting him sympathetically on the shoulder. "We understand."

"Thank you," said Erik, keeping up the charade. "Erik is very grateful for your compassion. Now, what is it you want to tell him?"

Silence. The three Phans exchanged nervous glances.

"Well," Michelle began, "it's about Christine and Dracula, and the new movie they've just started shooting in Transylvania."

Erik remembered the letter he had found in Christine's handbag.

"You mean the vampire movie?"

"Yes," said Charles, darkly. "The vampire movie."

There was an ominous roll of thunder somewhere in the distance.

"I don't understand," said Erik, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable again. "What has that movie got to do with me?"

The three Phans exchanged more dark, knowing glances.

"Come into the living room," said Charles, finally. "And we'll tell you everything."

---)---)---

Upon entering Michelle's living room, Erik was suddenly overcome with agonised embarrassment. The room was a veritable museum of Phantom memorabilia. Posters from the stage musical and various film versions decorated the walls, and the bookshelves were lined with Phantom-related fiction of every possible genre, including copies of the original novel in several different languages. Masks, candles, and roses were also in abundance.

But it was the picture above the fireplace that caused Erik's face to turn bright crimson.

It was a huge, blown-up version of the infamous beach picture from 'The Trivia.' The Erik of three years ago was lying on his back, his well-defined muscles and flat, tight belly glistening in the sunlight. His skin was tanned, almost bronze in colour, and he was wearing his favourite swimming trunks: the ones with little scorpions and grasshoppers printed on them.

Erik stared at himself with horror, embarrassment and, to his immense surprise, jealousy.

"Hermione!" said Michelle, who was almost as embarrassed as Erik. "I thought I told you to get rid of your awful picture!"

"But that picture's not mine, it's…" Hermione broke off when she saw Michelle's pleading expression. "I mean…I'm sorry, I forgot!"

"I can't apologise enough, Erik!" said Michelle, laughing nervously. "You know what these crazed Phan-girls are like! My interest in you, on the other hand, is purely academic! Ha ha!"

Erik sat down heavily on the sofa, suddenly feeling depressingly unattractive. He was grateful for the ridiculously large evening suit Angel had forced him to wear that morning; it didn't entirely conceal his plumpness, but at least it hid his wasted muscles.

You idiot, he thought, staring wistfully at the picture. Why did you ever stop going to the gym?

"It's all right," said Erik, finally forcing a smile. "I've looked worse. Now, please can we get on with it? I want to go home."

Charles cleared his throat nervously.

"Well, it all started two weeks ago," he began. "We were in London with two of our friends, also Phans. We had just come out of the evening performance of Phantom at Her Majesty's. It was excellent, if I may say so. The best I've seen since 1995, when…"

"Do get to the point, Charles," said Michelle.

"All right, all right! Anyway, as I said, we were just leaving the theatre, when our two friends, Rose and Charlotte, decided to stop at the souvenir shop to buy some random Phantom-inspired merchandise. We wanted to go straight to the stage door, so they said they'd catch up with us. So we went to the stage door, met the cast, got our programmes signed, and waited around for Rose and Charlotte. We waited for about half an hour, but they didn't come. We started to get a little worried, because they had missed the Phantom leaving the theatre, which wasn't like them. We went to look in the foyer of the theatre, but it was all dark and shut up by then. We waited for another half an hour and looked around the surrounding streets, but there was still no sign. Michelle rang their mobiles, but there was no answer. Finally we phoned the police."

"And did they find them?" said Erik, who had to ask a question to prevent himself from nodding off.

"No," said Hermione. "We had no choice but to come back here and wait. We were out of our minds with worry, of course."

"Then, a few days ago, we received this letter," said Rose, handing Erik a crumpled piece of parchment.

Erik unfolded it slowly. Written in red ink, in familiar copperplate handwriting, was the following message:

Dear Phantom Phans,

I am writing to reassure you that your friends are safe and well. They are taking part in a market research programme at Castle Dracula Studios in Transylvania. Their assistance with our current film project is proving invaluable.

Although they are taking part in this project on an entirely voluntary basis, I must ask you not to reveal their whereabouts to the police.

If any of you dare to disobey this command, a disaster beyond your imaginations will occur.

Your Obedient Servant,

Christine Daae.

P.S.: Please open the accompanying parcel with care. It contains a prototype of our principal piece of movie merchandise. Please accept it as our gift to you. Just play some music from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom, and watch it come to life.

Erik read the letter several times, just to be sure that it was real and not some terrible hallucination conjured up by his troubled mind.

"She kidnapped them," said Michelle, darkly.

Erik scrunched the letter into a ball and threw it on the floor. Then he put his head in his hands.

"I don't understand," he said, after a moment. "Why would Christine write this? Why does she need Phans to research a vampire movie? And what was in this parcel?"

The three Phans turned to look at a small, innocent-looking box in the corner of the room. Erik followed their gaze.

"Something…unspeakable," said Michelle, shuddering.

"Dreadful," agreed Charles.

"Adorable," said Hermione.

The other two stared at her.

"But he was!" Hermione insisted. "Well, until his eyes started glowing…"

"Please could you just show me this mysterious object?" said Erik, impatiently.

Michelle nodded, and nervously approached the box. With shaking hands, she held up its contents.

Erik stared at it. It was a doll. A doll modelled on him. It had a little black cape, a golden waistcoat, a fedora and a white mask.

Michelle brought it over and placed it in his arms.

"That's…it?" said Erik. "It doesn't look very threatening."

"Appearances can be deceptive," said Charles, tremulously. "We believe it only works on Phans, but don't look in its eyes, just in case."

"Why?"

"Just trust me." Charles walked over to a stereo and pressed play.

The overture from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom filled the room. Puzzled, Erik looked down at the doll and saw that its eyes were, indeed, glowing.

"Don't look in its eyes!" yelled Charles.

But Erik was fascinated. He stared down at the doll as though mesmerised.

"I am Erik!" said the Magical Music-Activated Phantom Hypno-Doll. "You will obey my commands without question!" A pause. "You will forget about Joel Schumacher's film of Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'The Phantom of the Opera' completely, and devote all of your time and energy into publicising 'Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera.'"

Erik dropped the doll in disbelieving horror. It lay on the floor apparently unharmed, its eyes still glowing.

"You will go and see the movie at least one hundred times," continued the Hypno-Doll. "You will conclude that it is the greatest movie in the history of the universe."

"Turn the stereo off, Charles!" whimpered Michelle. "I can't stand it any longer!"

Charles did as instructed. The doll fell silent. The Phans uncovered their eyes and heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"That's monstrous," said Erik, shakily.

"I know," said Hermione. "It hypnotised me for hours. Charles and Michelle were more suspicious of it, but curiosity got the better of me and I decided to try it out. It wore off eventually, of course. But not before I'd phoned everyone in my address book to tell them about 'Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera': The Greatest Movie in the History of the Universe. I even took all Michelle's Phantom posters down and replaced them with Dracula ones. It was horrible. And this is only a prototype! I wouldn't be surprised if they programmed the final version to hypnotise Phans permanently!"

"But why are they doing this?" Erik wailed. "I told Dracula years ago that I wasn't interested in making a stupid crossover movie! And they have the nerve to hypnotise my Phans into publicising it! Why?"

"So it can compete with Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom movie, presumably," said Charles. "Look, I'm sorry you had to find out like this. But we thought it was better if we told you now, rather than waiting until these…" he glanced at the Hypno-Doll, "…things are everywhere. Erik? Are you all right?"

Erik was currently frozen with shock. Something had just occurred to him. Something terrible.

Dracula was making this movie, and his arrogance and pride knew no bounds. He would inevitably be playing himself, the hero of the film.

Raoul was playing the villain.

The film was called 'Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera.'

This meant that…

"NOOO!!!" Erik cried, jumping several feet in the air. "This can't be happening! It can't! He's a fop! A fop! How dare they?!"

"Erik! Whatever's the matter?" said Michelle, rushing over to him. Hermione and Charles followed.

"I found a letter from Raoul to Christine," Erik sobbed. "He was accepting the part of the villain in this movie! That means he's playing the Phantom! The Phantom. My rival with foppish clothes and foppish hair and foppish manners who can't sing a note of music but who won Christine anyway just because he's handsome and he rescued her fopping scarf from the fopping sea is playing me in this new movie! This is part of Christine's plan. She's doing this to destroy my reputation and humiliate me. Well, Christine, I hope you're happy, because Erik has never felt so fopping humiliated in all his fopping life! Oh, Christine! Christine! Why? Why?!"

And Erik fell to his knees in a fit of grief and rage.

The three Phans stared at him.

"So," said Charles, after a moment. "I guess this means you're still a bit touchy about the whole 'fop' issue?"

Michelle glared at him.

"Are you sure about this, Erik?" she said. "We have no proof…"

"Yes, I'm sure," said Erik. "The evil Phantom doll, the letter, Christine's plan to destroy my reputation…it all fits. After all, would you root for me if I was played by Raoul?"

"Well," said Hermione. "That's…complicated. I suppose it would depend if I liked Raoul…which I don't, as a matter of fact. Sorry."

"See?" said Erik. "I'm ruined!"

"All right," said Michelle, gently. "Calm down. I'm sure there's something you can do."

"No," Erik sniffed, "There's nothing I can do. I can't fight Christine and Dracula. Christine's the love of my life, and regardless of what she's doing to me I can't bring myself to hurt her! And Dracula, well, he's a vampire!" Erik paused, and wiped the hot, angry tears from his face. "As for me, I'm just a man, an ugly, lonely man who enjoyed a little power for a while. I'm no one special."

"But…" Hermione began.

"Don't worry, Erik! I'll save you!" said a voice from the direction of the window.

Erik and the three Phans turned to look. Angel's upside-down face peered back at them from behind the glass. It was grinning.

"Angel!" Erik gasped. "What are you doing?"

"I'm rescuing you from these evil Phans, of course!" said Angel, brightly.

"Well, you certainly took your time," Erik muttered. "Thank you for leaving me unconscious in the cellars!"

"I'm sorry, Erik. But I decided that if we both got captured, there would be no one left to rescue you!" said Angel, with his special brand of Angelic Logic. "So I disappeared, and followed you here invisibly. But then I saw a bakery, and I said to myself "Angel, you can't go on a heroic rescue mission without an emergency supply of doughnuts!" so I stopped for a break. But I'm here now! Just sit tight, and I'll have you out of there in no time!"

And he produced a crowbar apparently out of thin air.

"No, Angel!" said Erik. "They're my friends! Please get down from there! You'll fall!"

"Nonsense!" said Angel. "I am the Phantom of the Opera! I can climb ropes and walk the tightrope, so hanging upside-down from a window ledge while holding a crowbar is absolutely no problem at arrrrrgggggghhhhhh!"

There was a dull thud.

Erik and the Phans exchanged shocked glances. Then they all ran downstairs and out the front door.

Angel was lying face down on the pavement.

"Angel," Erik whimpered, running to his side. He gazed down at the Phantom's still body, and felt fresh tears prick his eyes. "No…"

There was a groan.

"He's alive!" gasped Michelle.

Angel rose shakily to his feet and gave Erik a lopsided grin. Erik glanced up at the window. Surely it wasn't possible…

But of course it was. Angel was a fictional character, wasn't he? He was immortal. Erik wondered briefly whether he would survive if he fell three storeys onto solid concrete. He hoped he would never have the opportunity to find out.

"I think I've broken my nose," said Angel, dizzily.

Erik stared at him with joyous relief.

"Angel?"

"Yes?"

"You haven't got a nose."

"Oh, that's all right, then," said Angel, cheerfully. He turned to smile at the Phans. "Now, why don't you introduce me to your friends?"