Disclaimer: Even if I had the entire cast chained up in my basement, I still wouldn't officially own The Phantom of the Opera.

Title: Peccata Mundi

Summary: The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

Assignment 1: The Nightingale

Summary: With his night terrors growing steadily worse, Erik must find the strength to locate a kidnapped woman. Will he be able to discover and protect her before it's too late, and will he be able to correctly distinguish between the past and the present?

Section 12

- The Final Requiem

He could see the nightingale slowly drifting out of his reach. He had come face to face with the beautiful creature just in time to lose it. The light emanating from it was steadily getting dimmer. The darkness was consuming everything, alive and strong with that loud and annoying maniacal laughter. It made him feel all the more weak and helpless. But the nightingale hadn't completely disappeared from view—not yet. He still had some hope, some tiny speck of diminishing hope. He had to hold onto that and use it to overcome this menacing shadow. He needed to free the nightingale.

"You never thought I would catch on, did you?" Monsieur Richeleau whispered creepily, an insane grin slightly parting his lips to reveal his yellowing teeth. "You misjudged my intelligence."

Erik backed closer to the worktable. He began to slowly edge along toward the cage, keeping his eyes fixed on the insane man in front of him. It would be suicide to turn your back on any foe. One should never underestimate what another is capable of. Under the right pretenses, there was no telling what someone could be driven to.

"Everyone misjudges my intelligence," Monsieur Richeleau kept going, not necessarily minding Erik's sluggish movement. "Your carelessness will be your downfall."

Erik had to think fast. He needed to keep his counterpart distracted for as long as possible. The less Monsieur Richeleau thought about what he would do as punishment, the longer Erik was able to devise a plan and then put it into action. He felt the cold metal bars of the cell against his hands, which acted as his eyes behind his back. He stopped, blocking Christine. Don't let him think about the girl.

"Monsieur," Erik began cordially, carefully. "May I inquire as to why you committed this act? Why Christine? What were you planning all along?"

"Why," Monsieur Richeleau mused mainly to himself. "Why?" He began to pace casually and slowly. "Why does the sun rise in the sky? Why do the birds fly and the fish swim?"

"I am afraid I do not follow," Erik said.

Monsieur Richeleau halted and looked at him with a cocky smirk. "Of course you don't." He began pacing again. "Why did I do this, and why to her? You can not begin to imagine the awe that overcame me when I first heard this delicate little flower singing on the corner." He closed his eyes and raised his head to the ceiling, reliving the experience. "Her voice was so innocent, so sweet. It was unlike anything I had ever encountered in my life. It touched my very soul, and I knew I had to have it…forever."

He opened his eyes and, after a moment, glanced over at Erik, who was staring at him with his brows creased. He sighed, dropping his face to the floor as if disappointed.

"You would never understand," he muttered.

"No, I cannot say that I do," Erik replied. "I have not heard her sing, Monsieur, but as you are a musical professional, I believe I have no choice but to trust you in the matter at the moment."

There was a pause of silence. He wasn't sure whether Monsieur Richeleau had heard him or not, or even cared or not, because in the next instant, the man continued with his story as if never being interrupted.

"So I acted. I gave her a message to come to the shop late one night in order to pick up her father's violin and view some extra changes I made to it. She obliged, and I never let her go. I finally had my beautiful tune at my disposal whenever I wanted to listen to it." Suddenly a shadow seemed to fall over him. "But like all things, I knew this voice would fade with time. I couldn't allow that. I can never allow something so beautiful to simply die."

"Like your instruments," Erik chimed softly.

"Exactly," Monsieur Richeleau answered without even looking at him. "So I found a way to keep it alive forever. It will never change. It will never end."

"That is what the bronzer is for."

"Precisely." He walked toward the tub of boiling liquid in the opposite corner and peered inside. "I will cast her in bronze and surgically place a mechanism in her voice box to allow music to flow freely." He picked up a metal bar normally used for stirring. "It will make a perfect music box." He pivoted and faced Erik. "Perhaps I didn't give you enough credit. Perhaps I underestimated you, as you did me."

"Why would you think that?" Erik asked innocently. He didn't want to give away his own strength and capabilities.

"You seemed to have figured out parts of my plan easily. You found out that it was me and where the girl was located, or else you wouldn't be down here right now." He sighed, stepping forward. "So there is one thing left to do before I bring forth the conclusion to my plan."

"What would that be?" Erik asked, but he already knew.

No plan had hit him, but he had been given enough time to glance around at possible defensive tools. He could feel his muscles tighten and his heart pound faster. He was getting ready for whatever Monsieur Richeleau was about to do. He had decided to protect Christine with his life, even though she, for the moment, was safe inside the cage and he was about to face off against a dangerous lunatic. He wasn't going to back down or give up until the very last breath left his body. Bring it on.

"I have to kill you, of course," Monsieur Richeleau announced nonchalantly.

Then he flew at Erik, brandishing the metal bar above his head, ready to bring it down on Erik's skull. Erik ducked out of the way, though, causing Monsieur Richeleau to swing into the metal bars, creating a loud clang that shattered everyone's eardrums. He was fast in his recovery, waving the bar like some sort of threatening bat. He knocked into every object in the vicinity. Glass jars and bottles shattered on his workbench. Objects flew onto the floor in his fury. He was out of control.

Erik moved just as swiftly out of the way. He ducked and dodged, infuriating Monsieur Richeleau even more. He wasn't about to be a target for that metal pole, though. He flipped over the table in the center of the room as he was attacked once more. Landing on his feet, he was able to seek out a sort of weapon to aid him. It was a simple staff that would have helped spread the bronzer. It was held more like a sword than what its original creation called for.

Erik brought it up just in time to block another over-the-head blow Monsieur Richeleau attempted. He retaliated and was able to push the man stumbling backward into his own worktable. The fire didn't die out of Monsieur's Richeleau eyes, though, despite the danger Erik had added into the situation. If anything, it seemed like he became more invigorated and energized. The craze grew even wilder. He was determined to win and receive Christine as his prize.

They were face to face again, wielding metal against metal, back and forth. Who knew how long it lasted? It seemed like hours and hours on end. Reality was a thing of fiction. Then Erik got the upper hand. He lifted Monsieur Richeleau's legs out from under him, and the man fell to the stone ground, hitting his head with a loud crack. Erik viewed his motionless body for a mere second before ripping the key from around his neck and scurrying to the cage.

He fitted it into the lock and turned. There was a click and the bolt fell to the ground. The door swung open, and a delightful feeling coursed through Erik. He had saved her. The nightingale was free. Now he didn't have to worry about what would occur if he should fall. He was strengthened with the thought of her safety. She could run away, run home. She could get away and never come back. His promise would be fulfilled.

Christine moved slowly to the front of the cell, acting like she did not know what to do. There was no smile on her face or in her eyes. Instead, she wore an inquiring expression, and remained gazing with uncertainty and concern at Erik. He offered a small smile, but she did not respond to it.

"Go," he said softly. "Go now before it's too late."

There was a long moment of hesitation. She had one foot out of the jail and a hand around one of the bars. She didn't move, though, and didn't speak. She stared into his face. It seemed like they were suddenly alone in a separate world. There was no way they could be bothered or interrupted. But that was only how Erik felt for the few seconds before fear washed over Christine's face.

"Watch out!" she screamed.

They both ducked out of the way, and there was a loud clang that echoed the previous metal pole against metal bars. Erik pivoted in his dodge and lifted his head to see Monsieur Richeleau breathing heavily with a stream of blood running down the back of his neck. Erik's eyes went wide. For a moment, his mind blanked out on him. He didn't know what to do. He had believed he had helped Christine, but he had just made her more vulnerable. There was only one solution he saw to get out of this: get Monsieur Richeleau as far away from her as possible so she could escape.

Erik dived at Monsieur Richeleau. Their bodies collided and they wavered unsteadily backward. He held the man's hands so he could not bring about the weapon for help. The struggle with that added to the sway. It was a wonder they hadn't fallen yet, but gravity was not that unyielding. At the opposite end of the room, they finally dropped next to the bubbling bronzer. Luckily, Erik had landed on top of Monsieur Richeleau and could pin him long enough to aid in Christine's getaway.

"Go now!" he cried over his shoulder.

His vision was consumed with his opponent's stressed face, but he heard a small patter of feet, and assumed it was Christine running up the steps. He continued to struggle with Monsieur Richeleau believing the prisoner to be safely out of harm's way. However, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the feminine voice break through the grunts and groans.

"Move," it commanded forcefully.

Without question, Erik obeyed. He rolled off of Monsieur Richeleau just as the tub of boiling bronzer spilled over his body. Monsieur Richeleau gave a shriek of agony and alarm. A large white cloud shrouded the image, and eventually the screams subsided. Erik, crouching just out of the bronzer's reach, was hypnotized at the scene. He hadn't removed his eyes from the location he had left the man. The cloud slowly thinned and wafted away, and after a few minutes, the vision was clear.

There was no more Monsieur Richeleau. In place of where he had been lying only moments earlier was a bronze statue that resembled him in every way. The position the statue was caught in was twisted and awkward. The expression on its face was distorted and ugly. Irony was one way to describe his end.

Erik stood and looked to Christine, who was standing behind the overturned tub. She was staring down at the statue with a frown and a furrowed brow. It was obvious that, despite what he had put her through, she wasn't necessarily ecstatic about having caused that. Erik didn't know what to think, though. This little creature had saved him. He never could have expected something of this nature, but he was grateful and impressed and just ready to get her back to where she belonged.

"Come, Christine," he said somewhat hoarsely. "It's time to go. You're father is waiting for you."

She simply nodded and allowed herself to be ushered to the surface by him. They emerged from Hell into the world of the sleeping.