Thanks to everyone who read, alerted and my amazing four reviewers on whom I can rely :)

Somehow, we made it back to the opera that night. I didn't remember much of it; I was too busy reassuring Erik time and again that I was fine – even though I wasn't so sure why I did that. Had anyone else tried to suffocate me and just so managed not do it, I would have never spoken another word to them. Hell, I would probably have gone to the gendarmes...

But I couldn't be that person when it came to Erik.

By now, we had reached the opening night of his opera – Don Juan Triumphant was ready to be played in front of an audience. Christine was constantly pale these days; it seemed like she was constantly nervous. She probably had no reason to, as she was constantly accompanied by the Vicomte, who followed her like a dog. It was infuriating.

The Vicomte was also the reason for my most recent distress. He had brought the gendarmes to the opera – to secure the doors and have their arms ready when (if) Erik showed his face.

"You know where he would enter the theatre-"

"I have no idea, Monsieur."

"Of course you have!" the Vicomte dissented. "You just don't want to tell."

He was, of course, absolutely right about my not wanting to tell – yet I could honestly say that I didn't know where Erik would be tonight or where he would leave his catacombs.

"Monsieur, he has dozens of ways around this opera house – I have no way to tell which one he'll use."

The Vicomte glared at me as the chief shifted uncomfortably. He had been like this all the way – as if he wasn't quite sure that he was at the right place.

"Monsieur, I suggest that you instruct your men. I'm no help to you."

I got up to leave, thinking of nothing but the warmth of my bed; I had been ripped away from my sleep far too early this morning and had by now developed a habit of using every bit of spare time to get some much-needed sleep.

"No!" the Vicomte exclaimed as he reached out to grab my arm, but I ducked him quickly.

"What the-?"

"You'll warn him," our patron stated. "I won't let you out of my sight until the première."

"You can rest assured that he is already warned," I bit back.

"Be that as it may, you're not leaving."

I gasped at his nerve, turning to our managers. "Monsieur Firmin? Monsieur André?"

But the two of them merrily shrugged, always compliant. I groaned and let myself fall into a chair in the first row, watching as the chief turned to his men.

"You understand your instructions? When you hear the whistle, take up your positions. I shall then instruct you to secure the doors. It is essential that all doors are properly secured."

André and Firmin whispered to each other, but I couldn't hear a word from where I sat. Instead, I frowned at our patron as the chief turned to him.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, am I to give the order?"

"Give the order."

The chief nodded and blew his whistle. At once, his men fanned out, leaving only us by the stage.

"You, in the pit," the Vicomte addressed one of the gendarmes. "Do you have a clear view of that box?"

His outstretched arm indicated Box Five.

"Yes, Sir."

"Remember, when the time comes, shoot. Only if you have to – but shoot. To kill."

I gasped slightly, at once relieved that I had warned Erik; and that he wouldn't be in Box Five tonight.

"How will I know, Sir?"

"You'll know."

"Monsieur le Vicomte," Firmin suddenly spoke up. "Are you confident this will work? Will Miss Daaé sing?"

"She will sing," I said loudly and three pairs of eyes turned on me. "If not for him," I gave a curt nod to the Vicomte, "Then for her angel."

My eyes and the Vicomte's met and I smirked lightly at him.

"Don't worry, Firmin," he said, turning his back on me. "André?"

"We're in your hands, Monsieur."

"My men are now in position, Sir."

The Vicomte nodded. "Go ahead, then."

"Are the doors secure?"

The sound of several doors slamming shut echoed around the house.

"Secure!"

"Secure!"

"I'm here...
The phantom of the opera..."

I froze, as did the four men on stage as we all tried to find where that voice came from. Just then, it echoed again, seemingly from the opposite direction.

"I'm here...
The phantom of the opera..."

And again, from nowhere. "I'm here – I'm here – I'm here!"

I flinched violently at the loud shot that was suddenly fired and whirled around to see the man in the pit, looking warily up to Box Five.

Furiously, the Vicomte rounded on the man. "Idiot! You'll kill someone. I said: only when the time comes."

"But, Monsieur le Vicomte-"

"No buts!"

Again, Erik's voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"For once, Monsieur le Vicomte is right...

Seal my fate tonight-
I hate to have to
Cut the fun short,
But the joke's wearing thin!
Let my opera begin!"

The Vicomte pulled a face, but waved to me to follow him. "Come on," he said. "Let's go backstage."

Sighing, I got up, still wondering if I would ever find out how Erik did it. That was trick I would sure want to learn; it was magnificent. I quickly caught up to the Vicomte.

"Do you really think you can shoot him dead?"

"He's a man. So he can die."

"But Monsieur," I set, putting a hand over my heart. "He's the phantom."

"See, I have understood that you are on his side."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," I said good-naturedly. "I'm just definitely not on your side."

He glared at me. "I'm only trying to protect Christine."

"Very laudable, Monsieur. I don't think you will succeed."

The Vicomte huffed and held open a door for me. As I slipped through, I smirked at him again.

Erik's opera opened to be sung and acted nearly perfectly. I still heard a few notes that were out of place – Signor Piangi was still a little unsure about the 'tangle' – but the chorus was sublime.

"Here the sire may serve the darn,
Here the master takes his meat!
Here the sacrificial lamb
utters one despairing bleat!

Poor young maiden!
For the thrill on the tongue of stolen sweets
you'll have to pay the bill,
tangled in the winding sheets!

Serve the meal and serve the maid!
Serve the master so that, when
tables, plans and maids are laid,
Don Juan triumphs once again!"

Carlotta playfully shushed the other actors. They all left the stage, only to cause a large, but luckily silent tumult back stage while Don Juan and Passarino strut on stage.

"Passarino, faithful friend!
Once again, recite the plan!"

"Your young guest believes I'm you,
I, the master – you, the man!"

"When you met you wore my cloak,
She could not have seen your face!
She believes she dines with me,
In her master's borrowed place..."

Now, at least, Piangi mastered his part. Had Don Juan's plan not been so foul, it would have been very enjoyable to watch them make their ranks.

"Poor thing hasn't got a chance!"

Passarino finally concluded as Don Juan pulled the deep black cloak over his face. Then, he turned to Passarino and disposed his trademark clothing in the man's arms.

"Here's my hat, my sword and cloak,
Conquest is assured!
If I do not forget myself and laugh –
Hahaha!

I flinched a little at this forced laugh, but I could very well live with this small imperfection. If only the Point of No Return was perfect.

Christine passed me on her way up stage and smiled warily at me. I nodded to her, trying an encouraging smile.

"No thoughts within her head,
But thoughts of joy!
No dreams within her heart,
But dreams of love!"

It was the way he moved that struck me first. I narrowed my eyes at the cloaked figure that was about to enter the stage. It couldn't be Piangi. He wasn't round.

I moved quicker than I thought I could and blocked his path.

"I won't let you go on there."

"You won't let your lead go on the stage?"

"Don't play with me, Erik. I can easily tell you from Piangi; I wonder who couldn't."

"Well," he said slowly. "That's a pity. I shall be off..."

"What did you do to him?" I asked, again hurrying to stand in his way.

"He's dead," he answered calmly and I closed my eyes as I tried to take it in.

"You can't just go around murdering people!"

"Get out of my way, girl."

"No," I said.

"No?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because who knows what you'll do to poor Christine! You obviously can't be trusted."

"If I don't go out there," he said lowly. "The whole performance goes to waste. No perfection... we both wanted Don Juan Triumphant to be perfect..."

"Maybe you shouldn't have murdered the lead, then," I bit back, tears welling up. He was right, of course. Erik was always right.

"You'll let it be ruined? Our opera?"

He was manipulating me, it was quite obvious; it was his opera and his alone and under different circumstances he would have never said such a thing. But it worked all the same. I wanted this to be perfect. No one would be able to do the part better than Erik.

"If you mess up the choreography," I warned. "I will have your head."

So, we're in the middle of the phantom's opera now... the beginning of the end, in a way. Four or so more chapters to come... review, pretty please :)