Chapter 21

Roxanne

"Honey, I am home." A voice announced as I entered the room. A bolt of electricity ran through my body, and so, closing the door quickly, I locked it so no one would disturb us. A soft click reassured me of its security. I felt almost jittery that I didn't want to turn around. I couldn't understand why I felt so relieved to hear that phrase ring off the walls of the office room. A soft feather of a kiss landed on my cheek, barely before I turned around to face the room. It was just a quick kiss but its feeling lingered. Heat, hot as a flame on a match, rushed to my cheeks and ears turning them the same color red as an apple. I don't know if it was because I felt shy or I was caught off guard that was why I was blushing so much. A mischievous smile had taken residence on my husband's face as though he were a boy who had just walked behind me and tapped me on the other shoulder, making me look. His smug look infected me and a soon a smile swept across my face.

For a moment, just for one moment, I closed my eyes and I could have sworn that I was home again. An image passed through my mind like a scene from a movie; I am holding a paint brush with an easel in front of me, newspaper laying across the floor, while Alexander played with Ange on the floor with her finger painting. Then Erik came behind me, kissing on the cheek and announced as he came home from a concert. I saw myself turning around, accidentally hitting him on the cheek with my paint brush and painting a thick blue line on his face. A laugh erupted from me as I looked at Erik's surprised reaction. He grabbed my paint brush from my hand and gave me an identical mark on my nose, laughing at his handiwork. The war was on. Alexander cheered us on. Ange clapped as she giggled in delight. Then I grabbed my other paint brush that was laying down waiting for me and dipped it in my orange paint before I swiped it over his brow. Both of us started to paint each other. Behind Erik, I saw Alexander creep up behind him, his hands covered in purple finger paint, but Erik sensed him before Alexander could even lay a hand on him and Erik grabbed him. He cried out for mercy but Erik lifted him up and started to cover him in sky blue. I picked up Ange. She placed her greenish brown fingers on my face. I rubbed my cheek on her face and she squealed. All four of us were now involved and paint was splattered all over the floor and our clothes. After a while of the paint war, all of us were sent into a fit of laughs. How I missed my baby, my happy son, my wonderful husband, my amazing life.

I felt tears start to pierce my eyes.

Humans watch the world go by, longing for adventure and excitement and romance and we want it so badly that we don't even see that the things that make life adventuress, exciting, fantastic, just start slipping through our fingers like grains of sand. Then, all at once, they disappear. The happy times we didn't appreciate are gone. They become whispers of the distant past, only appearing when we are at our low. And when the times that we had overlooked and pursued for a "better" life are gone, that is when we mourn for the loss of those times. We mourn because we knew we never lived in those moments. We only longed for another life that, we thought was better. It is as natural to us as breathing is. As humans, that is one of our curses.

I was caught up in that curse like any normal human and now, I was paying the price for looking for a better future.

When I was younger, I wanted to grow up so fast that I hardly even noticed as my childhood walked away from me. At the time at the Opera house, I had still only desired to return home and didn't marvel at the adventure I had. After Erik and I were reunited, all I could see was what was going to happen ten, twenty years from now. Even when Alexander and Ange were born, I still did not stay in the moment. Alexander had soon grown too big for me to carry any more and Ange had become more independent by the day. I was so focused to become the best painter and mother and wife that those precious times came and went and I barely even noticed them. I wanted to relive those moments, even the ones that left scars, just for a little while but I was paying the price for not living them when I should have. Now, it was only the tormented memories that had never been truly appreciated that lingered in my head as if they were on the movie screens on repeat. These memories were a curse but they were also a blessing. I found comfort in them when I felt distraught and often ventured to them.

I guess that is the other curse of humans; we either live in the future or in the past. Neither one is particularly healthy.

When I opened my eyes, Erik's soft eyes gazed into mine. Though the image faded, I felt the same feeling of warmth and security that I had felt not too long ago. I never wanted this moment to end.

Marco coughed, to try and remind us that there were two other people in the room.

I glanced at Meg and Marco to find their astonished faces, with wide eyes and mouths hanging open, gawking at Erik. In their eyes showed how baffled they were by Erik's sudden act of boldness. To them it was out of character. They have never seen this side of Erik that was open and relaxed in his own skin, or at least with others. For a moment Marco and Meg saw a glimpse of the man Erik used to be when he was no longer the Phantom but when he was only a husband, a father, an ordinary man.

"Um… Erik." I muttered, nodding over to Meg and Marco. I bowed my head, fiercely embarrassed as all eyes were on me.

An impish gleam sparked behind his black mask. "Until later then me amour, when we do not have an audience."

I nodded.

With a quick smirk, Erik turned back to the others and in less than a split second his demeanor changed. A smokescreen went up again. He, essentially, was putting up his defense mechanism, which was an emotional mask that hid his true emotions behind a stoic face, to shield himself from damage. So that he could hide his face so that the world could never find. I had almost forgotten that this used to be part of his normal behavior; I was so used to the open and lively Erik that this Erik had almost disappeared.

It looked like he was about to say something until he looked at Meg, who still was sitting down with her arms wrapped around her.

"Are you feeling well, Meg?" Erik inquired with a softened expression. "You appear to be pale. I was worried about how you might be feeling after having to listen to that ordeal."

Her face back up with color and her eyes had their shine again as she smiled at Erik's attention. "Yes, I am alright. Just a bit off, I guess. The past caught up with me for a second there but I am fine now, though."

Not entirely convinced with her response, Erik watched her, analyzing her to see if he could find any indication to say that she was lying, that she was not alright at all. He finally gave up when he saw that Meg was starting to recover. "It seems that we survived that inconvenience."

"I did not appreciate that inconvenience flirting with Meg." Marco grumbled.

Meg shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. "I thought he was charming."

"Ha! He was as charming as a bag full of snakes." Marco spat in disgust.

"Marco!" Meg gasped. "How could you say that?"

"He was just like all the arrogant bastards that you used to complain in your letters. How could you think that he was charming?"

"At least he paid attention to me." Meg snapped back with anger flaring in her eyes.

I could just hear shots being fired between the two as they glared at one another.

Leaning forward, Marco towered over the girl, almost dwarfing her. "He was just a fop that is just flirting with anything that breathes. He is not good enough for you."

However, that didn't deter her from deepening her scowl that was set on Marco. "And what gives you the right to decide what is good enough for me?!"

Now where have I heard this before? I laughed silently to myself as I looked to Erik to make a witty comment but when I did I noticed that he was not paying attention to Meg or Marco at all. Erik remained silent. Clearly, there was something on his mind that was bothering him. He was frustrated. He looked like he did when he was having trouble composing and the notes were not flowing together perfectly. Something was not right. "Erik, what's wrong?"

Marco stepped forward. "You need to show them."

A silent argument was being spoken between them as they stared at one another.

"What is going on?" Meg asked as her arms still, slightly, shook. She looked to Marco to Erik to Marco to see if she could pry the answer from their unspoken words but was unsuccessful.

Finally, Erik reached into the pocket of his dress vest and pulled out a silvery envelope with no return address, only the letters O.G.

The very air stilled as all the people in the room had their full attention.

"This was on my desk in my study." He stated. "No one but myself has access to that room."

We stared at it in fear and wonderment.

The question that was on everyone's lips was 'where did the note come from?' but no one dared to utter it for the other's didn't have the slightest idea that their neighbor had.

"Open it." I said.

Erik looked at me for a moment. Then he looked back down at the mysterious envelope.

Three pairs of eyes watched as Erik gently, opened it up as if it were so fragile that it would rip easily, pulling out a letter with matching paper with dark inked words that were printed on it.

With a deep breath, Erik began to read aloud: "By now you have most likely received my three… gifts. Each one is for the one of the people who knows your secret. We wouldn't want any harm to come to your friends. I can most likely guess that you will tell of this little letter to your associates so I would like you to give my regards them. And I see that you have composed lately. For yourUnrequited love, you sad hopeless romantic. You wanted her to sing at the concert last night—I am sorry to have had you cancel the performance after me little show. Now that we have finished with the formalities, it is time to get back to business. Who shall be next? The little boy the gutters of Paris. The adopted daughter that you raised on Coney Island. Maybe the boy whose eye that I nicked last night. Or should it be that boy's mother, that lovely songbird that you are so fond of. Hmm… which one, which one? It is so hard for me to choose. Each of their deaths would trouble you but which one that would match the despair that you have caused. Oh, we have never met before and I, personally, have no ill-intentions towards you, but my employer does. I actually admire your early handiwork and have tried to take inspiration from it. (I have to say though, you have gone a bit soft. Not your usual menacing self, lately.) This is, how one usually says, nothing personal. My employer wants you to suffer as much as they did. So, I have some troubling news," Erik paused, his hands trembling and his jaw went rigid as he ground his teeth in anger as he read, "Christine Daae's days are up."

I felt dizzy. The floor swept from under me but, reacting swiftly, Erik grabbed my arm to steady me, then led me to the loveseat to sit down.

"Are you alright?" He asked as he rubbed his hands along my upper arms to comfort me.

With a nod I chirped a noise of some sorts that translated into some sort of yes.

He handed the letter to Marco, to whom began to continue as Erik was reassuring me. "You are hiding an abundant of secrets, Mr. Y or should I address you as Monsieur Phantom or Red Death or would you prefer your official title as the Opera ghost. Are you still the little boy in the gypsy camp, Le Mort Vivant. Maybe, you still reminisce during the time when you were the Shah-in-Shah's gifted architect, who constructed an elaborate palace in Mazenderan, where I have heard you were able to design it with so many trap doors and secret rooms that not even the slightest whisper could be considered private. Or shall I regard you as the Shah's political assassin with deadly Punjab Lasso in hand or would you like to be called a Tonkin pirate or the architect of the Paris Opéra. A musician, inventor, assassin, pirate, architect: You just have so many aliases that I do not know what to call you. We have a lot in common, me and you. We both have our secrets and neither of us want our secrets out, especially ours as dark as ours. Your path is murky waters that even the dirtiest of pond frogs would avoid to swim in, and so much blood that taints the rivers running into the pond suffocating. Let's not feed more blood to these rivers shall we."

Along came a pause that left us holding our breaths.

"I still remain, Monsieur, your obedient admirer" Marco finished closing the letter.

At first no one spoke; we stood there numbly in a feeling of Deja vu.

"This is madness." Marco whispered to himself.

Staring at the letter, Meg shook her head. "Who leaves notes that threaten people?"

Marco and Meg turned their attention to Erik, who was too busy rereading the letter to even notice our laser beam stares that were burning into his skull. If I wasn't freaking out, over the fact that I was being targeted, I would laughing so hard that I would start snorting. However, I felt sick.

"What are we going to do?"

I didn't realize for a while that I had whispered it.

Erik put a hand on my cheek, caressing it softly. His warm eyes searched mine as he tried to comfort me. "Roxanne, I will not rest until you and Alexander are safe home and that man is dead; this I swear on my life. You do not have to be afraid anymore so forget these wide-eyed fears. You're safe, no one will find you. I'm here, nothing can harm you. He is nothing but a man."

"A man can still cause fear and destruction," Meg whispered to herself, "maybe even more than anything that cannot be seen."

"You are only a man and look what happened in Paris." Marco reminded as he examined the note over and over, but found nothing. He set the letter down and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"That was different."

"How is this any different from then?!" Marco shouted.

Erik stood up and face Marco with a stare full of anger. "This… man… feels no remorse for his victims; there is not a shred of sympathy that is coursing through his veins. In fact, he sounds like he enjoys torturing his victims before killing them. He enjoys the hunt. He is a cold-blooded killer that thirsts for blood and violence. He is about as sane as a mental patient."

"This coming from the masked man who terrorized an Opera house just to hear a girl sing!"

Erik looked like he was about to hit Marco. Before either one did something that they would regret later, Meg and I were in between the two men, pushing them away from each other. While Meg guided Marco away to the other side of the room to cool off, I pushed Erik to sit down where I had been.

"You both are acting like a bunch of two-year olds!" Meg glared at Marco, who bowed his head in shame. "Fighting each other will get us nowhere."

"While he lives, he will haunt us 'til we're dead." I trembled. "We can't escape from him and we never will."

"What can we do?"

No one was able to answer her question immediately.

A hush fell over the room.

We looked around the room, as if it would give us some sort of divine intervention.

Marco ruffled his hair to try to shake some ideas out, but, at last, he gave up and muttered. "We could set a trap."

"That's it!" Erik clapped his hands loudly causing the three of us to jump in surprise. He started to pace across the floor as he rubbed his hands giddily. The pacing turned into, almost, a skip. A strange spark glowed from behind the mask as the wheels and gears began to pick up the pace, moving rapidly while Erik smiled to himself. "That is what we are going to do. We are going to trap him."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Meg asked skeptically.

He was off in his own little world that Meg's question went unbeknownst.

"Brilliant." Erik kept repeating over to himself. "Do you not see? A masquerade."

She shook her head in disbelief of Erik's words. "A masquerade?"

"Just like the one in Paris." Erik stated in an as-a-matter-a-fact tone, like 'how could we not understand his line of thinking. With a sigh of frustration that his point wasn't clear enough, Erik tried to elucidate us more. "This man knows about my past: the Gypsies, the Shah, the Pirates, Paris, and about 'Christine'. He surely knows about the Masquerade in Paris where I was Red Death. It is as if he had read it in a book. He will see the Masquerade as the perfect time to strike; he won't pass this opportunity up. I know how he thinks. He is not just a killer but a skilled one at that. This is not just for fun for him. This is his job. He is a killer of higher, an assassin, if you will. He knows what he is doing and he knows not to attack unless he has a cover, whether it be the night or a mask." At mentioning that word, Erik repositioned his mask on his face. "A masked ball is the best place to set a trap for him because he will feel secure enough to come out in public to attack and then no one will ever know that he was the one. We are going to ask a shadow to come into the light so that we can catch him."

"Just one problem," Marco interjected. "How do we know he will even go?"

"We will set a bait that he can't refuse," Meg stated clearly.

Both Meg and Erik turned their attention towards me. At first, I didn't quite make the connection, but then the reality started to sink in. I was glad that I was still sitting down because if I wasn't I would have probably fainted. My heart beat fast against my ribcage, echoing throughout my whole body and a lump in my throat nearly prevented me from saying, "I'm the pretty lure."

I cast a glance to Erik to see what was on his mind, but he avoided my eyes as if he was ashamed of himself for thinking of putting my life at risk.

"No… absolutely not. I am completely against it. How could you have the audacity to even consider the possibility?" An alarmed Marco gawked at the three of us. Meg avoided his gaze, not wanting to see the shock and disappointment in Marco's eyes. His gaze lingered on me but he shot a pleading look to Erik. "You, out of anyone, should be against this. Is she going to risk her life, to win the chance to live? He kills without a thought, he murders all that's good and if we give him a margin of a free shot he will not hesitate to take it."

To try and stay calm, I stood up from my seat to walk around so that I could breathe and think. I didn't want to be there. With each exhale, I tried to push the fears and nerves out, and with every inhale I tried to muster some courage to face the demon. All it did was make me feel extremely light-headed. I was never really good at meditating and it was coming back to haunt me.

"Does she have any choice?" Meg asked. "If she doesn't then he will still come and get her. At least with this plan we will be on our own grounds."

"Plan? What plan? A masquerade and catching him is not a plan."

"We will figure it out later."

"We are asking her to stand and allow the man to attack her." He emphasized, throwing his hands up in frustration. "She will be a sitting duck."

Panic rushed into me, almost knocking me down. "I can't do it."

"Roxanne."

Erik took a step closer to me but I backed away defensively.

"I'm not Christine!" Tears welled in my eyes. "I'm not your heavenly angel that has an entrancing voice. I haven't sung in front of a crowd in, I don't know, how many years. I lost my voice. I'm not Christine who sings for a living. I'm Roxanne, the one who paints. You're asking me to sing again but I just can't. He will know that I'm not Christine, everyone will see that I am not Christine."

No one had a response, so I kept going, "What if this goes wrong? What if he actually does kill me? I don't want to die and I don't want to leave Alexander all alone. And who do you think he will go after next after he kills me? It will be Alexander or Meg or Marco. Then he will come after you."

"Roxanne, Roxanne," Erik wiped the tears from my cheek and gently touched my cheek lovingly. "Never think that I do not care. I swore to you that I will always protect you and Alexander and I am not going to break that vow now. You will be safe. While he lives he will haunt us till you are dead. We have to catch him. I am not going to stand by and watch as this man attacks the ones I cherish most in my life."

I was completely lost. Either way I was in danger, if I went through with this or not. I didn't want to be the scapegoat, who had to wait as the hungry wolf stalked it, yet I could not see any other possible outcome out of this. Looking down at my hands, I regretting my decision, I heard myself whisper, "So every hope and every prayer rests on me now, huh?"

"I will be beside you every step of the way." Erik reassured.

Meg was right. I didn't have a choice. I gave the three a nod.

"If you are going to go through with this, then I am going to have to be your body-guard again, won't I?" Marco gave a sorrowful smile.

I mirrored his smile and remarked, "At least you are tall enough now."

A tired laugh came from Marco but he still looked like he was hesitant to go through with it.

Erik clapped his hands together after he turned away from me to face the others in the room. "The hunt is on."

Disclaimer: I don't own any Lover Never Dies or Phantom. My OC's are all mine though.

Twisted every way,
what review can I give?
Am I to risk my sanity,
to read a new chapter today?
Can I betray the writer
by not reading the story that was posted?
Do I become its prey?
Do I have any choice?
The author kills without a thought,
murders all that's good . . .
I know I can't refuse
and yet, I wish I could . . .
Oh God - if I agree,
what horrors wait for me
in this, Love Never Dies Phanfic . . .?

Sorry that this chapter took so long, I've been busy with a lot of life stuff. I am far from this to be over. I still have a couple of turns that you didn't expect. I just hope that this doesn't seem too long.

I am also going back and reediting Ghost of the Opera because I have recently reread it and I couldn't help but face palm the amount of grammar mistakes. Oh, and I am sorry for grammar mistakes in this one as well but at least, I think, I'm getting better.

I want to thank Grapejuice101 for helping me with the transition (probably not the word I'm looking for but oh well) of the masquerade. I wanted the Masquerade soooooooo badly in this as well but I was trying to see how I would integrate (there's the word I'm looking for) it into my story. So now I have some where to go with this. yay! I hope you like it.

Oh and Halloween is just around the corner. So I want to know what costume your are going to wear. I'm trying to decide if I want to be Esmeralda from the Hunchback of Notre Dame or Zarina from Disney's Pirates fairies. Actually I need help thinking of a costume so any suggestions?

Ok that's all. BYE-BYE