Well, here it is! I can't be sure that everyone will love this chapter, but it had to be done. Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter; and for those of you who didn't, it really does help me to update faster when I know people are enjoying the story (hinthint). Lots of reviews for the last chapter! Made me very happy...thank you! I always like to know what you readers want more of, so I can include that in my story. Reviews also help to motivate me to improve my writing!

To my lovely reviewers:

Mianne: Of course Erik's the little hottie, haha! I remembered reading about that mask, and I thought "hey, wouldn't it be cool if…". Thanks for the review; you certainly read it quickly!
Dove of Night: Yes, for some reason that chapter turned out quite cheerful towards the end. "Erik's –twitchtackleclingGOAWAY- reaction"…wonderful way to put it; that made my day!
Pertie: Ah, how I wish that perfect world could be real for Erik and Christine. Of course Raoul has to come in and destroy everything, though. You're so sweet; thanks for the kind words. I'm doing much better now, and hoping to reflect some of that in my quality of writing! Thanks for the review!
Poisoned Allure: Thanks! Glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I really had fun with it toward the end, and this chapter was really fun to write too. Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Naomipoe: My best chapter ever? Wow, thanks! I did have to put in a cliffie…I've been keeping those out of my writing for a while. You're too sweet to me; I appreciate your concern, but I also know people have it much worse than I do, so please don't worry too much. I'm too contrary and stubborn to believe what my father tells me; it just bothers me because he verbally abuses my family, and I am fiercely loyal to my family. Things are changing already, though (sigh of relief) Once more, thank you for the kind words and thoughts, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
Twinkle22: Aww, thanks! I agree; I'd love to see and/or be in POTO every day (sighs happily). I tried to get this update up quicker than usual…hope you didn't suffer too much haha. Thanks for the review!
Clever Lass: I'm glad someone else is excited about the "any other man" mask! I wanted to include it so badly, and yet not make it one of those "And presto! Erik was handsome and Christine loved him forever and ever the end" things. They're still going to have their problems, and yes, mostly in the form of Raoul. "Mood killer" is an understatement, but he's an important part of the story. He keeps things happening, haha. Thanks for the compliments and the review!
Phantomann: Haha, is the cliffie getting to yah? I'm feeling pretty inspired, but you judge for yourself. I know, I was mean in not letting Christine tell her feelings…but my life's just all about bad timing (grin) so I figure I'd put a bit of that frustration in here. Thanks for the review!
PhantomPluter: Of COURSE I have an evil plan. Did you ever doubt me? (evil grin) Oh, I want to see the show again, too! It's so unfair that they already stopped showing it (sigh). Thanks for the review and the "pokepokepoke :)" to get me writing haha!
Mominator: Alas, I am a wicked author…of course it's Raoul (evil grin)! He always comes along to confuse Christine again once she's finally worked her emotions out. Thank you kindly for the compliments on my story; it's a joy to write, and even more so when I know people enjoy it. Thanks for the review!
Tex110: (rushes to write more) I certainly don't want to make you suffer…too much! Glad to know you're caught up in it all!
Faust: Wow, thanks! I'm overjoyed that you liked it. Did I get some of the intensity back in there? Haha, I can never really tell until I read my chapters again. I'm glad you got the mental visuals from the mirror scene; I could really see that one in my mind, myself. Thanks for the review!
Katiebabs: Better than Desperate Housewives? Don't let too many other people hear that; I'll get stoned to death haha! I'm thrilled that you're so into the storyline. Getting reviews like yours really make me want to write more! Thanks!
Operatic: Don't feel bad for laughing…I laughed myself when I read that part over again. Sometimes you just gotta break up the drama with a bit of a laugh! I'm glad someone else found humor in it; I've always thought Erik would have a bit of dry wit to him. Thanks for the review!
LastBreath: I know; I just love to make the readers suffer. Thanks for understanding, and thanks for the review!
I am there inside: Wow, thanks for the compliment! Glad to hear you're enjoying it…even the cliffhanger (in awe). Thanks for the review!
ElectricDragon: Oh, no, ramble on! It just serves to inflate my ego! (jk) In all seriousness, thank you very much for the compliments! Glad you liked it, and thanks for the review!
Carolinus the Opera Ghostess: Gotta love Eriky goodness. I will agree with you: he's attractive even with the deformity. You just can't compete with the Angel of Music/Opera Ghost! Thanks for the review!
Andra: Goodness, you're making me blush! Gotta agree with you: Raoul ruins everything having to do with Erik and Christine (sigh). Hmm, I don't recall the page where it mentions the mask, but I do know that it's in the Persian's story…perhaps when he and Raoul are trapped in the torture chamber? Ah well, it's there somewhere lol. Thanks for the kind words and the review!
All That Remains: (echoing laughter of EVIL) BECAUSE I CAN! BWAH HAHA! Ahem. Sorry.
Kagome1514: Glad you liked it! Hmm, I don't exactly know where Christine can go where she can't be recognized…perhaps the dark depths of the Congo? But the important thing is that she's "dead"…and not many people are quick to admit they can see the dead. Unless you count that kid on the Sixth Sense. I'M FINALLY CAUGHT UP ON LOM! (happy sigh) Thanks for the review!
TheatreAngel: (offers you a tissue) Aww, please don't cry…ten to one you'll hate me for what I do in this chapter anyways haha. Thank you very much for the compliment, though!
Cookies-will-invade: Thanks! I'm glad you found a way out of that situation, even if you didn't move that far. My dad only moved a few minutes away…he's living with my aunt. God bless her lol. Thanks for the kind words and the review!
TheAngelCried: Yay! I'm still so excited that you finally got registered! (It's odd speaking like this…almost like talking about pedigree dogs or something) Ahem, anyways! I understand what you meant; yes, not knowing Erik had a mask like that did lead Christine to believe it was some manner of miracle. Poor, naïve little churchgoing Christine lol. Yes, your comment on modern wording makes sense…I'm just hopeless haha. Chalk it up to not having the makings of a real author, which is why I'm content to idle away the hours with my little story. But hey, it could be worse. Christine: "Oh my gawd, Erik! Your face is, like, totally hott now!" Erik: "Word."……I think I just made myself cry. Thanks for the review!
UndermyAngelofMusic'swing: Why thank you! I rather enjoyed writing the frightened Erik. How disturbing would that be for a man who had always been scorned, spat upon, and called a monster? Luckily he had enough composure to not run screaming lol. My evil plans are wonderful in my mind, but you'll have to see if you like it or not…Thank you for your patience with me, and thanks for the review! OH! Yes, the production! The Phantom was Gary Mauer, Christine was Marie Danvers, and Raoul was Michael Shawn Lewis. There were, of course, more people, but hey, those are the only ones that matter (jk).
Final-Threshold: Yes. Erik does have uncontrollable emoticons. He is, in fact, emoticon bipolar. :-D… :-(… :-)…. :-D…:-( Sorry, couldn't help myself lol. You have truly made my night! Thanks for the review and the laugh!
Ladystrider77: Hey now, wrenches happen to be my favorite tool besides screwdrivers, which are convenient to both fix my rickety desk and stab people in the eye. You should know things can never be that splendid for Erik and Christine. The conflict makes the sweet moments all the more tender (evil grin) That and I just like to make things difficult. Thanks for the kind words and the review!
Phantomgirl4life: Thanks! (grin) I always love to get encouraging reviews…I hope you'll continue to read and review my story as long as you don't hate me forever for what I do in this chapter…(nervous laughter)
Lauren: Aww, why would I reply to everyone else's review and then not comment on yours? I appreciate each and every review I receive; you really have no idea how much it motivates me to write my best. I figure if you take the time to review, I can take the time to respond to it. I'm glad you're enjoying the story thus far, and I hope you aren't disappointed with the things to come. Thanks for the review!
TwistedeverywayforErik: (points) Erik told me to! Really though, I just missed the fun of cliffies. I used to employ them a lot in the earlier chapters. I know, I'm mean like that. Glad you liked the chapter, though! Thanks for the review!
Kainaku Hotaru: (gasps) How did you know I wanted muffins! I kid you not, I was just craving one when I read your review haha! Wow, I'm elated that you like my little tale…and that your friend recommended it is also flattering. Thank you very much for taking the time to read and review; I really appreciate hearing that you enjoy it!
PhantomsHeart: Go seniors! At least my mom hasn't hit the Nazi stage…but it's too early in the game to assign roles as of yet lol. Best of luck on getting out of the house; I really look forward to it as well (sigh). And GO SEXY ERIK….yes, you guessed the Raoul thing; who else would it be? He just has to ruin everything, and poor Erik has a bad time in this chapter as well…Thanks for the review!

Chapter Twenty-One: Return of the Rosy Hours

Anger coursed through his veins, making Erik feel lightheaded and almost dizzy. The roar of blood rushing in his ears drowned out anything but the insistent thudding of his heart. Long fingers itching, he reached for the Punjab lasso that regularly resided around his waist beneath his cloak. Its comforting weight was absent; considering cloaks were taken at the doors of the Opera, he had neglected to wear one, thus eliminating the hiding place for the deadly coil of rope. Mentally he cursed himself a thousand-fold for his error.

Never before had he found himself so greatly yearning for the cold-blooded murder of a single man.

It did not matter in the least that he was surrounded by scores of opera patrons – women among them. It did not matter that he was weaponless. It did not matter that the result of his actions would likely lead to his capture and execution.

Raoul de Chagny had to die.

The insipid man had the audacity to show his feminine face before Parisian society once more. He did not have the decency to stay properly insane, muttering nonsense in the shadows – his appropriate station in life. In fact, he did not look even slightly unhinged. Dimly Erik wondered how much it would take to plunge the man into insanity; he had experienced an encounter with a ghost and then been informed of his fiancée's "death". Spectral meetings aside, the loss of Christine would be enough to send any rational man over the edge.

And then he saw her. A charming, smiling blonde on the damned vicomte's arm, wearing an immodestly low cut dress; she laughed at some joke of his and leaned intimately onto his shoulder.

Erik's blood boiled and the hair on the back of his neck rose as he growled deep in his chest.

WHAT! How DARE he…that unfaithful BASTARD! How long did it take him to move on after Christine's death? An hour? Maybe two? He will make no such mistake again; he will NOT dishonor Christine's memory by running off with a common whore!

And, like the vengeful angel that he was, Erik found himself swooping down upon the unsuspecting pair near him, who remained blissfully unaware of their impending doom as they laughed and flirted with each other.

A portly man dressed in a suit that was apparently two sizes too small walked in Erik's path. Erik shouldered him aside roughly as if he was not there, sending the man reeling and his spectacles clattering to the floor.

"Well, of all the nerve!" the man bellowed, but to no avail. Erik neither stopped to retrieve the man's glasses nor to apologize. He was bent on fulfilling his purpose, and no mortal obstruction would keep him from it.

Only God, if He could be bothered to concern himself with the fate of His creations, could save Raoul de Chagny now.

XXXXXXX

What rotten timing! Is God against me telling Erik my feelings?

Christine chewed solemnly on a fingernail, walking back to her dressing room and desperately trying to refrain from rushing back to Erik's side. Her heart thundered, protesting the excitement it had just experienced only to be followed by such a disappointment.

She needed to tell him…it was important.

Christine had finally come to the conclusion that she did in fact hold Erik in a special place in her heart; she had been afraid to admit it before she knew he felt for her in the same manner, but Christine knew she could wait no longer. Erik was a stubborn man, used to concealing his deepest and most passionate emotions as easily as he hid his face.

Erik had learned the need for such secrecy through experience. He had been careless enough – no, trusting enough – to profess his love for her once before. How had she repaid him? By scorning him and rushing off into the arms of her childhood love.

Then, she had been frightened by the immense passion and whirlwind of emotions that was Erik. His devotion had startled the young girl, who had never before encountered such a fierce love. Her fear only served to lead her into the arms of Raoul – a man who offered her a calmer, tamer affection with no threat to her Christian upbringing. Raoul had offered Christine a way to forget the way in which Erik could so unknowingly entrance and captivate her, both body and soul. Unlike Raoul, Erik had posed quite a threat; the feelings she had felt blossoming for him were in no way those of a good Christian…

Erik had been wounded once, and he would not be so careless again. If revealing his emotions unbidden only led to pain, Christine was certain he would never again utter a word of love without her consent.

And consent would be given. Although he had deceived her and spirited her off to his sanctuary from the cruelties of the world, Christine could tell he had no other option in his mind. Raised largely by himself, he had never learned to restrain himself from what he desired for long. The anger she had at first kindled for Erik's brash actions was slowly eased by his subtle kindnesses; Erik, the man who had once instilled fear in her very soul, was now the balm that soothed her heartache. She found herself increasingly making excuses to simply be in the same room that he occupied, just to be near him.

Of course, Christine was rather certain Erik knew nothing of this. Myriad emotions waged war in her weary mind; love, pride, modesty, fear – all fought to seize control of her actions.

But now, when his face had mirrored the beauty within, when he had been thoughtful and kind enough to offer her the world she once knew, Christine longed to be open with him. She was not created to hide her emotions like Erik. Besides, what harm could come of it? He cared for her much more than Raoul, her previous love, who had forsaken and abandoned her.

Erik would continue to care for her, and in return, she could care for him. Modesty aside, she had already seen the change she had worked in him. He slept more regularly, fading the dark circles that seemed to have taken permanent residence about his eyes. He ate and drank more, although she still had to hound him to do so, but even that nourishment helped to flesh out his frame, returning the lean muscles to his body. After she had seen to his immediate needs, she could then attempt to heal the deep emotional wounds he quietly nursed every day of his life.

It would be a difficult challenge, but one she was more than willing to undertake for her Angel of Music…who was currently ensnared in some happening that clearly angered or frightened him enough for him to send her away.

Finding herself facing her reflection in the mirror that would lead her back to his lair, Christine gazed at herself for a moment. The determination that was etched on her pretty face, the stubborn set of her full lips, and the purpose in her shining brown eyes confronted her cowardly actions.

Why am I running? If Erik loves me, as he has said in the past, then he must understand that I worry for him…

Emboldened by her need to tell Erik of her feelings for him while she still had the nerve and urged forward by her curiosity, Christine's feet found their way away from the mirror and back towards the entrance hall, drawn by an invisible force to Erik's side.

It was mere moments before she once more found herself pushing through the throng of patrons, murmuring polite words to excuse her jostling and bumping of the ladies and gentlemen. The chattering and music bombarded her ears and the people in the room shifted and moved around her, making it difficult to keep her bearings.

Finally Christine stumbled out into a clearing in the crowd. She took a few deep breaths; having always been the slightest bit claustrophobic, Christine was more than relieved to be able to have room to breathe the lightly scented air. Her eyes sought the corner where she had last seen Erik. She found his tall, lean frame easily amongst the moving crowd, but he was walking away. Chocolate eyes following his path, Christine saw it. Her heart stopped momentarily, and then beat a hundred times faster to make up for it.

Golden hair shining in the lamplight, grinning handsomely, and blue eyes twinkling merrily, Raoul de Chagny stood brightly amongst the other men in the room, making them pale in comparison with his cheerfulness. Well could Christine recall the sound of his laughter, and the way his smile had once lit a fire in her heart.

Once.

Suddenly, slender fingers snaked into his strong hands. A girl – a young woman – who could not have been much older than Christine herself peeked coyly up at Raoul, her blonde curls bouncing prettily as she threw her head back and laughed along with Christine's fiancé.

Or rather, her ex-fiancé.

A sour feeling settled in Christine's stomach…jealousy mixed with anger, perhaps? She did not know, but she did not relish it. The corners of her lips turned down as she moved forward once more unconsciously.

And then it happened. Raoul's arms twined around the girl's waist, and slowly but surely their lips met.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as they held the kiss. Christine's stomach felt as if a bucket of ice had been tossed in it. The stinging heat of tears rose in Christine's eyes as her hand numbly came to her parted lips. A kiss. Something denied to me, but given to this woman. Oh, Raoul…

The cry of sorrow that was sobbed from her slender frame seemed to send time in a jumpstart forward. Things happened quickly, like flashes of lightning across the sky. Tears flowed heavily from eyes that she could not remove from the heart wrenching sight. Erik stopped in his tracks, spinning on his heel to face Christine with a look of surprised horror on his face. Raoul and the girl parted; the vicomte's eyes met Christine's and he called out to her, eyes wide and eyebrows arching upwards.

"Christine?"

The word set her body into motion, sending her legs running as fast as they could towards the only place of refuge she knew in the Paris Opera House: her dressing room. Patrons either moved swiftly from her path or were knocked about as the distraught young woman collided with them, stumbled, and continued to flee. Christine could hear the pounding of rapid footsteps behind her as someone gave pursuit. She did not wish to discover to whom the footsteps belonged.

Sobs tore at her throat, making breathing difficult. Tears blurred her vision; she blinked them away angrily. How COULD he?

Christine tripped on the hem of her skirts, plunging to the floor, her fall accompanied by the sound of ripping fabric. A gash almost as long as her calf traveled up the side of the dress, but she didn't care. She lurched to her feet once more, wincing at her skinned knee and what she believed might be a twisted ankle. The pain was promptly ignored, however, in light of the swiftly approaching footsteps that pounded after her. She ran once more, careful to lift her skirts so they would not make her stumble again.

Her lungs burned; crying and running at the same time took more air than she had thought, and much more than her labored breathing could supply her with. An odd feeling of foggy lightheadedness settled over her, but she did not stop until she reached the familiar scenery of her vacated room, and only then to press the hidden release that would turn the mirror.

Am I still followed? She could no longer discern the difference between the sound of her pursuer and the pounding of her own heart in her ears. She did not wait to find out.

The moment the mirror opened wide enough for her to slip through, Christine did so, plunging herself into the cool darkness of the tunnel. The gloom hid her tears and offered some feeling of comfort, but it proved to hinder her passage as well. She never had liked the dark, but she stumbled on, determined to put as much distance between herself and the horrid occurrence she had just witnessed.

Strong hands closed about her shoulders, turning her to face a shadowy silhouette in the darkness. Christine cried out and fought back, trying to pull away. Her back hit the cold brick of the wall. She tried to bolt forward and twist from her captor's grip, but the hands firmly and tenaciously pressed her against the wall, cutting off any means of escape.

Christine yelled out anything, from curses to half-coherent words of pain and sorrow. A masculine voice rose over her exclamations, but she paid it no heed. She did not need a lecture, she did not need to be confined. Christine longed to be set free, to return to the depths of the earth and nurse the gaping wound that her onetime love had ripped in her bleeding heart.

"No, NO! Let me go! Just let me be!" Christine wailed, completely overcome with grief and rage.

But the strong hands did not relinquish their grip. Utterly frustrated and at her wits end, Christine lashed out, pummeling the unyielding body before her.

"I loved him," she sobbed, "I LOVED HIM!"

Suddenly Christine found herself roughly pulled into a tight embrace. After attempting to squirm from her pursuer's arms in her of fury and anguish, Christine finally gave up. She collapsed into the man's chest, clutched his shirt in her fist, and cried.

Her frantic gasps for breath brought her the scent of the night air, of soap, of spices…

Of Erik.

Realizing whose arms she was in, Christine sobbed even harder.

"E-Erik," she managed to choke out. "Why..wh-why..?"

"Shh," his deep voice calmed; Christine could feel each sound resonating in his chest. "It's all right. Oh, Christine… Don't cry…"

He continued to murmur comforting words in her ear, stroking her curled hair reverently. When her violent sobs finally weakened and she was reduced to only the odd sniffle and shuddering gasp, Erik pulled away slightly. The small bit of light that managed to penetrate the tunnel from the room without allowed Christine to see one side of Erik's face and his glowing golden eyes. From what she could see, his visage was etched with concern.

A stray tear trickled down her flushed cheek, burning a swift trail down to her chin.

"…My heart hurts."

Christine new it was vague, knew it was an odd statement, but she also knew Erik would understand. With a grim and shaky attempt at a smile, Erik cupped her cheeks in his palms and brushed her tears away gently with his thumbs.

"I know, Christine…. I know."

The compassion in his whispered words was touching, but did not entirely mask the bitter notes of his own pain. He trembled with restrained emotion. Somehow, Christine believed he longed to cry as well, and for the same reason: she had loved Raoul.

Instead, he slid a finger under her chin and used it to gently draw her closer to him. Erik brought his lips mere inches from hers, looking into her eyes almost timidly, as if asking for permission.

She did not protest; she had no words and no breath with which to say them. All she could do was silently pray her heart would not beat out of her poor chest.

His lips met hers tenderly, brushing them like the wings of a butterfly. Christine's eyelids fluttered shut, and her fingers slowly released the fabric of Erik's shirt and moved to rest lightly on his left cheek. She gasped a bit as he suddenly deepened the kiss, wrapping and arm about her waist and moving himself closer to her, pressing her gently against the wall…which was fortunate, because Christine rather doubted she would have been able to stand on her own. Her heart thundered in her chest; apparently Erik felt it and mistook it for fear; he broke the kiss and attempted to move away with a muttered half-apology, but found his movement arrested. Christine had once again twined her fingers in the fabric of his shirt.

With trembling fingers, Erik gently loosened Christine's small hands from his shirt, taking them in his own. His breathing hastened; his chest rose and fell noticeably as he took deeper breaths to calm himself, eyebrows drawn together and reflecting his inner turmoil.

"Christine," Erik breathed, speaking her name so reverently that it sent a shiver through her body. "I know you loved him…but…I need you to know…"

A strange voice rent the relative silence, booming along the dark passage and sending Christine's heart leaping into her throat.

"Release the girl, Erik."

XXXXXXX

Erik spun around, releasing Christine's hands as if burned. His keen eyes narrowed as he allowed them to adjust to the light that poured through the open mirror, casting a long black shadow down the hall toward the two. Although he desperately tried to discern the shape in the blinding light, the racing of his heart and the way his blood burned in his veins was testament enough to who the person before them was.

Erik crouched reflexively, like a cornered animal, and reached for the Punjab lasso that was not around his waist. Christine grasped the sleeve of his coat in her cold fingers and moved forward hesitantly.

"Erik…who is it?" She whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

His answer was to throw out a strong arm and halt Christine's movement. Moving himself firmly between the inquisitive young woman and the shadowy figure in the light, Erik gave up his desperate search for a weapon to defend himself.

I may be unarmed, but I'm not defenseless.

But although Erik was crouched, muscles taught like springs, prepared to defend against an attack, none came. It seemed the person was content with simply standing and watching them. He knows I am not armed, otherwise he would not have announced his presence in such a cavalier manner. What restrains him now? Surely he is not afraid?

Apparently the first move would be left to Erik. Drawing himself to his full and formidable height, Erik's voice echoed down the narrow passage, hushed but frigid enough to make Christine shiver and take a step back.

"You dare to confront me, daroga?"

The word dripped with sarcasm, as if Erik equated the title with the word "cur". A seething anger filled Erik's veins, making his eyes flash dangerously in the light.

"Erik…let the girl go. She is not yours to have," the Persian demanded, almost pleadingly. The way in which he talked reminded Erik pointedly of the way in which one spoke to a small child, or to the mentally ill. Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, was neither, and it only served to fan the flames raging within him higher.

"Do not presume to tell me what is mine!" Erik's projected voice thundered throughout the passage, echoing back in a ghostly response of "mine, mine, mine."

He had begun to tremble with barely restrained anger, his fists clenching and unclenching as his mind raced. I told him, I warned him…if he meddles in my affairs once more…I cannot be responsible for my actions…

Why must he always seek to crush my carefully-crafted dreams of happiness?

Speaking clearly, so there could be no chance of a misunderstanding, Erik stated, "Daroga…I will give you one last warning: leave now. Never dabble your curious fingers in my affairs again."

Erik allowed his command to sink in before adding in a venomous whisper, "I will be more than delighted to sing your requiem mass."

He could hear the frightened gasp of Christine, who he could still sense behind him, her rapid breathing audible in the following silence.

The Persian waited, and his shadow seemed to shiver and shudder, appearing to be two shadows before returning to one. Erik dimly wondered what illusion this was before the daroga responded to Erik's threat with equal conviction.

"I cannot allow this to go on. You are living on borrowed happiness. Christine Daae's love is not yours to have, Erik, and I cannot allow you to steal it from Raoul de Chagny. I do not wish it, but if it is fate…I will kill you."

"You have made your choice."

The mirror spun violently around, shutting off the source of light as Erik pressed the hidden release in the passage wall. Everyone was plunged into a suffocating darkness, and Christine cried out.

"Christine," Erik commanded, his voice steely and offering no space for disobedience, "Go back to the house. I will meet you there shortly." The sneer that etched his lips was unseen in the gloom, but audible in his words.

The swift pattering footsteps that followed confirmed Christine's acquiescence.

The rush of air past Erik's shoulder and the click of boots pounding after Christine were entirely unexpected. Erik did not even have time to spin on his heel or cry out.

The shadowy illusion Erik had lately witnessed had been no illusion at all, and when the knowledge dawned upon him, a snarl of pure fury ripped forth from deep within his chest. He made to follow, but was slammed roughly into the brick wall, stumbling to the floor with a hiss of pain.

As he collected himself and leaped to his feet, a small light appeared, illuminating both his face and the visage of the Persian. Nadir stood before him, lantern in hand, and an insufferably calm look on his swarthy face. His jade green eyes were hard, almost crystalline, as they fixed Erik with their penetrating gaze.

"It is his right to have her, Erik. Raoul de Chagny has her love; he is her fiancé."

At first Erik fought the urge to sidestep the Persian and hunt the boy down, dispatching the vicomte once and for all, but he was reluctant to leave any business unfinished.

He did not have to struggle for long, for the solution hit him. Erik's golden eyes narrowed as a predatory grin spread across his face.

Somehow Nadir retained his cool demeanor, but that did not entirely surprise Erik. The Persian had looked death in the face enough during the Rosy Hours to not tremble in fear before it.

"You forget, daroga. You are in my playground now. Even if your damned vicomte finds Christine, he still has to find his way out…and I guarantee you, the only way he will discover is the way he came..."

Spreading his hands out dramatically to his sides and throwing his head back with a chilling laugh, the corners of Erik's lips curled upwards.

"Right into my waiting arms."

"No, Erik," the ghost of a smile played upon the lips of the swarthy man, and his green eyes glinted before he cast the lantern aside. It clattered and skidded on the floor, the flame sputtering as it died. With nothing left to hold the darkness at bay, the shadows closed in once more.

"I did not neglect to take that into account," came Nadir's self-assured and bodiless voice.

A familiar metallic noise rang in the gloom, making Erik's heart clench momentarily. The sound of unsheathed steel…

Erik could not completely suppress images of the daroga's curved knife in action, flashing in the blood-red sun during the Rosy Hours…

But, then again, Erik himself had been death incarnate in the hours of Mazenderan. Perhaps it was time to once more instill fear in the overconfident Persian.

"Dueling an unarmed man, daroga? How noble; how honorable," Erik quipped dryly, trying to incite a response.

"There is no room for nobility and honor in a battle of life and death. You should know this--"

It only took Erik's trained ears a moment to locate the source of the daroga's voice, and only a second more to silently spring toward his foe, seeking to knock him to the ground, where he could easily dispatch him.

Somehow, at the last possible second, the Persian side-stepped Erik; the curved blade of his dagger sang viciously through the air. Erik managed to twist sufficiently to only catch the steel on his right arm.

He landed in a hushed crouch, moving quickly and noiselessly to another location so he would not be subject to further attack. The long gash burned, but was shallow enough to be nothing more than an annoyance.

Luck, Erik mused. There was no other explanation for the daroga's narrow evasion. Erik had been certain to use his prodigious abilities in stealth during his assault, and yet the man had somehow foreseen his actions. Glancing about, his golden eyes alighted on narrow cracks in the ceiling of the tunnel, allowing a small amount of light to diffuse a few inches downward from the upper floors. It was not enough, however, to discern anything in the gloom of the cellar. Yes, luck.

He will not experience such luck again.

Erik waited, his breathing shallow enough to remain unheard in the silence. Blood trickled warmly down his arm, but he ignored it. The daroga made no move and apparently schooled his breathing as well, for Erik could not pinpoint his location in the murky shadows. His muscles quivered in anticipation and adrenaline rushed through his system. He could not restrain a tight grin.

How long has it been since I've played such a game of cat and mouse? How I've missed the sport…

But waiting was undoubtedly his least favorite aspect of the game. Vaguely he wondered if the daroga could be led into revealing his position once more through pointed banter.

This, of course, would also reveal Erik's position. He chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes as he tried to discover a solution to their deadly checkmate.

Ah, of course…

"Frightened…" He spoke in the daroga's left ear.

"…are we?" came Erik's echoing voice in the right.

Nadir clucked his tongue disapprovingly, "I know your tricks, magician."

There! Erik closed the distance, sliding in to take out the daroga's legs. He heard the whooshing noise of steel cleaving air and tried desperately to change his direction of momentum, scrambling unceremoniously out of the way. He snarled and winced as the blade bit into his side.

Once more Erik backed away silently, heart pounding and a scowl upon his unseen face. He did not relish retreating.

The blood steadily soaking the fabric of his shirt, vest, and coat on his left side was more than a little distracting, but the pain only served to feed his anger.

How could he know!

He dropped to one knee, pressing his hand to his side. He could feel the blood absorb into his white glove and gritted his teeth to restrain a hiss of frustration and pain.

Think, Erik…think!

It was true that the daroga was familiar with his hand to hand fighting style; Nadir Khan was in fact the one who had taught Erik the fundamentals of weaponless fighting when he had first come to the Persian court. But Erik had learned much in his travels, and he could undoubtedly overcome the man even if he had to contend with the curved dagger.

He had stealth, cunning, and ventriloquism in his favor…so how could the daroga anticipate his movements and counter so swiftly?

Suddenly it struck Erik, and he cursed himself a thousand times over for not realizing it sooner. For although Erik had technique and a sharp mind on his side, he also had something else the Persian did not possess…

Luminous eyes.

Although it contradicted Erik's every instinct that informed him it would be fatal to restrict his vision further in a struggle for his life, he took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. His heart protested, racing to the point of making it difficult to breathe. Taking deep and calming breaths through his nose, Erik steadied his shaking limbs and called forth once more to the daroga, throwing his voice to another location in the cellar.

"You promised me once, daroga, that you would never meddle in my affairs again. And now, I promise you…this is going to end badly for you. Very badly."

The menace in his voice made the hair stand up on the back of his own neck, for his tone rumbled with electricity like the dark clouds that hail a thunderstorm.

"If I may be so bold as to quote you, Erik, 'oaths are made for catching fools'."

Eyes tightly closed, Erik closed the distance between himself and the daroga, hoping against hope that it would not be his last hasty move. Deciding against anything fancy and time-consuming, Erik resorted to pure force.

His fist collided with the Persian's torso, knocking the air from his lungs with a choking cough. Mainly through luck, Erik brought his forearm up to meet the daroga's in time to block the man's swing of his knife. Grasping the Persian's wrist to keep his bearings in regards to the knife, Erik hooked his right foot around his foe's leg and forcefully wrenched his body to the ground.

Erik fell upon the man, pinning Nadir's free hand to the ground with his knee as he fought desperately to claim the knife with both hands. Nadir regained his breath by taking agonized short bursts of air through his nose, managing not to panic at his situation of breathlessness. If Erik had not been locked in battle with Nadir, he would have praised the man for his calm during the struggle. As it was, it only served to frustrate Erik.

The daroga had a tenacious grip upon the handle of his knife, and soon Erik grew aggravated with attempting to break his grip. He reared back, careful to keep the man's hands pinned, and brought his fist once more into the man's jaw with a resounding crack. Idly Erik wondered with a bloodthirsty smirk if he had dislocated it.

The Persian did not cry out, did not make a sound of protest.

Roughly seizing the man's chin in his hand, Erik leaned down close until he could feel the Persian's labored breathing on his face.

"You can make this easier on yourself, daroga. Release the knife, and I will be merciful. A quick strike, then nothing more. A relatively painless death, and more than I admit you deserve for challenging me. Am I not generous?"

Erik could not restrain a maniacal chuckle. His humor was quickly cast aside, and he leaned in once more, tightening his grip.

"But mark my words…If you make me waste precious time in killing you, I cannot promise it will be a swift death."

Taking a shuddering breath, the Persian responded in his icy tone, "You will not win, Erik. Raoul de Chagny will have Christine Daae, no matter what you presume to do with me."

Erik snarled and clenched his free fist, but decided against striking the man. Instead, he reached down and patted the side of the man's lean face, an unseen grin spreading across his visage as he spoke in a lighthearted voice.

"I do so hate to be contrary, daroga, but I beg to differ. For, after I dispose of you, I will certainly have ample time to make the vicomte suffer before he joins you in the afterlife."

"ERIK!"

The distant scream reverberated in the cellar and through the tunnels. Recognizing the voice, Erik released the Persian's jaw and turned slightly.

"Christine?" he whispered, confusion lacing his tone.

The moment in which Erik's confusion lasted was enough to seal his fate. One does not turn their back upon death and expect no rebuke.

In a fluid motion that displayed surprising strength, the Persian wrenched his arms free and powerfully drove his curved knife upward into Erik's abdomen.

Searing pain erupted in Erik's body, and he cried out in agony. Clutching the hilt of the knife, he folded over upon himself, his breathing coming in short and labored gasps that shot darts of pain through his entire frame.

Apparently Christine had heard his cry of pain, for she called forth more frantically than before, "ERIK! ERIK!"

The Persian roughly threw Erik's limp body away and rose to his feet, but Erik barely flinched. His mind was occupied elsewhere, namely on Christine. Her angelic voice contorted with grief made Erik's heart hurt…or was that the fact that it worked twice as hard as normal? Wet blood seeped from the wound and warmly snaked around his fingers. His extremities tingled slightly, like pins and needles.

Scuffling and muffled words of protest slowly drew nearer, until the light from a lantern peeked forth timidly from the gloom. As the shadows receded, Erik's increasingly foggy vision discerned two forms moving toward him.

Raoul de Chagny had a firm hold on both the lantern and Christine's wrist, resolutely dragging her along the cellar and toward the exit, the mirror. Christine writhed and struggled, but the young man paid her no heed.

"Raoul, Raoul! You're hurting me! Let go! ERIK!" Her frantic wailing tugged at Erik's soul.

He tried to stand, to go to Christine, to free her and brush away the tears that streamed down her cheeks like a torrential flood. But he could not. He lay upon the hard floor of the cellar, shivering in a growing pool of his own blood.

When the glowing halo of light finally reached him, making Erik squint and blink in pain as his dilated pupils refused to adjust, Christine's gasp echoed in the silence.

"ERIK! No! NO!," she howled, sobbing and falling to her knees beside him.

Christine…don't cry…why are you crying, Christine?

Erik's mind was enveloped in a fog; vaguely he wondered why he was lying on the floor, and why his body felt so cold.

Raoul de Chagny bent nimbly and drew Christine in his arms, lifting her from her feet.

"Nadir, is he…?"

Raoul looked with barely masked disgust downwards, meeting Erik's eyes. Erik tried to glare at the vicomte, but he could not keep the pompous boy's face in focus for long.

The Persian used his hand to crack his jaw back into place, working it slowly and painfully for a moment before responding with a wince, "No, he's alive. But not for long."

There was no triumph in his tone or his expressions; in fact, his green eyes held an unrestrained sorrow.

"Good. Let's go," Raoul said quickly, averting his eyes and blanching a bit.

Shifting Christine's distraught form in his arms, he headed off down the tunnel toward the mirror.

Nadir stood for a while above Erik, gazing down upon the broken man.

"Goodbye, Erik."

And then he, too, turned and disappeared down the tunnel, leaving Erik to be enveloped in shadows once more.

Christine's echoing sobs rang in Erik's ears until darkness closed upon him, seeping into his conscious and wrapping him in its warm mantle.

Erik knew no more.

Would this be considered a cliffhanger? (head tilt) Anyways, let me know what you think...let me hear from the angst and drama fans, and all you fluff fans can throw rocks at me. I've gotten rather good at dodging them...bwah haha.

By the way, I was pondering the other day (and yes, when I'm sick and at home I ponder a lot)...what exactly is the ratio of female fanfic readers to male readers? It seems like the female presence is predominant, but I can't be sure. For all I know, my story could be entirely read by females lol. Ah well, that was just the ponderation (is that a word?) of the night (after 1, woohoo).