This story is rated M for some violence, coarse language, and minor adult themes.

It is not appropriate for readers under the age of 16 and should not be viewed by such.

Disclaimer – same as the other parts.

Paris, France – 2004

Those who
have seen your face
draw back
in fear…
I am
the mask you wear…
It's you
they hear…

Your spirit
and my voice,
in one
combined:
the Phantom of the Opera
is there –
inside my mind…

I rushed into the lair, toward the boys. "Erik, don't!"

He turned to me, jumping to his feet. "Kit, get out of here." I saw Sean's head tip up toward me, trying to look at me – but I was more focused on Erik. The knife was still pointed at Sean's face. "I let him get away unscathed once – he's not to be so lucky after crossing me twice."

"But you got what you wanted! You played the scene with me!"

Erik stamped his foot – the childishness of the gesture did not escape me. "Well, if he'd just stop being une chienne pleurnichant for two minutes…!"

"Oh, stop it!" I yelled, lunging for the knife. He pulled back, holding it out of my reach. "Erik, he's not Raoul."

I saw his teeth clench. "Don't…say…that name…"

"Stop it. You're acting childish – and it's not flattering, at your age." I paused for a moment – just how old was he? It didn't matter now – I'd find out later, I was certain of it. "Just…you have to stop this."

"Why?" He turned away from me. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Because you promised me you wouldn't kill anymore!" I nearly stamped my own foot, but it wouldn't have done to have scolded him for doing the same thing only to do it myself. "You'd break your promise…" I broke off – his shoulders were shaking. "Erik?" As he turned, I heard it.

He was laughing – low, haunting – but still laughing. "You…you think I want him dead? You imagine I'd break my word to you over him?" The low chuckling turned to a haughty, full laugh. "He's not that important!"

I opened my mouth again, but didn't speak immediately – what on Earth…? "If…but…Erik, if you don't want him dead, then…but the knife…?"

He was still laughing. After a moment, he reached up and pulled off his mask – I heard Sean scream in terror and start thrashing about again. "Would you care for him if he looked like me? Would you?"

"Oh, God…" He started laughing again, staring at me. "Erik, don't. He…he doesn't matter, really…"

"Oh, really? Then why'd you beg me to spare his life on the roof?"

I stared at him. "So you didn't break your promise to me. Besides…how many times are we going to go over this? He's not Raoul!"

There was a long, uneasy silence. I watched Erik's hand carefully – he grasped the knife tighter, bringing it toward Sean's face. Sean struggled hard, trying to move – he screamed, but it was having no effect on Erik. I stood in place, frightened – then an idea struck me.

"Erik?"

He looked at me, the knife poised over Sean's cheek. "What?" he growled.

"Do you…" I felt awful for blackmailing him this way…almost. "Do you love me?"

"You know I do, Kitten." The knife twitched in his hand. "Why?"

"If you really love me, don't hurt him." He stared at me for a moment, his jaw slowly dropping wide. "I mean it. If I see one drop of blood, I'll take that as a sign you've stopped loving me."

He closed his mouth. For a moment, his hand remained steady over Sean's face. Then it dropped to his side, the knife clattering to the floor. "Fine. You win." He walked away from Sean, settling down by the organ. I saw him fidgeting with something.

I paused only a moment before rushing to the knife and freeing Sean. As soon as the gag was dislodged from his mouth, he started. "Give me that knife."

"No."

"This is no time to argue with me, now give me that damn knife!" He made to take it from me.

I held it up defensively – if he tried to take it, he'd be cut. "Stop it – have you both lost your minds?" Sean sat down on the piano bench, staring at me – Erik turned and stared at me as well. "You're both acting like children, and I'm tired of it."

"Who cares what you think?" Sean muttered – he probably thought I couldn't hear him.

I put the knife closer to his throat than he evidently liked – he backed up quickly, nearly sitting on the piano. "I'm sorry, what was that?" He shook his head, and I relaxed. "You, my friend, are going to go back upstairs and keep your mouth shut."

"But…" I pushed him out of the lair at knifepoint, feeling bad. When I could no longer hear his footsteps – which meant he was at least one floor above us – I returned to the lair. There was nothing to stop him turning around, certainly, but if he did I wouldn't blame Erik for hurting him – and I wouldn't stop him, either.

Erik turned to me as I re-entered the lair. "He's bound to get lost down here, you know."

"He's got a good sense of direction – he'll find his way upstairs if he really wants to." I sat down next to Erik and handed him the knife. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" I looked at him – he'd still not put his mask back on, and the rest of him was still in costume. "Why should you be sorry? I'm the one that nearly broke my word." He sighed. "Twice." He looked at me. "Kit, I…I'm a bad man, I really am. What draws you here and keeps you?"

"Love."

He sighed. "But why?"

I touched his cheek gingerly – he didn't shy away. "I don't know. But I do know that I love you, and no matter how you try to change my mind, you're not going to succeed, Erik." I sighed, pulling my hand back. "Well…now that I've had a lead role, when must I fulfill my end of the bargain we made?"

"What do you mean?"

"You made me promise, when you began my lessons, that at a time of your choosing – you'd let me know when – I would have to remain here with you for eternity. I haven't forgotten my promise to you." I was quiet for a moment. "So when must my end of the bargain be fulfilled?"

He chortled softly. "Oh, Kit…you've had but one role thus far. If you thought I intended for that one role to be both your first and last lead, you were mistaken." He stroked my hair. "I intend for you to descend those stairs one final time once your voice is no longer pleasing to the world – whenever that is will be determined a long time from now, I'm sure." He kissed my forehead softly, holding me to him for a moment. "Don't worry, Kitten. I've no intention of keeping a pretty young girl like you locked away down here – not when you can sing as well as I've taught you to."

There was silence between us for a moment. As he went to speak again, I silenced him with a kiss – he protested a bit, but it was lost in my lips. After a moment, he stopped whimpering and seemed to enjoy himself. He took me in his arms and carried me into his bedroom, laying me down on the bed and kneeling by me.

I sat up. "What are you…?"

He put a finger on my lips. "Hush – don't you trust me?"

"Erik…"

"Love should come with some amount of trust, Kitten. I'll ask again: do you trust me?" When I nodded, he smiled. "Then just lay back and trust me." I lay back on his pillows, and felt him hovering over me – then his mouth on mine. My arms automatically went around his neck. We kissed and cuddled – then kissed some more. After what felt like hours – I wasn't even sure if it was still night or if it was morning now, and being underground made it hard to tell – I felt myself tugging at his shirt. He looked at me through heavy-lidded eyes. "I thought you didn't want that."

"I…I…" I looked at him. Even disfigured as he was, I loved him enough…why shouldn't I? "Why shouldn't we?"

"Let's start with…you're seventeen." He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "And I'm one-hundred sixty-five." He frowned. "Disgusting…I should be long dead. I'm a walking corpse."

I traced a line down his chest with my index finger. "But I love you anyway."

"I know that, or you wouldn't be here. Oh, Kitten…" He sighed. "Even if you break the curse – no, when you break the curse – there's no guarantee I'll live much longer. You could have any young man you wished – don't think my jealousy of that boy is unfounded. I know it's not. I know he's after you." He looked at me. "So why me? Don't tell me you don't know – I just want to know why me over him."

I touched his cheek again, kissing his lips gently. "It's you because you love me. He doesn't – not the way you do. He wants me to be pretty and silent. You want me to be pretty and loud."

He chuckled. After a moment, he sat up. "Do you want to…?" Even with him breaking off and starting to blush – a sight which made me start to giggle – I knew what he meant. "Why are you laughing at me?"

"Because I have half a mind to think I'm dreaming."

"Why?"

"Well, surely in real life, the Phantom of the Opera does not blush." He flushed a deeper red than before. "Good grief, Erik, if you blush any more, there'll be no blood left anywhere else in your body." If I hadn't heard the next sound out of his mouth with my own two ears, I might not have believed it possible.

He giggled.

Not a maniacal laugh, not a chilling laugh – an actual giggle.

I gasped softly at how amazing he looked with a smile – granted, he wasn't the most handsome man in the world, but was that supposed to mean I shouldn't love him for that alone? I was past his face by now – it was just who he was, and I didn't care. "Erik," I whispered. "Can we…?"

He nodded, leaning down to kiss me.