A/N:

Thanks to Curious, Minao Tskino, michellecarriveau, and megimacica for your wonderful reviews! Each review means so much to me and I take each one very seriously. Keep it up!

Well, I forced myself to wait to post this chapter, but here it is! I hope you all had a merry Christmas. I'll admit, I was pretty excited about this…but with me, you never know if that's a good or bad thing ;). But either way, here is the chapter.

Clarie's POV:

Clarie and Erik had the plan for how she was to act developed long before they reached her house, so she didn't frankly care whether or not the Vicomte saw her come in or not. She said her good-night's to Erik far from the house, so there was no chance of Raoul seeing them together and "coming to the rescue." Once she was unaccompanied, Clarie walked to the front door, but before she could even put her hand on the doorknob, it flew open to the crazed face of Raoul. She had planned for this, of course, and already had her look of sadness perfected for him.

"Where were you?" the viscount shouted furiously. Clarie honestly couldn't call up a time to mind when she had heard him so angry before. He waved the letter at her that she had carelessly left on her bed. "I looked at the cemetery, and you were not there! Where were you?"

Erik was right to leave that letter, Clarie silently noted, keeping the dreary look fixated on her face.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, catching the Vicomte by surprise. He had expected resisting, surely, or her to simply not answer at all. Sincere regret, now that was something he did not see coming. Of course, it wasn't sincere and she definitely felt no regret, but he did not know that.

"Clarie?" he said in a much gentler tone, "What happened?"

Clarie silently dug her nails into her flesh, forcing tears into her eyes. As if it was painful to talk about, she took several shaky breaths. It was working. Raoul actually looked concerned.

"He told me I had to choose," she started hesitantly.

"Choose what?" Raoul asked, beckoning her into the house away from the cold.

"He said," Clarie swallowed thickly, pretending that it was very hard to say, "He said that I either left France with him, or…or he wouldn't teach me anymore." Then, she broke out into fake tears, burying her face into her hands.

"You were right, Raoul!" she cried. "He doesn't care about me!" It was hard to even fake saying the words, but if it meant she could see her angel tomorrow at midnight, she was willing to do it.

"Where is he now, Clarie?" Raoul said, trying to contain his anxiousness. "Do you know where he went?"

"I don't know," she admitted. It was the truest sentence she had spoken all night. Where had he gone? Surely he didn't still go to his lair under the Opera, did he? "But before he left, he told me that I would never see him again." She pointedly cried even more, making sure he believed her.

He did.

Raoul took her small hand and held it comfortingly—or the closest to comfortingly he knew. "It's okay, Clarie," he said, "Everything will be okay."

Her cousin could be so gullible at times.

Raoul left Clarie alone most of the next morning. She didn't go to bed for a long time after she returned to the house, crying and being "comforted" by her guardian's brother. It was exhausting work, keeping up such an emotional act for so long. After a while, she couldn't help but believe it herself. One can only act for so long before it begins to gain some truth.

He tried to get her to reveal details about the Opera Ghost sometime in the afternoon. Although Erik had given her permission to do whatever she must to regain Raoul's trust, she was still hesitant about doing so. So she faked some more tears and said something along the lines of, "It's too painful to talk about." To her surprise, Raoul respected this, and she promised to talk about it tomorrow. She didn't know Erik's plan, but she was sure that whatever it was would delay her from having to betray his name.

To pass the time, Clarie began to think. And of course her thoughts were on Erik.

Why did she care so much about him? That was the constant question pricking at her mind. There was an obvious answer, relentlessly trying to form in her brain, but she refused it entrance. She refused to even think the word, because it was preposterous. Impossible. But even so, she was tortured by it all day and through the night. Whenever she asked herself why she cared so much about Erik, the answer was quickly behind. And she ignored it. She might have to confront it later, but, for now, she could pretend.

Little did she know, it wouldn't be long before the act had to come to an end.

Erik came to her window precisely when he said he would. Clarie was already dressed, with her coat over her dress and clad in boots underneath her skirts. They went silently through the window, and Erik helped her to the ground. But even after they reached the safety of the ground and began to move away from the house, he was still quiet.

After a few minutes, it became too much for Clarie. Stopping—and causing Erik to stop as well, since he was holding onto her hand—she looked at him worriedly.

"Erik?" she said. "What's wrong?"

He hesitated at first, and Clarie was afraid he was going to brush it off. But the weight on his shoulders must have been too much for him to bare by himself, because, surprisingly, he opened up. He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes from behind his ever-present mask.

"Clarie," he began, "I must be honest." He looked timidly at her, and she nodded her permission for him to go on. He took another long breath.

"Clarie," he started again, taking both of her hands in his, "I…I care deeply for you."

Clarie gave him a nervous smile. "I care about you too, Erik."

He shook his head. "No, that's not what I mean. I mean…" Then he trailed off, evidently unsure of what to say.

"You mean…?" Clarie prompted in an attempt to encourage him, though she could hardly breathe herself.

"I mean…" Erik cleared his throat. "I…I love you, Clarie." The words were rushed out of his mouth, like he knew if he didn't say it now, he would never. For a long moment, Clarie could only stare at him, certain that she had heard him wrong.

"What?" she said once she regained a little bit of her ability to speak.

Now that he had already said it, he seemed a little more comfortable to continue, squeezing onto her hands tighter. "Ever since you sang that first time," he said, laughing a bit at the memory, "It was…breathtaking. I just…I knew from that moment that I could not bear to ever live without you."

"Erik," Clarie breathed.

"And I need to know," he pressed, "I need to know if you feel the same way. If you love me."

And there it was. The question whose answer she had been trying to avoid all day. And now she had to answer.

She hesitated, terrified. After all, she was only seventeen. What did she know about love? Even if she said she did, how could she know? What was love?

She contemplated the last question, and began to think. She thought about the ecstasy she had felt on stage, the way she sang for him, how upset she was to see that he was not there, the endless tears when she was sure that he would not be able to escape the police squad.

Her eyes widened a little. It hit her like a hurricane: that was love.

"I…I do…I do love you." Hearing the words on her own tongue made her cheeks flush, but she knew that she would not have said it if it were not true. Her heart beat like a madwoman's.

Erik looked even more shocked than she was to hear the words. In fact, shock didn't even describe how he looked. The emotions on what she could see of his face resembled what one would look if they were to see an angel come down from heaven. It hurt Clarie's heart just to look at it. Had anyone ever said that to him before?

Suddenly a smile spread across Erik's face, and it was so full of happiness that Clarie couldn't help but smile back.

"Come with me," he said, once he finally regained control of his tongue. Without waiting for a response, he began to tug her hurriedly behind him. Numbly she followed, eyes wide in wonder.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"We need to get away from here," was his reply. There was such urgency in his tone that Clarie didn't dare question it.

Soon they came to the clearing of a forest (the Comte's house was more secluded than most). And at that clearing, to Clarie's surprise, was a horse tied to a tree. He was prepared, and serious. She stood breathless as he readied the animal, allowing herself to be helped up behind him. She could swear she recognized the animal from one of the productions in the Opera.

Erik gave a quick glance back, and his eyes seemed to lock on something in the distance. Clarie was about to turn around to see what had gotten his attention, but he was already kicking the horse in its sides to prompt it to go. It was a fast horse; with a mighty whinny, it started, running into the darkness of the woods. Clarie barely had time to wrap her arms around Erik to stop herself from falling off. But even still, it did not seem to be fast enough for him, and he shouted, making the beast go even faster.

"Erik?" Clarie asked, frightened. "Why are we going so fast?"

He didn't respond, but he didn't need to. Clarie wrenched her head around to look behind, and she could see exactly why they were going so fast. Approaching very rapidly on horseback, was none other than Raoul.

I should have known! She thought, angry with herself. Of course he didn't trust me.

The Vicomte was still far off from them. Clarie could barely even tell that it was him. But she could see how fast he was approaching. His horse was much faster than a horse used for the Opera. It was only a matter of time before he caught up to them.

"Erik…" Clarie said, turning back around.

"Yah!" he shouted furiously, whipping the reins of the horse with a loud crack. Terrified, Clarie clung to him tighter, desperately praying that she would live to see tomorrow.

"Clarie!" her name came from behind.

"Yah!"

The horse wasn't going as fast now, though Erik had not relented in his angry verbal commands. Clarie opened her eyes, which up until then she had screwed shut as tightly as she could, to see why. The answer was soon apparent. They were going up an incline—a very steep one at that.

"Erik!" she cried out in fear. His only reply was to shout at the horse even more.

"Clarie!"

Clarie whipped her head around—nearly breaking her neck in the process—to see Raoul. He had caught up impossibly fast, and now he was only yards away. His eyes were full of rage. At first she thought it was intended for her, but then she realized it was completely directed at Erik. Her eyes widened in horror.

There were only two ways Clarie could see this situation play out; and she didn't want either. All she could envision was blood. She clung to Erik with trembling hands, suddenly feeling faint.

"Yah!" Erik's voice was more full of determination than ever before. He whipped the horse furiously, but it was useless. Raoul was catching up all the while. Clarie didn't dare look back, but she could hear the approaching smacking of hooves echo in her ears.

The forest came to an abrupt clearing. Clarie was snapped out of her faint stupor with what she saw—or didn't see—ahead. They had reached a cliff.

"Erik!" she screamed. He came to a screeching halt immediately, hearing the horror in her voice.

Clarie was yanked back from the horse. She was so stunned by the sight of the cliffside that she could not even protest. Raoul threw her onto the back of his horse as if she weighed nothing. Erik's rage-filled face whipped around on feeling her ripped from him, and he yanked the poor horse until he was facing the Vicomte.

"There is nowhere left to go," Raoul said with surprising anger, "It ends here."

"And so it will," Erik sneered.

And, before Clarie could even comprehend what was happening, both men whipped out their revolvers. Clarie, without thinking, shouted.

"No!"

Raoul ignored her, but Erik didn't. His weapon, which had been steadily aimed at Raoul's head, slowly lowered. He looked into Clarie's eyes from behind his white mask, and when he saw the mix of terror, panic, and desperation, he dropped it completely. Clarie couldn't believe her eyes. He threw the gun to the ground with a thunk, and his eyes never left hers.

It wasn't until she heard an almost inaudible click that Clarie remembered Raoul. She looked at him in horror. He was raising his gun, his finger drawing back, and—

"No!" Clarie barely shoved his arm before the gun fired. It shot into the night sky, and her first reaction was relief, knowing that it had not reached its intended target.

She forgot about the horses.

What happened next seemed to move in slow motion. There were two frightened neighs, and both horses bucked back. Clarie fell to the ground, safely, and she looked back up with a scream caught in her throat.

Erik's eyes were wild with raw terror. Raoul had been able to grab onto the horse fast enough to manage to stay on, having been the one to shoot the gun. But Erik hadn't noticed the gun at all until it fired; he had cared about nothing else than Clarie. So the horse bucked back, and he had no time to grab a hold of it.

Clarie could only scream his name before the horse threw him off, and he fell over the side of the cliff. She scrambled to her feet, and would have thrown herself over with him, if Raoul hadn't grabbed onto her and yanked her forcefully back.

"Let me go!" she sobbed, clawing viciously at the Vicomte. "Let me go!"

A/N:

I know I know, don't kill me! If you have to, take out any anger on Raoul!

Well, this might be the end of Daydreaming of the Night… But I hope not, because I love it too much! :( I will try to update as quickly as I can. I'll most likely update before I leave for New York (to go to Broadway!). If you want to review, that'd be great!