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


London, England, UK—February 13, 1987

Erik—9:30 AM

I could hear Meg coming for me five minutes before she knocked on my door. "What, Meg?"

She grinned. "There some people here to see you. Mind if they come in?"

I stared at her a moment. Her shirt, while a maternity style, was still rather tight-fitting—she must nearly be due. "Sure. I was just going to compose a bit, but if I have visitors, it can wait. Who is it?"

Her grin didn't leave her face, but she didn't answer me. Waving to someone behind her, she stepped into my room. Behind her came Owen and Rita Chagny—Owen was leading a petulant, protesting young boy by the hand, Rita was carrying a small bundle of blankets in her arms. "Well, hullo there, Erik," Owen said. He prodded the boy next to him. "Say hello, Gregory."

"Hi." He raised a small hand in greeting, eyes cast to the floor.

I rose from the piano bench, ambling toward them. "Well, this is rather unexpected." I grinned, greeting them all in turn—Gregory shied away from me, but I greeted him nonetheless.

Rita started rocking the small bundle in her arms. "We came as we thought it only proper to introduce you to the newest addition," she said, holding the small bundle of blankets out to me.

I peered down at it. Inside was the tiniest face I'd ever seen. "So…" I breathed. "This is her."

"Yes," Rita said softly. "This is little Kit."

I looked up at her. "Kit?"

"My idea," Meg piped up. "Christopher's nickname was always 'Kit,' and as she's supposed to be one-of-a-kind, it really wouldn't do for her to have such a common nickname as 'Chris' or 'Chrissy,' now would it?"

"No, I suppose not." I looked down at her again. I couldn't imagine, for the life of me, ever calling this little beauty "Chrissy"; the name just didn't fit. "So," I said, "how soon will the…uh, formal introduction…be made?"

Rita stared at me for a moment, silent. I thought I detected a glimmer of pity in her eyes. "Sixteen."

It took a moment to hit me. "Sixteen? I have to wait sixteen years to…to…"

"This is what we've decided, Erik. We think it best that she have a normal life before being introduced to her destiny." Yep, it was pity in her eyes, all right.

My temper flared. Turning away from all of them, I ordered them out of my room. Several voices protested my order—among them, a shrill cry that could only have been ripped from little Kit's throat—but I stood firm and repeated my demand. I welcomed the silence that came with Meg slamming the door behind her.

Sixteen years… I couldn't stand it.


London, England, UK—June 13, 1994

Erik—8:00 PM

I was composing when Meg barged in—silently, her eyes cast to the floor. "Meg?" She sat down next to my bookcase, wordlessly. "Meg? What's wrong?"

"Owen, Rita, and Gregory are dead."

My breath caught in my throat. "H-how?"

"Car crash." I noticed her face now as she glanced up at me. Tears had left their obvious marks on her cheeks. I moved to comfort her, but she held up a hand to hold me in place. "No, I-I can't. I can't feel better until she can."

"She?" A moment's pause, then it hit me. "Kit's all right?"

Meg nodded. "Physically, yes, she'll be fine. Emotionally, I don't know if she'll ever be 'all right.' She had to watch her parents die, Erik."

"And Gregory?"

"He bled to death on the way to hospital, apparently."

It chilled me to think the poor boy, at only fifteen, had been made to suffer such a horrible death. It seemed overly cruel. I couldn't suppress a shiver. "Mon Dieu. Where is Kit now?"

"Resting in my room," Meg said. "She's my responsibility now."

"May I…" I silenced as she glared at me. "No, of course not. Sixteen, right?"

"No, Erik." Meg stood up, moving toward the door. "Tonight has convinced me that Kit and you should never meet. You should never have her."

"You can't be serious."

"Perfectly." Without another word to me, she left, shutting my door behind her.

Unable to control my temper, I picked up my inkwell from the top of the piano and flung it at the door. It shattered on impact, splattering the ink over the door, the floor, the wall, and even some of my bed. My cat—Ernestine, Ernie for short, a present from Meg—startled and ran underneath my bed, hissing. "Merde," I muttered.

If Meg had her way, she'd leave me down here for eternity.


Paris, France—August 16, 2003

Erik—4:45 PM

As soon as it started to get dark outside, I pried the grate on the side of the Opera open and slipped inside, taking Ernie with me. She followed me obediently down to my lair. I looked around at the place—everything was covered with a visible layer of dust, and I nearly sneezed.

I did not like being back here. But I'd endure, if only to ensure that Kit had a future.


Paris, France—August 30, 2003

Erik—11:00 PM

I watched through the grate as Kit slammed the dormitory door, running to her assigned bed and collapsing onto it. She was sobbing, clutching her pillow tightly and muttering to herself.

My heart broke. I hadn't meant to embarrass the poor girl—that had all been Meg's doing. I'd make her pay for it later. But to thrust Kit into the spotlight when her voice hadn't been properly trained… It was unimaginable.

"…Kit…" I called softly through the grate. Immediately, her sobs ceased; her head snapped to the side of the grate—I knew there was a large mirror there. Her eyes wide, she whispered, "It's not real. It's a dream…"

I pulled the noose out from my cape—if she thought I knew her importance beforehand, my entire plan would never work. I opened the grate and stepped out. "A dream, am I?"


Paris, France—January 26, 2004

Erik—11:30 AM

I turned to Sean—Kit tried to keep me facing her with no luck—and laughed. "Or you'll do what? You're the most pitiful excuse for a protector I've ever seen!"

I watched Sean's lip tremble. He glared me down—but didn't move. "This isn't over," he said, turning and running back inside.

Another laugh escaped my throat. "No, it's not." I stroked Kit's hair. "Are you all right, Kitten?"

She nodded, looking at me with a half-frightened expression. "Erik…"

"Yes?"

She reached up and gently removed my mask. I sighed quietly. "I was wondering when you'd be brave enough to do that."

"I never wanted to be like her."

"You're not." Another sigh. "You were saying something?"

She stepped closer and rolled up into a decent demi-pointe. Her lips were close enough to…but I couldn't. I couldn't. "I love you."

She kissed me.

In that instant, time stood still. Forget that they were waiting for her in rehearsals. If the show failed, I didn't care. She loved me. It didn't feel like January on the roof anymore.

After a few moments, I realized her lips had pulled away. I opened my eyes—a tear was threatening to fall. "You…you lo…" I wouldn't let it fall…I wouldn't. "You love…" The tear fell, and I didn't bother to catch it.

She nodded. "I love you."

"After everything I've done?" She nodded again. "I'm a murderer…"

"I don't care. You promised me you wouldn't again."

I grabbed her about the waist and twirled her about, kissing her, never wanting to let her go. I held her aloft as we stopped spinning, staring into her eyes. "You…you're amazing." My voice wouldn't rise above a whisper, but I wanted to shout from the roof. She loves me!

"That's your fault," she said, a giggle or two escaping. Her laughter was infectious, and I couldn't help but let out a few chuckles as well. I turned her about in my arms—my chest to her back—and started to serenade her softly.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…say the word and I will follow you…share each day with me, each night, each morning…" I turned her again, this time to face me. "Anywhere you go, let me go too…Christine, that's all I ask of…"

She didn't let me finish.

But the kiss she cut me off with was wonderful.


Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA—June 22, 2005

Erik—11:30 AM

"Erik?" The nurse was at least friendly. "My name's Amy. I'm just going to take some preliminary vital signs before we prep you, all right?"

I nodded. I couldn't help but notice her lingering gaze on my face. She tried to make small talk while taking my vital signs, but I didn't engage. Mostly one-word answers or grunts. I was feeling rather vulnerable and, for the first time in a great many years, frightened. Immortal or not, I could suffer brain death—and if I went into it in surgery, there was no way to end it for good. I still hadn't figured out the curse yet.

Toby looked at me as the nurse left. "You could have at least talked to her, you know."

"I'm scared, Toby."

He looked taken aback by my free admission of this. "Well, little late to back out now, don'tcha think?"

"I don't want to back out. I'm doing this. I just…" I sighed. "I wonder if it's really worth it."

"You want Kit to think you're the most handsome devil on the planet? Then it's worth it. You wanna walk down the street and be able to be ignored? It's worth it. If you wanna attract stares, stand out in a crowd? Then don't get this."

I sat quietly. He was right, of course. I was tired of hiding from the world. I'd been hiding since I could remember, and this new world was one in which I wanted to take part. Within minutes, the nurse was back, and I was being wheeled into the operating room.


New York City, NY, USA—February 27, 2009

Erik—10:30 AM

"Erik?" Kit said softly as we entered Central Park. "What's the occasion?"

"Hmm?"

"Well…you told me to dress nicely, and you're not in your usual jeans and polo shirt—what's going on?"

I gave her one of my ironic half-smiles. "You're just going to have to wait until later." As we passed a building, I gestured. "Oh…see that? We have reservations there for lunch—that's why I said to dress nicely." She stared at me. "Hey, I said later. I never said how much later."

As we walked in silence, enjoying the scenery and each other's company, I found myself inexplicably heading toward Strawberry Fields. When we sat down on a bench to rest a moment, I could feel my heart racing.

"Where are we?" Kit asked me.

"Strawberry Fields."

She grinned. "Really?"

"Yes, Chaton. Why?"

She hugged me, laying her head on my chest. "Oh, darling—how did you know I loved the Beatles?"

"Um…" I stammered out something about it being a nice spot, but felt myself wishing I hadn't picked today to do this. It could wait, right? After a moment, I shook myself—I was only being silly. I fumbled in my pocket for the ring box, but before I could pull it out, she was staring at me.

"Erik, what are you doing?"

I sighed, then pulled the box from my pocket. "I'd hoped to preface this with something, but I'll just go for it instead." I opened the box, staring into her eyes. "Christine, veux-tu m'épouser?"

I hadn't expected her to understand me, but when she put a hand to her trembling lips, I knew she had. "Oh, my…" Tears were welling in her eyes, and I couldn't help but smile. "Oui, mon cher, bien sûr."

My eyes went wide. Four years in France hadn't been lost on her, after all. I slipped the ring on her finger—a perfect fit—and slipped the box back into my pocket. But I could contain myself no longer. I picked her up and twirled her about, kissing her deeply.


New York City, NY, USA—June 13, 2009

Erik—12:00 PM

As thrilled as I was to have had her walk down the aisle to that song, I knew I had to focus on the task at hand. If I missed something, it would quickly turn into a disaster. But having her on my arm, listening to the priest, was almost too intoxicating—looking the way she did—I wanted to take her upstairs now, ceremony be damned.

Ten minutes into the ceremony, we were each handed a long match and led over to a small table, on which were two large candles. One bore the legend "Owen, Rita, Gregory Chagny—1994"—the other read "Celeste Muhlheim—1871 & Antoinette Giry—1900." I had deliberately not included my parents or brothers—they hadn't been kind to me, so there was no reason to include them, in my mind. Antoinette had been more of a mother to me than my own ever had—and Celeste…well, insane though she was, she'd defended me when she had her moments of clarity.

As Freya and the orchestra started with "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again," I watched as Kit lit her candle, whispering a prayer while the priest spoke aloud to the assembled guests. A tear traced its way down her cheek—and I remembered. I remembered that today made exactly fifteen years since Meg had brought her to the school in London. Exactly fifteen years since her family died. It was all I could do not to sweep her into my arms and kiss her.

When she stood back from the table and had blown out her match, I stepped forward. Not having prepared something to say had been truly stupid, but I couldn't prepare for this part—I'd tried for a month. Lighting the match, I lit the candle. "I miss you two." I felt a tear start in my own eye, but I refused to let it fall. I blew out my match and took Kit's arm, returning to our previous spot in front of the priest. There were several more readings, more lectures on love, and then—finally—he asked us to take the rings. I turned to Toby and stretched out my hand.

He groped in his breast pocket, and for a moment, I thought he'd forgotten it upstairs. But he produced it, handing it to me with a small smile. Turning back to Kit, I saw she had my ring in her small hand. The priest announced that we had written our own vows—slightly true, slightly not—and that we would now recite them. He turned to me—I turned to Kit and saw her bat her eyes at me. I managed a breath and started.

"In one-hundred-seventy-one years, I have had the privilege to know many people. Many were unkind, and few thought I deserved a chance at happiness. And then, nine years ago, I met you. You were sweet, kind—and gave me the chance at happiness I had been denied for so long. I have never been as happy in my life as I am with you." I slid the ring onto her finger slowly. "I give you this ring as my promise, Christine—I will always be happy with you, no matter where we are, no matter how far apart we may be—I am a part of you, and you, a part of me."


New York City, NY, USA—December 25, 2032

Erik—8:00 AM

"What?" I suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous. "I'm not sure I heard you right."

"You did."

"I can't possibly have."

She turned to face me. "I've been thinking about this since our anniversary. I think it's just better for both of us if we go our separate ways."

I looked for tears in her eyes—some clue her mind could be changed—but there didn't appear to be any trace of them. "Kit, I… Please, can't we talk about this?"

"No, Erik." She started away, toward the stairs. "I've made up my mind."

I reached for her wrist, to stop her, but caught the banister instead. She was running up the stairs, and before I could call to her, she had slammed the bedroom door.

Dazed, I wandered down to the stage. Being Christmas, no one was around. I grabbed the first thing I could—a microphone—and hurled it into the auditorium. Within moments, all manner of things were flying off the stage—microphones, rolls of tape, even the piano bench.

Spent, I sank onto the stage and sobbed. There would be no changing her mind this time.

I had lost her.