I have written two chapters of a three chapter Christmas piece. It's a somewhat fluffy E/C for the holidays and gives a lot of nods to Leroux. If you like that kind of story, you might want to give it a look.

This chapter is a bit of a filler/connector, but it also explains Erik a little more. I know that he seems quite dark right now, but please remember how he was at the very beginning of this story. Some of you guys were even afraid of him. Heh. Enjoy the next chapter!

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The weather in Spain had become dismal, a cold front bringing icy rain and a chilled wind to the sea shores. Although normally Frederick would have been irritated by the conditions, he now had little time to give the climate a second thought. After nearly two months of waiting, his fears had finally come true. Perhaps a part of him had hoped that the monster had gone and died somewhere, although he really knew better. When Carlotta announced that she was having a costume party, he had been wary but allowed it. Not that she listened to him, anyway.

Now, he was talking on the phone to the British police, one wrinkled hand curled into a fist. His teeth had been gnashed together for the last several days, giving him aches in his jaw and skull. He had barely slept for the last two nights.

"So there was not a single clue found?" Leonie slowly wound her arm around Frederick's shoulders.

"I'm on the phone," he stated with aggravation. "Hush for a moment." She sighed and drew away from him. "So the letter that was sent to you demands an exchange?" Oliver questioned. "The monster wants his cohort in exchange for my niece?"

"Along with a large sum of money," the investigator replied. "We're supposed to meet him at some abandoned building to make the swap. Of course, we will not comply with him. We plan to surround him at the location and hopefully get a clear shot."

"Be careful that you do not end up shooting my niece," growled Oliver. "I do not trust this. He is too smart for this to work."

The investigator paused. "All we can do is go with what we have. And right now, our best bet is to follow him to where he says he's going to be."

Frederick sighed. "It will not be this easy."

"Maybe not. All we can do is put in our best efforts."

"How were the two men killed?" asked Oliver. "The guards?"

"Their necks were broken," he replied, maintaining a professional tone. "We don't know how. The guy's methods are unusual, to say the least. I'm surprised that he even left three of them alive."

"And nothing was left at the scene?" growled Oliver.

"Well, there was one thing. We don't know if it has anything to do with the crime, but-"

"Send a picture of it to me anyway!" snapped Oliver.

"That's just what I was going to do," he calmly replied. "There. Check your e-mail."

Frederick brought the picture up onto his computer screen. "What on earth is that?" murmured Leonie, tilting her head.

"What is that?" asked Frederick with disgust.

"A costume of some sort. A skull head with red robes. We think he left it there on purpose as a sort of symbol. It belongs to an exclusive costume shop. They hadn't even realized it was missing."

Frederick sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Well, that doesn't seem to be of any help."

"We are trying, sir. The investigations have begun. We are doing everything within our power to find your niece."

"Do not underestimate him," muttered Frederick.

"We won't, Mr. Oliver." The investigator paused. "Will you be returning to London any time soon?"

Frederick hesitated. Of course, that's what the masked fiend wanted him to do. On the other hand, he might be able to take control of matters if he did go to London. No one else seemed to be able to handle anything. Bloody incompetent morons! "No," he replied, keeping his temper in check. "Not quite yet. Soon, perhaps."

"Very well, Mr. Oliver. We'll keep you updated on all developments."

"See that you do." Frederick slammed the phone down. "That thing has my niece. Dear God! Can you even imagine what he's doing to her? I told the girl to get out of the damned country. Did she listen to me? Of course not!"

"It is not your fault," gently replied Leonie, massaging his shoulders. "You can't make her decisions for her. She's a grown woman. All we can do is let the police handle it until something new comes up. And maybe they will get her back during the exchange. Maybe it will all end right there."

Frederick placed his head into his hands. "I hate him! It! I hate it! He is going to drive me completely mad. I would like nothing better than to shoot him. Shoot it! It!"

"We should have killed him that very night," she murmured. "Before we even put him in prison. Maybe Louis would have looked the other way, you know? Dear Louis. He always looked the other way." She sighed. "Frederick? Can you still remember it? That night?"

"Of course," he replied with a morbid chuckle. "How could I forget? You're right. We should have killed him then."

"He thought he was coming to the city to settle some stupid lawsuit," she continued, leaning back into the sofa with a distant look in her green eyes. "He thought he had a chance. He must have. Daring to come out looking likes he does."

"He even wore a suit," said Frederick with a laugh. "I don't remember if there was a tie, too."

"Yes. I suppose that he thought we would actually sit across a table and negotiate with him. Sign papers and exchange business cards, perhaps? Or maybe discuss the entire thing over dinner. Can you even imagine?"

"No. I can't. I couldn't eat dinner with that face looking at me." Oliver shuddered.

"Forgive us for making you resemble the Creature from the Black Lagoon," she mocked in an overly hospitable voice. "Would you care for another biscuit? How about a glass of wine? Ja? Red or white?" Leonie broke into a fit of giggles.

"And then we arrested him that very night," Frederick murmured. "There was quite a crowd there, too. Louis Chagny was even there. I thought the poor man was going to vomit."

"Well, the entire thing was somewhat violent, dear. Were some of those men even real policemen?"

"No. Some of them were mine." Frederick smirked. "He put on quite a fight, though. And it really worked to our benefit. Him struggling to escape, screaming…the mask plucked off… Everyone was eager to believe that he'd committed double homicide, especially with that face."

"And so he became," she finished with a sigh of contentment, as though the entire story were somewhat poetic. Leonie had always possessed an appreciation for literature and the fine arts. "Ah, Freddie. Is it really any wonder that he wants to kill us? Especially after whatever happened inside that prison." She sensually put her lips to his ear. "You know what happens in prisons, don't you?"

"I…" He started to turn and kiss her, before abruptly pulling away. "Not now, Leonie! My niece is going through hell. I don't have time for that." She rolled her eyes. Frederick's computer suddenly beeped, and they both turned to look.

"What is that?"

"A new e-mail," he replied. He clicked it open and began to quickly read. "They found something else inside the red costume." He opened another file. "And there's a picture of it. What in the hell is that?" Frederick leaned in to get a better look. "Oh. I see now."

Leonie peeked over his shoulder. "Interesting," she murmured.

Christine was crouched on her knees in front of the television, staring wide-eyed at the screen with her hands pressed to the side of her head. Ever since Raoul's phone call, she kept the news on at all times of the day, endlessly waiting for whatever was coming. Yesterday, there had been reports of a note left by the 'kidnapper,' requesting a tradeoff of prisoners and a large sum of money. The exchange was supposed to take place during the evening in London at some abandoned theater.

She watched as police gathered outside, the newscaster detailing the events. It was obviously a setup; no one there meant to make a trade off. They meant to shoot Erik as soon as they saw him. Her heart was throbbing in her chest; she was going to be sick if she had to watch this happen on the television. Still, she couldn't bear to turn it off.

Raoul had called earlier that day, asking if she wanted him to come over that afternoon for support. She had hesitated but told him not to do so. Although she was in desperate need of comfort, she didn't want her former fiancé to ever know the truth. And how could she sit there in Raoul's arms all the while that he was hoping for Erik's death?

She sat there alone now. Don't be there, Erik. For the love of God, don't be there. They'll kill you. Please God. Please.

Time ticked by as more emergency vehicles gathered around the building. The shots were obviously being taken from a camera in a low-flying helicopter, giving a blurry view of the scene below. Armed officers were beginning to enter the sides of the building, attempting to surround the criminal inside. She waited for gunshots, waited for anything to happen. She closed her eyes.

More time passed. The reporter was silent, left with nothing to say except for the occasional obvious comment. Earlier, they had talked about her and Raoul's kidnapping and its ties to the case. That was one of the main reasons why this story was so heavily broadcasted in the United States. No one ever mentioned exactly why Erik wanted revenge, though. They assumed him to be a madman.

Finally, after at least twenty more minutes, the voice of a British woman spoke. "Well, it seems that tonight proved to be a false lead. The police searched the building but found no signs of the perpetrator or Ms. Glouer."

"A dead end?" enquired the anchorman, tiredly shaking his head.

"It seems so," she replied. "We'll keep you updated with more developments as they occur. Meanwhile, the search for Carlotta Glouer continues."

Christine collapsed back against the bottom of the couch with a sharp sob of relief as the news turned to a weather forecast. Each day, she was beginning to realize how much he meant to her. Even if it didn't make any sense to the rest of the horrified world, she wanted him to live. She loved him.

After calming down somewhat, she shakily stood up and walked to her father's old desk. Opening the top drawer, she took out a short stack of papers. The music that Erik had given her at the house by the graveyard was on top, slightly wrinkled now from the many times that she had held it. Christine had never gotten around to laminating the sheets, but she rather liked the texture of the papers beneath her fingertips. There was also an application for a passport that she had printed from the Internet. She hadn't made immediate plans to leave or even knew how to go about doing so. There was some comfort in taking a step forward if she ever did need to go to another country. She wanted to feel in control of something, no matter how trivial it was.

The final piece of paper in the stack was the letter that she had written to Erik, requesting him to stay at the hotel. Although she had been the one to write the note, it reminded her of him, and so she kept it within her possession. She almost wished that he had taken it with him.

Christine sighed and clutched onto the papers for a moment, wishing that she didn't feel so helpless. Soon, it would be time for her to return to school. How was she ever going to focus on anything with all of this happening? She could barely stand to be away from the television.

She would have to sing, she supposed. Sing for him and herself. And keep waiting until the time came when she could actually be of use.

Nadir knew that something unusual was occurring in the outside world. An increased number of guards had been walking about the corridor, and a visible security camera had been installed right in front of his cell. No one would tell him anything of value, though, and so he was forced to sit on his cot and make guesses. Could his masked friend really have returned? It was almost too much to hope for after nearly two months. He had been certain that Erik was dead.

To keep himself from going crazy with curiosity, he allowed his mind to wander to the past again. Although there were a few events that caused him to shudder, most of his memories from India were not completely unpleasant.

It had been very difficult to sneak Erik across international boundaries; the entire trip had taken nearly a month, and Nadir was forced to use his limited funds on fuel, food, and boarding. Luckily, the boy's sickly and pale appearance had provided a convincing argument for getting him across most borders. Nadir had constantly explained that he was trying to get the boy specialized medical treatment in a foreign country. No one wanted Erik to stay within their territory; some even thought he had leprosy. On the several occasions that officials had been hesitant to allow them to pass through their country, Nadir had shown them Erik's face.

No one had ever stopped them from passing through after seeing that.

Through an old friend, Nadir had secured a job within the law enforcement of the state of Uttar Pradesh. Although the fact that he was Muslim would have kept him out of most government jobs, his multilingual status and international experience had proven extremely beneficial. They had even paid for him to take an English class to further his ability. As long as he kept his religious beliefs quiet, Nadir managed to hold a place within society and make a high enough wage to support both him and Erik.

If life in France could be seen as a sequence of events, life in India was better described as specific memorable occasions. Much of the time there was uneventful. Erik would spend his daytime hours reading or watching the other guests that lived in their small apartment complex, most of them also foreigners. Although most of the residents were very wary of the pale, masked boy, a few people would talk to him. There was an elderly Danish woman with poor vision who would bake a variety of iced pastries and then sit there telling stories about her childhood. An eccentric one-armed war veteran also befriended Erik and gave him an introduction to magic and card tricks. He was also responsible for teaching him a few phrases of English. Some other children resided at the complex, although Erik's association with them nearly resulted in a disaster that Nadir didn't want to dwell on at that moment.

He recalled one evening, after they had been there for about a year and a half, when he and Erik were walking home. Erik usually only came out after sunset to avoid being an object of curiosity; there was no doubt that some of the more devout Hindus had already deemed him 'untouchable.' Although the event didn't seem significant then, it was one of Nadir's strongest memories of their time in the country. As they walked down the cracked road, they passed several scraggly men in a dusty vacant lot. In between them, a white cloth dummy with only a head and torso was propped up on a stick. Each man was attempting to throw a rope around its neck from a designated distance, all the while laughing and taunting one another.

"What is that?" enquired Erik, looking over with interest.

Nadir glanced up. "Oh. That is the Punjab Lasso. Over a century ago, it was used as a form of execution in this region. Now, it appears to have become a mere game." He chuckled and shook his head. Before Mr. Khan could blink, Erik had run over to the circle of men.

"Can I try?" asked Erik in broken Hindi. The men stared at him suspiciously, some eyeing the mask with disdain.

"You?" asked one of the larger men with a laugh. "You are too little to even hold the rope. How old are you? Eight years old? Nine?"

"Erik!" Nadir yelled, becoming a bit nervous. "Come back here. Leave them alone."

"Let him have a chance," said one of the other men with a grin. "It will be entertaining, eh?"

"Very well," muttered the previous man. He handed Erik the rope and stood back with an amused expression. Even from a distance, Nadir could see Erik's yellow eyes narrow in deep concentration. After gathering the noose into his hands, he positioned the rope and threw it toward the dummy. The lasso snapped forward, missing its target by inches.

"See. You cannot do it," said the man with another laugh.

"One more time," calmly replied Erik, reeling the noose into his hands again. "I was very close." He threw the rope forward, this time landing the noose squarely around the neck of the dummy. He yanked hard, contorting the cloth and cotton so that the neck was severely squashed and narrowed.

"Thank you," stated Erik, dropping the rope on the ground. He returned to Nadir's side, leaving the group of men staring after him with slight bewilderment. "I was rather good at that," he stated. "Wasn't I?"

Nadir laughed and scratched his head. "Yes. You were. Very good, Erik. I think you surprised them."

Erik nodded. "Yes. It is an easy game, no?"

"For you, it does seem to be."

Nadir was interrupted from his thoughts as both a prison guard and a man in a blue suit and red tie came to the door of his cell. He immediately stood up, a tremor of anxiety running through him. A truth would soon be learned.

The man in the suit nodded in greeting, his mouth set in a grim line. "If you will excuse us, Mr. Khan, it is time that we had a conversation."

He'd known from the beginning that they would not cooperate during this first round. He'd wished to play with their heads a bit, allow them to understand what they were dealing with, allow them to see that this entire matter was under his control. From a good distance, he'd watched as they'd gone about their futile search, all holding loaded weapons. London's police force had been brought into a state of disarray for nothing.

With the next round, though, they would come closer to obeying him. He would see to that.

He went into the closet where Carlotta was now reclining against the concrete wall with a look of utter misery in her eyes. He'd been very careful not to allow her to know where she was being kept. For all the wench knew, she was on the twentieth floor of an abandoned building. This hideaway was to remain a secret, and whether Ms. Glouer would emerge from all of this alive was still anyone's guess.

She looked up at him with fear as he approached her, her eyes widening even more as he took a small but sharp knife from his suit pocket. A sound between a scream and a moan escaped her throat as he knelt down beside her. She attempted to draw away from him, tucking her knees up against her torso, only to quickly run into the wall. "If you will excuse me," he began, his twisted lips forming a smile behind the mask, "I need a piece of you to send back to your dear relatives."

"No!" she screamed, attempting to struggle away despite her weakened state. She kicked at him with her bare feet. "Get away from me! No! No!"

"Oh. It will be very quick." He grabbed her by the arm with a gloved hand and pressed her bound wrists to the concrete floor, ignoring her shrieks of horror. Taking the blade of the knife, he held it directly over her right thumb. She released another high-pitched scream as the knife lightly grazed her flesh. "Now," he whispered. "Are you going to be silent when I tell you to be, Ms. Glouer? Are you going to cease your complaining and be grateful that I have not killed you yet?"

She nodded rapidly. "Yes," she begged. "God, yes. I'll do anything! Please! Please don't! Please…" Her voice was growing hoarser with each plea. She was trembling. Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks; she could not wipe them away with her hands still bound.

The knife hovered there a moment longer, mere centimeters away from her flesh. Within an instant, he moved the blade away from her hand and grabbed a thick strand of red hair. He sliced it off just above the root, causing her to release a sharp yelp of fear.

"As though I would wish to deal with a large amount of blood and infection," he murmured, standing up with the strands of hair in hand. "But I trust you will be silent, Ms. Glouer? Otherwise I will bring the needle back." He paused. "And then perhaps cut both thumbs off while you are unconscious so that you do not scream into my ear."

She bobbed her head up and down. "I'll be quiet. I swear! I swear! I promise."

"Very good." He left her in a distraught heap and firmly shut the door. Although there would have been extreme satisfaction in the dismemberment of one of Oliver's relatives, he didn't think that his beloved angel would like the act. The hair would do. For now.

He still hadn't found the note. He had no sign of his Christine, and each day, it was beginning to push him toward that fateful edge. There were memories. He had clear memories of her face…her gentle touches…her sweet voice speaking to him, telling him that she wanted him to come to her.

But since when had his mind ever been accurate? Not for over a decade, certainly.

What if in reality she was married to Chagny somewhere? No. No. Please no. That would destroy him. That boy had been given everything in life. Everything. He could not have Christine, too. Christine was his! She had stayed with him and cared for him. She had treated him like a human being. He had left men alive for her. It was real. It was real.

I love her. I love her.

But where was she?

There was another soft female moan from the closet. He turned around and stalked back into the small chamber. Two green eyes stared up at him with fear. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make a sound. Honestly. Please. I didn't mean to."

He bent down and grabbed the source of the female voice by the shoulders. "You are not her!" he yelled, shaking Carlotta back and forth like a rag doll. "You are not her! Not her! Where is she?"

Carlotta screamed and attempted to wriggle out of his grasp. "Please!" she begged. "Please don't kill me! Oh God, someone help me! Please! Please don't!"

With a soft cry of realization, he released her shoulders and leapt up from the ground. After racing out of the closet, he slammed the door behind him and looked upwards. The roar of automobiles was barely audible as they passed along the streets above him. He could not stay in that unearthly darkness forever. It was beginning to devour his mind.