Hey guys! I'm afraid that I wasn't clear about the 'note' that Erik is looking for. It's understandable why everyone is confused, as there are a lot of notes going around. If you'll look at Christine's scene in the last chapter, though, you'll see that she has the note that Erik wants. That means that Frederick and Leonie do not have that note. What do they have? That will be revealed in this chapter.

Also, I'd like to thank Mereidia, as her review gave me an idea for this next chapter. Without her idea, Erik would be a bit worse off than he already is ;)

As always, thank you for your continuing support of this story.

Read and Review!

His pile of supplies was growing larger, and his course of action was becoming more certain. Normally, the development of strategy and the careful designing of plans would have brought him a sadistic sort of satisfaction. It had been much that way during his first act of vengeance, roasting a man alive within his own furnace room. The results had brought him utter delight, for the media had displayed the gruesome details all over the front page of every newspaper.

At best, though, planning now only brought him calmness and allowed him to focus his tattered mind. There was no longer a constant supply of adrenaline that came from plotting, but keeping his brain occupied was better than allowing thoughts of her to make his chest feel as though it were being squeezed.

By sending back the strands of hair to Carlotta's elderly mother, he had set the police into action. He could just imagine their faces if he had actually sent them a thumb. It was still impossible for him to access Belmarsh, but there had been an increase in activity around the facility. He was also able to get into local police offices and find out recent instructions concerning security around the area. They were getting closer and closer to following his demands, knowing that they would be receiving even more pieces of Carlotta Glouer if they did not. And the second Nadir was released from the confines of the prison, all would quickly fall into place.

His night journeys to gather his cache of supplies posed few problems. The grey canisters glinted in the dim tunnel lighting, lined up in a precise row. And of course, his main weapon was always behind the folds of his suit. He did not see how some death could be avoided. By this point, he didn't even know if he wanted to keep the body count low. If the days spent with his beloved had never even existed, were only a product of his warped mind, then Christine still only thought of him as a monster, anyway.

He picked up a jug of water and poured some of the clear liquid into a metal bowl, before going into the closet and dropping the bowl upon the floor. Carlotta stared down at it. The last time, he had left a bottle of water with a straw.

"My hands are tied," she moaned. "How do I drink?"

"Bend down and lap it up," he hissed, turning to leave. "I learned to do so."

"I can't," she moaned.

"Hush!" He started to walk out.

"Are you going to kill me?" she suddenly whispered from behind him. "Are you?"

He froze, remembering when Christine had asked him a similar question. Are you going to kill me, too? He might have done so on that very first night. After all, she had been nothing but a witness, in the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd left her alive only because having her made Chagny more compliant. His blood chilled. What if he had murdered Christine on that night? It was certainly in the realm of possibility; he had readied the lasso.

But he hadn't. I did not! I did not! I would never!

Carlotta was still cowering on the floor, likely unnerved by his sudden silence. He looked down at her as his mind returned to him, ignoring her question. "If you are thirsty, then you will drink!" He left the room and closed the door, now with her back on his mind.

There were still no traces of her, nothing to even prove her existence except the steady ache in his chest and the memories. He grabbed a stack of music sheets and began to desperately flip through them, again looking for evidence of her existence, for any peace of mind. A soft cry of anguish escaped his deformed lips as he neared the bottom with no success. Suddenly, a tiny piece of paper folded into a perfect square fell out of the stacks and onto the concrete. He snatched it into his skeletal hands, ripping it open in his franticness. Seeing that it was not the letter from Christine, he nearly hurled it away.

He stopped and looked down again. A weight slowly lifted from his chest as he read the words.

Christine Rebecca Daae Age: 20 Single

Permanent Residence: Chicago, IL; Currently Vocal Performance Student at Boston University

He remembered receiving it. The note was from the shady figure in the United States, and it was the letter that had led him to see her one last time. She had not wed the boy. And she was singing. That much was real. Needing more air, he untied the mask from his face and leaned against the wall.

The time for action was nearing, and he knew that he could not do this forever. His lungs were beginning to ache again from the cold and pollution. It had been a problem he'd experienced ever since prison, when in frigid air or damp locations…or when extremely upset. Whether his haggard breathing was a lethal disease or a mild chronic problem, he did not know. Before, he'd counted on the ailment to eventually kill him. But if it were actually possible for more moments with her to exist, he did not want to die. If he could have her again, be it for mere days or months or entire years, then he wanted to live for the equivalent time period.

He stared down at the equipment again. He would retrieve his comrade, as he had always planned. That was something that he did have control over…this mindless chaos and strangulation and battle. It was all so much simpler than her, than feeling.

He heard the soft swish of water from the closet and knew that Ms. Glouer had decided to bend her head down and drink. That, of course, was expected. In the end, almost any creature would abandon every bit of its dignity in order to survive.

"A hairclip," murmured Oliver, staring into a plate of lobster chops and mashed potatoes.

"Your niece's?" suggested Leonie, delicately picking apart a slice of pink salmon.

Frederick scoffed. "Carlotta wouldn't wear anything that cheap! It is certainly not hers."

Leonie shrugged. "Who knows, then? Maybe it's nothing. Or maybe he has a fetish for hair accessories." She snickered.

Oliver muttered something to himself and shook his head. "He sent my niece's hair to my poor ailing sister and threatened to do worse if we didn't comply with him. That fiend will do worse, too." He sighed. "They are going to begin preparations for a mass attack. The plan is to fake an exchange but make it look real up to the very last minute."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they bring that other man-Khan, I think- as bait. Armed men will be waiting behind every bush, tree, and building. They think that Mr. Khan may end up dead, too, with all the shooting."

"Pity," joked Leonie.

"Indeed," agreed Oliver. "That would be two annoyances off my hands if it works." He shook his head and set down his fork. "Somehow, though, I have my doubts. It is too easy."

"Well, what do you think they should do?" she asked with sincere interest.

"I don't know. But too much is under his control right now."

She thoughtfully nodded. "A hairclip," she murmured, taking a sip of red wine. Leonie began to nibble on her thumb nail, a habit that came into play whenever she was in deep thought. She had mastered a concept that some women have trouble with: maintaining a feminine façade over her intelligence. She could tell you of the latest fashions in Europe and squeal over a miniature poodle, all the while plotting a strategy on how to hide some of the corporation's dirtiest secrets.

Frederick smirked. Nearly fifteen years ago, she had been the one to fly to the United States to convince Louis Chagny and James Lawrence of why it was necessary to hide the freak. It had been about a month before they'd confined the monster to prison, and Louis was still firmly against the idea. Leonie had provided Frederick with the details of the meeting.

The three of them were sitting in Louis' plush home office. Leonie had finally convinced Lawrence of why the entire thing was necessary; James hadn't wanted his beloved wife to know of his involvement. Like the others, he also wasn't ready to give up his garnered wealth. Louis was still against the plan, even threatening to get the government involved. "It is a man's life!" he had exclaimed. "Haven't we ruined it enough?"

Leonie had leaned back into the leather sofa, attempting to handle him in a delicate manner. "Louis," she gently began. "Everything rests on this. People's job, our entire company, our wealth. You're going to give all of that up for one ethical conflict?"

"It's practically murder!"

"No, dear. It's really not. We are not going to kill him. In fact, he's probably better off in prison, you know?" She attempted that angle. "He'll always have a roof over his head and food. Daily exercise. I mean, no one would ever actually hire someone who looked like that."

"Maybe we should hire him," Louis had practically growled, running his hands over his aging face.

"Oh, don't be childish," retorted Leonie, beginning to lose her patience.

"She's right, Louis," Lawrence had wearily offered, appearing miserable from his place in the corner. "Perhaps we need to put this into perspective. Maybe it isn't so terrible."

Louis had started to give another angry retort, when his youngest son walked into the room. The boy had to be around eight or nine years old at the time. "Dad?" he asked, his blonde head peeking into the office.

Louis had tiredly looked up. "What is it, Raoul? I'm in a meeting right now."

Leonie smiled, already beginning to formulate an idea. "Hello, young man. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Ma'am." He'd turned back to his father. "I have a friend over. Is that okay?"

"You know I don't like visitors when your mother isn't feeling well."

"But she's really nice! You'd like her! She even sings! And she had to come over from really far away."

"Well, that is lovely, isn't it? A little girlfriend," cooed Leonie. "Let her stay, Louis. Don't be mean." She'd winked at Raoul.

"Fine," said Louis with a sigh. "She can stay. Just try to stay quiet, son."

"I will, Dad." He ran out of the room. Louis winced and shook his head as Raoul's voice reverberated throughout the large home. "He says that you can stay!"

"Yay! Your house is huge!"

And at the sweet sound of innocence in its prime, Leonie began to work her magic.

"He's really a handsome boy," she had stated, turning back to Chagny. "Already quite popular with the ladies, it seems."

Louis nodded. "He is a good boy."

"And he really has a bright future," she continued. "A fine home. The best of colleges. Any wife that he wants. A title."

"Yes. Well…I have tried to do what is best for both my sons."

Leonie went in for the kill. "And you want to destroy that future because of some thing that can't even walk down the street in broad daylight."

Louis had glared at her, but pained realization was now evident in his eyes. "We're still talking about a young man's life, you know. Destroying it, really. How can I even look at myself in the mirror anymore if I do this?"

Leonie had sighed. "Louis. If this gets discovered, we'll all go bankrupt. Do you want your sons living on the streets? All of our family names ruined? That face….have you even seen it, Louis?"

"Just photos," he softly replied. "It is a horror. But we are responsible for it."

"And if we do not get sued for everything we own, we can fix the problem. We've already started. Change a few filters, get some drainage…anything. But this…this must be taken care of now, dear Louis." She paused. "And we need to know that you're on our team."

"I…" The sound of the two laughing children came from down the hall. Louis stopped speaking and closed his eyes.

"I have a Nintendo!"

"I want to be the pink princess!"

"You can't be the princess, though. She only gets rescued from the monster's lair at the end of the game." A door closed, and there was silence.

Louis opened his eyes and cast a helpless glance at Lawrence. His friend shrugged and shook his head. "Yes," Louis had finally whispered, staring at the ground with defeat. "I will agree for the sake of my family. Even if I am damning myself."

Leonie arose from her chair and took his hand. "Louis. You are damning no one."

Louis shrugged. "I will make arrangements to fly out there." He'd paused. "Try to make it as…un-brutal as possible. For my sake. And…and his."

"Of course, love. We'll do all we can."

And that is why Frederick Oliver was rather fond of Leonie. She had known that Louis' weakest spot lay in his love for his children. Only a woman would understand something like that.

"Frederick?" she asked after a second, breaking him from his thoughts. She took another sip of wine. "Mr. Khan refuses to talk, correct?"

"Yes," he muttered.

"Wasn't there another man arrested with him?"

"Yes," repeated Frederick. "Darius. He was a bit more willing, but he didn't know anything of use…didn't know where the monster was hiding."

"Perhaps we have not asked him all the right questions," she murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"Only that a few puzzle pieces have come together." She smiled. "And I'd like to see if they form a pretty picture."

The man in the suit and tie was still talking after twenty minutes, going on about some nonsense involving criminal trial proceedings and plea bargains, while continuously adjusting his black toupee. Nadir, however, was already lost in his own thoughts. He didn't even notice the armed guard behind him or the frigid temperature of the dim room.

Erik is alive! Allah knows where he has been all this time, but he is alive!

He had also gone to the trouble of kidnapping Ms. Glouer, which told Nadir that Erik was being careful with his plans. He wasn't being reckless or suicidal.

"Mr. Khan?" The man was staring at him with irritation. "If you value your life, you had better answer me."

"What was the question?" Nadir calmly asked.

The man released an exasperated sigh. "Will you cooperate in this exchange? If you do, perhaps you will get a fair trial in this country. If not, I can't even promise that you will survive the ordeal. There are going to be dozens of men with sophisticated weapons."

Nadir hesitated, trying to imagine what Erik had planned. It was impossible to guess, but Mr. Khan could only assume that getting out from behind the prison walls would be the best path. "Yes. I will cooperate."

The man nodded, although there was still a frown of uncertainty upon his face. "Very good, then. You'll be given more information as you need it."

For the rest of the day, Nadir paced within the prison cell. Although worry pervaded his mind, he also dared to have some hope. For the situation to be coming to this, Erik must have gained the upper hand. Guards continued to walk past his cell, and the little green light on the security camera was always flashing. An energy crackled through the air, reminding Nadir that the night could end in disaster.

As the evening approached, four armed guards silently approached his cell, their black boots clicking upon the dusty linoleum. "Turn around and put your hands on the wall," calmly commanded one. Nadir obeyed, his heart rate increasing and his stomach clenching. His wrists were handcuffed behind his back and his feet were shackled. His pride was wounded, but he knew that cooperation was the best choice. And he could only guess that Erik had been through something a thousand times worse than this.

As he was walked down the corridor with the chains clinking at his every step, he was continuously given one-word commands. Stop. Go. Turn. He glanced into some of the other cells, wondering what these men had done to earn a place in this nightmare. Many of them looked like foreigners. The guards finally unlocked a pair of lime-green double doors, and Nadir let out a soft gasp as he found himself outside. He inhaled a breath of cold night air, feeling his mind and lungs begin to clear. Even the dead brown grass on the sides of the concrete walkway was pleasant to look at. A half-moon peeked out from behind a cloud, and Nadir couldn't help but slightly smile.

If it felt this wonderful to be out after only a few months, he could only imagine what it had been like for Erik. As he was taken to an awaiting white van with barred windows, Nadir recalled the night that he had first seen Erik after ten years of believing that his friend was dead. Hatred had burned from the yellow eyes, but anger wasn't nearly the extent of the damage. Erik had constantly twitched and flinched, as though tiny insects were nibbling at his flesh. His eyes had wandered without pause, and it was impossible for him to stop pacing and stay still. Even his fingers were always bending and unclenching. He would often mutter and gesture to himself. When Nadir had attempted to ask him questions, Erik's answers were nearly nonsensical.

Erik? Where have you been all this time?

Everywhere, Nadir! I go everywhere, you see. I can do anything. Watch what I can do, Nadir! They will never forget Erik!

Erik had then disappeared. About a month later, the first massacre had taken place. Over time, the blatant insanity faded and was replaced by a single-minded quest for revenge. He had escaped his madness by finding a point of focus. Nadir wondered how many Erik had killed in those last five or so years. More than fifty souls was probable. Especially in the beginning, Erik had snapped the neck of anyone who threatened him in his missions, who even caught a glimpse of him. He had saved some of the more gruesome deaths for the members of Falcon. Lawrence was the exception, as it was necessary to make his murder look like suicide.

Abruptly pushing the morbid thoughts from his mind, Nadir watched the aging brick buildings pass through the windows of the van, wondering how this night would end. Pedestrians turned to watch the small convoy of police vehicles. There was no doubt that other law enforcement task forces were hiding in the alleyways and shadows. If Erik were to make his presence known, he would have at least fifty men firing shots at him. They likely even had snipers on the top floors of some of the buildings.

After nearly twenty more minutes, the van stopped. Nadir took a deep breath, scanning the shadows for anything unusual. There was nothing. His door was unlocked, but he was motioned to remain inside the vehicle.

Someone in a black uniform came out front with a bullhorn and pointed it toward the dilapidated brick building in front of them. Boards had been nailed over some of the windows, and the roof was beginning to cave in. An eerie quiet settled over the atmosphere.

From the corner of his eye, Nadir swore that he saw a flash of yellow in the darkness.

He held his breath and waited.