hello! So i got just 4 votes on my question, and the 4th was the decider!

I have almost finished Lonely Angel! There are going to be 40 Chapters, and I have just one more to write, so I will probably finish this just before the 2 year (O.o) mark :) thats taken me a while...

Anyway, enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 37

Antoinette Giry was walking down a corridor the following day, accompanied by the managers, André and Firmin. Amongst them walked Raoul de Chagny, his face determined.

"We have all been blind." He told them, his eyes glinting with an idea, "And yet, the answer is staring us in the face." He looked ahead. "This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend."

The managers stepped forwards, their faces shining with hope. "We're listening!" they assured him, "Go on!"

Raoul acknowledged their comments, "we shall play his game, perform his work, but remember we hold the ace. For if Miss Daae sings, he is certain to attend."

Antoinette's eyes widened, as the managers grasped his idea.

"We are certain the doors are barred." They said, "We are certain the police are there."

Raoul continued. "We are certain they're armed."

Together, they concluded their plan. "The curtain falls, his reign will end!"

Antoinette said nothing, her mouth agape slightly in horror. What was she to do?

Should she tell him of their plan? To prepare him? He was dangerous, and she should think of Christine, who was in danger if he continued... but she also thought of the little boy she had rescued, hiding him in the dark, watching his hope as she returned to him with a small amount of food.

She remembered the time she had saved him from drowning in the lake, the time she had watched as he swung through the opera house like it was his playground. She remembered him being there for her to cry on when her husband had died.

He was human, really. He'd just lost himself along the way. And she could not sit by and do nothing.

Determined, she turned from the group and made her way to her room, from which there was an entrance to the Phantom's catacombs, and a route down into the darkness she knew to get to the lake, and his home.

Approaching the lake, Antoinette heard the pull of violin strings floating across the lake to her ears. Smiling slightly, knowing she had made the right decision, she pressed the knob in the wall to allow her access to his lair.

Creeping through the darkness, one hand pressed to the wall, she walked through the passage, quickly reaching the other side, and releasing the catch to open the entrance.

She walked in, watching Erik's figure, a violin to his neck. His eyes were closed, and there was a look of bliss in his expression. His fingers danced up and down the fingerboard, his arm vibrating to create the beautiful vibrato sounds.

The notes were sad, like most of the Phantom's music, but of course, they were also beautiful, and brought a tear to Madame Giry's eye.

After a while, the Phantom took the violin from his neck and turned to face his old companion.

"Why are you here?" he asked her calmly, his gaze even with no trace of the madness that could rise at any time.

Antoinette looked at him levelly. "I need to tell you something." She said, "The viscount has a plan to... get rid of you."

Erik nodded, "of course he does." He said, sitting down. "It is nice of you to come to tell me. I was under the impression you disliked me. Would you not want me dead like every other person I've ever met?"

He said it so matter-of-factly, Antoinette sighed sadly.

"Life has not been kind to you, has it, Erik?" she said, and Erik smiled a little, mockingly.

"You could say that." He said, before waving his arm. "What was the plan?" he asked her, "That is, if you've come here to tell me and not to just gloat about it... I can find out another way."

Antoinette sighed. "You really believe that, Erik?"

Erik cocked his head. "I believe the world is against me, and it is a bad idea to get your hopes up, just to have them crushed, and getting your hopes up includes trusting people. I don't trust anyone. But I am grateful for what you have done for me, and I don't understand why you keep coming back."

Antoinette walked forwards before sitting down next to Erik, and placing a hand on his arm.

"Erik." She said, "You have done many things I do not like, and at times I have disliked your decisions... but you'll always be the scared little boy who needed someone to give him a helping hand. And I will never regret being that helping hand. You are like a brother to me. I regret some choices I have made with you; I think I should have helped you more. But I never, ever would wish you hurt, and especially not dead."

Erik sat with his head bowed under the weight of the words Antoinette had just said. A part of him wanted not to believe her, he knew where he stood with people – he was a monster, and had to make his way in the world alone. Always alone. And he was used to that... even if he yearned for Christine, he knew she would not choose him by choice... he knew that if he wanted her, he would have to make it so there was no choice.

"I-" Erik's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.

"What was the plan?" he asked, not prepared to deal with the onslaught of emotion brought on by his old... friend? 's words.

Antoinette smiled slightly, and looked at his hunched figure, determinedly not looking at her.

"They believe you will attend the opera if Christine is singing." Erik nodded, of course he would. "They will be bringing in the police. Armed guards at every exit, prepared to shoot you by the time the curtain has closed. They are going to be barring the doors."

Erik nodded. And no doubt they would hunt him down, given the choice as well.

"Thank you, Antoinette." He said.

"Erik... try not to get hurt." The woman said, her sad eyes trained on the floor.

Erik smiled a little, taking her hand in one of his gloved ones, and squeezing it. "I will try." He assured her.

The last week of rehearsals was underway, and the opera had taken shape. The Opera Ghost was still leaving notes at the end of every rehearsal for Madame Giry to collect, but, mercifully, the number of negative comments was dwindling.

The managers were going crazy, planning this, that and the other, and tickets were running low.

Madame Dupet, and her son, Henri Dupet had already purchased their tickets, and waited in high anticipation for the show to get underway. They were to be there on opening night – the show was to be running for a month – and they were quite expensive... not that that was an issue, of course.

Many other rich Parisians had also purchased tickets to the 'Opera Ghost's Don Juan' – the story of the masquerade ball had circled like wildfire, and almost everyone in Paris knew what had happened on New Year's Day.

Antoinette was worried, as Erik had not told her of any plans of his to escape certain death. She had tried to persuade him not to come, but of course, he scoffed at that. Not come? How ridiculous. Christine was singing his work!

Erik, of course, did have a plan; he had just not told Antoinette what it was. He did not want to risk her safety in all this. He had spent ages making himself a costume – he could not go to the costume designer, and they were his designs after all. He had spent hours cutting the fabric, and sewing the seams together, his forehead furrowed.

Of course, the mask was important. He had had this plan in his head a while – probably since before he started writing the opera, and everything was going perfectly. He had designed a mask that covered the disfigurement, on both sides, but left his mouth free. This was important.

But that was done now, and what to look forward to now was the future. He would make Christine his, and the viscount would be disposed of – he didn't have to die, Christine would just have to choose him. In fact, it would be better for him to live – then he would live with the knowledge that The Phantom had won. He had beaten him.

He would beat him.

But, oh, those two were infuriating. Christine and Raoul. Their affection was disgusting. He was too false. He didn't really love her. She couldn't love him. No, not like he, Erik, did. Not like the Phantom did. Because that love was all consuming. It was desperate, and it was perfect.

He would write music about her. The Viscount wouldn't, the viscount would put her on his shelf, and hold her on his arm, and they would go well together... but it wasn't love. It wasn't right. Christine belonged with the music, belonged with him.

He, who would write her an opera, just to win her heart.

He who would sing her to sleep every day, just to watch her.

He, who would caress her with love, just to see her happy.

He, who would give anything to see her smile.

He, who would kill for her.

Was that not a show of love?

Was he not worthy of her love?

It was opening night.

The Phantom had not slept at all the previous night, had sat up, backstage, to make sure everything would go to plan. He had set everything up... there were just a couple of things he would have to sort tomorrow just before the performance, but it would be perfect.

The Phantom heard the gendarme arriving. The Police. He heard them marching, undoubtedly all armed with guns, all dressed in uniform, taking their jobs seriously.

But he would just have to mess it up for them, wouldn't he?

He knew it would be his last chance. But he also knew that this time, he would succeed.

The Phantom climbed into a space that barely anyone had been in before. It was backstage, sort of, but it held no props – there was no room! But there was a very useful pulley system that he approached, pulling it back, testing the rope, and taking down one of the chains... Now it was only the rope holding it up...

Henri stood before his mother, dressed in a smart suit, her in a beautiful dress, and smiled lightly at her, offering her his arm. "Shall we?" he asked, grinning at her.

Madame Dupet checked in her purse once more for the tickets, smiled at her son and took his arm. "We shall." She agreed, and they set off to the Opera House.

Christine was sat in the small chapel before the performance when Raoul found her. She was knelt by the candle with her father's picture underneath, and it was burning. She was already in her costume.

She half looked over her shoulder when he approached.

"Raoul, I'm frightened." Her voice cracked. When she looked up at him, her eyes shone with tears. "Don't make me do this."

She rose to her feet, breathing his name as he approached her, "Raoul. It scares me."

Raoul pulled her close, intent on comforting her, but not backing down... this was their last chance, she had to be brave.

Christine spoke again, "Don't put me through this ordeal by fire." Her breathing was shaky. "He'll take me." Raoul closed his eyes, determined not to stop this, but inside, he was petrified. "I know." Christine assured him, "We'll be parted forever. He won't let me go." Her voice was full of fear.

"What I once used to dream, I now dread. If he finds me, it will never end." She walked slowly towards the stain-glass window... "And he'll always be there, singing songs in my head. He'll always be there, singing songs in my head..." She sat down on the window sill, her eyes wide and frightened as Raoul approached her, sitting down next to her.

"You said yourself; he was nothing but a man." Raoul stroked her face, and brought his hands down to hold hers comfortingly. "Yet, while he lives, he will haunt us 'til we're dead."

Christine's head swam with indecision. When she next spoke, it was more to herself than her fiancée. "Twisted every way, what answer can I give? Am I to risk my life to win the chance to live? Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice? Do I become his prey? Do I have any choice?" her voice turned bitter.

"He kills without a thought! He murders all that's good! I know I can't refuse, and yet, I wish I could... Oh, God, if I agree, what horrors wait for me in this, the Phantom's Opera?" Her voice was scared and horrified, but slightly determined.

Raoul spoke comfortingly, "Christine, Christine, don't think that I don't care... but every hope, and every prayer rests on you, now." Sadly, the two embraced, their eyes sparkling with tears. Could Christine betray her angel? She had loved him once... she used to long for him... but he was bad, he was a murderer, and she knew that if he wasn't stopped, more people would die.

Down in his lair, the Phantom was putting the final touches to his costume, pressing his wig down and singing softly to himself.

Sing my fate tonight,
I hate to have to cut the fun short.

He pressed the designed mask to his face, hooking it round the back of his head.

But the joke's wearing thin.

He lifted one of the small candles on his desk and turned towards the small stage he had in front of him with which he played around with the characters, seeing who would go best where, the best formations... but he would need it no longer.

Let the audience in...

He eyed the stage, set up for Point of no Return, and a small, mad smile dancing in the corner of his mouth.

Let my opera begin!

And he pressed the candle into the small stage, and stood back, the flickering lights from the flames licking up the sides of the stage reflecting in his deep, stormy green eyes.

Please review!

I love you all!

Oreal