Disclaimer: I'm not Gaston Leroux, or ALW, or Susan Kay, or anyone else. I'm just me, and if I owned any rights, I'd be set for life. –grins-

Chapter Fifty

Erik and Christine left the villa and strolled, their fingers entwined, to some of the nearby shops. Erik took care to cover his head and face with his heavy cloak. The weather was a bit chilly that day, and the majority of people on the streets paid him no mind. Suddenly, something in a window across the street caught his eye and he drew in a rapid breath.

"Christine—let's go there," he pointed, and she turned to look.

"There?" she squinted, curious as to why he would wish to patronize a dreary little pawn shop. "Alright, if you wish."

As soon as they stepped inside, the pungent smell of wood and brass wafted to Erik's nostrils. He glanced around to see if anyone was running the shop, and within seconds a squat woman, looking to be about Madame Giry's age, came out from behind a curtain in the back. "May I help you?" she asked sweetly, noticing Christine's graceful form standing in the doorway.

Brusquely, Erik stepped in front of his wife and the woman gasped in shock. Anger was the first emotion to awaken in him, but he fought a fierce internal battle to remain calm and friendly. Why must people react that way? He clenched his teeth for a moment while he gathered his wits. "Madame, I should very much like to see the instrument in your window," he said at last, in a rich and almost hypnotic timbre.

The woman relaxed a bit, and a look of wonder crossed her face when he spoke. "Of…of course, Monsieur. I'll get it down for you."

Erik stepped aside, allowing her to climb into the window as he slid closer to Christine, taking her hand gently in his own. She looked up at him peculiarly until she saw the violin in the older woman's hands as she stepped from the display window.

"Here you are, Monsieur. Take your time," the woman said, eyeing him curiously and attempting to get a better look at his features. He gingerly and lovingly took it from her hands and turned quickly before she had a chance to study his face. Erik's focus shifted entirely to the beautifully crafted piece of maple and spruce in his eager hands and he nearly cried at the feel of the instrument beneath his fingers. It has been far too long. He checked the bow and tuned the violin for a brief moment. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he set it beneath his chin and put bow to strings, gliding smoothly across them. The beauty of the sound enveloped him like a warm blanket, reverberating against the walls of the small shop. He paused for a moment, and at last began to play a tune…one that Christine knew very well.

The notes seemed to transport her to another dimension, bringing back memories of loneliness and wanting. The Resurrection of Lazarus…from my dream…oh, Papa! Tears began to stream down Christine's cheeks and as she listened, she could not suppress a sob.

At once, Erik heard her and jolted from his trance-like state, whirling around in alarm. "Mon ange? Are you alright?" He stepped toward her, gathering the bow and instrument in one arm, his wife in the other.

"Yes," she sniffled, trying to compose herself. "It's just…oh, Erik."

"I'm sorry, ma cherie…I didn't mean to upset you with that song…I know what significance it holds for you." His eyes were sorrowful and apologetic, and Christine could see that his regret was genuine.

"Thank you." She wiped the tears from her face. "Are…are you going to buy it?"

Erik started to speak, but he saw the older woman staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to meet her gaze. "Madame?"

"Y-yes, Monsieur?" she stammered, quickly lowering her eyes from his.

"Is this the price that you are asking for this instrument?" he asked flatly, noting the tag strung to the neck of the violin.

"That depends…what are you willing to pay for such an instrument, Monsieur?" she cocked her head and dared to directly meet his gaze for a moment, awaiting his response. She was used to bartering…most people expected her to come down in price.

"Does it have a case?"

"Yes."

"Give me a moment, please." He quickly pulled Christine aside, situating her by the window so that the shopkeeper could not hear him. "This is a Vuillaume, mon ange. Not a very old violin, but very high quality. I should say it's worth twice as much as the price that's requested here. Perhaps I should put a smile on this old woman's face today, hmmm?" He chortled amusedly and Christine had to laugh at the gleam in his eye.

The shopkeeper swooned when she saw the money that Erik set out before her. "Keep it. You didn't know what you had here, Madame. Good day."

"Good…good day to you, Monsieur. And thank you very much!" The old woman smiled, almost gleefully, calling after him as they exited the shop.

Christine held her husband's hand with even more pride as they strode down the street, pleased with the sunshine and clear sky, despite the chill in the atmosphere. She gleefully pointed out different buildings and sights that she recalled from her summers spent there. "Look!" she gripped Erik's arm excitedly. "There's the little church that Papa and I attended when we used to come here! Oh, can we please go in and just have a look around, Erik? Please?"

Erik smiled affectionately at her childlike enthusiasm "Of course. Perhaps you'd wish to light a candle in memory of your father?" He gazed at her, his eyes tender, and she was overcome with emotion.

"Oh, Erik. How I love you, my Angel," she whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek. "How is it that you always know what to say to me?" She pulled his neck down, pressing her lips to his in a soft kiss.

He was surprised by her public display of affection. Never in my life did I believe that a woman would kiss me…especially not on a street like this! He smiled at her once the shock had worn off. "Perhaps I know what to say because I know you, Christine. Have you forgotten that I've watched you from the shadows for years now?"

"Of course not," she said distractedly. "Come on, let's go," she said, tugging him across the street by the crook of his arm.

The church door opened with a creak, and Christine was met with a familiar smell…old wood…candle wax…dust. She remembered this place with such fondness. Her father had brought her here regularly during the summer. "Hello. May I help you?" an unfamiliar male voice startled Christine and she spun to her left.

"Oh! I…we were just coming in to look around and light a candle for…for someone who has passed on. Is that alright?"

"Of course," the priest said, stepping forward from the shadows. He was young…younger than Erik, with dark hair and eyes…eyes that appeared almost black in the dim sanctuary. "Are you visiting from out of town?"

"Uh…yes," Christine replied, glancing at Erik, who was standing nearly motionless, refusing to face the man. "We are here for a short while. It is truly a lovely place."

"That it is," nodded the solemn priest. He studied Christine for a moment, glancing down at her hands. "Madame, is it?"

Erik tensed noticeably, whirling to face the priest at last. He reached for Christine's hand possessively, his violin case in the other hand. "Yes," he said flatly. "And who might you be?" he asked, meeting the man's piercing gaze with one to mirror it, just barely visible beneath the cloak.

"Oh, forgive me for my rudeness. I am Father Ribisi. I am the new priest here."

"Ribisi? Isn't that an Italian name, Father? Forgive my forwardness in asking," Christine said with some interest.

"It is," the young priest nodded. "But I have lived here for most of my life. I took over when Father Richard retired. I attended this church in my younger years, as well, before I went to study for the priesthood."

"Ah," Christine responded, simply wishing that he would go away, but trying to act the part of a well-mannered young woman. "Well, if you'll excuse us, please…"

"Oh, certainly," Father Ribisi said, motioning with his rather large and lean hand. "But before I leave you," he began cautiously, "I wonder if I might ask you one last question, Madame."

Erik felt anger bubbling in him as he gripped Christine's hand tightly, and she winced.

"Of course, Father," Christine replied, forcing a smile.

"You seem quite familiar to me. You remind me of a young girl who used to vacation here with her father…Monsieur Daae, I believe. You wouldn't happen to be of any relation, would you?"

Christine froze for a few seconds, not knowing how to answer. I am in God's house, she thought to herself, and here I am preparing to tell a lie! She swallowed and prayed silently for forgiveness even as she sinned. "Daae? No…no, I'm afraid not, Father. Good day to you. It was nice to meet you."

"You as well, Madame…Monsieur," the young priest stared oddly at Erik for a few seconds, as if he couldn't tear his eyes away, though Erik's face was still concealed beneath the cowl of his cloak. He turned slowly and left them alone at last.

Erik suddenly grasped Christine's elbow, startling her. "Erik! What is it?" she whispered frantically.

"As if you didn't know, mon ange. That man recognized you. If he recognized you, surely others might as well. Perhaps you should have concealed yourself today." His blue-green eyes had turned fiery again. "I shouldn't have brought you here. I just thought…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. "Come, light a candle and let's be on our way…quickly, Christine."

After what seemed like an eternity to Erik, they slipped out the church doors, heading down the street hand in hand, trying to appear nonchalant and happy. However, they were both quite disturbed by the incident, and it left them with an unsettling feeling of paranoia. Anytime a passerby met Christine's eyes, she felt compelled to look away rather than to smile politely. She knew that it made them appear even more suspicious, but she couldn't help it.

Erik was relieved to be away from the scrutinizing eyes of the young priest. He leaned over and whispered to her as they neared the villa. "Let's go to the beach, and then we can go home, Christine."

She turned to glance up at him uneasily. "The…the beach, Erik? Are you certain that it's wise? What if I am recognized again?" She sputtered, hoping that he would change his mind. She did not want to go and relive old memories. She did not want her husband to know that every time she thought of this place, she thought not only of her father, but of Raoul. Oh, Lord, I wish we hadn't come here.

"We'll be fine, mon ange. There should be few people at the beach on a brisk day like today. And, as I have never been there, I should very much like to see it." He studied her for a reaction, noticing the tension in her jaw. Her eyes were clouded over in thought, as well, and Erik knew that no matter what, she needed to go to the beach. Whether she wanted it or not, she needed it.

"Which…beach do you wish to visit, Erik?" she asked, trying to sound calm, her shaky voice betraying her.

"Trestraou," he replied simply.

Her head snapped up in his direction and she stared at him. His expression was unreadable, and she wondered why he would choose such a place so arbitrarily.

"Trestraou? Oh. Yes. Yes, I remember that place. The beaches are golden in the sunlight, Erik. They are quite a sight to behold." She attempted a smile. "Our villa is fairly close to the inlet, did you know that?"

"Yes," he said softly. "The owners of the villa informed me of that."

After several minutes of walking, they reached the inlet. Christine reached down to remove her shoes. "You might want to remove yours as well, Erik. You don't want to have to walk back to the villa in sandy shoes, my love," she smiled. She was surprised at how the sight of the reflective sea calmed her nerves almost immediately. She smelled the salt and felt the breeze in her hair as she closed her eyes. "Papa," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "Papa, I remember."

Erik watched as she let go of his hand and started out onto the golden sand alone, walking toward the edge of the water. She laughed as it rolled up on the shore and splashed her feet. "It's freezing!" she called to him, smiling blissfully, as innocent as a child. No one else was in sight that day, and Erik was glad. He bent to remove his shoes, feeling foolish as he did so. I feel like a child, he mused. Perhaps this is one of the things that I should have been able to enjoy in my childhood… He stepped on to the sand, which he noted was quite temperate, even in the sun. Walking nearer to Christine, he looked down at his feet, which were covered completely in the golden grains. As he again turned his gaze to his wife, he saw that she was motionless, staring out into the water. Before he could reach her, she suddenly turned and began to run down the beach, her back to him, heading toward a grouping of boulders. "Christine! Wait!" Erik called to her, but she did not respond. Worried, he broke into a run as well until he reached the boulders. She had climbed upon a larger one, and was again gazing out into the sea. "Christine?"

She did not respond.

"Christine! Angel!"

She turned her head to look at him, tears in her eyes. "Oh, Erik. Erik…." She began to weep bitterly.

He dropped his shoes and case gently, climbing up to stand next to her. His arms instinctively wrapped themselves around her, and he breathed into her hair. "Mon ange, are you alright?"

"No. No, Erik, I don't think I am," she replied, still weeping.

He moved her to face him and tilted her chin upward. "Talk to me."

"I don't want to hurt you, Erik. I…I don't know…I don't think I can say what I'm feeling…"

He pressed a finger to her lips to silence her. "Christine, I know."

"What?"

He furrowed his brows and stared intently into her confused brown eyes. "Do you think that I brought you here by accident?"

"You…what are you talking about, Erik?"

"I want you to be honest with me and with yourself. I have faced my past, mon ange. It is time for you to face yours…to deal with it and let it go. Let it become a fond memory and nothing more. Today we will sing a requiem for your guilt."

Her jaw dropped in disbelief. "How…how could you know this? How could you know that I have felt this way?"

He smiled meekly. "I know guilt when I see it, Christine. I have lived it. And it will be as poison to you and to our marriage if you do not let it go now. You first met him here, didn't you?"

Christine was astonished. Is it not enough that he is a magician among other things? Is he now also a mind reader? "I…yes…when we were children. Right here…by these very boulders."

Erik nodded. "You may not recall, but you did share a few details with me some time ago, when you still believed me to be your Angel of Music. The other details, mon ange, I learned from watching you…knowing you." He wrapped his arms around her waist and gently kissed her cheek from behind.

"Erik," she began slowly, "this place…it reminds me of my father and Raoul. I so wish that it didn't! I love my father, and I am thankful for the happy memories that I have here, but…I also have memories of that little boy who rescued my scarf from the sea so many years ago. I dreamed of him last night, Erik…of Raoul." She hung her head, ashamed. Erik was silent, knowing that at last she was ready to share her heart with him. "Why is it that I have caused so much pain?" she spoke in anguish. "My actions have come back to haunt me…I've hurt Raoul, I've hurt you…and in my dream, Raoul told me that I would regret what I have done." She turned her head and glanced up into his eyes, which were now their usual calm blue-green. "I know he meant that I will regret choosing you after all."

Erik studied her for a moment. "Do you believe that?"

"No," she answered quietly. "No…I just know that I've hurt him so deeply, and my fear is that he will choose not to find his own happiness because of the pain I've caused him. What if he holds on to the past, Erik? What if he refuses to let me go?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her mind recalled a time not so long before when it was Erik that she feared would not move on. "He'll take me, I know…we'll be parted forever…he won't let me go."

"That would be his choice, and the fault would not be yours. We make our own choices, Christine. I believe that one day, he will move on." Erik said this so confidently that Christine wondered if he had some strange insight of which she was unaware.

"I know…I know you're right," she whispered. "And I know that I was not supposed to belong to him. I thank God that He showed me the truth before it was too late for us…all of us." She shook her head. "But I did love him, Erik. I really did. Not the way I love you…but I cannot change the fact that I was once willing to marry him, though clearly it was not meant to be. I cannot change the fact that my heart will always love him somehow, as my friend and childhood sweetheart, even though I have chosen a life apart from him. Can you accept that?"

Erik caressed her face and smiled down at her. Months ago, he would likely have exploded into a jealous rage upon hearing such words. Though it pained him somewhat to hear that she did indeed still care for the young Viscomte, he knew that she was doing nothing wrong. "Christine, love is a gift. You want what is best for him, and there is no shame in that. Your heart is not divided…this I know. I could never expect or ask you to stop loving him, just as I would never expect you to stop loving little Giry, or Monique. They are a part of who you are, and I do accept that."

"Thank you," she said, near tears. "Thank you for hearing me and for understanding. May…may I have a few moments here…alone, please? I want to say goodbye."

"Of course, mon amour. I will wait for you by the sea."

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A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm so glad to hear from some of you who are new to this story, and those of you who haven't left reviews before. It means a LOT to me to get reader response. Sorry I haven't been able to update every day…I'm writing and editing as quickly as I can, though, so hopefully quality will make up for frequency of updates! –smile-