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Erik

It had taken me months to find out where the young Countess De Chagny now lived. At first I had tried sleuthing out the information myself, creeping out of the Opera House during the dead of night, trying to find the small apartments where that simpering fop had resided while he was in Paris for the winter Season.

When I was younger I had dared to travel most of the world, using my training as a magician and the sickening allure of my deformity to provide me with some semblance of an income. But, during those short excursions on the cold Paris streets, I soon found that I had grown too accustomed to living my life as a recluse. Even with my felt fedora and cloak hood pulled low over my face I still shuddered into the shadows whenever anyone came too close.

I discovered the Hotel Gaillon on my second trip. Slowly slinking into the dark shadows I examined the large building. It was a quaint hotel, the white marble holding various potted flowers that were just beginning to wilt in the nipping air. I made one final pass around the clutch of buildings, wanting to be absolutely certain that this was indeed the Vicomte's final residence before his flight with my Christine.

Circling back to the entrance I paused again, trying to gather my courage. Hunching my cloak higher on my broad shoulders I took a step into the street then stopped. I gritted my teeth in frustration, disgusted with my cowardly behavior. I must have stood on that street corner for hours, but to no avail. Even knowing that no one would be in the small lobby at this hour didn't sway my stubborn instincts.

It infuriated me to be so incapacitated. Finally, I gave up and walked swiftly back to the opera house, only slowing when I reached the entrance to my home. Crawling back into the darkness like a dumb beast, too terrified of human contact to even find a solution to my problem.

At one point I had thought about sending Lizzy into the hotel in my stead, but knowing her inquisitive nature and her tenacity in solving anything that puzzled her, I immediately curbed those thoughts and tried to find someone that I could easily manipulate.

His name was Joseph Cheever and he loved money and morphine. He was an easy target for me, hardly even a challenge, really. A few simple notes filled with 200 francs soon had him completely in my power. As for the morphine, it was always easy enough to come by out on the streets of Paris and I made sure that he never wanted in petty cash for it. In return he made several visits to the Hotel Gaillon and had soon discovered that the fop had spirited Christine away to New York for their honeymoon.

This information threw a heavy loop in my plans. For months I seethed, trying to think of something, anything that would help me to reach my little angel. But the Atlantic soon proved to be too far of a distance for any of my notes to travel without certain discovery. So, I switched my plans over to Maria Mason, convincing her that if Cabartte would send for Christine then I would gladly turn myself in to the authorities. Cabartte, it seemed, was very taken with this idea and soon had opened up a line of communication with the De Changny's. Then things rapidly began to fall into place, but, just when I was certain that Cabartte would send for Christine, Raoul made his little visit to the Opera House.

Then Lizzy began to get in my way. So much so, that I soon let the leashes on both Maria and Cabartte slip from my grasp. Things soon began to grow rapidly out of my control and I realized that I would need Lizzy to help me discover their new motives. To my utter amazement, she had risen to the task beautifully, and despite myself, I soon realized that I had started to trust her. I had even started to desire her, not just as a confidant, but also as a man of flesh and blood.

So much so, that I lost sight of Christine.

But the moment Cheever left the small note outside La Carlotta's changing rooms telling me that Christine and her husband were coming back to Paris for the spring I instantly pushed Lizzy from my mind.

I walked over to the small vent outside of Peter De Perix's room, making sure that no one was inside. Once I was certain that he had left for the morning I quietly pushed the large mirror aside and cautiously stepped inside. He had left one small taper candle burning on a small table beside his unmade bed and I decided to leave my note there. I pulled the long envelope out of my vest and placed it gingerly on the wood, fingering the creamy paper before gliding out into my passageway again.

*****

"Renee, Renee," Peter De Perix cried, pulling his young fiancé into the room beside him. "Renee, look at this!"

"What is it, Peter?" Renee DeFlur asked, her dark eyes questioning.

"This is a note from a very well meaning gentleman who wants to help us!" Peter said, hugging Renee to him. I sneered at their open affection. Why do you have to make a damn game out of it, boy? Just tell her and be done with it!

"Gentleman?" Renee replied, taking the note from his fingers and quickly scanning it. At first her face lit up with excitement, but when she read the final words she quickly paled, her mouth pursing primly.

"25,000 francs and he'll talk to father about our marriage!" Peter cried, once more taking her into his arms. "My love, all of our problems are solved!"

"Who sent this?" Renee asked, handing the note back to Peter, moving to sit on his unmade bed

"I have no idea. It was just sitting on my table when I walked in this evening. Honestly, Renee, you don't seem the least bit excited," Peter replied, coming to sit next to her. I narrowed my eyes at the young woman. She wasn't blood kin to Lizzy, but no doubt Lizzy has had some influence on her.

"It's just so sudden. And how does he know about our engagement? I haven't even told Lizzy or my younger sisters about it yet," Renee said, smoothing her periwinkle blue dress nervously.

"Oh Renee," Peter said, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice.

"No, Peter," Renee replied, pulling herself away from his reaching arms. "I want to write Lizzy. She'll know what to do."

I nearly collapsed against the wall. Damn that woman! Even in Cannes she's still managing to wreck all my plans. But, I couldn't help the smile that began to creep across my lips.

"How will Lizzy know what to do?" Peter asked, rising to his feet, my letter still clutched tightly in his hands. "I know you look up to her and she's very experienced about some things, but what does this have to do with her?"

"Lizzy will know Peter," Renee said, walking over to him and wrapping her long arms around him. "Besides, it will give her something to ponder over! I'm sure she's dying for some sort of amusement."

"Just be quick about writing to her," Peter replied, kissing Renee lightly on the lips. I quickly turned away, unable to watch them any longer. I slowly walked down the passageway trying to think of another way to convince Peter De Perix to send my letter to Christine. Perhaps if I can talk to him alone…

A week passed. I watched with an amused eye as Renee wrote her letter to Lizzy. No doubt my little maid would be furious to know that I was yet again using her family to advance my plans, but far away in Cannes she would have little say in the matter. But I knew that I would have to act fast to counteract Renee's letter. This plan would fall through if Lizzy managed to convince her stepsister to not go through with my little bargain.

Peter De Perix was crossing the main staircase one evening when I decided to confront him about my letter. Luckily, most of the staff was in the auditorium watching the two new tenors vie for the part of Hercules for the upcoming performance of Ercole su'l Termodonte. Peter, to my delight, was completely alone.

"Have you decided to act on my note, Monsieur?" I asked, careful to throw my voice beside his ear. With a small cry of alarm, Peter turned, his eyes scanning the room swiftly.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" Peter asked quietly, a new bravado entering his voice. I sneered at his false show of courage.

"Do not question me! I can offer you marital happiness, but I can just as easily crush you both. Now, what is your decision?" My voice drifted lazily about the staircase, sometimes echoing right in Peter's ears, sometimes wafting from the balconies above and below him.

"Mademoiselle DeFlur has written to her stepsister. I will have your answer as soon as we receive her reply," Peter replied, a tremor of unease shifting through him at my threat. Better.

"There is no time for a response. I need your answer now," I replied, impatience making my voice harsh in the large space.

"But, Monsieur!" Peter cried, his voice rising to a pitch much too loud for my liking.

"I need your answer. I will talk to your father tomorrow night. I need to know if I will be convincing him or dissuading him about your upcoming marriage," I snapped, letting my voice drift directly in front of Peter's face, causing him to stumble back a few feet.

"All you need me to do is deliver that letter?" Peter asked incredulously, backing into one of the banisters, still trying to determine from the source of my voice.

"Yes," I stated simply. "Do you accept?"

"I do," Peter replied, swallowing thickly. "But what should I tell Renee?"

"Tell her anything you wish," I replied, taking my carefully written letter from my breast pocket. With a careful flick of my wrist I tossed the letter beside his feet. Peter instantly bent to pick it up and swiftly tucked it into his pocket. "Do as I say and everything will go smoothly for you and your betrothed. But, if I find that you have disobeyed me then you will find that I can make your life a Hell on earth," I finished menacingly.

With a low gulp Peter immediately hurried down the stairs and flung open the doors that led to the small square. I looked out of a nearby window, and was able to just catch sight of him dashing towards the heart of the city. I swiftly got to my feet, pressing my gloved palms together and touched the edge of my chin, a small smile pulling at my lips. Christine.

By no means was I expecting an answer. Besides, how would she address such a reply to me? Please post to the supposedly dead Opera Ghost; you know the one that almost destroyed the place five years ago.

No. I only wanted Christine to know that I meant her no harm. I wrote eloquently but with scribbling words that were shaking and messy, nothing at all like my perfect penmanship that she had known as a chorus girl.

I am dying. I would like to hear you sing one last time. Please come to me. Please come to your Angel of Music one last time.

Nothing her simpering husband could say to her would dissuade her from obeying that pitiful plea. Christine would come. All I needed to do now was to wait.

It was a restless two weeks for me. Finally, in an attempt to distract my fevered mind from my darling angel I resumed lessons with little Sophie. She was overjoyed to hear my voice calling to her from her small mirror once more, her tiny hands clapping with delight. Her enthusiasm was very different from Christine's reverence. For Christine, our meetings had always reminded me of confession, a dark secret that was to be told to no one else, and a quiet salvation that the two of us forged together out of our music.

Sophie, on the other hand, was a talkative little creature, forever asking why when I stopped to correct her on her form or a missed note. She wanted to dissect the music, to understand its inner workings, not just appreciate its beauty and simplicity.

The lessons that I held with Sophie helped me to pass the time, and they also brought me in closer contact with Lizzy's small stepfamily. But often I only had eyes for Madeline.

The small child was weakening by the day, her face growing thin and haggardly, her dark curls hanging limply about her shoulders. I had seen consumption take many lives during my travels, but it was always shocking to see it ravage someone so young. Madeline's cough now began to spurt up the telltale flowers of blood, the deep red shining brightly on her small handkerchiefs.

One afternoon, while I was waiting for Sophie to appear in the kitchens, Madeline slowly walked in from the stable yards, a letter clutched tightly to her chest.

"Mama! Sophie! Renee!" She called weakly, a sudden cough overtaking her the moment she finished. I winced at her visible pain. She doesn't have much longer.

"Darling, what is it?" Lizzy's stepmother Jacqueline swiftly came from the laundry room, wiping her wet hands down on her apron.

"It's a letter," Madeline finally replied, her coughing spell subsiding for a moment.

"From who, dear?" Jacqueline Brett asked, helping her frail daughter into a chair before turning to put on a pot of tea.

"Lizzy!" Madeline cried, a smile beaming across her pale face. My ears perked up immediately. So, my little Elizabeth had finally deemed it appropriate to write.

"Oh, how wonderful!" Jacqueline replied. "I will go and fetch Sophie and Renee. Wait here my darling and don't move. I don't want you coughing again."

Madeline sat quietly in her chair, her head bowed over the envelope, tracing the writing on the front. Suddenly another coughing spasm hit her fragile frame, leaving her trembling in its wake. I furrowed my brow at her hunched form. She needs to be in bed.

"Lizzy's letter!" Sophie cried, flinging open the large kitchen doors, Renee and Jacqueline hot on her heels.

"It's taken her forever to reply," Renee said, coming to sit by Madeline, kissing her tenderly on the forehead.

"Aloysia most likely takes up most of her time with demands. I'm surprised she's even had time to write at all," Jacqueline replied, pouring three cups of steaming tea and passing them out to her clutch of daughters.

"Open it, Madeline," Sophie said, cupping her hands around her warm mug and inhaling the aroma deeply.

"I don't think I can read it aloud though," Madeline said quietly, bowing her head with disappointment.

"Here," Sophie replied, taking the letter gently from Madeline's hands. "I'll read it. You need to drink your tea."

"Ahem," Sophie began with a flourish, knocking some of her ringlets over her shoulders. Almost unwittingly I leaned closer to the mirror, wanting to catch every word.

"Dear Mama, Renee, Madeline and little Sophie. Wait, why am I always last?" Sophie paused, pouting her lip out.

"Sophie, dear, if you can't read it then I will," Jacqueline chided, arching a warning eyebrow at her youngest daughter.

"Oh, all right," Sophie huffed and flicked the letter back up to her eyes.

"I hope that everything is well with you in Paris. Cannes, though very lovely, has been a rather miserable trip for me. Aloysia seems intent on making a spectacle of herself in front of some of the younger bachelors that are in town for the Season, and is quick to take her bad luck out on me. So, if you see any letters addressed to Aunt Maria from her please toss them into the fire without delay. I'm willing to pay handsomely for this as a further means of bribery!

I hate to be terribly dull, but there isn't much else to tell. Sadly I've been cooped up inside this hotel day in and day out so I haven't had much opportunity for sightseeing. And though I would have a wonderful time filling this letter with my lamentations, I shall save all of my horrid experiences in my memory so I can tell you all about them at a later date.

Now, Renee, in response to the letter that you sent me a few weeks ago, I don't think that Peter would necessarily be harmed in going through with this "gentleman's" plans. In fact he might be able to do some good where De Perix is concerned. However, don't get too caught up in what he's doing. It might not be beneficial in the long run. If either of you two catch a glimpse of this mysterious note sender, be sure to tell him that he needs to be careful not to over reach his bounds, especially concerning our dear patron Cabartte.

I send my love to all of you, especially dear little Madeline, and good luck with the upcoming opera! I hope to be home soon.

Love,

Lizzy

"Who is this gentleman, Renee?" Jacqueline immediately asked, but I didn't bother to wait for Renee's response. I moved away from the mirror, shaking my head in disbelief. She wasn't the least bit concerned. She even had the gall to warn me to be careful!

I quickly moved past the wooden panels until I began to reach the stone passageway that would lead me further into the bowels of the Opera House. It unnerved me that Lizzy had responded so calmly to my advances with her future brother-in-law. Where was her predictable anger, her cutting remarks, or warning to stay as far away from me as they possibly could?

I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't even realize that I was now standing right in front of the wooden panel that led to Lizzy's tiny bedroom. I leaned back against the stone wall for a moment, trying to fathom my surging emotions and thoughts. Suddenly I found it very frustrating that Lizzy wasn't here, that she wouldn't be knitting or reading in her room, or cleaning on the staircase. She was an easier enigma to comprehend when she was readily available for questioning.

Sighing loudly, I flicked the small switch that activated the panel, listening to the thin metal scrape its way along the track. Lizzy's small white cat instantly pounced about my boots, mewing softly for me to give her some attention. I gently scooped the cat into my arms, one of my gloved hands running slowly down her smooth back, eliciting low purrs.

I paced about the room for a few minutes, still trying to comprehend why I was so shaken by Lizzy's response. My boot echoed dully on the old wood and I soon found the noise very irritating to my sensitive ears. Detangling the purring cat from my arm I placed her onto Lizzy's blue blanket and was about to pull back when my eyes suddenly caught sight of an old, tattered book sitting on the edge of her pillow.

Carefully, I pulled the weathered book into my hands, flipping open the pages delicately. I had seen Lizzy reading this book before, many times, in fact.

"It's the Old Book. We've had it in our family for generations. My father used to read to me from it."

The pictures in the book had long since begun to fade into lighter shades, but the words were preserved perfectly, the ink still shining brightly from the pages. I flipped through a few more pages and had just started to close the book when I heard something drop from one of the inner pages. I knelt down and picked up what looked like a small piece of paper. There appeared to be something written on it.

Elizabeth age 17 with Will age 22

Instantly I flipped it over. It was a small photograph with a large tree in the background. There was a young man with dark hair peering over a young girl's shoulder, his arm resting around her neck in a friendly hold. My eyes moved down to the young girl. There, staring defiantly out at the camera, was Lizzy. Her long hair was draped loosely over her shoulders, her hands propped on her hips. She looked so young.

I ran my finger over her figure before I tucked the photograph into my cloak and swept out of the room without a second glance.

*****

It was dark when I emerged into Madeline's room. She had a small window that over looked the square and the moonlight was shining brightly through it, casting the room with an otherworldly glow. Out of habit I glanced about all the corners, making sure that I wasn't compromising myself by entering.

All was quiet and empty. Madeline lay on her bed, her head propped up with several pillows, her small breaths rasping loudly in her chest. Silently, I walked over to her bedside, dipping my hand inside my cloak to pull out the small amount of medicine that I had concocted earlier that evening.

Madeline's pale face gleamed in the moonlight, and I noticed the dark circles that were beginning to cast their shadows under her eyes. Uncorking the bottle, I poured a small amount into the spoon that I brought with me and lifted it up to her lips. Gently tilting the spoon I let the liquid slide down her throat slowly.

The moment she felt the spoon touch her pale lips she opened her eyes, the blue orbs feverish. Madeline began to pull away, but I placed my hand behind her tiny neck, holding her still until she finished the spoonful.

"Who…who are you?" she asked fearfully, shrinking away from me.

"My name is Erik," I said softly, beginning to fill the spoon with more of the medicine.

"Oh, Lizzy knows you," she replied, suddenly relaxing.

"She does," I confirmed, lifting the spoon back to her lips. She looked at it hesitantly for a moment, but swallowed it willingly as soon as she realized I wasn't going to back down.

"How long have you known her?" Madeline asked, resting her head against the headboard while I continued to fill the spoon.

"About two years," I replied a bit more harshly, hoping to dissuade her from asking any more questions.

Madeline was silent for a few more spoonfuls, her eyes following my every move. The bottle was almost empty when she began to speak again, her voice very low and hoarse.

"She loves you," her words were simple, and not wholly unexpected, but for some reason they shook me to my core. I was silent for a long time, wanting nothing more then for her to finish her dose of medicine and escape.

"You don't love her?" Madeline asked once I removed the spoon for the final time. I took a steadying breath before I looked up at her once more. Her blue eyes were slowly beginning to haze over with sleep, but she seemed determined to get an answer out of me.

"You don't love her?" she asked again, leaning towards me.

"No, I don't," I replied coolly, rising to my feet and tucking the empty bottle back into my cloak.

"Then why are you helping me?" she asked, her voice barely reaching my ears. "Why help Renee and Peter? I think you're ashamed to admit the truth. Even if you don't love her, you care enough about her to worry about us. She might not be what you were expecting, but it doesn't hurt to broaden your horizons sometimes."

I paused at the wall, resting my hand heavily on my mask, rubbing my temples. Pity has never gotten you anywhere, Erik. But, a small voice in my head called, what if she's right? No, another voice answered, Christine is coming. Elizabeth is not Christine.

"I will be back in the morning to give you another dose. This should help you sleep more comfortably for the time being," I said, my voice low. I was about to open the mirror when I heard Madeline's voice again.

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

I turned to look at the small, frail child on the bed. Her long black hair was matted around her damp face and she looked as brittle as a rag doll.

"Are you frightened?" I asked, quietly moving towards her again.

"No," she said softly, looking down at her hands. "But, I do want my sister."

"I can fetch one if you'd like," I replied as gently as I could, hoping that she only wanted Sophie and not Renee.

She turned to look up at me again, her blue eyes beginning to close despite her best efforts.

"I want Lizzy," she finally managed, before her small head dropped forward onto her chest, her breathing calm and slow. I came to sit next to the small girl again, lifting my hand to her wrist to check her pulse. It was steady but weak beneath my fingers, fluttering like a butterfly's wing. Then with a deep sigh I pulled a small piece of paper out of my vest and began to write.

*****

"Mama! Mama!" Sophie's voice echoed all over the Opera House as she ran to her mother in the kitchens, causing the morning rehearsal to come to a halt. I glanced over my shoulder towards the main hallway and rose slowly from my chair, hidden deep within one of the upper boxes.

"Keep it down out there!" Monsuire Rayer called, waving his small baton agitatedly in the air.

I walked swiftly to the kitchens, following Sophie's frantic cries like a beacon. I reached the large mirror just as Sophie ran in, her face flushed.

"Mama, Mama! Look!" she yelled, handing her mother the short note that I'd left on Madeline's bedside. When I had returned to check on her this morning she was noticeably worse and I made her down the elixir that would help her to sleep quickly.

"Sophie, what is it?" Jacqueline asked, taking the note and quickly reading it. Her face blanched and she looked down at Sophie with amazement.

"Where did you find this?" she asked, resting her hands on Sophie's small shoulders.

"By Madeline's bed. Mama, I think that Madeline is dying," Sophie said, her voice breaking with her tears.

"Oh, my darling, you must be brave," Jacqueline said, wrapping her arms around her youngest daughter. "She wouldn't let me send for her sooner, but someone must be watching over our little Madeline. Go fetch me some paper at once, there's a good girl."

Sophie immediately ran out of the room and Jacqueline sat slowly down in one of the large chairs, trying to contain her own emotions. Once again I rubbed my hand across my temple, and leaned heavily against the wall, remembering how my hand had shaken as I had written the note that I had left for someone to find next to Madeline's sleeping form.

Send for Elizabeth.