You are under arrest for the murder of the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny

A thousand thoughts barreled through Erik's mind. He glanced down at Christine on the couch, who was staring up at him with a heartbreaking look on her face, her eyes filling with tears. He looked over at Antoinette, who was staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and fear and regret. He looked back to Nadir, who kept his sad but firm gaze level at him.

"Come now, Nadir," Erik murmured. "Don't do this."

A brief flicker of indecision flashed across Nadir's face, but resolve quickly replaced it.

"Out of respect for our past together, I'm not going to handcuff you. But I do expect you to come with me to the station for questioning."

Erik shook his head and instinctively took a step backwards.

"No, no - I didn't do it - it wasn't me."

Christine curled in on herself, sobbing. Erik glanced at her again, the image of her an arrow in his chest. He wanted to hold her, to wipe away her tears - but then he realized that in that moment, she was crying because she thought Erik had murdered her fiancé.

"Erik, I don't want to handcuff you, but if you resist then I'm going to have to. Please."

Nadir took a step forward, and Erik's heart sank. The man was serious, then. Erik's eyes fluttered around the room as though taking it in for the last time, and he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He gave a single nod.

"Very well, then."

"I'm sorry, Erik," Nadir said quietly as he led him out the door.

"So am I," Erik sighed.

Antoinette watched as the two men walked out the door, watched as Erik looked back at her one last time, his face uncertain as though he were trying to ascertain her opinion of him of now. She gave away nothing as the doors closed and took them out of view.

Once they were gone she grabbed the whiskey glass from her desk and hurled it at the wall where it shattered with a satisfying noise. She put her hands to her temples. The world was spinning and she didn't know how to make it stop.

She stood up. How had she missed it? How had this happened right under her own nose? All this time? And she never even knew?

She ran up the stairs to his room. Was he back on the morphine? That hashish laced with who-knew-what? Was that it? Had he fallen back into his vices from days past? She rifled through his personal effects, searching for needles, for pills, for anything that might explain what had happened. For weapons.

She laughed bitterly - weapons. That man was a weapon. He didn't need anything but his hands.

She pulled out drawers and overturned them, as though by examining their contents she could examine his conscience and determine where it all went wrong. She felt a vague pang of guilt for violating his room like this, but if what Nadir said was true-

She found nothing. If he was using again, it wasn't in the office. She checked the pockets of every item of clothing in the closet, nothing. Inside the monkey music box on his dresser, only a few pieces of fine jewelry. Her mind raced now, questioning everything. Were those his, or had he stolen them? Inside the violin case, a small snapshot of Christine. Antoinette frowned. Where had he gotten this? At the bottom of a dresser drawer, a collection of knives. A pistol and bullets. Tucked between layers of clothing, a large amount of red silk rope. These things that she previously hadn't bothered to give a second glance to while on his person now took a sinister new meaning.

There was a box under the bed, which she dragged out and opened. A collection of pencils and sketch pads. She flipped through the images - a few landscapes, some local, some of places she'd never seen before, and then it changed to drawings of people.

No, not people - just Christine. Drawing after drawing of Christine. Christine striking a balletic pose. Christine with her back to the viewer, playing the piano. Christine, eyes closed, lost in playing violin. Christine grinning widely and holding an apple. Christine across the couch, reading a book. Christine after Christine after Christine. Antoinette huffed. She dropped it back in the box and pushed herself off the floor.

She had let him watch Christine - practically pushed him into watching Christine. Or had she? Had he been playing her even then? Had he already killed Raoul at that point? Had he been planning to keep Christine in his clutches indefinitely?

Antoinette let out a soft sob. She didn't want to believe any of this. How could he? How could he have done this? Had he planned it all out or had it been a spur of the moment decision?

She took a moment to survey what she had done. Clothes lay strewn on the floor, knickknacks overturned on the dresser, masks and wigs out of their places on the shelves. She had never been in this room after she had given it to him, and now she had scoured every inch of it. It felt like a betrayal of him, but it was not more of a sin than what he had committed.

She went downstairs, down into the basement. There was less to search down here, but still she looked and looked, hoping to find something, find anything that could explain what had happened. She pulled books off the shelves, finding the staves with love songs scrawled across them, hidden away from prying eyes as though he didn't want anyone to know. She examined the organ, wondering if anything was hidden inside, but found nothing.

Nothing. That's all her quest had turned up, all the answers her mind held. Nothing.

At the end of it she realized how desperately she was hoping to find a bottle or needle, something she could point to and prove to herself that it wasn't her Erik that had so casually killed yet again - that he was in the grips of a vice that caused him to not be himself, that it was out of his control. It might not make a difference in the eyes of the law, or in the eyes of God, but it made a difference to her. Let him be strung out on substance, in an altered state of mind when he had taken a life - but don't let it be something he had willfully chosen, something he had thought about while he had sat across from her in the office as they worked to find a missing child and then something he had acted on just after laughing and joking with her.

She felt sick at the thought - Erik, the very same Erik that had shared an office with her for so many years, the same Erik who was always there for her when she needed someone to talk to, who bought her flowers and left them on her desk every year on the anniversary of her husband's death, who had remodeled her office as a thank you gift, who believed in her even when she didn't believe in herself. Erik, who had taken a bullet in the back for her while out in the field, shielding her with his own body and leaving him with an injury that still ached when the weather changed. Erik, who cooked food for her and Meg and helped clean her house when the struggles of being a single mother with a full time job job became too much.

Erik, the murderer.

How could she reconcile those two people being one and the same? How could the man she knew do something like this? But- he had already been a murderer before she even met him, hadn't he? How many had he killed in Persia before they ever met? Was it selfish of her to assume those others didn't matter just because she didn't know them, couldn't put a face or a name to dead?

But she had wanted to believe he had changed, that he wasn't that person that anymore. Even Nadir had believed him, Nadir who had seen firsthand his many sins. And he had promised both of them that he wasn't that person anymore. Had he been lying when he said that? Or had even he not realized how deeply old habits ran, surprising even himself when he killed the Vicomte?

She numbly walked back up the stairs.

Christine. Her poor Christine. Antoinette sat on the couch next to her and pulled her into her arms.

Christine let her pick her up and hold her as she cried. She didn't have the strength to move - everything had left her when she heard those words.

Her Raoul was gone. Gone. She would never see his warm smile again, never hear his cheerful voice again, never sing for him again, never laugh at his jokes again. Gone.

"Raoul, Raoul!" she sobbed onto Madame Giry's shoulder.

She couldn't even wrap her mind around the other half of what had been said - that it was Erik who had caused this. How? How could her Angel have done this to Raoul? To her?

In one fell swoop, she had lost both of the men she loved.

Erik grudgingly followed Nadir to the horse drawn cab that was waiting outside. Once inside, Nadir refused to look at him.

"I want to know what proof there is to warrant this," Erik stated.

Nadir looked out the window and stayed silent.

Erik stared at his old friend in disbelief. He was about to demand an answer when suddenly he realized something else was wrong. He peered out the little window in confusion.

"Nadir, this isn't the way to the station."

Nadir glanced mournfully at him.

"Because we aren't going to my station, Erik. It's under the jurisdiction of the next district over."

The bafflement in Erik's eyes made Nadir's heart twist. Did he truly not remember what he had done?

"Raoul was found in Officer Edwards' district," he softened his voice.

"So the boy really is dead, then?" Erik sounded regretful.

Nadir gave a nod.

"I didn't do it, Nadir, please," he begged.

"Save it for the station," he shook his head, avoiding his eye.

"I'm being framed, you have to know that-"

"Erik, please-!"

Erik fell silent.

The quiet was suffocating. Nadir stole glanced at him every now and then, too guilty to actually look at him for longer than a few seconds. He'd known this man for thirty years, and looking across at him now he seemed every inch the broken young man he'd met back in Russia and brought to Persia. He had hoped, at the time, to be a good influence on him, but all he'd done was shove him into the power of twisted people who only further crushed his soul and filled his spirit with evil. Nadir fervently longed to go back in time, to stop himself from ever approaching the young street magician he had seen while on vacation, to merely applaud the tricks he had never seen the likes of before and then to turn away, never learning his name, never hearing of his architectural skills, never making the connection in his mind of Erik's skills and the Shah's requests for entertainment and a new palace. Never making the fatal choice to offer to Erik the opportunity that had damned his soul. Perhaps then none of this would have ever happened.

"You promised me, Erik," Nadir whispered brokenly. "You promised."

Erik said nothing, only stared.

"Why did you do it?" he continued, unable to help himself. "Are you- are you taking something again? Are you drinking? Was it because of Christine?"

Erik flinched at her name, turning away from him.

"I'm clean, Nadir, I swear it. I left that behind in Persia - all of it."

Nadir so wished it were true. He knew he should wait until they were at station, knew that he himself had only moments ago requested that Erik not speak of it until they were there, but in the silence the questions bubbled up and screamed at him until he had to speak them out loud or go deaf inside. If Erik had truly committed this crime, it would be his last - and Nadir would be powerless to help him.

"Edwards says he has evidence linking you directly."

"What evidence?"

Nadir shook his head.

"I don't know."

"Did- did you see the- see him? The boy?"

"No."

They arrived at the station, and Edwards was there as soon as they opened the door. Nadir exited first.

"Let me question him, Edwards," he pleaded. "Please, he doesn't need handcuffs. And I know we'll have to keep him here, but it's of the utmost importance that we keep him in the questioning room, not a cell."

Edwards nodded, leading them into the station.

Inside he turned to Erik and demanded his coat and moved to inspect him for weapons. Nadir stepped between them.

"Let me do that, please," Nadir offered.

He gave Edwards Erik's coat, and then paused to look at him.

"Your jacket, as well, old friend," he told him apologetically.

Erik took off his second jacket and uncoiled the red silk rope from where it was stashed up his sleeve. He sighed as he pulled a small knife out of holster near his ankle, and frowning he turned to Nadir.

"I seem to have left my pistol at the office."

Nadir nodded and motioned him over the wall, where Erik placed his hands as Nadir patted him over - a concept that made Nadir chuckle mirthlessly, as though ensuring the mere lack of a physical weapon made Erik defenseless. Still, it was policy and had to be done, and if had to be done then so help him - Nadir was going to be the one to do it. It was bad enough that he had to arrest his dear friend, he certainly wasn't going to hand him over to uncaring officers to be pawed at and manhandled.

Edwards watched from the corner of the room.

"It's policy to remove of the rest of that, too," he waved a finger towards Erik. "The gloves, the vest, the cravat, all of it. It's summer, what the hell are you wearing all those layers for?"

Nadir and Erik paused.

"That's not the policy at my station," Nadir said cautiously.

"We're not at your station, now are we?"

Nadir shrugged at Erik helplessly, and Erik took off the offending items, feeling terribly bare without them. He hated that Edwards was getting a glimpse of the marks that ran down his neck, no longer covered by the cravat, but his only relief was the fact that Nadir had already seen his entire face in the past and he at least was not judging him.

"The mask, too."

Erik froze at Edwards' command.

"You can't be serious," Nadir turned to him. "You think he's hiding a weapon behind his mask? You're being absurd."

"Fine. Leave it," he grumbled, pushing off the wall where he was leaning and making his way to the interrogation room.

Nadir sat across from Erik, pain in his eyes. He never wanted to be here like this. Suddenly he realized he had no folder, no papers or prompts of what to question him with. Edwards stood in the corner, watching.

"Where, ah, where were you on the night Raoul disappeared?" Nadir finally asked.

"I was at home," Erik said steadily.

"Erik... Please. That's not what you told me before."

"No, it was," Erik insisted. "I did go home that evening. I was at the Opera Populaire to see Faust, and then I went home and stayed there."

"When you left, did you go straight home?"

"Yes."

"Erik, did you go straight from your seat in the audience to your home?"

"I went from the Opera Populaire straight home, yes."

"From your seat in the audience?"

Erik swallowed hard.

"I went from the audience to the performers' dressing rooms and from there I went straight home."

Nadir rubbed his face.

"What were you doing by the dressing rooms?"

"I-" he hesitated. "I was there to see Christine."

"And did you?"

"I saw her, yes."

"Did you stop to talk to her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"She was busy."

"With who?"

"With Raoul," he managed.

"So you saw Christine with Raoul and instead of stopping to talk you went home?"

"Yes," Erik grit out.

"What did you do when you got home?"

"I went to sleep. I wasn't feeling well."

"Can anyone provide witness that went home and didn't leave?"

"I don't think so. It was late."

"You say you aren't feeling well," Nadir felt dread in the pit of his stomach. "Can you explain what you mean, please?"

"It was a headache," he said faintly.

They both knew what that meant. Erik often lost memories, lost time, during his episodes. He would remember his head hurting, the light blinding him, the nausea, and then it would muddle and sometimes chunks of time would go missing. Most of the time it didn't matter as he was simply laying on his bed or asleep, but there had been occasions where he had done things he had no memory of - going to the market and buying a cherry pie, having a bizarre conversation with Nadir about birds, waking up in the middle of the park with no recollection of how he got there.

Doubt gnawed the corner of his mind. He hadn't killed the boy... Had he? He had been upset that night, yes - but upset enough to harm him? He had been upset with himself mostly... But had his pain addled mind taken that out on Raoul? He hated to admit that it made sense in a way - eliminate the competition, drive Christine into his presence with a well placed threatening letter... Except this would, in the end, hurt Christine. Had he been that shortsighted in a delirious haze, orchestrating a scheme that complex, trapping her like a bird in a cage of thorns just so he could enjoy her song? He couldn't - would he?

He tried to clear his throat, but the constricted feeling still remained.

"Nadir, I did not kill the boy. I may not entirely remember everything from that evening, but I swear to you I did not kill him that night."

"He's telling the truth about that," Edwards broke in. "He didn't kill him that night, because Raoul de Chagny was killed last night."

Both men at the table started.

"Where were you last night, Erik?" Nadir asked.

"At home."

"Can anyone confirm this for us?"

"Yes, actually."

"Who?" Edwards demanded, leaning in close to the table in a way that made Erik uncomfortable.

Erik had a sinking feeling deep inside. Something wasn't right here. He knew he didn't kill the boy, and now he had proof because all night he had been with-

"I- I can't say who," he muttered.

Edwards leaned back, vindicated.

"You can't say who because there was no one. You were out in the park, strangling the Vicomte."

"Who found the body?" Erik asked.

"Does that matter?" Edwards retorted.

"Who found him, Edwards?" Nadir asked.

"I did, if it's so important. Found him with that red silk rope around his neck."

Erik met Nadir's eye, willing him to understand. Nadir tilted his head, confused.

Erik sighed, thinking.

"My, my, Daroga," he murmured. "Doesn't the sandstone sparkle in these evening rays of sun?"

Nadir's eyes widened. He recognized the phrase, even after all these years. A secret code between just the two of them to alert the other when they needed to discuss something in private.

Nadir coughed.

"Edwards, please, could you- could you get a glass of water? My throat is so dry..."

Edwards gave a brief nod and left the room. Erik wasted no time. He leaned across the table to whisper harshly.

"Edwards is framing me, Nadir. I know it. Please, no matter what happens, you have to keep Christine safe," he begged. "I was with her last night - all night, Nadir, she'll tell you the very same. Ask her - but do not let Edwards know about it until you can safely get him out of the picture. She will back me up on this, I swear to you - just ask her- we were at home the entire night-"

"She'll agree with anything you say about that night?" Nadir asked cautiously.

"Yes! She was there- ask her if she was with me and she'll tell you-"

"Erik," he cut him off with a sad smile. "Christine will agree with any story you concoct because she loves you."

Erik stopped. He slid back into his seat, expression blank as he searched Nadir's face for the truth. He saw what he was looking for, and then dropped his gaze to his own hands, picking nervously at his nails. When finally spoke, it was in a broken voice.

"Christine loves me?"

Nadir didn't have a chance to answer. Edwards came back in and placed the glass in front of Nadir.

"Did he say anything else?" Edwards asked. "The name of this supposed witness to his whereabouts last night, perhaps?"

"No," Nadir supplied. "No, he didn't."

"A shame," Edwards chuckled. "It was your last hope, Erik. It seems nothing can save you now."

Except perhaps Christine

There was one other crucial piece of evidence but Erik had run out of time before he could say it without Edwards in the room. He desperately hoped that Nadir would still remember it from all those years ago, all those things they'd both rather forget that were now so terribly important to remember.

Edwards produced a pair of cuffs from behind his back.

"I suggest you go easily, Erik - any form of resistance will not go well for you."

Nadir looked at Edwards, confused.

"Go... Go where?" Erik stuttered.

Edwards raised an eyebrow.

"To your cell."