"Veronique? Tu es ici?"

"There, he is calling for her again," the fisherman calls out to his wife. A frown creases an already furrowed brow – skin brown from the sun. A tall, thin frame disguises the sinewy strength necessary for the work he does to survive. "Do you figger he bumped his head in the wreck an' that's why he's still out of it? I still am na' sure how he got to shore – even with the life preserver."

"Swam like the devil was chasin' 'im, Ima guessin'." Although not of the same height, Maeve McKesson, is made of the same grit as Padraic, making one's life from the sea – with a catch often only enough for the family taught her whoever this man was, he was himself tough. It was a good ten miles from the sunken ship to their dock. How he escaped the ship they watched sink in no time at all after a horrible explosion that shook their small wooden home was nothing short of a miracle.

The fine clothing pulled from his body, such as there was – no shoes or socks nor coat of any sort – now hang to dry in front of the hearth – speak of his wealth – not to mention the gold money clip with the engraved letters PdeCcontaining a goodly sum of American money in large denominations.

This particular treasure sits on the table next to the bed where he lies. If he dies, the money will not matter to him. If he lives, well, he may wish to offer them a sum – the money stays with him in any event. The McKessons being good Catholic folk doubt even a sincere confession would gain them absolution from Father Keenan. Thou shalt not steal – the seventh Commandment was the code of life in their small village. If the catch was good everyone benefitted. If not, they would share without question. A thief gained nothing.

The entire community ran to the shore to watch as a few lifeboats floated away from the ship along with flotsam from the destroyed vessel. Many of his fellow fisherman took their boats out to see if they could be of assistance. For himself, Padraic, his boat only good for carrying himself and whatever fish he could net, took to walking the shoreline – looking through what few remnants of luggage and furniture were washing up. Most was destroyed – although he was pleased to find an odd bit of currency or pretty fabric to tuck into his pack for Maeve. There would be more as the days progressed, this walk was more to assess what damage he could see – wondering how it would affect the fishing.

Any bodies making it to shore would likely be dead ones – the ship being too far a sea for anyone to swim. If that were the case, his mission would be to make certain they were brought from the ocean for the good father to come and see they were interred properly.

After a few hours of both searching and scavenging, he began his trek back home. Not one hundred yards from his shanty, he found the man – near dead, but breathing – lying on the wet sand. "So I am to save a life today," he says, looking up to the heavens. "Thanks be to God."

The thin man murmurs again. The language – French, from what the couple could tell. "Veronique?"

"His wife. Pretty name."

"Do ya think we should tell the magistrate…or the priest?"

"Mebbe wait until he wakes up," Maude says. "Ima thinkin they already have their hands full. Canna hurt to keep him here – warm and all – until he comes to."

"Sorelli?" Christine sticks her head into one of the formerly vacant dressing rooms.

The ballerina has taken the spacious room that accommodated four dancers at one time as a private sitting room and decorated accordingly with a deep blue velvet chaise, assorted wall hangings and plush brocade draperies to suggest windows instead of the actual the naked walls beneath them. A place to retreat when her body fails her – to savor the relief of the tonic Erik devised for her, and a half hour or so to simply rest on her chaise.

"You have word?" she rises on to an elbow, a look of hope in her dark eyes. Despite her casual responses about being accustomed to Phillippe's absences – this is very different. That he did not tell her he was embarking on this foolish mission – knowing what was going on in Europe. Did the money mean that much to him he would possibly sacrifice his own life?

"No." Christine says as she enters the room closing the door softly behind her. "I only wish I did. Erik and Nadir are doing everything they can to find out as much as possible about what was an attack and anything about Phillippe in particular. The news in general is sketchy at best."

"Of course," Veronique says, lying back on her pillow. "Is anyone in need of me?"

"No, that is why I am here. I gave everyone the day off."

"You?"

"Meg went into labor while showing young Margaret how to do a pirouette," Christine laughs.

"Ah, the Chagny heir."

Christine lifts an eyebrow at the sarcasm in Sorelli's voice. "I suppose you could say that. I tend to think more of the child as Meg's baby."

"Natural of you to think so." Veronique tilts her head and examines Christine, who folds her hands over her expanding abdomen. "Were you never with child with Raoul?"

Christine shakes her head and sits down on the vanity bench. "But you knew that. Just as I know you were never pregnant with Phillippe's child. Raoul could become very chatty when he had too much to drink and was feeling particularly sorry about his fate."

"But he believed Gustave was his…"

"Not really," Christine says. "Even if he lied to himself for a time. The marriage never had a chance of surviving, but we played the game to save face."

"Yes," Sorelli sniggers. "The Chagny name."

"It is both comforting and upsetting to talk to you about such things."

"Because I understand?"

"Precisely."

Getting herself more settled on the chaise, Sorelli points to a pitcher on the dressing table. "Might I have a glass of water – I am afraid I have nothing else to offer."

"Of course." Christine pours each of them a glass, hands one to Sorelli and takes a drink for herself. "Ah, some lemon added."

"I find plain water dismal."

"Chef must be fond of you, he is seldom so generous with the other performers."

"I have my ways," the ballerina laughs. "As for our respective barren wombs with the Chagny men, I have often wondered if they are actually Chagnys themselves. Not one child borne of their parents has any progeny. I find that odd."

"Well, it does appear that the evil spell has been broken, whatever it was."

"Are you sure. Are you so sure?"

"Knowing Meg – especially these past years – I have to say yes, I am."

"Then I shall take your word for it." Putting her glass on the small table next to her, she crosses her arms. "Now what is this about Margaret and pirouettes - she knows how to them – and quite well, I might add."

Happy to move on from the topic of Raoul and babies and a past so distant she seldom thinks of what was anymore. Of course, Sorelli's renewed presence in her life invites the conversation – yet, she does not believe her old friend is in any way being cruel or inquisitive in a gossipy way. They lived with men raised in the same household and the shared experience creates a bond neither can deny. "Yes, but she adores Meg and the feeling is mutual."

"You are a most understanding mother," Sorelli says. "I fear I am too possessive."

"But I never was able to perform an adequate pirouette myself, so if Margaret should ask me, I would fail her badly."

Sorelli's full lips quirk, dimpling her cheek before she chuckles softly. "How have you been able to retain your kindness? I fear I should have killed someone by now – including my husband, much as I love him."

Christine sighs. So she is not yet ready to leave the past behind. "My Pappa always spoke of forgiveness – not forgetting, mind you…but forgiveness. He also told me that anger destroys from within would only hurt me."

"And that is the way you feel?" Sorelli's brow furrows momentarily before she presses her hand to her forehead, massaging the creases. "I find by doing this I keep the wrinkles at bay – an old habit – age…or looking old causing many careers to end prematurely."

"I often wondered at that when I saw you, putting on your creams," Christine smiles.

"Adele might have danced longer had she put more time into her face than her dancing," the prima ballerina smirks. "Her loss was my gain, however, so perhaps I should not be concerned, even now. Still, she was quite the star in her day. Much like Carlotta."

"Carlotta was brilliant."

"But she had no soul," Sorelli says. "You deserved the lead roles – your Phantom was correct about you – never doubt that."

"Still…"

Sorelli waves her hand in the air. "Trust someone who knows the difference between someone who can sing and someone who can become the character of the piece. These are not the same."

"Thank you," Christine bows her head.

"You did not answer my question…is that how you feel – about not holding onto your anger?"

"No." Christine blushes. "Well, not exactly."

"What exactly?"

"Not to make things worse." Once again she is a young dancer sitting at the feet of her idol, the wise older woman who always seemed to speak from her heart, never holding anything back. How she wished she could have been so bold. Being here, with Erik, has taught her much, but her father's words still rang in her mind when she felt a burst of anger rise up, forcing her to bite her tongue.

"Worse for whom? Raoul might have behaved better had you spoken up."

The rush of adrenalin stirring in the pit of her stomach, causes her face to flush – her cheeks burn. "Is that how it worked with Phillippe?" she blurts out, nostrils flaring.

Sorelli surprises her with a burst of laughter. "Now does that not feel better?"

"Actually, no," Christine replies, breathing heavily. "Now you are angry and I am shaking."

"Do I seem angry?"

Christine observes the merriment in her eyes. The first bit of liveliness since Phillippe's disappearance. "You think I am foolish?"

"No, my dear girl. I think you are kind – more than you should be possibly, but I would not have you any other way," Shifting her position again, she mutters, "Reclining is not all that comfortable, despite what some may believe. Could you help me arrange myself better on this couch?"

Christine gets up and walks to the chaise, helping her sit up, then takes a place next to her.

"Did Meg fall?"

"No, thankfully. She had a contraction, doublly over, but no fall. Then her water broke," Christine says, shaking her head. "I had the housekeeping crew completely clean the stage and then join the others for a holiday. It was actually quite fun to be in charge of the theater for a while."

They share a giggle over Christine's confession.

"Adele is still the commander, I see that…but back to Meg…she is not Raoul's wife," Sorrelli says. "It makes me almost glad Phillippe is not here – he would be ranting and raving at poor Raoul. No telling what he might say to Meg."

"I would agree except Raoul has not been the most admirable spouse, nor a very responsible adult in general. Her marriage to Darius protects her."

"And what does her husband think about all of this?"

"He is planning his wedding to Yasmine – the marriage to Meg was one of support and friendship – not a love match – at least that is what Erik tells me – which is what Nadir tells him – they say women gossip," Christine says. "Once Meg decides to divorce him – she is free. He told Raoul as much. This is all in Meg's hands."

"His fiancée, if that is what she is, does not mind?"

"Oh, he could marry her now – in his faith he can take more than one wife – she, however, has been raised here and wants her husband to herself."

"Oh, my, this could be the plot of a show at the Comedie Francaise," Sorelli snickers.

"Perhaps we could write something – Erik is always looking for new ideas."

"Somehow I doubt he would think the situation comical…family, you know," Sorelli smiles.

"Actually he finds it all quite amusing because he still despises Raoul, however, his own family he takes quite seriously."

"He was always quite possessive of the Garnier – nothing has changed in that regard here."

The women stop talking and smile at one another, their eyes bright. Content with the blossoming friendship.

"Thank you for letting me know what was happening out there." Sorelli indicates the door with a tilt of her chin.

"Yes, you might have been left behind here with no one coming to fetch you," Christine says, covering her mouth to disguise her giggle.

"Let us not get too carried away with being outspoken."

"To be honest, except for Erik, I have never enjoyed speaking to someone quite so openly."

"It has been fun – more than I have had in an age, I can assure you," Sorelli says. "Do not forget, I took your place in that mausoleum the Chagnys call a mansion in Paris."

"I suppose even you could not raise the dead there."

"Precisely." Removing the afghan covering her legs, she takes her canes and pulls herself to her feet.

Christine jumps up to assist her. "Let me help."

"No, I am fine, if I am sitting up – lying down is another issue entirely," Sorelli replies. "I must do as much for myself as I can – for my own spirit if nothing else." She walks over to her wheel chair and sits down. "I suppose I should return to my hotel room since there will be no more work today."

"Would you care to have luncheon?" Christine asks. "I am leaving Meg's disposition to Adele. She will be staying at our home to make use of the birthing room Erik built for me." Looking down at her belly, she strokes the bump lovingly. "We have been making good use of it."

"You are most definitely, infinitely kind."

"Erik is the one who suggested it," Christine replies. "The man has become a veritable saint."

"Truly?"

"No! Thank goodness, saints are boring," Her laughter is such, she holds her sides. "Imagine Andre and Firmin's reaction if they discovered their Opera Ghost has become a saint. He is a good man though. I should have preferred her lying in at a hospital, but…"

"But?"

"He still feels responsible for her…for so many reasons."

"They must be good reasons."

"For him, they are – he is the truly kind person," Christine says, picking up Sorelli's shawl and handing it to her. "Shall we go?"

"You are not going to explain further?" Sorelli asks.

"No."

Sorelli guffaws. "You are learning, my dear. Never let anyone bully you – even me."

Adele almost loses control of Meg's wheel chair as they push through the stage door onto the street.

"Whoa," Nadir says, jumping out of the way, yet managing to take control of the chair before it rolls any farther. "What goes here?"

"The baby is coming – what do you think goes here?" Adele growls at her husband, grasping his arm to keep her own balance. "We need to get her to the hospital."

"Not the hospital," Erik says. "Our house. The birthing room is set up and waiting – I simply need to telephone the midwife to meet us – she has already been engaged."

"You did not tell me that," Adele says to Meg.

"I did not think it was necessary for the entire world to know," Meg replies, cringing at a new cramp.

"I am your mother," Adele snorts. "What if Erik was not here?"

"I am quite capable of using a telephone."

"You were alone."

"I was not alone. Christine was there, quite by chance, I admit, but Margaret was with me and it was she who found you." Her mood reflects on her face – eyes clamped shut, mouth pursed and cheeks a bright red. "For God sakes, Maman, must we do this every time I have an issue I do not care to discuss with you? You are not helping."

"Adele, I am not sure this is the time or place to engage in your ongoing arguments with your daughter."

"Harrumph." Adele says.

"Where is your staff?" he continues. "How did you manage to push her all this way yourself?"

"I told you – she is my daughter." Tossing a glance at Meg, she says, "It is amazing what mothers can do for a daughter when said daughter is having difficulties."

"I was helping," Margaret says as she races out the door. "Madame forgot got her cane, so I went back to get it. Is everyone all right?"

Erik smiles at his daughter. "You did well, young lady. Madame Giry needs her cane now and Uncle Nadir will take care of Miss Giry."

"Oh, Papa. I was so scared," she says, running to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Miss Giry was showing me a pirouette and then she had a pain and then there was water all over the floor and I was so scared, but Maman sent me to get Madame and then we were running to the stage door pushing the chair and she dropped her cane."

Erik looks over to the stage door. "Where is your mother?"

"With la Sorelli."

"Veronique was not present when this happened?"

"No. She went off to rest. The only reason Christine was there was to watch Margaret dance." Meg snaps, "What does it matter where they are – I am the one giving birth?"

A momentary flashback to the time on the pier, has Erik hold his tongue – concern about Christine and her condition was overpowering, but Meg was in distress and his wife seems to be in control of her own situation – taking care of her old friend. "I suppose it does not – I am happy you were not alone." Turning to his son, he says, "Gustave, continue to the Pirate ride and bring Raoul back here."

"Yes, Papa." The boy takes off in a trot.

"Quickly. Run!"

"Yes, Papa." His speed increases at the command and soon he is several hundred feet closer to the construction area.

"I shall fetch my automobile," Nadir says, making certain Adele is stable with her cane. "Do not move until I get back. I do not want you falling and injuring yourself." To Erik, "Could you manage the chair?"

"Of course. Adele perhaps if you stood by the building…"

Adele rolls her eyes, but nods, moving closer to the theater, leaning against the red brick, she is finally able to catch her breath.

"Where is Gregory?" Meg asks as she grabs Erik's arm, gritting her teeth. "I want Gregory."

"Gangle? Whatever for?" Adele asks. "Certainly he is a doctor, but not for a birth."

"I want Gregory," Meg insists, turning to glare at her mother. "Why is that a problem? Why is everything I am saying a problem?"

"Gustave went for Raoul, Meg," Erik says. "I am not even certain where he is at the moment."

Meg looks up at him, her blue eyes filling with tears, several already making their way down her face. "Please find him. I cannot have this baby without him with me. Please, Erik."

Whatever is going on? There was never a doubt that the Master of Ceremonies was secretly, or so he thought, in love with Meg, but he never suspected a return of affection. Gangle certainly helped her through one crisis after another…the drug issue for one. Maybe that was it – he has always been there when she was in need. This was no different. Gangle was probably her only true friend here at Phantasma. That he was a doctor would do no harm either – just in case something went awry.

With the barest of smiles, he says, "I shall locate him and make certain he goes to the house to be with you if I have to drive him there myself."

"I can hold your hand until he comes, Miss Giry," Margaret offers, stepping from her father's side to the wheelchair.

Sighing deeply, her body reflecting a visible release of tension. "I would love for you to hold my hand, Margaret," Meg says. "Could she come with me…she would be going home…would that be all right?"

"Papa, please?" The toothless smile was irresistible.

"Of course. I can see Raoul and Gustave. They should be here shortly," Erik says, his fingers beating against his thigh. Jumping slightly at the sound of the horn, he says, "And here is Nadir. I shall call the midwife and Darius once you are settled in the automobile."

"Just find Gregory."

"Right. Find Gregory." And then locate Christine. Hopefully Veronique was all right and they just decided to let the Girys handle Giry business. He wished he could be so fortunate.

Nadir stops the car and jumps out. He and Erik help the women into the back seat of the car. "Everyone comfortable?"

"We are fine," Adele says, straightening her skirt.

"Why not drive to pick up Raoul – tell Gustave I am going to try to find his mother…" Exchanging a look with Meg, he continues, "…and Gregory – then I shall meet him in the Eyrie."

"Gangle?" Nadir exclaims. "Good grief, what else are we going to add to this circus?"

Erik's glare stops the daroga's rant. "Meg wants him close by – he is her good friend," he says, nodding at the girl he once loved as a niece…family and, to be honest, a possible lover or mate. The last thought makes him shudder. Despite the shame and anger that rose within him when she saw his face and became violently ill – her reaction convinced him any fanciful thought about a romantic relationship with her was just that – a fanciful thought. To find out later she was supposedly performing for him – desiring him – was a cruel joke. A dangerous one as well. What had possessed him to offer their home to the two people in the world he and Christine wanted as little to do with as possible?

"Fine, I will assume my best manners," Nadir mutters, then makes certain the women are secure in the leather seats before climbing behind the wheel again. "Anything else?"

Erik shakes his head. Perhaps she really is mad. The thought arises whenever he hears of some of her antics or a demand – such as the one now for Gregory. What of Raoul? Or even Darius?

Meg turns to look at him – a small smile replacing the grimace she has been wearing since coming from the theatre. She raises her hand, entwined with Margaret's and mouths a thank you. In that moment, he understands why Gregory – perhaps the only person in her life besides his sweet daughter who has not betrayed her in some way…at least in her mind.

Mad or not… and whatever his own feelings, he does not want her to feel any more pain than necessary with this birth. He knows from being with Christine and from her words how very difficult this will be. He also understands much as he wishes his wife were here – it is likely best for both women she is not.

After another glance at Meg, a smile at Margaret, a nod to Adele which is isgnored as she sits straight in her seat, staring ahead, inviting no communication, he says, "Once I gather all of us together, we will meet you at home to await the arrival of this new life." Any good cheer he attempts to inject into the assurance is lost on the pitiful crew in the long green car.

With a slap on the back of the car, he turns on his heel, entering the stage door to the theater to make his calls and find Christine…and Gregory.