If someone had asked Didier why he had felt compelled to introduce the Countess de Chagny and Mademoiselle Farley, he would have been able to spin some sort of story. He could have insinuated that Mademoiselle Farley had asked for the introduction, or that the silly women and their love of fashion had conspired to exchange information of their seamstresses. If the audience was right, he might have let it slip that, franc to dollar, the Countess and the Mademoiselle were financial equals and the wealthy just loved to know each other.

But if he had been compelled to tell the truth, Didier would have had a much more difficult time articulating it. Intuition would have been the most correct answer, he supposed. Here was the woman that had supposedly been romanced by Didier's Opera Ghost; here was the woman who had most recently been harassed by the same supposed specter. How could he pass over the opportunity to examine them both?

The Countess was civil and cold at the introduction, as Didier had come to expect from her. The Mademoiselle was mild and serene, if a bit curious at how she had found herself in the situation. Physically, they were wholly dissimilar. The Countess looked like a sort of porcelain figurine, tall, regal, and above all young. It was quite understandable how a romantic young viscount had set his heart on such a girl. As for Mademoiselle Farley, she was not young, but she looked like the type of woman who had come into her full beauty at thirty rather than twenty. Exotic was the word Didier might have used for her, with her dark hair and sparkling, almond-shaped eyes.

He directed the conversation as best he could in the short period of time he had. The one was a singer and the other a lover of song. That was the only point of commonality Didier could identify between them. The crowd was starting to move away from the salon and towards the auditorium. Didier stayed with both women as long as he could, although his obvious duty would lie in escorting the Countess back to her seat. He would have far rather gone with Mademoiselle Farley, to see who her mysterious friend was and which box they occupied. They began to bid farewell near the grand stair case, just as the glockenspiel players started to make their rounds, calling the audience to their seats.

The two women were parting civilly, and without Didier having gained the slightest bit of insight.

As a final, inelegant maneuver, he bowed over Mademoiselle Farley's hand and said, loud enough to be overheard, "I do hope the Don is free of haunting for you."

Mademoiselle Farley simply smiled, but the Countess's blue eyes grew impossibly wide. "Whatever do you mean by that, Monsieur Moncharmin?"

"Monsieur le Manager believes that the Opera House is haunted," Mademoiselle Farley supplied. "It has become something of a joke between us."

One look at the Countess told Didier that she did not find such a joke amusing. Her next words confirmed it. "I don't believe ghosts are ever fit material for jest," she said, "as the deceased must have come to a miserable end in order to be locked into such a state."

Mademoiselle Farley's face took on that incredulous look that Didier was starting to become so familiar with. "Well, I really don't believe the Garnier is haunted. Do you, Monsieur Moncharmin?"

The only thing Didier could think of was the check he had just written out for twenty thousand francs. "One can never really be sure, Mademoiselle."

The second act had already started, and Nora had not yet returned. Erik was alternating between impatience and anger, with a touch of worry thrown in for good measure. He considered going after her, but ultimately decided to remain ensconced in the box's pillar.

At length, he heard the door open, the rustle of skirts, and a quiet sigh as she sat down. "Erik?" she called, her voice feather light. One day, Erik really would be obliged to ask if she was in anyway musical. Her speaking voice was undeniably pleasant to the ear.

"What took you so long?" Erik let himself back into the box and sat down.

She huffed. "That damn manager caught me again."

Erik was a bit surprised by her word choice in describing Moncharmin, and could not deny that her tone conjured up the somewhat agreeable image of the young manager dangling from the end of Erik's lasso. No—no—Moncharmin did his job decently and paid Erik in a timely fashion. Nora had also not explicitly said kill the man for me. But if she ever did, Moncharmin's good work ethic might not be able to save him. "What did he want?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. He's a bit hung up on the whole idea of the Opera Ghost." She quieted for a moment and then turned fractionally to face Erik. "Erik, I don't know what the likelihood of this would be, but—if your former paramour were to approach him about going underground, I don't think he would refuse her."

"I don't think she would ask," Erik murmured back. "But… this is what he wanted from you? More talk of the ghost?"

Nora huffed again. "I haven't any idea really. He mostly seemed intent on introducing me to this little countess—"

The world slowed for Erik. The music faded, even Nora's presence receded. He scanned the auditorium, searching. "The Countess de Chagny?" he whispered.

"Why, yes—" Nora cut her comment short, and in a much more sedate voice said, "that's her, isn't it?"

"Yes," Erik replied. He could not see Christine in the crowd, which meant she was probably on one of the odd-numbered boxes. Was Nadir with her as well? Was tonight the night?

He vaguely heard Nora's voice. "I don't know why I thought she would have been older."

"Perhaps she should have been," Erik replied.

In a strange moment that existed outside of what Erik knew about life, he felt Nora's hand slip into his own. He nearly jerked away, images of violence and imprisonment flooding his mind. But she held on firmly and leaned over. "What do you want to do, Erik?" she asked. "Do you want to leave?"

What did he want?

Never had the answer to that question been more nebulous in Erik's mind.

I want a normal face. Fifty years and counting on that wish—it was obviously not to be granted.

I want to build an unparalleled opera house, I want to compose the most sensational opera to ever be put to paper. He had done both, and with what result?

I want a wife to take out on Sundays. He had tried to attain that, but how horribly it had all turned out! Even now, that desire haunted him, as his eyes frantically continued to search for her.

I want to live.

That was undoubtedly his most recent desire, and the one he felt the least equipped for achieving. Perhaps he should simply return home, climb into his coffin, and close his eyes. He would not open them, even as the lid would be closed, even as Christine had him lowered into the ground, as the dirt started cover the coffin and suffocate Erik.

But what was that one thing Nora had said, so offhandedly, on Sunday? I'd really rather not see you in a tomb…

She was still waiting for him to speak. Erik looked at her. She was serious and calm, though if Erik moved his finger ever so slightly, he could feel her pulse. It was racing—why? Was she nervous? Was she afraid? If so, why?

Another option dawned on him, but he could not accept it. Was it possible that she was actually afraid for him? Surely not!

"I want," Erik began, to run, to hide, to kill Raoul de Chagny, to disappear, to burn down the entire opera house, to go out walking with Nora next Sunday… "I want to finish the opera."

She nodded and turned to face the stage again. She did not pull her hand away, and Erik continued to hold on to it. If he tried hard enough, he could block out the world beyond the music and beating of her heart.

Nora couldn't help but believe that Erik had well and truly ruined the opera for her. First, it had been with his demonic, disembodied voice during Rigoletto. His disruption of Lakmé had been less direct, but he had certainly interfered with Nora's enjoyment of the performance.

And now, here she was, watching one of her favorite operas, completely and utterly preoccupied with the silent man next to her. Even the dynamic, dramatic Commendatore scene failed to wrest her attention away from the question of Erik.

If she had the chance to see Faust or Anna Bolena or any of her other favorites, she would first make sure that Erik was not with her.

At length, the opera ended, and the vast majority of the audience came to their feet to applaud. Nora and Erik remained seated. Nora was about to ask him what they were to do next when he turned and looked at her.

The black mask lacked many of the arresting details of the white one, with the result of Erik's eyes becoming the sole focus of his face. They were calculating at the moment, fixed on Nora is a way that made her feel all together too exposed. She lifted her chin and met his gaze, instinctually defiant. He searched every inch of her face, stared into her eyes, never hinting at just what he was thinking.

He finally stood walked towards the far end of the box, back turned to from Nora. He sighed and with one hand removed the mask, apparently rubbing at his eyes with the other hand.

Nora stood and made to move over to him.

"Don't you dare," he said. He did that unnerving trick of situating his voice right on her shoulder, as if he was whispering into her ear.

"Very well," Nora whispered back. It was amazing he always seemed to hear her, regardless of how softly she spoke.

He replaced his mask and then turned to face Nora again. "What did you think of her?"

No need to ask who he was referring to. Voice like an angel. Colder than a winter night in Ottawa. Far too young for you. "I'd loathe to be judged on the first impression I make." Nora deflected.

He chuckled lightly. "Did she seem happy?"

"I really wouldn't know."

"Now who does not answer questions?" Erik asked.

"I don't know what to say," Nora admitted. It was the truth, alas. "Erik, do you know what you're going to do? If you want, we could leave tomorrow."

Erik leaned against the wall. It was more of a hunch, a self-protective slouch, and Nora was reminded of the first time she saw him. Uncomfortable. Chased by shadows. "I cannot simply run away." He paused, fidgeted with his long fingers. "I want you to talk to her."

"Pardon me?" Nora's voice accidentally slipped above the whisper they had been conversing in and Erik glared at her sharply. "What could I possibly say to her?"

"I have observed that you are quite adept at the art of… counterfeiting with people," Erik said.

"Counterfeit or conversation?" Nora asked, dryly.

"The two seem to be more related than I would have at first thought them to be," Erik said. "Christine—that is her name, you know, not this 'Countess de Chagny' business—Christine is a trusting soul. If you engage her, you may be able to determine what her plans are."

Nora snorted at the memory of the imperious Countess. "'Trusting soul?' Erik, I don't think that woman trusts the ground under her feet to stay put."

That had apparently been the wrong thing to say, as Erik closed his eyes in something akin to anguish. "My poor Christine."

Something about that phrase jarred Nora and she crossed over to stand directly in front of Erik. "You know, someone called me 'poor Nora' once. I don't think I ever forgave him for it." She had Erik's attention now, and she used it. "I think there is more to this story than you're telling me. I want to help you—I like you Erik, and you seem to be having a terrible time of it right now—but before I start accosting countesses, you must tell me about the second act."

He tilted his head. "The second act?"

"You gave me the premise of your acquaintance with the Countess de Chagny," Nora said, "I know—vaguely—what is happening now. But where did it all go wrong? Why does she think you're dead? And why do you want to maintain the deception?"

Erik was silent for some time. Nora could hear the Opera staff starting to circulate the boxes for cleaning. Would they come into the presumably unused Box Five? "I think, perhaps, I shall show you," Erik said. He slid open the wall and held out a hand to Nora. "But you will not like the story, my dear. Act Two in this case was absolutely damning."

As a note: the 'K' key on my keyboard is sticking. So, if you see any 'Eri's or 'now's where they should obviously be 'know's, just mention it!