Erik opened his eyes. His head was still pounding. Would the infernal headache never go away? Thankfully, it was still relatively dark in his room. He must have forgotten to light a night candle before going to sleep.

He rolled over, feeling for a pillow, but it was gone. He must have knocked it off the side of the bed. He wished he had it. The mattress was so hard. When did that happen? He didn't remember it being this hard. No matter. "Ha' to get up." He could barely speak, his mouth was horribly dry and his throat felt raw. Water. He needed water.

He had to stand up, get to his small kitchen. He managed to get to his feet and stagger towards it. Where was it? Did he change it somehow? Why couldn't he find it?

He spun around, so dizzy he almost fell. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he brushed it away, realizing he must have removed his mask and hairpiece during the night. It was hot. So hot. Hard to breathe. He brushed a hand over his chest. Too many clothes.

He tore off his jacket and waistcoat, then pulled at the tie around his neck, flinging it into the dark. He clawed at his collar until it opened and yanked at the neckline, pulling buttons from his shirt. Still hot. Too hot. And dark. Why was it so dark? He always had a few candles burning, he'd even made special ones that would burn through the night hours.

Slowly he turned in a circle. Why couldn't he find his way through his own home? What was happening? The dizziness returned and sent him stumbling forward into a wall. Resting his head against the cool surface, he closed his eyes and pulled air into his tortured lungs. It was so hard to breathe.

A sound came from above. He looked up, seeing a shaft of light. No! They'd found him. Hide! He had to hide, to get away, or they'd kill him. Footsteps approached, a swishing sound like fabric rustling. They were getting closer.

He peered frantically into the darkness searching for something, anything he could use as a weapon. The light was getting closer.

"Erik? Erik are you here?"

He could barely hear the whisper over the rushing sound in his ears. It almost sounded like a child or a woman? Was that their trick? Use a woman to lure him out? He crept forward, then crouched down behind his chair. Somehow he'd gotten to his living room. No matter. It provided cover while he waited.

The pounding in his head grew worse, sweat dripped into his eyes and down his back. He had to end this quickly. Had to decide. Attack or crouch like a wounded animal in its den and wait to be discovered?

The footsteps grew closer. He could barely see the figure holding the light. Didn't look too big. He could probably overpower him. Had to. His strength was fading. He had to attack now or be taken.

"Leave me alone!" He lunged up from his hiding place. "Leave me alone or I'll kill you!" The figure staggered back a step, then his hand closed around a slim throat. "I warned you." He started to squeeze the slender column of flesh.

"Erik." The figure gasped. Hands tearing at his, trying to loosen his hold. "Erik."

It was a woman. Was that their tactic? Use a woman to distract him while they pounced? It wouldn't work. He wouldn't let her deceive him into a trap. He added his second hand and felt the clawing at his hands grow weaker. "Stop," she whispered. "Erik. Ange."

Ange? No one called him that except…. No. No it couldn't be. She'd left him never to return. Heavy hands grabbed his shoulders, yanking him back, breaking his grip. He twisted out of the grip and fell to the floor.

"Erik! Erik let go, stop!"

How did they know his name? No one knew his name. No one but— He looked up at his attacker. Jade eyes looked back at him from a dark face. "Nasir?" The room started spinning. His head felt as if it was about to explode. "No. Not you. You wouldn't betray me. No…." His eyes closed and he collapsed.

"No, my friend," Nasir said, gently lifting Erik from the floor. "I won't betray you and neither will she." He looked at Christine, standing a few feet off breathing hard with a hand at her neck. "You must help me get him upstairs, he's heavier than he looks."

She nodded, putting her shoulder under Erik's arm to take some of his weight from the Persian. Together they got him up the stairs to the main floor.

"We've got to get him into bed."

"But you said he lives on the top floor." Christine said, struggling under Erik's weight. "How can we possibly get him up that far?"

Nasir moved them several feet down the corridor. "When he renovated the building, he added an elevator for freight. We can take that to the fourth floor. After that, it's just one flight up to his apartment." He looked at Christine, gauging her strength. He could already see dark red marks from Erik's hands on her throat. "Can you make it?"

"Yes." She put her shoulder more firmly under the unconscious man. "Let's go."

The elevator helped considerably, and within a few minutes Nasir had Erik's loft open, pulling back the dividing curtain, and guiding him into the bed. They lowered Erik's upper body onto the mattress, then Nasir lifted his legs and swung them onto the bed.

"There, he's down," he bent and began divesting Erik of his shirt. "He's burning up." He looked at Christine as if judging her ability to help in what needed to be done. "We've got to get him undressed and under the blankets." He saw her eyes widen and that made his decision for him.

"Christine, are you all right? Can you help me do this?"

She seemed to shake herself, then straightened and looked him in the eyes. "Yes. What do you want me to do?"

Nasir pointed toward the kitchen area. "Find a large bowl and fill it with cold water. You can add some ice from the ice box. Bring it here then go into the bathroom and get washcloths and towels." He used the time waiting for her to finish the task of undressing Erik and covering him with a heavy quilt. "He's burning up."

She set the bowl and cloths on a stand next to the bed. "We've got to get a doctor here." She dropped her gloves and handbag on a chair and took off her jacket and hat. "Is there a telephone?"

"There's one in the office downstairs, but Erik doesn't have a regular physician."

Christine nodded, thinking quickly. "Call the Fairmont Hotel and ask for Mr. Sholokhov. He'll help us." She pulled a stool up to the bedside and soaked a cloth in the cold water. "Go. I'll stay here and watch him." She wrung out a cloth and started sponging Erik's face and neck while Nasir ran down to the office telephone.

He was back in minutes. "Sholokhov's not in. I spoke with his wife and she was able to give me his itinerary. I'm going to have to take the carriage and track him down."

"Go." She wrung out a cloth and continued sponging Erik with the cool cloth. "I can take care of him here." She saw the look on Nasir's face. "I won't leave him alone. I'll take care of him, whatever it takes, until you get back with Mr. Sholokhov."

"Be careful. He didn't recognize you before. If he's still delirious, he may try to hurt you."

"I'm not afraid." She lay her hand against Erik's cheek, seeing the doubt in Nasir's eyes. "He won't hurt me."

He wasn't at all sure he agreed with her words, considering the bruises already coming up on her neck. But what other choice did he have? Christine was a stranger in town, and if her doctor couldn't come, she wouldn't know where to go. He had to be the one to find help and trust that Erik wouldn't turn violent, or if he did, that she could get through to him before he hurt her anymore.

Christine watched the Persian go, then turned back to Erik. It was up to her now. He looked very ill. A thin sheen of perspiration coated his skin. He alternated between shivering and sweating. When she touched his brow it felt hot, too hot. He must be running a high fever.

She didn't know very much about treating the sick, but she remembered a conversation from long ago between Madame Giry and the physician who treated the ballet dancers. One of the girls had caught a fever and he warned that if they couldn't bring it down, the girl might go into convulsions.

"Please, please," she prayed, "help him."

Erik tossed restlessly under her hands, trying to push the blankets away. He mumbled incoherently, occasionally crying out. "Don't leave me. Please." His cries brought tears to her eyes.

"Shhh, don't fret so." She sponged his face, neck, and chest with the wet cloth. "I won't leave. I promise."

His eyes flew open, and he gripped her wrist tightly. "What are you doing?" He pushed her hand away, moving the covers and trying to sit up. "Who are you? Get away from me."

"Erik, stop." She fought him for the bedclothes. "You're ill. You must lie down."

"No!" He pushed her away. "I won't let you put me back in that cage." He fell from the bed, dragging the covers and her down to the floor with him. "I'll kill you, Davos. I'll kill you!" He lunged at her, pulling her back against his chest and wrapping an arm across her throat. "I'll kill you!"

She reached up in desperation, clawing at his arm, then his face. Her nails caught the skin beneath his right eye and he yelled, throwing her away from him.

"Damn you!" He was still tangled in the blankets, scrabbling across the floor to get to her.

His look sent a shock of terror through her. This was the madman who'd dragged her down to his hidden lair beneath the opera house. The man who threatened to kill Raoul and take her as his unwilling bride. He grabbed her again, trying to choke the life from her.

She grabbed his wrists, desperately trying to get to her knees and pull his hands away. "Erik, you know me," she gasped. "Christine. I'm Christine." Her head was swimming, bright spots of light floated before her eyes. He was too strong. She couldn't break free. "Angel, please."

"Christine?" He pulled back in horror, looking at her then at his hands. "Christine?"

She reached out, stroking his face. "Yes. Your Christine." Then he slumped against her, his weight pushing her to the floor. "Erik?" He was on his back unconscious, still twisted in the bedclothes. She wasn't nearly strong enough to lift him by herself. They'd both have to stay on the floor until help came.

He'd pulled pillows from the bed when he fell. She took them, placing them under his head, determined to make him as comfortable as possible on the hard floor. Then she continued as before, using the wet cloth to wipe the sweat from his face and body, and praying the fever would subside. She glanced up at a small clock on a side table. Nasir had been gone over an hour. What was taking so long?

Erik continued to thrash in fever. He's tortured by so many demons, she thought. Why? Why was he being punished so? It wasn't fair. She thought about others, her mama and papa who'd been taken from her so early, then her guardian a few years later. She'd been so alone at the opera until he came—her angel and even he was taken from her by the madman who gained possession over the gentle spirit she'd come to love.

He moaned again, reaching blindly for her hand. "Lil—Girl? Are you there?"

"I'm here, Erik." She held his hand tightly, pressing it to her breast. "I'm here."

"Why, Girl? Tell me why." His eyes opened but he wasn't seeing her. "Why did you leave? Why do they always leave? Maman, Bahar, Christine, you? Why?"

"Shhh." She wiped the cool cloth over him again. "I'm not going anywhere." She kissed the limp fingers on his hand. "I won't leave." Please, please send help soon.

Heavy footsteps pounded on the stairs. "Erik?" A man's voice called out. The door opened and a stranger came in. "Erik you here? The man stopped, shocked at the sight in front of him. "What the hell are you doing lady? Who are you?"

"Christine Daaé, I'm a friend from his days in Paris." It took her a few seconds to realize the man was wearing a policeman's uniform. "Help me. He's ill with a fever. He fell, and I can't lift him back up."

"Okay, okay." The man knelt down at Erik's side. "Jesus," he gasped. "So that's why he wears the mask." He seemed paralyzed for an instant, then training kicked in and he lifted Erik under the arms, grabbing the sheet as it slipped. "Sorry, ma'am."

"It doesn't matter." Christine stood, following them to the bed and helping to get Erik settled in once again. "Thank you. Who are you?"

"I'm Walsh, Tom Walsh. Me and Erik are friends. I was just passing by on my way home when I got this hinky feeling." He jerked his chin in Erik's direction, watching closely as Christine arranged pillows and resumed sponging him down. "He taught me never to ignore those feelings. Saved my life a few times." He stared at Erik, shaking his head. "All those times I kidded him about the mask. I never knew."

"He never wanted you to." Christine spoke softly. She could see how deeply the man was affected by Erik's appearance. "He's still the same man you know.

"Please, if you are his friend, don't turn away from him." Not like I did. Tears slipped down her face as she stroked his cheek.

Walsh stared at the man on the bed, unable to look away. "Damn it! Sorry ma'am. It's just…." He shook his head. "It's just wrong."

"What's wrong, Officer Walsh?"

"His face. He's a good guy. Why should something like that happen to him?"

Christine shook her head sadly. "I don't know."

"It don't matter. Not to me." He looked Christine in the eyes. "And it won't matter to the people who care about him."

"We've just got to convince him of that," she said, glancing back at Erik. "He's been reviled his whole life because of it." She pulled in a determined breath. "But that's going to change."

Walsh looked around once more, watching as Erik stirred restlessly and the covers started to slip. He moved over to a small bureau near the bed. "Turn around please, ma'am." He pulled a garment from a drawer and was balling it up in his hands. "Maybe you could get a glass of water for him, while I…." He gestured with the fabric.

"Oh. Of course." She felt herself redden, realizing what he wanted to do. She'd seen naked men before, had even taken a few lovers after leaving Raoul, but seeing Erik unclothed was different. She moved to the sink and filled both a glass and a pitcher, waiting until Walsh spoke again.

"It's okay now, ma'am."

"Please, call me Christine." She moved back to Erik and started rearranging the covers. Walsh had dressed him in loose-fitting cotton trousers with a drawstring at the waist, preserving both Erik's modesty and her own. She thought it a kind gesture. "I'm very grateful for your help, Officer Walsh. Thank you."

He gestured to the bed. "He helped a lot of people during the quake, me included. In my book, he's a hero." He looked her straight in the eyes. "I don't care what he looks like, or who he was before he came to the city."

She read the unspoken message in his eyes. "I understand."

"Did he do that?" Walsh gestured to the marks on her neck. As she raised a hand to cover them.

"He didn't mean it. He didn't know me." She reached down, placing a hand on Erik's shoulder. "He thought he was being attacked again."

Walsh's eyes narrowed as he looked to the still figure on the bed. "Again?"

"It's a long story, and not for me to tell." She brushed away an errant tear. "Suffice to say life has not been kind to him. I'm sure you can understand."

"Yeah." He knew exactly what she wasn't talking about. He'd seen the scars on Erik's body three years earlier in the Army hospital tent. "Yeah, I can. But that's over. Ain't nobody gonna hurt him now."

She saw the fierce flame in his eyes and was grateful that Erik had such a friend to stand by his side. "No. We won't let that happen again."

He threw one more glance toward the bed then moved to the door. "I can't stay now. Do you need anything? Do you want me to find someone to help? Where's Nasir?"

"Mr. Khan's gone to fetch a doctor." She looked down at Erik, he seemed to be resting a little easier. "I think we'll be all right. Thank you for your help."

She smiled, watching the door close behind him, then turned back to the bed looking down on the patient. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully. She brushed his forehead lightly and was relieved to feel it cooler than before. He was still feverish, but the high temperature of earlier was gone. She sat on a low stool beside him, suddenly exhausted, and lay her head against his shoulder. "I'm here, Ange," she whispered, "I'm here."

She'd almost fallen asleep when the loft door opened again and Nasir walked in with Sholokhov. The doctor immediately went to examine Erik while Christine and the Persian walked to the other side of the loft. It didn't take long before Sholokhov joined them.

"His fever isn't too high now, so whatever you were doing Christine, worked well. He's got a lot of congestion in his lungs, I don't think it's pneumonia, but it's not far off. The best thing for him is rest and plenty of liquids. I've had some successes with combinations of mint and eucalyptus in hot teas. A steam tent can also be very helpful. But mostly, keep him warm and quiet and try to get as many liquids into him as you can."

Nasir nodded in agreement. "I have seen this in him before doctor. I believe you are quite correct. The steam and herbal teas will be effective. The hardest part will be to keep him still."

Sholokhov smiled. "It sounds like you've had some experience, Mr. Khan." He turned to Christine. "You did well before my arrival but he's not out of the woods yet. He should be watched carefully over the next few days."

"I agree," Christine said, then turned to Nasir. "If you can stay with him for an hour or so, Mr. Khan, I must return to the hotel and gather my things."

"Why, Christine?" Sholokhov asked.

"I'm staying with him, Benjamin." She looked at him defiantly. Silently letting both men know that she'd tolerate no objections. "I know what you're going to say and you can just stop. Lillian would have stayed with him, and in a way, she's entrusted him to me, now." The diva had spoken.

Christine would stay by Erik's side while he recovered. She would stay by his side as long as he wanted her to. And if he rejected her, she'd accept it and leave quietly. But he was the only one who could move her from his side—ever again.

Sholokhov nodded in agreement. "Very well, Christine. Let's get a carriage and I'll take you back to the hotel myself. But you'll have to be the one to tell Rebecca what you're doing. She'll kill me if she thinks I didn't at least try to stop you."

Christine smiled. She knew Rebecca would understand better than any man.

She could tell Nasir was uncomfortable with her decision and she didn't blame him. Following Sholokhov from the loft, she paused for a moment, turning back. "I know what you're thinking. And I understand why. But this is different. I'm different. I'm not that confused young girl anymore. I'm a grown woman, and I know what—who I want. I'll go when he tells me to, but not before." Then she followed the doctor down the stairs.

A smile lifted the Persian's solemn face. He knew this was Allah's plan all along. He just wished Erik hadn't had to suffer so much beforehand. He settled into Erik's favorite reading chair, watching the man sleep. "Oh my friend, I hope you see what a gift has been given to you." He turned his eyes heavenward. "Thank you, Lillian for looking out for him where I could not. I hope between us, we can make this stubborn man who dwelled so long in darkness, see the light."

. . . .

Light. So bright it hurt his eyes. Erik squeezed his eyes tightly shut, counted to ten and opened them again. Better. A little better. At least his headache was finally gone. He turned his head back and forth, feeling softness beneath him. Bed. His bed. He was in his loft, but he couldn't remember how he got there. He shifted in the bed and immediately started coughing. Strong hands helped him to sit up and a familiar voice spoke quietly in his ear.

"Don't fight it, Erik, let the cough come. It will help to break up the congestion in your lungs."

He turned his head, still squinting against the glare. "Nasir?" He coughed again, fighting to catch his breath. "How?"

"Shhh, my friend. Be still." Nasir held on until the coughing spasm stopped. "Lie back now."

"No." Erik pushed the covers aside, moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "Get up."

"Erik, stop being stubborn and lie down."

"Not being….stub'rn," he gasped. "Have to….have to…." He gestured to a closed door.

"Ah," Nasir realized at once what Erik needed. "Come then." He guided the man to the door and opened it, prepared to walk into the small room with him. Erik's hand on his stopped his forward movement.

"No." Erik panted. "Do by m'self."

Nasir started to argue, then stopped with his mouth open. Erik had that look in his eyes. "Very well, but call if you need me." Then he stepped aside as Erik passed through and slammed the door in his face. He waited patiently, one minute, then two, then four. "Erik?" Tentatively, he knocked on the door. "Erik, do you need help?"

"Yes." The voice was so soft Nasir barely heard it.

"What do—" Erik was sitting on the floor leaning against the bathtub. Mutely, he reached up and Nasir helped him stand and walked him back to bed. "That's enough exertion for a while, I think." In seconds Erik's eyes were closed and he was snoring softly. "Stubborn man."

"That felt wonderful." Christine entered the loft, rubbing her long hair briskly with a damp towel. "Thanks so much for the use of your bath. It was heavenly." She was wearing a wrapper tied tightly over a camisole and knickers. Her feet were bare and long curls hung down her back. She looked like the young singer Nasir remembered, rather than the accomplished soprano admired throughout Europe and Great Britain. "How is he doing?"

"I think he still has a fever, but he was up and out of bed for a few minutes." His eyes slid to the connecting bathroom door.

"Well, then," she grinned. "It's a good thing I was in your tub instead of his." Her eyes widened in mock modesty. "Oh, dear, I haven't shocked you, have I Mr. Khan?"

If there was any doubt of her teasing, it disappeared with Mr. Khan. The past two days they'd spent alternating at Erik's bedside and talking quietly as he slept crumbled any barriers that lay between them. They were Nasir and Christine and had formed a bond, solidified by their affection for the man in the bed.

"I think, after putting up with him all these years, that I am beyond shock, Miss Daaé." Nasir stood up, stretching his back. "And now that you're here, I must go downstairs and attend to other business. Bobby is a very good second-in-command, but I fear I must spend more time on the floor of the club. I'll come up after closing."

"You're exhausted, Nasir. You should sleep in your own bed tonight." She looked across the loft to where blankets and a pillow were neatly folded on the sofa. He'd been sleeping in the loft at night, allowing Christine the use of his guestroom downstairs. "I'm fine here, don't worry." She looked toward the bed. "He seems to be sleeping better."

"It looks so, but remember, Mr. Sholokhov warned that the fever could still go up." Nasir looked around the loft. It was dark outside and much of the room was in shadow. "Do you wish me to turn on the lights before I go down?"

She shook her head. "I think it'll be easier on his eyes if he wakes and we've kept it dark. There's enough light coming through the windows for me to move around and if it gets darker, I can always light some candles."

"All right then, good night Christine, I'll come up first thing in the morning."

Christine waited until he was gone and then filled a basin with cold water and carried it to Erik's bedside. She placed her hand on his forehead, checking automatically for fever. He still felt hot and this worried her. Erik's fever tended to go up at night and he became more restless. She moved her hand to his damaged cheek, surprised when his hand came up to cover it.

"Who?" His eyes were open. "Christine?" He grasped her hand tighter, trying to focus on the face surrounded by the cloud of curls. "Is it you?"

"Yes. I'm here." She moved her hand slightly, but he held on tighter.

"You came back?"

"Shhh, don't fret, I'm here now."

"Here?" He looked around. "Where….where are we?" He sat up suddenly, releasing her hand and looking around. "What is this place? Is it safe?"

"Safe? This is your home. Of course it's safe."

"No." He pulled back the bedclothes and slid his feet to the floor. "No. This isn't my home. They came after me. Hunting me. Do you remember?" He rubbed his hands over his face. "No. You weren't there. You were gone. With him."

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "Where is he, Christine? Off setting another trap for me?" He laughed harshly, then bent in a fit of coughing before rising unsteadily from the bed. "He still thinks he can trap me?" He took a few steps forward then turned on her. "Is that it? Is this another trap for the Phantom?" His voice rose in anger. "Are you the bait?"

She lay her hand on his arm, but he pulled away. "Don't touch me." He moved farther into the center of the loft. Then he looked out the windows. "Where are we?" He coughed again, staggering to a window and pressing his head against the cold glass. "This isn't Paris." He turned back, eyes wide with alarm. "Where have you taken me?" He coughed again, doubling over and gasping to catch his breath.

Christine moved to him, holding him around the shoulders. "Erik. Erik listen to me."

He straightened abruptly, pulling away. "How do you know my name? I never told you my name." He was breathing hard, almost falling to evade her grasp. "What have you done to me?" He coughed again, stumbling back toward the bed.

She advanced on him, trying to move him against the mattress. "It's all right. You've been ill. You have a fever; you're not remembering. Please." She circled around him, pulling back the bed covers. "Please, get back into bed. Lie down, rest, and I'll tell you everything."

He stood panting for breath and looking down at her. Could he trust her? She'd unmasked him, humiliated him in front of hundreds of people at the moment that should have been his greatest triumph. She'd stripped him bare, betrayed him before his enemies. But then she kissed him.

He didn't know what to believe. He couldn't think. He looked around the loft. They were the only ones there. She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. "Please, Ange, please, you're going to make yourself sicker." He didn't know what to do. His head told him not to trust her. She'd betrayed him once, she'd do it again. But his heart, his heart told him this was Christine, his Christine. She wouldn't hurt him. She kissed him.

He remembered it all, in his lair. Raoul trapped by the Punjab lasso. Christine in the wedding gown he'd designed for her. She was so beautiful, more beautiful than he'd ever imagined her to be. He gave her a choice, an ugly choice. He knew it was wrong, but he was desperate. He'd never wanted anything, anyone so much as he wanted her at that moment. Once, just once, couldn't he get his wish?

He scrubbed his hands over his face again. What to do? What to believe? She moved to him, touching his chest, pressing him gently back toward the bed. Could he trust her? He wanted to trust her, dear Lord he wanted so badly to trust her. She kissed him.

That's right, he remembered, he screamed at her then dropped his voice suddenly, telling her to make her choice. She kissed him. The first kiss was for her vicomte, to save the young fool's life. But the second kiss, the second kiss was just for him.

He felt everything; he was drowning in emotions. Anger, want, need, sorrow, joy, lust, he felt them all when her lips touched his that second time. Then they all fell away and only one remained: love. She loved him and in that moment he knew it. He knew it even more when she returned, handing him back his ring and sobbing as she turned away. She had to go. Staying with him then was the wrong choice. He knew that. In that single moment, the look in her eyes told him everything. He finally knew what it was to be loved and it would have to sustain him for the rest of whatever was left of his life.

The back of his knees touched the mattress and he folded onto the bed exhausted. "Christine…" His voice faded as his eyes slipped shut. "I love…."

"I know, Erik. I've always known." Christine looked around the empty loft. No one was there; no one was coming and she found she didn't care if they did. She removed her wrapper and slipped into the bed next to him, pulling the covers up and herself against him, holding him close. "I love you, too."