Two of the three shows for Thursday's schedule were done, and Meg had yet to speak to Christine. The famous singer stayed close to her son, only parting with Gustave when Meg escorted him to and from the opening number. Every performer enjoyed the boy's enthusiasm, as well as his natural stage presence and musicality. Gustave was enthralled with every part of the show. And when it was Christine's turn to sing, Meg dutifully watched over the boy from the wings.

Fresh bouquets of red roses were ready for Christine after each performance, black ribbons and all. Consistent in her sentiment, the diva accepted the bouquets in front of the audience, and discarded them offstage.

The final show of the night began, and Meg felt especially antsy. Her number with the chorus girls was second on the queue, and there were many more acts until she would be needed to watch Gustave. She left the side of the stage and returned to her room to freshen up and take a moment of rest from the hullabaloo of the performance.

Erik was waiting in her room, invading her personal space, holding the picture he had been staring at the night before. He looked up, as she entered, slightly surprised.

"What are you doing in my room?"

"I wasn't expecting you until after the final bows," he admitted, "but I suppose this will do."

He returned the picture to where he had found it, then walked closer to Meg. She, in turn, folded her arms protectively under her chest and waited for him to explain himself.

"You disobeyed my very clear instruction: to not speak of me to Christine."

She scoffed at this accusation and stared fearlessly back into the Phantom's narrowing eyes.

"I did you a favor," Meg admonished him. "She didn't understand any of this." The dancer gestured with one graceful movement toward the stage that lay past her door. "I explained your reasons, tactfully, while defending your decisions to purchase and operate this show. I told her that I supported your doing so."

Shaking her head in frustration, she took a breath but did not give him the chance to respond.

"Honestly," she said while turning away from him to check her makeup in the vanity. "I don't know why I defend you at all. She's right, you know." Meg whipped around, then, and leaned against the vanity's tabletop. "You have murdered, you have injured, you have threatened, you have abducted, and you've held no regard for the wishes of others." She let the words fall out from her mouth, no filter to soften the blows.

"I have bent to your wishes, Meg, time and time again," he responded, while aggressively taking a step closer to her.

Meg was completely flummoxed by his answer. "You truly believe that? That you have ever bent to my wishes?" She saw her own confusion matched in his eyes. He actually does! Incredible! "I have only lived within your will, for these past eight years, Erik! The choices I was able to make were small and insignificant compared to all of your grand schemes!"

He took a step back and contemplated what was said.

"I never thought you held such a poor opinion of me. I have highly valued your companionship," he whispered back.

"I don't have a 'poor opinion' of you, Erik. Although heaven knows I should." Meg looked toward the door. The silence between the room's occupants allowed for Meg to hear enough of the orchestra to know where in the show they currently were. She still had time to get back to Christine and Gustave.

"Why did you tell her my name is Danton?" He had the same harrowing look in his eyes. Dismissive. Disappointed. Unimpressed.

"That's the name you are called, here, legally," she shrugged. The real answer was too complicated for her to divulge.

"Not by you," he countered.

"No," she smiled sadly and looked deeply into his eyes…remembering. "I asked you for your name, and you shared it with me."

"Yes."

"Why haven't you given it to Christine?"

He frowned and turned his head toward the door. "I will."

Meg nodded, knowing that Erik could see her out of the corner of his eye. "I have to get back to Christine. To watch Gustave," she explained.

She stood and passed him, feeling him fall in step behind her. But she didn't look back. Her eyes were watery, but she tried to focus on the music that played ahead of her, willing the tears not to fall. The door closed behind her, and she could hear the Phantom follow her.

But, as she neared the stage, the footsteps disappeared in the cacophony of the show. She turned around, and Erik was nowhere to be seen. Either he was preparing to watch Christine from some unknown spot or he was on his way back to his own rooms.

Meg saw Christine on the side of the stage, holding Gustave. She looked around, most likely searching for Meg to arrive, while swaying the tired boy in her arms. Meg hurried to where she stood, and Christine finally looked relieved. The blonde ballerina gently pulled the boy from his mother, and he showed no sign of protest. Instead, he let his head fall upon Meg's shoulder and his body slumped onto her petite form. Christine looked toward the stage, still wary of speaking to her friend.

"Would you like me to take him back to your room and put him in bed?" Meg asked.

Christine looked pleased that Meg had spoken first. She nodded her assent. "Yes, please. If it's not too much trouble."

"Of course not," Meg politely whispered.

The doting mother leaned into her son, to place a kiss on his cheek. "Good night, Gustave. Sweet dreams."

Meg walked slowly with her charge, swaying in her steps to rock the boy to sleep. Arriving to the guest suite they occupied, she carefully maneuvered him to one of her hips, then used her freed hand to open the door. She walked through the parlor, to the bedroom. After placing him in the plush bed, she removed his shoes and pulled the cover over him. If Christine wanted to change him into night clothes, she could do so when she came back to her room. Gustave curled onto his side and fell into a deeper sleep, while Meg went to sit in the parlor.

It wasn't more than fifteen minutes, before Christine walked through the door. Meg stood to greet her.

"I didn't mean for you to stay here with him, but I appreciate it, Meg. I'm sorry it caused you to miss the curtain call."

"No one missed my presence," Meg said seriously. She remembered the Phantom's instruction, then. To not be near Christine after the final performance of the night. "If you'll please excuse me, I need to go change." She walked toward the door. Her dear friend did not follow.

"Good night, Christine," Meg cordially added at the door.

Christine felt guilt niggling at her heart, for not being more supportive of her friend. She looked toward the closed door and thought about accompanying Meg to wherever her room was. Smoothing over the awkwardness between them. Reclaiming their friendship. But she went to check on her son, instead.

Gustave was fast asleep, and Christine noted that Meg had left him fully dressed. She thought about putting him in a nightshirt, but he looked too comfortable to disturb.

She changed into her nightgown and robe, undoing her hair and washing her face. Ready for bed, she thought about having a cup of tea to calm her nerves. After kissing her precious son one more time, she left the bedroom.

In the parlor, bouquets of red roses with black ribbons tied under the buds surrounded the room. Each bouquet was arranged in a crystal vase, which reflected the lamplight and fire's glow in a glittering array around the room.

Christine gasped at the overwhelming sight. There was a tea service sitting on the broad table next to the sofa. And, sitting on a nearby chair, as if he were a welcome guest, was the Phantom himself.

If she was the type of woman who swore, Christine knew that this would be an occasion for it.

I should have known that he wouldn't leave me alone, she thought with dismay. Raoul leaves, and he is in my room the same night.

"I would appreciate it," he began, "if you would accept the beautiful bouquets for more than the few seconds it takes to leave the stage."

He remained seated, watching her steadily. Christine stood frozen in front of the closed bedroom door. As far from the Phantom as she could be.

"I don't want them," she replied icily. "I don't want any of this."

The Phantom sighed and leaned toward the tea tray. He poured them each a cup.

"Sit down," he commanded. "Please." She stood stoically, giving no indication of moving to a chair. "Sit down," he repeated, "or I shall raise my voice and wake the boy. I don't think we need to involve him in our conversation, do we?"

Christine reluctantly sat at the chair on the opposite end of the table. The strained positioning of their bodies reflected true discomfort. It was a far cry from the intimate seating of Meg and Christine on the sofa together.

"Now, then," he continued, satisfied by her proximity. "Have some tea." He handed the cup and saucer to his former protégé, who gingerly took the fragile pieces without allowing their hands to touch. He took a sip out of his own cup, but Christine merely held hers in her lap.

"What do you think of the song I wrote for you?"

"It's…fine," she answered with hesitation.

The Phantom, it seemed, was unhappy with the brief answer. "I'm sure you can do better than that." Another sip. "Do you not like it?"

Christine pursed her lips and widened her eyes in anger. "I would look upon it more favorably, if I hadn't been coerced into singing it for a man who manipulated me, set me free, and now, once again, has me under his control." He looked furious, but she continued. "You let Raoul go. You let me go. We are happy! Why can't you leave us be?"

"I was mistaken, all those years ago," he muttered. "I was inconsolable, after you unmasked me the first time. I flew off the handle, and I scared you away. I wish I hadn't, but I cannot change what is in the past." He placed his teacup on the table and leaned closer to her. "I wish to change my future. Our future," he amended.

"Change our future?" she responded, incredulous at the insinuation. "Change it to what? I am happily married with a son! I live in Europe. I have retired from the theatre. What part of that am I supposed to change?"

Erik took a deep breath. He needed to coax her to his will gently. Forcing her would not do. She would be lost to him, again.

"Christine," he spoke softer, now. "Your talent is unmatched. Your voice soothes the soul. The voice that I trained. I would like for you to continue to sing…for me."

She sat back in the chair. The warmth of the teacup was beginning to grow cold. What can I say to make him understand? How do I refuse this madman without incurring his wrath?

"Do you know anything about my past with Raoul?" she cautiously asked.

The Phantom looked annoyed by the tangent to their conversation, but he did not interrupt her.

"When I was a little girl, my father used to take me to the sea, frequently. One spring, I met Raoul. He was there with his parents. My scarf flew off my neck and into the surf. I ran after it and apparently caught his attention. He ran past me and made a big show about rescuing it from the waves. We were inseparable, from that moment on. Every time my father and I returned, I made sure to write Raoul of when I would be there. He made sure that his family coordinated their visits with our own.

"Over the years, we grew to love each other. Although we didn't understand romantic attachment, we cared deeply for one another. When we were reunited at the Opera Populaire, those intimate feelings were reignited and they…matured. It may have seemed quick to those around us…to you, too, perhaps…but it was all too easy for us to pick up our relationship from the closeness we had once felt." She looked away, when speaking the latter part of the sentence, reminiscing about the early pangs of love she had felt in her heart for her now husband.

"I agreed to marry Raoul, not to spite you, not to flee my life. I loved him. And I still do. He is the light in my life." She looked up to the Phantom after this statement of truth. "You once sang to me of the beauty of darkness…"

He was staring back at her, obviously distressed by her words.

"Meg mentioned that this show of yours strives to show…what were the words she used?" Christine thought on that for a moment, desiring to quote her friend accurately. "I think it was… the 'beauty underneath'?"

Erik did not confirm or deny the comparison, but his head tilted up in interest.

"I don't want to live in the darkness. I don't want to be a part of…this. I just want my family, my life. You showed deference to my wishes once before, long ago. Can you do so, again?"

"If your precious Vicomte hadn't interrupted my plans, things would have turned out differently," the Phantom insisted.

Christine shook her head remorsefully. "Do you remember that night in your realm? I told you that I gave you my mind blindly."

"I remember, vividly," he hissed.

"You had my mind, at one time," she discarded the teacup and saucer to the table, opposite his, cold and untouched. "You never had my heart. And you never shall."

The words came out with an icy finality. Erik stood, angrily towering over her. She met his stare from her seated position, unafraid of the vexation directed her way. He turned from the table, from her, and strode quickly to the door. He faced her, again, before leaving.

"You have four shows, tomorrow, my angel," he possessively countered. "Get some sleep, and do try to be kinder to me during our next meeting."

"Good night, then…Danton," she said, mockingly.

He clenched his jaw, but he did not correct her. That name sounded so foreign to him, although he had chosen it for his new identity. No one used it. But it was preferable to hearing the woman he loved say his true name in such a spiteful tone. He stormed out of the room and paused, enraged at Christine's candor. The hallway was dimly it and completely empty. He started walking back to his room, a short distance away; but something within him caused him to stop in his tracks and seek a new destination.

He knocked at Meg's door, then listened to hear any signs of movement. He could see, looking at the ground, that there was no light emanating from her room. From inside, unsteady footsteps made their way closer to where he stood, almost imperceptible to the ear.

The door opened, and Meg blinked at the irate Phantom in front of her, unable to properly register what was going on. Her eyes were still heavy from sleep, but she stepped back and allowed him entry. Erik wondered if part of her accepted the late interaction as a part of a dream.

He swooped in, then, and took her in his arms to kiss her aggressively along her neck and jawline. She gasped in surprise.

"E-Erik?" she huskily panted out.

"Shhhhh…" he directed at her.

The room was completely dark, not allowing for even a silhouette to be seen. Erik pulled at her nightgown, removing the garment and all of her vestments until she was completely bare. He knew her bedroom well enough to find her bed, which they both collapsed upon.

He nipped impatiently at her, shushing her cries and finally silencing her mewling noises with his hand. She attempted to use her hands to pull it away from her mouth, but he held fast and simultaneously freed his length. He plunged into her in one swift movement. She screamed in a pleasurable way, forgetting about the offense of his hand and letting her arms fall back above her head.

He was usually gentle in his ministrations, with incredible endurance, but tonight he took her roughly. The experience wasn't altogether unpleasant, but Erik could tell that she was, in at least some small way, fearful of the man who was acting more like a beast. That's what I am, is it not? A monster. A hellspawn.

Taking a breath, he stopped while sheathed inside her and removed his hand from her mouth. Both of his hands found hers and he interlocked their fingers. He moved more slowly, pushing himself all the way into her divine cavity, while she breathed heavily. He was pleased that she was controlling her wanton moans, and his arousal quickened his pace.

Usually, he waited for her to experience at least one pleasurable climax, before seeking his own, but not tonight. He needed it too much. He thought of Christine, his angel, his love. He saw her face in the darkness, writhing and gasping beneath him. Bucking into his thrusts and encircling her arms and legs around him to press their bodies together. Her beautiful brown curls splayed on the pillow. Sweat glistening her brow. Her mouth open and ready to release a beautiful sound of heightened passion…

"My angel! My Christine!"

He finished inside her, relishing the intimacy and contact.

But, when it was over, his eyes saw only darkness. He pulled away from Meg and refastened his pants. Before she could say a word, he left the room and returned to his own quarters.

Back in his room, the guilt consumed him. He had used Meg. And he was sure that she knew it. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. She deserved better than that. Better than him. But, in all of these years, she had never asked to leave. She had the talent to perform on Broadway, but she remained in Phantasma.

Why?

His heart was hurting, so he placed his right hand against his chest. Meg would know that he had used her, once again, as a substitute for the woman he truly wanted.

She deserves better…but not from me.

He took off his mask and threw it at the mirror in his room. It bounced off, unaffected, and rested where it hit the floor. Erik stared at his reflection.

The monster stared back.