A/N - Big huge major thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I've had my first two mocks in the last two days (English ironically enough :) ) and it's been hell because my teachers seem to have made it their mission to make our workload shoot right off the humanly possible. Anyway. Enough of my ramblings, what I'm trying to say is that it's only you lot and your nice comments that keep me sane :)

I fear that I've been a little too nice to Erik in the last few chapters (hey, I've only had him nearly die!) and so here is some *serious* cruelty to Erik ... sorry ...

"New ... and a bit alarming

Who'd have ever thought that this could be?

True, that he's no Prince Charming ...

But there's something in him that I simply didn't see ..."

Something There, Beauty and the Beast

Erik

I should have known by the expression on her face when she entered, apprehension mixed with a determination I had been noticing more and more often in her lately, that I didn't want to hear what she was about to say; but no, like a fool I ignored my instincts - how many times have I done that in the last few months?!

"Erik ..." she said hesitantly, the apprehension for a moment overtaking the determination, she seemed to falter and stop, losing her nerve.

"Yes, my dear?" I prompted gently, fighting the impulse to laugh. She really was so endearing when she lost her confidence, charmingly innocent ...

"I've been thinking," she said. I raised my eyebrows as a signal for her to continue. I wasn't going to prompt her through the whole conversation!

She looked at the floor for a moment, then burst out in a sudden rush of recklessness, "And I think I'd like you to come to mass with me, oh Erik truly, it wouldn't be that hard, and I think it might be good for you, and ..." She trailed off at my expression. Making a massive attempt to conceal my shock at her bizarre request, I forced a slight laugh and shook my head.

"No, my dear, I don't think so ... religion and I don't get on, as a general rule."

I saw her take in a sharp breath at my blasphemy, and seeming to take strength in her argument from her God, she drew a deep breath and plunged back in, seemingly unaware of the deep water she was sinking even further into.

"How can you say that? You haven't been for so long, you can't possibly know ... don't you want to make your peace with God?"

I laughed ironically. "You could say that God and I made our peace many years ago ..." Aware that she was beginning to look ever more horrified at my flippancy, I tried to smooth the waters a little; "And besides, my dear ..." I paused, trying to think of a more delicate way to say it; "the likes of myself are hardly welcome in church ... among respectable society."

Now she was losing her temper. "Everyone is welcome in church! Everyone!"

I raised a hand with a gesture of frustration, pulling it backwards through my hair. She shied away instinctively, her hands rising to her head in an automatic defensive gesture.

"Don't!"

Her voice came out shrill with terror, her eyes wider with fear than I had seen for a long time ... and suddenly I realised ...

Flashbacks. She really thought that I would hit her? I'd never so much as touched her without express consent, and now she thought ...

I took a trembling step back, trying desperately and unsuccessfully to regain my composure without frightening her further ... but it was too late. With a final frightened glance, she turned and fled, the inherent flight or fight instinct bred into all of us, but especially prominent in her case, taking complete control and driving her with a force beyond my comprehension.

Had I been thinking, had my mind been less occupied and distracted, I would have been after her in an instant, I would have stopped her ... but instead I stood still like an imbecile, rooted to the spot by the speed of it all.

It had all happened so quickly ... a deep-buried part of me wept for the loss of her trust, that the fear that I had complacently thought was gone was just as present as ever, if a little subdued ...

But a larger part of me, quite possibly to avoid the deeper question, fixated on a more practical problem; where had she gone?

Nadir

He was sitting on his black throne when I entered; he didn't look up and didn't register my presence, even when the cat hissed at me.

My eye was caught by the light glinting off a gold chain he was restlessly winding round his fingers and studying with a blank despair which seemed quite beyond redemption.

"What's wrong?" I asked cautiously.

He looked up at me, his eyes hollow pits of despair. "She's gone," he said dully. "It's over."

I sat down suddenly, finding my legs unable to support me any longer. He looked back down at the necklace and twined the thin gold chain round his fingers.

"Why?" I breathed in horror.

His voice still flat and devoid of all emotion, he replied almost mechanically.

"We had an argument ... I frightened her, she thought I was going to hit her ..."

There was a heavy silence for a long time while I struggled to digest this crashing new revelation. I looked over at Erik; he looked completely shattered, his world once more blown to pieces before his eyes.

"Right," I said grimly, gathering my composure again, "we have to find her."

He looked up sharply. "No."

I stared at him with utter disbelief. "What?"

"She has the right to choose where she will go, and what she will do with her life. It is not your place, or mine, to interfere."

I bit back the automatic retort that he had interfered fairly consistently in her life for the past year, why change the habits of so long? And with that final act of self-restraint, my self-control blew and blazing hot anger at Erik's misplaced chivalry replaced my instinctive pity for this misaligned couple.

"Are you mad?" I shouted. "A single woman, sleeping on the streets of Paris with no money and no knowledge of the real world? If she's not dead by tomorrow, she'll have become a whore within the week!"

He rose instantly, his usual feline grace somehow even more pronounced and suddenly terrifying in his anger.

"Get out of my house," he said, very softly, every word tight with barely leashed fury and forced self-control stretched to breaking point. "If you were anyone else, I would have broken your neck for that. Get out now, and, Nadir ... stay away. Stay away from Christine Daaé, or you will have deep cause to regret it."

I left without a word, closing the door silently behind me.

As I stepped out into the cold grey Parisian street, I reflected ironically on his last sentence ... did he really believe that I didn't curse the day Christine had walked into his life enough already?

Christine

"What's wrong, cherie?"

I jumped and looked up, relaxing slightly as I saw the person who had addressed me was a woman; dressed in the tawdry extravagance of a prostitute, and heavily painted, but her eyes were kind and her voice gentle, if her accent was a little common.

"You're new to this, I guess," she said kindly. "And you're missing someone ... a husband, a lover? Come, cherie, tell me about it ..."

I looked away, shaking my head slightly in dismissal. I didn't yet know if I could handle talking about Erik, or last night's horrible horrible argument ...

The woman regarded me thoughtfully for a moment, then; "Come," she said gently, indicating a backstreet where I could see the flickering light of a small fire dancing patterns off the grimy walls of the alley. I followed her, suddenly feeling very tired and welcoming any small kindnesses, even from a person such as this.

She offered me a coarse blanket to sit on, which I accepted gratefully, warming my hands over the fire and breathing in the warm smell of something cooking, half-choking on the acrid smell of smoke. The woman offered me a mug of warm liquid, turning away to poke the flames.

"They call me Adele," she said without looking back at me. "And you, cherie? What's your name?"

A slight pause, then...

"Madeleine," I said firmly, cursing myself silently as I did so for an appalling choice of name, all things considered ...

Adele regarded me seriously for a moment, then a hint of a smile crept into her eyes.

"I think you're going to do just fine out here, cherie," she said, and turned away to stir something cooking over the fire.

"So you see," I finished, clinging to my mug of almost undrinkable stewed tea for support as I bit back the tears, "I don't know what to do ... I know now that I overreacted, it wasn't his fault, but ..."

The fire had grown low and Adele's face was predominantly in shadow, but her expression was kind and understanding in the flickering patterns as the firelight danced over her features. I knew somehow that telling her my story didn't matter ... she would understand.

"He will come for you, cherie," she said gently.

"That's the trouble," I whispered, bending my head as the tears began to fall. "What if he doesn't?"

"Oh, cherie," she murmured, slipping her arms around me and pulling me close. And although the puritan in me recoiled at the smell of her cheap perfume and the coarse feel of her dress, her embrace was warm and almost motherly ... surprisingly so.

"It will be all right," she promised, cradling me like an infant. "Shh ..."

I cried until I could cry no more, and then finally, soothed by her warm presence and drained both physically and emotionally by the long day, I slept.

In the cold. In the rain. On the street.

When I finally awoke, cold and stiff and feeling vaguely damp and dirty all over, I was aware of the rough blanket which Adele had evidently wrapped around me before ... leaving. She was gone.

I raised one hand to brush a lock of tangled hair out of my eyes, and suddenly became aware of a cord knotted carefully around my wrist. I started with shock as I traced the cord to under the blanket and withdrew, my disbelief growing by the minute, a leather sac tied at the neck. Dazed, barely believing, I untied the strings and then fell back against the cold wall of the alleyway, unable to take in what I saw.

Coins. Heaped gold coins of large denominations, reflecting the dingy grime of the streets off shiny polished surfaces.

A piece of paper, dislodged by my fingers, slipped from the bag and floated to the dirty floor of the street. I snatched it up, and my heart stopped.

On the sheet of paper, as close as one could get to divinity without leaving this earth, was the intricate ink line drawing of an angel.