IMPORTANT: This is my last chapter before the grand finale chapter/chapters (undecided). Since I'm somewhat depressed at the lack of reviews I've received on this story, I will not be writing the finale until I get ten reviews from DIFFERENT people. (Sorry L.M!) Please do this quickly! I'm as anxious to finish the story as some of you are to read it!

It was the fifteenth of December, and there was considerable tension mounting around the Opera. The preparation of the Masquerade was beginning to get on people's nerves, and wear their patience thin. Christine on the other hand had a perfectly legitimate excuse to be nervous though. I was using every power of persuasion and fear within my soul, and the delicate spell I was casting around Christine both frightened and mesmerized her. She was going to be exactly where I wanted her to be by the time the Masquerade commenced on New Year's Eve.

The Vicomte had stayed away after Christine's unintended insult. It was a full four days before he came back, begging her forgiveness and reconciling them. I watched in disgusted amusement. They acted like two people terribly in love around the Opera, always whispering to each other, with Christine giggling and the Vicomte gazing lovingly in her eyes. It was such an exaggeration of how people really acted, that I often laughed at the sheer lunacy of it all.

But perhaps, dear Reader, you are wondering why I did not feel threatened or hurt by the couple's apparent bliss? It is because I knew what was really going on. Christine assured herself she did love him every night, but one night she was thinking out loud, she also convinced herself that her pretending to be more in love with them than she was, was absolutely necessary. It would help her save him. It would be better not to think about any future consequences since it was not the future. She was pretending to be very much in love with him so I would not hurt him. It was an almost brilliant plan. Too bad it wouldn't work.

I spent more and more of my time observing the Vicomte and Christine. I really could stand the boy no longer, since almost daily his hired thugs proceeded to try to locate and terminate me. Of course, none of them ever came close, and it was all very amusing, but my already thin patience was at the breaking point, and it was about to snap. Not only would it be dangerous to everyone, but it would be very unpleasant. It was either him or me that had to go. I wasn't going anywhere. I had been here longer.

With that thought in mind, I starting making plans. Plans to kill the Vicomte. I would not torture him or make him die a slow death, because his offenses against me were not bad enough to make me use treatment of that kind. I just needed him dead. It would be a quick, almost painless death using a poison I had brought back from Persia. The day of the Masquerade I would put it in his glass when he was with Christine. Christine would not drink anything. I would find a way to tell her not too. I would then find a way to distract Christine so she had to leave the room. The Vicomte would drink the poison, die instantly, and I would carry him off to the next room through the mirror. He would stay with me for a few hours, and I would properly make him a victim of the Red Death. It would be a fitting addition to my display. After all, anyone who touched the Red Death died. It was my best plan yet.

Fifteen days went slowly by. I picked up my costume and made arrangements. Christine and the Vicomte were also picking up their costumes, and the Vicomte had the perfect costume for a victim of the Red Death. I impatiently waited for the next day, and devoted the whole afternoon to observance. I had learned the more you learned about the enemy the better you were. I was now the best or worst, I guess you could say, enemy in the world.

It was about six o'clock in the evening when I happened to be observing the Vicomte and Christine in her room. I was about to leave out of sheer boredom when suddenly their dull conversation took a serious turn.

"Christine, you know I have always loved you, and I would cut my heart out and give it to you if I could," Raoul said, moving closer to her on the small couch. Christine did not take him seriously at first.

"Though it's a very kind thought Raoul, I assure in the long run it would be harmful. You cannot very well function without it."

"Christine I'm serious," I had been waiting for this moment. "Will you marry me?" Christine looked surprised. She then looked over towards the mirror quickly, and looked back at Raoul's expectant face.

"Of course I will Raoul." My heart shattered. Any civility that remained within my heart quickly left. Blood-thirsty anger rose and spread through me. I kept my eyes on them not because I wanted to, but because if I did not, I would shatter the mirror and strangle them both. I watched as he slipped the large engagement ring on her finger. She gasped. I turned away for what seemed like a brief second, but when I turned back a year's worth of things had happened. There was Christine and Raoul on the couch kissing as passionately as I have ever heard. I was about to choke myself with something, anything, when I heard Christine say.

"No Raoul, not yet it is not proper. No! Raoul stop please, not now. Raoul!" she finally exclaimed hitting him. He quickly got up. I stormed away to grab my pistol. There was nothing I could do about it now. Not only had he taken away Christine, my angel, my muse, and my love, but now he was trying to take away her virtue. It was more than I can stand. A man like that does not deserve to live. I was halfway back up towards Christine's room, and heading to the passage connected to the mirror in the room next door when a voice called out,

"Erik, where are you going with that?" It was Christine's of course. How she managed to find me in the passage I do not know.

"Mademoiselle, I strongly suggest you remove yourself from my field of vision before I accidentally kill you. We madmen are totally uncontrollable when we are in a rage," I began walking once again.

"He is there no longer. You will not find him. I know what you saw, and I know what you are wanting to do. I will not allow it." Christine spoke calmly as she started walking towards me.

"You knew I was there all along, yet you let him do those things to you, and you accepted him?" I was momentarily distracted from my purpose.

"Of course I knew you were there. You're always here when Raoul's here. I can hear you breathing." Damn! I had thought I was so careful. But did she know about the late night trips with her alone.

"But you don't love him as much as you show. I heard you say so yourself," she seemed taken aback, so I came to the conclusion she did not know. "And since that is the case, I shall feel no qualms in killing him. This foolish scheme of yours to protect him by keeping him away from me is gibberish. As you once said, once I decide someone is to die it is only a matter of time. Similar to the red death." Christine was confused by this seemingly cryptic remark, but I went on, telling myself it would only be a matter of time. Then I remembered the Vicomte was not there.

Turning in rage I stormed back to the House Beyond the Lake. I saw Christine, and she screamed in fright. I pushed Christine out of my way. I heard her fall but didn't care. If only my Opera had not finished itself! This is the kind of mood that brought on some of my greatest work. Perhaps I would just do one song of a new Opera. A sequel to my Don Juan.

Later that night, I woke up once again from the keys of the organ. Something inside told me to pick up the knife lying on the table nearby. I grabbed it and almost mechanically put on my cloak and hat. Looking through Christine's mirror I saw the Vicomte in there with her. He kissed her quickly, and began to make his goodbye's. I hurried toward the other mirror. If I made it out now, I would be in place as he walked by, in perfect position to stab him, and he being no better off. I hid behind the door and waited. I heard Christine's door close, and footsteps. Silently, I struck. I was off the mark though, and I heard the person fall to the floor wounded. Looking closer, I gasped in agony. It was not Raoul I had stabbed, but Christine! And now she lay on the floor, slowly bleeding to death. A widening red pool of blood spread out around her. I had stabbed my Christine! What was I going to do?