Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera. Erik, Christine, Raoul, and all other characters that appear in the book belong to Leroux Gaston. Songs and other characters that appear in the ALW adaptation and not in the book belong to ALW.

Notes: Here's the third chapter with some new stuff. Thanks for the kind reviews from before and I hope you like this chapter.

Chapter 3 - Latent Coincidences

One Month Later…

Bernadette flung her long blonde hair behind her back as she hurried outdoors to the rose garden where she knew he would be. Her father had asked that she summon him inside the house to look over some plans that some gentlemen brought over for the reconstruction of the Opera Populaire in Paris. Her father needed his eye and opinion on the proposed project.

It had brought great joy to his father in learning that Erik somehow had an architect's eye and skill to him despite the amnesia he suffered. As Erik recovered from his injuries he busied himself with reading journals and books of architecture that adorned her father's library. Soon after that, he procured some paper and writing materials with which he made some wondrous sketches of various types of structures and bridges. Her father was quite impressed with his talent that he has noticeably spent plenty of time debating and discussing designs with Erik.

Erik, Bernadette recalled, initially frightened her when her father first brought him to their home. He was in quite a bad shape, all bloodied and bruised. And his face…It was shocking to see a human face in that state, so contorted on its right side. And yet her father found no fear in it and advised his fourteen-year old daughter to refrain from passing judgment on him based solely on that. It took some time but after three weeks of having to dine with Erik and her father, she found herself used to his face and company and thought nothing ill of his face's contortion.

The young lady, however, noticed Erik's discomfort at the public's perception of his unnatural face. Even though she and her father thought nothing of it now, Erik always tried to turn that side of his face away from everyone. His left side, which reflected handsomeness and intelligence, gave no hint of what abnormality marred his right side. Because of this, he was very hesitant to venture outside her father's estate and avoided being alone with any of the servants as much as possible. Her father considered his predicament and had asked Doctor Avante to fashion some sort of mask for Erik to use when he ventured outside the estate.

Bernadette reached the rose garden and found Erik hunched over by where the bed of roses bloomed. Ever since he was able to walk and venture outside the house, she had noticed that he would frequent the rose garden, tending to the red roses or just watching them. Once before, she asked about his fancy for them. He replied that he believed that in his forgotten past, he must have cared for them greatly. She had then suggested that perhaps he was a gardener of sorts in his previous profession. He only smiled in response.

"Erik," she called. She wasn't accustomed nor brought up to call men much older than her by their first names names. However, Erik was very adamant about him getting addressed as such. Since he had no last name that he could recall, his first would just do.

Erik rose from his crouched position and turned to face her. "Yes?"

"Father calls for you. He wants your opinion on some architectural matters. Messieurs Andre and Firmin from the Opera Populaire had stopped by briefly and dropped them off for Father to study."

"I see," he said. "Thank you."

Bernadette half-expected him to say something else but when he didn't, she turned around and led him back to the house.

— x —

Christine tightened her cloak about her as the cool wind of the summer night blew by. More than a month has passed since the events that occurred in the undergrounds of the Opera Populaire. More than a month since she last saw Erik and bade him goodbye forever.

Raoul whisked her away from the night that Erik promised, away from the unhappiness of the life he lived. Even though she went with him willingly, part of her couldn't help but feel regret at leaving Erik at such a state—broken.

The first several days after the disastrous event, she worried secretly for his welfare, reading as much news material as she could, hoping to get some information about a man that might have been considered to be the Opera Ghost. Occasionally, she would spy the section where the obituaries were listed perchance that it might have something about Erik from there. Every time, she was both relieved and trepid to find no information.

Christine had sent for Madame Giry at the estate and questioned her for any reports or rumors that might have come her way but it was to no avail. The woman who had been familiar with Erik the longest had nothing to tell. She instead insisted that Christine forget about Erik altogether and just cherish the life she has been given with the Viscount. They were, after all, engaged to be married soon.

After that encounter, she refrained from seeking any more news about Erik for Madame Giry was right. She had made her choice between Raoul and Erik. She should not concern herself much any more with Erik's affairs or state of health after she chose Raoul over him. To forget Erik, she busied herself with the wedding plans that needed to be made and familiarizing herself with Raoul's family and friends. It had been somewhat of a difficulty since she wasn't exactly part of the noble circles.

At nights when Raoul was busy with family and business affairs, Christine found herself lonesome at the grand house. It was in these times of loneliness and solitude that she found herself thinking about Erik the most. The moments of quiet reminded her of the times when he would sing or play the violin for her until she fell asleep in their sweet heavenly lullabies. She missed the presence that she knew always watched over her and protected her as she slept.

"Oh Erik," she whispered in the night as she stood alone in the house veranda. "What are you doing now, Angel?"

— x —

Erik woke up abruptly from his sleep and glanced around his dark room. He wondered for a moment if someone had called out for him in the darkness. A faint voice, tinged with concern and regard.

Unnerved, he rose from his bed, reached for and slipped his mask on. He fetched the robe by the foot of his bed and slid it on carefully over his shoulders. Without making much noise, he slipped out of his room and went downstairs to the library.

With a grim sigh, he sought to remember the memory of the voice he heard in his dreams, seemingly calling out to him every night. It was a gentle voice, almost angelic in nature, he thought. It always called for him in the night. He wasn't certain what for but he felt needed by whoever called him.

Once again, as many times before, he found himself standing before the grand piano in the library. Several weeks ago as he was there searching for another architectural journal to read, he felt himself being pulled toward the musical instrument that stood in the corner. Marcellus informed him that his wife, before she passed away, used to play frequently. Unfortunately, Bernadette's skill with the instrument was quite minimal so the instrument had been hardly played ever since the death of Madame Suniere.

Erik hesitated for a bit and finally sat on the piano bench. He had no recollection of ever playing but his hands itched to touch the ivory keys before him. After further consideration, he finally gave in and placed his hands on top of the keys and closed his eyes.

Another moment later, the library came to life with the music he had started to play. Music that stemmed from memories forgotten in his mind. Music that sang in harmony with the voice that kept calling him. Music that haunted and taunted him in the darkness of his mind.

It was the music that was always on his mind. It was his music of the night.

— x —

Three Weeks Before the Wedding…

Christine idly caressed the petals of the red rose she plucked from the estate's garden. Soon she and Raoul would be wed and much of her hours have been spent doing various tasks in preparation for the happy event. Raoul tried to lend as much of his time as he could but negotiations regarding the repairs of the Opera Populaire kept him quite busy.

Since she was again by herself, Christine found her thoughts diverting to a dark-haired ghost. The red rose in her hand reminded her of his symbol of adoration and love for her. She sat on a bench and stared some more at the flower she held.

The blood red petals were soft to the touch and smooth in texture. The green crown was quite lush and full in embracing the blossomed flower, never once taking attention away from the verdant petals. Thick thorns adorned the stem beneath, promising pain to those who held it careless yet and yet so cautiously calm to the beauty of the rose.

So much like how Erik was to her. So beautiful and yet so dangerous.

Christine shut her eyes for a moment to recall his anguished face as he finally confessed his love for her. With much sadness, she found nothing to say and instead returned the ring that held the promise of his love. As she went away with her fiancé, she spared one last glance at Erik who stood watching her disappear. In an unexplainable moment, she returned the look he gave her with much…love…that her heart sang the song he longed to hear. She felt for one last time her heart and soul singing in one harmony for the man who saved her from solitude in her growing years at the opera.

The heart and soul that both once sang to say goodbye to Erik now long for him, ironically.

Christine blinked at the sudden revelation. The love which Erik offered her was so bold and passionated, so fierce and consuming for the soul. It held promises of nights that were never cold, conversations that were never dull, and music that was rich in depth, understanding without words spoken, and solace in each other's comfort.

Raoul's love was so differing in turn. Raoul promised quiet and surety, steady and unchanging rhythms, talk that was prim and proper, circles that thrived on wealth and beauty, love that was precious yet unexciting compared to Erik's.

Oh how wretched her youth was and the choices beheld to her! What wisdom and knowledge had she to make a decision on whose love was far more tantamount to hers? Was she a woman or a young lady? Was she passionate or reserved? Which love brings her life and vibrancy? Which love eases her discomfort and truly warms her heart?

"That's all I ask of you…"

A fait and gentle voice caressed her ears and startled her from her reverie. Stunned, Christine looked up and sought the source of the wondrous sound. For a moment, she wondered perhaps if she had imagined it byt the voice, though faint, was unmistakable. The longing and despair that traced the voice, however brief in the wind, could only come from one man.

Christine walked from the gardens and looked anxiously around the estate. Raoul and Monsieur Suniere were still inside the house discussing affairs regarding the opera house. The only presence outside with her was the carriage and its horses. The carriage driver was off by the stables, she knew, obtaining water and some food for the horses before their trip back.

Curious, she made her way towards the lone carriage. She felt another presence behind the shades that were drawn inside. She knew it was a bit childish of her to think that the voice might have come from there rather than the activity of her imagination. Still, she could not help but be intrigued at the shadows before her.

When she was a mere twenty feet away, the main door to the house opened behind her and out stepped Raoul and Monsieur Suniere. Business discussions were apparently finished in good terms as both men were in smiles.

"Ah, Christine!" Raoul called to her. "Come, my love! Monsieur Suniere is anxious to meet the wonderful singer who shall soon be my wife!"

Christine smiled briefly and turned from the carriage, the voice momentarily forgotten. "I would hope you have not given Monsieur Suniere any extravagant descriptions, Raoul."

A tall gentleman bowed slightly before her as she approached. "Mademoiselle, on the contrary, it seems that your fiancé has been quite humble with his descriptions of you. You are far more exquisite than he originally described."

"Monsieur, you need not flatter me," Christine allowed the elder gentleman to kiss her hand. "I am but your humble servant."

Marcellus beamed at the young lady and turned to the Viscount. "Viscount de Chagny, you certainly are a lucky man to have been chosen by this young lady."

Raoul chuckled. "I'm quite aware of how lucky I am, Monsieur. Now are you certain you'd rather not join us for supper? Please encourage your associate to join us. We are quite welcoming of friends here at my estate. Including Monsieur Renaud."

Marcellus placed his hat on his head and sighed. "Alas, kind sir, Monsieur Renaud is quite the recluse. I barely convinced him to make the trip here as it is. Strange as it may seem, he was adamant about staying in the carriage while we discussed our affairs." He glanced slightly at the carriage. "Perhaps some other time? Once everything is finalized, let us have a toast to our joint venture."

The charming nobleman nodded. "Certainly. Christine and I will be looking forward to it." He reached for Christine's hand and held it in his. "I hope that by then you can convince your brilliant associate to join us in celebration."

Marcellus shook the Viscount's hand. "I shall try my best. It was a great pleasure to meet with you, future Viscountess. I apologize for the briefness but I must now go as darkness will soon come. I bid you both good night." He touched the tip of his hat respectfully and turned from the pleasant couple of the estate. Lorenzo met him at the carriage and helped him inside. Once inside, Marcellus took the seat opposite of the other occupant and addressed him, "You should have joined us, my friend. The Viscount was quite interested in meeting my talented associate. Your ideas greatly impressed him. Also, his fiancée seems like a pleasant young lady."

"Forgive me, Marcellus. I'm afraid I'm still quite hesitant to meet with many people. You and Bernadette have been most accepting of me. Unfortunately, I'm still wary of how others would perceive my character."

Marcellus sighed. "I apologize if I am persistent. I would just like for you to be able to live with others instead of isolating yourself. You shouldn't let that masked face of yours prevent you from enjoying the company of others."

Erik turned slightly. "You are right, I know. Perhaps, as the dear Viscount suggested, I might be able to join you in your celebration once your arrangements have been finalized."

Marcellus thought to continue the conversation but he paused. Erik was in one of those thoughtful moods again. He noted that Erik gets in these moods when he slightly remembers something from his forgotten past. "All right. What did you busy yourself with while waiting for us to finish? Surely just sitting here idly was not that eventful."

Erik blinked in surprise. "I…Ah, I was not completely idle. I was…singing."

Marcellus gave him a curious look. "Singing? Remembered something from your past again, Erik?"

The carriage jumped slightly after they hit a hump. "I…no. I don't know. I was staring outside outside at the gardens and saw this young woman who I guessed was the Viscount's finacee. She had in her hands this red rose…and I…well, I don't know. The image inspired me?"

"You should have stepped out of the carriage and introduced yourself. She seems really charming, you know. Her name's Christine Daae," Marcellus informed him. "She was a promising soprano at the Opera Populaire. You two could have discussed music, considering your talent in that field as well."

Erik paused briefly as his mind strained to memorize the name. "Perhaps next time," he curtly replied.

"So what of this song? Any memories?"

Erik turned his glance outside the carriage. "I'm uncertain. I…The urge overcame me. The mental image of her with the red rose…I started humming this tune. Then I sang a lyric which came to me." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I might have vocalized a bit too loud as her ears caught my voice. She began to seek me out when you and the Viscount exited the house."

Marcellus watched Erik some more. "I see. Erik, maybe your past had quite a history of music in it? You refrain from playing the piano in the library in our presence and yet I've noticed you spend considerable minutes just looking at it during the day. I know you play it late at night when you think everyone is asleep."

The masked man flinched slightly. "I apologize if my activity has roused you from your sleep. I shall refrain from pla—"

"You need not do that, Erik," Marcellus interrupted. "Please feel free to play whenever you wish to. Don't refrain from doing so on our account."

Erik kept silent. Marcellus knew he was now deep in thought. He marveled at the man's recovery in less than tow months. Though his frame still lacked somewhat in weight, his appearance showed no hint of weakness or injury. He knew that Erik took care not to show his vulnerability in front of others. Even now, Erik exuded the image of a physically fit gentleman with his stature. "You may take your mask off in my presence, my friend. I have no qualms about your face," he said.

Erik gave him a brief look and then turned to gaze outside again. "I'm quite comfortable with it on, Marcellus. I hope it offends you not but I'd much rather have my mask on at the moment."

The Suniere patron sighed again. "I take no offense, of course. I just wanted to look after your comfort and wellbeing, my friend."

"For that, I am forever grateful," Erik said quietly. "Somehow, I think my past self would be just as grateful for all the kindness you have bestowed upon me, Marcellus."

— x —

To Be Continued…