Christine walked off the stage after curtain call. She slowly made her way to her dressing room. Never had she been more scared in her entire life. All she could think about was what if he forced her to go with him.

Christine slowly turned the door knob to her dressing room. She stood still at that moment before opening the door. Everything in her mind was screaming for her not to go in. Everything in her body wanted to run from the opera house and never look back. It took every inch of strength within her body to push to door opened and walk inside.

She closed the door with a soft click. She leaned against it. The room looked as silent and placid as when she had left it. Everything in it's proper place. Not one thing looked disturbed or tampered with.

"Come on, Chrissy!" Marc urged, dragging Chrissy through the shadows of the corridors. No one would notice them. Chrissy some how knew how to walk more silent than a ghost and faster than the wind. And yet for some reason, tonight she was a glacier.

"Marc, please!" She whispered, "Let's think about this for a moment. Maybe it's not a good night to meet your parents! Maybe they're both preoccupied with something more important!"

"Chrissy," Marc said, "You promised!"

Chrissy paused. She took a deep breath and looked in Marc's deep blue eyes. She couldn't say no to those eyes.

"You're right, I did promise," she said, "Let's go."

Marc took her hand and lead her through the corridors until they were just a few doors down from the dressing room.

Back inside the dressing room, Christine awaited with batted breath. She was so scared as she changed out of her costume. It had been almost ten minutes since she arrived.

"Hello, Christine," a voice said behind her.

Christine jumped up. She wiped around and there before her very eyes stood the one man who had haunted her dreams for decades.

The Phantom of the Opera.

Christine gulped as she looked upon him. He looked the same. His mask was different and there were a few gray hairs among his black ones. Other than that, nothing had changed.

"Hello...Erik," she was able to squeak out.

Erik stepped out from among the shadows. He looked upon Christine's face. He looked at her with a mixture of adoration and loathing.

"Are you ready?" Marc asked as the walked over to the door.

Chrissy seemed to lose the feeling in her throat. She couldn't make a sound. She could only nod.

Marc smiled comfortingly at her. "It'll all work out, I promise."

Chrissy tried to return the smile, but was barely able to twitch her cheeks. Marc turned around. He raised his fist ready to knock, but held it suspended in midair. A moment later he lowered it. He leaned close and rested his ear to the wood.

"What is it?" Chrissy asked.

"I hear my mother talking to someone." Marc said. "It's a man's voice. But...it isn't my father. Here, listen."

Chrissy leaned forward and listened for herself. She heard Marc's mother speak.

"You look the same as you did 22 years ago." Christine said.

"You mean when you left me for...him?" the man said.

"Oh my god!" Chrissy whispered, clasping her hand to her mouth.

"What's wrong?" Marc asked.

"That's my father!" Chrissy said. "Your mother is speaking to the Phantom of the Opera himself!"

"Why doesn't my father know about this?" Marc said.

"Shhh!" Chrissy said, for the voices were talking again.

"I see you have new mask." Christine said.

"I had to. I left the old one in Paris. I believe Meg has it now? How is Meg?" Erik asked.

"Meg?" Christine said. "Oh, I haven't seen Meg in years. I haven't been to Paris in a long time."

"Neither have I," Erik said.

"I know," Christine said. "You've been following me for 22 years, haven't you!"

"Oh don't flatter yourself, you're not that important!" Erik said, "For your information, I moved here after you left with that pathetic excuse for a human being!"

"Raoul is a good man!" Christine said. "I don't know why you can't see that about him! I don't know why you just can't be happy for me!"

"Why should I be happy for you?" Erik cried back. "I should have been the one you spent your life with! Not him! Besides, I let him live, didn't I? I let you both go! I shouldn't have! I should have killed him. He doesn't deserve you!"

"You don't know anything about him! He is a good husband and a good father!"

"Yes!" Erik yelled, "He is a father! A father to a son that should be mine!"

Marc stepped away from the door. Chrissy moved back with him. Marc looked dumbstruck as he leaned against the wall.

"I can't believe this." he said. "I just can't believe it. My mother told me that there was another man in her life whom she loved before she chose my father. I can't believe it was him"

"Come on," Chrissy urged, pulling on his arm. "We're not safe here. I know a place where we can talk in private."

Marc allowed Chrissy to pull him through the corridors of the opera house.

Meanwhile, back in the dressing room, Christine and Erik's conversation continued. Both had been silent after Erik's last words. Finally, Christine spoke.

"I heard you have daughter." Christine said, "Obviously I couldn't have been that important to you if you found someone else and had a child with her."

"You are so narrow-minded, Christine!" Erik replied, anger arising in his voice, which was beginning to frighten Christine. "Did I teach you nothing? Have all those times I spent teaching and perfecting your voice taught you only to sing? I would have expected better from you!"

"What do you mean?" Christine asked, "How do you mean I'm narrow-minded?"

"I thought all that time we spent together would teach you to 'look beyond the mask' so to speak." Erik said, "But considering the way we parted, I suppose not!"

"Are you going to punish me with that forever!" Christine cried.

"Why does it bother you?" asked Erik, "Does the guilt of leaving me behind for 22 years eat away at you?"

Christine moaned in frustration. She sat down in her chair, turned away from Erik. Both stayed silent for a while.

"No," Erik finally said.

"No what?" Christine asked.

"No, I did not find someone else and had a child with her." Erik said, "There has been no other woman in my life except you and my daughter."

Christine turned back around, still seated. "Then how is it possible you have a daughter?"

Erik turned away from Christine. She could still see his expressions in the mirror he was facing. He wouldn't speak for a few minutes. Christine began to think maybe he was waiting for her to change to subject. Finally he spoke.

"About six years after we parted, 16 years ago, approimately, I had been living comfortably here under the opera house for a few years. One night, a rare occasion occured where I couldn't write any music. I went for a walk around the underground passage ways. As you may have heard, there is a river that flows beneath this house as well as the one in Paris. I heard a few people whispering. I noticed two figures running among the shadows, a man and a woman. They were carrying a basket. They set the basket afloat in the river and rushed out from the underground. I retrived the basket, opened it and found...her. This poor, innocent little girl with a face like mine." He turned back around to face Christine, "Obiviously, you see, I couldn't abandon her. I had to take care of her. She didn't deserve to be left like that. She doesn't deserve to hid behind a mask and live in a world of darkness."

Christine stood up. "You don't deserve that either, Erik."

She walked over to him and held him in her arms for a minute. He wrapped his arms around her in return.

"For 22 years I wondered what it would be like to hold you in my arms again." he said.

"How does it feel?" she asked.

"It feels more wonderful than I had ever expected." he said.

They stayed like that for a moment. Erik pulled back from her for a moment so as to see her face. Before she knew what was happening, Erik leaned into her and kissed her.

For a moment, Christine forgot where she was and surrendered to his lips. At that split second, she would have done anything he asked her too. But then, her mind regained conciousness and she pushed him away.

"No! Erik no!" She cried, moving back from his grasp. "You know as well as I do that we can't do this!"

"And you know as well as I do that you felt something." he said, "You do have feelings for me! Admit it!"

"No!" she yelled, turning away from him.

"Christine!" Erik cried, taking her arm, "Come away with me! Leave Raoul for me! You'll be more happy with me than you ever had been with him!"

"You're asking me to leave my family and give up my career!" Christine replied.

"Christine, it's not too late!" he said, turning her around and holding her before him. "We can still have something together!"

"No, we can't!" she cried, breaking free once again. She was silent for a moment as she collected herself. "Erik we can't. Yes, maybe it isn't too late for us to be together. And yes, we did have something together 22 years ago. But, that's in the past now and...we can't go back. We can't change the past. We can't change the way we feel about each other and neither of us can change the decisions I made." She walked over to him. This time, Erik kept his arms at his side. "Please try to understand. I do love you, but...I guess I love Raoul just a little more."

Erik nodded. "I understand. I'll leave you and your family alone."

Christine looked a bit surprised when he said this. "My goodness. Fatherhood has certainly calmed your temper." Christine leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "This probably won't make you feel any better, but...if I had chosen you and Raoul came to me like this and asked me the same things...I probably wouldn't have gone with him either."

She looked at him for one for moment before turning around and shutting the door behind her. She stood in the dimly lit corridor for one for minute before going to look for her husband.
Floors below them, Chrissy was leading Marc through the abandon corridors of the opera house's basement. It was dark and damp and Marc didn't seem to have to slightest clue as to what was around him.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Shhhh!" Chrissy urged, "The floor is thin, people will hear us if we talk."

Chrissy and Marc ran through the dark until they reached a wall.

"Well, this is great!" Marc said, "Obviously, we've reached a dead end."

"Can't you stop yourself from talking for just two minutes while I find the door?" Chrissy whispered.

"What door?"

Chrissy didn't answer that time. She was feeling along the wall for something. Marc was completely bewildered. Finally, she fitted her finger tips inside of a small crack and was able to force the thin piece of wood away from the wall. A small bit of light shown in from the other side of the door. It was a candle, lighting the way down some steep steps. Chrissy picked up the candle and lit another one that lay on a ledge next to it. She grabbed Marc's arm and pulled him onto the steps. She shut the door behind them.

"Chrissy," Marc whispered, "Where are we?"

"You don't have to whisper now," Chrissy said, aloud, "My father is no where in the labyrinth and no one can hear us through these walls. They're made of stone after all."

She started leading Marc slowly down the steps. He stared around in awe.

"How in world did your father build this?" Marc asked.

"Actually, all Opera houses created in the 16th century had hidden rooms and levels such as this to practice things such as witchcraft or to hid the dead bodies of those they tortured and mutilated. In the 18th century, however, they built these levels to protect the American soldiers during the revolutionary war."

"Wow," Marc said, "Where did you learn that?"

"You have plenty of time to read when you are stuck underground all the time." Chrissy said, "The old manager use to bring me a book every few months. I read that in a book about unknown and unproven mysteries of the world."

Marc laughed when he heard this. They had reached the bottom of the steps. They started walking through the large catacomb-like corridors. Pretty soon they reached the river.

"So this is the river that flows out of the opera house." Marc said, looking at the wide river filled with it's swift current. "Exactly how do we get across it?"

"We take the bridge, silly!" Chrissy said, leading him across a small, but sturty bridge, "I built this many years ago so I could sneak outside late at night without my father knowing."

They made it across the river and reached a small window where the moon's light was shinning inside. Marc could see Chrissy's face a little differently now. He hated to admit how well darkness and candle light suited her beautiful pale face.

They were silent for a little while. Both seemed to be thinking about what they had just heard.

"I just can't believe that my mother was involved with your father like that." Marc said.

"I know," Chrissy said with tears in her eyes. She looked at him with a look of longing on her face.

"At least this doesn't change anything between us," Marc leaned in to kiss her.

"No, it does, Marc," Chrissy said quietly, pushing him away.

"What do you mean it does?" he asked, "There isn't any possible way that there could be anything else between them, is there? Do you think they could, well, do you think maybe they might get involved again."

"It doesn't matter, Marc," Chrissy said, "Because that's not what I mean by changing things between us."

"Why?" Marc asked, curiousity and panic in his voice.

"Marc," Chrissy said, "Since we listened to them I'm...I'm beginning to think my mother didn't die when I was born."

"What do you mean?" Marc asked.

"It makes sense doesn't it," she said, now starting to cry, "No pictures of my real mother, but lots of pictures of yours. My father getting angry with me when I asked about your mother, my name being Christine, your mother talking to my father in private without your father knowing, your mother knowing my father but not wanting to meet with him right away."

"Yes," Marc said, "What are you saying, Chrissy?"

"What I'm saying is...Marc, I think...I think your mother might have had an affair with my father." Chrissy said.

"It's possible, but what's that got to do with us," Marc asked.

"I think...I think your mother might be my mother as well." Chrissy said, "I think we're half brother and sister."

Marc let this information ring in his ears for a second. He leaned against the wall, again dumbstruck. He turned back to her a moment later.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"No, I'm not sure," Chrissy said, "But it makes sense! Think about it!"

Marc did as Chrissy started to cry even harder. He held her a moment later.

"You might be right." he said.

"It isn't fair!" Chrissy cried, wrapping her arms around his neck, "I've spent my whole life with no one but my father and now I finally find someone utterly amazing...and I might not be able to have him!"

"I know," Marc said, trying to hid the tears that were flowing down his face. "Yes, Chrissy, you might be right, but we don't know that for a fact." They pulled a bit apart from each other so as to see the other's face, "Maybe, if you brought up a conversation about your mother, then maybe you could find out for sure."

"Why me?" Chrissy asked, "Why can't you talk to your, possibly our, mother?"

"Because I can't bring up that I know who you are until she meets you and I don't think she should meet you until she either knows that were in love with each other or that you're...you're-"

"Her daughter?" Chrissy finished.

Marc nodded. Chrissy saw by the light of the moon the streaks upon his face.

"You started crying," she said, starting to wipe away the streaks. The stayed in each other's arms for a few more minutes.

"I don't want to lose you." Marc said.

"I know," she said. They were quiet for some time. "I better get you back upstairs before your parents leave without you."

Marc nodded, he held her for just one more minute before Chrissy started leading him across the bridge and through the catacombs again.