A/N: Forgive the length of time since my last update, I have been rather busy. However, this chapter is fairly long – so I may have redeemed myself? Also this chapter is – well, I wrote it in bits and pieces and at times it grew increasingly hard to write. However it is now done. And I leave it in your capable hands.

Let me know what you think…

Chapter 13:

PAST INTERTWINED

Kari was seated in the lounge watching a French game show with vacant eyes, while Monique sat in her usual contemplative spot – the kitchen bench, leant back in that awkward manner that allowed her a view of the Eiffel Tower. Karis sadness had now subsided, she had come to accept the Directors decision, with much coaxing from herself, Erik and Monique combined. And then there had been the surprise when Monique and Kari had been leaving the Opera de Pallisade that evening.

Laine Deveraux, the Director, had stopped them before leaving. Apologising profusely. "Kari, let me tell you, right now, that if Ivan had not showed up, you would have secured that part."

Kari shrugged, her face downcast, her eyes were still swollen from the many tears she had shed to Erik.
"I know it seems very yellow-bellied of myself to give Yekaterina the part when you were the better singer, but… to tell you the truth, the company is in a little bit of financial strife right now." Her voice was lowered to a conspiring whisper.

Kari looked up to meet Laines eyes, "How much… financial strife are we talking about?" fearing for her job, not that she had a decent part, but that was immaterial.

"We lost one of our benefactors – and we can not at all afford to lose another. As it is, we are struggling to keep our heads above water. I gave her the part to ensure her fathers continued financial support. I'm sorry. We're planning on throwing everything into the upcoming gala. Make it a most impressive affair, generate interest, get more benefactors, more 'butts on seats' if you will. If all goes to plan the company will be out of hot water, and our best talent, yourself included will secure main parts for the end of season performance, based on feedback from the board of directors and benefactors."

Monique bit her lip, Kari scoffed disbelievingly.

"Yeah… I can just see that all so clearly now. I'll be landing a main part based on my SPECTACULAR performance at the back of the stage as part of the chorus. Great." She nodded, then moved to brush past the Director.

"I managed to cut the first interval down, and shuffle some items – freeing up 5 minutes in the schedule." It was the tone of the Directors voice that caught Karis attention, and she paused mid-step.

"A rough draft of the prospective schedule." She said simply as she handed Kari an A4 sized paper, folded in half horizontally.

Kari went to open it, but Laine continued talking, effectively stopping her from eyeing the contents of the paper.

"I remember when you first auditioned to move from chorus to soloist for us." She paused with a smile on her face, "Your voice was good then and your voice is even better now. Obviously something has clicked, or you've been seeing someone… if that is the case, return to your teacher. And at the gala…. you will excel." She put her hand on Karis shoulder.
Monique stared at her as if she'd grown another head. Was she channelling Erik? Was Erik speaking through her? Their words were eerily similar.
Kari nodded disconnectedly, not sure what Laine was on about. But she didn't stick around to explain. With one last look she disappeared back toward the auditorium, leaving the two girls alone once more. Monique huddled against Kari as she opened the piece of paper, the two scanned the item list rapidly. There! In Act III of the variety gala:

Con Te Partiro - QUARANTOTTO

Performed by Kari Demase, Soprano Soloist; Orchestral Accompaniment.

The two girls gasped loudly in unison. "Oh my god.…" Kari breathed.
"I knew they couldn't have left you out!" Monique cried.

Kari stared at her name on the paper, as if frightened the moment she took her eyes away it would disappear.

"I can't believe it. This is one of my favourite pieces." She whispered.

"Guess you didn't need the Madame Butterfly Aria after all." Monique reasoned.
"Well…. Those numbers are bigger, and will probably be more elaborate. Also Act I & II are more based on actual opera scenes, almost like little auditions, so they'll be more important. But…" she trailed off and shrugged, "It's definitely better then nothing." She looped her arm through Moniques and they headed down the stairs leading from the Opera House and out into the streets.
"I can't wait to tell Erik." She almost squealed in delight.

Monique smiled and nodded, part of her retreating from the conversation when his name was mentioned.

So now Karis sadness had turned to excitement. She would sing Con te Partiro – maybe it wasn't going to be as celebrated as the Aria from Madame Butterfly, but she would sing it as if it was the last song she would ever sing.

Monique stared out the window at the Eiffel Tower, somehow she found the huge construction comforting, or perhaps she just used it to occupy her eyes while her mind was in 'do not disturb' mode with all the thoughts running through her head. As if on auto-replay, she kept seeing Erik hugging Karis crying form to his chest. It bit into her every time she saw it, but somehow she couldn't seem to end her self-torture. To make matters worse Monique had sat through Kari making a phone call to her parents in Texas. They had congratulated her over and over, assuring her that she would land a good part in the end of season Opera, and that they would make the trip over to see her – then take her back home for the Christmas holidays. The though filled Kari with joy, and Monique with dread. But Monique didn't let that show on her face, she gave Kari another congratulatory hug before retiring for the night.

"Try that again… remember, relax here," Erik ran his fingers down the side of Karis throat, "Don't let the high notes stress you into singing from your throat, you need to keep relaxed and allow it just to be a conduit of sound and energy… sing from here." He pressed his palm against her abdomen and she instinctively tightened her abdominals, "Right up to your eyes." He gazed into her eyes then and Kari swooned with admiration.

Monique sat watching from the stairs, thinking about Eriks pointers, and filing them away for her own usage later, but she grew bored with that game and started to fidget. Just as Erik moved to sit down at the piano once more, Monique spoke up, "Erik, is there something I can do? Like… somewhere I can explore without you getting shi-, without uhhh, trespassing?"

Erik thought a moment, then acquiesced, "You may explore my modest library." Monique got up and headed down the stairs, toward the passage that lead to his so called 'modest library' "Do not break anything." She heard Eriks voice calling after.

Monique rolled her eyes, "Oh damn… that was just what I had intended." She called back sarcastically. Erik didn't bother to gratify her comment with a response and returned to guiding Kari in singing Con te Partiro.

Kari and Monique had bought Erik breakfast once more, and they had dined much the same as they had the previous morning, save for Monique upsetting Erik and the 'sword incident' as Monique had come to call it in her mind. It had been a pleasant morning, and Monique had been happy to be once again in Eriks presence, but yet again she had not had the chance to ask him to listen to her sing and give her some pointers. Erik had been pleased that Kari had been offered a solo, even, Monique thought, somewhat anxious, or perhaps excited at the idea of moulding Kari for her new solo. Even when Kari had tried to explain to him that her solo wouldn't be much of a big deal compared to the items in the second act, (which included Yekaterina singing the aria Un bel di vedremo) Erik had simply congratulated her on receiving a praise worthy piece, and assured her she had work to be done if in fact she was to bring down the house. Kari had simply rolled her eyes, yet Erik had seemed so confident in her, and seemed content with Con te Partiro – especially after he had played it on his piano, quietly vocalising along with it.

So Monique had been sitting watching them do vocal warm-ups and mess around with vocal exercises the move into singing various parts of the song, Erik stopping every now and then to get her to tune a particular note up, or narrow a vowel sound or something of the like. Monique was beginning to feel invisible next to Kari, and decided she might as well slink into the background – the Library seemed the perfect place to be.

Monique perused the shelves, it was bursting full of books on a variety of subjects, but most were concerned with music appreciation, music theory, vocal theory and opera productions. She blew dust away from the spines, reading the titles, with a gasp she pulled one book from the handcrafted shelf "Traité complet de l'art du chant" Complete treatise on the art of singing) by Manuel Garcia. The book that most other books on singing theory published after the 1850s were based on. Obviously Erik had studied and took much of Garcias methods to heart – as he was very concerned with the understanding of the physical instrument (the larynx, throat and diaphragm) and how best to get the instrument to play (his incessant postural corrections). Monique put the book back and moved across the shelf more, but stopped when she noticed a container of scrolls beneath the table on the far wall. Instinctively she knew it would contain items of interest, probably items of interest she wasn't meant to look at – but curiosity pushed her on, she hadn't learnt her lesson from the previous day.

Taking a look around her, and listening carefully for any sounds, she was encouraged. It was obvious Erik would still be preoccupied with Kari so she dove underneath the table and retrieved the cylindrical container.

Monique knelt beside the container and pulled a few scrolls out at whim, unrolling them carefully to view their contents. One was a half finished coal sketch of a females face, a beautiful females face, which Monique carefully laid aside. The next one, she was shocked to see, was a coal sketch of Erik. Except his face was not hidden by mask. But his face was not disfigured, it was perfect on both sides – and had she not known better she would've sworn it to be an imprint of a photo. The drawing, obviously by himself, was near perfect. She passed through more scrolls, more faces, a bird, an angelic form, costumes both male and female, a detailed rawing of a mechanical pulley system and then, some scrolls with writing. Monique paused on those, taking her to time to read them – some appeared to be lyrics to songs, there was a whole scroll covered in writing in French, some in Italian and more in English. One in particular caught her eye:

La Figlia Che Piange A/N: The Young girl who weeps

Stand on the highest pavement of the stair
Lean on a garden urn
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

So I would have had him leave,
So I would have had her stand and grieve,
So he would have left
As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used.
I should find
Some way incomparably light and deft,
Some way we both should understand,
Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.

She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
And I wonder how they should have been together!
I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the noon's repose.

-1870

Monique read and reread the poem – judging by the subject matter and the year, it could only be about one person. Christine. The poem flowed beautifully from her tongue as she read it quietly aloud to herself, the images swirling in her head. Was there no end to Eriks abilities? What if he had showed this poem to Christine? Would it have changed her mind? Affected the way she thought about Erik? There was so much meaning contained inside it, inside each verse, inside each word. Monique looked back to the beginning of the last verse:

'She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
And I wonder how they should have been together!'

And something clicked into place. She remembered from Raouls version of the events:

'That was the night, so much of our lives changed. La Carlotta was rendered unable to sing in Il Muto, and Christine was forced to take the role as the Countess, orchestrated, of course, by the wicked monster we had all come to fear; the Phantom. Christine was devastated the night, unable to comprehend how complicated her once sweet life had become. Fearing for her life, and future of our lives together we made a plan to flee the Opera House following the completion of the performance. Of course, at the completion of the performance, I , as promised took Christine away in the family carriage, with our finest horses. As we departed from disreputable Opera House, that cool Autumn night – I felt a sense of bliss, underlined by the ever present sense of foreboding concerning the wickedness that had invaded Christines' life, that curse which she had denied.

We took time away from the Opera house, but I didn't have the heart to watch Christine mope around our Estate, as she longed for her music. Within a month we were back with the Opera House, then enjoyed 2 months of bliss, perhaps ignorant bliss, but it was pure bliss all the same. There was not a sound from the evil cursed creature and we all moved on with our lives, that is… until that fateful night. 3 months (to the day) after that cursed production of Il Muto the Opera was celebrating present and future glory with an elaborate Bal Masque, chorus, soloist, and patron revelled alike.

Christine and I were particularly jubilant, we had become engaged and my parents had kindly blessed our future matrimony, our joy was tainted by the distant memory of evil – but that was all I had thought it was – a distant memory. Unfortunately, I was wrong. For he, arrived. In all his wickedness. It was a shock to one and all, to be basking in the rewards of hard work one moment and then to be haltered into fear the next. All at the sight… of… it. The hideous crimson cloth of the devil, topped by a grotesque skull masque, in a vain attempt at hiding the monstrosity that had disturbed our happy masquerade. Not only was his presence most unwelcome, but he bought with him something else, something perhaps more unwelcome them he, the devil himself. An opera… entirely composed by himself.'

Monique now understood that verse. Christine had turned away… and fled the Opera house that Autumn night, driving Erik crazy with gripping thoughts of Christine, compelling his imagination to produce the Opera Don Juan Triumphant, in which, Christine was to be Aminta, a gypsy, arriving on stage, her arms full of flowers, not yet in full bloom (much like herself). And I wonder how the should have been together. Oh, he had found a way. It was almost certain that becoming Passarino was his intention all along, but abducting Christine? That must've been Plan B, failing her falling into his arms, swooning and confessing her love. What a night it must have been for him. For everyone involved. How had they ever managed to forget such an occurrence?

Monique couldn't help but wonder where she would be right now had Christine favoured Erik over Raoul. Upon reflection over that very fact, she came to the conclusion that things would be quite different. For a start, she probably wouldn't have met Erik. On second thoughts… it appeared to Monique that she probably wouldn't be in Eriks lair at all. Perhaps not even in Paris at all. Curiously she explored her life as if an objective observer, thinking about the impact Le fantome de l'Opera had had on her. She had fallen in love with the story, it romanticism and it's tragedy. Surely though, what really stood out the most was Erik… and the fate it was assumed he was left to in the end of the book, when Christine ran to Raouls waiting arms. Would the story have had as much impact if the ending had favoured Erik? That was a hard question to answer. Did she identify and feel more empathy for Erik because of the ending of the story? That also was a hard question to answer, but she leant towards a yes. Lastly, she stumbled over another thought. Would the story have even been written if Christine had chosen Erik? Perhaps not. As crazy as it seemed, an event that occurred in a country foreign to the country of her birth some 113 years later, had profoundly affected the developments of her life.

Had Christine not chosen Raoul, maybe Monique would not have known Kari, and almost certainly would not be in France and therefore not auditioned and gained a part in the musical Moulin Rouge, and definitely would not have explored the Opera de Pallisade and met Erik. So… had the pain and suffering Erik endured been some twist of fate? It frightened her to think of how much of the Opera House history was entwined in her life, and how peoples decisions made well over a hundred years ago had deeply affected the way she lived right now.

Monique stared down at the poem once more, the words merging to a blur before her eyes, but she stared on, lost in thought. She suddenly felt very small… somewhat insignificant in the vast caverns, and more importantly, in the mystery of life. She wondered perhaps if she was pathetic for her interest in Erik, her curiosity over him had affected much of her later life – bringing her to live in a foreign country where she barely spoke much of the language, just to be closer to where he lived. Searching out his lair to prove to herself that his story was true. And then finding him… and falling prey to a seemingly instant inexorable pull toward him. But then, she'd felt a strange pull her whole life, a need to search, some inner sense that there was more out there – or was that because her home life had been a miserable prison? Somehow, it seemed, Erik was a beacon… a point of gravity and she had been drawn toward him from the first time she read of his story. Or maybe she was reading too much into it. Whatever the case, suddenly Monique pitied herself.

"I'm a parasite." She whispered bitterly to herself, a flicker of anger begging to be ignited stirred in her stomach. 'I've been living off… other people… some stupid dream!' she chastised herself, the flicker growing to a flame. 'I fell in love with Paris…. Why? Probably influenced by the fact that I read about it so often in the book. Kari and I bonded firstly over our shared obsession for the book. We talked a lot about it… and then came up with the crazy idea to move to Paris upon graduation from Straata. Would I have moved to Paris if I had not been so blindly obsessed by that STUPID BOOK! ' The flame had grown larger and large, and now it was war with herself. 'Did I move to Paris because I thought I could find that he truly existed? WHY? What would that prove? Would that prove that I was not the only person to be unloved by their parents? Would that give me some sense of clarity?' She berated herself relentlessly. Letting the accusatory, bitter, resentful thoughts whirl round and round in her head, attacking her stony wall of defence mercilessly. Pain and adrenaline flooded her veins, but she would not stop. She wanted it to ache. 'Now that I've found him? What was I expecting? Him to make things better? Him to fix the holes in the façade that I put on? Plumb up all the gaps… make things ok? I was a fool for coming—'

"I knew I should come and check on you." The deep voice interrupted her fiery attack, and Monique spun around swiftly to face him, her eyes alight.

If he noticed, he didn't react. Monique instinctively moved away from the scrolls sprawled on the floor, as Erik moved towards them.
He bent and picked them up, rolling the open ones up and placing them all into their container once more.

"I don't like to give too much free reign." He elaborated, giving her a quick glance, but she didn't react. Just stared at him, the fire still boiling within her, thoughts brewing and turning over, isolating her from his calm demeanour.

"Though I said you could explore, I know there is much I do not wish you to see." He spoke as he put the container away back beneath the table, then stood to face her.
Monique sneered, "Yeah…. Just like what's behind the mask right? Face value only around here, right?" she spat, glaring at him accusingly, as if somehow everything was his fault.

Erik reeled, his calmness evaporated in a split second, replaced entirely by a burning fury that seared him right to the skin. His reaction was lightening fast. His white knuckled fist wrapped around a wrought iron candelabra from the table behind him. And then he threw it. With deadly accuracy. At her.

NOTE: The Poem "Le Figlia Che Piange" is written by T.S Elliot.

I just thought it was a perfect fit so I have used it. Obviously I am not T. S Elliot, so I did not write it (neither did Erik) – so can take no credit for it. So kudos to Mr Elliot, you rock.

Thanks for reading. XOX.

Please review… the button is just down there, VV