Hello. Thanks for the reviews! Loved your reasons why Raoul was acting strangely, especially the one by White Plum! That was hilarious!

Quick Comment: I know some of you wanted Raoul to remain a good guy, and I promise that I won't make him completely OOC and crazy. But who can say what would have happened had he not seen Erik actually release them. I think he could have been paranoid. Remember his quote: Yet while he lives, he will haunt us till we're dead...

Slowly, the Vicomte tore open the delicate blue seal of the envelope. Reaching in, he took out a folded sheet of white paper and opened it to read the short handwritten message. Not believing his eyes, he read it for a second time.

To the Vicomte de Chagny,

The task has been accomplished. Please come as soon as possible.

Private Inspector K. Darley

Raoul refolded the letter and placed it carefully back into the envelope, still in somewhat of a state of shock. It was no secret that the past couple of weeks had been nerve-racking for him. At every shadow he saw and at every strange noise he heard, the Vicomte found himself reaching for his pistol...sometimes when it was not even there. He was waiting to find himself face to face with that monster in a dark alleyway one night. Or worse-he was waiting to find Christine suddenly missing.

One and half weeks ago, he had gone to the private inspector as his final hope. With the law no longer taking him seriously, the Vicomte had offered a large sum to Inspector Darley for the capture or demise of the Phantom. He knew that this particular private inspector was not necessarily a scrupulous man and that what he was requesting was more or less illegal, but Raoul was beyond caring. If the task was truly accomplished, and he doubted that it would be, he would leave Paris for several weeks to be sure that his name was not tarnished. The peace of mind would be worth a short trip away.

As the days passed by, the Vicomte began to make final plans for him and Christine to leave the city altogether. The chances were slim to none that the Phantom would ever be caught. He had not even been able to give the inspector an adequate physical description. Tall, yellow eyes, wears a mask. Of course, there was supposedly a deformity, but he had never actually seen it. Needless to say, he was not very hopeful when he had left the inspector's office that day.

Now, though, there was the arrival of this letter. Wasting no time, the Vicomte grabbed his wool coat and headed out into the drizzly winter weather.

Despite the note, the Vicomte could still not believe his ears once he arrived at the small brick office. "You are quite sure that it is him?" he asked the inspector cautiously. "Killing him should not have been an easy task. I shall need to see the body."

Sitting around the table were the Inspector and four other men. Two were dressed in pressed suits and were clean shaven while the other two looked as if they hadn't showered in several weeks. All, however, had the hint of a smile upon their faces as they gazed up at him. The Inspector stood up from his chair and made eye contact.

"Well, Monsieur. The man in question certainly matches your description. He has yellow eyes and a disfigurement, though perhaps not quite as you described it. These two men spotted a masked man one night as they were searching around the opera house and fired several shots before he saw them. He was dead in an instant." Inspector Darley motioned toward a door. "Come. I shall show you the body. "

Suddenly the Vicomte was very nervous. Could it really be true? Could the Phantom really be dead? Swallowing, he followed the group of men to a small room in the back. Upon a mahogany table, he made out the outline of a motionless body suited in black attire. Taking a deep breath, he went for the first time to look directly into the face of the thing that had been terrorizing him for so long.

It was only when he first glanced down, that he realized he did not even know what he was looking for. If truth be told, the closest he had ever been to seeing him was in the graveyard on a dark and foggy evening. The Phantom had possessed some ghastly flame throwing apparatus, shouting threats and daring the Vicomte to come closer to the blazing fireballs. Christine had quickly pulled him away before he had gotten a good glimpse. All he had seen was a tall, dark form with eyes that glowed like hot coals in the night. There was the Masquerade as well, but at that time the Phantom had been wearing a gigantic skull mask.

Looking down, he studied the corpse before him. Well, the man was definitely deformed on one side, but it was not quite the death's head he had imagined from Christine's description. He was fairly tall, but tall enough? The eyes were definitely yellow, but they did not seem to carry the same fire as he remembered. Of course, now that he was dead, it was only natural for him to look less menacing.

Sighing, Raoul backed up, still not knowing if this was indeed the man who had made his life so miserable. The only way to truly find out was to see if the Phantom made his presence known at the opera house over the next few weeks. Perhaps, if all seemed well, he could even return to the underground home and see if there were any signs of life. "I shall pay you half," said the Vicomte, finally looking up. "But there are still matters to be attended to before I pay you in full." Reluctantly, the inspector and other four men agreed.

On the days that he was not visiting Christine, Raoul traveled to the opera house to attend private meetings with the managers. So far, Firmin and Andre were the only other souls he told of the current situation, hoping to keep the affair as secretive as possible. Each time he went, he asked if there had been any strange occurrences, and each time he was told that there had not been. There was nothing-no stage mishaps, mysterious notes, or disembodied voices. With each visit, the Vicomte's hopes grew stronger.

With much apprehension, he took the final step and journeyed back down to the dark underground home. Conveniently, he found the boat awaiting him by the lake and slowly rowed his way back down the same path as before. Shaking, he looked through the iron gate and saw that all was completely dark and desolate. All of the candles that lined the labyrinth had burnt out, and there was no sign of life whatsoever. It was at that moment that he breathed a great sigh of relief and accepted that the Phantom was truly dead.

Despite Raoul's attempt to keep the news quiet, it soon began to travel. Andre and Firmin were not the most discreet men when it came to discussing private matters and were one day overheard by a passing stagehand. The news spread its way throughout the opera house. Raoul quickly made final plans to leave for a couple of weeks, lest he find himself in the middle of a tumultuous situation. Not wanting to leave Christine completely alone, though, he contacted Monsieur Ames by telegraph and asked if he would come home three weeks early due to an emergency. The man had agreed only because he owed Raoul for a financial favor from several years back.

As Raoul prepared to go, he made certain that Christine was not aware of what had passed. She still was not well, and it was possible that the news would upset her. She still had a perverse sort of devotion to the madman, and he did not want her to dwell on his death. After paying the rest of the money to the inspector, Raoul departed for the south of France.


It was about two hours after the Vicomte had paid him the other half of what was owed that Inspector Darley heard someone knock three times loudly upon the door of his office. Opening the curtains to peek out the window, he saw one of the unkempt men who had been present when the Vicomte was viewing the corpse. The inspector waved and quickly opened the door. "Good morning, Monsieur. Here to take your part of the wealth I see."

The man grinned. "Well, Monsieur, you certainly could not have done without me." He snorted. "I cannot believe we actually got away with it. It almost seems a bit...too easy. "

The Inspector smiled. "The boy was willing to believe about anything to have some peace of mind. We probably could have brought a woman's corpse in here and convinced him that it was his Phantom." He chuckled. "So, Monsieur, who was that poor fellow you brought in here, anyway?"

"Eh. Some guy that got on the wrong side of a fight the other night, I guess. Don't know much more. You said you wanted a tall dead man, and he was conveniently lying out in the morgue with a knife wound."

"I suppose about anyone would have done," commented the Inspector. "Nice work carving up the right side of the face, though. Not exactly a death's head but close enough." He paused for a second and thought back. "And the glass eyes-how the hell did you get yellow ones?"

The disheveled man grinned. "Didn't. Just used a little dye on a green set. Not difficult at all when you're in my line of work." His smile faded, and he shifted uncomfortably. "What if the real guy turns up some time? Then what?"

"Monsieur, if I actually believed a Phantom existed, I would have never come up with this in the first place. De Chagny's story sounded like a demented child's tale, what with magical mirrors and all that nonsense. In my opinion, the boy was slightly mad. Anyhow, if by a miracle this opera ghost is real, we will take care of the matter then. No worries." The Inspector smiled to himself. "Well, Monsieur-let me go get what you came for. Too bad your friend can't share the wealth."

"Friend?"

"The corpse." Both men burst out laughing as they divided up the money.


Madame Giry sat quietly in one of the ballet dressing rooms, mindlessly watching her girls dress for practice. Usually very strict about punctuality, she was already seven minutes behind schedule and almost felt like cancelling rehearsals altogether. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the previous day she had had one of the oddest and saddest conversations of her life. Quietly she looked down at the crumpled note she had received yesterday. It was still watermarked with Christine's tears.

She had gone to visit the young girl as she had done for the last three Saturdays. Meg had not accompanied her due to a mild cold. As soon as she entered, she noticed Christine's distraught expression and had immediately inquired as to what was wrong. Rather than tell her, though, Christine had made a request of the ballet instructor.

"Will you please give this to the Opera Ghost?" she had timidly asked as she held out a folded piece of paper. Madame Giry had stared at her in shock. "Please...Madame. I cannot explain everything, but please do it for me."

It was then that the older woman was forced to tell her the news. "Child, I would. But the Opera Ghost is believed to be no longer living. He was killed by a rogue police force of some sort. The details are not exactly clear. I am sorry, dear." Madame Giry had then watched as her once quiet student had burst into hysterical tears. She had held Christine as she had sobbed into her shoulder, trying to understand what was wrong and almost ready to cry herself.

Christine had finally half-composed herself. Still releasing a sob every now and then, she had told Madame Giry of everything that had occurred up to the previous night. Madame Giry had listened in awe and then embraced the girl once more. After poor Christine had nearly collapsed upon the bed with misery and exhaustion, Madame Giry had promised to find a way to get her out of that dreadful house. Before the older woman had left, she made for certain that Monsieur Ames had retired to his quarters. Christine would at least be safe for that night.

Now she sat trying to figure out a way of removing Christine from the manor. Her thoughts wandered to the Phantom every so often. Christine had called him Erik. Erik. So that was whom she had been delivering letters for all these years. She had always felt a deep sympathy for the lonely man despite the havoc he wreaked and was happy to know that he had been loved in the end.

Sighing, she placed the letter back in her pocket and walked into the hall to prepare for lessons. For a second, she thought she saw a shadow at the corner of her eye but figured it must have been a trick of the mind. Taking the letter out again, though, she gazed down upon it in thought. Walking briskly down the corridor, she discreetly placed the note in the spot where the Phantom had once left his letters for her. Perhaps...perhaps no harm would come from trying.

Later that day, she returned to the hidden area, expecting it to still be there. The note was gone. She told no one.