A/N: 28 Feb 2005- Edited some spelling etc from the rush yesterday. No real changes though.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews… appreciated as always.

Excuse any typos or SP's I will go back and correct if there are any later, I just wanted to get this chapter up before I head out to work!

R&R

New disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom or any of the original character's from the book (s) movie or play.

I do own Detectives Paul Sanders and Thomas Fellows, Rebecca, Jennifer Sanders and Robert. On the off chance that you would like to use any of these characters please let me know and credit me. Thanks.

Chapter 20 – Sleepless in London.

The night was cold but clear and the stars shone as diamond buttons on its coat. Paul Sanders sat in the carriage and shook his head slowly from side to side. He could barely believe the day he had had and he couldn't wait to get home and see his beautiful wife and children. Whenever work was hard on him he simply sat and thought about them at home waiting for his return, and how, although he didn't deserve them sometimes, they were always there. And he loved them.

It was true, his wife Jennifer was beautiful and not only this but she had the most exquisite accent. She had been born in France many years ago now and was almost ten years Paul's junior, not that it mattered. All it did was reaffirm the fact that he was lucky. It was equally true that Paul had no idea what his young wife saw in him. He was a middle aged, balding, not particularly attractive bloody detective and yet she had loved him. For years she had loved him despite his long hours and often atrocious mood swings.

As the carriage pulled up to his house he knew that today was something he needed to tell her about, it was important that she heard this. It was from Jennifer and her friend Meg that he had heard about The Phantom of the Opera, it was from Meg that he had learned about Christine De Chagny. He hopped out of the carriage and handed the driver some money before trudging slowly up the path to his house and as he opened the door the sight of the fire blazing and his wife sleeping on the chair filled his heart with warmth and pride.

Jennifer's eyes opened as the click of the door echoed in the silence and she smiled groggily at her husband. He walked in and slumped next to her, leaning over to kiss her soft cheek and pull her into a hug, which he had been waiting for the entire day. After he had eaten the dinner that she had prepared for him they lay on the floor in front of the fire together. He asked about the children, how they had behaved and how their schooling had been and he asked her how she was but the concern soon showed on her face.

'You were late home tonight, Sweetheart,' she said softly. It wasn't a criticism, it was an observation.

'It's been a long one…' he replied and kissed her forehead with as much tenderness as his hard lips could muster. She seemed to appreciate it.

'Is something bothering you?' She asked, perceptive has always. He had never been able to keep anything from her and this time would be no different.

'I need to tell you something,' He said gently. 'But I have to ask you not to tell anyone for now.'

She nodded and he was reassured, he had her promise and that was enough for him. He pushed himself to a seated position and rested his elbows on his knees, glancing over at her looking up at him. As he explained her eyes widened with surprise and for a moment fear, she knew what it meant as well as he did.

For this time you really didn't have to be a detective to understand the connotations of what had happened at the De Chagny home.

'The gentleman that came this morning,' He said, preparing to finish his story. 'We laughed him out of the building. But it looks like he was correct.'

She simply nodded a yes and her mind drifted to Meg.

'He is alive and well and has come for Christine,' he said with a long sigh added as if it was good to finally get it off his chest. He and Fellows had agreed not to discuss it until morning but it had played on his mind the entire journey home. He knew that Jennifer would understand.

'Do you think he had killed her, Paul?' she asked, eyes brimming with tears. He shook his head quickly and reached his arms out to her, pulling her into the safety of his chest.

'He wouldn't,' was all he said and she understood.

She understood.

Rebecca had heard the smash earlier in the night and then the voices decending from shouts to mere whispers, she had tried to keep up with the conversation but had been lost many times. During the shouting she had recognised both voices in the room one of the man in the mask, full of rage as he had been when he had grabbed her and the other of Christine de Chagny. As she had listened her mind began to take it in and she wondered why she had not thought of it sooner.

The masked man was in love with her former mistress.

He didn't say it, or even allude to it really but it was the way his anger had fired again so readily. Rebecca realised that only love could have possibly made this man so mad with rage. First, when he heard of Madame de Chagny's plight and now listening to the pleas for her husband and Rebecca's past master, Le Vitcome de Chagny.

After the shouting there was an almighty bang and the sound of smashing glass, then for a long while there had been silence. The silence had deafened her more than the yelling because her ears had become used to their sounds and to not hear them frightened her. She had seen how fast the man's rage was and she dreaded to think what he could do to the tiny vitcomess if he lost his temper.

Then came whispering, fast and long whispering, apologies from the man and sobs from the woman. Finally, she had accepted his words and all had grown silent. Rebecca had listened until she fell asleep and it was the sound of movement in the next room which woke her again. She had no idea how long she had been asleep but she heard them speak again and listened intently. Her mother had always told her what curiosity did to a cat but she always chose to ignore it, it hadn't caused her any great harm before now.

Thomas Fellows couldn't sleep. He had spent the last three hours trying, curled up in his bed, shivering and trying to get some warmth into his blood. It had been no use of course. He lay alone and there was no woman to warm him and no good memories to sooth him either. All he saw when he closed his eyes was blood and hatred and so his eyes did not stay closed for very long.

He flung his legs out of the side of the bed and reached across to his robe, slipping it over his shoulders he looked around his poor excuse for a home. It consisted of four rooms on the first floor of a two floor house. The floor above him was occupied by a widow and her small child who had moved there when they had run into trouble in the north of the country. The child cried all night much to Thomas' dismay and when he did manage to sleep it was often broken by the boys whimpers.

The room he was in now was his bedroom and once you stepped into it there really wasn't far to move, two steps to the bed, two the wardrobe and one to the dresser. Barely enough space to breath, he thought, as he stood up. The room outside of his bedroom was a living room he rarely used as it was not much bigger than his poor excuse for a bedroom and to top it all off, it was drafty. There was over the other side what the landlord liked to call a kitchen, which Thomas often scoffed at and next to his bedroom was a sort of bathroom, the less he thought about that the better he felt. He often chose to use the communal bathroom as, for some reason, it was a whole lot cleaner than his room.

Blood and hatred and knives.

Bile bubbled in his body.

Four dead bodies.

Vomit rose in his throat.

Two missing people.

What a day, he thought and began to get dressed. There was no point him lying there and mulling it over and although Paul wouldn't appreciate it he was going to get up and come with him to continue the investigation. Two missing people was not a good thing and the longer they left if the less chance they had of finding them alive.

One Phantom.