I am SO sorry I haven't updated sooner! Between finishing my exams and home-renovations, I haven't had any time at all to get online. Thank you all who reviewed, I always appreciate your comments. I'm throwing a couple more plot twists into this chapter, so I think you'll all enjoy it!

XxXxX

Erik listened from a distance the day they buried the Vicomte de Chagney. It should have been his wedding day, and Christine should have been filled with love. But instead, she was filled with grief. Erik could hear her wailing as she clutched the wooden casket. She had to be taken away by attendants. When the mourners had dispersed somewhat, Erik made his way over to the burial site and, undetected,dropped a single red rose by the headstone.

"There," Erik thought to himself. "I have paid my respects, and now I can claim forgiveness."

But Erik was still wracked with guilt over the incident. Perhaps he hadn't pulled the trigger that released the bullet that killed Raoul, but he still felt responsible. If he hadn't attacked the mugger, none of this would be happening.

For the next few weeks, Erik threw himself into Don Juan rehearsals – waking, rehearsing, eating, rehearsing, sleeping… that was his day. At least Lachappelle knew enough not to cross Erik again. After all, he was the man who would make this opera successful. Erik felt a little healthy fear from his employer would work to his benefit, however, he had to continually remind himself – "You're the slave, he's the master… you are not the Opera Ghost anymore… You have to do what he says… within reason, of course…"

Opening night crept up on Erik. His white mask was replaced with a black one that covered everything above his lips – similar to the one he wore the first time he played Don Juan.

The first time… with Christine… holding her small frame against himself and… oh, why did the Powers That Be insist on tormenting him so? Christine… she hated him. Hated him for letting Raoul die. Never again would he hear kind words from those lips. Just loathing and disgust!

Amarie found him lying on his bed, curled up in the foetal position, shaking his head and muttering to himself. "Erik? Erik, what's wrong?"

"Christine?"

"Erik! It's me!"

He paused. "Amarie?"

"Erik, are you feeling sick again?" She held a hand to his forehead.

"No… no, I… I think I just need some fresh air…"

"I'll come with you… just in case…"

Amarie led him outside the theatre doors, to a wooden bench near the garden, facing the street. After she helped him sit down, she took his hand. "What's troubling you, Erik?"

Erik shook his head, trying to sort out his thoughts. "Nothing… Everything… Christine… the Vicomte… opening night… dear Lord, opening night is only three days away!"

"But you are doing so well! You aren't nervous, are you?"

"No… well, yes, but… You know all those rumours about people coming from Paris?"

"Yes?"

"Well… you know… with my reputation and all… well…"

"You're afraid someone will recognize you as the Phantom of the Opera?"

"…And of what will happen to me if they do."

Amarie shifted closer to him and took both of his hands in hers. "No matter what happens, I'll be there for you... I'll always be watching over you, no matter what happens...I promise…"

XxXxX

"Jolly good night, don't you think, Andre?" Firmin asked as he and his partner strolled down the street. "Nice to get out of old Paris and have a quiet, peaceful walk."

As they continued down the street, La Soleil Rouge came into view. "Why, again, did we decide to come watch this cursed opera?" Andre asked. "Wasn't the first time seeing it bad enough?"

"You must admit," Firmin replied, "though the composer was a few bassoons short of a full orchestra, the music he wrote was rather… catchy…"

Andre stared blankly at his friend.

"What?" Firmin asked him, finally.

"I'm sorry… what was that you were saying about bassoons?"

Firmin rolled his eyes. "It's an expression! I was merely saying that the man was off his rocker! Mad! Insane! A homicidal lunatic!"

"Oh…" Andre said, fully understanding now. He shuddered. "Let's speak no more of 'you-know-who.' The man is likely dead anyway, after what we did to him."

"Or crawled back under some rock where he belongs!" Firmin exhaled. "Anyway… as I was saying… Lovely evening! The stars are bright… The river's clear… The air is fresh…" He glanced across the street where a young girl and a man dressed all in black sat on a wooden bench, holding hands. "…Romance is stirring…"

Andre followed Firmin's gaze to the pair across the street, then turned away, smiling. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, the smile gone, and directed his attention to the couple again. He grabbed Firmin's arm.

"Andre? What has gotten into you?"

"Richard… Does that man look familiar to you?"

Firmin looked across the street again, where the black-clad man was beginning to rise from the bench. He was facing the girl, so that only the left side of his face was visible.

"Andre, he's just some old bloke shamelessly flirting with–"

The man turned so that half a white mask came into view. Firmin's hand flew to his mouth to keep himself from screaming.

"The Opera Ghost!" Andre exclaimed in a horrified whisper.

The stunned pair watched as Erik held out his arm to Amarie, who smiled graciously and accepted it. Firmin noticed Erik's cane.

"What's he using that for? He's not even leaning on it! Is it some sort of weapon that he uses? The Phantom never had a cane before, did he?"

"He… he looks like he's… using it to… see what's ahead of him!"

"He does have a sort of… blank stare on his face, doesn't he?"

"Richard… I don't think he can see!"

"You mean he's gone…?"

"Blind!"

"Well… I do suppose I hit him rather hard when we were down in that cursed sewer…"

Erik and Amarie disappeared inside the theatre doors, leaving Andre and Firmin gaping.

"This is terrible!" Andre exclaimed. "He's haunting a new theatre!"

"And it seems he has a new pretty little wench to dote upon, as well…"

"What will we do? As long as he lives, no one is safe! He'll kill and kill again!"

"Wait!" Firmin cried. A plot was forming itself in his head. "I know of some men in this city that may be persuaded to do some things of… questionable legality. For a price of course."

"Richard… what are you suggesting?"

"This time, my friend," Firmin said. "This time, we'll be sure that the Phantom of the Opera will fall!"

XxXxX

Oooh, intriguing, eh? Oh, listen to me and my cute Candian accent. Keep reading, and review!