A/N: I'm sure you all want to punjab me after what happened at the end of the last chapter… well all I can say is, in the words of PotO, "you will understand in time…"

Lucrecia LeVrai: I was actually thinking that myself, lol. But I decided to leave it because girls are into clothes and appearances, and I wanted to show that even though she has made this huge decision and her life has changed so much in just a few days, she is still a teenager at heart and is paying attention to things like that. :)

Relyan: I tried to be thorough with the research, but its difficult. /

Artemis Crescent Moon: haha, I know how that is! I keep reading Phantom of the Opera again… and again… and again…

I am the Angel of Music: I know Erik doesn't seem like the kind to be an addict, but this story has a lot of Kay influence, so I'm using all Erik's history from that book. Besides, it makes the story more interesting:)

piratesareagirlsbestfriend: Wow, I appreciate that a lot! Makes me feel warm and fuzzly… okay, fuzzly isn't a word, but just pretend…

Chapter 17

The force of the blow knocked Christine backwards and she crumpled on the bed, her ears ringing and a shocked cry clogging her throat. She choked in a breath of air and opened her eyes slowly to see Erik standing at the foot of the bed gazing down at her with an expression of detached horror.

There were police flooding into the room - police? what? why? They saw her sprawled on the bed and rushed towards Erik, grabbing his arms and pinning them behind his back, forcing him to his knees as one of the men turned his head to the open doorway and shouted, "We've got him, sir!"

Erik struggled halfheartedly – what was wrong with him, he was stronger than that! – but after one of the men handcuffed him he knelt without protest, staring at wooden floor with his jaw set. Christine's breath was coming in shallow gulps as she struggled to rise on her elbows, and one of the police hurried to her side. "Miss, miss, are you hurt?"

She slowly raised her hand to her stinging cheek, staring at Erik as if in a dream – no, a nightmare – the sounds of the police and their voices and footsteps blurring in her ears like a loud lazy drone. As if he felt her gaze on him, he raised his eyes to hers.

His eyes were blazing, but not with the anger or hatred expected after such violence – they were burning with an intense pleading, begging her to remain silent, to pretend to be the victim.

Realization hit her like a sack of bricks and she pressed her hand to her mouth, whispering "No, no…"

The policeman took her arm gently, saying "Its alright now, no reason to be afraid."

She tried to tug her arm away but it was like moving through water, and the man just held her more firmly and drew her to her feet. "We have your fiancé, miss, he's right here..."

She turned her eyes to the doorway and saw the Vicomte de Chagny stride in.

"Christine!" Raoul stared at her for a moment then hurried towards her, enfolding her in his arms and holding her close in that familiar embrace. "Oh, Christine..."

Past Raoul's shoulder she could see the policemen going through the traveling bags, several with muskets pointed at Erik, his eyes screaming in agony and still, that intense pleading to understand what he was trying to communicate without words...

"Christine, Christine," Raoul was stroking her hair. "You're safe now..."
He held her out in front of him, his eyes roving over her. "Has he hurt you? By God, I swear I'll – "

"He struck her, sir, just after we broke down the door," yet another policeman informed helpfully.

Raoul stared down at Erik for a moment before saying slowly, "Be grateful that Christine is present, or God knows what I'd do to you."

Raoul glanced over at the chief of police, who was directing his men about the room, and gave him a small nod. "Monsieur, you know what to do with him."

Without warning, Christine began to cry.

Raoul embraced her again, whispering comforting words into her ear as she stared at Erik past his shoulder. The police were hauling him to his feet, pushing him roughly out the door. His eyes never left hers, and suddenly Christine shrieked his name, the frantic sound ripping from her throat unnaturally.

Raoul hugged her closer. "Dearest, its alright, its over now..."

Erik was forced from the room at gunpoint and Christine collapsed in Raoul's arms.

X X X

Erik sat in the dim light of the police carriage, fully aware of the men's eyes on him, muskets within easy reach, watching him with both contemptuous and curious eyes. His head was throbbing, his arms cuffed uncomfortably behind his back, his soul in more agony than any current physical pain.

He didn't know how they had been found so soon, and so easily. He didn't know what would become of him. All he knew was that whatever his fate, he could not allow Christine to be dragged along with him.

It had taken all his willpower to strike her – her confused, wounded eyes staring up at him from the bed had nearly undone his control. It was a desperate plan, acted out by a desperate man. But if anyone were to find out that she was with him of her own free will...

They had been trapped in that little room, with no options and no way out. He could have thrown up a show of bravado and claimed Christine as his willing bride, but the outcome still would have been his destruction and her ruin.

It was easier this way. Easier for her. What kind of life would she have had, the Vicomte knowing she had chosen Erik willingly…

Was it easier for him? Ah, no. He stared unseeing out the barred window, his vision slipping out of focus several times. Yes, it was easier for her if they all believed she had been abducted by a cruel, insane monster.

But was it really so hard to believe that he could be loved? But that was a ridiculous question. He had a hard enough time of believing it himself, why expect anyone else to?

One of the men whispered something to another, and they both glanced at him, then chuckled to themselves.

Erik was shaking. He clenched and unclenched his fists behind his back slowly, letting his breath out in a long, quiet rush. He would not give these petty policemen the satisfaction of seeing him break down.

X X X

When Christine opened her eyes, it was the ceiling of a carriage she saw, the dark upholstery seeming to dance and ripple as her vision cleared.

She realized it was Raoul's arms she was cradled in, and when he felt her stir, he glanced down and smiled in relief. She opened her mouth slowly to speak, but he pressed his fingertips to her lips. "Shh. Don't speak…. just rest."

The thought was tempting… just slide back into oblivion… but she struggled to raise herself up, and she slipped off Raoul's lap as he guided her into a sitting position against the soft plush of the seat.

"Christine… are you alright? Is there anything you need?"

Tears pricked the back of her eyes at his boyish concern. Oh, Raoul. My old sweetheart. If you only knew… A wave of nostalgia swept over her, along with a tinge of guilt. You would do anything for me, wouldn't you?

Anything…

Suddenly, the thought brought her mind back to the police at the inn… a prickle of dread crept through her veins and sped her pulse, and she swallowed tensely.

"Erik… where is… Erik?"

Raoul heard the thread of fear in her voice and mistook it for fear of another kind. He moved closer to her, reaching his arm around her waist and leaning in to kiss the top of her head. "Christine, he will never harm you again. Never. You're safe now." She sat unmoving except for the slight tremor in her lip as he continued sadly, "I only wish I could've gotten to you sooner! In his lair, I had to leave, I could not take him on myself… oh Christine, when I think of how you tried to sacrifice yourself for both our lives…"

"Raoul," she whispered slowly, muscles frozen and panic rising in her throat. "Where is Erik?"

She could not see his face, but she heard him let out his breath in a relieved rush. He kissed her hair again tenderly. "He is… being taken care of."

X X X

Erik stepped from the coach, the awkward angle of his cuffed hands and the musket barrel jammed against his back making the movement difficult.

A large empty field lay before him, bordered by woods to the left and stretching endlessly over the countryside ahead, the grass dusted with scarce patches of melting snow here and there.

The dirt and gravel of the road crunched next to him as three of the policemen alighted. Erik turned his head towards them, and the trio stared back at him. The driver was staring too, he realized, the man was turned on his seat watching, the buttons on his uniform glinting in the sun.

Erik's eyes dragged back to the musket, and it seemed an impossibly long moment as he stared at it.

"What do you plan to do with me?" Erik said calmly, meeting the gaze of the most official looking policeman.

The man raised his chin importantly, his eyes going cold and disdainful. "We have our orders."

"Start walking," another man said. Erik merely watched him for a heartbeat or two before the man jabbed the muzzle of his musket into Erik's back. "Start walking," he repeated.

Erik turned away, and began to walk away across the field.

It had been a while since he'd simply gone walking like this, he mused. The grass gave way softly as he stepped on it, the occasional patch of snow crunching quietly. There was a bird singing in the wood nearby, the sound carrying loudly across the landscape.

He heard the other police carriages clattering past, on the way back to Paris, and he suddenly wondered where Christine was now. Driving with the Vicomte in his lavish carriage? Resting in his decadent home?

She would have a good life. He hated that boy… hated him with every fiber of his being for doing this… but Erik knew he would care for Christine, provide her with all the necessities and luxuries that his money and title could offer. The thought was bittersweet, and it seemed he could almost taste it on his tongue.

When she woke in the mornings with the Vicomte at her side, would she smile that same secret smile she'd shared with Erik just that morning? Would she sing for the boy the way she sung for her angel? Her eyes shining with feeling, her voice clear and pure as a bell…

Erik could remember every detail of Christine Daae as if she walked next to him. Her dark curls spilling over her shoulders, big blue eyes wide and bright. He could remember those nights he tutored her, her slender hands twisting nervously as she attempted a higher note, or an intricate bar of music. He could remember the first time he took her through his mirror, her face glowing with longing and ecstasy. He remembered her singing his Don Juan, her eyes flashing with the passion and desire that reflected his own. He remembered the look on her innocent, tear-stained face as she kissed him that first time, staring up at him in surprise and adoration...

He wouldn't see it again, would he? Never see any of that. Never feel her small hand in his, her soft hair against his bare chest. That belonged to the Vicomte now.

A dead weight seemed to settle on his lungs, choking his breath, but with a sudden burst of emotion he pushed it away. That boy had robbed him of everything, everything he'd strived for, everything he loved, but not now – at these last moments, these memories were his, and his alone.

A shot rang out, and Erik hit the ground.