A/N: My humble apologies for such a slow update, especially with that cliffhanger! I've been busy with the last few weeks of school, working my poor little butt off so I wouldn't fail… well actually, don't sympathize with me, its my own fault. :P Also, I've just figured out how to use Window's Movie Maker, and I've made several Phantom videos in the past few weeks. Go to my profile to check it out. :)

Also, just wanted to let you know, there's a lot of book!Erik coming through in this chapter.

Sandra: I'm going to try to keep the weeping and sobbing to a minimum! Although that's what I would most likely do if I were in her situation…

Misty Breyer: Yeah I have a passion for Victorian era clothing… that paragraph was originally like half a page long, just describing the dress, but it was getting ridiculous so I had to shave a bunch off:P

Killer Veggies: hehe I was wondering if anybody would guess.

Pirates are a girls bestfriend: Thanks a lot, but I just found it online. I appreciate it though!

Ziroana: Fluff is on the way!

Banana71588: Was just checking out your profile… my name is Anna too. hehe.

Mymagic: Because cliffhangers are fuuuuun. lol j/k.

Nirselen: Wouldn't we all!

TheLizzy: I'm glad you don't think this is a "bad phic"! lol!

AR5989: Don't worry, I already thought of that. It will be explained. :)

erik'sangel527: Sexy indeed!

et-spiritus-sancti: Okay, I've got the Kay book in text format now. If you want it, just email me. :)

ShaShiSar221: I don't try to have cliffhangers; it just always seems like a good place to leave off:P

Captain Oblivious: Oh, do you speak French?

PhantomsHeart: haha, Erik lying on the bed for 11 days!

Sarah: In the middle of Chapter 19, it explains how Darius pays the driver. And on the way back to Raoul's… well I admit that I didn't really think about it. I didn't think it was absolutely necessary to include that. :P

Chapter 22

Christine's hand flew to her mouth; her lungs constricted, her heart seemed to stop, knees weakened. "Is everything alright?" came the maid's concerned voice from the hallway.

Christine nodded slowly; then realized the maid couldn't see the action and replied haltingly, "Yes, yes, I'm fine; I just saw a mouse…"

She heard the maid's retreating footsteps as if they were being drummed into her ears – it was the only sound in the dead quiet of the room, the only sound penetrating the shock in her brain. The silence was so thick it seemed possible to cut it with a knife.

Erik lounged casually on the bed as if he has always done so, sitting back easily against the cushions and pillows as if they were his own. His hands were linked loosely in his lap, his mile-long legs stretched towards the foot of the bed and crossed neatly at the ankle.

His mask; spotless. Hair; perfect. Clothes; impeccable. He seemed an illusion… but his eyes, those piercing eyes burned with emotion in the dim light, touching something deep inside her and breaking the spell of shock that held her.

He extended one hand towards her. "Christine."

In one moment she was at his side, her body flung half on, half off his body, her fingers fumbling to touch him. Oh God, he was so solid, so real, live and breathing under her! His heart beating just against her ear, his strong hands on her waist, a reality that she could tighten her arms around.

He stroked her hair gently as she wept. "Hush… I am here."

When she had calmed, she lay languidly as if dead, eyes half closed and her fingers toying with the lapels of his jacket. She could smell the faint aroma of his cologne, the masculine scent that was entirely Erik. She sucked in a shuddering breath of liberation, and it seemed it was the first full lungful of air she had taken in all these weeks.

He shifted slightly beneath her, and kissed the top of her head. "You're going to have to get off me, my dear."

Oh, his voice! A wave of love and sheer relief swept through her, and she smiled through her tears, nestling her head beneath his chin. "I don't want to ever let you go again, Erik."

A laugh rolled through him, resonating at her ear. "That's quite touching, but I'm afraid you must. You're hurting me."

She pulled back, touching his abdomen. "Oh, I'm sorry, Erik…" she fingered the fabric of his waistcoat for a moment before sinking down beside him, settling her head into his shoulder and gazing up at him. It was a moment before she could speak without her voice trembling with utter overwhelming emotion. "It still pains you?"

"Very little, he replied, encircling her waist with his arm. "But your hip was digging into the area most uncomfortably."

She pressed her cheek into his shoulder, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. "Oh, Erik…" she titled her head back to gaze at him, and compressed her lips tightly to stave off a fresh wave of joyful tears. His face was so close it blurred her vision. The strong line of his jaw, the dark shine of his hair, those blue-green eyes regarding her with a mixture of love and sheer energy….

When he kissed her, she thought her heart would break from the tender beauty of the simple, gentle contact of his lips on hers.

His arm was around her, and her body pressed against his. A feeling of utter safety settled around her and seemed to lull her to sleep, and she was not quite sure when she let her eyes close.

X X X

The next morning she awoke with a start. The firm, warm body beside her was certainly not a pillow!

The maid knocked at eight, as she usually did, but Christine opened the door a tiny crack and dismissed her through it, saying that she would ready herself this morning. Claudette seemed dubious, and must have thought her quite odd, but went away without another word.

Christine settled herself in front of the vanity table and heaved a sigh at the sight of the tangled mane of curls. She regularly braided her hair before bed, to avoid this very problem, but the state of her hair had been the last thing on her mind last night.

She watched Erik in the mirror as she worked through the snarls. He had discarded only his jacket during the night, but had somehow managed to remove her dress and corset without waking her. The sleep after a long bout of tears is always more a state of unconsciousness than actual sleep, she remembered someone saying to her once. She smiled at the thought of Erik's concern for her comfort.

She felt she could watch him all day – her eyes seemed riveted to him, drinking in the sight of him after so many weeks of worry and distress. He looked no different than he had that fateful day at the inn, but to see such a profound change from his sickness almost unnerved her. But it also comforted her, reinforcing the fact that Erik was a stability in her life, a constant presence that she simply could not do without. But he was also an excitement; a spontaneous, passionate energy that never failed to send thrills down her spine.

She hadn't disentangled even half the knots before he awoke. He stretched lazily like a great cat, the muscles in his neck flexing as he arched his back. He slid gracefully off the rumpled bed and crossed the room, coming up behind her and placing his hands on his shoulders and kissing her cheek. She blushed with contentment at the simple gesture and smiled at him in the mirror.

"Let me." He took the brush from her with one hand and gathered the mass of her hair in the other, running his fingers through it for a moment before putting the brush to use.

His stroke was steady and somehow soothing, his fingers gentle as they worked out the tangles. She watched his reflection for a while before closing her eyes and relaxing under his calming touch. When he pronounced himself finished and her hair in order, she resisted the urge to request him to continue, and instead asked, "Why did Monsieur Nadir never send a note?"

"I was only fully recovered a day or two ago," he replied, wrapping her hair once around his hand and letting it fall again. "I thought such a message should delivered in person. Literally, in person."

"You and your infernal arrogance!" she exclaimed, but could not hide a smile. After the torment of the past few weeks, she could forgive him anything.

She stood and retrieved a clean chemise from the wardrobe, changing behind a screen while Erik teased her about her inherent sense of modesty.

"Erik," she said as she selected several articles of clothing from the wardrobe, "Take this." She waved a corset in his general direction while thumbing through gowns and petticoats.

He eyed her for a moment, his eyes flicking to the garments hanging so neatly in the cherry wood closet. "You can't dress yourself?"

"No. And don't give me that look – " Erik lowered his eyebrow. " – dressing in this sort of clothing is new to me, and since Claudette – "

"Who's Claudette?"

"The maid. Since she's not here, you'll have to help me."

Erik arched his visible eyebrow again, but the expression was lost on Christine as she hooked the corset in front and turned her back to him, reaching around and pulling her hair out of the way.

He thought of several snide remarks, but decided against voicing them, for once. He had no wish to ruin this idyllic morning. He began picking at the laces, but after a moment she said, "You'll have to do it harder than that, Erik."

"I won't comment on the inappropriate phrasing of that sentence," he replied calmly, giving her a quick tug, and she blushed.

There was something personal about him dressing her; something sweet and intimate about his steady hands pulling on the laces the way a husband might. He helped her with a navy blue morning gown and began buttoning up the long row of tiny buttons in the back, humming to her under his breath.

Would every morning be like this? It was one of her fondest wishes. And to think that only a few months ago her wish was to be rid of that very bond that tied her to Erik! Now it was the exact opposite.

The thought made her laugh, and he inquired as to the source of her amusement. "I was just thinking," she responded, "that it would be nice to do this every morning."

"Would it, now."

"Yes. Then go downstairs for breakfast, and eat in the dining room with the windows open and the breeze coming in. Oh, Marie has the most beautiful dining room, positioned just right so the morning sun shines in..."

"Such fantasies you have," he chided, but his tone was not mocking. "It has been a long time since I've had a meal in the sun."

"Yes, when you were in Persia?"

The remark was innocent enough, but his hands stopped, and she turned her head back slightly. "Erik?"

There was a long moment before he continued with the buttons. "What do you know of Persia?"

Christine turned to face him when he fastened the last button. His face was composed but there was a telltale tautness along his jaw, a tension in his body and a stiffness in his voice. She frowned slightly. "Darius told me that you and Nadir once lived there."

The expression on his face was so odd; she reached out to touch his cheek gently, but he turned away, moving to the vanity table and agitatedly fiddling with the items there. Comb, brush, powder, hand mirror…

"Why, was it wrong of him to tell me?" He didn't reply, and she took a cautious step forward. "Erik?"

He set down the brush forcefully, and the sound made her jump. She bit her lip and hurried forward, setting her hand on his shoulder and turning her towards him. "Are you angry with me? Why does my mention of Persia upset you so?" He looked past her for a moment, then returned his gaze to hers. "No, Christine. I am not angry with you." He reached up and took her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. She anticipated a reply to her second question, but when none came, she repeated herself.

"It is nothing," he answered carelessly. The stiffness in his body was gone, and he looked calm and relaxed, as if he had had a momentary scare but the fright had passed. She was almost fooled… but his eyes were giving him away.

"It is not nothing," she insisted. "Something's wrong. I can see it in your eyes. That won't help," she added as he averted his gaze. He merely walked away, retrieving his coat from the bedside table where it was draped and slipping it on with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

She sighed. "You are so stubborn." Again, she waited for him to speak and again he remained silent.

"Are you going to explain anything, Erik?"

"Why? There's nothing to explain."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to."

She ground her teeth for a moment. "Stop attempting to be mysterious. You're not a ghost anymore, no longer a specter or phantom. You're a man, a man I love and a man with a past. Am I meant to lead a life with you without knowing anything about you?"

"Some things are better left in the past."

"Don't be cryptic, Erik."

"Don't be meddlesome," he replied nonchalantly.

She wasn't tricked by his casual airs. "I won't let this go, Erik. I cannot leave this unanswered, hanging like a shadow over us."

He grinned at her statement. "This is quite interesting. You've changed, my dear. The Christine I once knew would hesitate to defy me."

"Are you mocking me?"

He cocked his head slightly. "Why yes; I believe I am."

Christine stared at him for a moment. His entire demeanor had changed from the relaxed, almost playful attitude of just minutes ago – now he stood with his feet apart, arms crossed, chin up and eyes hard. He was always so confident and masculine, power radiating from him as if from a fire inside… but now that power seemed transformed into a rigid, arrogant derision that frightened her, though she tried not to let it show. She felt like a child, pulling at a wounded dog's tail incessantly until it turned and snapped at her. She chose her next words carefully.

"Erik, I don't mean to anger you, or thrust you into a discussion you are obviously not willing to have. I don't want to be a nagging shrew like those shopkeepers' wives you see out on the street, harping on their poor husbands." She thought she saw the barest of smiles grace his lips… but it was so fleeting, she was sure she had imagined it. But just in case, she continued along the same track. "I don't want to make you speak of something that pains you, merely to satisfy my interest. I don't want to pressure you; I don't want to hurt you. I just want to know you."

"I can assure you, there are things you would much rather remain ignorant about." His words were curt and clipped, and she approached him slowly. "Speak to me, Erik… tell me what's on your mind." Her voice was having a soothing effect on him – she could see it in his stance, the tension slowly leaving his jaw and his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. She continued in the same tone.

"Whatever it is that plagues you, it will have no effect on my view of you." She set her hand gently on his crossed arms, and he let out a long breath. "Whatever you have done, I shall forgive you." But with that last sentence, something inside him seemed to snap.

"What I have done" He threw off her hand, grabbing her wrist and jerking her to him. "What I have done? Do you have any idea what you speak of?" She gasped and shrank away but his grip was like iron, and he tugged her back.

"No, stay!" he roared. "You wish to hear my story? You want to hear of the things I have done? Then listen, listen to me!"

Christine could hear footsteps outside the door – she tried to pull away from his grasp but he seized both her wrists roughly. "I have killed countless men," he snarled, "Killed them! Innumerable lives, destroyed by my hand! A cleverly tied piece of rope, or a series of tortures you could never imagine… or a torture chamber! Do you want to hear about that, my dear? A room of glass, the likes of which you have never envisioned… a wall of illusions, a chamber of deceit, delusions to make your head whirl round until you died! All to satisfy a sadist who had no thought for my genius except to put it to malevolent use…" he was raving now, a man lost in his memories and unaware of the hammering on the bedroom door. "Oh, the fantasies that spun in my head, the designs I dreamt up; the things I could have created!"

Erik's grasp on her wrists tightened and she cried out in pain and fear. "Are you happy?" he thundered, "Are you satisfied with your new knowledge? Forgiveness, you said! Are you capable of forgiving now that you have heard all?" He flung her aside with a cry of rage and she stumbled and fell into the bed, clutching at the covers to steady herself.

"Christine!" came the voices from outside, "Christine! Open the door!" She jerked her head around but the room was empty – the window was open. The curtains fluttered gently, tranquil and serene in the midst of the chaos.

She staggered towards the door and unlocked it with a trembling hand – Marie, Claudette and seemingly the whole household poured into the room. "It was a robber…" Christine gasped out the lie as Marie embraced her, and she did not have to fake her tears.