AN - My head cold has moved to my chest from my head. Lovely. Not to mention, I am a terrible asthmatic... so... I have to work and see the doctor tomorrow and I don't know if I'll have time to update. This is a new chappie for you's.

Chapter Twenty-four: Life's Love Lost

Lead me, save me
from my solitude . . .

"You spent the night at the de Chagny's again didn't you?" Mme Giry asked her daughter as the ballerina's filed out of the rehearsal room, all while Meg was changing out of her ballet slippers

A few girls giggled as they left, some whispering back and forth between each other. Meg stopped to watch them with a piercing glare, all while remembering a time when she too, laughed gaily and free. Sudden flashes of Christine and herself eavesdropping flooded her mind, and she had to shake them away before replying.

"Is there anything wrong with that?" Meg said waiting for her mother's opinion. She didn't look up; she didn't want to see the weathered strict face looking down on her.

"You know I have never been one to judge my girl, however under these circumstances..."

"Under what circumstances?" asked Meg haughtily as she laced her boots.

"Do not start with me Megan." Her mother warned.

Finishing the laces, she finally looked up into her mother's eyes. Courage seeped into her in defiance against everyone's opinion. She would protect Raoul, if it were the last thing she ever did. "No mother please enlighten me to what the circumstances are. You have never seemed not to mind so far in the last six months of Christine's death. Why now do you find it time to condemn me like everyone else for my relationship with Raoul? Listening to the Ballet rats?"

"Megan Giry, you will stop this incorrigible behavior at once." Her mother's voice boomed.

Meg stopped frightened still by that voice. Sighing her proud shoulders slacked and she looked her mother in the eye.

"You know that I do not listen to those little minx's gossip, they are terrible when it comes to such real issues as life." Mme Giry said and began to walk around Meg. "No I never worried because I knew the extent of your relationship, therefore your association with each other was not a nuisance to me... other than of course, your late arrivals at rehearsal." Mme Giry said circling her daughter like a vulture. Meg stood still, not moving her head as her mother left her peripheral vision, when her mother had finished circling her, she asked the question she knew her mother was dying for her to speak.

"And what has changed?" Meg said nervously and cleared her throat.

"The depth of your feelings." Mme Giry finally said in front of her, a sigh escaping her mouth and her shoulders sagging at the thought.

"That is absurd," Meg countered, half laughing. But the sound wasn't pleasant, it sounded stressed and bitter as it escaped her lips. She bent down to pick up her slippers so she didn't have to look her mother in the eye.

"You cannot fool your Maman, you may deny yourself these thoughts, but I can see it in your eyes." Mme Giry said softly, dropping her harsh exterior that most knew her by; she circled once more before looking her in the face.

"You are pained."

"If I am pained it is only because it does to see him so, any good decent friend would feel the same." Megan said and slumped to the floor to sit. She lifted one leg and let the other stretch out gracefully in front of her.

"Your right, any good decent friend would be pained to see someone create their own demise... A friend would escort him to the funeral, stay awhile make sure that he is going to live, and then leave only to check up on him once and awhile if they are not too close.

"But Maman, that is what I..."

"You spend the night there every Thursday! Every Thursday my dear, and lately even more time. He needs company yes. But, do you think it helps?"

Meg's eyes welled with tears as she lowered her head, her mother was wrong, she was not in love with Raoul, she just felt pity for him.

"... At least he's not drinking." She said trying to hide her sadness.

"Yes, indeed, but he makes up for it when you are not around, or so I have heard from reputable people. I just worry for you Meg, I do not want you hurt."

"It's not me who's hurting Maman, it is him, he cannot get over her memory. He doesn't eat or sleep anymore. Philippe has all but disowned him; he has no friends because he was a bit of an outcast before he married Christine, and more so now. Not to mention our situation is not helping. It's horrible all the things people say. We are not doing anything wrong! Yet we are being condemned. He has nothing now, no one anymore." She said finally letting the tears slip at the thought of him in the study pouring another drink, slowly slipping into madness.

"No one Meg, no one but you. However that is a hard title itself my child. The only one someone can go to. Trust in me, for a long while I carried that title myself, weeping as you do and wanting only to reach out and help his lost soul. Like all women who love those tortured beings we continue to serve them and love them throughout all they do. We struggle with what we feel and watch behind a window as they slowly die... die for a love that will never be returned... and you die a bit with them." She said descending to the floor beside her daughter and took her hands in her.

"You doubt they know they are doing to you, what is happening to them..." She added

"How can you help someone who does not want to be helped?" She asked sadly looking at her daughter.

"Trust in me, I know..."

( ' ) '
-

There will never be a day
when I don't think of you…

The underground house was quiet. For the first time in weeks, Erik had managed to put Danielle down without a fuss and wasn't completely exhausted.

Things were starting to get into a nice routine for them both, Danielle had always trusted him, but it was obvious that she was unused to the abrupt change. He was rather glad that he had already been apart of her life when she was born, if it had not been that way, she would not have so easily responded to his voice. He had thought his hypnotic tones would calm her like they had everyone else he had ever used them on. It was strangely, to no avail, only causing Erik to think he had caused this by starting to early on her. She was already immune to his voice, familiar with it enough that it didn't do half of what it could do to other people.

His success was short lived however, when he remembered tonight he had to meet his man on the outside for supplies. Sighing he took off his jacket that had a few small vomit and snot stains on it, preferring to go in just his shirtsleeves. Throwing his cloak on, he went to the front door of his home and opened it carefully. Closing it, he threw the jacket in the sieve he kept in the underground lake to clean his close. He quickly stalked towards the rue scribe entrance to his home, thinking of the girl he had promised to raise.

Oh Christine, how did you ever come to the decision that I could handle this?

But even before he finished the thought he regretted it. He knew that Christine would not have found Danielle such a burden. Was that how he felt about her? No, burden was too strong a word. She was foreign, she was a new challenge, and he wasn't used to being challenged. Not that he didn't like the rewards, a sweet smile once and awhile, the soft scent of her hair. Some of his favorite times were when he took off his jacket, sat on the divan rolled up his shirtsleeves and held her.

That was all, he just… held her.

Held her and talked to her, told her how beautiful she is, told her about his day, talked about music and art, and she would listen. She wouldn't understand a word of what he said, but her little eyes would keep contact with his, and she would smile and giggle, listening to his soothing voice, as he would prattle on.

As he reached the gate, he covered the cloak around himself better and felt the wall for the mechanism that would swing the gate open slightly. Jacque wasn't there yet, irritating Erik all the more.

He has a simple job, how hard can it be to show up on time?

Ten minutes later, Jacque turned the corner of the bridge, and walked down to where Erik was standing, rather, pacing along the stream. His lanky arms swinging back and forth, Jacque smiled a toothy grin at his employer.

"Sorry sir, I forgo…" But before the young man could finish his sentence, Erik had him pinned up against the bridge by the throat.

"SIR" Jacque choked, his smile fading.

"Listen to me now, and hear my words young one. My time is a very valuable commodity. People have paid dearly for me to offer them a fraction of what you made me wait tonight. Therefore, I find it extremely unpleasing when I pay you for yours, and you waste mine in the process. If it is to happen again, I will be doing all your other employers a great favor by making sure you never are late for them… ever." Erik said releasing Jacque.

"Yes sir, yes… Jesus sir, I'm sorry." Jacque said rubbing his throat.

He wasn't as afraid of Erik as he should be. Yes, he was afraid, and no doubt believed that Erik would kill him if he ever showed up late again, but it wasn't enough, and that irritated the masked man even more.

"Here's what ye' asked for." Jacque said, removing a bag from his shoulder. Within Erik found at least a week's worth of wine, cheese, bread, butter and milk. The milk he'd tie to the sieve and keep bottled and cool in the freezing water underneath. The rest was for him, so he may sustain his life as well.

"And what of the Vicomte? Did you get the information I told you too? Or are you incompetent in that field as well?" Erik smoothly asked him. Jacque scowled, wondering why he put up with his eccentric employer.

"Yes sir, I got the information ye' be' wanting. Turns out the young de Chagny is being scorned by society. Some rumor him to be sleepin' with some ballerina tart from the opera Garnier." Jacque smiled smugly, thinking he had done well; it wasn't until Erik looked at him loathingly and growled that he knew he had done something wrong. He backed away as his boss advanced on him.

"If I wanted to know rumor I would have had tea with any ballerina or socialite in Paris, I asked you to tell me the Vicomte's condition since his wife past!" Erik spat at the boy.

Jacque fell against the soft grass as Erik stood above him. "I'm sorry sir! I'm sorry! I thought the first bit might interest ya. If that be the case, then I know from a good friend of mine that the Vicomte is taken ta drinkin' himself to death. A friend o' mine works up at the de Chagny mansion and says that he barely leaves his brothers study." Jacque replied.

Hearing this Erik straightened; he no longer loomed over the boy, but helped him to his feet.

"I have no idea why anyone would be a friend to you Jacques. You're French born and raised and yet you've spent too much time amongst the English paupers. They're linguistics are starting to affect you. I can barely make out what you're trying to tell me half the time. But, you have been helpful Jacque, and so I won't penalize you tonight by taking away some of your funds for being late. We both know it will never happen again anyways, will it Jacque?" Erik asked the boy.

"No sir… never." Jacque replied.

"Good… I will see you a week from tonight then." Erik said a touch more merrily, waiting for the boy to scamper off before he entered the tunnel to venture back.

So the Vicomte is so crushed he was trying to kill himself… interesting.

A part of me doesn't blame him.

( ' ) '
-

Monsieur believe me,
there is no way of turning the tide!

Raoul sat there, watching his young daughter play in the sea. "Do you think it was right to bring her here? She'll never leave when the time comes." He asked Christine.

"Oh Raoul, let her be. She's having a wonderful time. We'll just have to promise to return when the sun begins to set early and the sea turns to ice." She said from beside him, reading one of her books. He looked briefly away from his daughter to look at Christine. She was beautiful; her curls piled neatly on top of her head, her dress a high collar. She may have dressed like a lady, but he still remembered when she was a girl, a girl who still had that beautiful smile she wore now. A girl whose eyes twinkled with innocence and mischief.

He looked back towards the ocean and found no trace of Danielle. Frantically, he looked right and left, for her, hoping she had not gone into the water. But it was then he knew, he knew without reason she was at the bottom of the ocean that stretched in front of him.

"NO!" He roared, noticing, but not caring that Christine was no longer by his side. Danielle's laughter still filled his ears; whispers of help filled his mind. He didn't take off his jacket or boots as he ran into the water. He couldn't even feel its warmth or wetness as he swam farther out from shore. He looked down, underneath him, searching for the pale face. He found it almost instantly, like she had wanted him too, wanted him to see her looking so beautiful, so peaceful and asleep. He dove down to her, but he couldn't reach. Something hit his eye in the water and he had to close it for the briefest moments. She was then lost to him.

"NO!" He screamed in the water, searching frantically for his daughter. He saw Christine; she was looking as peaceful as Danielle. He tried to reach her but he knew he had to come up for air. He did so reluctantly, and dove in once more. Little flashes of flesh and brown hair were all he could catch in his peripheral vision. He looked up to where the sea met the sky and saw ice start to mold over the water. Knowing that he wouldn't do his wife and daughter any good dead, he swam to the top, climbing upon a chunk of ice before it molded to create a vast plain.

This makes no sense! His mind screamed, think about it, the shores of Brittany do not turn to ice like this, you're remembering this from the ice fishing trip you took with your brother years ago.

"CHRISTINE!" He screamed, although in his mind he knew that things weren't adding up, the pain in his heart made him carry on, he couldn't loose his daughter, and he couldn't loose his wife.

"Danielle!" he called rubbing away snow that had fallen on top.

There they were, underneath the ice, they're eyes wide in shock, they're fists pounding against it. Angrily he stomped and jumped on the frozen water, trying to break through. He was successful and smashed into the freezing water. This time it was freezing, he could feel it's touch against his skin like a thousand tiny knives. He tread the water, searching for Christine and Danielle, when he saw an arm reach out to him. As he went to grab it, it grabbed his leg and pulled him under. He began to sink further, and further down. His panic began to be placed by tranquility; it was only a matter of time now. He could hear their laughter. He could hear his name being called.

"FOR GOD SAKES RAOUL!" Meg screamed shaking his shoulders.

He opened his eyes, he tried to breath but all he could do was cough. Turning to his side, he began to cough and sputter, realizing he had fallen asleep mid drink. His nose being plugged by the touch of a cold he couldn't breathe, he had almost killed himself. He looked at Meg wearily, as the tears streamed down her face. She was sitting there in the dress that she had just worn to the house last night. Her hair was still in the braid she usually adorned when she was rehearsing. Hadn't she been there the night before? He wasn't expecting her.

"You should have let me be." Was all he said to her.

( ' ) '
-

He kills without a thought
He murders all that's good.

Erik could hear Danielle's screams before he entered his home. Racing to her bedroom, he found her sitting up in her cradle, purple faced, holding her arms out to the man as he entered the room. He felt his heart fall, he had let the little angel down. She had wanted him and he had not been there for her. Picking her up he stroked her back and took her towards the dining area. There, he would prepare her a bottle and lull her to sleep.

I should have killed that insolent boy, Jacque. I promise Danielle, I will never leave you alone again.