II. Try to forgive

The fire had burned down almost completely, leaving nothing but a faint, reddish glow. Otherwise, the living room was cast into darkness. After her tormenting dreams, though, Christine found that it was a warm, welcoming darkness, one that would surround her like a soft, velvety cloak, and swallow her gently into its loving embrace…

Now what was she thinking there? She gave herself a jerk. This was…weird. Just weird. Romantic, in an odd sense, but all the same, weird.

His influence, certainly. She could feel him, although she could not see him. But her awareness of him told her that he was there, and she knew better than to mistrust her awareness of him.

Yes, she could indeed feel him. That raging hailstorm certainly did not belong into her own mind. But after those dreams, she was almost glad for it.

The thick carpet tickled her bare feet as she softly stepped into the living room. Curled up before the gently glowing embers lay the small dog's furry form, one paw possessively over what seemed to be a leather boot, and it was breathing steadily and deeply, fast asleep. The other boot of the pair lay only a little distance away, beside the sofa.

And these were not Raoul's boots.

He must be very close, because his presence filled her completely, yet it did not have the dark, alluring quality it usually possessed. Instead, there was a strong sense of unease, making her palms moist with sweat. He felt like a coiled spring, ready to jump at anything that moved… and at the same time like a wounded animal which had crawled into a hole, knowing that the hunter was approaching, but too tired to run.

This was all the proof she needed to be certain where those dreams had come from.

To her right, a tall shadow dispatched itself from the darkness. A white mask shimmered gently in the gloom. "You can't sleep." It was not a question.

Christine almost shivered as she realized that his normally so pleasant, so musical voice had taken on such a throaty, husky tone. Only once before had she heard that, and this had been on that fateful night when he had carried her off down to his lair and had threatened to kill Raoul. Involuntarily she took a step backward. No, she had been wrong about the wounded animal, or rather, there was an important detail she had missed: He might be tired of running, but he was still ready to fight. And he would kill again.

Just as if reading her thoughts, he kept himself at some distance, yet she doubted that he truly knew what was going on inside her. Had he been observing her feelings, she would have felt differently. No, he must have reasons of his own to stay away from her, and if it was only his wounded pride.

"No", she answered his question. "Because you can't, it seems." Was he aware of this at all, in that turmoil of feelings?

From across the room, she heard him sigh, yet she was not entirely sure if she had heard correctly. "I am not aware of establishing the connection", he claimed.

"Well, neither did I", she returned. This was foolish; who of them would reach out to the other, if not him? He could say whatever he liked, but it had still been him. After all, there was no denying that he still wanted her. She knew he did. And she wished so much he wouldn't, and not only because it hurt her to have to wound him, rejecting him. His mad love for her made him highly unpredictable, and dangerous to Raoul. Whatever he might have promised her when she had cornered him alone, right after dinner, she would never leave him alone with Raoul. With her own life, she would trust him any time, but not with her fiancé's. Never with her fiancé's.

Why did the two men closest to her have to be mortal enemies? Why could they not just accept each other, or even be friends? But wishing for this was useless; neither would ever take the other's hand, not if the sky came tumbling down.

Perhaps, if she had introduced the two of them earlier on… No, highly unlikely. "Angel, this is Raoul, another friend of mine. Incidentally, I'm planning to marry him." No, it would not have helped at all. The Phantom would still have been at Raoul's throat on the earliest occasion possible. After all, he wanted her so much that he would kill without a thought to make her his, and this was what scared her, much more than his scarred face. To those features she could have gotten used soon enough, but the knowledge that he was… twisted in a different way was enough to keep her away from him. He claimed that she, just like everybody, rejected him because of his face, yet it was his black soul that made her want to keep him at a distance. She still pitied him for his lifelong loneliness, and for having to break his heart when he loved her so much, but all the same, she could not allow herself, indulging in her memories of him being her Angel, her beloved guardian and tutor, to oversee the fact that he was… evil. And evil in a way Raoul could not even possibly imagine.

Why did her adored Angel have to turn out to be a demon from Hell?

"Well, that's bad", he said flatly. "But it explains a lot."

"What do you mean?" she asked, alarmed, and knowing his habit of not letting his feelings, especially his fears, show made her dread the worst.

"Do you really think you were just having my nightmares?" So he knew after all! "If this were so, you would have had them before, wouldn't you?"

"How do you know I was having nightmares, and how do you know they were yours?" She was merely avoiding another question, it occurred to her, putting it off for another time, and she did not like the thought at all.

"I was suspecting so when you came here. Why else would you come, in the middle of the night? Not to check whether I was nicely tucked under a blanket, I reckon." As so often, there was a tiny touch of bitterness in his voice. She knew how much he longed to spend the night holding her in his arms. "You came here to tell me to get out of your head, didn't you? But it's useless, because it's not me."

"Who else, then?" But she already knew the answer.

"Créon." He spat the name as if it were a disgusting thing he had taken a bite of accidentally. "He's trying to reach me still, and he won't let go. There's no point in hiding, because he will always find me, and he will hunt me 'til I'm dead."

The thunderstorm of his feelings in her head was raging worse than before, wrath, fear, humiliation, hatred. How he could contain all those sentiments without being torn apart was a mystery to her; even in their mirrored form, as a diminished reflection inside her head, they were strong enough to almost make her cringe with dread. But what scared her even more was how much like herself he suddenly sounded, like when she had told Raoul about the Phantom's actual existence, and later on, when she had told him about her fears.

"What is it you saw in your dreams?" he demanded, still at some distance from her. Why would he not come closer? She would have expected him to do so, at least now!

But maybe it was better that way, especially in regard of her tendency to mentally melt down to a puddle as soon as he touched her.

"Him", she whispered, as reluctant to speak Créon's name as she was reluctant to relive what she had seen. How she longed for Raoul's comforting embrace! "He killed a man. Over and over again. And he said that there were more waiting. Four more. I even saw their faces. And… God, I recognized them! I knew those faces! And… and…" She swallowed. What seemed to be a lump the size and weight of a millstone was building up in her throat. "I believe they truly are in his hands. Maybe he even killed that one." Oh God, my God, please make that it's not true! "I knew him, he was a stagehand, and he was ever so polite when I met him… and I saw him die. All the time. Over and over again." Her eyes stung and burned as tears were welling up in them. "Then he started to focus on another one. I knew him, too. A stage carpenter, I think. God, I know all of them! Not so well, but I know them! I see them all the time! And he's going to kill him, too. He's going to kill them all!" By now, tears were running down her cheeks freely. Oh, Raoul, Raoul! "He said he would if I… you wouldn't come. He said it was all my… your fault. While killing that man! He said it was all your fault! And then I was… all drenched in blood… in the man's blood… over and over again…" Her voice broke, and she shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself, tears dripping down onto her nightdress.

He approached her slowly, but still he did not come close enough to touch her. "No, I think he really meant you", he said slowly. "Because he was telling me something different. He said he would kill all of my men, everybody at my theatre, to teach me humility, and he… he said that my denying to be fateless would not prevent him from writing out my fate for me." As he drew breath, it sounded half choked. "But what does it matter what he told me? He found a way of getting at you, and that's much worse! And I can't keep him out of your head, just as I can't keep him out of my own! Hell knows I can't!" Slumping down onto the back of the sofa, he pressed his knuckles to his temples. "It's all my own fault, all of this, and I deserve to die for it a thousand times!"

"Angel…", she began.

"Don't call me that!" The sudden sharpness of his tone made her recoil. "Don't you ever call me that again!"

Taking a cautious step backward, Christine tried to analyze the bundle of whirling emotions somewhere at the back of her head. Had she hurt him? Did he think she was mocking him? "I didn't…", she began, "I…" She had no idea what to say, and the way his eyes glinted in the darkness, like a pair of cold, sharp diamonds, made her insides freeze to ice. She should not have come down here alone. However much he loved her, he was dangerous. And he knew no mercy.

More tears flowed from her eyes as she realized that the Phantom could not possibly help her. He could only cause her more pain.

At once he was beside her, hesitantly extending a hand to touch her shoulder, but then let it drop to his side once more. "Forgive me", he whispered hoarsely. "It's not your fault." Once again he briefly raised his hand, but then pulled it back to him firmly, clenched to a fist. "There is something I didn't tell you." He paused, licking his lips uneasily. Christine had seen him highly content and deeply wounded, gentle and affectionate as well as rough and furious, but never like this. "In fact, two things." He was shuffling his feet nervously where he sat, she noticed – and he was in his socks, which made him look a lot less impressive than usual. "Créon told me that… He said that we, I mean, him and his men and me… he said we were all fallen angels who were banished to dwell on earth." Once this was said, it seemed to Christine that telling her about the rest had become easier for him now. "He just made that up, of course", he quickly added, grimly, "yet, all the same… They all have those markings. Those scars. The Devil's Touch, they call it. Créon has a deep cut, like drawn with a sword and right over one eye, Niobe has something on the side of her neck, like a scar, too, Adhemar has those scratches all over his face…" He paused for a swallow of air, then continued, "Bertrand's face is half kicked in, there's something wrong with Aeternus's hand, and Ferox has that arm which looks like there's no skin on it. And Atrox has sores and boils over one side of his face, needless to say which. Even Lionel had it, he had those teeth, like… I don't know. Like icicles lining the edge of a roof. Like a shark's teeth, really. And only on the right side." Christine did not exactly know what a shark's teeth looked like, only that there would be many of them, yet the comparison to icicles along a roof's edge made her shudder. Could anyone look like this? It was hard to believe. "You see, it can't just be an accident. It can't! But I don't want to be one of them", he finished furiously. "I'm no Lost One! And I'm no angel! They're all mad, anyway. At least Créon is. And Niobe, and Adhemar. I don't know about Aeternus, but he seemed sane enough to me, just… evil, in a way. There's some profit for him in the whole business, yet I can't quite see it." He shrugged helplessly. "And Bertrand says he is over a hundred and seventy years old! I don't know how old the others are, but they kept calling me boy." His expression darkened even more for a moment. "It might just be another lie, but on the other hand… you know, I'm older than I look, too. I just grew up, and then… I stopped changing. But that doesn't make me an angel! It's a damn lie!"

Christine wanted to tell him that indeed he did not belong to those Lost Ones, that he had nothing to do with them, yet the evidence was overwhelming. Nonetheless, she gave it a try. "Look, about your age…" What should she tell him? That he was well-preserved? No, this would only sound stupid. He couldn't be that old, anyway! "You're something around thirty, aren't you?"

"Exactly my point", he replied bitterly. "I must be about twenty years older."

Twenty years older? Never! It was impossible! Yet if he said so himself… So she decided to try something else. This was an awkward topic, very much so, but it was the only other chance she saw. "How long have you had those scars?"

His lips tightened as she mentioned them. "I have no idea. As long as I can remember. I might have been born with them, for all I know." For a moment he fell silent, then he burst out, "Curse it all, I must have been! Why else would my mother have hated me so much? Because I was born a monster, that's why! Because she thought I was her punishment for whatever sin she had committed!"

As Christine felt the part of her mind that was him fill with sadness, she reached out to touch his arm for a moment. "You're no monster", she said gently. No, not for her. Whatever gruesome things he might have done in his past, he was no monster. A cruel world had made him what he was, alone and full of hatred, yet deep down in his black heart, he was good. She just knew he was. After all, he had let her and Raoul go in the end. He might be violent and utterly ruthless, in a certain aspect, yet he was not evil. Not him. Even if she considered him so at times. But it was not right.

Yet still, he had killed quite mercilessly to get at her, and she did not doubt that he would do so again, given the chance. And he had let her and Raoul go only because he loved her.

But he had been kind to her when she had still been a child. He had made her what she was now, and he had asked nothing in return.

Well… he had craved to possess her. And even the most evil of men would be kind at times.

He had practically asked for her soul.

"Don't deny it", he said bitterly. "And it's better if you don't touch me. I feel like… tainted… from Créon's touch."

She swallowed. This was exactly how she felt, as if there were a thin, oily layer of molten filth laid over her every thought, and slowly beginning to dry. "I feel the same", she told him. Would that feeling ever go away?

His features contorted in a grimace of outrage, making her wince. "He'll die for this!" he snarled, and she knew that he meant it. "He'll die for doing this to you!"

Shocked at herself, she found that this thought gave her a kind of cruel satisfaction she had never experienced before. Good God, what was going on inside her? This would be what the Phantom would feel like, probably, but never what she would feel!

And this reminded her of something which had happened earlier on. "Say… is there any way I might be… I don't know… adopting your habits, in some way?"

He frowned into the last glow remaining of the fire. "What do you mean?"

"I've never had a bad temper, but tonight, when getting ready for going to bed, I snapped at Raoul for no reason."

She expected everything from a scathing remark about Raoul to a furious outburst about her opinion of his temper, but at first he said nothing at all. Then he answered, slowly, "I think this might have been when Créon first tried establishing a connection. He must have done it very subtly, because I hardly noticed it, especially with that awareness of him, of what he's done with my mind earlier on, still fixed in my head. And as for the dreams… it doesn't take much to manipulate dreams. I know that for certain."

Christine shuddered. The idea of this utterly evil, this monstrous man inside her head… If only Raoul were here to give her a tight hug! But except comforting her, there was nothing Raoul could do for her now.

And this was why she had come here in the first place: not only because his madly reeling thoughts, reflected inside her mind, were preventing her from sleep, but also because he probably was the only one who could do something about those dreadful dreams. After all, he had watched, no, guarded her dreams before. So many times, when she had had a nightmare, her Angel had appeared and chased it away, and then comforted her and sang to her until she drifted over towards a happier dream. She had dreamed of him every night, though she had never been able to see his face clearly, but he had been there for her, and she had never been afraid of going to sleep, because when she had been afraid in her dreams, she had never been alone.

"Is there anything you can do about it?" she tried it, carefully. She did not want to force him to admit that there was nothing he could do, if that should be so. "Or anything I myself can do, to ward my dreams?"

At first he only looked pensive, then he nodded. "Yes, I could say there is. I can keep him out of your head by learning how to fight him. How to block him out of my mind. And I think I figured out how it's done, at least more or less. I've always learned things by watching people doing them, and Aeternus made the mistake of showing me, in the very beginning." Shifting his position on the back of the sofa, where he was still sitting, he explained to her at last what she had yearned to know almost since she had first encountered him face to face. "When entering someone's mind, you usually do it through the eyes. It's the easiest way. I now learned that eye contact is not as crucial as I used to believe it was, but still, I'll use it if I have the choice." Yes indeed, how well she remembered! He had held her gaze with his own, so many times, and she had thought to drown in it. "Adhemar knew about it, because he never met my eyes", he continued. "Aeternus did, when I first saw him, but I couldn't access his mind. He blocked me out. All I saw were clouds of mist."

"Clouds of mist!" Christine exclaimed, making the young dog shift and roll over in its sleep, only to curl up anew, this time lying right on top of the Phantom's boot. "When I accidentally caught that glimpse through your eyes, I saw those clouds of mist."

He nodded. "Well observed. It seems that I was struggling harder against Créon than I at first thought I was, because I always saw those mists while he was searching through my head, except when he managed to trap me in my own memories. I've seen it done often enough, and it's only a question of time until I manage to do so myself." Again he shifted on his perch, but this time to look right at her. Their eyes met, yet he did not delve into her in any way. He only looked at her. "But I think I need your help to do so."

Taking a deep, calming breath, she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. He was not holding her, and, most importantly, he was not Raoul, but having someone close was comforting nonetheless. "What do you mean?" Her voice sounded surprisingly steady now.

"I need someone to practise with", he replied simply. "Someone who can read my mind."

"I can't –", she began, yet he waved her protests away with a lazy motion of his hand, and she decided to admit what she had admitted once before on this day. "I mean", she said instead, "I can't do it properly."

"That doesn't matter. You're the only one who might be of any help to me."

There was no use protesting any longer. After all, she truly was the only one, except those who were with Créon, of course, and he couldn't possibly ask them. He really needed her. Though she did not exactly like the idea, she finally agreed to do what he required of her. But one wrong move, or one single attempt to take advantage of her situation, and he could go and ask Créon to practise with him!

"Right", he said. "Go and enter my mind, then, if you please."

Trying to breathe calmly, she attempted what he asked of her, concentrating on the awareness of him in the back of her head while looking him in the eyes. At first, nothing happened at all. Heavens, how did he do it? There must be something he did, something like… Focusing on their bond, she imagined to pull at it, to pull at the mixture of feelings that was him, to pull it closer, closer –

And there he was, very suddenly, shifting into focus and becoming much clearer, until he filled her awareness almost completely. His uneasiness made her nervous, his gently boiling anger, forced down yet ready to resurfaced any moment, gave her at least a mild annoyance. And the sense of hope she felt inside him offered her hope as well.

She sensed how he examined her in turn, but did not try to interfere. It was harmless, she felt, only a gently tickling sensation compared to his true touch she was so used to. Reaching what seemed to be that slimy, filthy layer covering her, that reminiscence of Créon's presence in her head, she registered a sharp flare-up of fury, hardly knowing if it came from him or from herself anymore – and then the layer was melting away, burning up in a furious fire. Snuggling into the flames gratefully, she enjoyed the sensation of having her head purged of Créon's horrors at last.

When she closed her eyes, she realized, it all became much clearer. She could almost see what he was doing. Right now, he was carefully, very carefully, sliding a sharp, red razorblade edge under that layer, separating it from her and wrapping something about it, yes, something dark, dull and rough, almost spiky, before he made it blaze up and dissolve.

She could do that, too, it occurred to her. Well, maybe not the setting fire to it, and there might be some difficulty with forming that spiky black pod or whatever it was, yet she could certainly do the cutting away. One thought from her, and his mind appeared in stark relief, the structures almost brushing against her. There was the same oily layer on top, something that did not belong there, a strange and sickening feeling. Picturing a needle before her mind's eye, she carefully poked at it, slipping below that layer. She gave it a tug, yet it would not budge. It seemed to be anchored quite firmly somehow. Another tug brought no result more satisfying, and she left it at that, not wanting to hurt him in any way. Because there was hurt already, a sense of rawness, like skin grazed open, and a sense of pain.

Her awareness of his feelings had even increased, she noticed. There was an additional sentiment now, a warm, gentle fondness which reached out to encompass her. As she examined it closer, she found that it was fed through what seemed to be tiny channels coming from much further down… Unable to resist her curiosity, she dived.

What she found seemed similar to the outlying emotions, only that everything seemed… heavier, stronger… and so much clearer. The surroundings were darkened, but at the same time, the warmth feeding the one above was a raging ocean of flames, and its light was blinding. So strong and hot that it was almost painful, it threatened to drown her in his passion, a passion so dire that it must torment him to contain it.

Good God, he truly loved her.

Withdrawing, she moved onward to something different, a darker fire… writhing, lashing, screaming tongues of blackness, flames that were spiky tentacles, howling to get out. She shivered, recognizing it for what it was: hatred, hatred of all the world.

There were several more pools of such emotions, yet what caught her attention was a small, secluded corner beneath them, almost hidden there. Slipping inside, she felt a sense of calm and quietness overcome her, as well as one of coolness, comforting after the previous heat. And it did not seem small anymore, quite the opposite. There was a buzzing filling it, or a scrabbling, or maybe a soft jostling; it was hard to describe. What was this? His rational centre, maybe? There was something inside it, many things, clear yet fragile – his thoughts? If she set herself to it, could she decipher them? Somehow they made her dizzy, their constant flow and their strange sense of transparency irritating her.

Instead, she slipped into what seemed to be a small, circular chamber in its middle, almost like a pod, that had escaped her notice earlier on. As soon as she was inside, however, she was surprised that she had not found it before; it seemed to lie at the centre of everything. There was an image inside it, dominating it, the slightly hazy and transparent image of a masked man in a flowing black cloak, slightly smoky at the edges, yet very clearly him. Everything was there, every detail, from the velvety folds of his cloak to the curls at the back of his head, a complete reflection of his self… yet when she looked closer, there was another image, too, blended with it, cloaked in black as well, but wearing no mask. And its features were those of a monster. The entire face was covered in dark scar tissue, much worse than the markings he truly bore, and the eyes were made of pure flame. The creature snarled at her, exposing a set of sharp teeth, and dimly, very dimly, as if far away, she felt herself tremble at the sight. So this was how he saw himself.

Who are you, she wondered, observing the creature with horrid fascination, and the answer was there clearly: OPERA GHOST. And, equally strong, or maybe even stronger: PHANTOM.

This was when she remembered another name, a name she had first heard only hours before. It was worth a try. Erik, she prompted.

Immediately the image before her changed. What she saw was clearly him, yet it was somehow different. The face was definitely his, except that it was not scarred. He was a man like any other now, laughing up at her, tall and handsome and graceful, and his eyes shone as he looked at her, a sparkling blue, without that sense of cold that usually filled them, that emotionless ice that was only ever replaced by dark, ardent fire. The name was there, too, somewhat pale, as if worn with uncertainty, but it was clear enough: ERIK. Why had she not seen it before?

Because it was buried deep inside him, she realized. All this she now saw was. This was not how she knew him, but what he could have been. What he might have been.

What he had once been, before he had fallen under the shadow.

She did not know how she had gotten that last idea, but suddenly it was there, and it felt somehow… right. So you are my Angel of Music, she whispered to him. I knew you existed.

He smiled at her, but there was regret in his eyes. A fallen angel, he replied gently, sadly, and far from Heaven…

Suddenly everything about her dimmed, and the image before her dissolved into gently stirring mist. And then she found herself before the entrance to the chamber once more… but this time, it was locked. Mist swirled before her eyes when she tried to return to it. Sadly, she passed on, deeper down.

She found herself in what seemed to be the dark, yawning maw of an abyss, but she was not afraid to fall. On the contrary, she felt strangely light, as if she would float any moment. It was a warm, gentle darkness, and there were lights everywhere, lining its walls like stars in a night sky, receding into infinity.

Heavens, this was beautiful.

Curiously, she tapped one of those lights closest to her, and immediately images flashed up before her. She tried another, and the same happened. He and Meg, together in the living room. He and the dog, playing in front of the fire burning low. He and Raoul, watching each other warily from the darkness. When she tried some of the lights further down, the memories were not that fresh anymore. All four of them, coming back to his lair. Adhemar, glaring at him with utmost loathing. Créon. So many images of Créon. And Niobe, reaching out for him…

Suddenly she felt as if picked up by the scruff of her neck, and once again there was mist before her eyes. When she could see again, there was a wall between her and his memories.

She moved further down. There was darkness for some time, it seemed, a thick layer of darkness, but there was something ahead now, a pulsing sheen, drawing her towards it. And then she emerged from the darkness, and everything was filled with light, a stream of strong, warm, pulsing, flowing light running through him, through his entire body, his every vein. She had come down to his very core, to the source of life.

And as she settled down in the warmth beside that mighty stream, she knew that he was dong the same with her.

How long she rested there, beside his very soul, she did not know. When he spoke to her, his voice filling her mind, she felt like waking from deep sleep. I think, he told her gently, that it's time for you to return. What you're doing there can get pretty addictive.

Opening her eyes slowly, Christine was faced with a moment's difficulty of settling back into reality. Nothing had changed; the fire was still at the edge of going out, the new dog still lay curled up over the boot, and the Phantom was still sitting on the back of the sofa, looking at her, his eyes glittering strangely in the semi-darkness. Had she really just been there, inside his head, and beheld all those marvels she had never seen before? Or had it just been a strange, beautiful dream?

The Phantom was smiling at her, and she turned her head away, blushing for sure. It had been a very intimate moment, she realized. On that night after the fateful performance of Don Juan, when first spending a night in Raoul's bedroom, she had thought she had experienced the closest anyone could ever get to her. But somehow, though in a much different way, this had felt even closer. It had been very far from physical, and it certainly had nothing to do with decency and indecency, as her adventure with Raoul – her cheeks heated some more at the thought – quite clearly had had, and very much so, but it had been intimate. It had been… a union of souls. There was no better expression.

Was there any way of sharing this with Raoul?

"I'm afraid not", the Phantom said. "Your skills at entering minds only work on me, because they were mine in the first place."

Now blushing furiously, Christine realized that he was still inside her head, and that he knew exactly what she had been thinking about. Did he know about what she and Raoul had done on that night, then?

"The answer to this is a yes", he said, a hint of mocking in his voice. "And, if you don't mind my saying so, it was not exactly all a man could do. In fact, it was rather ordinary."

Christine answered his gaze grimly, trying to keep her voice calm. "Get out of my head", she said sharply.

With a rueful little smirk, he did so; she felt his presence withdraw from her mind and diminish. "You know", he continued, "those two can be combined. While the boy just gave you a bit of pleasure, I can offer you a true, pure feeling of ecstasy."

"I don't want to hear about it."

"Consider it", he insisted. "I'm the only one who can offer you that."

"Raoul is enough for me", she answered firmly.

He shrugged. "I expected you might just say that. But if you want more… you know you're always welcome."

"I'd be grateful if you stopped offering me such things", Christine sighed. She might just have to tell Raoul that the Phantom was… No, better not. There would be nothing but trouble, and Raoul's already strongly strained patience wouldn't last much longer. But another fight between those two was the very last thing she wanted currently, so she left it at that. Yet maybe if he continued like this…

The Phantom's features did not reveal what he was thinking. "Very well. Let's get on with it, then." And there was no hint of any feelings in his voice, too, not even of disappointment. His eyes were glittering coldly in the dim glow of red from the fireplace, though.

Soon Christine lost track of the time passing while he searched through the outlying regions of her mind, occasionally muttering to himself. She was careful to supervise where he ventured, though; she would not permit him to go any deeper down once more. What exactly he was doing she did not know, even though he occasionally offered a word of explanation. But soon she was too tired to truly pay attention, and she did not quite understand what he was telling her. How heavy her eyelids felt! It must be about two in the morning, or three, at the latest, a time when she usually slept soundly under a warm blanket, instead of sitting on the sofa in the dark living room, and having the Phantom once again tamper with her mind, something she had hoped he would never get the chance to do again.

But still, this had to be done. They had to find a way of how to keep Créon out of her head – out of both of their heads. And the Phantom was the only one who could do it. Although she would have much preferred Raoul's protection, it was the Phantom whose side she wouldn't leave until he confirmed that Créon had been completely banished from her mind. Her eyelids were drooping more with every passing minute, it seemed to her, yet she was afraid to fall asleep, for fear she would be forced to witness again what that cruel usurper of her Angel's domain had made her see.

Yes, thinking of the Phantom as of her Angel once more made it easier, especially when recalling the image she had seen inside his mind, that one image showing what he might have been, had fate only been less cruel towards him. He could have been a colleague in the ensemble, it occurred to her. He could have been the Opera Populaire's lead tenor, instead of Piangi. He could have been a celebrated star, easily winning the hearts of all the ladies in the audience, as well as those of his female colleagues.

He might have won her own heart, as well.

Of course, she knew as good as nothing about his past. He had hardly ever spoken about himself. But maybe there was a way of bringing out what was buried deep inside him. Maybe she could convince him that deep down inside him, there was good.

Maybe he would be Erik for her.

Despite all her efforts, she was drifting over into sleep when he finally touched her shoulder and whispered, "I think I'm done."

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, stifling a yawn. How long had she been sitting here, battling slumber? She had no idea.

He sighed softly behind her. "As sure as I can be, under the circumstances. I shielded myself as well as I could, and I put some kind of guard over the connection, too, or whatever you want to call it, but I'm afraid we will only know if our efforts were not in vain when Créon tries his tricks with us again."

Christine shuddered. "This is not the way I'd like to find out."

"No. Neither would I." The gentle creaking behind her told her that he was shifting his weight on the perch he had chosen, right at her shoulder. "But we can give it another try, if you want. That's about all we can do."

Another try? Whatever it was, anything would be better than having Créon reappear in her dreams. "Let's do it, then", Christine agreed.

Climbing over the back of the sofa, he settled down beside her, yet he did not come nearly close enough to touch her, and she was glad for it. She wanted to have him with her, but not too close. Otherwise, she might be in danger of losing herself to him once more, and she would never do that again. Never. She had Raoul, and Raoul was sufficient. Raoul was all she wanted.

This time, entering his mind seemed much easier to her, yet as soon as she thought to catch the first glimpse of what was going on inside it, he suddenly had her trapped, wrapped up in a thick blanket of fog. She pushed against it hard, but it seemed that she was floating in emptiness now, and she could not feel him anymore. Though she knew that she must be inside his mind, the awareness of him was completely gone from her head.

Where had he suddenly gotten to?

I have you now, his voice came from the swirling mass of mist around her, teasing her. While you lose all sense of orientation and can't go rummaging around in my head, I have free and complete access to yours, without you really noticing.

Oh, that's wicked of you, she thought as relief flooded her. He could do it. He could do it! There was no way for Créon to get past him at her now!

Yes, isn't it? The mist around her dissolved, and once again she could feel him, and she realized that she had not even gotten as far as the outmost regions of his mind. And there was a barrier now where that oily layer had been before. If this only worked with Créon and his minions, that… monster would never bother them again!

She wanted to withdraw once more, but again her curiosity got the better of her. What was that before her, that… thing shimmering just out of reach? It was beyond the barrier, on the same side she was on, so it could not quite belong inside his mind… or could it? Approaching it carefully, she saw that it was hovering right above the barrier, as if waiting for a chance to enter. And it was not part of him.

What was it, then? It was a strange thing; bright red it appeared to her and round as a ball, yet bristling with spikes of all sizes. Cautiously she reached out to prod it –

Christine!

– made contact with it –

Christine, no! She was jerked back into reality just as a sensation of heat and colours exploded inside her head, making her dizzy for a moment. At first her head swam, and her surroundings were smoothly sliding in and out of focus, but then, slowly, the world reasserted itself, and she found herself still sitting on the sofa, just as if nothing had happened.

"Are you alright?" There was concern in his voice, as well as showing on his face.

"I'm fine, thank you." It was a pretty face, actually, very pleasant to look at.

Still he appeared doubtful. "Are you certain?"

"Absolutely." Heavens, he was tempting. Suddenly she was feeling very… forward. And his closeness was so intoxicating… Surely it wouldn't hurt if she…? Just once?

No. No, what was she thinking there? She was engaged to Raoul! She couldn't just –

Just this one time. Leaning over to him, she brushed the back of her hand over his unmasked cheek, giggling softly at the look of surprise which came over his face. Curse the boy, but he was just lovely. Moving closer to him, she threaded her fingers into the curls at the back of his head, while with the other hand she took him by the front of his shirt, pulling him towards her. He did not resist.

As their lips met, she felt the heat from before surge through her with a hunger she barely knew. She wanted him more than she could imagine, and she wanted him here and now. He was hers, her very own. All her doubts, all her fears, all her pledges of love to another man were in the past, paling rapidly against what was ruling her mind now. They might return later on, especially her love for another man, but tonight, she was having this one.

Quickly she snatched his mask off, too fast for him to interfere, and dropped it onto the floor, well out of his reach. As he tried to shield his scars with his hand, she pulled it away, covering his cheek with her own. The Devil's Touch… It made him even more tempting.

Oh, this suffocating, suffocating heat!

She pushed him down onto his back firmly, so that his shoulders were against the sofa's padded armrest. This time he struggled feebly, but she slapped his interfering hand out of her way determinedly. Trying to be coy, now was he? She was having none of that nonsense. Either he participated, or else he learned to lie still. Taking a seat on his stomach, she bent to kiss the side of his neck, drawing in his scent as she did so. Not bad, indeed not bad. She was going to enjoy this. As she bit him, he winced slightly, yet when she began sucking the side of his neck, right above where she could feel his pulse with her lips, he gave a low growl of pleasure. So he liked this after all.

They all did, sooner or later. If you only handled them correctly, they all did, even this intriguingly defiant lad.

Of course, he had a special reason to agree with this way of being ravished, and she did not like this reason at all. But it would be much easier to truly claim him later on if she succeeded in putting him down now, in whatever way.

Licking all the way up to his earlobe, which she nibbled gently for a moment, and then back down to his collarbone, she listened to his ragged breath and occasional growls with satisfaction. How easily he yielded suddenly! She would not have thought that he would ever do so, not of his own free will. But now, after only a minute, she already had him where she wanted him.

Excellent. She could start feasting on him immediately, then.

Dragging his shirt off him presented her with no difficulty at all; he even helped her doing it. He really was quite lovely, especially when eyed in that dim, reddish light, well-muscled and smooth-skinned, exactly what she appreciated in her bed. She ran her hands over him a few times, basking in her own triumph. By now he had thrown his head back, exposing his throat to her, and she felt the corners of her mouth wander upwards into a little smirk all of their own accord as she noticed it. So he was truly submitting to her, then. Good boy. Bending over him once more, she grazed his throat with her teeth, felt it vibrate under her as he growled once more. His arms came around her, and he held her close, his hands wandering up and down over her back. He would make no more move to get away now. He was hers.

High time to enter his mind, then. Gently loosening his grip on her, she reached for the buttons of his trousers, while at the same time she reached out with her mind, about to make her domination complete –

At once his hands were around her wrists, holding her firmly. "Christine, don't! You don't know what you are doing!" Still his breath was ragged, and his expression was pained. It was obvious how he was loath to interrupt her. "You will hate me for it tomorrow, and yourself!"

Oh, the foolish boy! The innocent, pathetic young fool! "Don't get bothersome, pretty Erik. Whatever you do, and however you try to protect that girl of yours, I'll still have you, no matter how I do it, if through her or not."

"Christine!" he cried, his eyes lighting up with a wildfire of fury. And then he was inside her head, delving, cutting and hacking away, as with a knife…

There was a flash of pain, and she collapsed on top of him, whimpering. Oh God, what had happened? Why did her head feel so hazy suddenly? What was going on? Surely she hadn't just –

With a little scream, she recoiled from him, hugging herself. Luckily she was still wearing her nightshirt. "Get out of my head!" she hissed at him. "Right now! What do you think you're doing?"

"Christine, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just –" He sat up, reaching for her hand, but she backed away from him as far as possible, thereby brushing against the low living room table. "Christine, I –"

"I told you to get out!" This was what came from trusting him; he had been manipulating her again! Was this how he repaid her for saving him?

"But Niobe, she's still inside your head!" He, too, was on his feet by now, and coming towards her.

"I've had enough of all your disgusting lies!" she snapped at him. "Leave me alone!"

She had backed into the wall, and he was right before her now, reaching out for her. "But she's –"

Bringing up her own hand, she slapped him as hard as she could. The way he staggered backwards in surprise certainly gave her a grim feeling of satisfaction. Maybe she should have done so earlier already; it might have helped, or at least it would have shown him that she was not as weak as he kept assuming she was.

"Will you at least listen to me?" Apart from the tone of strained patience in his voice, his manner revealed nothing about just having been hit. "Believe me or not, but you have Niobe inside your head, because you wouldn't listen when I told you not to touch that thing trying to get into mine. And you'll need me to remove her for you, or else you'll probably be in for a few more unpleasant surprises."

God, he must be right! So that was what she had found preying on him, waiting just outside his mind, searching for a way in. She should not have touched it. She should not have tried to touch his mind a second time at all. Once was more than enough already. "How long have you known?" she asked quietly.

"I… I'm not sure." The way he almost squirmed under her gaze showed how uncomfortable he was suddenly. How long had he really known? From the very beginning?

He could have stopped her earlier on! "You've known it all along, you pervert!" Once again she hit him, her fist connecting with the side of his jaw painfully, and once again he made no move to stop her. "You've known she's inside me, but you let yourself be fondled just because you enjoyed it so much! And now you're happy to rummage through my head once more, digging up every detail of any interest to you!"

"Quiet!" he hissed. "You're waking up all the house, shouting like that!"

"I'll call Raoul", she threatened, and she truly felt like doing so – but first she would deal with him on her own.

"You won't!"

"Don't tell me what I will and won't!" The nerve of him, standing there half naked and acting as if he had done nothing wrong! The wild fury boiling inside her made her use her fist on him once more, and this time she dug it into his stomach – or at least she tried to, because he saw the blow coming and flexed his muscles just in time – she saw them shift under his skin –, and her fist practically bounced off him, probably hurting him, yet doing not as much damage by far as she had intended. "I'm so sick of you and your manipulations! You don't care at all how I feel; all you're interested in is having your hands all over me!" And to think that there had been a time when she had trusted him blindly…

And to think that she had found good in him, only a short time ago… It must have been an illusion, nothing but a dream.

"When you're done hitting me and blaming me for everything", he said through gritted teeth, his chest heaving heavily, "you might at least let me deal with your Niobe problem for a moment."

His face lay in the shadows, but the scars covering the right side of his face, his excuse for everything, were visible clearly enough. She remembered the image she had seen inside his head. How those scars mirrored his very soul! "Get away from me, monster!" she snarled.

What she had apparently not succeeded in doing with all her physical strength was achieved by one single word: He froze, his features showing deep, strong pain for a moment, before he turned sharply and headed away from her, only stopping at the fireplace, at the opposite side of the room. She had managed to wound him at last.

Part of her anger at him evaporated, leaving satisfaction. At last she had given him back what he deserved.

But as she looked at him now, standing by the fireplace with his back turned to her, with hanging head and sagging shoulders, another image came back to her mind, one which had lain hidden until she had called for it. And oh, that sadness in his eyes… Already she was feeling ashamed of her outburst. Of course it had been necessary to state her opinion clearly, but this… this had just been irrational, and not entirely fair. Especially those last words.

She swallowed. "Erik…" He did not react. "Erik, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you a monster." Still there was no reaction from him; he acted as if he had not heard her at all. "Erik, please –"

"Yes, what?" he snarled very suddenly, turning on his heel to face her across the room. "What else do you want? Tell me to go and never come back? Don't worry, I'll be gone by tomorrow morning. You'll never have to see my loathsome face again."

"No, Erik, I didn't –"

"You made your point quite clear", he interrupted her coldly. "And you're right, I should have seen it earlier on that Niobe was messing with you, I'm a monster, and it's past time I was gone."

"Erik…"

"Why do you call me so?" he asked sharply. "What does my past matter to you?"

"You were not always like this", she answered quietly. "I saw your true self, just a short time ago. But you have completely forgotten it."

Equally quietly, he replied, "This is not what I am. Erik is dead. He died on that night on the rooftop, when you swore to love another man. All that is left is me."

"Look, I really didn't mean it", she tried it again. "I was just angry at you, and I didn't think. Of course, you gave me every reason to", she added sternly, trying to give her voice the same tone Madame Giry's got frequently, "and there are some things I'm still angry at you for, but I didn't mean you were a monster. Please acknowledge it at last." But this was the last time she told him! She would not beg him to forgive her on her knees!

There was a brief pause, then he came towards her again, but stopped with the table still between them. He was not looking at her, but at his own feet. "Don't apologize", he said, so softly that it was hardly audible. "It is I who should ask, no, beg for your forgiveness, and I wouldn't even deserve it. I should have realized earlier on that this couldn't possibly be you, instead of just lying there without a conscious thought. I used you, all the time. I told you there were two things I didn't mention, remember? The second is what Niobe did to me, when she had me in her hands. She put me in something like a trance, so I was drawn towards her and couldn't fight her, and she stroked and fondled me all she liked, and she wanted me to – Oh well, you can probably imagine what she wanted. I did the same to you, all the time, I forced my attentions on you without you being able to fend me off. I'm no better than her. And all the time I loved you, and still I did what I did, because all I could think of was me, and I never even asked you if you wanted me near you at all." There was loathing in his voice, contempt and loathing, directed at himself. "If you hate Niobe, you must hate me as well, because I did the same. Because I'm just the same!" He came a little closer, yet still he left the table between them. "I'm asking your forgiveness, although I know it is too much to ask of you, and you can never forgive all I did to you. But if you still feel pity for the wretched creature that I am, you might at least try." He fell silent, still not looking at her.

Regarding him, she drew a calming breath. Everything she had expected of him, but not this. She had thought he would never admit that he had done her wrong, but once again, he had surprised her. He was right, forgiving him might be very hard, but… Heavens, what was that large dark spot on his side? "What's this?" she asked. "That bruise? Did I just do this to you?"

"This? No." He waved it away dismissively, bending to pick up his mask and shirt again. "That was just Adhemar, when he kicked me. Never mind about it."

Of course, it could not possibly have been her. Her bad conscience about calling him a monster was making her act foolishly. "I will try", she told him, "for the sake of all you gave to me before you… did what you did. But I will need some time for it."

"You have all the time in the world." Already masked, pulling his shirt back on, he added, "But would you let me remove Niobe for you now? Please, Christine. I don't mean any more harm. It's my fault I didn't stop you in time, anyway. But I have to get her out of your mind."

At first she hesitated to give her consent, but then, at last, she nodded. She had no choice.

"Come on, then", he said gently. "You had better sit down for it." He hesitated briefly. "And Christine… thank you for everything."

Again she settled down on the sofa, but this time he did not sit beside her, but remained standing, and she was grateful for it. It was better if they kept some distance between each other for some time. "I might not trust the Phantom", she told him as he knelt down before her and closed his eyes, ready to once again search her head for traces of intruders, "but I may yet come to love Erik as I would love a brother. And I truly hope you will not do with your second chance what you did with your first."

He bowed his head. "Thank you", he whispered.

This time, it was painful. Although Christine was sure that the Phantom was not trying to hurt her, the minutes which passed until he told her that it was over were among the most tormenting she could recall in her entire life. And from the way his lips were pressed together while he did it, she could easily tell that he was aware of it, and that it pained him just as well.

At last he withdrew from her mind, and she remained crouched in a corner of the sofa, sobbing softly to herself. A bit awkwardly, he reached up to stroke her cheek, murmuring soothing words, but as this did not help, he sang to her softly.

"Sì, per ciel marmoreo giuro,
Per le attorte folgori,
Per la Morte e per l'oscuro mar sterminator:
D'ira e d'impeto tremendo
Presto fia che sfolgori
Questa man ch'io levo e stendo,
Dio vendicator!
"

His voice calmed her a bit, and what he had chosen even made her smile a little. Niobe would have to answer for this.

"Come", he said softy, carefully picking her up. "I'm taking you to someone who can comfort you better than I can." He carried her all the way up the stairs to Raoul's room, where he laid her down gently on the bed, beside her fiancé, who stirred and murmured something in his sleep, but did not wake, and pulled the blanket over her, making sure she was warm. Then he bent to kiss her forehead briefly and tenderly brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Sleep well, child", he whispered. "You need not be afraid anymore."

She smiled up at him before she closed her eyes, snuggling against Raoul. "Good night, Erik."