For a moment, I didn't want to believe what I was seeing. After I'd let go of her, she'd run right over to his side, entwining her arm with his, in the most frightening picture of attraction I'd ever seen. His tall, dark figure, and her tiny, insignificant one, made me feel almost as if her being were being dominated by his presence. I shivered, and repeated my question.

"Christine…what is he doing here?" I wanted to add—'the bastard', but Christine had never been much one for the swearing.

"Meg," she began, staring at me with those intense eyes of hers, "Meg, I know this will be hard to understand."

I retreated until I felt Nadir's presence behind me. "Why do I get the feeling that this is going to involve me chasing you around with a rolled-up newspaper?"

She stared at me, and then burst into hysterical giggles, as if all the tension and anxiety had gone out of our meeting. Even I smiled as I thought of the memory of two summers ago, when I'd been crushing over this no-good guy, and she'd literally run me ragged over the neighborhood, beating me with a rolled-up newspaper, when I admitted that I'd slept with him. After that, it always became our code word for disapproval in each other. This time, though, I actually hadn't wanted to make her laugh. I was really very dangerously upset. But, it had been so natural, that it just slipped out.

There were tears rolling down her face when she lifted it back up towards me, but her eyes were grim. She sighed. "Meg, I'm sorry…" she began, and then stopped, digging her fists into her hips, "No!" she cried, "I'm not sorry for falling in love with him." She looked at me, her eyes hard but imploring. "Meg, I'm sorry for all the trouble I've put you through. I'm sorry for making you worry. But I am not sorry for finally finding…" she smiled, again her eyes clouding with tears, "what you assumed I would never find."

Our conversation was so full of phrases with meanings known to ourselves, that it might be hard for an observer to actually understand. I got her meaning immediately. She had found…her knight in shining armor. I cringed. When I had first seen them, I'd not known what to think. Then, seeing them standing together, I had assumed that Nadir was right, that some psychological mind-fuck was at work here. But now…

I knew Christine. And I knew that she would never, ever say that unless she was absolutely certain.

The eyes that she looked at me with were solid, steady, and determined. She knew she didn't need my approval; and she would always act in the way that she thought best. And she would never compromise that, even for me. But how could I now tell her that the man that she loved had cold-bloodedly murder her father and her friend? How could I throw her into such a horrible moral debacle, between her heart and her sense? I was her friend, but was honesty always the best policy?

I found that I couldn't say anything to her bald-faced confession.

Behind me, Nadir cleared his throat.

"Well," he said, sounding a little uncertain himself, "I, for one, Meg, would like to speak to Erik alone. Would you take Christine into the second sitting room and speak to her? I'm sure that you would like to speak to her by yourself."

Christine and I both agreed, silently, and left the room. The soft mumble of voices behind us was all we could hear. We walked in total silence, and when we reached the room, we both stared at either the ceiling or the carpet, wondering what to say.

There was one thing I wanted to establish right from the beginning. "Christine, do you love him?"

She looked right at me, and said, "Yes, I do."

She must have seen my dumbfounded expression, and when I couldn't think of anything to say, she rushed on.

"Look, I know what you're going to say! I know you think," she stopped, sighed, ran her hand through her hair, and went on, "I know you think that this is some kind of brain-washing, or something. Trust me," she smiled, "I worried about that too.

"But there's something about Erik," she continued, her eyes starting to look dreamy, "that makes me realize that it's not. I really do like him, Meg." She shook her head, "I mean, I love him. I'm just not used to saying it right now. Please," her voice was imploring, "please, believe me…I don't think anyone else will."

"Christine," I whispered. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted to tell her! He killed your father! He killed Raoul! It would be so easy to shout those two phrases to her. And then what? She'd be horrified, revolted, terrified…she'd be crushed.

"Nothing you say," she said, firmly, "nothing you say is going to make me forget that I love him. Nothing Raoul could say would make me forget that either. I don't care what he's done—it's over now! I can help him; together we can go away, and he can forget all that he's done. His past, Meg…it's so horrible! And he's haunted by it, I know, every single day. I can help him, because I can love him when no one else could."

I shook my head, trying to avoid her intense gaze, and focusing on the window instead. If Erik really was that tortured…ah, what was I thinking? She deserved to know what he was, what he had done! It wasn't just some assassinations anymore, to some corrupt political figure. This was her own family, her friend, and who knows? It might have been me.

"Meg," she sounded like she was crying, "why aren't you saying anything?"

I had to make a decision, and I had to make it now.

"Meg," she whispered, "Meg, please…"

I looked at her, full in the face, for perhaps the first time since I'd seen her again. "Do you love him?" I wanted to be sure, absolutely sure.

Her eyes showed the unreasoning hope of her heart. "Yes," she breathed.

"Christine," I said, taking a deep breath, "be happy with him, then."

She smiled, and two tears ran down her face. I hugged her and wiped my tears away behind her back. I was committed now, and really, I only did want her to be happy.

The two of us talked for about ten more minutes, and, after the tension of the first confession, the floodgates seemed to have opened. We were scrupulous to avoid the last few weeks, but we were such good friends that our conversation managed to flow with hardly any moments of awkwardness. She was still crying from relief, silently and intermittently, but she didn't want me to see her tears, and she wiped them away as quickly as they flowed.

When Nadir entered the room, I admitted that I was shocked; I'd almost forgotten about them both. But there they were, the tall, silent figure of the masked man, about whom I knew nothing, and the short Persian man who seemed in as much emotional turmoil as I was. He motioned me out of the room, and I saw Erik go down to his knees in front of Christine, and I saw her bury her head in the crux of his neck.

Nadir shut and locked the door behind him. He pocketed the key, and turned to me with a wry smile.

"That does no good, of course," he said, "Erik will hear what Erik wishes to hear. I only hope he has the same respect for my privacy as he used to have."

Sudden realization dawned on me. "You didn't tell him either, did you?"

He made a helpless gesture with his hands. "He is in love, Meg!" he cried, softly, "The thing I wished would never happen to him finally has. I knew," he continued, running one hand through his graying hair, "I knew that once he did, he would fight for her with all his incomparable strength." He sighed, deeply, and sat down on one of the tasseled floor pillows.

"Had Erik known about Christine's feelings," he went on, "he should never have attacked Raoul. This he tells me, and I believe him. He does not mean to be evil, and he does not kill for pleasure. But he is jealous, and he was afraid of Raoul as a rival. Still, he should not have killed him for any other reason. I could not find it in my heart to condemn him for this."

"He loves Christine?" I asked, wanting to know the whole truth. "He won't hurt her, or abuse her, or anything like that?"

Nadir shook his head fervently. "He would rather cut off his own hands, Meg! I have never seen him like this before, but I know his heart. Anything he loves will never be hurt by his hands."

I stood in silence for a moment. Then, I decided to make my own confession. "I didn't tell Christine, either."

I couldn't look at him, but I felt his question. "She loves him too much. I could never hurt her like that, tearing her away from him. She would never be able to forgive him for killing her father, and she would never be able to forgive herself for abandoning him to darkness. It would kill them both." I sighed, holding my head in my hands. "Let the truth lie buried."

I met Nadir's eyes, and I saw the dawning acceptance there too. "It is the best course," he finally agreed.

As much as it bothered me to have to put on a happy face and go back to Christine with my mouth full of pleasant lies, I know that it would have hurt me more to destroy both of their lives for the sake of the dead. Raoul, I mourned, would never have the respect he deserved in death, but how could I justify to myself killing the both of them over something that would never change?

Christine met me with a hug and kisses, after which we said our goodbyes, both parties needing time alone to absorb what had—and in some cases, hadn't—been said. Erik said that he had a house in the city, where they would stay for the night. It had been a long day for the both of them, he said, and they would come back and see us tomorrow. I managed a nod and smile in his direction, and another hug for Christine, and then they were both gone.

I thought all evening and all night about what I had done. I had lied. I had ignored two murders…and for what? For the peace of mind of my best friend? For the peace of mind of a murderer?

I knew that I would never forget, I would never live down what I had done. I even saw that the deception lay heavily on Nadir's mind. We were both silent during dinner, and even the antics of Reza towards me and the quiet kindness of Mashid to her husband were not enough to bring us out of our dark thoughts.

I went to bed very early, but of course, not to sleep. I stood for about an hour and a half, staring out the window, waiting for some sort of explanation, some sort of acceptance to help me over what I had just done. I had never been in this sort of moral dilemma before, and quite frankly, I hoped that I would never be in one again.

I tossed and turned for several hours after that, alternately hoping and dreading Christine and Erik's visit the next day, and no one was more astonished than I when I woke up to Christine's face, and already it was noon of the next day.

"Nadir's been worried about you," she scolded me, her face playfully severe, "but he didn't want to come in, just in case you happened to be…" her voice lowered, "…indecent."

I laughed, rather drowsily, and sat up, running my hand over my head and feeling how my hair was sticking up.

"You look like a perfect scarecrow," Christine reassured me, pushing aside my tangled bangs, "and the only thing that's gonna fix it is a shower."

I grumbled and pulled the covers back up to my chest. "Ah, Christine, you've always been so wonderfully comforting."

She laughed. "It's a gift." Then she sighed, and I couldn't see, but I knew that her face had clouded up. "I missed you so much, Meg."

I sat up, attentive, and studied her face. I had been wrong in my first appraisal. She was very worried, and her good humor, which so often helped those around her, was nowhere close to as cheerful as it normally was. Suddenly, I realized that she had not been as insouciant of the outside world as I had considered.

"What's wrong, Christine?" I asked.

She looked at me, and her gaze fell to her hands, as she twiddled her fingers in and out of knots. "Where's Raoul?"

That question took my breath away. Quite frankly, the fact that she hadn't asked about him at all yesterday had given me the false impression that she hadn't thought about him at all.

And I had no idea what to say. Lies were not my forte, and my mind had just gone blank. I looked at her with my mouth wide open.

At least she took the attack into her own hands. "Erik hurt him badly, didn't he?"

I think my 'yes', must have sounded a little too eager. But Christine did not seem to notice at all.

She sighed and shook her head. "I thought so. But he's alive, right?"

I had gotten a little more control over myself, and I managed to infuse my second 'yes' with a little more conviction.

The tension in her face eased a little. "I'm so glad, Meg, you have no idea." She fumbled with her purse, and produced a thick envelope. "I figured I might not get the chance to talk to him before I left, so I wrote him this."

The letter, which she pushed into my hesitant hands, was very neatly addressed to 'M Raoul de Chagny'. At least I managed to keep the wince off of my face.

Christine looked absolutely miserable. "I want him to know…" her voice trembled, and she fought to control it, "I want him to know that I appreciate everything that he did. And," her eyes begged me, "could you tell him that…that I loved him very much."

I must have looked astounded, for she very quickly clarified.

"I mean," she spluttered, "not in that way. But I really did like him. He was a good friend. I just want him to know that, so, if he doesn't get that from the letter, please fill in the blanks for him."

I nodded, smiling for the first time that day. "I will, Christine."

And she smiled too. "That was the only thing I really wanted him to know. That, and the fact that I was sorry." She laughed then, and gestured to the letter. "But I'm sure he'll read enough of that in the letter. I think I said it about fifty million times!"

I showered, got dressed, and went downstairs to where Nadir, Mashid, Reza, Erik and Christine were already eating breakfast. I joined them, and Christine, Nadir and I managed to carry on a fairly fluent conversation, given the circumstances. Erik seemed to be naturally silent, and I might have been suspicious of him still, but the looks that he gave Christine during the conversation were enough to convince me of his seriousness. He would love her until the day he died, and most likely afterwards too. I sighed, picking at my food. I suppose that was all I could ask. Christine and I were both still young. I'm sure that we could still believe in the healing power of love.

Christine seemed very enthusiastic about moving back to Paris, and she actually almost talked me into moving there with her, but I reminded her that I had left my parents in the lurch back home, and if I was very lucky, I might get away with a two month grounding. When I mentioned that my parents did not know where I was, Christine was silent, her red face down towards her plate, and I could tell she wanted to beg my forgiveness again, so I forestalled it with asking Christine how she was going to dodge the social services from back home.

She and Erik glanced at each other. This was clearly a subject of much amusement between them.

"Well, I'm no longer Christine Day, am I?" she said, holding her left hand towards me. A simple gold band encircled her ring finger. "When I get married, I'll be Mrs. Erik Troche. And until then, Erik can get me a new identification."

I wanted to ask 'can he do that', when I caught the dangerously humorous glint in Erik's eyes. I settled for smiling and taking a rather large bite of toast, winking at Christine over the pitcher of milk.

For the first time since breakfast began, Erik spoke. "Christine Day will be yet another child who has fallen through the rather scant net of the social services, and no one will notice that in the least."

Just listening to his speaking voice was like attending a concert. Knowing how much Christine loved music, I could see where she must have fallen in love with its incarnation. His voice was flawless and wonderful, and I wondered just how many times a man could be gifted with such an instrument. Christine had been moaning about the dearth of perfect lyric tenors in the world, and it looked like one had just fallen in her lap! Which reminded me of something else I wanted to know.

"So are you still going to write your operas?"

I saw Nadir look at her sharply, obviously never having realized why Erik had been so drawn to Christine, and I saw Erik glance at her, another smile touching the corner of his mouth.

Christine herself smiled broadly and leaned forward. "No." she said simply.

I had to admit, I was shocked. Christine's career had always been of the utmost importance to her.

Before I had too long to worry, though, she continued on.

"I'm going to have them staged."

I laughed, leaning across the table to give her a high-five. "Atta girl!" I crowed, "Tell me when and I'll try to get a ticket!"

"Unh-uh," she shook her head, "when it comes out, you'll get a letter, a copy of the libretto, a round trip ticket to Paris, and a seat in your own private box."

I whistled, rubbing my fingers together in the symbol of big money. "Aren't we getting a little big for our britches, then, hmm?"

Christine bobbed her head with mock modesty, and then declared, "No, not really, no."

I grinned.

Christine, Erik, Nadir and I all took a plane back to Paris. The only thing that marred the happiness of our parting was the terrible, wrenching farewell between Nadir and his family. Erik though, parted with a firm declaration that he would find a way to get both Mashid and Reza out of the country. Nadir had done enough for him in the past, he assured her, to make this nothing more than a favor that was long overdue.

Christine and I chatted endlessly about what her opera was about. She told me firmly that the plot was still to be a surprise. I hit her over the back of the head, but I was really glad that some things never, ever changed. Christine was so modest about her personal ability, and she was so afraid of rejection, that I thought it would be a miracle to have anything of hers ever produced. Somehow, I felt grateful to Erik for giving her the confidence to actually proceed with her cherished career. Very few people, boys especially, I remembered, actually appreciated that about her. It was one of the reasons why she had never really dated, and one of the reasons why she had never been in love.

Until now. I had to admit, the way the two of them fit together, they were perfect. Both intelligent, driven, highly sensitive people, who cared for little outside of what lay in the heart. Though I dreaded going home without Christine, and facing the inquisitorial squad of my parents, I could hardly resent her for being this happy. I kept my thoughts to myself, and chatted with her in conspiratorial whispers about her wedding and when she wanted me back in Paris.

She and Erik had agreed, she told me, not to get married before her eighteenth birthday. But, she said, since she wanted me there so badly, she would try to make the date somewhere before the end of the summer, so hopefully I wouldn't miss much college by attending her wedding.

In Paris, we finally parted. I knew, though, as I walked through the terminal to my return flight home, that I would see her soon enough. And, though I probably had every reason to be, I was not scared about my family's reception of me.

The last thing I saw of the three of them was the white mask gleaming at me in the distance.