A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed! I like to hear from everyone, including EC shippers, so keep it coming!

Amanda- It's pretty much a book/movie combo (I have never seen the stage show). You can imagine the characters any way you like, but when I'm writing I picture them as they are in the movie (mostly because Patrick Wilson and Gerry Butler are really hot!) But anyways, that's enough from me…

Christine woke up, blinking against the rain that had begun to fall. Three men stood over her, talking amongst themselves.

"What are we gonna do? We can't just leave her here!"

"What can we do? We don't even know who she is."

Christine moaned and moved a hand to the back of her head. She gasped at the blood that slipped through her fingers and mingled with the rain in her palm.

"She's waking up!" one of them said, leaning down and taking hold of her shoulders.

"Don't mover her you idiot! She looks hurt. Mademoiselle, do you know where you live? Perhaps we can find someone to take care of you."

"What a silly question! Of course I know where I live. I live at…at…" Christine willed her tongue to speak the words, but it was useless. Her breathing began to quicken as panic took hold of her. Christine searched her memory, only to find any attempt to grasp some moment of the past futile.

"It's alright mademoiselle. Calm down," one of them said reassuringly.

"No it's not alright! You don't understand. I…I can't even remember my own name!"

One of the men reached a hand down to Christine's wounded head. She jumped back as though he had burned her. Christine's eyes darted back and forth, scanning the faces of the men who stood over her. How could she be sure that she could trust them? What if they were the ones who had done this to her? Christine slowly lifted herself to her feet, not daring to take her eyes off of her supposed rescuers.

"I'm fine. Thank you for all your help," she said with a false calm as she turned to walk away. When one of them reached out to try and stop her, Christine pushed his arm away and ran as fast as she could.

"Come back! We're not gonna hurt you!" he called after her.

"Oh forget it. She's probably just some crazy homeless woman. I don't know why we even stopped…"

Christine had no idea where she was going, but somehow her feet seemed to. They carried her through the streets of Paris, her footsteps the only sound that resounded in the silence of the night. Christine finally collapsed, out of breath, on a set of hard stone steps. She closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

What was she going to do now? How was she ever going to get home? Did she even have a home to return to? Millions of questions flooded Christine's mind all at once. But she couldn't stay out all night in the rain, pondering the sorry state of her life. She drew in a deep breath and looked up to see where she had landed. Before her stood an immense building adorned with stone carvings. All around her were posters advertising some sort of show. An opera? Christine stood, leaning on one of the large columns for support. She walked up the steps and through the large wooden doors of the Opera Populaire. She moved silently through the wide corridors, afraid of being discovered and thrown out into the street once again. When she heard voices ahead of her, Christine threw herself into the shadows, pressing her back against the wall.

"Oh Roslin, that's simply horrid!" giggled one of the girls.

"It's true Odette," the other replied, dropping her voice to a frightening whisper. "He is so hideously ugly that not even his own mother could bear to look at him. They say he stalks the catacombs of the Opera house. He does nothing day and night but compose his music and pine for his lost love," she said, exaggeratedly throwing her hand to heart. "That is, except when he emerges to…STRANGLE THE CHORUS GIRLS!"

The two girls collapsed in a fit of laughter.

"That's not funny," Christine heard a voice speak seriously.

"Oh Meg! Relax. It's just a story."

"It's cruel," the new voice said quietly.

"She's so strange. She acts like he's a real person or something," the first girl whispered.

"We better get going. We don't want her telling her mommy on us."

Christine waited until the echo of their voices was gone. She came out of her hiding place with a puzzled look on her face. Something about that story felt familiar. Perhaps spending some time here would bring something back to the blank slate her mind had become. Christine set off to explore the building, determined to find a warm place to rest her exhausted body. She turned down another corridor and noticed a beam of light peeking out of the room at the end. She walked towards it in a hypnotized trance. Before she knew what she was doing, Christine had opened the door and gone inside. The room was lit by several candles, making it very inviting. Christine pulled back her hair to lean down and smell the flowers that filled the room. She ran her hands over the soft cloth-covered couch. The walls were covered with the most beautiful paintings she had ever seen. Well, she had to assume that they were as she couldn't actually remember seeing any other paintings.

But what captivated Christine's attention was the large gold-framed mirror that stood in front of her. Something stirred deep down in her soul. She had been here before. This was something important. Christine approached the mirror tentatively. She placed a shaking hand against it and brought her face close to the reflection. Her breathing produced small clouds of fog on the glass. Christine felt like she was looking for something beyond the mirror, but how could that be? Christine stood there for a few moments waiting for something to happen. What was she thinking? There was nothing behind the mirror; it was impossible. Christine chided herself for being so childish. She turned to leave, but stopped when she heard something behind her. When she turned back around, she was face to face with a man in a white mask. He stood there staring into her eyes, like he could see down into her soul. In her head, Christine knew that she should be surprised, frightened even. But something about this mysterious man comforted her and calmed her fears.

He looked at her with mingled sadness and confusion, "Christine…is it really you?" All the time he had spent alone since she left must have damaged his mind. He had given her the life she had wanted with her precious fiancé. Why would she return here?

Christine's face brightened. "You know who I am?" she asked excitedly, taking Erik's hands in hers.

"You don't remember who you are?"

"Well…no."

So that was it. She hadn't returned to him, she was lost in the vast emptiness of her own mind. Erik looked down at her smooth hands in his. How he had longed for their touch. But it was never to be. She would return to her Vicomte and they would live out their fairy tale lives. Unless… perhaps fate was giving him another chance. He had atoned for his sins when he let Christine go, but here she was in front of him again. Maybe there were no coincidences; she was destined to return to him. Now it was as if there was no past, only a future. He could create a new past for her; a past that would lead her to a happy ending with him.

Erik removed his hands from Christine's and lovingly stroked her face. "I've been so concerned about you, my dear."

"You…you have?"

"Of course! When you did not return earlier this evening, I was sick with worry!"

"What do you mean?"

"Mon amour, you are my wife," he said placing her hand on his heart. "Don't you recognize me? I am your husband, Erik."

Christine felt a flicker of recognition in her mind. "Erik…yes. I know that name means something."

Erik gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry my love. In time, I will help you remember everything. All that matters right now is that you have returned to me."

Erik took hold of her hand and led her towards the mirror.

"What are we doing?"

"Why, we are going home, my dear!"

"Home?" she asked nervously.

"To our beautiful home on the lake. It sits deep below the stage of the Opera house. There is nothing to fear, my love. You're safe now."

Christine began to follow him into the mirror, when she suddenly became very light-headed. She fell into Erik's arms and was once again plunged into darkness. Erik looked at the beautiful form that rested in his arms. His eyes scanned her smooth, white skin; her face, her shoulders, her hands…her hands. They still held an indication of her former life. The large sparkling ring that rested on her finger glared at him, reminding Erik that she was not truly his. But that would change in time. He gently lay her down on the sofa. Erik pulled, but the ring wouldn't slide off easily. It held fast to its position, mocking him. Erik twisted and pulled it until it was finally free. He removed the slender gold chain from around his neck. He rolled the simple gold band it held in his fingers, remembering when he had first given it to her. She thought she had lost it, but Erik was there to find it. She had been so careless with the ring, and his heart, when she was in the presence of her lover. Erik shook his head, throwing the bad memory from his mind. There was no past anymore, he reminded himself. He gently slid the ring onto her slender finger. While she rested, he would begin writing the story of their life. It would be his first work of art that would not be a tragedy.

Erik was shaken from his thoughts when he heard the voices of the managers approaching. Perhaps he should start asking for his salary again. After all, a husband has to be able to support his wife. Erik scooped Christine up into his arms and carried her towards the mirror. He looked back into the dressing room to the direction of the voices. Yes, it was time for the Phantom of the Opera to reveal himself once again.