Raoul ran his hand through his disheveled hair. He had spent the entire morning going over his family's finances, and each time he checked the figures, they appeared to be worse. It seemed that Raoul had not inherited the knack for business that his father and brother had shared. He had never actually taken much interest in his family's business transactions. Raoul had longed for a life that consisted of more than the amount of money that could be made. He had finally found that in Christine and their son. But they relied on him to support them, and he owed them some security. Raoul had returned once more to the pile of books that lay before him, determined to find a solution, when Christine angrily burst through the door.

"Please tell me you had nothing to do with this," her livid tone broke into Raoul's worried mind.

"What are you talking about?" Raoul responded, his eyes questioning hers.

Christine said nothing. She glared at him angrily as she threw a newspaper down on his desk. Raoul's pulse quickened as he looked down at the largest story on the front page.

"Phantom of the Opera Populaire Captured," he read aloud, his voice almost shaking. "Christine, I…"

Christine broke in, her voice accusing. "They are charging him with the murder of Joseph Buquet, Piangi, and…" she paused for a moment, unsure of whether she should mention the last name, "And your brother."

Philippe's death had been especially painful for Raoul. He had learned of it a few days after their escape from the Opera house. He had been forced to read it in the newspaper, as he and Christine had been unwilling to meet with anyone. Raoul had blamed himself for what had happened to his brother. If he hadn't dashed off to be Christine's hero, Philippe never would have followed after him. He had always acted like Raoul's own father, taking the place that death had made available. Raoul had convinced himself that Philippe would still be alive had he not been so rash in his pursuit of Christine.

His wife began to speak again, "The paper says there's no doubt he will be convicted. They're going to hang him." She covered her mouth, trying to hold back her sobs.

Christine's cries tore at Raoul's heart. He stood to embrace her, but she backed away, raising a hand to stop him. "Raoul, you know how I hate being lied to. Just be honest, did you do this?"

"Of course not! How could you think that?" he asked resentfully.

"Raoul," she replied gently, "when someone fears for the people that they love, they will do things that…"

"No," he interrupted her. "I could never hurt you that way. I know what he meant to you."

Christine searched his eyes. She wanted to believe him, but she knew the lengths that Raoul would go to in order to protect her and their son.

"Do you swear to me that you were not involved in this?" she asked, her bottom lip trembling.

"On my life," he answered sincerely.

Christine gave him a small nod, accepting him at his word. He had never lied to her before; she had begun to think that he was incapable of misleading her.

"I…I can't be here right now. I need to do something, I need some air," she said frantically, her breath coming in short, shallow sobs.

"Christine, it's going to be alright. We'll figure something out. I promise you," he responded, cupping her face in his hands.

"I'm going out for a walk. I doubt I shall be gone for long," she spoke, her voice once again calm but still shaking.

"Would you like me to accompany you?" he asked with concern.

"I think it better that I go alone. Don't worry, I'll just be around the grounds," she replied, turning her head into his hands to lightly kiss his palms. "I love you," she said wearily.

What in the world are you doing? Christine asked herself as she approached the edge of the city. You shouldn't be doing this. Turn around now, there's still time. She knew that she should do what her head told her, but she found that her legs wouldn't let her. They were weak and shaking, but they were determined. Before she knew what she was doing she had passed a handful of bills to the guard and entered the cell. Christine's heart caught in her throat as her eyes fell upon Erik's form huddled in the corner. It was obvious that he was attempting to hide the deformed side of his face, his mask having been torn away. He appeared thin and weary, the very image of the ghost she had always heard him to be.

"Oh, Erik. What have they done to you?" she cried.

"Leave me," he answered coldly.

"Erik, please don't turn me away," she pleaded.

"I want nothing more from you," he replied, ignoring her appeals.

"Do you realize what I did to come here? I lied to my own husband! If he knew I was here…" her voice trailed off into a sad whisper.

"Are you afraid what he would do, should he find out?" Erik asked. If that man ever laid a hand on her, Erik would tear him apart slowly.

"No, I'm afraid to hurt to him, especially after all that he's done for me," Christine answered, looking wistfully out of the window. "He severed all ties to his family and friends; he gave up everything that he has ever known just to be with me."

"What do you want from me, Christine?" Erik inquired with disdain.

"I…I don't want anything from you," she answered with puzzled surprise. "I came to help you."

"How could you possibly help me? It is because of you that I am trapped here," he spoke, his anger escalating.

"Because of me? Erik, I don't understand."

"Don't play the fool, Christine. It has never suited you. There is a man in your life who would be most pleased to be rid of me forever," Erik replied, his eyes boring into Christine's. She shifted uncomfortably, averting her eyes from his cold stare.

"You're wrong, Erik. He swore to me that he didn't…" she spoke, her voice stumbling.

"The man is a liar Christine," Erik growled.

"You know nothing of what he is," she replied, her eyes closed in emotional exhaustion.

"He is no more than a spoiled, selfish, insignificant coward," Erik's yells echoed through the cold cell.

"Do not ever speak of him that way," Christine whispered threateningly, finding the courage to look him the eye. "He is a good father, a good husband, and a good man. And if he told me that he was not involved in your capture then that is the truth."

Now it was Erik's turn to look away. Christine's voice softened once more, ashamed of how she had hurt him. "Oh, Erik," she sighed, "I did not come here to fight with you."

"Then why are you here? You warned me to stay away from you, yet here you are."

"I said many things that I did not mean. I was angry with you. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Christine reached a tentative hand out to Erik's face. He grabbed hold of her wrist and threw her arm away. When he spoke again his voice was hoarse and grief-stricken.

"You have done more than hurt me, Christine. You destroyed my heart and soul. You show concern now that they want to destroy the body?"

"Let me help you. You have no idea how I have suffered over this," Christine's brow furrowed in sorrow.

"I have no interest in appeasing your aching conscience. I am not a cause, Christine. I am a human being," he replied, throwing his fists to the ground.

"I do not wish to help you for myself. Despite everything that has happened, I still care for you," her words surprised even herself.

"You will return to see me tomorrow?" he asked hopefully.

"I promise. Please do not give up hope, Erik," Christine bit her bottom lip, hesitating to think on what she was about to do. Finally she leaned down and placed her lips to his forehead.

She called for the guard and waited for him to open the door to the cell. Before she left, she turned one last time to look back on Erik. He almost appeared to be smiling.

How many times can a heart break before it can no longer repair itself? Erik pondered as he watched her leave. This woman had twice left him shattered, yet he was placing his life and his heart once more in her hands. In her eyes, he still saw the hope of what he could be.