A/N: More Erik to come… I promise!

Modesty: I've been having problems with FanFic review thingy, I WILL review yours as soon as it is sorted! Thank you for the review and I'm sorry you're having a tough week 

AngelofMusic: Thank you for your review. I can make the impossible seem possible so bear with me… there is much more to this story than has so far been told.

I hope you like this chapter…

Chapter 11- Presence

The wind was hammering the people in the square as they huddled together, getting the best spot possible for the spectacular event. The audience hummed in an excited haze, unconcerned about the poor weather or the others around them. Those at the front had waited for hours; those entering now were forced to take a place at the back. They were standing, of course, as was everyone else.

What was happening today was beyond most people's original comprehension, their biggest ideas. The occasional spot of rain had done nothing to dampen anyone's spirit; some were with their partners as if the romance could not be better captured elsewhere. Some had even brought their children along for the show.

The stage at the front was unusually plain; it was a light wood floor with around eight steps leading up from either side. The back was blocked with yet another panel of wood and all in all the size of the stage was relatively small. It was a relatively small performance, though, although you would never have guessed it.

Christine stood at the rear of the crowd, not because she was forced to but because she chose to. She watched the people buzz around like flies, vying for position closest to the front. Some stole other's places, there was the odd strong word but otherwise there was no trouble as yet, everything was moving along swimmingly.

She glanced forward and spotted her husband, also aiming for a position at the front but all he did was smile at the guards and he was soon there. He was the Vicomte, after all. Raoul was standing next to Philippe and Fredrick, a close friend of the family and as Christine's eyes drifted over the top of the crowd she spotted an abundance of familiar faces.

Andre and his business partner were rather close to the front joined by two attractive young women who were most certainly neither manager's wife. It made Christine smile when she saw the young dancers' crowd around the old men. They had the girls believing that they were the money behind the opera although Christine knew that they had been left with very little after the fire. The rebuilding of the left side of the opera house had taken the entire last two months and the show was due to reopen soon. New dancers and old Ballet Mistress included.

Carlotta was there too, looking all in all the diva, still unchanged from the distance but to those who knew her she was privately withdrawn, preferring her own company and answering no ones visits. She had certainly not been the same since she had lost Piangi and Christine actually, for once, sympathised with her pain. Although La Diva would never admit it, even she could feel loss and it showed now that she was on her own. Christine had heard Carlotta sing recently and she was magnificent. Her loss had put her emotion back into her music and for that the whole of Paris should be grateful.

She did not see Meg but she knew that she was out gallivanting with her Henry. She also didn't see Madame Giry, but then she hadn't really expected too either. By the same token no one, not even Raoul, knew that she was here. Christine had told her husband that she was simply not up to it and would prefer to stay home. After she had been sure he was gone and not returning she had left, wrapped up and covered by a cape.

So there she stood, at the back of the crowd face and body covered with a large, grey cape so that she too could see the show. As she stood there she swayed a little, dizziness overtaking her whilst she thought. She ran her hand over her forehead and realised that despite the cold she was sweating.

Suddenly, the crowd began to chant and jostle and Christine stared over at the gap down the centre. As she watched, a beautiful chestnut mare came into view pulling a cart and she grimaced at the sight of Nadir tied and blindfolded and being pelted with rotten fruit. Her stomach turned and her body shivered forcing her to wrap her arms around herself to stay warm. She glanced back at the stage and watched the noose swing in the wind, swishing from side to side, a deathly omen.

'Murderer,' shouted a man at the front and this was followed by many, many more similar shouts. Some were not as polite. The horse came to a halt and the guards yanked the daroga out of the cart, and dragged him mercilessly up the steps, ensuring his knees hit every one. The Hangman pulled him over and Nadir swayed but steadied himself somehow.

Christine gagged.

The noose was slipped over his head and pulled tighter at the back of his neck, one of the guards kicked the back of his knee and he fell to the floor choking. The hangman pulled him back to his feet, as the guards watched on, laughing in twisted amusement. Their laughs were followed by those of the people in the crowd, including her good husband. She looked over at the Persian and for a moment was sure she saw him smile but it was more than she could take and she rocked from side to side before gathering her senses and attempting to make her way from the crowd.

As she turned she felt a push and spun around, face full of thunder, to be faced with a surprised looking gentleman, who apologised but didn't seem to know what he was apologising for. She shook her head and moved off but, on feeling another tug at her cape, she spun again and this time saw no one looking at her. She had had enough and heaved her way through the heavy crowd to the back and finally down a quiet alleyway, where she leant against the wall and collected her sanity.

She wasn't sure what happened or even why she did it but as she turned to leave the alley she dug her hand into the pocket of her cape and when her hand came out it was holding a blood, red rose tied up in a jet, black ribbon.