A/N:

Well...the muses seem to have returned from their (extended) spring break. I took away their summer vacation on account of it.

I can't promise that the quick succession of chapters will continue for a terribly long time, but enjoy it while it lasts! The creative juices are flowing again.

Enjoy, and please review. Your reviews help me write more quickly.

-

Chapter 30: The Resurrection Of A Phantom

"To Hell."

Giselle felt a cold shiver pass down her spine that had nothing to do with the freezing air, or the wind that whipped her loosening hair madly about and stung her eyes.

She clung tightly to the man in front of her despite her fear and revulsion—revulsion that was not a result of the pitiful state of his face, but the undeniable fact that he was, in fact, abducting her. She closed her eyes tightly against the rush of wind, afraid that at any moment she would topple from the tall black horse that was galloping in a mad rush over uncertain terrain in the gray light of early dawn.

With every stride they drew closed to their destination, this Hellish place that the strange man intended to take her, and Giselle's fear grew.

God in Heaven, I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

With that thought came another.

I'll never see Raoul again. Oh, God, if you must take me, let me see him again. Let me tell him…

"I love you."

The driving wind brought by the mad pace of the horse took her whisper and carried it far away from her abductor's ears, sparing her any questions on that account.

But the wind is a wayward thing, and Giselle had no hope of her pitiful whisper reaching the Viscomte, either.

-

Even as he embraced her for what he knew must be the last time, Raoul could not accept that he had lost.

He could not accept the reality of what must happen, that Christine and Erik would find each other again, and would forgive, Christine because it was in her nature, Erik because he could not live without her. He could not accept the thought of his love spending the rest of her life in the arms of a madman who only hours ago would have gladly killed her, could not accept the knowledge that she loved that same madman with a passion that Raoul knew he could never have extracted from her.

He felt that she loved him when she returned his embrace, but he knew that her love for him was gentle and sweet and unassuming, the love of a girl for a childhood sweetheart, the love of a woman for that first love that is never forgotten, and he knew that it would never be enough for her.

Only Erik was enough.

And Raoul hated him for it.

He let Christine go then, but even as she drew away, a small smile on her face, he knew that he would pursue her until the end of his days. If he died for it, he would never love another, and he would be sure that Erik could never be completely certain that one day the Viscomte might not snatch his hard-won love from him.

Yet while I live, I will haunt you 'til you're dead…

The smile on Christine's face sealed his fate. He would give all his earthly belongings, and his heart and soul and even his life, to see her smile like that for him again.

Erik might own her soul, her mind, her body, even her heart.

Raoul only wanted her smile.

-

When they went underground, Giselle's heart nearly stopped. She had been silent during all of the furiously paced ride, but the need to know something of what was going on was close to driving her mad.

She decided to play along.

"Is this Hell?" she asked, her arms now at her sides, as the horse was traveling at a leisurely pace.

The man leapt down from the horse and helped her move to the front, taking the reins and beginning their descent down a flight of stairs to a lakeshore.

"What is your name?"

Silence was all the answer she received.

They reached the shore and he pulled her unceremoniously, albeit gently from the back of the horse, but when he motioned for her to climb into the boat, Giselle balked.

"You abduct me from a cemetery, with no respect for hallowed ground, you force me to ride with you on a mad, dangerous jaunt through the woods, you drag me underground, and now you expect me to agreeably climb into a boat with you? I don't even know your name! And until you tell me who you are, and why you are taking me with you, then you may go to Hell alone, for I refuse to go another step."

His eyes darkened marginally, but he merely picked her up, dodged her angry hand, and laid her in the boat. He moved gracefully to the prow and shoved off before she could crawl out of the boat back onto shore.

And then he spoke, without turning to look at her.

"You must first cross the river to get to Hell. And as for my name…"

Giselle looked up at him. "Do devils have names, monsieur?"

He winced, remembering Christine's words as she asked him his name.

"Or do the angels, be they of Heaven or of Hell, have names?"

His jaw hardened and he stroked the oar through the water harder.

"You may call me the Phantom."

-

The early strains of dawn filtered through the stained glass windows of the cathedral, and Christine looked up at Raoul.

"I must be getting to the Opera," she murmured, looking absently at her hands. "Erik will, no doubt, look for me to be with Madame Giry."

Raoul resisted the urge to touch her again, turning his gaze away from her face to the window where the light had begun to shine through.

"I will take you there." He reached for her arm.

"I can walk alone, Raoul. You need not go with me."

Raoul looked at her and shook his head. "I will take you." he repeated, and Christine did not have the heart to refuse him.

-

Father Clare entered the sanctuary then, and stopped in surprise.

"Christine!" he exclaimed. "Viscomte! Whatever are you both doing here, and so early in the morning, too!"

"I…" Christine began, but Raoul cut her off.

"Mademoiselle Daae had come to visit the cemetery, Father. I am to escort her back to the Opera Populaire, now."

Father Clare's brow knit with confusion. "But surely, Viscomte, you had heard?"

Raoul frowned. "Heard what, Father?"

Christine bit her lip.

Father Clare's voice was full of joy when he answered. "She is no longer mademoiselle, nor Daae, Viscomte de Chagny! She has been wed! She is now Madame Couturier."

Raoul's face darkened. "Is that so, Christine?"

She nodded.

-

He snatched up her left hand suddenly, and his grip tightened when he saw the diamond engagement ring and wedding band. Her hand was clenched tightly around something, and when he uncurled her fingers, he saw a plain wedding band, the edges stained with blood.

"You married him, Christine?"

"Yes, Raoul. I married him."

"And he threw you out." Raoul whispered, anger heavy in his voice. "The bastard threw you out."

Father Clare, completely unaware of the emotion between the Viscomte and Christine, chose that moment to draw the rosary and prayer book from his vestments.

"Viscomte, I found these on the floor after Mass. It seems they were in possession of a young brunette girl who looked very much like Madame Couturier, and she left them behind in quite a hurry."

Raoul shrugged. "What business is that of mine, Father?"

Father Clare frowned. "It is quite your business, I believe." He opened the book. "Or was the Comtess Elise de Chagny not your mother?"

-

Christine remembered the girl. She looked at Raoul, her eyes full of confusion. "Whatever was she doing with your mother's prayer book?"

"A pretty girl." Father Clare observed. "Her name was Giselle, I believe. I thought she was simply passing through the city."

Raoul snatched the prayer book and rosary from the priest's hands. "Pardon me, Father, but we must be going. Christine is in need of my escort to the Opera house. I thank you for the return of my mother's belongings."

Christine allowed Raoul to hurry her from the cathedral before stopping him.

"What is going on, Raoul?" she asked, her expression not hurt, but frustrated and confused.

Raoul passed a hand over his eyes and led her to his horse. "I will explain everything, Christine. But later."

"When, Raoul?"

"Meet me for dinner tonight. I will explain everything."

"Raoul…I…"

"And you need not worry about the Angel of Music, little Lotte. Strict or not, I will have you back at a decent hour, and perhaps he will not even notice that you are gone."

-

The place where Erik took Giselle was not the mystical, candlelit, labyrinthial kingdom of music that he had borne Christine away to.

It was his home as it had been before Christine—dark, damp, and seething with emotions too strong for words, emotions that could be let out only through music.

He docked the boat and let Giselle scramble out after him as he stepped back into the darkness.

He walked up the steps to the dais where his organ still stood and lifted the white mask from the bench.

He turned to face Giselle, and in that instant, he was no longer Erik Couturier, Christine's husband and lover.

He was the man he had tried so hard to kill.

The Phantom of the Opera.

-

Giselle saw the strange man lift something from the bench, and when he turned, he was no longer the unkempt, tormented soul that had abducted her from the cemetery.

She saw a tall, elegant, debonair man, hair thick, black and slicked neatly away from his face.

His face.

It was perfect on one side, the skin smooth and unmarred, devastatingly handsome.

And on the other side, the side that she knew was twisted, scarred and horribly deformed, a half-mask of white leather had been placed, obscuring the deformity and giving the man before her an air of mystery and allure.

And then, every piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Raoul's voice echoed inside her head, telling her a story as she sat on the unmade bed in Madame Lavage's brothel, listening to his mad proposition and even wilder tale of how he had lost his fiancée.

"She was entranced by a voice, the voice of a man that she thought was an angel. You see, her father had promise to send her an Angel of Music when he died, and when that man began to tutor her, she thought he was that Angel. When he finally showed himself to her, she knew then that he was a man, but rather than hating him for his deception, she…she…"

"She what, mons…Raoul?"

"She fell in love with him…"

"An angel?"

"He was no angel. He had been terrorizing the Opera Populaire for over three years. They knew him as the Phantom of the Opera. His face was always obscured by a white half mask, leaving only the perfect half uncovered, giving the illusion that he was terribly handsome, but in fact, beneath the mask lay a demon's visage, a face so deformed, so distorted that it seemed hardly a face at all…"

"Yet she left you for him?"

"He made her choose between my life and his love…she chose him."

"So it was coerced?"

"Yes…in a way. But she loved him. I saw it in her eyes when she kissed him…"

Giselle closed her eyes. Raoul had cried then, had let his composure break, and she had seen how much a man could love a woman. It had given her hope. It had lasted only a moment, and he had been terribly brusque and businesslike afterwards, to make up for it. But she had seen the tears, and felt them on her skin when she had embraced him, and that was, perhaps, the moment when she herself had fallen in love with him.

When he had inadvertently let her see what no one else, except perhaps the real Christine, had.

The man in front of her cleared his throat, and the fear returned.

"You may call me the Phantom…"

This man was the Phantom of the Opera. He was Christine's Angel of Music. He was Raoul's enemy and rival.

He had murdered.

Giselle looked at his cold expression as he appraised her once more.

She was, no doubt, to be his next victim.