A/N: Thank you to all my readers. I hope this chapter meets with your approval, I am a little nervous about parts of it so please let me know what you think.

Thank you to my reviewers:

Gerry's Girl—I'm glad you liked it! I hope it didn't make you too sad;)

The Whisper—I cannot thank you enough for all your support with this story! Having a consistent reviewer has meant a lot to me. I hope the story continues to meet your expectations.

Thornwitch—Welcome! I'm glad you approve of Lucette. I like her too, but it's not like I'm biased or anything

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera.

Estrangement

When I finally lifted my head and glanced at the clock it was long past dinner time. I did not care. I was not hungry, I was exhausted. It had been years since I had cried as long and as hard as I had this evening.

I wearily rose from my bed and began to undress. As soon as I was in my nightshift, however, I felt horribly vulnerable. I had no idea how Erik had entered the piano room, but I worried that he might be able to gain access to any room in a similar fashion. I wandered around my room knocking on the paneling, looking under and behind furniture, and even taping the floorboards. All seemed secure.

A wave of anger suddenly overtook me. I felt ridiculous. Erik had reduced me to this state! Unfortunately, the anger left as quickly as it had come. I had the urge to cry again. I felt thoroughly betrayed. Erik and I had grown so close. I was doing my best to help him, and he had turned on me. He had tried to kill me. I wondered if he would have stopped himself or if he would have continued to squeeze until, drained of all life, I fell limp at his feet.

Whether he would have really killed me or not, I knew our relationship was over. He had proven himself untrustworthy. Even if we could rebuild that trust, I had intentionally kneed him (I blushed to think of it) where one should never knee a man with whom one hopes to maintain a friendship. I would never get over the embarrassment. I told myself repeatedly that I should not feel guilty or embarrassed. The man was an immediate threat to my life. I had simply responded to that threat with the minimal force necessary. I could tell myself these things, but I could not force myself to accept them.

I finally lay down and pulled the covers up to my neck. I had turned down my lamp but did not extinguish it. I lay in bed with my eyes wide open and my ears straining for the slightest sound.

While I thus waited in fear for Erik to somehow break in and finish the job, I reflected on the course of our acquaintance. Apart from any deeper, less rational feelings I might have had for him, I genuinely liked him. He was my most prized acquaintance, my dearest friend here at the opera, or anywhere for that matter. I hated the thought that I could not be with him ever again as surly as I hated his betrayal. I cursed him for ruining our friendship.

As I reflected, I began to see that perhaps I was not completely free of blame. He had given me fair warning to leave the topic be, but I had blundered on, determined to help him in spite of himself. I realized that I could offer help, but if Eric did not want it, I should respect his decision. I had been blabbering on about choice, and yet I was not respecting any of his choices. I would certainly never condone anything he did that was objectively wrong, but his decision not to court Christine was not objectively wrong. I had overstepped bounds, and he had reacted as he had done all his life.

I was mulling over all this for so long that I did not realize that I had fallen asleep until I awoke from a dream, the likes of which I had never had.

I dreamed that Erik had come into the room. He did not say a word, but came straight to me. I knew in my dream he did not come to hurt me; he came to comfort me. His hands caressed my shoulders where earlier he had bruised them. His mouth touched my lips gently, and then he made his way down to my throat where he kissed the bruises I would have to hide somehow on the morrow.

Finally he spoke as he continued to kiss me, "Forgive me, Lucette, forgive me."

I felt well loved and cherished in that dream. When I awoke I was more desolate than ever. I could not hide from myself the fact that I had wanted to be more to him than just a friend. Now I could not even be a friend.

I looked at the clock. It was just before six. I remember my grandmother telling me that the dreams we have in the early morning are the dreams that come true. I scoffed at the notion. I had just had an early morning dream that could never come true.

I tried to get back to sleep, but I could not. I was grieving for my friendship with Erik. I would never find another person with whom I was so perfectly suited. I wondered if he would miss me, if he would come to regret his actions.

Suddenly I realized that I was being cowardly. The man had been my dearest friend, and he had injured me. I would not run from him. I would confront him. I would apologize for my intrusive bluntness. I could not believe that he would attack me in anything other than a blind rage. I hoped that his anger had cooled overnight, and that we could talk as rational human beings. I knew that I would never be able to feel the same ease in his company, but perhaps something of our friendship could be salvaged.

Satisfied with my plan, I tossed and turned and dozed for about another hour and a half, at which point, I rose, dressed, and went down to breakfast.

When I entered the rehearsal room Mme. Giry was already there. She bid me good morning, and her brow furrowed.

"Are you quite well this morning, Lucette?"

"I am perfectly well, thank you."

"You look quite peaky."

I forced a smile on my face. "I'm afraid I did not sleep as well as I normally do, but I am quite alright. Thank you for your concern, Mme. Giry."

The ballet mistress seemed satisfied with my response for she did not inquire further. I pulled out the day's music and opened the piano. I went through some short pieces to warm up my fingers. I felt very clumsy today, and I did not want my personal problems to make practicing difficult for the corps de ballet.

The opening of Il Muto was the upcoming Friday, so we had only today and tomorrow in the rehearsal room. I wondered what Erik had in mind for the performances. Carlotta was still the countess and Christine was still the pageboy. It was not a topic often discussed between us for Erik knew that I did not approve of the way he planned Christine's career. Now I was doubly worried about what the show would bring. I had seen that Erik was as violent as Christine implied. I just hoped he would control himself.

Soon we were in the afternoon session of rehearsal, and finally we were dismissed. I headed directly for the piano room on my floor prepared for the confrontation.

The moment I opened the door I knew something was wrong. The candles were not lit, and I shuddered when I saw the note.

I grabbed it, and as I did so I realized that there was a small box in the envelope. I took the note out to the corridor where there was just enough light to make out the words. They ran thus:

Mlle. Sauvon,

I hope you will excuse my ill-considered behavior of yesterday, as I do yours. I realize that I have allowed our acquaintance to run rather rampant and must here curtail it. I find my attention is demanded by more important things than socializing with the opera staff. Please continue to consider the piano room as your own, and I shall not distract you again.

Your obedient servant,

O.G.

I could hardly believe the words I read. Surly he did not mean that this cold note would be the last contact I would ever have with him? I reached into the envelope and pulled out the box. Tears once again began to spill from my eyes.

It was a box of matches.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

I did not have the desire or the energy to utilize the piano room after that note. I had gone back into the room, but it was merely to call to Erik. I told him that I wanted to speak to him. I said that even if it would be the last time, I insisted on his taking leave of me in person.

I had no response. I had not really expected any, but it was still heartbreaking. I wondered at myself. I had originally intended to end our friendship. Why was I so mournful when he did it for me? I knew the answer. In the first rush of fear and betrayal I had made my plans to put a stop to our association. It was when I calmed down that I realized I wanted to save my friendship with Erik no matter what.

For him, it was the opposite. It was when he was calm that he decided to end the friendship. That horrible note was cool and well considered. It seemed that he thought there was not even a friendship to end. According to the note, what I thought of as a priceless camaraderie was, to him, 'socializing with the opera staff.' It was hurtful and humiliating. He had cut me out of his life more effectively than if he had murdered me.

I took a deep breath. We are born to strive and endure: I would do so. I would not do it on his terms, however. From then on I made the ballet rehearsal room my official room of evening composition. I could not compose at the site of my former happiness. I must confess that I did little better in the ballet room. I had lost the spark that had been driving my creative process. It seemed that when Erik left my life he took my music with him, but nothing would keep me from at least attempting to finish my opera.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

It was the night before the opening of Il Muto. The day's full cast rehearsal had gone remarkably well, so well, in fact, that the rehearsal was over at a decent hour. I felt a desire to at least play through some parts of Lisa and Erast (that was the working title of my opera as I though Poor Lisa a poor title).

As I neared the rehearsal room, I heard Christine singing. I was immediately nervous. I knew her singing lessons largely took place in her dressing room or the chapel. The only times she sang in the ballet room was when she was preparing for a role, and seemed to sing everywhere. I knew then, without a doubt, that Erik was going to do something tomorrow so that Christine would play the countess.

My first impulse was to try and stop him. He was going to get himself apprehended one day, and anymore 'accidents' surrounding Christine could ruin her career in the superstitious world of performing arts. I quickly stifled the impulse. Neither Christine nor Erik was any concern of mine. Erik already knew my thoughts on the matter, and Christine must learn to stand up for herself.

I turned away from the door, but stopped as I registered the song she was singing. It was a beautiful lullaby, one I had never heard before. It was nearly hypnotic, and the words were agonizingly tender:

Softly, deftly,

music shall surround you…

Feel it, hear it,

closing in around you…

Open up your mind,

let your fantasies unwind,

in this darkness which

you know you cannot fight—

the darkness of

the music of the night…

I knew I had no business listening to her sing, but it was so lovely. I listened to the end of the song. After she had finished there was silence in the room. I was worried she would suddenly emerge and catch me eavesdropping so I went back down stairs.

Something in that lullaby had rekindled my creativity, recalled my muse. Christine was in the dance room, I would simply have to go to the piano room. I had heard nothing of Erik for the past days. I felt that I could depend on his keeping his promise not to disturb me.

I pulled the box of matches from the pocket of my skirt and lit the candles. I sat, and in a short time music was flowing from my mind to my hands and the sounds escaped through the piano as a living reality. I worked this way for sometime, and then, suddenly, I could hear nothing of my own music but only the melody Christine had been singing. I realized I was playing it but did not stop myself, sometimes a break from my own music was beneficial.

"Stop!"

The shout shattered the spell of the music. My hands fumbled on the keys and stopped.

"Erik?"

"You have no business playing that!"

"You said you would not disturb me, and after all of your shameful conduct I would appreciate it if, this time, you kept your word." As I spoke, I realized the chance I was taking. The man I was speaking to had earlier in the week tried to strangle me. It seemed hardly wise to be impertinent, but somehow I did not think we would have the same sort of trouble again.

"You are disturbing me, so I say again do not play that song!"

"What does it matter to you what I play? And besides I should think that you have more important things to be doing that socializing with the opera staff!"

"I am not socializing; I am issuing a direct command, which you will obey!"

"Or what, you'll come in and strangle me? You've already tried that, maybe this time you will use your magical lasso, or simply burn me with the heat of your eyes? I've heard all this Erik, and didn't believe a word of it, but now you have betrayed that trust. So you might as well stop all your theatrics and just get down to what you are going to do!"

I was shouting at this point, but I did not care. I was furious with him. Hearing his voice again, knowing he could hear me, reminded me of everything I had lost. In that moment, I did not care if he did come in and threatened me. I would fight him, and if I lost, I did not care. I was disenchanted with life anyway. This world was a horrible place, in many ways I would be glad to leave it. The injustice of life had been nearly overwhelming of late: I knew my music would never have the life it deserved; I knew I would be forever frustrated; I had seen the face of my best friend for the first time, and saw that he had been brutally treat by nature; that same best friend had made an attempt on my life. All of these blows had made me careless. Deep in my heart, there was also the conviction, that when it came down to it, Erik would not kill me. This feeling added to my recklessness.

I received no reply to my outburst so I continued, "Well Erik? What is to happen now?"

Again there was no reply. I called his name one last time, but I knew before I opened my mouth that my final plea would also be unanswered. He had gone. I could not tell if I was relieved or devastated. In any case tears again stung at my eyes. I shook them aside. I had cried enough over Erik, and would try to do so no more.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

(Erik's POV)

I ran from her.

I was slightly ashamed of myself. The Opera Ghost never backed down. I was worried, though, that this time I really would kill her. I was furious with her, but I did not really want her dead. She had introduced a weakness into my character, which I could not stand. I had found myself doubting my course of action. There was no room for doubt in the dangerous games I played.

I had known for weeks that I would need to drop her, but she was addicting. Her thwarted musical talent endeared her to me as nothing else could. I found we had similar tastes. Our opinion on most subjects differed only enough to make conversations fascinating. Above all, I found that I enjoyed being treated as any other man.

I had been planning to retire the Opera Ghost soon, even before I met Lucette. I found my jaded palate now desired normality. I would have that when I married Christine. We would sit and chat over dinner; we would sing together; we would take walks in the park on Sunday afternoons. Until that time, I had found Lucette to be a pleasant taste of what was in store for me when I had my lovely Christine. A smile touched my ravaged face as I thought about it.

I was working on a mask which would be much less noticeable than my current one. With that mask and my Christine at my side, I felt I could brave the looks of strangers. Lucette would certainly not stop me.

My anger flared again as that blasted woman intruded on my pleasant thoughts. She had truly enraged me several days ago. She had dared to imply that Christine leaving me was an acceptable option. She had said that if I loved her I would let her go. Letting Christine go was the only form of blasphemy I acknowledged. Christine was my goddess. I would have her, there was no other way.

When I had let Lucette know this, the vile woman had implied that my uncompromising pursuit of Christine was what made me a monster. I snapped. I was in the room before I knew it. I wanted to break Lucette in two. I scared her and that pleased me, but she still maintained that I had a choice in my course with Christine. I showed her my face; even then she stood by her earlier pronouncement that I was only a monster if I behaved as such. She seemed to think that I had a choice. What choice is there with a face like mine?

My hand went to her throat and I was squeezing. I saw the pain in her eyes and was glad of it. I wanted to hurt her as she had hurt me. I kept a careful finger on her pulse: I would let her go before she actually died. As a person, I did not care if she were living or dead, but as an artist—I would indeed be under heavy culpability for extinguishing her talent.

Before she was even close to being dizzy, however, she extricated herself by injuring me. I winced at the memory. I had been sore for two days. It had been so very long since anyone had fought back that I was completely unprepared for the blow. She ran off, no doubt convinced that I would have really killed her.

I did not exactly regret my actions, but I was uneasy in my mind after them. I knew the hour had come that I must be rid of her. Soon Christine would be with me, and then I would have no desire for Lucette's presence anyway. I composed a note to reestablish myself as nothing more than the Opera Ghost, and she as nothing more than Mlle. Sauvon, an employee of mine. I allowed myself to open with something that was almost an apology. I threw in a box of matches as a final reference to a joke we had shared. I don't know why her opinion of me mattered, but it did, and it was with some regret that I placed the note on the table.

I had been determined to keep my distance. I did not think it would be as difficult as I found it to be. At least I did not speak to her. Today had been too much to bear, however. I began to fear that she might be right, that Christine really was in love with the damned Vicomte. I had been envious of him before, but somehow it had not occurred to me that I really could lose Christine over that titled fop. Lucette had planted the suspicion, and it had grown.

I was involved in these dark thoughts when I heard Lucette start to play in the distance. It had been days since I had heard her, and I convinced myself that there could be no harm in listening to her.

It was soon after I took up my usual position behind the back wall that she had started to play the lullaby I wrote for Christine. It was agonizing to hear it coming from her. It was meant to be a sort of love song, only for me and my goddess. To hear it played so gloriously by her was like having her witness the most intimate act of two souls.

I stopped her. She had the impudence to argue again. She had made light of my threat, she was abominable to me. I left before my anger got the better of me. I was angry with her for everything: for wasting my time, for suggesting I would have to leave Christine; I was even angry with her for seeing my face, though it was only through my lapse that she did.

Now that I was calmer, I remembered one of the things she had said. It was something about the tales of my magical lasso. I knew where she had heard that tale, and there were more where it came from. I did not mind having stories circulate about the Opera Ghost, in general they only aided my cause, but I did not like the stories from this particular source because most of them held an uncomfortably large portion of truth. One thing was certain: Joseph Buquet must be silenced.