From Chapter Three

This man sure played the part well. He lived here…He played beautifully…His voice was flawless…just…There was just one more thing she needed to make herself believe.

Slowly, Natalie snuck up behind him, careful not to catch his attention, which, at the moment was focused completely and totally on his music. She took a deep breath and closed the last foot of space between them.

Quickly, Natalie reached up to grab the porcelain half-mask, wrenching it from the man's face.

Before she could register anything, the man had whipped around fiercely, exposing his ravaged flesh.

Natalie's eyes widened as they raked his face. Sickly, yellow skin was stretched over half of his face. Natalie was compelled to remove this mask as well, but she knew this time that it was the real thing.

In a fit of rage, the man snatched his mask from her hand and fitted it back over his deformity.

"Damned girl, get out. Now."

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Chapter Four

"This - " Natalie breathed faintly, "this is impossible. Where am I?"

She knelt on the ground in front of the man she was now sure was the legendary Phantom of the Opera, her face pale and her eyes astounded. She looked up into his masked face, the free half contorted with rage.

"Where am I?" She repeated, louder now, her voice trembling. "Where am I?" She screamed, breaking contact with those amber eyes to look at the stone floor.

Erik looked down at the obviously confused and distraught young woman before him. He took a deep breath, letting his anger be replaced with amazement.

"Mademoiselle Renoir," he began skeptically in a low voice, "you truly expect me to believe this far-fetched, to say the very least, tale you have related to me?"

"It's the truth. I swear it," Natalie whispered sincerely.

Erik frowned down at her, his mind working furiously.

"Get up."

Natalie got shakily to her feet.

"How did this happen?" She asked Erik.

His eyes bored into hers, searching for any sign of a lie. He found none.

"I don't know." He said simply, turning and walking over to a crimson settee, motioning for her to follow, and then taking a seat.

Natalie scowled and sat beside him, her confidence returning.

"You don't know? You have no idea?"

Erik felt anger welling up inside him at her tone. She expected him to know how she had appeared?

"Mademoiselle," Erik began through gritted teeth, "I am not all-knowing. Now, as I recall, earlier you mentioned something about Christine…and the Vicomte." His face hardened as he uttered the last few words.

"Yes," Natalie replied, folding her arms and laying back on the settee. "It was him she chose. She married him, had his children, and died in…1917, I believe it was."

Erik growled and clenched his fist.

"This is preposterous," he muttered.

"How long have you known about the Vicomte?" Natalie asked Erik, wanting to know what part of the story she had stepped into.

"She told me about him last night, after her performance. She was absolutely giddy. It was repulsive and I told her so."

"Did you?" Natalie asked him, raising her eyebrows.

"I don't approve of him."

"Well you wouldn't, would you?"

"What the devil is that supposed to mean?" He spat.

"He's going to take her from you unless you do something about it; I would say you have a perfectly good reason not to approve of him." She explained.

"It won't happen."

"It might."

"IT WON'T!" He shouted, standing abruptly.

Natalie stared up at him in silence, her arms folded across her chest.

"I can help you," she stated simply as he glared down at her.

"Oh really," he snapped wickedly, "and how is that?"

"Well, I know the story, don't I? I know how everything's going to turn out. So now we can do everything in our power to stop her from leaving with him. I can tell you what and whatnot to do; I can help you make decisions."

Erik's mind worked furiously. Here was this strange girl from the future, asking to help him. It was ridiculous, and yet, if she was right, Christine could be his.

"And the Vicomte?" Erik asked.

"What about him?"

"How will we keep him from sticking his nose - or anything else for that matter," he added nastily, "- where it doesn't belong."

"I will do my best," Natalie offered, "to keep him away from Christine."

There was a pause, and then:

"If you ever stray from me or turn out to be pretending, I swear to you I will snap your neck and hang you up from the rafters for all the world to see," he vowed, his voice cold.

"…Deal."

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Congratulations go out to our beloved Phantom for being the longest-running musical on Broadway!

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