A/N: HI!!! It's been so long since I've worked on this story! I've been on a MAJOR Dragonball Z kick for MONTHS! Make sure you read some of those! So here is long awaited Chapter Three!

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Flashbacks

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Wishing You Were Somehow Near


Chapter Three: Coming Home, Sweet Home

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The day bloomed as the mist on the bay grew slightly brighter. An ill- dressed vagabond stood in the long line of people waiting for passage on the Avenir Brillant.

Bright future, thought the figure, brightness filling her green eyes. How appropriate. Christine straightened the floppy cap on her bundled hair and sighed. No one in this crowd would suspect this ragamuffin to be the beautiful fiancée of the Vitcomte de Chagny. She grinned. Ex-fiancée is more like it. Soon there would be no more London, no more beatings, and no more Raoul.

After a few minutes, she found herself at the front of the line, ready to pay for passage home. She emptied the little purse of pounds and shillings onto the shabby wooden box serving as a podium. The first mate sifted through the money carefully and looked up at her with a grave face.

"Sorry lad, but your 'bout twenty pounds short," he said, not realizing that it was a 'lass' rather than a 'lad' that he was speaking to. Christine felt despair fill her heart.

"But... that's all I was able to get. Are you sure?" Her voice trembled, a note of coming panic hiding in it.

The burly sailor, genuinely surprised to find that he'd been mistaken in speaking of her gender, peered beneath the large cap. Taking in her injuries, he began to pity her quite sincerely. "I'm sorry miss. But look, there's still sometime before the boat leaves. Just run on 'ome and..."

"I don't have a home!" Christine cried, tears of frustration running down her cheeks. She sniffled and wiped her eyes, a childish dread overcoming her. "I can't go back there. He'll... he'll hurt me..."

"There, there now. Don't cry lass," the sailor said, laying a hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I'm sorry. Look 'ere, I'll tell you what we'll do. You get at least ten more pounds up, and I'll let you board."

Christine looked up at him in surprise. This complete stranger, with no way of knowing if she was truthful, was willing to help her. But still, how would she get ten pounds in the middle of the docks.

Her eyes suddenly went bright with a sudden idea. She grinned and took off her cap, letting her cascade of hair fall. She stepped back into a shadowed corner and took a deep breath. Her lovely voice poured from her throat into the gray air. People passing by stayed their hurried pace to hearken to the beautiful song coming seemingly from the shadows. Little handfuls of shillings and pound-notes began to fill the cap, which lay open like a beggar's hand pleading alms. She could have sung all day, but urgency tugged at her hand and she knew it was time to leave. She gathered up her earnings and counted them. She would gain passage on the ship after all, and still be ten pounds richer.

After receiving her key and cabin number, she walked the deck for a while to see if Raoul, or anyone, had followed her. It simply wouldn't do for her betrothed to find her running away to Paris to be with another man. She looked at her hands and found she was trembling. It's nerves, she assured herself, not wanting to admit it was pure fear. She couldn't acknowledge weakness, not after she'd come this far.

Soon becoming bored with traversing the deck, she made her way to her assigned cabin. As she inserted her key into the little lock, something flashed and caught her eye. She turned and saw a tall man glancing about, his burnished gold hair flashing in the rising sun. Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Surely it couldn't be... She gasped and he suddenly turned to her. Raoul.

She shrieked and fell to her knees, cowering from him. "No! You won't take me back! Go away!" She felt him seize her wrists and she screamed again.

"'Ere, 'ere! What's all this about then?"

Christine gasped, shocked out of her blind terror. Her head snapped up. It wasn't Raoul, only a mustached Englishman, closely resembling him in little things. She found her wrists not in Raoul's iron hand, but gently captured in the gentleman's. She almost laughed at her folly, but could not shake the feeling of fear. "Oh, I'm...I'm sorry sir. I didn't realize..."

"Not at all m'dear. Sorry to spook you," he answered, freeing her wrists. Looking at her bruised face, he could only guess whom she was so afraid of. Feeling a little awkward, he apologized again and tipped his hat.

As he walked away, Christine whirled around and slammed her fists into the wood, angry sobs wracking her body. This wouldn't do, being so paranoid of everyone who could be associated with Raoul. Every dark, glancing figure just seemed like one more informant on her whereabouts. It became obvious that she couldn't stay in the cabin. If Raoul had enough sense to know where she was headed, it would be far too easy for him to find her cabin. She couldn't risk that. What could she do?

A wooden thump caught her attention. She turned around and saw a strong- armed sailor rolling a large barrel out of the cargo hold. An idea formed in her mind, one that she found she liked very much. Would Raoul stoop so low as to search for her in a dank, dirty, fishy-smelling room? A smile crept over her lips. No, that prissy boy would probably faint at the smell. Deciding this to be her best choice, she gathered up her bags and made her way down the stairs of the hold.

Once she arrived, she wondered if she'd made a good choice. The rock of the ship was more pronounced down here, and the smell was pretty awful. The dampness in the air made her body throb under the bruises. But overall, she felt much safer hidden by all the piles of boxes and bags. It was doubtful that Raoul had followed her, but if she had learned one thing from her past escapades, it was to leave no loose ends.

A soft song floated down to her from the deck and she sat up, straining to hear. Some Irishmen were on deck, singing in a lilting harmony. Christine smiled, recognizing it as one of the many songs Erik had given her. He had not been serious and operatic all the time, and she remembered this being her favorite lullaby.

I'll take you home again, Kathleen

Across the ocean wild and wide

To where your heart has ever been

Since first you were my bonny bride

The roses all have left your cheek

I've watched them fade away and die

Your voice is soft whene'er you speak

And tears bedim your loving eyes

Oh, I will take you home Kathleen

To where your heart will feel no pain

And when the fields are fresh and green

I'll take you to your home again

"So take me to my home again..." she whispered as sleep overcame her aching body, and a deep calm overcame her aching soul.

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In a ritualistic gesture, a dagger's tip scraped its way down the stone wall. A jagged scar joined its many fellows across the rock. Erik's eyes swept over them, counting them wearily. Forty-three.

A long ragged sigh escaped his bosom and he stumbled away from the wall. He once again glanced around the room. The only good thing about the long days Christine had been gone was that he'd been able to restore the underground house to perfect condition. Sinking into the plush chair before the fire, he raised the fine crystal decanter to the almost forgotten glass beside him. The burgundy-brown liquid rolled into the glass and Erik stared fascinated at the curls of liquor. The color and richness in its flow threw his mind into memories of her long curling tresses, that rich brown with a perfection of red tints. His mismatched eyes trailed behind him to the scarlet velvet couch. He imagined her sitting there with him, her delicate frame leaning comfortably against him as they pored over his volumes of poetry.

You won't have to imagine Erik. Soon, she will be with you.

His undying trust in her had kept him alive all this time. After all that he lived through, Erik was not about to give up now. Christine had been his saving grace. She touched in him something he though quite dead long ago. Even after bearing witness to his crimes, his past and his face, she still gave him her heart. Fool that he was he almost lost it to that privy boy, if not for the love they already had for each other. The love that he used to think was one-sided.

Yet it was not only Christine who rescued him. He still remembered clear as day, when someone else was his savior...

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Erik sat calmly in his great black throne. As he watched the throngs of people pouring over the portcullis, he drew his cloak over his body and secured it to the nearly invisible hook. He dropped through the back of the chair into the hidden compartment as little Meg Giry rushed up to it. He watched through the false décor as her tiny hand grasped the thick cloak and ripped it away expectantly.

Erik smirked as he saw her face fall in disbelief. Slowly she reached down and picked up the white leather mask from the velvety cushion. She turned it over in her hand, puzzlement written on her brow. He watched amused for a second and gasped quietly as her green eyes flashed up to meet his through the backing. Of course it was pure coincidence that she happened to meet his eyes for she could not see him. Ironically his gasp gave him away anyway.

For many minutes, their eyes remained locked on each other's while loud crashes and clamors erupted in the house. Sweat ran rampant down Erik's face, certain she could hear the rapid thunder of his heart. Surely, surely she must soon alert his pursuers to his presence. Then he saw her smile slowly at him through the barrier.

"He's not here!" Meg cried out, her face puzzled again. Erik's heart stopped. She was... protecting him? Why?

"Ov course 'e ees 'ere!" La Carlotta Guidicelli screeched. She held in her hands a stack of music and went to cast it into the hearth, now blazing with broken furniture. Meg gasped and rushed to her, wrenching the papers out of her hands, ripping a good deal of them.

"No! He's gone! We're wasting our time!" She insisted, trying her hardest to save the music.

"There's a boat crossing that lake!" A stagehand called. Erik stiffened. Christine was in that boat! They might shoot if they got desperate enough! In a rush of inspiration, he threw his voice effortlessly to come from the other side of the lake. His mad, mocking laughter rolled back over the water to reach the eager ears of the mob.

"Look! On the other side!" M. Firmin cried. Erik smiled, grateful he'd remembered to leave a lantern lit on the other dock.

"I'm here! I'm here! Chase the ghost, my friends don't stop! Don't stop!" As if on cue, the mob dropped their agenda and moved at once to follow the voice. Another thanks went up as Erik marveled at their gullibility. Madame Giry went to her daughter and took her hand, but Meg shook her head and motioned for her to go on. Her mother paled and frowned worriedly, but eventually followed the mob, shouting futile cries to stop their mad assault. Meg breathed a sigh and turned away from the throne. She placed the mask on the armrest and walked towards one of the remaining couches.

"Is she safe?" she asked simply.

He flinched. How did she know...never mind. Without a thought, he answered her. "Yes mam'selle. Quite safe. The boy too," Erik said sadly.

"M'sieur," Meg said, bringing him back to the present. "Will...will you please come out? I'd like to talk to you."

Erik remained motionless for a moment. Surely she had no quarrel with him if she didn't immediately run to the mob to ferret him out. Very carefully, he extracted himself from the throne and reached for the mask, replacing it. He stared at the young dancer's back, contemplating this unexpected surprise. Quietly he cleared his throat. Meg flinched and turned to face him. She drew in a long breath as her eyes traveled his tall figure. Recovering, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Erik was surprised by her sudden change in attitude.

"I want you to look into my eyes Monsieur le Fantome, and tell me truthfully. Is Christine safe? If you cannot answer that, I will not hesitate to inform them of your whereabouts," she said cooly, with a note of command in her voice.

Probably got it from her mother, Erik thought, biting back a smile. But he merely returned the cool expression and gazed steadily into her green eyes.

"You've nothing to fear, young Giry. Christine is safe. She and the boy were in that boat."

Meg searched his eyes for a long moment. Then her shoulders relaxed and she allowed herself a small smile. "You let them go?"

Slowly, Erik nodded. "She chose me, but she left with him, to keep him safe I suppose."

"You do not need to convince me m'sieur," Meg assured him. "I've known for a long time of Christine's feeling's. She loves you...very much."

A ghost of a smile passed over his face. He still felt the heat of her lips on his, their softness, their taste. If he lived to be a thousand, he could never forget that.

"I know. I only fear that the boy will try to interfere again, or...or convince her to stay with him." The very thought sent chills down Erik's spine.

"Did she promise to return?" Meg asked, knowing how personal this situation was. But he nodded immediately and she smiled. "Then she will. Do not doubt her love for you m'sieur. I know Christine. She'll be back." The two looked at each other for a few moments and at last, Erik reached out and laid his hand on hers. She glanced down at it, then back up into his eyes.

"You should be off mam'selle. They'll wonder what's become of you."

Meg's eyes suddenly lit up with fear. "Yes! They'll realize they've been tricked and then, they'll be back to kill you!" The ballerina began feverishly wringing her hands and Erik merely smiled ruefully. Very calmly, he retrieved one of his spare masks and went to the ravaged organ. Deftly he plucked a bottle of his favored red ink and spilled some onto the white leather. Meg shuddered at the gruesomeness of the effect.

"Come on," he commanded, grabbing her hand. He led her to the edge of the lake and spilled the rest of the ink into a shallow pool and tossed the empty bottle into the water. He turned to her, his eyes full of power.

"Now listen to me," he said in a voice that demanded total obedience. "I'm going to fire off a shot. When you hear it, scream, as loudly as you can. I know you can do that. No sooner, no later than the shot. Do you understand?"

Meg nodded quickly, taking the "bloodied" mask from him. Erik climbed up like a cat onto a rocky crag and removed his pistol. Aiming down away from her, he squeezed off a shot.

The tremendous noise echoed through the cellars, mingling discordantly with Meg's panicked scream. Ever an actress, she promptly fell to the ground in a mock faint. Erik admitted silently that she played her part remarkably well as the first few knots of people poured back into his home. Madame Giry shrieked when she saw her daughter and fell to her knees. This called the attention of many and they all went to see if the girl was alright.

"Is she breathing?"

"Did he shoot her?"

"Check her pulse man!"

Meg picked this moment to groan and let her eyes flutter open.

"Oh, ma cher infant!" Madame Giry sobbed, uncharacteristically throwing her arms around the child.

"Where ees 'e?!" Carlotta shrieked. Erik cringed. That woman was truly abominable.

"Whoo..." Meg croaked, trying to calm her thundering heart.

"The Ghost of course!" Andre thundered.

"Ghost? Ohh...he...shot himself. Dead... the lake..." She gestured with the "bloody" mask to prove it.

"It's true, there's blood in the water," a stagehand said, a note of disappointment in his voice. Erik grinned. Probably wanted to do it himself.

"Well looks like we're free, eh Andre?" Firmin sighed. His partner nodded and breathed a long breath of relief. The mob murmured assent and began to depart. Madame Giry helped Meg to her feet and led her off. Erik thought quickly and threw his voice to whisper in Meg's ear.

"Thank you child." Meg stiffened and glanced back. "Don't fear. I will not bother those fools again. But do tell your mother that I am well and I will need her services at a later date. Adieu."

Meg looked about and her mother turned her head.

"Meg dear, what is it?" She asked concerned.

"Oh, I...it's nothing maman. It's just, I think I can still hear his voice. In my head," she mused, knowing how very true that was.

"The Angel is always there child," the old lady sighed, holding her daughter more closely. "Always..."

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A discordant sound snapped Erik out of his thoughts. He looked up at his grand organ and grinned as he watched a white ball of fluff skip across the polished keys.

"Melissa," Erik smiled, rising to go to her. "What a musical thing you are. Come here. I'm sorry for neglecting you." He picked up the tiny kitten and cradled her in his arms. The little cat mewed softly and settled into his arms, purring happily. He returned to the chair and sat for many minutes, stroking his little housemate. Unconsciously, he slipped into thoughts of his other lost love.

Ayeesha. He'd found her two weeks ago, mewling pitifully, her normally bright eyes dull and cloudy. Someone had poisoned her. He didn't know if it was deliberate or if she'd eaten the poisoned bait the ratcatcher put out, but either way, Erik was losing one of his best friends. He decided not to let her suffer and ended her life painlessly, continuing to stroke her until she stopped breathing. For a week he ate little, slept less and composed nothing. He would lie on the couch for hours, weeping more than he ever had in his life.

But then, that day arrived. He'd gone out to pick up flowers to lay on his little love's grave when he heard voices in the alleyway.

"Hold it's mouth open Pierre! I wanna touch its tounge!"

A burst of boyish laughter turned Erik's stomach, which was quickly followed by a small, desperate cry. He quickly rounded the corner and spied a knot of young boys bending over something small, helpless and alive on the ground. Anger flared up over the sadness in Erik's soul and he stalked over to them. His malevolent shadow descended on the group and they turned fearfully to face him. He didn't need to say a word, the lot of them sprang up and fled.

With a grunt of disgust, he gave a final glare in their direction and turned his attention to their victim. It was a small, scrawny, white kitten, barely finished weaning. Her fur was caked with filth and there was a glass bottle tied to her tail with a string. How anyone could be so cruel to this little treasure was beyond him and he bent to pick her up. As he took the string off of her, she stirred and looked up at him. Erik was startled by her eyes. They were a brilliant violet and sparkled with life. At the sight of another human, she let free a barely audible hiss and raked her tiny claws over his leather glove. Erik smiled and lazily caressed her back. Immediately she decided he was no threat and relaxed into a furry ball in his palm. He continued his caresses all the way home.

Melissa proved a godsend. She wasn't nearly Ayeesha's replacement, but she was a lovely companion to him anyway. She ate when he did, which was now more frequently, and slept anywhere she pleased. Mostly she found her comfort was in Christine's room. Erik hoped this meant that she would like the future occupant.

As he thought of his beloved, he retrieved the letter from the side table; The letter written in his love's tender hand.

My Erik,

I'm sorry. I never should have left you. Raoul has decided to make things more difficult than I thought. I am writing to you now from London. Stubborn little ass that he is, he has his housekeeper accompany me everywhere, and I was only able to give you this letter through Meg's hand. But do not despair. I will find away back to you. Or I shall die trying.

I love you,

Christine

A fuzzy paw suddenly batted at the parchment, causing it to fold over. Erik sighed. "Melissa, can you not bear to see me read?" He smiled and stroked her downy fur, humming a soft tune into the air, carrying his love on the wings of a song.

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AT LAST! Chapter 3 is da-da-da-duh-da-DONE! SO sorry this took soooo long, but now it's there, for all the world to review! So please do!