Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own the phantom of the opera…(tears)

A hazy mist blocked his gaze, although he didn't care. He was alone again, sitting in his pitch black lair. All was silence, nothing moved, except for his arm which lazily pressed a thin needle in to one of his veins.

A dreamy smile slid across his face and his eyes remained half open, half closed. A tiny drip of crimson blood sailed down his arm, a deadly reminder that he had not finished injecting the morphine. Meaning, his dream world lie just beyond the press of the stinging needle.

With a gently push, he shoved the drug into his vein, a soft chuckle erupting from his throat. He was almost there! The effect was taking an agonizingly slow pace, but he was almost there. The bloody needle fell from his hand and clattered loudly to the floor. Colors swirled before his eyes, some of the deepest greens to the lightest of blues. He could hear the beating of his heart, the rapid melody slowing to a soft hum. His body went slack and he finally, to his delight, fell into the addicting dream world he could not live without.

Here, anything could happen. Here, he was the master and all those who had hurt him, were the dogs. Here Christine loved him and had let him kill that bastard she was set to wed. Here, he has a normal, beautiful face. Perhaps that's why he liked his world so much, the ability to see a normal Erik without the accursed deformity hanging on to his face. He lifted himself off the floor and stumbled to his organ. Slamming his fingers onto the keys, he listened to the haunting melody blend with the beat of his heart.

Insanity swirled throughout the caverns, bellowing at the heavens, shaking the ceiling with it's force. It was sweet, intoxicating, yet sorrowful at the same thing. He stopped, breathing heavily although he didn't do much and waited.

All was silent.

Where is she!

"Christine!" he called innocently. She should have been there by now, as she had always had. Not the real Christine of course, but morphine Christine. The one that always joined him at the organ and sang to him with her pure voice until he fell into his drug induced sleep. Although, this time, she didn't come.

The ceiling glistened and little wispy angels fluttered around them and in to the diamond filled water which seemed to jump up and eat them alive. His eyes glazed over as he studied them, watching enviously as they darted across the room. Drawing in a deep breath he reminisced in the air that could almost take his breath away, the scent was that amazing! Like a roses and lilacs… The scent of Christine.

"Chr-Christine? Where are you my sweet?" All was silent and a tear slid down his face. Now huddling close to himself he began muttering under his breath,

"Where.. Where is she! She should be here, I need her! I want her, sing.. Sing!" He shouted the last word as loud as he could before crumbling into the piano bench. She was forgotten instantly as he began to sing to himself, over and over, that same little tune that echoed around the cave like a little angelic whirl wind. It captured his attention and held it, fixating the rest of his clouded mind on it. It began to drive him insane, the constant echoes, though he dare not stop.

The music must never stop or it would leave him forever. Over and over he sang, his eyes tearing, s little bead of sweat rolled into his eye, but still he continued. He ripped at the cloak, shredding it violently. Minutes passed of the slow agonizing tune, his chest now bare. His mind screamed at him to stop, but he didn't.

He ripped at his chest sending stabbing pain to his chest. Everything suddenly darkened, darker still.

The music must not… STOP! He jumped off the chair, falling to the floor, his vision spinning with past memories. He jerked back and forward, still singing, though now, the music was raspy and worn

The cold stone bit into his back, it was too dark, his eyes rolled in to the back of his head, begging for the sweet release of sleep. He lie their motionless, finally drifting into a restless sleep. It still echoed in his mind, that song… that song that she sang, that he would never forget.

"He'll always be there singing songs in my head…."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He'll always be there singing songs in my head… Christine shot her head out of her hand abruptly, glancing wildly around for Raoul.

"Wha…. What was that?" She sputtered, meeting his eyes across the table.

"Oh my, my, Christine! Always drifting off in the middle of important conversations! How will you ever become an appropriate vicomtess if you don't use these!" He reached across the table and gave her ears a little tug jokingly.

"Well I'll just go and read a book about it than. It's called, How to be el Perfect Vicomtess in the eyes of Raoul" She said sarcastically, but seeing the look on his face, gave him a slight smile. His breath was ragged and had a nice pink rue over his cheeks.

"Upon your request, I have chosen what the cooks will be preparing on our wedding day!" He said almost all to excited. He nearly tripped and fell off his seat when he bounded around to show her an intricate piece of fabric he would be ordering for some odd part of the wedding, although it was totally unnecessary. Christine forgot half the things he would say, seeing as they always seemed to drift off the wedding topics.

"Are you sure your feeling all right?" she had asked him earlier when she thought he was looking a little too red. He had shocked immensely, to the point where she almost behaved un-lady like and let her jaw drop. Jumping out of his chair, he criticized her for questioning his decision, saying he was a far better judge on fine cuisine than she would ever be. He had of course apologized the minute he saw the demon pop back into her eyes, but she had given him the choice of choosing the food matter anyway.

"Are you sure you are alright? You look awfully tired. Perhaps we should stop just for a while and you could get some rest…"

"St-stop! Are you mad Christine! It is only a 2 bloody months before we wed! We can't put this off! You stupid woman! Have you no idea how this needed! IN fact, all women are down right bloody ignorant wenches…" With that, Christine lunged out of her chair and turned to grab Raoul by the scruff of his neck. Fire blazed in her eyes, the dark angel resurfacing.

"How dare…" The look of sheer panic in his eyes washed all the evil out of her, replacing it with concern. The lively blue orbs were glazed over with sickness and fear, little crows feet etched in to the sides of his young handsome face. Heat radiated off his coat collar and her pale hand instantly went to his head. She fought back a grimace and stroked the side of his face. It burned to touch him for so long!

"Raoul, sweet, forgive me for that little out burst, but now. Come! Go to bed, you're burning up, come!" She whispered urgently to his reddening face. The grimace on his face turned to a sneer as he gave her an vicious glare.

"De Changys, do not get ill, mademoiselle!" With a forced grunt he pushed her aside, sending her to the floor. Her face met wood as she slapped the ground. Not far behind her she heard a rasped 'help!" and a very loud thud.

"Raoul!" She shrieked running to is crumpled form. Her heart raced, his body quivered and he mouthed something along the lines of,

"Only family can come…" A tear fell from her eye, dribbling elegantly down her chin.

"Help! Maids! Maria! Help me!" The muscles in her body screamed as she attempted to lift Raoul off the kitchen floor. Two servants burst into the room, Maria being one of them and rushed to her.

"Mademoiselle Christine! What happened?" Said Maria, bending over to look at the twitching sweaty heap in her arms.

"He-he collapsed and… He's dreadfully ill! We need to get him to a bed… I need to get a doctor!" Three other servants flooded in and removed Raoul from her trembling arms. She let go reluctantly, trailing behind the men as they made their way to his room.

"Mademoiselle! You must get a doctor, NOW!" barked a maid sharply, blocking the door way to the room. Nodding grimly, she took the stairs two at a time and rushing out the door to fetch Clover.

"Ride!" She whispered darkly into the horses ear, nudging his sides gently. Sensing the hostility in her voice, Clover fled. All the while, Christine could not stop thinking off Raoul's health.

Do not let him die on me! I love him, he is like a brother to me and I can't let him die like this! Please keep him safe my lord! Please… A little buzzer went off in her brain. 'A brother! He's your fiancé, not just a brother!' It told her firmly. Her heart nearly flew out of her chest to protest at this but with a stronger will, she pushed that topic in to the back of her thoughts to think about on a dank rainy day.

The minutes passed, feeling more like hours to Christine's heavy heart when she finally reached the village. She spotted Meg, looking quite disturbed and restless, a bit edgy and pale. Her weird attitude went unnoticed to Christine as she leapt from the horse. Meg yelped in horror as Christine landed with a graceful thud besides her. With a gasp, Meg fell to the park bench beside her panting,

"Christine! Thank heavens it's you! Look we must talk, I have something awful to confess to you!"

"No time Meg! I already know, where is the doctor? Is he with your maman?" Seeing the there's-no-time-for-chats-or-any-other-forms-of-frivoulus-and/or-important-information mood about her, Meg just pointed towards the small café at the end of the street where she had just met him to talk about her mother's health.

"Thanks!" With that, she climbed back onto the horse and set off down the street.

Earlier…..

Everything was dark in his lair. No shadows, no movement, nothing. Except for the throbbing pains in his head and arm. Groaning, he slicked back his frazzled black hair and tried to recall the events from the morphine. His mind went blank.

I must stop using so much at a time! It will run out much faster… A low growl emitted from his throat, deep and dangerous. He held the empty container before his face, glaring at it as though, if he starred long enough, it would magically refill.

Stop fooling yourself! You had to go up to the surface sooner or later. Sighing, he lifted himself groggily off the stone floor, adjusting his eye sight to the gloom around him. Like a bullet, the same addictive pains hit his gut, begging for more off the soothing drug.

"Damn." he swore under his breath. He would be resurfacing sooner than he thought. He dressed hastily and wandered through the disserted tunnels until… He hissed a series of colorful language under his breath as the sun captured his frame. The bright shinning ball in the sky rained it's unholy light on to his pale skin. It burned his eyes and heated his mask and body till where he was sweating.

"Cursed bloody sun! My addiction is controllong me almost as much as my dear Christine did...!" He stiffend up suddenly, reaching his full height. On the outside, his pride won the war against the heart, but inside, his ferociuos pride sould never lift a finger to the bloody mass that was left of his heart. It dared not even get close to his heart, for fear of unwanted pain and horrible self pity. Putting up his hood, he his in the small shadows and alleyways, trying to remain unnoticed.

Alas, Erik's luck was wearing thinner and thinner because people did notice him. He couldn't blame them though, the thought that someone would be fully clothed and hooded in this sweltering weather was preposterous! He could, on the other hand, hate them with a fiery passion.

If they only knew… They probably still wouldn't bloody care! he mused silently to himself, as he passed a café on the edge of an immense park. It was covered in weeping willows and would be hard for someone to find him in the maze of green tentacles. As he was about to cross the street, he over heard a conversation that brought forth all of his undividedattention.

"…your mother, the Madame Antoinette Giry." He paused hearing his dear friend's name being uttered. Quickly and quietly, he strode into the corner café, taking a seat at a table not far from the two conversing and opened up a news paper. Meg Giry and a red haired man, around 30, quite attractive sat conversing softly. Meg smiled and winked at the red head.

Erik's mind instantly flashed to one conclusion: Another deceitful relationship. That girl has got to learn some control! She's already got… well had Raoul, and barely 2 days later, she's got another one! Where is her mother to put her in her place? Dying for the answer, he listened intently, hanging on their every word.

"She will get over the disease, won't she? I mean.. it is curable, correct?" Meg's voice shook slightly with panic. Her finger nails were almost completely gnawed off and little red marks lined the cuticles.

Disease?… Madame… No, it can't be! She's much too cocky to bring this upon herself. It cannot be! His mind set to work trying to convince himself that it was another person, but his conscious said otherwise. You already know what is to come, telling yourself lies does no good whatsoever. Except make you look even more like a dim witted fool. Erik's stomach dropped and rolled around in the deep chiasm.

"There is a slight chance that she may, in fact, not make it, but it's most likely that very soon, she would be bound to get better. It is only a mild case of Chronic Bronchitis…"

"Well than why has it taken her more a little more than a year to fight it off? It has to be something worse if it's lasted this long though! Really, my dear monsieur, it has to be something else! My maman will not be defeated so easily by a 'mild case' of… Brononti.. Chronos?" Meg flared, a red tinge coming to her cheeks.

"Chronic Bronchitis, mademoiselle." The doctor, it had to have been a doctor, looked mildly surprised and raised an attentive eye brow.

"Yes, yes… Ermm.. Chronic Bronchitis. Yes, yes."

"I can assure you Mademoiselle Giry that this will go away soon, for it can't possibly be anything else! I have researched this many times. Shortness of breath, constant violent coughing fits, chest pains, it all fits very well with the particular illness." Meg flinched at every symptom mentioned, as though she could feel them too.

"Yes… You are the doctor, I'll have to rely on what you say. Yes."

No, no, no… This didn't sound right to Erik. If it was what the good doctor said it was, well than it should have been gone by now, especially if it had been a year… A year! She must have taken ill right after the incident… Erik's mind fell in to deep thought as went over the possible diseases and treatments in his head.

"I will come tomorrow to continue the prescribed treatment. Until then, Mademoiselle Giry." He went into a mock bow and kissed her hand daintily as though she were no better than a common street whore.

"Au revoir." responded Meg disdainfully. The man strode out of the café, acting as thought nothing in the world could bother him, just like most Parisians. Erik stifled laughter as he watched Meg hold in what had to be about a thousand questions and comments on his behavior. Meg sighed, picked up her ruddy purse and walked out, Erik not far behind her.

"Good day Mademoiselle Giry." Spoke Erik right behind her. She jumped about a half a mile in the air and whirled around. Seeing who the voice belonged to, her mouth dropped in abject horror, her pallor whitening the once flushed cheeks.

"Come. I would like to inform you that I will be visiting your mother this upcoming Thursday to check on her health. You will tell her that, understood?" Meg starred numbly at the tall black figure, before mouthing.

"Opera… Ghost!"

"Yes, I was indeed the opera ghost, but I find it rather grating when others speak so informally of me." His tone was low and sarcastic. He would have enjoyed using his famed 'death' voice to scare the living daylights out of the frightened chorus girl, but his mission was to make her listen. And that she did.

"I might forget… Unless, you tell me why you killed Piangi!" She retorted defiantly, a mocking gleam in her eye.

"I disposed of him because they annoyed me… Just like you are doing right now, Madame." There was livid terror in her eyes as she nodded furiously but remained standing.

"Just one more thing… Monsieur Phantom. Why Christine?…" Anger flared in his eyes and a cold sweat ate at the back of his neck.

"If I were you I'd keep my nose out of my business, prying Pandora." He purred darkly, moving closer to grace her neck with a calloused finger.

"Oiy!" she squeaked backing up. A sly grin slid across his face.

"Remember my dear. Tell your mother! Or you might have the liberty of meeting Piangi and Bouquet on the other side." Her eyes widened and she nodded her head dully. Grinning to himself, he spun around, his cape flying behind him when,

"What is your name?" He turned the hooded(masked) side of his face to her and called,

"Erik." and was gone.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mademoiselle Daae, please understand that this will be a very intricate and difficult procedure. The poison is already spreading and we need to dissect the inflected flesh." Christine sucked in the air as if it would all run out if she did not breath it all it right than and there.

"Where exactly did the poison come from again?" Her head spun with the effort not to pass out. She bit her lip and nodded along with the doctor.

"A rare spider from India.(A/N: no this spider does not exist, I couldn't think of any good spiders that would cause the needed symptoms!) Your husband is the new Patron of the up coming Opera Spectacular, non?"

"Yes, but what does…"

"These arachnids latch themselves on to cargo cases and can live for weeks in trade. It's unusual for a spider to last this long, but it is possible. There's no need to worry though. He is in good hands." Christine continued to nod repeatedly, barely hearing the doctors words.

"The surgery will be simple. Remove the flesh that has come in contact with the venom and stitch him back up. Since it's recent, there will be only a minor area to remove. If you don't mind, I would like to perform it here."

"Yes, Monsieur Solange Martineau. We will supply you with whatever you need, just please, save him!" Her voice was soft and pleading and Solange couldn't help but feel pity for the shaken woman.

"I'll do what I can but I'll need to borrow your maids for the time being." She nodded once more and called in Maria.

"Maria, bring monsieur Solange whatever he needs. Stay with him the rest of the evening please. I will be downstairs." The doctor nodded curtly and turned to the pudgy maid besides him. Christine half sleep walked, half ran down the stairs and collapsed on to the enormous beige sofa. She fell asleep instantly the minute head touched the silk fabric.

THANK YOU REVIEWERS! RED ROSES WITH PURPLE RIBBONS FOR ALL OF YOU!