The carriage was waiting for us at the door. Outside it had begun to pour, and neither one of us had brought an umbrella. How typical we must have looked, two Frenchmen in black overcoats and dress wear, hurrying across the wet cobblestone to our carriage. To the passerby, we may have even appeared to be friends.

Once inside the dark carriage, I took off my fedora and smoothed back my hair.

"So, Monsieur, what is it we will be discussing tonight?"

Raoul looked more tired and older than I remembered. His dark eyebrows were furrowed as if troubled by something, and his long, straight hair silhouetted his boyish face in a very drab manner. He was startled when I spoke, as if thrown from a trance.

"Oh, well, I don't know much about architecture to be honest. I'll leave the technical thinking up to you. I thought we could just discuss some vague ideas over dinner with my wife. She's much more particular about design. She's more of an artist than I am. Always was…"

I nodded, feeling my stomach flutter once more. After this, the rest of the ride was in a somewhat awkward silence as I watched the raindrops race down the glass carriage windows. Eventually the storm ceased and the clouds parted to reveal a glorious moon, illuminating the countryside. I felt my mind go blank; I felt my body start to relax. I could have easily fallen asleep right there in the carriage across from my unknowing enemy.

When the carriage stopped I came back to life. A chill ran through my body as Raoul lit a lantern.

"What time is it?" I asked, yawning despite myself. The boy checked a gold pocket watch.

"It's only eight-thirty, Monsieur. If you'd like to go straight to bed, though, we could reschedule dinner."

I mumbled that tonight would be fine and followed the Vicomte and his lantern up to an impressive mansion. I didn't know what was becoming of me; usually I was wide awake at night. Perhaps it was the hours I had been spending awake during the day at the park these past few weeks. I'd always thought of myself as nocturnal, so I was ashamed to feel this drained.

Pillars held up the entrance to the house; statues and fountains littered the lawn. It was very grand, very classic: very much my style. The Vicomte turned a key in the hole of the heavy oak door and led me inside. Dim candlelight illuminated the hallways. I could see down them to a kitchen with a long wooden table where the light seemed to be unnaturally brighter. "And now we shall go to supper," said the Vicomte de Chagny, and I followed him nervously, breathing heavily and not bothering to return his fake smile.

The light in the kitchen was blinding. I felt dizzy, confused. I heard Raoul's voice somewhere far away, saying, "This is my wife, Christine. Christine, this is Monsieur Delacroix, the architect I told you about." I couldn't see her, I couldn't find her. The room was a blur. My face felt like it was burning, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I heard Raoul sounding concerned. The words were indistinct. I felt myself falling, slowly. "I'm dying," I thought, "I'm dying, right here." I felt cold as I hit the floor, and I looked up and saw the face of an angel, worried and bewildered, silhouetted against all that terrible light. "Christine…" I whispered through dry lips, and the world went black.

I awoke in a bed, alone. The velvet sheets were cool and soothing, the dark of the night a relief. I must have passed out. I only hoped that it had been a servant and not the Vicomte who had carried me to bed and undressed me. I cursed, feeling ashamed. How foolish I must have looked. Especially to Christine.

Christine. The name echoed in my head, and I felt chilled again. With a sudden jolt I realized that she was in the same house as me, most likely sleeping. I lay back down against the pillow, but shot back up in no time. I had to see her again. I gracefully climbed out of bed and opened the bedroom door noiselessly. I lurked down the hallway like a cat, barely even breathing. Of course, she'd be in the master bedroom with Raoul. But no bother, I'd see her. I crept up to the door and was about to turn the handle when my senses came over me. Raoul was in there. She was sleeping with him. So many things could go wrong if I opened that door. I sighed, frustrated. I needed to see her suddenly; it was like it was back when I'd lure her to me at the opera house. Just by seeing her face, just by knowing she was near, I was addicted. And I couldn't make it much longer; the wait was killing me.

Just then I heard movement downstairs. Like a hungry animal I crouched down and listened. Someone was down there- someone was playing the piano. Oh, could it be her? As far as I knew, Raoul had no musical talent. I crept down the stairs and followed the sound, carefully making my way down the halls in almost complete darkness. In the parlor, a candle was lit.

I could see the back of her small body as she sat at the stool of the piano, her fingers lightly touching its keys, slowly attempting to weave together a song alone in the dead of night. The notes were familiar- I had written them. I felt tears gather in my eyes. She was struggling. She gave up and rested her head against the instrument. It was in horrible need of tuning; it wasn't entirely her fault. I listened from behind the corner that led into the room as she wept quietly, thinking herself to be alone. Despite all the grief she caused me, I hated to hear her in pain and longed to comfort her.

"Erik…"

I jumped at the whispered sound of my name. But she hadn't noticed me. No, she was simply calling for me in the dark, not ever dreaming I could hear her. "Erik, please forgive me… please come back… I made a terrible mistake. Please don't let any of this be true, please… Erik…"

I couldn't believe it. Suddenly, a sickening feeling grew in my stomach as I remembered the words I had read less than a month ago in Nadir's newspaper. " b Erik is Dead /b ".

Oh, the poor child. She believed me to be gone forever. I no longer wanted revenge. I wanted to run to her, save her from her misery! I wanted to cry, "Christine, angel, it's me, it's me, your poor Erik! Oh, you haven't forgotten me, you haven't! And now we'll run away together, and you'll love me, I know you will. You'll love me more than that boy, and look, Christine! Look at this face I have made! Why, you didn't even recognize me! I am handsome, handsomer than your precious Vicomte… Everything is over now; we are free, Christine, we are free!"

I did all these things and more in my mind. But something caught me. As I was about to reveal my presence, a warning, sinking feeling of déjà vu struck me cold. I watched the girl cry, my sympathy draining. I remembered how I, too, had cried, for weeks on end. I remembered how she left me, with her hand in his, left me to die, like a sick dog, whimpering and pathetic, alone in my underground tomb. I remembered the words I had heard and the way they resonated, stabbing me again and again, leaving scars that would never heal.

i "He's a monster, Raoul, we must leave as soon as we can. If he finds me, he won't let me go…" "He's horrible; I'm so frightened; we must get away." /i And the most painful of all: i "It's in your soul that the true distortion lies…" /i

It was all about Christine. About her father, about her loss, about her confusion and pain. Never about mine. She cried because she felt guilty and alone. Not because I had died alone in a cellar, never feeling loved. I was suddenly sure of this. It kept more dangerous thoughts out of my mind.

I watched her cry cheap, hot, self-pitying tears for a few more moments. Then I coldly turned on my heel and went back upstairs to try to get some sleep again before dawn.