This is the last chapter! I'm sad the story's over... Thanks so much for all the reviews, I love you guys! You've really helped me get through this story. And of course, please review for this chapter!

Chapter 17

The thin Aminta costume glittered in the dim light. Its gold skirt glittered and winked at Christine, and she swirled around, watching it flutter about her legs, mesmerized. She heard a faint creak on the floorboards behind her and ignored it. A throat cleared. Christine slowly turned around. Erik stood behind her, and she watched him. Fear had rapidly turned to anger as soon as he had left yesterday, and anger had stayed right up until this moment. Now Christine felt her anger flee from her, and a wave of sadness and disappointment crashed down instead.

Christine was speechless in its grasp, and stared blindly up at the image of Erik in front of her. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, and opened his mouth to speak when Christine cut him off.

"I loved you," she whispered hoarsely, and turned and fled from the room. Erik helplessly watched her leave. He turned to the clock. Five thirty p.m. There was still another two hours until the performance, and he knew Christine would have to go into makeup in another hour. He hurried after her swiftly retreating back, panic swelling in him. Something urged him that this was the last chance. Time hissed in his ears and pushed him on.

Erik ran down the old wooden hallway, and up the stairs, and there was Christine, collapsed in the Silent Room. This time, there were no little floating lights filling the room. Clouds had moved in and the room was dark and shadowy. "Christine!" Erik exclaimed. She turned her pale face up to his. He collapsed on his knees in front of her. She shrunk away from him.

"Christine, please… please, forgive me." She stared up at him, her eyes wide and dead. She had finally let someone in, had released her fear of herself, and now she felt that she had been right to have these fears all along. They had been protection.

And Erik had stolen this protection, and he had tricked her! Depression turned swiftly back into anger, and Christine dearly appreciated this change of emotion. She leapt to her feet and stared down at Erik, feeling for once like she held the upper hand.

"What were you thinking?" she began, her voice low and heavy, masking the angry lump that lurked underneath it. "What did you really intend to do?" Erik rose slowly to his feet. He reached out for Christine. "Stay away from me!" she cried, shrinking from him and towards the wall behind her. Why did anger have to leave now, right when she needed it?

"Why did you get so angry when I asked about your mask? Why? After I--" Christine gulped. "I let you through, I let you in, and so you saw through my mask--" Erik stepped towards her and Christine swung at him. "I loved you…! And—and I didn't even know it--!" Angry tears leaked out the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, Christine," Erik breathed, and wrapped his arms around her. She pushed against him and stumbled away.

"No," she gasped, and turned towards the stained-glass window behind her. "Don't hurt me anymore."

For a moment, time hissed and swirled around the couple, uniting them with one common end. For this couldn't go on forever. Time gives chances, and we, the figures of time, control how we use these chances. Erik understood, and desperately he stepped towards Christine.

An undercurrent of despair crept into Erik's voice. "Christine… I was embarrassed—and I was afraid. I so badly want you to love me, and I—could hardly believe that you did. You have to believe me when I say that no one, ever, has treated me with anything other than pity when they've seen my—deformity… except my aunt, and I so badly wanted you to love me. I was afraid that you would pity me instead." Erik cleared his throat loudly, trying to banish the husky note in it. Christine had turned around to face him, and she slowly stepped towards him. He gazed hopefully at her face.

"I do… love you," he whispered.

She watched his expression and felt a wrenching inside of her. Sepia slowly began to tint the room, and a mutual understanding passed between their eyes. Time was leaving them. Christine turned and walked out of the room, and her thoughts jumbled and she couldn't make sense of them. Anger was back, but in a silent, bitter form. Christine wanted so many things, among them more time, and that was leaving her, along with Erik, along with her ability to love, along with everything.

An hour passed and Christine now stood behind the wings, hearing the chatter of the audience. She looked around at the people she felt she knew now, at the place where in an odd way she had found herself, found half of her soul. Gaston Franco, a short and dumpy man who was playing Don Juan, stood next to her and winked. Somewhere, in her memories of this time, she would remember that wink. It said 'good luck' and, in it's own way, 'goodbye' as well.

The music began and Christine heard the first scene slowly progress in a kind of numbness. Then the second scene. Then hands were pushing against her back and Madame Giry hissed in her ear, "Go!"

Christine stepped out onto the stage and began to sing her part, savoring this odd feeling. There was nothing like it. Two times seemed to be melded into one, and this moment was the bridge between both. An intoxicating headiness surrounded each musical note, each movement. It was into this headiness that Erik stepped.

His voice melded the emotions of the audience, creating another bridge just with sound alone. Three bridges now stood on the stage: the wooden one that made up the set, the one created by Erik, and the one created by Christine. She stared in shock at Erik, wondering what he had done with Gaston. She resisted his voice as hard as she could, but soon it overpowered her. The Point of No Return scene had begun.

In your mind you've already succumbed to me…

Erik was behind Christine and ran his hands over her arms and up her neck. Completely overcome by the music, she leaned against him. He took his chance, and hissed into her ear, "You love me…" Startled, Christine turned in his arms and looked up at him.

Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me…

He ran his fingers down her arm and breathed into her ear, "You've decided…" Christine opened her mouth to say something, anything, and then realized it was her turn to sing.

You have brought me to that moment when words run dry…

Christine found that her feet were moving up the ladder of the bridge. Conscious thought no longer entered her head. Time was swirling and encasing the two figures on the bridge.

Slowly, their voices rose to a crescendo, and then died out. Both stood on the middle of the platform, Erik with his arms around Christine, and the combination of music, memory, and each other served to make time that much more powerful.

"This is the final threshold," Erik whispered into Christine's ear as she leaned against him. "Can we move on? Can you love me?"

She turned to him, and a tsunami of emotions crashed inside of her, all beaten down by one: Love. Bitterness had been replaced by hope, and communication existed between their eyes alone. Time swished louder, an ocean current pulling on them. The audience watched, breathless.

Time swirled faster and fasted, and the spinning began. Wind ripped at the couple, but encased in each other's arms, they felt nothing. Love can survive time, and always will.

With a whump, Christine and Erik landed unsteadily on their feet in front of Francine Giry's piano. The sheet music they had been holding when they left 2006 lay on the floor in front of them. Erik bent and picked it up, slowly gazing at his surroundings, his arm still around Christine's waist to steady himself. Everything was just as they had left it, neat and tidy. No time at all had passed since they left. The only difference was the white mask that still covered Erik's left cheek, and Francine either didn't notice that it was there or pretended not to.

Francine sat on the piano bench and looked expectantly up at her pupils. Christine finally noticed she was there and jumped. Francine stared up at them. "Are you two going to sing yet?" she said, looking pointedly at the verses that lay on the floor. Erik gave Christine a quizzical look, but both simply began to sing, ignoring the papers on the ground. Francine accompanied them perfectly, and with that, the final bridge was completed.

When the song ended, Erik pulled Christine aside and into the library. The old copy of The Phantom of the Opera sat on the table, and Christine went and picked it up as Erik said in a confused voice, "What just happened? Did absolutely no time at all pass since we left? Does no one even know what happened?" He noticed he was still wearing his mask and pulled it off, cradling it in his hands and staring at it.

Christine thumbed through the old pages, and shrugged. "Does it matter? Now we're back in our own year…" She set the book down, stepped towards Erik and leaned into him. "…And we've got all the time in the world."

If Christine and Erik would've looked at the back page of the book, they would've found a small note written in black ink:

To Miss Francine Giry, 1861

Our story was simply out of a book. I will always love you, no matter what year it is.

From your special friend

But they didn't see the note, and they were right, it didn't matter.

Epilogue

After Christine Daae and the Phantom of the Opera disappeared, in front of 300-some people, no less, there was pandemonium. Most of the audience thought it was simply a trick of the opera house, and left believing so. Backstage, it was another story.

Gaston Franco was found slumped over a chair with a bloody lip and large bump on his head after "refusing to allow the Phantom of the Opera to steal his part."

No one had any idea where the young diva had disappeared to, and she was never found. Only Raoul de Changy had the slightest idea of why she had disappeared, and he never told anyone. And, of course, there was Madame Giry. She seemed to know a bit more than she was letting on.

The story was never fully explained. Only Erik and Christine ever knew what really happened. Oh, and Francine Giry, of course. But she never acknowledged that she knew.

Time moved on, keeping its secrets and holding them close. And Christine and Erik, the figures of time, decided to take their secrets with them, too.

The End