Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

She couldn't sleep. Christine lay in her bed, staring at the full moon outside her window. She thought of what had happened at the ball the previous month and how things were changing. They had started the rehearsals for 'Don Juan' three weeks prior, and things were progressing as well as they could be.

She couldn't get the thoughts of her father out of her mind. She remembered all that he taught her. She remembered when he played the violin until she fell asleep, laughing while she learned to play the piano.

Christine sat up in bed and looked out the window. She could see men walking and carriages waiting. She needed to go see him. She needed to be close to him once again.

She rose and grabbed a black cloak from her bed and quietly opened the door. She peered out and saw Raoul sleeping in a chair facing her door, his head propped on a wooden beam. Christine stepped carefully, trying to avoid all the creaks in the floorboards, making as little noise as possible. She threw on the cloak and walked through the Opera House, seeing it through different eyes.

The golden statues cast dark blue shadows on the glowing marble floor in the moonlight. The light bounced off of the statues and reflected about the great stair, giving the entire room a very surreal, unearthly feel.

Christine opened the door and walked into the cold, winter, night air. She had always loved taking night walks on the beach with her father, walking hand in hand.

What had she done to have him taken away?


She thought that she could sneak out of the Opera House without him hearing. The Phantom heard Christine, as quiet as she was, leaving as she headed toward the stables. He saw her slip out of the door and into the street. He followed quickly and quietly behind, being sure to stay out of sight.

He hid behind doors, beams, and slunk behind people and carriages. He saw Christine give a pouch of money to one of the drivers and walk off. He waited patiently as the driver got the carriage ready and hooked up the two black horses. He wrapped his cloak tightly around his face, being sure that no one could see his mask.

He had been waiting so long for this chance. The chance to get Christine once and for all. The night that she had come down to him, Erik had felt truly loved. That was all that he had ever wanted, but now, he had to put the final nail in the coffin of the Vicomte De Chagny. No matter what that meant.

When Christine did not return immediately, Erik grabbed a wood block that lay next to a bale of horse hay. He crept up behind the driver and slammed the block down on his head.

The driver slumped to the ground, instantly unconscious. The final battles of the war had begun, and now, he was determined to win now more than ever.

He dragged the man's body aside quickly before anyone had noticed the slumped man in his arms. Erik covered his limp body with hay and returned to the carriage. He made sure the horses were secured and climbed into the driver's seat, grabbing the reins with his leather gloved hands.

He waited patiently for Christine to get into the carriage, the anticipation running through his veins. Once again, he was so close to his dear Christine, sitting innocently in the back of the carriage.

"To my father's grave please," she said quietly.

The cemetery. Perfect.


Raoul woke when he felt a soft breeze on his cheek. He slowly opened his eyes and saw that Christine's door was now open.

He was instantly wide awake. He cursed himself for falling asleep. Look what he had done. He had to find Christine before someone got to her. Before the Phantom got to her.

He ran inside her room, and ripped the covers off of the small bed, revealing only more of the same white sheets. A notebook beside the bed caught his eye. He picked it up and leafed through the pages. He read quickly, trying to make out the words. It looked nothing like Christine's handwriting – it was too small and scribbly - yet he knew that they were her words on the page.

"Father, I need you now more than ever. Is the Angel of Music you promised me just a lie? Is it you? Or is he just another man? Is Erik who I think him to be? Or is he only a heartless murderer? I love him. But, then, there's Raoul. I thought of him only as a friend, but sometimes I think there's more. Can I go through life married to Raoul while my heart lies with Erik? Or does my heart truly lie with Raoul?

"I need your help."

Chills went up Raoul's spine. Was her Erik the Phantom of the Opera? Christine, the one who he thought would love him forever, was just pretending. If it weren't for that damned Phantom….

He had to find her. He had to take care of the Phantom once and for all. He ran down the stairs, leaving the notebook on her bed. He came to a window, and saw a carriage pulling away, a small form sitting in the back. Christine. He made sure his sword was on his belt, and ran outside into the winter night, not bothering to grab a coat.

He ran outside and saw a driver get up off of the ground, where he had been covered with hay. He was rubbing the back of his head. Raoul ran up and stopped in front of the man.

"What happened?" he asked, looking at the man's face in the moonlight.

"I was setting up the carriage for a young woman," said the man in a raspy voice, still rubbing his head, "When I got hit on the head. Someone took her and the carriage."

"Where did they go?" asked Raoul.

"The cemetery," said the man.

The cemetery. She was going to her father's grave.

Raoul ran to his horse's stable, opened the door, and hopped on it. He needed to find her, quickly.

Off he rode into the night, heading to the cemetery.


The cold steel bars of the cemetery gate closed quietly behind her, making only the gentlest creaking. She paused for a moment as the carriage drove away. Christine surveyed the broken, barren trees, and the many forgotten graves. She could feel the coldness of the night seeping into her. She was numb to anything else. She could hardly feel the small bouquet of fading roses in her hands, or the cloak that was supposed to keep her warm.

Christine walked slowly through the rows of graves, passing under the eyes of the sculpted angels watching over the dead. The angels that comforted some, but the thought of angels brought Christine close to tears.

Her father, the great Gustave Daae, had promised to send her an Angel of Music. That promise had meant the world to her. Her father had been her one real companion. He had been there for her always, then he was ripped away from her.

Christine could still see his face smiling down at her while she sat at their small piano as her tiny fingers tried to reach the keys. Those bright blue eyes that had been the source of her happiness and joy when she was smaller.

"Soon you'll be better than me," he would always joke with her. But then he would turn serious, his eyes taking on a sheen of pride. "The Angel of Music must have touched you."

"Like he touched you, father?" Christine had asked. She knew how wide her eyes were with the thought of being touched by an Angel. She saw her father's head nod, and they continued on, learning new notes, new chords, playing piano and violin in harmony, filling their home with song and dance.

Why had he left? She wished that he would come back for her, speak to her again. She wanted to see him again. See his smile, his laugh, even hear him chastise when she hit the wrong chord. She had started having dreams about him, where she would sit in his lap and listen to him tell stories of the boy who had lived in a cage, and who escaped with the help of another boy and a girl.

Her sleep was riddled with the memories of her father, but she knew still that she would never see him like that again. She would never see him walk in through her door and applaud her after a brilliant performance. The ones that he always knew that she could do. The piano concertos and voice solos that he had tried to teach her.

As the Daae Tomb rose into sight, the sentinels cast their stone eyes down at her, scrutinizing her every step, her every move. They saw every tear fall from her eyes and roll down her cheeks. They watched as she fell to her knees in front of the crypt, weakened from the grief of the memories of her father.

Why couldn't she just forget what had happened? Be rid of the past that haunted her everywhere she went. She needed the strength to go on. She needed to find it somehow. She had spent too many years lingering on the death of her father, gazing across the years that she had wasted trying to be rid of the past that would never leave.

It was so hard trying to say good-bye.


He crept through the cemetery, flitting among the gravestones, just another moving shadow in the cloud covered moonlight. Finally, he reached the Daae Tomb, where he waited for Christine, and his chance to let her come to him.

Erik waited until he saw Christine approach the tomb. He could see the tears that rolled down her pale cheeks, and it pained him, but he knew of what he must do. He was her Angel of Music. He loved her with his heart and soul, and he could never let that go. She thought that he was the angel that her father had sent, and he would play that role.

"Wandering child, so lost and helpless, yearning for my guidance," he said softly, calling her to him silently. Her voice was soft and raw when she answered.

"Angel? Father? Who is it there?" she asked, looking around, trying to find the source of his voice.

"Have you forgotten your Angel?" he asked softly. He looked down and once again saw the awe and wonder on her beautiful, yet pale face. The redness had left her cheeks, and she was no longer crying. "You resist, yet your soul obeys."

"I thought you had left me," came her voice. "I denied you, turning from the true beauty of your soul. Come to me, strange angel."

Those words brought him hope. Christine did love him. He watched as she slowly walked closer to the grave, coming to him as he called. Christine. The one that had brought him to tears of happiness and joy just listening to her voice was willing to go with him.

The hooves. The galloping of the white horse over the snow of the undisturbed graves, carrying him.

The Vicomte.


Raoul rode with speed through the woods, trying to catch up to Christine as fast as he could. He needed to reach her. He rode gracefully, moving in time with his horse, urging it on, faster and faster.

The gate of the cemetery was barely cracked open, and they burst through. They ran through the cemetery, avoiding the looming gravestones, making their way to the Daae Tomb. Christine had to be there.

They turned the last corner, and Raoul could see Christine standing there in a black coat and dress facing the tomb. In her small hands, she held a bouquet of dying red roses. As he looked passed her, Raoul could see the shape of a many hiding behind the tomb, staring at Christine.

"Christine!" he called out, trying to grab her attention, and rip her away from the gaze of the Phantom. He jumped off of the horse, bound up the stairs of the tomb, and grabbed Christine's shoulder. "Christine! Whatever you believe, this man, this thing, is not your father!"

Christine turned to face him. Instead of seeing the look of comfort on her face, he heard a gasp escape from her lips and her eyes go wide with horror.

Instinctively knowing the Phantom was behind, Raoul turned, he quickly unsheathed his sword and braced for the attack. If he wouldn't have done that, he would have joined the people below his feet.

The silver flashed before his eyes, as did the white of the Phantom's mask. So it had begun. Raoul let the adrenaline flow through his body, and took all of his anger out on the Phantom, the man who was trying to rip Christine away from him. Raoul used all of his skill to avoid the blade of the Opera Ghost. He could almost see the flames in his eyes from the hatred that he felt. The hatred that he was sure was echoed in his own eyes.

He was back into a corner of the deck of the tomb, and jumped over the wall down onto the graves below. The clanging of metal on metal rung out through the night as the two men from different worlds fought over the love of one woman.

Raoul's breaths were growing ragged, growing tired from the onslaught. The Phantom's sword was quick and hard to strike, with the skull at its base, staring at him with hollow black eyes. He narrowly escaped being struck, the blow blocked by the trunk of a fallen tree. He ran away, trying to put distance between himself and the Phantom. He ran behind a stack of coffins, placed on top of each other with places to peer through. He was sure that the Phantom would follow him, but he went on the opposite side disappearing.

Raoul looked through, trying to see which way he had went, fear now infecting him. He couldn't see him. Didn't know which direction that he was coming from. Then, he saw a black glimpse from the corner of his eye. The Phantom had once again tried to sneak up on him to no avail. Raoul ran after him, pushing him farther back, strength growing with his confidence that he would win when the Phantom suddenly turned around, throwing his black cloak in his face, blinding him for a split second.

Searing pain shot up his arm, and Raoul fell back, saved only by a grave that almost looked like a bed for the dead to rest upon. He flung himself upward, his hatred refueled.

He would take care of this Phantom once and for all.
Christine watched in horror as her two loves ran throughout the cemetery, trying their hardest to kill each other. She flinched as she saw the blood drip from Raoul's arm, yet she couldn't bear to see Erik driven backward by his attack, either. She rushed down the stairs, never taking her eyes off of them.

All of a sudden, Erik stopped dead in his tracks, and Raoul rammed into him. Luckily, his sword had been down and hadn't hurt Erik. He had braced for the hit, and Raoul was sent backwards, landing hard on his back. He let go of his sword, and quickly reached for it, but Erik kicked it away, and raised his own high, ready to plunge it downward.

"No, Erik!" she cried, running to him. "No! Not like this. Please."

Christine watched as Erik turned sharply away from Raoul and towards her. She could see his wish to kill Raoul, and she understood. But she would not let Erik kill him in front of her. She pleaded to him with her mind. She wouldn't see anyone killed that day.

Erik reluctantly sheathed his sword and walked toward her. He grabbed her arm firmly, taking her quickly through the cemetery, leading her through the rows of identical gravestones. She looked back quickly, but could no longer see Raoul. Christine did not question where they were going. She followed him willingly, staring at his bowed head in the darkness.

What truly went on in the mind of the Phantom of the Opera? As she watched him from behind, she realized what had made him so similar to her father. What had made her go to him, what had made her cry to see him in pain. He looked so similar to him, had the same mannerisms. Those brilliant blue eyes, the smooth dark hair.

Eventually, Erik's grip loosened until he eventually released her. Erik turned to her, his eyes meeting hers. Those eyes were full of dying hate and tears. They were bloodshot, and Christine place her hand on his face.

She did love him, no matter what he thought. His jaw was warm and tense under her cold hand. Her Angel just a man. She saw the pain and love in his eyes that she had always he had shed on the rooftop.

"Why?" he asked, placing his hand over hers. "Why didn't you let me finish this?"

"Because," said Christine gently, "Because I will not see my friend killed before my eyes, Erik. Understand this. I've known Raoul since I was a child . He was one of my greatest friends in the world. You can't change that."

"So you love him," hissed Erik, jerking away from her. Christine hated to see him like that. he was so absolved in his self-pity he couldn't see what she was truly trying to say. "Say it! Tell me you love him and not me!"

Christine was shaking from the fierceness of his voice, and how quickly he had changed. He just wouldn't listen to her. She had to force him to listen.

"Erik!" she yelled, taking his masked face in her hands, staring fiercely into his blazing blue eyes. "Listen! Why do you insist in wallowing in your own self-pity, making yourself the person that those people have loved to hate? If you are so intent on being you, why do let these people dictate who you are?

"They call you a murderer, you kill. They call you a beast, you snarl at them. Those people created this monster. This isn't the man that I fell in love with. Erik, the man who tortures others with a noose and kills for revenge isn't you. You're killing the man I know you are with that noose. You're strangling him, cutting him off slowly, leaving only the monster.

"I don't want to see that monster only longer, Erik. I don't."

Christine released Erik and turned away from him, staring at the glowing moon. She couldn't believe her own boldness. She had just silenced the man who had just shown so much skill with a blade. But he had needed to hear the truth about himself, and she had given it to him.

They stood in silence for a moment, the tension in the air almost tangible. She knew that she had spoken the truth. The Erik she loved was the man who lived for music, not for the pleasure of killing. She knew that beneath that mask was the musical genius who she had loved from the moment she had heard his voice.Somewhere beneath the years of torture. She would have to help him find that man again.

She hoped that she could find him.