Chapter 5 – The End of Make Believe

The horses pulling the coach whinnied and danced to a stop in front of the Paris Grand Opera. At flakes of snow floated from the night sky and coated everything in a glittering white. Winter had set in fro a long, sleepy hibernation, draping all of Pari in its pristine blankets. The coachman hopped down and unlatched the door, letting the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny get out. The vicomte took one refreshing breath of the cool air and offered his hand to his wife. Christine stepped out gracefully, and their children piled out behind them. Jacques and Nicola stood together, wrapped in each others' warmth. Danielle stayed off by herself staring anxiously at the theater as snowflakes dotted her hair.

"Go ahead, all of you," Raoul said, shooing them all towards the house. Danielle's smile lit her face, and she practically flew to the theater, her brother and his fiancée following more sedately. The viscount smiled and took Christine's arm. "Don't they all look happy," he said fondly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders against the cold.

"I wonder who he is." Mother and father grinned at each other knowingly. Danielle's increasingly frequent visits to the Opera as winter fell had not eluded either of them.

"We shall just have to invite him to our box, whoever he is." They laughed and shared a kiss.

"I have to go, Raoul," Christine finally sighed against his mouth. They had stopped at the foot of the great marble staircase in the center of the main foyer. Raoul sighed, too, in mock regret, and took her thick winter cloak. The grand lobby of the Opera was warm with the bustle of theater-goers passing back and forth, lingering in little groups of gossip.

"Go and sing then, Margarita," he said. They parted ways, Christine flitting off to her dressing room. Raoul climbed the magnificent steps and turned down the corridor to Box Five. The baroque red-and-gold view of the stage had a welcome familiarity to it as he opened the door to his family's private lodge. Tonight was Faust, the opera that had presided over most of his engagement. Such confusing times, he thought back in retrospect. Whatever the cost in winning Christine, it had paid off now. His oldest was about to be wed, and now Danielle had a suitor of her own. She was already in the orchestral pit, dressed in thick black wool for her costume. Tonight she would play the windy pipe organ on the stage for the church scene, swathed in so much black that she could look like an old woman with a simple hunch of her shoulders. Now, though, in the pulled and sag-like black robes with her back straight and her long hair wispy, she looked like a Gypsy woman. Her gaze wandered from her sheets of music to fix high in the theater, and Raoul followed it curiously.

He suddenly blinked. The chandelier? He had to check once more. She must had been looking for someone to come in the doors, or perhaps one of the boxes at the back of the theater. Yes, one of the boxes, he convinced himself. He shook his head and sat back in the velvet seat, suppressing a shiver down his spine.

In the pit, Danielle was just sitting at the back, hidden from view with her back against the stage. She rested her hands on the table idly; she was playing the organ on the stage, and would only play some auxiliary percussion down here like the triangle. Anyone who could carry a beat and count could manage that, but Danielle was grateful to be down here either way. She ducked her head to see past the overhand of the stage. Her father was reclined against the plush seat, staring thoughtfully at the stage. Something in the furrow of his brow concerned her, though. Her papa's face was made to laugh, but now something worried and tense commanded his expression. Almost like from whenever she would ask…

Something clicked in the wall beside her, swiftly drawing her attention away from the grand tier. She was taken aback by her folder sitting on the unfinished wood of the table, and she quickly snatched it to her breast. Tucked into the front pocket was an envelope, sealed with the most elaborate red wax seal. The scurry of musicians and muffled shuffle of Dr. Faust and the actors on the stage faded to the background as she cracked it open.

I have written you one more page of music. It is almost done; you must decide on a name. Come to me tonight, Aminta, after everyone has left, and we shall finish it.

I will wait for you by the boat at the edge of the lake.

Yours,

Erik

Danielle smiled and held it close to her lips. She could even smell him on the paper: that rich mix of spices and incense, violin rosin, and the damp hypnotic smell of the subterranean. When Mercier tapped his baton, she regretfully folded it up and tucked it beneath the black robes. The curtains swept open and the opera started.

Raoul tried to relax. When Christine graced the stage as Margarita, her song managed to soothe his fears. During the entre-acte, though, he couldn't help leaning forward and scanning the theater as if he were fighting to protect Christine again. He lingered over the chandelier, and for a moment the viscount thought he saw a shadow fit behind it.

The phantom's gone, he told himself forcefully. But the tense feeling in his muscles refuses to disappear.

The night passed on without any incident, and Raoul began to feel foolishly paranoid. The curtain finally fell. The viscount was out of his box and at the door to Christine's dressing room before a crowd had time to form. Mother and daughter were caught by surprise to meet him in the deserted hallway.

"Raoul, what are you doing here already?" Christine asked, opening the door.

"Waiting to take you all to supper." He smiled and Danielle and allowed her to walk past him to her own room, but Christine paused and grabbed his arm.

"What is it?" she asked, meeting his eyes.

"When we're home," he said, watching his daughter turn the corner, glancing over her shoulder warily.

Christine wasted no time in pulling her husband aside when they finally reached home that night. The sitting room door shut quietly behind them, and she stared at him pointedly in the light of the fire. "Now will you tell me what has you so distressed? You're giving me chills, staring around like this."

Her husband sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm being irrational," he muttered uneasily, "but I keep thinking that…that he's still there, in the Opera. Waiting to steal you away again." He couldn't even bring himself to say 'phantom.' It would just have made him feel all the more foolish.

"Oh, Raoul," she consoled, touching his shoulder tenderly. The smile she bestowed on him made him fell nothing like a fool. "I'm sure it's nothing. You're just concerned about Danielle. You're the kind of father that doesn't want to see his daughter grow up. Don't worry, my love." He blinked at her in surprise. He had thought he was worried about Christine again, but it had been Danielle who had been glancing up at the chandelier. He smiled and couldn't help the small laugh that came from his throat. Christine kissed his cheek and took his wrist. "Just go and talk to her about it." She turned him gently and pushed him out the door.

Raoul sighed and strode down the hall. He was being irrational. Maybe Christine was right, and he just had stronger paternal instincts than he realized. Deep down, he wanted to protect his only daughter from going through the same tragedy he had undergone. He paused at her door, hand on the doorknob. Maybe he should tell her just what had happened, finally allay her appetite for knowledge.

"Danielle," he said, finally pushing open the door, "I wanted too…"

Raoul de Chagny's veins turned to ice. "Christine!" he shouted. The countess flew down the hall and halted herself against the doorjamb. Raoul disappeared down the hallway with terrible fierce strides, leaving her staring wide-eyed.

"What is it?" He came back out of their room, ominously carrying his sword. His boots were loud even on the carpeted floor.

"Where did he take you?" he demanded coldly. In his hand he held up a blood red rose, his fingers knotted tight in the black silk tied around it. Christine went rigid, staring at it.

"It can't be…" Raoul buckled on his sword with icy efficiency as she took the flower in numb hands, unable to believe what her hands and eyes were telling her was there.

"Where, Christine?" he asked again, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Where did the phantom take you?"

Her knuckles went white as she pulled her gaze back to stare at his face. "Through the mirror," she said. Her pretty brow furrowed as she forced herself out of her reverie, and she suddenly gasped. "In my old dressing room!"

---

Organ music echoed down the waterways as Christine and Raoul splashed through the lake. They watched the water warily for the phantom's sire, but the only music came from ahead. It rolled over the water, sounding so harmless, and yet to the two it echoed like a death knell in their ears. So distant from the loving fingers that were even then coaxing it into life.

"One more line, I think," said Danielle's voice.

"But still no name." Christine clutched Raoul's arm; the vicomte looked back at her and stalked forward warily, his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword. As they drew closer, he could hear what he refused to accept: quiet laughter from both of them. His daughter – and the Phantom of the Opera…

The music cut off without warning. "What is it?" Danielle said softly. She and the phantom sat at the candle arrayed keyboard of the magnificent pipe organ, his hand arresting hers on the ivory keys. They both looked over to see Christine and Raoul, standing warily on the shore.

The three of them – Raoul, Christine, and the phantom – were all staring at each other, faces as hard at his unmoving mask.

"Danielle," Raoul called, "come here." She and the phantom started from the bench, but she pushed him back down.

"Papa, there's nothing wrong. He hasn't—"

"Danielle, now," he ordered. She blinked at his commanding tone, and her hand wandered back towards the phantom unconsciously. "Come away from that monster before he sinks his fangs any deeper." Raoul stepped closer, keeping Christine behind him.

"His name is Erik," Danielle said simply in wary defense, standing in front of the phantom. Both her parents blinked, as if giving him a name were the most alien of things. Beneath her hand, she felt Erik's muscles tense, and a shiver of apprehension climbed her spine. Her gaze was fixed on the sword in her father's hand with an uneasy feeling twisting her insides. That sword meant too many different things to her.

Raoul had insisted that she learn at least some self defense, but when she had first touched the sword she had been astounded. The natural grace that so eluded her at the ballerina's bar had unlocked its door and let her move like a cat, like a hunting tiger confident in her own claws. It hadn't taken her long to master it. But she had never used it, really, never had cause to draw it against another.

And the only time she had seen her father carry it outside of practice was in those first early years, when he had seemed much more an anxious young man glancing over his shoulder at shadows. The night she had asked him about the Opera Ghost…

Christine angled around her protective husband. "Come with us, Danielle," she said gently, holding out a hand. Erik stood from the bench. With effort the countess managed not to stare at him. "You do not know what you have strayed into."

"But, mama, he hasn't done anything." As she spoke, Erik stepped past her, descending into the shallow lake. Something ominous in his gait froze her tongue, and her throat grew tight.

Raoul brandished his blade menacingly. "How dare you try to take her," he began to threaten, but Erik's imperious voice rose above his.

"Fool vicomte, to wander back here." A small part of Erik's mind was horrified at how easily it came back. Adrenaline pounded in his ears, and he moved towards the coil hidden beneath the water without even thinking. The flick of the wrist, the cold numb that mercifully shut out everything: how easily it all came back. The little voice of reason inside of him was over powered by the sudden primitive sense of defense. All he knew was that his rival stood before him, threatening to take the one thing that Erik had left… "You think the same of me as you always have. Didn't they ever teach you to never leave a wounded enemy alive?"

He lashed out like a viper, and Raoul dropped his sword in defense, lifting up his hand. Danielle and Christine both cried out in horror. The phantom's noose had fallen around Raoul's neck, only his fist halting it from tightening and killing him outright. Danielle cried out the phantom's name and jumped forward, but he pulled out of her grasp. His hand wrestle to tighten the rope, but Raoul aimed a hard kick at his leg, and they both crashed into the water.

The vicomte surfaced first, gasping for breath on all fours. Christine suddenly shouted fearfully, for now nothing was protecting his throat, and leapt forward to shove a hand beneath the rope.

"Erik, no!" Danielle screamed. The phantom burst from the water, sneering viciously behind his mask and the rope in his hand. He yanked it tight and hauled the vicomte up; Christine, Raoul, and Erik were a tangle of arms, all fighting over the same piece of rope.

Danielle stumbled back in shock, staring at them. Her heel tripped over something in the water, and she fell hard. What was going on? How could her night have gone so terrible wrong in so short a time? Her foot kicked at the thing again as she struggled backward, and she suddenly started in realization. The sword! Danielle scrambled to her knees in the shallow water, searching frantically for the blade. The sharp edge sliced into her palm, drawing a harsh curse from her lips, but she grabbed at the hilt and leapt to her feet. The sword swept out of the water as she lifted her arm, the point coming to rest at Erik's neck.

Everything froze. The only sound besides the drip of water was Raoul's strangled breath. Her voice quivered as she stared at Erik with teary eyes. "Don't, Erik," she said hoarsely, wondering as even the voice she had gained from Erik was slipping mercilessly from her grasp. His fingers shifted on the rope, and the wild light in his eyes faded into something terrified. Danielle had to swallow fiercely before lifting her chin, and she pressed the cold point into Erik's soft flesh. "Let him go."

The rope seemed to take an eternity of silence to fall when he dropped it. Raoul gasped as Christine pulled the noose free, catching him on her shoulder. Erik stared down at his hands in dismay as Danielle lowered the sword to her side numbly.

"Show her," Raoul demanded softly, leaning heavily on Christine. Erik glanced up at him in fear. "Show her, Erik. Show her the monster you are behind that mask." He reached out and suddenly tore it from the phantom's face and made the choice for him.

All innocence has to die eventually.

Danielle gasped, taking an involuntary step back. Raoul flung the mask away, revealing the phantom in all his horror. Erik stood, helpless and alone, unable to meet her eyes. They stood, she staring at his terrible disfigurement, he down at his hands, unsure what to do. She opened her mouth, but there were no words to say to that tormented man. Her fingers cramped on the sword hilt before she forced herself to move. She moved to her father's side distractedly, and put an arm silently around his waist. The vicomte sighed and let her drape his arm over her shoulders, squeezing his wife's in commiseration.

"If you ever come near my family again," Raoul said, turning his piercing raptor's gaze on Erik again, "I will make sure I have no need for ultimatums again." Neither he nor Christine looked back. Danielle couldn't help it. Erik didn't even watch them go, only staring down at his hands despairingly.

It was only then that that little voice of reason caught up with him. He had been trying to protect her from her own father. Fool. And you didn't think that trying to kill him would only push her away!

He hadn't meant to. That hadn't been his intention. It had been like Christine all over again, except that Danielle, he realized with a terrible wrenching of his heart, meant more.

And now she was gone, too; turned away by his own hand.

Erik looked up and found himself drawn to stare at the mirrors still leaning after all these years against his home's walls. They were starred and fractured, but that only helped to reveal the true visage of his soul.

A blackness worse than anything before washed over his soul, and an icy cold grasped him that was far worse than all the fires of hell combined.

It was over. His game was over. He had known it would come, the end of everything.

But he had stilled hoped against all reason that it wouldn't…

---

"Papa," Danielle said weakly when they finally reached home. "I'm so sorry. I never thought…I didn't mean for it…"

Her father raised a forestalling hand, and she fell silent. They were all in dry clothes, in the safety of their own home with a fire crackling warmly, but she couldn't stop shivering. Christine took her quaking hand and pulled her to sit between them.

"Don't blame yourself for this, sweetheart," she said gently, pushing damp strands of hair from her daughter's brow. "It happened to me, too." Danielle blinked and looked half-way at her mother. Raoul put his arm tenderly around his daughter's shoulders and sighed as he leaned back against the couch.

"You should know what happened, Danielle. I never thought I would have to tell you like this," he said, shaking his head slightly, "but the time has come for you to know."