AN: We've passed the point of no return, dear readers! To all of those who have stuck with the story this long. please be patient a little while longer.

REVIEW! NOT BEING SUBTLE ANYMORE! I need the inspiration to finish and really bring the tale to an end!

Disclaimer: I own nothing...this is why I do fanfiction...


Erik stood there a while, after she'd disappeared. He found no reason to move, even as Nadir approached him. The detective placed a hand on his shoulder in a fatherly way. His eyes sought Erik's.

"She told me that Joseph is waiting for you."

"I figured he would be hanging around the apartment. I'm just glad I got her away in time."

"But now what? What about you?" Nadir hoped that the boy had a plan.

"I should go home and confront him. We need to talk."

"Erik-" He was genuinely surprised. "Erik, don't you understand? He means to kill you."

"I know." He looked the couple over. "But he let her go."

Mrs. Giry was the one to first find her voice. "Then, do you believe he might let you go, just because of that?" It wasn't at all sensible! A grudge like this...

"No. But now there's an even bigger debt to pay him." As he turned to walk towards his car, the couple followed close behind.

"Erik, we don't understand!" Nadir was frustrated-- why was he going about this as if it weren't so dangerous!

Still, they proceeded towards his sleek black car without another word from the suddenly driven man before them. Erik, to the detective, nearly crackled with uncontrolled energy. Anger? Pain? Sorrow? Love? All were indistianguishable from one another in that powerful gait of his.

Once they arrived, he whirled on them, his hands gripping Nadir's shoulders. "I tried, Daroga. But it wasn't enough to put a ring on her finger."

"What are you saying, Erik?" Antoinette's hand rested on one of Erik's as it held her husband. They stood there, trying to make sense of everything and running out of time to do so. But something was escaping from this boy, something that he'd held secret and shut away, perhaps even from himself. Confrontation had pulled Erik away from the happy life he'd only partially discovered. Now he was peering into the darkness.

"It didn't make me a man." He admitted it. He was not yet a man to match her, if he could not keep her close. "A man doesn't continue to live in dark rooms forever. A man doesn't run from his past." This was as much for himself as for her sake, and all three of them knew it. It was time he began to stand up.

Slowly, Erik loosened his grip and stepped away. A letter emerged from his black coat, and Erik tucked it into the detective's hand. He opened his car door as Nadir and Antoinette watched him. What could they do, in the face of his determination and his sacrifice, but watch him go and utter a silent prayer for his safety?


Please keep seatbelts fastened until the captain otherwise notifies the flight crew. Thank you for complying with...

Wrong. That was the only way to describe the feel of the pale skin on her ring finger as she rubbed it gently. It was wrong for it to be so bare, when before it had been so full of hopes for the future. Christine knew there was still a promise, and Erik was not the type of man to break his word, but wasn't it all right to feel weak right now? Wasn't it, not that she didn't have to be brave for anyone else, to let a few tears trickle? And yet she couldn't find it in herself to cry.

She observed the tan line, so marked by the loss of the ring, and felt strange comfort there. Gingerly she brought her lips to the skin and kissed it.

There is a promise there, waiting. She had to believe in that. I have to believe in him.


Nadi and Antoinette sat at their table, the letter between them. Once they'd arrived home they promptly opened the letter, but now they were held speechless by its contents. They could not move to act for anyone, not Christine, Erik, or even themselves.

Nadir and Antoinette,

This is not an optimistic note, I'm afraid. But there are things, beyond my control now, that must be rectified. For the hurt I've imposed on you, I know there is nothing I can say to alleviate it. I only hope this letter might make everything clearer to you both.

This man wants to take revenge, and I can't reasonably tell him he doesn't have that right. I've never claimed to be a man, much less a saint, and you're both aware of my past. I had hoped, when I met Christine, that I could forget it all if I found love. Now I know that is a lie. Love, I realize, is a painful, searing white light. With every gentle touch and smile, she exposed the darkness within and made me look at it.

I cannot use love as an excuse to run away from this man's claim. It would be an insult to everything she taught me to want to believe in. I've accepted my decision, whatever it might bring about, so do not interfere. This is something which lies between the two of us and has to be dealt with.

This decision might cost me my life. I made a promise to Christine, to live and return to her, but another one was made much longer ago, which I won't turn away from. I don't know if it is possible for me to keep both promises-- they seem so contrary to me that it feels unlikely-- but if something should occur, please care for her. There are accounts I've opened in her name that should keep her comfortable. In her luggage, there is a similar note waiting for her, with instructions on how to access her new accounts. For all of the kindness and affection she's given me, Christine should never have to face a day of misery for the rest of her life. Please let her be happy--make certain she builds a life for herself on it..

Finally, I have to thank you both. You've both weathered my temper and bitterness more than anyone could expect you to. Because of your association with my past, I'm sure you both have scars you refuse to let me see. Scars I've inflicted. An apology would be useless, and wouldn't convey what I really mean to say, so I'll spare us all. Instead, I thank you both. These past few months were the happiest times in my life, not just because I had her by my side, but because we were all together. A strange sort of family, but a family nonetheless. I'd like to think that we were all so happy.

Thank you, a thousand times,

E.

Time continued to pass, but neither moved. The clock ticked away and the tears kept coursing downward, but the couple sat still. Everything had been said.


Footfalls echo in my memory, down the passage which I did not take, towards that door I never opened.

What awaited him was not a rose garden. It was a stranger, ready to maim and possibly deadly. And he was afraid, but Erik had promised her. As long as she was by his side, that had been their agreement, hadn't it? So he would have to brace himself now, as he stepped out of his car and headed toward his apartment. He knew that the shadows were watching him tonight. Strangely, he could feel the other man's presence and found himself turning towards it. There was no weapon in Erik's pocket this time.

The man walked out of the shadows, the slush on snow crunching the only sound in that deadly night. His blue eyes, that had twinkled before, were harsh. He inspected Erik as if he expected an attack at any moment.

"You're Erik, aren't you?' It wasn't a question, but Erik gave a stiff nod nonetheless.

"You have my name, but I don't have yours. You can't be Joseph Buquet."

"I can." Neither men took a step towards or away from the other. In this abandoned complex, their dueling ground, only the two of them existed. There was no such thing as safety. "My name is Joseph Buquet. My father named me."

"You're Buquet's son." Erik murmured. It was simple, logical, and yet Erik found himself angry. Angry he hadn't solved the puzzle sooner, and that this boy had that man's blood in him. But then he remembered Christine. Christine.

"You have to know, by now, that I've come to kill you." Now he took a step forward, toward his prey. He was ready to end all of this.

"I know. And you have a right to come looking for revenge." He stood his ground, and watched his opponent closely. "But I made a promise to live."

That earned a moment of surpised, wild laughter from Joseph. A short, hysterical moment that came from hatred, not amusement. Erik watched it with a growing kind of horror. "Well," Joseph regained his composure and reached into his pocket, "you wouldn't be the first to break a promise."

The flash of metal in the weak sunset was all the warning Erik needed. As the first silenced bullet was shot, Erik had already begun to move. It whizzed just by his ear, just enought to frighten. The next shot, Erik was sure, would be closer unless he moved faster.

The magazine clip of the gun was far from empty, and Joseph was too consumed with his justice to refrain from firing a few shots consecutively. But he wasn't a bad shot. He'd been waiting, like a caged panther, for too long. While Erik had eluded him, he'd learned to aim. He was fairly accurate by now, and as one of the shots finally grazed Erik's shoulder deeply enough to elicit a groan from the man Joseph gained confidence.

He walked to where Erik stood clutching at the wound, his gun trained carefully. "Where did you take her?"

"That..." Erik heaved, "that, you have no right to know." His response earned him a bullet, right in the same arm. Joseph didn't flinch.

Erik remained standing, as his own blood slowly trickled over his hand. He had a memory like this, didn't he? A woman's warm blood, a child's cry of anguish...

"She has nothing to do with this, Buquet." Erik looked him in the eye. Keep standing. Don't fall down. He kept telling himself this, forcing himself to forget the pain.

"She makes me sick." Joseph spoke, and Erik's face quickly hardened. "I thought I had to rescue her. It's why I hurried into this. I thought you were hurting her."

"I wasn't-"

"I know that now!"He yelled into Erik's face, gun pointed. "She actually threatened me. She wanted me to let you go!" He closed his eyes, but his finger was on the trigger, ready to kill him. "I'm not wrong. I'm not wrong!"

'Promise me.' Her voice rang, and it filled him with strange warmth. He could hear her.

"I know." Erik's words washed over him like cold water. Joseph opened his eyes to see that Erik had not moved. He was looking at him honestly. "I hated Joseph Buquet. He was cruel and a drunken bastard-"

"Shut up!" The next shot grazed Erik's cheek, but he didn't move. It made Joseph tremble. Now Erik was beginning to understand what had driven Joseph for all of these years. It hadn't been a desire to kill. It was different, but they were alike.

"He was a monster to me. And I didn't think twice about what I did. I was only a child, an angry, hate-filled child...maybe you were, too."

"I said shut up!" Joseph brought the gun hard to the side of Erik's face, with enough force to finally force him to his knees. He would've done it again, except this time Erik's injured hand caught it.

It was a deadly game they now played, a perverse Russian roulette. Erik had the weapon by its barrel, and Buquet by the base. Joseph would have had no qualm about shooting, if his finger could only reach the trigger, but Erik kept moving and twisting to keep it away. Finally, realizing he had no choice, Erik lunged up with all of his strength and knocked Joseph to the ground.

A silenced shot rang between them, then the gun was in Erik's hands. Joseph was completely defenseless and heaving on the ground. But his eyes still burned with hatred. And for a moment he forgot, too, and hated him. Erik hated that he'd been stalked, been forced to give up what he treasured most in the world, and the fact that this boy looked too much like his father. And the gun was in his hands..

'I'll stay with you, Erik. Until the day I die.'

Slowly he lowered the weapon and took a step back. "But I was only a child. I had no right to kill a man, even that one. I had not right to do this to you."

"Why didn't you shoot?" Joseph sat up warily, looking at the lowered weapon before glancing at him.

"I promised her." And he had, a long time ago. He'd promised to live as a man, so long as she was always with him. And he could still hear her voice...

"I hate her. I hate you." Joseph's voice had no malice, and if Erik had been able to see his face, he was sure he would've seen tears. Closure didn't exist, not in this twisted context.

Erik removed the magazine clip and tossed it as far as he could with his good arm. Then he turned away from Joseph.

"I'm sorry, but the boy who killed your father is dead. I can't be the one to kill you."

Joseph looked up as the man began to walk slowly away. How had Erik known, when he hadn't even realized it himself? This had been suicide all along. He wanted to cry, to explain, to tell this monster that he was wrong, but it was all useless. He watched him silently a moment longer, then looked down at the snow. It was melted here and there, melted by hot, red blood.

But there was too much of it. Too much for just his arm. And as Erik fell forward into the snow without a sound escaping his lips, Joseph knew why.


"Christine Daae?"

The mention of her name in the crowded airport caused her to turn. In front of her was a girl her age, a beautiful blonde girl with the most welcoming smile she'd seen in a very long time. She came forward and took her hand. "I'm Meg Giry. My Mama told me you needed a place to stay while you toured Europe."

"Oh, yes." Christine suddenly remembered what Nadir had said. She was on vacation. She was taking a break from school to explore the world. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."

"Yes, Mama has told me so much about you that I'm certain that Madeleine thinks of you as a sister!" She laughed softly, a sound Christine could easily attribute as Antoinette's influence. "Well, come along. We'll get your bags and we can talk more as we head to the dormitory."

"Thank you." That had been the only thing she could think to say to the young lady. Meg was bubbly and sweet and so very attentive as they picked up her things and hailed a cab. She explained the geography of the school's section of England, and even pointed out little shop's they'd visit together, but Christine felt a building dread. She decided it would be a good idea to take some of the aspirin that was in her carry on. If anything, it would stop the tension headache she was developing.

As she opened her bag's side compartment, however, she saw something odd. A neatly folded piece of paper. She pulled it out, sure she knew who it was from.

Dearest Christine,

Be safe. Be happy. Live. Though I migh not by next to you to enjoy life with, I don't want you to feel any absence. Because, no matter what happens now, you're all I'll ever think of.

You've made me so happy. All I'd known before were tears and regrets. That's all I felt I could aspire to. But you, Christine, laughed for me, and you smiled at me, despite everything you'd been put through, and that meant more than if you'd spent all of our time crying for me. So I don't want you to be unhappy-- I finally found you! Don't let me regret knowing you, not when everything dark inside me began to change the moment I met you.

It might be a selfish, stupid request, one that I've no right to ask of you after what I've put you through, but I need you to know. I will see you again, someday. There is not enough power in this existence to prevent it. Please wait for me, at least until you don't love me anymore. Then our promises will be fulfilled.

Always Yours,

E.

344-055-09213. It's a bank account, under your name. A wedding gift, for my future bride.

She wouldn't let herself regret how this had all turned out. Not for a moment.

"Are you going to be on holiday in England for very long?" Meg asked her.

"Oh, no..." Christine bit her lip. "I'm only going to be here a short while. I want to tour everything. And...I always had this fantasy of singing on the streets of Paris."

As the cab stopped in a small center, Christine was the first to step outside. It was a lovely, active little plaza.

"We'll walk the rest of the way. Cars can't go past here. And it might be nice to stroll around the plaza. It's the weekend and the professors are everywhere..." Meg explained as she paid. Christine, however, was no longer paying attention. In the middle of the plaza, by a water fountain, was a young woman playing her violin. Her case was open, waiting for the tips that might come.

Her playing was fast, furiously macabre. And she found herself drawn. The song escaped before she could think twice on it.

Wishing you were somehow here again,

Wishing you were somehow near...

And she kept singing. The violinist looked at her, but didn't dare to stop the simple melody that kept her song afloat. And people stopped, and they listened. Meg watched the strange girl with interest.

Dreaming of you

Won't help me to do,

All that you dreamed

I could!

Dreams. That was all that would sustain her now. The promise held in the voice they'd cultivated together would not be broken! Students and professors alike stopped to listen and drop money into that little violin case. The violinist had stopped playing, and watched as Christine continued without accompaniement. Christine saw none of them, her eyes shut and focused only on the song. There would be time later to apologize, to feel stupid. Now, she only ached to sing.

Wishing you were somehow here again!

Knowing we must say goodbye...

Try to forgive,

Teach me to live-

Give me the strength

to try!

Her song faded slowly, and she opened her eyes. The strangers surrounded her, some applauding and others wiping a their eyes. Meg placed a hand at her shoulder.

"You should consider becoming a professional, Christine!" She beamed. She pointed to an older woman who had been watching her. "This is Professor Jammes Sorelli. He's the head of the music department. Professor, this is Christine Daae."

The professor cleared her throat and held out her hand with a warm smile. "You have no need of further professional training, I see, but it is still an honor for you to visit the campus."

Christine took Sorelli's hand and smiled weakly. "Thank you. I...had a great tutor."

"You must have, in order to sing like that. Your tutor might have been the very angel of music!" Sorelli was not one to gush over anyone, but this girl truly was exceptional. There had been a moment when the sound of the girl's voice had caused her eyes to water and her heart to move in ways that it hadn't in years. Strangely, she recalled a sunset from years before, and a name she could never forget. Phillipe.

But the little ingenue was crying now. Not sobbing or getting upset-- the girl was listening to her, smiling--but little liquid crystals slid down her cheek.

"Thank you, Professor Sorelli," she said in a voice unbroken by unahppiness. And just as suddenly as they'd come, they began to dry away. Truly, this odd girl was enchanting.

"Tell me, Miss Daae, have you ever considered finding an opera house to contract yourself with?"


AN: Sad! This might actually turn out to be a tragedy (I am wired that way, unfortunately). Will you all indulge me, since I updated so quickly, with a review? I'll be ever so happy (and happy is good, right?).