A/N: I'm happy! I got a quicker-than-usual response from my lovely reviewers...

trueinspiration: I'm glad you find it interesting! I liked the ADD too, kind of like me--hey, look, a butterfly!

Twinkle22: Thanx! We all love smileys... ;D

Alexa: Yes, beginning. And here is Part Two. I actually have up to Ch 5 done, but hey, you guys can wait...you've at least SEEN POTO, right?

I'll have everyone know that I had to FORCE Alexa to read this...hee hee hopefully I won't have to produce the loyal Punjab at any time soon...READ ON!

Chapter 2—Secrets and Trauma

"I remember, there was mist, swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake.

There were candles all around, and on the lake, there was a boat,

And in the boat, there was a man…"

When he heard her voice, he turned his head toward the bedroom door. There she was, still swathed in his cloak, staring directly back at him. She was beautiful.

"Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?"

He held out a hand as she reached him and pulled her down onto his lap. His loving arms encircled her, and she touched his face. The contact made him dizzy, and he closed his eyes. But the right side of his face turned abruptly cold as she pried off his mask.

"No!" he whispered, one hand going to his face and the other to grab her arm roughly. She didn't seem afraid, or disgusted, but he thought that he would lose her love forever. "Why, Chrissy? Why?"

What came next was as unexpected as could be believed. Chrissy raised her free hand to his deformed cheek, and pressed her lips to his.

Shocked, he stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and moved his arms back around her waist. Her hands were on his shoulders now, clutching him as she kissed him. His own hands were on her back, lightly bringing her into the kiss. He couldn't believe it—he simply couldn't. She was doing this of her own accord, he knew from the way she tilted her head ever so slightly and the way she clung to him, her body molding to fit his. God! She was only fifteen, but she was a lot more advanced than most of his fellow twenty-one-year-olds. He could feel it. Her heart pounded against his rib cage, they were so close.

Finally, he drew back. He had to, or he would have gone mad with his love in a moment. They both gasped for air, locking on each other's eyes. They both felt inside of them the connections no one could deny—abandonment by one or both parents, hatred and negative feelings from the world around them, dementia, whether physical or mental, their passion for music, and their love for one another. Chrissy still leaned against him, drawing his heat and support into her own body. Erik's fingertips moved lightly in circles, massaging her back gently, and she laid her head on his chest.

"We must go soon," he said. "You will be missed in the world of light."

--

"Erik, I don't want to leave!" My grip tightened. He sighed.

"I don't want you to, either," he said, "but you must. And you must not tell anyone you were here."

I lifted my head and gazed at him again. "Why not?"

"There would be trouble," he said kindly. His lips grazed my forehead. "You'd better go. You have a rehearsal today, do you not?"

It was Saturday…I had a rehearsal at ten-thirty. I nodded and he caressed my face with his hand. "You had better go."

"Will you be watching?"

He smiled warmly. "I am always with you." In a sudden urge, I reached up and kissed him again. He tolerated it for a sweet moment, but then pulled back. "There is such thing as too much good, Chrissy," he said.

Resignedly, I stood up. He bent to pick up his mask, which had fallen to the floor, before he did as well. He took my hand and kissed it lightly before escorting me back to the boat.

--

"Chrissy, what did we decide to do on that line?" the incompetent director asked me. I sighed impatiently.

"While I'm singing my line, I move toward the Phantom, who takes a step back."

I was bloody sick of having to keep telling him things. I glanced upward to the very back of the balcony, where I could just barely see the white glimmer of Erik's mask. Only five more minutes before I could go to him again.

"From there, then, Chrissy."

I took a deep breath and faced the young man who was playing the Phantom.

"This haunted face holds no horror for me now.

It's in your soul that the true distortion lies."

"Wait—I think, my dear, we have a guest!" said he.

Just then, the wood-and-metal gate that was part of the scenery toppled and crashed to the ground, just missing the two of us as we jumped out of the way. Someone screamed, "It's the Phantom of the Opera!" I looked up toward where Erik should have been, and found him gone.

"No…he would never…" I thought aloud.

"Chrissy, are you all right?" my nineteen-year-old co-star, Aaron, said.

I looked at him. "Yes, I'm fine, just a bit shaken. I have to go find someone, though. I'll see you on Monday."

"See you."

I dashed off to find Erik.

--

Erik nearly stumbled as he clattered down the hidden passageway. Was Chrissy all right? What was more, who had done that deed? He was in terror at how very close the structure had come to his young love. He was rushing to their assigned meeting place—her dressing room. He thought as he ran. It hadn't looked like a simple mistake. With something as heavy as that gate was, stagehands weren't careless with their knots. Also, he thought, a number of them would have had to come loose at nearly the same time for no one to notice. It was the work of someone good.

He reached her mirror and waited there, his hand pressed against the glass, just in case. When she came in, closed the door swiftly, and locked it, he nearly crashed straight through the mirror in his desperation to hold her and make sure she was unharmed. Still in shock, she burrowed into his arms.

"Chrissy—my darling, are you hurt?"

"No," her shaking voice replied. "Who—it wasn't you!" she said almost accusingly.

Stunned, he held her away from him, looking directly into her eyes. "What in hell do you think I am? A hypocrite?" He pulled her back into his chest fiercely, his throat tight. "It came so close…god, I thought I would lose you, Chrissy."

"I'm fine, Erik," she said, hugging him back. "But if not you, who was it?"

"I do not know," he said. "But at least you are all right, and that is what matters."

"Of course," she replied. He smiled and kissed her tenderly, guiding her slowly toward the couch. He sat down with her on his lap, and he cradled her in his arms, still caressing her with his lips. She kissed him back. Suddenly, they heard a loud rampage of heavy footfalls pass by in the hall outside the room. They both stared fearfully at the door, but no one came in.

"Perhaps we should continue this somewhere more private?" Erik suggested, taking Chrissy's hand. She smiled, standing so he could open her mirror—the entrance to his lair.

Once they were in it, he swept her up and spun her around in his arms. She laughed delightedly, and before her feet touched the ground, he had carried her into the bedroom and fallen onto the swan-shaped bed with her in tow. Their kiss became ardent, then passionate when she removed his mask. Erik's hands stroked Chrissy's back, then touched her bare skin as he lifted her shirt ever so slightly…

She jerked away, falling off of him. He cursed himself mentally for forgetting.

"I'm only fifteen, Erik," she whispered, not looking at him.

"I know," said he. "I'm sorry—I forgot…I'm a fool."

She looked back at him and touched his face. "You're not a fool, you're a genius. It's all right. I do love you, but…" She sighed, her hand trailing down to his heart. "I'm not ready. That's all."

He gazed into her hypnotizing blue eyes and said, "Am I still allowed to kiss you?"

In answer, she put her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

--

I hated to leave, but as I had told my mom that I was staying over a friend's house, I had to get home. Erik declined the chance to walk me home, saying that he hardly ever went out in daylight. I walked the two miles to my house alone, thinking all the way.

Erik loved me, and I loved him. Both of us knew that. When he had touched my back beneath my shirt, it had sent bolts of electricity through me. On one hand, I had wanted him to go on, needing him desperately. The other, more or less practical part of me had insisted, This is wrong. My body had listened to that part, and released me from the current of desire that he had started. I wondered what could have happened—almost not wanting to think about what I knew would have. To put it simply, we would have gotten carried away, and most likely, both regretted it later.

Erik had told me his theory about the disaster, and I had agreed. It had been planned. Did someone know about Erik, and if so, had he or she been trying to frame him? Why?

I had reached my house without realizing it, and crept up the stairs quietly, trying not to awaken my mother, who was sleeping on the couch. Regardless of my effort, she snapped awake and saw me.

"Chrissy, you have to empty the dishwasher and clean the bathroom today. Also, fold the grocery bags and make supper."

That's always how it is. I get home and she gives me at least four things to do. "I cleaned the bathroom on Thursday," I said.

"Not very well! Do it again!" She promptly fell asleep again.

I sighed. It was going to be a very long weekend.

--

A/N Again: Yea for fwuffiness and action! Who hates Danielle now, and who hates Christine's mother? YEA! Review, please! (BTW, that's the REASON I probably will not update The True Opera Ghost for a while--I HAVE NO REVIEWS! evil people...) See you in your review! Ciau!