"Check your posture," said Erik pointedly, hands raised just above the piano keys. "You all look as if you haven't slept a wink."

It was the first words Meg had heard him say since that morning's disaster over breakfast. He was a rather quiet man, but not usually this quiet, although when he addressed Meg and the performers his voice was even and eyes sharp. Realizing their mistake, each of them straightened up. "Good. Again," he said.

The vocal warm ups were familiar and comforting; Meg closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to sit back into the habit of muscle memory. During a rehearsal, Erik might pause between chords to coach them, but today he simply proceeded through the vocalises without offering feedback. Your work is never done, he had said Friday night, but you must allow your performance to be what it may. They had prepared, and they had impressed him, and that was enough for now.

Next to Meg, Lily swayed on her feet along with the rising voices. She wasn't much of a singer by her own description, but she always sang with them during warm-ups. Meg glanced over at her, but Lily's gaze was fixed on the audience, towards a box above the orchestra seats. Stress lurked behind her eyes, and Meg reached out to squeeze her hand. Lily smiled at Meg and brightened considerably.

A few minutes later, Erik resolved the last chord, and shut the lid over the piano keys. "Thank you," he said. "I'll see you all from down here, once the show begins. You've performed very well this weekend and I commend you. You will perform just as well tonight." His even tone indicated neither that this was a compliment nor that it was an order, so his employees were left to wonder as they dispersed through the theatre, stretching or hurrying to continue applying stage makeup or simply affirming each other. Meg wandered over to the piano, where Erik was scribbling in a notebook.

"Bonsoir," said Meg. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," said Erik without looking up. "It's a big night."

"You know what I mean," Meg said. "This morning had to have been extremely stressful. I'm really sorry that happened. I should've warned you about it."

"Yes, you should have," said Erik, looking up. "But I'm not angry, Meg, I really don't care. But regardless of what happens to me, we need to get through tonight."

"They're not going to try to - to bring the police after you," said Meg. "The American police don't even know who the hell you are."

Erik narrowed his eyes slightly; he hadn't thought of that, Meg guessed. He sighed, getting up and shutting the notebook.

"That being said," Meg added, "I understand why you'd be…"

"Meg." Erik leaned down slightly so they were incrementally closer to standing eye to eye. "I don't understand a single thing that goes on in your head. You seem to think I'm angry at you, and I'm not. Okay?"

"All right," said Meg.

"Good?"

"Good."

Erik straightened up. "Like I said, tonight is a big night. We've got all three of our major patrons visiting. Peter spent the last three hours pacing in my office, describing in meticulous detail every possible outcome for tonight."

"Like what?"

"I wasn't listening. I was simplifying the second violin in the overture so that Regina can learn it," said Erik.

"Well, does it seem like he's all right?"

"Couldn't tell," said Erik. "Wasn't listening."

"Fair enough." Meg nodded. "Just lay low tonight, okay? Let Peter handle the patrons."

"Believe me, I have no wish to socialize with them," Erik said, nodding to her and walking away. "Good luck," he called over his shoulder.

Meg rolled her eyes and headed off in the separate direction. When she arrived back at her dressing room, she found Lily perched on the small ottoman near the mirror, fixedly arranging her thick hair into a chignon.

With a sigh, Meg shut the door behind her and dropped into the chair. "I don't want to do this tonight."

"Well, soon it'll be over and then you'll have until Friday to recuperate." Lily held out a hand for Meg to hand her a pin.

"I wish the patrons had just come for the opening performance," said Meg.

"What difference does it make?" Lily asked. "You had all weekend to improve."

"I've just had an incredibly stressful day."

"Well, what happened?"

Meg frowned at her reflection in the mirror. "It's complicated. I got to see some old friends, which was nice. But Erik ran into them, and I'm rather worried about it."

"Worried that he will be upset?" asked Lily.

"Not with me, but - it won't have brought up happy memories for him," Meg said. "I'm worried that he'll seek out ghosts that are better off laid to rest."

"I see," said Lily. She finished her hair and inspected her work. "What are you afraid would happen if he does?"

Murder. Extortion. Police involvement, she thought.

"I don't know," said Meg. "I'm afraid he'll cause trouble."

"He's changed a great deal since I met him," Lily remarked.

"I'm inclined to agree, I just really hope it's true."

"Listen, Meg…" Lily turned to face her. "When I met Barreau, he was an antisocial, vindictive little shit. Now he's just antisocial. If you're worried about him, tell him you are. You don't have to know what you mean by it; I'm sure he'll appreciate your concern. And I do believe that if you asked him to stay away, he would do so."

"What makes you say that?"

"He trusts you," said Lily simply. "And with good reason."

Meg smiled slightly. "Thank you. For talking through this with me."

"I'm always here for you, Meg," said Lily. "But unfortunately, I must insist that you go onstage tonight."

With a laugh, Meg got to her feet and began to stretch. "Oh, we'll see about that."

It was easier to ignore the ominous silence of Erik's demeanor when he was in the company of the theatre's manager, Peter Jung, who was his antithesis in many ways. The effect bordered on humorous when the two stood shoulder to shoulder - Erik, tall and lanky, in his dark tailcoat and navy vest, expression pale and placid (to avoid disturbing the mask, no doubt) and hands neatly folded in front of him; Peter, in his gray coat that shone silver, with his tan skin and his beard, beamed like St. Peter welcoming a child to heaven. He held out his hands to eagerly shake those of the investors who passed by them, while Erik simply nodded politely.

Meg stood at Peter's shoulder, allowing her eyes to unfocus as she smiled cheerfully. Her feet ached, her chest ached, her eyes ached. Throughout the evening, her performance had faltered exactly once: a stumble over the lyrics in a duet she shared with Jeanie. As they approached the second verse, Meg found her mind empty, but she kept her expression constant as Jeanie and Erik (from the pit) watched her expectantly. Finally, Meg repeated the words to the first verse, and Jeanie met her unfalteringly, and the audience remained none the wiser.

"Thank you," Peter kept repeating, "Thank you, we appreciate your contribution…" This greeting was only performatory, Meg knew - he would entertain the patrons later, once most of the audience had departed, prod them with bourbon and pastries and field their questions about the performers and about his parents, who were from what the investors always called the Orient. Meg longed to return to her room upstairs, curl into bed and drown in the thick down comforter she'd purchased with her paycheck from that weekend.

Peter turned to her sharply. "Meg. Mr. and Mrs. O'Malley have requested that you sing at our reception this evening. They are quite adamant that you do so. Would you mind?"

Meg winced.

Turning further away from the guests, Peter frowned sympathetically. "I know you've gotta be tired."

"Exhausted," said Meg. "God, Peter, I'm so tired."

He nodded quickly, taking hold of her shoulders gently. "You performed really well this evening. The finale made me cry. Again."

She smiled weakly. "The finale isn't even sad."

"Does it matter?"

Meg laughed. "I'll sing, Peter. Don't worry about it. I can manage for a few more minutes."

"No, you don't worry about it," said Peter. "I'll cover for you. It's my job to make sure you folks are all taken care of. I'll get Erik to help me convince them. They'll believe him, since he's imposing, and a genius. You should head up to bed."

Fighting back a yawn, Meg nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Peter. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it. I'll see you in the morning. Oh, Meg, and one more thing…" Peter frowned. "There was a gentleman asking to see you in the box office."

"Who?"

Peter pulled a face. "He told me his name but it was very French. He said he was a friend of yours. He showed up right before the show ended."

"Oh," said Meg. "I'll - I'll go see him."

Meg was unable to refrain from yawning as she pushed through the crowd to the ticket office near the theatre's row of front doors. The window was dark and empty but the door stood ajar, and Meg pushed through.

Raoul de Chagny sat in the corner, hat in one hand and chin resting on the other, staring into space pensively. When he saw Meg, he leapt to his feet.

"I'm so sorry," he said immediately. "I didn't want to disturb you here…"

Meg shook her head. "What's wrong, Raoul?"

He glanced past her, but no one stood near the door.

"There's nothing to worry about here," said Meg evenly. "Please tell me what's wrong."

Raoul heaved a sigh. "It's Christine. She's upset, she's been… ah, no, I shouldn't place the weight of it all on Christine, not when I am devastated as well, Meg, to know that we have spent these years grieving someone who was not dead at all!"

"Grieving?" Meg interjected.

"I couldn't believe it when I saw him today," Raoul said, pacing from one end of the small office to the other. "I was so hesitant to believe it, that I told Christine immediately what I had seen, when perhaps I shouldn't have - but she saw him too, and neither of us can think straight, Meg, did you know?"

Meg said, "I…"

"Well of course you must have known - no, no, it was good of you to leave us be, good of you to help him, since you must have, who else could have?" Raoul wrung his hat in his hands, entirely unaware of his rambling. "But whatever has happened? Has he hid from us? Will he come to find Christine? Does-"

Cutting him off mid-tirade, Meg seized him by the shoulders and pushed him back down into the seat. "Monsieur le Vicomte, you're going to overexert yourself."

Breathing heavily, Raoul said, "You're right. I apologize for my behavior."

"That's quite all right."

"You see, last time he and I crossed paths, he tied a rope around my neck."

"Yes."

"And attempted an obscene extortion…"

"I do recall," said Meg. "Monsieur. Slow down."

Finally, Raoul sat quietly for a moment. Meg sat on a container nearby, mercifully easing the pain in the balls of her feet.

"I did not intend for you and he to cross paths today," said Meg slowly. "Neither did he."

She expected him to launch into speech again, but he stayed silent.

"I promise you that Monsieur does not have any wish to intrude upon your lives," said Meg. "We had discussed your visit and he swore to me that he would not inflict any harm upon you in any way - including by alerting you to his life here."

Raoul nodded slowly, dazedly.

"Is Christine all right?" Meg asked.

"I think so," Raoul replied. "She saw him, too, and cried for quite some time. It seemed the shock that he was alive moved her greatly. But that's no surprise, of course..."

"No?"

"We speak of him from time to time," Raoul said. "I think Christine and I must have spent a hundred nights lying awake, desperately hoping to comprehend why he did what he did."

"I don't think he himself knows," said Meg, taken aback.

"We believed that he had died and regretted the course of action that led to his death," said Raoul. "Despite what he had done."

"But even if he had died, it wouldn't have been your fault," said Meg. "He put the two of you in an impossible position."

"I think," said Raoul slowly, "There is a particularly bitter sort of grief for such painful things that you cannot control."

Leaning back against the wall, Meg allowed her eyes to close. She let out a sigh. "I'm so very sorry, Raoul."

"Don't be," he said, resting his forehead on his hand, propped up on the desk. "We will be all right. But Meg, could you do me two favors?"

"I suppose that depends on what they are."

"Fair enough," Raoul said. He went on: "First, could you not mention to Monsieur that I visited you here? And secondly, if you could give him this…" He held out an envelope to her. "This is a brief letter written by my wife and I. In short, we wish him well and promise that we do not wish to revive any ghosts from the past. She and I are headed out to the country early in the morning, anyway, which ought to give everyone sufficient time to collect themselves."

Meg nodded, taking the envelope. "I suppose I feared you might take legal action."

"Not particularly. Nothing would come of it, and the Yankee policiers would only be amused by my accent and nationality."

"I'll give this to him," said Meg. "But please, do me a favor, Raoul, and don't seek him out. With everything we have built here, I dread the idea that everything might fall apart again."

"I wouldn't dare," said Raoul, glancing at the door; indeed, she saw a glint of fear in his eyes, and Meg remembered the terror in the faces of the de Chagnys as they had emerged from the depths of the opera house basement, soaking wet and shivering and scared within an inch of their lives. Meg knew that Erik wouldn't hurt her; few people could say the same.

Meg stood up. She wanted him to leave. "You had better be going," she said. She stood at the door, scanning the crowd to ensure that Erik had already made his escape; Raoul slunk past her and left through the front doors, nodding to her before he vanished into the soupy darkness outside. Meg stood perfectly still for a moment in the golden warmth of the lobby, the smooth paper of the envelope frighteningly foreign in her hand.

Once again, thank you for reading! I hope you are all doing well in light of COVID. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!