Gone, I say, and walk from church,

refusing the stiff procession to the grave,

letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.

It is June. I am tired of being brave.

-Anne Sexton

What kind of person am I? I've never really decided. I've never really decided anything.

"Christine, you must go." His voice was soft. "They cannot find you here."

I drew back to look at him again, his eyes so full of sadness. "I told you, I'm not leaving."

With a sigh, he pulled slowly from my arms and got to his feet. The cold hit me at once, not that his body was much warmer than the night, but there was a void when he left. I shivered, and crossed my arms over my almost exposed chest. "If they're coming here, then you must leave. They will think you've had a hand in hiding the opera ghost."

"But where will you go?" I was still kneeling on the ground.

"Go? Why, to justice. Or, they will call it that."

I shot to my feet. "No! We've just gone through this, I won't let them kill you."

Those sad eyes met mine again. "Christine… could I touch you? Once more?"

"Of course!" I took two quick steps and stood just in front of him. A bare, shaking hand rose to brush against my cheek. I leaned into the touch and he pressed his palm against my skin. "You have to leave," I said.

"You have no idea," he whispered, ignoring my words, "no idea how this feels." He sighed so that my hair moved to tickle my neck.

My heart was breaking for him. To have never felt human touch was unfathomably cruel. How could I deny him a few more seconds? My breathing sped as I raised my hand in return, pressing it against his bare cheek. He flinched, but didn't draw away. My fingers nudged his face up so that his eyes met mine. They were full of fear, hope, and wonder. The anger was gone from them. "What's your name?"

He grimaced as if he tasted something bitter. "It's nothing so fitting as 'Opera Ghost.'"

"Please tell me. You're not a ghost, a monster, or even an angel. You're a man. And men have names."

Finally, he said, "They called me Erik, not that it ever held much meaning." His voice wasn't bitter or sad, but tired.

"Erik," I repeated. Suddenly, the man I'd just held in my arms became much more real. His eyes fell and he took a deep breath that shook as he released it. "We have to leave. The gendarmes will be here before sunrise, I know it."

Without taking his eyes from me, he gathered both of my hands in his and brought them to his lips, but stopped short of meeting my skin. "Christine," his cool breath tickled my fingers, "I'm not leaving. I'm done."

Erik sighed again and sat in front of the piano, his fingers as white as the keys as he played a song that was unfamiliar, and unbearably sad. "No," I said to his back. "No, I just got you back!" His playing faltered and I saw the muscles in his back tense.

Still playing, he said, "Got me back?" Finally, his fingers stilled and he turned to look at me over his shoulder. "Do you know, when you first came back here to these ruins of everything that I once called home, I thought you were some angel of vengeance? Of justice? I thought you were a spectre, come to punish me for my sins before finally killing me."

"Erik…" My vision swam with tears.

"It's ironic." His eyes were glazed and I didn't think he was really talking to me any more. "I believe I'm either about to be punished more severely than even I could have imagined... or I can believe that promise I think I see in your eyes. God, it looks like paradise." A blink, and he was focused on my face again, watching as one tear fell from my chin to the ground. "Are you crying for me?"

Nodding, I wiped the moisture from my face. "I'm frightened that I'll lose you again. I didn't know, until you were gone…" I trailed off.

"My dear, sweet child, you're crying for you, then. I'm so sorry, Christine. I keep trying to save you, but I always end up condemning you. I see that, but it's so easy to forget."

"You're the one who's condemned, Erik! After everything you've given me, everything you are to me, I'm crying because they are determined to kill you." I rose to my feet and went to him, taking both his hands in mine and forcing him to face me. Looking down into his eyes, I said, "You have to leave here."

He stared at me for so long, my knees started to shake. I don't know if it was the desperation he must have seen in my eyes, or the feeling of my hands in his, but he blinked and gave me a single nod. I sighed and bowed to kiss his hands, cold on my lips. With a startled huff, Erik took his hands from mine and stood, saying, "I have somewhere I can go. It's where I went after the fire…"

"We must hurry."

Erik strode over to the mirrors and yanked a dark, heavy cloak off of the side, pulling it smoothly over his shoulders. Then, he bent and plucked black leather gloves off of the floor, at the same time reaching behind another mirror and fetched a small bag which jingled as he rose. "Go to the boat." With his words, I threw my own cloak over my shoulders, fastening it over my ruined dress.

Being pushed steadily down the canal in that tiny boat with Erik was hauntingly familiar. Every now and again I'd glance up at his half-face and remember how I thought him an angel. Looking at him now, I knew that he was no angel, but I watched his arms propel the boat faster than I ever could and the intensity of his eyes as he focused on the dark water ahead and couldn't help the rush of admiration. What would I do if I lost him again? And if it was Raoul who killed him? I couldn't bear it.

When the boat bumped against the shore, Erik sprang onto the rock and held his hands out towards me. I placed my hands on his shoulders and let him lift me at my waist, spinning me onto the shore. His hands slid from me and I let my arms fall, but I could recognize that look in his eyes. I'd seen it in him before, but I'd always been too frightened or intimidated to admit it to myself. Even, now, after all my boldness down by his piano, I could feel my stomach clench with nerves. There was too much to feel at once. "Come," I whispered, leading him toward the street. As we neared the exit, my heart sank. It was far too light out for the streetlamps alone; it was almost daylight. Starting to panic, I clutched Erik's sleeve. "Erik, they'll be here any moment!"

"Damn," he whispered. It was so easy down in the catacombs to lose track of time, but it was even easier when your whole world was shifting. We'd both been careless. "If they are searching the city again, there's no way I can make it to the other house, not in daylight."

My heart was racing again. It wasn't fair! Every time I thought we were going to be alright, the world sent another weapon at us. Where could he go? Who could help us? Madame Giry's face flashed in my mind, but only for a moment. She'd washed her hands of Erik, and was living at Raoul's home, besides. My eyes rolled as I tried to think of a solution.

"Christine," Erik's voice called me back to the tunnel. "You have to go back. I don't see any other way, I have to face them."

"No! There's another way; there has to be."

His hand, gloved now, rose to touch my cheek and his mouth lifted in a sad smile. "The fact that you care is enough for me. Christine, it's more than I dared hope for and more than I've ever had. Thank you."

I pulled his hand away, frustrated. "Oh, Erik, stop it! Don't stand there defeated, help me think of what to do!" For some reason, his shocked face brought a memory back to me. Actually, a few memories of rich men after the operas, laughing and joking together as their wives talked to the singers out of earshot, asking the managers where they could find… extra entertainment. The managers, or stagehands, or whoever, would always point them in the same direction. The Populaire's most beneficial business partner, le Fleur Rouge. As I once heard one of the male dancers say, it was secretly famous for the "high quality liquor served by high quality women." Sometimes the girls in the ballet would joke that, if one twisted an ankle or was slow to learn a step, they could always find work at the Fleur. I didn't care about any of that at the moment, I cared about the most important aspect of the Fleur's fame. It's unyielding and loyal discretion.

I gave Erik's hand a hard squeeze and said, "How much money do you have?"

His eyes narrowed. "A month's salary. Why?"

"Because, I know where we can go. Follow me!" I threw up my hood and crawled through the entrance, and waited for him to do the same. After a moment, he emerged, the hood of his cloak pulled so low I wondered how he could see anything. I glanced up and down the street to make sure that we weren't seen in the dim early morning light, and set off past the charred wood and toward the (now) most elegant building on the street. When we'd almost reached the Fleur, Erik put a hand around my wrist and pulled me in the space between two buildings. A rat scurried away from us and I shuddered. "What is it?"

"Christine, we are not going there," he growled.

"Can you tell me an alternative that doesn't end with you at the end of a gun?" Before he could answer, I strode quickly away, only stopping on the threshold of the Fleur. I raised a fist and pounded on the door. Erik caught up with me just as an elegant, but scantily dressed young woman opened the door.

"Can I help you?" She crossed her arms when she noticed another woman at the door.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Now that I was here, I realized I had no idea what to say. The girl raised an eyebrow at me, waiting. Then, her eyes narrowed as she studied me. I swallowed hard and dropped my face, praying she wouldn't recognize me. "We require a room," Erik interjected.

"Well, this isn't an inn, monsieur. You and the wifey will have to go a bit farther up the road." She made to close the door, but Erik put a gloved hand on the dark red wood, his hood still riding low over his face.

"You don't understand," his voice was low and smooth, a tone I'd never heard him use, but that beautiful voice made me feel exposed. A glance up at the girl's glazed eyes told me that she wasn't immune to its power, either. "My wife and I are interested in exploring your establishment's wonderful offerings." He reached into his cloak and pulled out the bag of money, holding it just in front of him. "And we'd like a room in which to enjoy them, privately."

Her eyes widened at the bag and then rested on Erik's cloak. "Monsieur, I believe we can accommodate you." As she led us both inside, chatting to Erik about the various costs of renting a room, having food delivered, and company provided, I satisfied my curiosity about the Fleur. The walls were mirrored, draped here and there with plush red curtains. The room immediately off the main entryway was some sort of parlour. There were couches and large chairs everywhere, red and gold pillows strewn about under a cloud of expensive cigar smoke. There were a few… patrons still there from the night before: rich men draped with half-naked women, smiling and joking with each other as if the world outside didn't exist. The place itself could have belonged to a queen, but there was nothing regal about the people in it.

The girl, Ellie, led us up the stairs and to a room on the third floor, the very last in the hall. Her eyes on where Erik's face lay under the hood, she seductively reached into her exposed bosom and took out a gold key, opened the door and stepped back, saying, "I believe this room will do just fine. Let me know if you need anything at all." She let us into the room, giving my arm a soft stroke as I passed her. I pulled away, a startled look on my face. She chuckled, told us she'd get us a key shortly, and left.

Inside the room, candles were already lit and waiting. There must have been a servant listening at the door, and I was impressed at the attention to detail and the discretion. The room could have been copied from the parlour, except instead of cigar smoke and couches, there was an enormous four-poster bed. Erik moved to the one window and drew the curtains shut before turning to me where I stood just inside the door. Honestly, I must have looked as overwhelmed as I felt.

"I believe I'm safe here, Christine," he said. He looked down at his feet and took a deep breath before raising his hands to remove the hood. "Now, you must go. Christine Daae can't be seen in a place like this, but that's the least of your worries. If, by some chance, they search this place and find you here with me, you'll be arrested. Arrested at the very least."

I almost argued with him, but he was right. He was as safe as we could make him, for today at least, so I had to do my best to get back before it was truly day. "You promise you'll do your best to stay out of sight?"

He grimaced. "Haven't I always?"

"You know I mean… you won't let them take you?"

"My word. I won't throw away your hard work." His mouth lifted in half a smile. I answered it with a smile of my own.

"I do have to go." I took a few shaking steps so that I was looking up at him. "I have to go, but I don't want to."

He studied me, his head tilted to the side. "Your greatest fault," he said, "is that you actually believe that."

I blinked. "I do want to stay. You know that, don't you?"

"Maybe my greatest fault is that I'll never believe it. Now go, the day is almost here."