Chapter 18:

"A letter for Madame Christine, Monsieur." The footman laid the envelope down on the Comte's desk. "From Paris."

"Thank you." He frowned, picking up the letter. Since when did his wife have communications with people in Paris? She had made it very clear, repeatedly so, that she had no contacts left in that awful city. As he skimmed over the various marking on the back of the letter, the name confused him.

Who from Paris didn't know he had married Christine?

Besides, what was up with that spidery handwriting?

Deciding the only one who held the answers to his many questions, Raoul left his study, letter clutched tightly on in one hand, and hurried towards the sun room where he found his lovely bride, napping in the sun.

Pausing for a moment, he watched the light beams play across her relaxed face, rosy with health. Their choice of holiday locations had proven a wise one. The locals had informed them that they hadn't ever seen a warmer winter or lovelier weather just before Christmas. Nothing could have been better for Christine.

"Darling." He called her name quietly as he approached her chair and knelt beside her sleeping face. "Darling." Leaning forward a little, he brushed his lips against her forehead and lightly stroked her cheek, pulling away to be met with contented blue eyes.

"Raoul…" Her sleepy voice greeted him kindly as she slowly stretched beneath the blankets. "What is it? Is something wrong?" She asked, peering at the letter he held in his hand. "Who's that from?"

"I don't know, Christine. There is no sender. And it's addressed to you, under your maiden name." Blond eyebrows knitted together as she plucked the paper from his hand and skimmed over handwriting, her hands beginning to shake.

"No…" She whispered quietly before ripping open the letter and skimming through the contents. "No…No!" She exclaimed before dropping the letter. "No! He's dead!"

"What is it, Christine?" Raoul demanded as he scooped up the paper and read the red inked words. "Him." He snarled, crumpling the letter in his hands and tossing aside the message. "Don't fret, Christine. I won't let him hurt you. I'll send the police after him and we'll stay here in safety." He leaned forward to kiss her only to have her turn away, in shock.

"No! You mustn't do that! Don't send the police after him, I beg you!" Large tears rolled down her cheeks. "Give me the letter." Confused by his wife's insane response, he picked up the crumbled paper and smoothed it out, handing it to her.

She read through once more and continued to cry.

"We must get ready to go to Paris."

"No!" Raoul nearly shouted. "We won't go back to the city! Especially not with him alive."

"No, Raoul, you don't understand, he promised. He promised he wouldn't pursue me. He loves me but he promises to avoid me. Don't you see, we'll be safe. And, I'll get to sing." Raoul shook his head and gripped his wife's hands firmly within his own.

"No, you can't do that. I don't trust him. He tried to kill me and nearly forced you to marry him. You can't trust the promises of a madman. Besides, it isn't proper for a Comtesse to sing on stage. Even if she has been an Opera Diva." The frightened excitement that had risen in Christine's face fell away.

"I…can't sing?"

Raoul shook his head.

"No. I'm sorry. You could sing for small parties. I don't want your lovely voice to go to waste. But, I'm afraid you can't go back to the stage." Hot tears continued to course down her cheeks before she sniffed, attempting to calm herself.

"I understand. But, please, let me go back. I need to tell him to his face. Please, Raoul…he's alive and I want to tell him how I feel. We parted so badly." The blond girl looked down at her hands, resting quietly in her husbands with the letter tucked between her fingers. A simple gold ring with a heart-cut diamond shining from the center.

"Christine!"

"Please, listen to me, my love. I am yours, heart, soul and body. But, he was so good to me when I was young. And, I hurt him so much. I don't want our last words to be those spoken that night. I want to ask his forgiveness. Please, will you allow me to put my heart to rest? This will close off that portion of our lives. We can move on, never fearing!" Tightening her grip on his hands, she leaned forward and lightly kissed his lips.

"Christine…no, this is madness. You can't go back to him. He'll take you away!"

"No! He won't. He may be mad but he keeps his promises." Reaching out, she took her husband's face in his hands. "For me…please. Allow me this peace." Tears dried on her pale skin, leaving a salt residue that burned her. Yet, she ignored it, her eyes begging for relieve from her misery. "Please…" She whispered one last time, leaning in to give him a loving kiss.

Emotions played across Raoul's face as he debated his loving bride's pleas. Surely, she wasn't well. Surely, she couldn't be serious. One glance at her eyes and his heart sunk. She was. she sincerely meant to return, to speak with the madman, and to return to him whole.

"Don't, Christine. Please don't. I love you and I want you to be safe."

"I will be. We can't ever be free unless I speak with him. Raoul, let me do this for us." Hanging his head, Raoul sighed and kissed her hands.

"I shall gather our things for a Christmas trip to Paris. I'm sure that Jules won't object to our dropping by. It shouldn't take us more than two days by train."

"Oh, thank you, Raoul!"

E-OC

"Where are you going so early?" Erik demanded as he watched her packing her red dress and mask. "You weren't due to the party until eight." Candela flittered around her room before turning to him, a pair of red groves hanging from one hand.

"I know but Reine wants me there early to help her set up. She says the servants never do it just as she wants it." Pulling back her hair with the silver comb, she smiled quietly at him. "I hope you don't mind?" She inquired, stepping closer and pulling on her gloves.

"Not at all. I'm sure you'll enjoy your afternoon and evening." Flashing a grimace, the closest thing to a smile he could muster, from beneath the mask, he turned on his heel and headed towards his bedroom, his violin and organ alluringly calling his name.

After gathering everything she needed for her afternoon, she headed towards the door but paused, biting her lip, and turned back to his bedroom. Hanging back in the doorway for a moment, she spoke up at last, interrupting his somber playing.

"Why don't you go up to the Opera House? You haven't visited recently and who knows what your managers have done in your absence. I won't have you moping about the house while I'm gone." Boldly entering the room, she stole the violin and bow from his hands and grabbed one gloved appendage in both of hers. "Come on. We'll go up together."

Before Erik could fuss, she dragged him into the parlor and plopped his fedora on his head and tossed his cloak about his shoulders before clasping it beneath his chin.

"I am not moping!" He exclaimed but didn't fight her nimble hands. The little spark that blossomed on his skin at every brush of her fingers wasn't unpleasant. Confusing but not unpleasant.

"Yes, you are. Allow me to recount three reasons. One," she lightly bopped his masked cheek once the cloak had been secured and opened the door, "the depressing music all morning. Two," she led the temporarily docile Phantom towards the boat and passed him the pole, "you barely spoke this morning, preferring to look at your tea rather than bid me a good morning. And, three," she hopped into the boat and waited for him to pole her across, "your denying that you are proves it beyond a doubt. Now, will you take me across or must a lady do it herself?"

"Why should I? You've given me three reasons why I shouldn't." He might have laughed had she not looked completely endearing sitting within the boat, virtually demanding him to serve her. Her position as his housekeeper failed to matter anymore.

Especially when she looked so beautiful.

"You're a gentleman." She responded. "And, I am a lady in need."

He wasn't fooled for a moment that she couldn't pole herself.

"And, I am at your service." Her giggle caused an odd heart palpation and Erik choose to ignore it for that reason. The unexplainable was best left as such.

Sweeping a low bow, he stepped into the boat and sank the pole into the black water, driving smoothly them across the glass lake. By the light of the lantern, hung from the prow, Candela watched his muscles flex beneath the elegant suit. Schooling her face into a nonchalant expression, she allowed herself a moment to admire his strength, concealed by his apparent emaciation.

Passingly, she wondered if the Marquis was as sinewy.

Not that it really matters anymore.

"Candela, is there something amiss about my person?" Erik questioned as the boat rocked against the opposite shore. His odd maid had developed a peculiar look about her face and her eyes seemed locked to him.

"No!" Candela quickly exclaimed, giving him a brief smile and hoping her face hadn't betrayed her. "I was thinking."

"Pleasant thoughts, I hope?" He asked as she disembarked and he tied the boat and grabbed the lantern.

"Quite pleasant." She remarked, choosing to look him straight in the eye to avoid his thinking he had been the object. "Now, escort me to the surface." Unable to keep the chipper attitude hidden, she locked her arm around Erik's, surprised at her boldness, and began to walk forward, half dragging the Phantom behind her.

"May I ask what has you in a such a fine mood?" Erik inquired as he lengthened his stride to match hers. Over the past several weeks since the Operetta, his maid had demonstrated a lightening of her step, a heightened sense of sarcasm and fun, all in all, she appeared far more like the lady he had first known when he awoke that first day.

Something had happened that night that had changed but he was too afraid to inquire. Better for it to be left alone and she remain as she was.

"Oh, tonight I intend to take my future by the reins and make it listen to me. I shall tell you all about it when I come back." After bestowing a quick wink to him, she skipped ahead, leading Erik behind her, still as puzzled over her happiness.

What could she be talking about?

"Erik shall not receive a hint from you right now?"

"Nope." She popped the 'p' and laughed. "You shall learn tonight. If all goes well." For the briefest of moments, her eyes clouded with concern, worry tugged at the lines of her face, before her happy smile returned full force.

Content with her answer, Erik led her through the last of the cellars and into the Opera House itself, showing her down the elegant halls and to a little door that led out of the massive edifice. Paused between light and darkness, Candela turned to face the Phantom.

"Remember, I want you to stay in the Opera House proper. Don't go down into the cellars until your spirits are up." After lightly patting his hand, the maid disappeared into the trickles of people and joined the flow of people in the larger street.

Once she disappeared into throngs humming in the main street, Erik pondered her admonishment before he nodded to himself and disappeared into the finery of the Opera House.

Surely a thorough inspection of the Opera House couldn't hurt?

Besides, his salary was due.

E-OC

"Raoul! It is a delight to have you back." The Marquis bounded from his bench and embraced the young man, giving him a fatherly smile before turning to the blond on his arm. "Madame Christine, it is a pleasure to see you looking so well. I trust your health has returned?"

"Yes, Monsieur. I feel better than ever. Apparently, a holiday at the ocean can do wonders." The Marquis lightly kissed her proffered hand and snapped his fingers for the coachman to gather the few bags.

"I trust the both you intend to remain through the New Year? Reine will be happy to meet the both of you." Raoul chuckled.

"I thought I had met your cousin." He stated as the two men walked towards the coach, a quiet Christine walking at Raoul's side, her mind filled with many thoughts that rendered her dumb. As they talked about the cousin and the party that evening, Christine allowed her mind to remember the place she would visit that afternoon.

Nearly a year and a half had passed and what had changed? The Opera House still stood. The Opera Ghost stilled haunted it. And, she still feared him. While to Raoul, she had been bold, declaring that Erik wouldn't take her back, that he would keep his promises. Yet, in her mind, she still worried.

Would the madman obey his own rules?

Settling next to Raoul in the coach, she looked between the men and wondered if her husband had cared to inform the Marquis of their destination. She knew if she didn't do it now, she never would. The letter tucked inside her bosom drove her towards the Opera, drove her towards her mad teacher.

"Raoul." She whispered quietly, calling his awareness towards her. Both gentleman faced the quiet girl and gave her their full attention. Blushing demurely, she asked, "Are we dropping by the Opera House before we go home?"

Raoul's eyes knitted together in puzzlement.

"Why? I thought you might like some rest and to enjoy the party before we dealt with that nasty business."

"No. if I don't do it now, I'll never have the courage. Please, it won't take me more than an hour. Could you perhaps come back for me? I shall have enough time to prepare for the party." Straightening her shoulders, she rallied herself and waited for the gentlemen to come to their conclusions. While the Marquis appeared confused, Raoul gave in.

"Of course we can take you to the Opera. But, I insist on at least remaining in the building. I will not leave you there."

"May I at least have privacy during our meeting?" Though trepidation was written plainly across his handsome face, Raoul finally nodded.

"Yes, you may have privacy. I shall be within shouting distance though." Not that he truly considered that any sort of consolation to himself. That Phantom could steal her away without a sound and none be the wiser.

"Thank you, Raoul." Her eyes watered slightly in appreciation as Raoul shared with the Marquis a look promising to explain everything once they were alone. After the change of direction had been given the driver, the coach rolled along through the more bustling streets of Paris, not something that Christine decided she had missed.

Truly, even with the snow covering much of the filth, there was little to appeal to her about this city.

The carriage stopped at the curb and all three stepped out onto the icy sidewalks. Wrapping her arm around Raoul's, the trio hurried up the slippery steps and into the Opera House. As soon as the doors closed behind her, she immediately glided away from her husband's side and wended her way through the halls of her youth, directly to the diva's abandoned dressing room.

Once inside the blank space, she stole a quick glance about. Nothing remained in the dressing room that reminded her of those lessons given. Only the mirror stood, frowning at her while reflecting her pale image back into her face.

Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and opened her mouth, letting her soul drift into the realm of song once more. She knew if the Phantom could hear her, he would come. Her teacher wouldn't fail to seek his former pupil, especially after asking her to return.

Sitting within his Box Five, Erik heard his songbird singing for him to come to her.

And he came.

E-OC

She looked more radiant then she ever had before.

Her blond hair shown with health and her blue eyes glowed like the flashy ring sitting on her finger. Marriage appeared to become her, the bound hair not his preferred style for her but beautiful nonetheless. A certain brilliance glowed about her, unhidden by the proper matronly dress.

For several moments, he lingered behind the mirror, silent and watching of his former pupil. The way her eyes skittered about her surroundings revealed she had lost that feeling when he was present.

She no longer recognized the shift in air.

"Angel? Can you hear me?" She called out, louder than he would have preferred. Speaking up quickly, he hushed her,

"Christine. I am here. Do be more quiet. Please. It wouldn't do to give either of us away." The quivering woman silenced immediately, clasping her hands behind her back before speaking quietly,

"Angel, you're here. You heard me." A pretty, if saddened smile adorned her lips and promptly confused Erik, not to mention her appearance in her old dressing room. Hadn't he made it perfectly clear he would have nothing to do with her? She would sing for his Opera House but he wouldn't speak to her. If her voice needed honing, surely there were some vocal teachers about Paris who could do a fine job. Enough to return her to her former glory.

"Of course, my dear. I always do. But, pray tell me why you are here? Erik promised he would stay away. You are not helping him keep his word. If you need lessons, I am sure you can find a suitable teacher somewhere in the city."

She trembled and shifted in her fine shoes, apparently uncomfortable.

"Angel, I can't sing."

For the longest moment, Erik believed his ears had simply given out on him.

"You what?" He asked, once his mouth had recovered enough to allow out more than a quiet babble of surprised words. She had to sing! She had to!

"I can't sing for you. It isn't proper. Not at all. I am a married woman, married to a Comte. The shame that would come upon me if I were to be seen on stage…it would rival that of my performances before my marriage. Surely, you must understand." Quaking in her shoes, she reached out pleading hands to silver mirror.

His mind still caught in her not being able to sing, a problem he had no foreseen, he barely heard her excuse for her rejection. But, what he did hear, unfortunately, made sense. Christine was a proper lady now. How could he have been so daft as to think that she could return to his stage once more.

"I suppose I do understand, Christine. I hadn't thought of that. Thank you for coming back and telling me. I appreciate your kindness. Good day." He stepped back, prepared to depart that instant when she cried out quite unexpectedly,

"Wait! Don't go. Not yet. I wanted to speak with you about more things that just your generous offer. I…I wanted…" She trailed off and suddenly found the buckles and lacings of her shoes to be most fascinating.

"What did you want?" The blond girl fidgeted about, playing with her fingers before blurting out,

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything last spring. I'm sorry for the way I treated you. I was awful. Please, I beg you to forgive me. I thought I would die of guilt when I thought you were dead." Tears welled up in crystal blue eyes and were matched by a few in speckled gold orbs. His tongue refused to speak, forgiveness not an easy thing.

She had nearly killed him.

If it hadn't been for his spitfire Spaniard, he would have rotted within his coffin.

"Christine…" He trailed off for a moment, watching her begin to fall apart before him. Oddly enough, this didn't cause him to react as violently as he always had before. Where had his weakness for his darling tears gone?

"I understand if you don't want to. I mean…I very nearly killed you. How did you survive?" She inquired, pulling herself together for his sake, he assumed.

"A girl saved me." He replied, casting his mind back through the memories. "She is an odd sort, fiery and headstrong. Spanish by decent. She tumbled into my realm and decided not to leave. I didn't have the strength to remove her and when I did, I didn't want to."

Christine swallowed jealousy the moment it tried to surface. A year and a half ago she had made her choice. She had chosen the safer man, the man she loved, leaving behind the man she feared and cared for in equal amounts. If another girl had taken her place, perhaps it was for the better.

Raoul's mind would be at ease.

"I am happy for you, Angel. You deserve some happiness in life. I am glad you have found love." Her eyes glimmered. Yes, the new girl in Erik's life had to be good. His very voice spoke volumes of his opinion of her. Such softness had been once reserved for her.

Surely, he must love her when he speaks so sweetly?

"No!" Erik quickly back-peddled, shocked at her smile and best wishes. "We are not in love! She does not love me and I do not love her. She is merely my housekeeper." Despite being completely hidden behind the mirror, he covered his blush with his hands.

Confused, Christine decided to press for more information regarding the girl. Perhaps with more, she could properly determine if her angel was merely being blind once more.

"Tell me more about her. I should like to know a little about who has lived with the surly Phantom for so long." She must possess a great deal of emotional strength to withstand Erik's tempers and moods swings. Christine smiled quietly to herself before drawing over a crate, sitting in the corner, to before the mirror and perched herself there.

"She's…" Erik trailed off for a moment as he wracked his brain for answers. "She's like no one I've ever met before. She's strong, emotionally and physically. She loves to relentlessly tease me. She is a Spaniard in every sense of the word."

"She is nothing like me." Christine found herself oddly pleased with the entirety of his comments on this strange woman living down under the Opera. At least her angel hadn't fallen into the age-old trap of choosing a girl who is just like his lost love. This one apparently had fortitude.

"Nothing like you." He whispered, his lovely voice drifting through the walls and surrounding her. How she wished that she could have spoken directly to his face, discerned his feelings through the set of his eyes or tilt of his mouth.

His answers left no doubt in her mind.

Erik loved this girl.

"Erik," she whispered, choosing a less familiar way of addressing her teacher. If another girl was to be a part of his life, she must cease to use such nicknames. "Why do you say you do not love her?" Any moment, she knew he could run, disappear into the depth of the Opera House, never for her to see him again. Yet, she couldn't let this go.

She had found happiness.

It was time for her angel to as well.

"I love you." Erik gasped out, letting the words break out in a rush, unpleasantly surprised at the pain lodging in his throat after their release. "I swore to love you until the day I died, whether you were in my arms or in those of another. I can't recant now."

Fresh tears dripped down Christine's cheeks and she quickly brushed them away with her hand, forgetting her handkerchief once more.

"Erik, you must remove me from you heart. I'm happy. Raoul…Raoul and I are happy. You must find happiness yourself. Stop loving me. I hear in your voice, in the words you use to describe this lady who I doubt I shall ever meet that you love her. Stop loving me and let yourself feel again."

Rising from her seat on the crate, she took a few steps towards the mirror and pressed her right hand to the glass. Those were bold words spoken from a shy girl but she merely spoke her heart. Propriety was optional around Erik.

Hadn't he seen her in the worst possible scenarios?

Erik gasped several times, unable to process her requests. To stop loving Christine felt as if to stop breathing. To admit to loving Candela would open a myriad of wounds. She couldn't love him and would marry the Marquis the moment he asked it of her.

When he did not speak again for several moments, Christine grew panicked, worried he had left her.

"Erik! Erik! Where are you? You didn't leave?"

"I'm…here." He whispered, feeling as if his throat were being strangled.

"Oh! Good." Relief filled her voice as she laid her head against the cold mirror. "Please, listen to me. I beg you. Stop loving me."

"How?" He whispered, laying his hand against hers, separated only by the thin glass. He could feel her warmth through the divider.

"Choose not to. I do not know this girl but she sounds perfect for you. You always needed someone more than me. I couldn't have made you a good wife. I cry to often. See?" She brushed at an escaping tear. "Please, at least consider what I have said."

"I…I will consider it." He whispered, nodding even though she couldn't see him.

"Oh! Thank you." She gasped with satisfaction. "I'm afraid I must go. Raoul will be wondering where I have gotten off to." She lifted herself off the mirror and turned to go to the door when Erik's voice stopped her,

"I forgive you only if you forgive me." She paused for a moment before smiling.

"Of course I forgive you." Once more, she headed for the door but stopped again, on impulse, turning to face him once more. "I want to name him after you." She covered her flat stomach with a hand. "I haven't told Raoul yet but I hoped you wouldn't mind a namesake."

"I wouldn't mind." Erik choked out.

"Good." Giving him one last smile, she fluttered away, returning to her husband and leaving Erik with many thoughts to ponder.