A/N: Wow, I haven't been around for really long, haven't I? Firstly, I'm so sorry I disappeared without notice, but finals exams sprung up on me without me even realizing and I had to ban myself from doing anything except study for the past month or so. I'm not really back yet, because my exams haven't ended, but much of the worst is already over, so I thought I could treat myself to a little post.

To everyone's who still reading this, thank you for sticking around! xx

In this chapter, I might get killed by Raoul-supporters for again making him the one who break his promises, and please understand that I do not want to make Raoul the villain anymore than you do! And to me, he is not the villain, it is just unfortunate that the way he was brought up makes it hard for him to think about the less fortunate in society. Besides, there has to be someone to drive the story along!

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter... I know this messes up my posting schedule a little, and I probably won't be able to post next Monday, but perhaps I'll work something out. Just a heads up that the next few chapters will be posted a little haphazardly, with no fixed schedule!

xx hazel

Chapter 51: The False Promise

Paris, 1899

Erik groaned in pain as he awoke, feeling hot and sweaty all over. He felt a dull, throbbing ache in his left arm and when he tried to lift it, a sharp spike of pain shot through his entire arm, causing said limb to fall back onto the bed uselessly. He twisted his head to the side in confusion, wondering what had happened and why he was lying in bed.

A mess of bronze hair covered his other arm, the owner of the hair sleeping peacefully in a chair beside the bed, her head resting on the bed beside his arm. He lifted his arm to brush back the hair from her face tenderly.

And then it all came back to him in a rush. The cemetery. The vicomte. The gunshot. Coming back to his house. Fading into oblivion. Erik groaned.

Amélie woke up at the sound, blinking her eyes blearily. Her fatigue-ridden face brightened immediately when she saw that Erik was awake and looking at her. "Erik! You're awake!" She immediately placed her cool hand on his face, his neck, feeling the skin there. "Your fever feels much better."

She sat down, looking exhausted, and Erik attempted to sit up with the use of his good arm. Amélie hastened to help him, looking startled. "You must rest, Erik!"

"It is only the arm that is injured, Amélie," he said mildly.

"Only the arm?" She stared at him incredulously. "Erik, you could have died!"

"Do not make a big fuss out of nothing, Amélie. I will be fine." He felt air on his exposed face, and looked around for his mask.

"A big fuss? You will be fine?" Amélie suddenly shouted at him, standing. "Well, then I should not have spent the whole day here trying to break your fever! I should have left you to rot in your delirious state, because you would be fine anyway!"

He stared at her, and she back at him, and he was shocked to see tears well up in her eyes.

"Amélie," he began softly, but she looked away from him, her eyes brimming with tears.

"I thought you would die," she whispered, her voice sounding so frightened that it broke his heart. "You had such a high fever throughout the day, and it would not break… I was so scared the wound would be infected, and you would die. Lesser men have died for much less serious injuries, Erik. I was so scared you would be taken from me just like that."

"Amélie…" At that moment, he hated himself for having brushed aside her concern, for making her feel that way. "Amélie, I'm sorry. I should not have said that… it was… uncalled for. I am sorry."

She sniffed. "You should be."

He beckoned her back, and she gave him a haughty stare.

"Please?" He held out his hand to her.

She gingerly eased herself onto the bed with him, pressing her face into his neck. He could feel the wetness of her tears, and he wrapped his good arm around her shoulders, holding her close to him. "Hush… Amélie, I will be fine. I am sorry for what I said. Truly. I did not mean to undermine your concern for me."

"You are a foolish, foolish man." She choked out. "But thank you for living."

"Thank you for staying by my side," he said gruffly, pulling her a little closer.

"Erik, please promise me you will stay safe. We all worry for you, and this plan you have up your sleeve… when I came down and saw you lying on the floor… please, please say you will be careful."

He said nothing, and kissed the top of her head gently, thanking the heavens that he had her by his side. She was everything.

XXXXX

"Well it looks like you are up and about." Antoinette remarked dryly as she entered the house to see Erik pottering around the place, cleaning up with his good arm. "You cannot stay still in bed like a good patient, can you, Erik?"

"You know how I hate to be bedridden, Antoinette," Erik grumbled, shifting another pile of papers. "It makes me feel useless and old."

"You should have thought of that before you went and let yourself be shot," she snapped back, but without malice in her words. "What happened, Erik?"

He knew she was concerned. "I followed Christine to the cemetery to visit her father, under her request," he added, at Antoinette's shocked look. "For goodness's sake, Antoinette. Do you not know me well enough to know that I would not follow her around for no reason at all?

Anyway, her little vicomte decided that he did not like the idea of her missing, and came searching for her, demanding to know who she was with. I thought perhaps we could end this peacefully, Antoinette. Perhaps my Don Juan would not need to be performed under coercion. And so I stepped out, foolish man that I was."

Antoinette sighed grimly. "The vicomte did not take kindly to that, I assume."

Erik shrugged. "He pulled out a gun and shot me. What do you think? It is only by good fortune and the fact that he is a poor shot that I am standing here talking to you right now."

"She was worried, you know," Antoinette remarked, referring to Amélie. "Her face was so pale, and she stayed up the whole time just to make sure your fever broke. You worry all of us, Erik."

"And I am eternally in your debt for that, Antoinette. You know that. But all this will be over soon."

"You owe me nothing, Erik, for that worry is freely given." Antoinette sighed. "Now do get back into bed, for I need to check on your wound."

XXXXX

Raoul followed Christine into one of the practice rooms worriedly. After the encounter with her teacher at the cemetery the day before, she had barely said anything to him, and had remained cold and distant. He did not understand the situation.

He closed the door firmly behind him. Christine was looking at him with her wide, luminous eyes, filled with sadness. He hated seeing sadness in her eyes.

"Christine," he implored. "Will you not tell me what is wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

"Something wrong?" She snapped rather uncharacteristically. "Raoul, you went into a cemetery, shot a man, and would have attacked him if I had not stopped you. I was there to visit my father! And now I do not even know how my teacher fares!"

"The man was a danger to all of us, Christine," Raoul said, desperately wanting her to understand his fears. Her teacher is a madman who masqueraded as a ghost, for goodness's sake. Why can she not see the danger?

"He was a danger to no one, Raoul." Christine said sharply. "He was merely there to meet my father. He posed no threat to me."

"You invited him to meet your father?" Raoul said faintly. "I've never been to your father's grave to pay my respects to him."

"The opportunity never came up," she said, turning away from him. "I merely wanted Papa to meet the teacher who had given me my voice."

"Christine… was I so wrong in doing what I did? We all want the Opera Ghost to be captured, for him to stop his reign over the opera house. I saw an opportunity, and I took it."

"The Opera Ghost has said that he would leave once his opera is performed as per his instructions!" Christine hissed fiercely. "Why will nobody believe him? If we perform it according to how he wants it, he will leave this place, and we will not have to be under his 'tyrannical reign' –as you so put it—any longer!"

Raoul was alarmed, for Christine had never spoken so fiercely to him before, never raised her voice, or showed any sign of a temper. Does her teacher mean so much to her?

"We cannot believe the Opera Ghost." He insisted, and she sighed.

"Please, please trust me on this, Raoul." Her voice was gentler now. "I have his word that he will not bother us any longer. I am his student. He has no reason to lie to me."

Raoul did not believe her, and he did not believe the madman who claimed to be her teacher, but he said nothing. He had to protect her somehow, for she had been deluded into thinking that the monstrous fiend was a good man.

"Raoul," she continued. "I will sing in Don Juan, if you will promise me that there is to be no ploy to harm the Opera Ghost. I just want this to be over, Raoul, and if I sing, we will be able to stop all this. I do not want to see my teacher harmed over a matter like this. Can you promise me that?"

When he remained silent, she pressed on, "can you? Please, Raoul."

He nodded stiffly, hating to lie to her, but telling himself that it would all be for the greater good. After all this mess, he would formally announce his engagement to Christine, marry her, and bring her far away from this place of misfortune.

Her shoulders sagged in apparent relief. "Thank you, Raoul. Thank you. And now I must practice, for I want my voice in good condition for Don Juan."

Raoul nodded, stepping forward to take her face in his hands, and planting a kiss to her forehead. "I will see you later, Christine."

After he had left, Christine went to the door and locked it. She looked at the clock in the room, and waited for her teacher.

When the time arrived for her lesson, she worried that perhaps he had not made it back to the Palais Garnier. The horrifying thought of him lying somewhere in a pool of blood made her face pale.

"Angel?" She whispered quietly. "Angel, are you here?"

"I am always here for our lessons, Christine," his voice came quietly from within the walls, and the heavy weight on Christine's shoulders lifted as surely as if he had come to relieve her of the burden literally.

"Oh, Angel!" She cried out. "You are alive!"

"It will take more than a lousy shot to kill the Opera Ghost, Christine," he said gently. "I will be fine."

"I'm so terribly sorry, Angel. I did not expect—I had no idea he would follow us—and"

"Neither of us expected it," Erik cut her off firmly. "I was the foolish one to have appeared before him. I should not have; the Opera Ghost is welcomed by no one, apparently."

"Angel, you deserve a chance at freedom," Christine whispered. "Your dreams of a better, a new life? You deserve it all. And we are all fools for not recognizing the Opera Ghost for who he really is."

"The monster within?"

"You know that I do not mean that, Angel. You must know that I am singing Don Juan because I want to help in your plans for a different life. I would not have it otherwise. Raoul has promised… you will not be hurt in any way. I will sing this, Angel, and you will be free at last."

"The vicomte's promise?" Her Angel sounded extremely doubtful.

"Yes, I made him promise me earlier on. You will be free at last, Angel." She smiled, and she sounded so hopeful, so young, that Erik had not the heart to tell her what he really thought. Instead, he merely started the lesson.

XXXXX

After the lesson, Erik quietly made his way through one of the secret passages, the one that led straight to the manager's office. He pressed himself against the wall to listen to the conversation taking place within.

"Ah, monsieur le vicomte, welcome, welcome."

"I trust that preparations for our plan have begun?"

"Indeed they have. I have informed the gendarmes; they will be here punctually. And Mademoiselle Daae, will she…?"

"She will sing," said the vicomte with conviction. "I had to promise her that the Opera Ghost would not be harmed, but she agreed."

"A promise that we cannot keep, monsieur!"

"A little harmless white lie," the vicomte assured the manager. "Christine knows not what she is saying. "After all, it is only for her own good; she will be able to sing in peace here once the madman is apprehended."

"Very well, monsieur."

Erik turned to stand against the wall, leaning his head back against the stone. He laughed to himself, almost bitterly, even though he had expected that conversation to occur.

Ah, sweet young Christine… how much trust you had in your precious vicomte.

A/N: Have a very good weekend ahead! As usual, please read/review/fav/follow (: