And we're down for the count down (tear) Thank you readers, for your reviews and your fudge! (eats fudge) it really payed off for all of you!

And now, the new chapter, number 52!

D(SCLAIMER: I will never own Phantom of the Opera. there. i said it, happy??

Part Fifty-two:

He couldn't breathe. God, this couldn't be happening. Erik felt weak, small, and hopeless as he stared up at her. Christine. She was as beautiful as he remembered; no, better, his imagination could never make up something so pure, so perfect. He loved her. Of course, he still loved her. What mistake Erik made was forgetting how much. His pounded with a million aching, pains, and joys as he gazed at his Angel. He felt as though he could both fly, and sink deep into the earth, never to be seen ever again. Erik could barely hear Rachel whispering his name over and over, the worry in her voice heading to hysterics; he couldn't even hear the manager as he greeted the de Chagny's with genuine pleasure. He couldn't hear. Did he want to hear…? All he wanted to do was stare at them. God…. Erik felt as though someone had nailed his feet to the floor. Oh no…her head, Christine's head…it was heading in his direction. He held his breath as though it would make him invisible. What would happen if…? Should he move away? Should he, should he, should he?

It was too late to do anything as Christine's glamorous head turned, and found Erik's face. The healthy, pink coloring drained from her pretty face to leave it white as a sheet and her eyes widened to even larger proportions as disbelief spread across her features. She saw him! Suddenly, cut from the rope, he was free from his prison. Erik found his legs again and without a word to Rachel, he disappeared between the couples, running through them agilely, miraculously avoiding collision. "God…" he rasped hoarsely. He had to find Lark. He had to find her and get out. Get out and leave the pain….the unimaginable pain! He looked wildly across the room, searching low for she was such a small girl. How could he find her…? There! Over there in the far corner! Lark was resting against the wall, staring with awe at the couple on the top of the stairs. Christine. Was she looking…? Erik swallowed hard and did a quick head turn. God! She was still looking at him as though she'd seen a ghost.

"Lark…!" he called out, stumbling over to her, gasping even though he did not run far. She looked up with such innocence and unawareness that he wanted to cry. "Erik! There you are! We were wondering where you whe-…Erik?" she looked at him with shock. "Are you alright..?" He shook his head frantically and grabbed her hand, running to the exit. She stumbled slightly, but quickly matched his pace. "Erik..!" she cried, her voice afraid. "Where are we going…?" Erik didn't answer, but ran harder, out into the cold air. Out into the snowed streets, out around the Opera House…quickly! Quickly! Suddenly he felt a hard jerk backwards and he nearly sprawled onto his back. Lark had held him back, her heels digging into the ground. "Erik!" she cried. "Erik, look at me, please!" He turned wildly to look at her, all the fear, all the pain echoing out of his entire being. Lark's face was pale with fright as she looked him over. "What's wrong…?" she asked him, reaching out for him. He didn't see her though.

They couldn't stop now. His mind was racing furiously. What if Christine told someone he was here? Would she send the mob of men after him? What if they came after him again…? That group of unfeeling, soulless men that might follow….Erik wasn't afraid of them, nor of the death that they carried, but he just stared and stared at the young girl before him. They would hurt Lark. They were soulless enough to harm anyone that was with him. They would either hurt Lark to get to him, or kill him off and come after her. No! That couldn't happen! He wouldn't let it. They would get out….yes. They would go to the house and take whatever they needed to flee. They would flee. No. Lark wouldn't be able to keep up. She didn't deserve a life of running away. Erik thought back to Rachel and Richard. He would leave Lark with them. They were like family to her and she would be safe. Then he would leave, the mob would surely follow. He would make sure they would follow. "Erik!" Lark finally yelled, throwing herself around him. "What's wrong?" He looked down at her pale, frightened face. Mobs were quick. They had to hurry. "Come." He finally said, pulling her along.

"No!" she cried out, angrily. "No, I want to know what's wrong! Right now!" Erik turned to her despairingly but was caught by the fear and anger that echoed in her eyes; but then they softened as she grabbed his hand timidly. "Please," she begged, "Please tell me what's wrong." He shook his head, though, and tugged her more gently towards the Rue Scribe. "I will tell you," he said hurriedly, "but we have to get back home first, immediately." Lark was so confused. Why was he so afraid…? Was it the two people that had come into the ball room? The Vicomte and the Vicomtess? Now that she thought about it, the woman had looked almost like…. "Erik?" she asked. He didn't look at her, but opened the Rue Scribe's door and led them inside; their steps rushed. Lark wouldn't give up, though. As soon as they were in the boat, she leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. "Erik." She demanded.

Erik glanced up at her from the oars with pained eyes. "What?" he said, glancing back at the retreating shore. Lark fumbled with the corner of her dampened dress, frowning slightly. "Why did you run?" she asked curiously, "What frightened you?" He sighed heavily, but continued to row. "I guess…bad memories got me…shocked." Erik muttered, refusing to believe he was scared. Though his head was still pounding, his heart had slowed with the lack of threat. Perhaps Christine had already forgotten her quick view of him….perhaps she was upstairs dancing with that boy….forgetting her Angel and the ugly past that accompanied him. Perhaps she'll think it was a dream….a hallucination….then think nothing more of it and leave Erik by himself again…. "Erik?" Lark's little voice broke him out of the dark murk that surrounded his mind. "Erik, are you there?" He looked up at her to find her face creased with worry. "I'm fine." He lied between his teeth. He would have to stop worrying her. He would have to make her safe. Thankfully, she didn't question anymore, but looked straight ahead, nibbling on her lower lip.

Erik's hurried condition was still with him that as they bumped into the shore that he leaped up and nearly threw Lark out of the boat while helping her out. Leaping out himself, he turned to the child who was staring at him with confusion. "Erik," she started, but he interrupted. "Lark, get all your things." He said quickly, "Leave anything you don't need and put your stuff in the boat." He started towards the house, almost running into the doors. "Erik!" Lark cried, racing after him. "Why? What's going on?" A slam told her that he had already gone into his own room. Feeling confused and scared, Lark hurried to his door and eased it open. Erik was strutting around, clutching his head, muttering frantically under his breath. "Oh God, not now. Not here! Why, why, why??" He turned and spotted Lark by the door. "Lark!" he stormed, familiar irritation filling his voice. "Knock before you enter!" She bowed humbly. "Sorry, Erik." She murmured, looking up at him with narrowed eyes; not because of the dim light. "I just…I mean….What's happening? Why are we leaving?"

Erik sighed. Perhaps he was right….perhaps she did forget…. "I guess it doesn't matter anymore," he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "I…well…we're fine. We…we don't have to leave, I guess." Lark sighed with relief. "You scared me." She admitted, clinging to the doorframe. He looked at her through the gold mask. "I'm sorry." He sighed again, shoulders drooping. "You can go to bed now. Everything's….alright." She nodded hesitantly and headed out, closing the door behind her. Erik sank onto the top of the coffin, discarding his mask. What were they going to do?

What indeed? (tear) reviews are like tissues for our crying little hearts...(well, they help, anyways...)