Despite his protests, I made Raoul take me back to the opera. I lied telling him I had to collect a few things before returning home that night. He was quite adamant about waiting. I even took the measure of digging through my purse and showing him the coins I had, promising him I would hire a cab on my own.

He kissed my hand before bidding me good evening. As before he let his lips linger on my knuckles much longer than was necessary. The carriage drove off and I stood in the street watching it pass around the corner. I realized I still had my purse open and stared down at its contents.

I had been saving my wages. Before the mass, I had arranged to collect my belonging from Madame Vaelrius home. I took my father's violin, my cleanest dress, and a few well-worn books that the Professor had bought for me. M. Girard was kind enough to summon a driver who I instructed to deliver my affects to the dressing room at the opera. I also collected my savings which I had sewed carefully into the corner of my blanket. I scanned it now. It was by no mean a fortune, but there were an ample number of coins as well as a few bills.

The idea of escape was just now starting to disturb my thoughts. My fear and naivety had pushed the idea away, reasoning that it was pointless. That I had no reason to run. But now I knew that I had given myself over to a murderer. A man who stalked my every step; A charlatan, a deceiver.

My kind "maestro" was gone.

There was enough in my purse for the train. Enough to make it to the coast and perhaps on a ship.

My feet worked faster than my brain, turning away from the artist's entrance and down the paved street. I found myself moving in a frantic pace, down the Rue Scribe, calculating how much time I had left before the last train out of town. If I kept a quick enough pace I could be there before nine o'clock. But the stiff structure of my skirt prevented my legs from taking a longer stride and the train of my dress was getting caught in the unpaved stone. I finally realized how stupid I had been to sign away my inheritance. With that amount of money, I could have made a quick escape, and start a new life.

I stepped up on the side walk. The street lamps were out halfway down the street, plunging the side I stood on into almost total darkness. I pressed on, hoping that I was lucky enough to not be followed. Hoping that Erik had returned to the opera well before me and was waiting in the house by the lake.

In one of the doorways I saw a strange shape. I jumped but then realized it was nothing but an arm with a long hand turned upward. I came closer. It was just an unfortunate homeless wretch, trying to find shelter in the doorway. I noticed only the silhouette of his hand and leg as I hurried pass.

He murmured something. I didn't stop even to toss him a coin. My money was far more precious to me now. I came to the part of the street that was pitch black.

"Where are you going?" I heard a voice. Over the click of my boots and the drumming of my heart, I mistook it for the voice of the beggar behind me.

"Where are you going...Christine...?"

In an instant I was flung back against the brick wall. I didn't even have a chance to cry out before fingers closed over my mouth. Another hand snatched my purse away and threw it on the sidewalk, coins spilling into the street.

If only it had just been a common thief. But I was not that fortunate.

Erik's golden eyes glinted in the dark like the eyes of a cat. They had a wicked look about them. He moved his hand away and I stood still as a stone.

"I'll ask again, where are you going?" he said.

I didn't answer. He stepped away from me, releasing his hand. I didn't move a muscle. "You seemed like you were in a great hurry. What could cause a lovely young woman such as yourself to take such a hazardous walk along the streets of Paris at night?" he mused. He bent down and picked up the fallen coins, depositing them back into my purse. There was just enough light from the other side of the street for me to make out his silhouette. His figures moved rapidly over the sidewalk, but his eyes never left me.

"Seems to me you were trying to get away from some thing...or someone. It wouldn't be that odious Vicomte de Chagny now would it?" His voice was like acid, turning causal words into stinging barbs aimed at me.

"No. I don't have to get away from him. He's kind enough to leave me alone when I ask him to. He's a gentleman." I threw my own acid back at him.

"So, I'm not a gentleman?" he asked with a cruel laugh in his throat. He held up my purse and I snatched it back. "I'll take that as a compliment then. I've been called much worst. Your words honor me Christine."

He turned on his heels, and the sound of his long cape slapping at the wind broke the still quiet of the Rue Scribe.

"Since you are out here on this particular side of the opera. I'd like to take this opportunity to show you something." he mused and then held out his hand. Slowly he uncurled his fingers and I saw something black in his palm, but I couldn't tell what it was.

"It's too dark. I can't see it." I gasped. Even though I did not care to see anything he gave to me at the moment.

"Open you hand Christine." I did as he instructed and felt a small object drop into it. My fingers curled around something smooth and cold.

"A key?"

"Yes, let me show you what it opens." he said with delight. He removed a match from his pocket and struck it. My attention turned as he reached out to the wall behind me, placing his hand on one of the bricks. In a swift move he moved the heavy brick out of it mortar and revealed beneath it a small key hole. "Will you do the honors?"

I placed the key in the hole and heard the thump of a lock. Erik stepped forward and pulled at the bricks on the left side. They gave way in his hands for they were not part of a permanent wall, but of a sliding door. He turned and offered his arm to me.

"Shall we?"

I did not take his arm. I stood there staring back at him in anger. He let his arm drop and stepped behind me. Then he moved ahead into the open portal of the door, letting the movement of his body push me forward. His hand deafly plucked the key from my grasp and the stone door shut behind us.

Now I was in true darkness. The light from the match fizzled out. I heard the sound of feet moving away from me.

"Erik, I can't see a thing." I cried suddenly panicking.

"Neither can I, but I know the way Christine." he answered unconcerned. He kept moving ahead.

"Erik please, just light another match?" I begged.

"Pity that was my last one." he bemoaned.

I took a step forward on my own, but the ground beneath my feet was uneven. I tripped over my skirt and nearly fell over myself.

"Take my hand Christine, and you won't have to be afraid of the dark." He instructed. I groped into the darkness until I felt his fingers reached mine. Then I was lead away.

We descended through many steps, all the while in complete darkness. At one point I was guided by Erik to stand in front of him. "Stay close Christine. The path gets very narrow here and I wouldn't want you to fall." He was mocking me. I felt his thin frame press into the folds of my dress. This was punishment because he knew what I had done. He had no doubt seen everything. He knew that I discovered he had been at the cemetery. He must have thought it was great fun to watch me try to escape. I hadn't even made it beyond a block of the opera before he caught me. And I feared I never would. He was too close.

Finally I saw light up ahead and we appeared out of the tight black passage and onto the stone shore of the manmade lake. He only released me to untie the boat and row us to the other side. Once inside, I tried to storm pass him and go straight to my room. But he stopped me, catching me by the hand once more.

"Wait Christine, you forgot your present." he informed me excitingly.

"You mean your rose?" I asked. "No, I saw that. I meant to leave it."

"No, I mean this." he held up the key in front of me. "For you my love. A key to the passage on the Rue Scribe. You only need to follow the tunnel down to the lake. No trapdoors or false passages to trip you up. That way you can leave this house, whenever you like." Those last words were hurled at me like an insult.

I had never in my life wanted to strike anyone. But I felt an animalistic rage burn inside me at that moment, to the point I would have gladly slapped Erik senseless without a second thought. No doubt he would have stopped me so instead I snatched the key and threw it across the room.

"That's what I think of your present! It's worthless!" I shouted. "And this!" My hands flew to the collar of my dress, wanting to rip it off my skin. "And everything else!" I collapsed into an arm chair seething.

Erik, as cool as ever, placed a hand under his chin. "Christine, don't make yourself upset." He scolded.

My brow knit in fury as I looked at him. Everything about Erik was a mystery and due to my own stupid curiosity, I had started to strip away each layer of that mystery. First had been the mystery of his identity, and why a skilled musician would take the time to train an unskilled girl like me. Then I had tried to reason with his madness. Why he had pursued me through the opera, frightening me half to death only to bring me to his home and profess his love for me. He was devoted to me and intent on keeping me with him forever.

I had unmasked him and seen the horror of his face. I still shuddered to think of it now.

I had grappled with all these things, trying to understand what possessed a man to act this way and yet still be kind and gentle towards me.

Then I had discovered more horrible truths, even worse than his unfortunate face. His devotion and obsession with me had driven him to murder. To take another life in the most cruel manner. And though I had returned to him after all this, he felt the need to watch me like hawk stalking his prey. A key that unlocked a door was useless, knowing Erik would only be a few steps behind me. Whenever I opened it.

I bit my lip hard. "What does it matter when I leave? You'd find me. You let me leave this place...but you never leave me." I whispered.

He circled around the chair I sat in. He leaned over the top, letting an arm reach down to brush against my shoulder. I heard his steady breathing above me. A calm presence that belonged to a man who was anything but "steady."

"Exactly so." he stated. "I can't help myself Christine. Once you agree to stay with me, I knew I could never let you go."

I shook my head and the tears came freely into my eyes. I cursed myself for making such a promise.

"Good God..." I moaned moving away from his touch and his breath upon my face. "Why? Why bother?" I cried. "If you were going to do this anyway, why would you even let me go? It wouldn't have been better if you locked me away in my room forever."

"Christine, I have lived my entire life in isolation." he said solemnly "I even know the sick perversion of being locked away in a cage. Lock you away? No, I may be a monster, but I'm not monstrous enough to do that to you. I won't make you suffer like I have. But I must keep an eye on you. I must protect you." he reasoned with me. When I did not look at him he dropped to his knees before me, again assuming the role of the prostrate servant.

"Besides, you deserve to live in the light. At least I allow you that. You are doing so well in rehearsal. Soon all of Paris will hear your voice." He reached up a hand and his long fingers grazed by the tips of my ears "And they will know as I know how it feels to have the voice of an angel grace mortal's ears. By the end of this season, you will be singing the lead role."

The word angel stabbed at me. "Will I? Isn't that what you promised Genny? That she would be the prima donna. Isn't that what the Angel of Music promised her?" my voice grew hush but I drew out the words to make them sound harsh.

He narrowed his eyes at me, displeased with my challenge. "That doesn't matter. That girl's voice is passable at the least, but you have the real talent." his fingers went from my ears to my lips, just touching the corner of my mouth. "You will thrill the patrons on the Opera Populaire with your god given talent Christine...and they will love you for it...just as I love you..."

I pushed my hands into his chest, which was enough to push him back on his heels. "I've had enough of your kind of love!" I screamed and darted pass. He only watched as I ran up the stairs to my room. I hurled one more insult before I slammed the door.

"You're insane!"

The hard tap of a baton stung at my ears.

"Mademoiselle Daae!"

My mouth opened but nothing came out. I knew the notes, but I forgot the words. I shook my head and waved my hands in front of me. "I'm sorry M. Gabriel, I have forgotten the words." I shamefully admitted

The chorus master glared at me as if I had committed a mortal sin. I would have remembered them if I could. I knew them, perhaps by heart but I had become so distract and frightened.

"Then look at Meircer in the prompter box! That is what he is there for." Gabriel corrected me, the baton in his hand almost flying out of his grip as he waved it. We had been practicing the opera in its entirety and this was now the third run through of the day. I heard a few groans behind me and I turned my attention to M. Mercier, who sat propped within the tiny box at the foot of the stage.

"Pian, pia in le andro pui..." he started with a smile, trying his best to not appear annoyed.

"Yes...presu tempo perso non sara. On my tip toes I'll go nearer. Thank you monsieur." I offered.

Gabriel gave a long dramatic sigh. "Daae, did you know that Mozart wrote the Marriage of Figaro in six weeks? And yet it seems you can't memorize the lines of only one of the characters in the same amount of time. Why is that?"

I loathed his sarcastic tone. It wasn't that I had memorized my lines. I had another teacher who demanded perfection in my performance well beyond M. Gabriel's standards. Erik had insisted I learn every line of every character, even if I wasn't in the scene at that time. This would have come more easily to a pupil who had spent years in the conservatory learning the librettos of operas like a second language. But not me.

"I have memorized lines monsieur." I protested. "I just was flustered and they slipped my mind. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't." he grumbled.

The rehearsal finally came to an end well long after dinner time. My stomach protested the late hour and my feet and knees ached from standing. The company was dismissed but not before M. Gabriel pulled me aside.

"Christine, I hate to do this because it interferes with my Sunday holiday as well as yours, but I must insist you meet me here to practice tomorrow. You will not have your words "slip your mind" again, is that understood?"

"Yes sir." I said speaking at the same time to both of my instructors. I glanced up towards Box Five. No doubt Erik was listening and would demand the same of me that evening, drilling every line into me.

I turned to leave, noticing that Genny had already left the stage. As I turned down the wings to our dressing room, I overheard Carlotta talking to her maid.

"Well it's what I said all along. You can't make something out of nothing..." she intoned. I turned and our eyes met. She had been directing that comment at me.

"Did you have something to say to me, La Diva?' I asked.

She cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Then say it." My patience had been worn thin.

"I was just confirming what I have thought of you from the beginning. What you're doing may be a great publiticty stunt, but it won't work. I've seen it happen before. You'll work so hard to learn your music, because it will be a task twice as difficult for someone like you than it is to someone like me." she continued, taking out a fan and stalking towards me.

La Carlotta was a large woman, tall and thick and she used her stature to intimidate me. "It will exhaust you and on opening night..." she slapped her fan in against her palm. "You'll choke. You won't have the nerves for it my dear." Her endearments were dripping with sarcasm. "Then at last you'll put these fanciful dreams out of your head and go back to where you belong. Leave opera to the professional. So as I said, you can't make something...out of a nothing."

Then she laughed. She had wanted to hurt me. She wanted to see me cry but I didn't give her the satisfaction.

"You would do well to watch your tongue La Diva." I hissed. "Before you insult me or anyone else for that matter. Others might be listening."

I almost couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth. I was using Erik's watchful presences to my advantage. And I was nearly gloating about it.

My threat failed to move her. "Who is listening then? The Opera Ghost!" and with that she titled her head back and shrieked with laughter.

Her laugh followed me as I stalked away through the wings.

I returned to the house on the lake through the Rue Scribe, using the key Erik had given me. I was not surprised to see him waiting for me in the sitting room. I wondered to myself how fast he must have run to get down here before I did. To give the false pretense that he had been waiting at home for me all day.

I threw up my hands exhausted as he rose upon my entrance. "Please, I'm hungry and I'm tired. Just..." I licked my lips. "I would just like some food to eat in my room if you'd permit me." After what had happen a few week earlier at the cemetery, I had made an effort to avoid Erik as much as possible even in his own home. I had already made up my mind. I would have none of false freedom Erik offered me. I would simply return to my room and stay there all evening, until I could plan a way to be rid of him. To be rid of all this. I would barricade my door if I had too.

Just like I had done against Frederich.

"I was rather hoping you would join me for supper." he whispered. "I was going to take you out."

I froze at the word 'out' and turned to face him. "What do you mean?" I then noticed on the table, a simple basket with the end of a baguette stick out from its side. "Like a picnic." I asked with a laugh.

He cringed and shook his head. "A picnic in December?" he mused. "No I don't think so and beside I'm not very fond of picnics. Put on your coat Christine and you'll see."

I wasn't in the mood for any games. "Please Erik, I am very tired. Can we not?"

He shook his head. "I had intended this as an apologize. Please put on your coat."

I did as he told me. With the basket under one arm and mine hand in his other; he led me back up the secret entrance of the Rue Scribe. Outside, a handsome coach waited for up. The driver made no notice of our strange entrance and the cold winter wind soon drove me inside the vehicle. The brassier had been turned on full blast and there were a collection of blankets stored in the corner. I pulled one over my lap and removed my hat while Erik stepped in.

Soon we were moving at a slow pace. I noticed that the curtains had been drawn, for obviously reasons and I frowned. Erik must have sensed this and he reached over and pulled aside the curtain, exposing the night visage to me. I looked out, content for the moment to gaze at the stars settling themselves in the night sky.

Erik unpacked the contents of the basket. I saw not only the bread, but a collection of sliced vegetables packed neatly into a linen napkin. He offered them to me.

"Here you said you were hungry." I gratefully placed the contents in my mouth, trying not to stuff myself. I looked closer at the basket to see the content buried deep. There was a bottle of liquor along with two glasses. A box of chocolates and a heavy glass container filled with small red items that I could not identify. I took them out and set them beside me.

The carriage made its way around the streets of Paris. At Erik's command, the driver slowed and I took the time look out the window. The coach was slowly passing by the Louvre, provided us with most excellent nighttime view of the great museum. It was almost romantic.

I heard the clink of glass and turned my attention from the window to Erik. He had opened the bottle and was pouring himself a glass. In his long gracefully fingers, he held the stem of the other glass between his thumb and forefinger. He noticed me.

"Would you care for some Christine?" he asked causally.

"What it is?" I returned his offer with suspicion.

At this he raised the other glass to his lips and took a deliberate drink. He licked his lips in satisfaction. "It's not drugged, if that's your concerned." He poured a small amount of the liquor into the empty glass then refilled his own. "It's brandy." he stated holding the glass out to me.

I took it and raised it to my lips. "Not too much." he cautioned as the warm bittersweet liquid passed my lips. I felt it slide down my throat filling my upper body with warmth.

"I've never had brandy before." I admitted, cradling the glass in-between my fingers. Erik took another drink. I stared down at my glass for a long while. I wasn't sure what to say. Should I thank him for the romantic carriage ride and the food?

"What is the cause for all this?" I asked.

"I told you before Christine. This is an apology. For how I have been treating you lately. If we had more outings like this, perhaps you wouldn't feel the overwhelming need to run away for me." he explained coolly.

"I didn't try to run because of that." I spoke through clenched teeth. "You are driving me away with your dishonesty." I admitted. And it was true. Had Erik had been straightforward before, I would have been more considerate to his...unusual habits of conducting a relationship.

"I try not to make promise I cannot keep..." he took another drink. "But if it means that much to you, I will make an attempt to be more open with you. Ask me anything you like and I will tell you the truth. From now on"

I looked up at him in disbelief. He was certainly in a good mood if he was this open with me. A barrage of questions invaded me at that moment.

"You said that you knew what it was like to be locked in a cage? Is that true?" His fingers tighten over the globe of the glass, to the point he might have broken it with the pressure he released. I saw the lids of his eyes fall, causing the golden light beneath the mask to narrow.

"Did you think was I was lying?" he asked his voice flat and void of emotion.

"No...I was just..." My glass was shaking in my hands. "You seemed so angry that I thought...you were just saying that to frighten me." I knew I had asked the wrong question. He smiled and it terrified me.

Erik leaned over and poured more brandy into my glass. "Here, I think you should have more to drink, Christine. This is going to be an interesting story. You should have refreshment if you are to listen." his voice had that bitter cynical tone in it. I tried to steady my hands to keep the brandy inside my glass. He knocked on the roof and the carriage stalled to a slower pace. Even with the brassier and the blankets filling the carriage with heat, I felt ice cold, waiting for him to speak.

"As you can imagine Christine, my parents weren't exactly thrilled that I was born with this face." he gestured to his mask. "My first and only present from my poor insane mother was a mask, so she wouldn't have to look at me. Her only son with the face of a devil." He took a long drink, draining the glass. "Smartest thing she ever did, I suppose." he mused. I watched his tongue uncurl like a snake's, savoring the remaining liquor left on his thin lips. I calculated how much he had to drink so far.

"Even though I was a stupid child, it didn't take me too long to realize it was better if I stayed out of sight. I would spend most of my days outside, hiding in the woods near our house. Sometime I would spend whole days and nights living outdoors. But the need for warmth and shelter brought me back. Each time I saw the disappointment in my mother's face at my return. She was hoping that I had been killed. So that I would stop turning up. Everyone stayed away from our house. The villagers created their own fantasies about me. That I was a monster and a wild child to boot." A strange laugh rose in his voice. "One time, I think I was ten...it's hard to keep track of your age when no one care to celebrate the anniversary of your birth..." he trailed off. He had been looking out the window as he spoke, but now his attention focused on me.

"You look cold Christine. Have a drink. It will make you feel better" he instructed.

"Erik...you don't have to talk about..." I started.

"You asked me. It would be rude of me to lie to you again, my dear." he pointed out. "But I suppose I should get to the point and make this short. Don't want to spoil this lovely evening." A finger encircled his glass absentmindedly as he spoke. I took a small sip of brandy. It did make me feel warmer.

"I had been away from my home for almost a week. When I returned, my mother made a terrible fuss. She did her best to pretend she was concerned about me. She warned me there were gypsies in the area who would steal little boys away. I reminded her that gypsies don't steal little boys like me. I called her some terrible names and left again. I hated her for her false motherly concerned. I was so angry that I became distracted."

He set down his glass in the basket. He opened the box of chocolates and held them out to me. I shook my head. He dropped it then let his hands grasp his knees.

"You see Christine; gypsies do steal children...especially children who look like me. They caught me in the woods with a net. Like an animal. Then I was placed in a cage. A filthy cage..." his voice trailed off. "My mother was right."

"Erik." I gasped. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

"They put me on display!" he cried, his voice sounded hoarse. "I wasn't just a prisoner; I was a side show attraction. A freak..." he hissed. "I fought at first, but then I realized I wasn't stronger enough to break free, not yet. But I waited, and soon I would become smart enough to earn my freedom."

I dared to move one of my hands up to my face, to cover the fact that I was starting to cry. I had my answer now. I knew what had caused Erik to become so mad and deranged. What had driven him to abide in the cellars of the opera.

He had been made into a monster. I thought of Erik, young and helpless. His spirit crushed by the iron bars around him. His torment at seeing all those mad faces staring at him. Laughing at him. Human faces. Human beings who behaved so cruelly to one of their own. Because he did not have a face like them.

The tips of Erik fingers touch the back of my palm. I stole a glance up to see him staring intently.

"Don't cry Christine." The scent of brandy filled my nostrils.

"Please...Erik. I want to go home..." I begged.

"Yes I suppose I've ruined the evening. I'm sorry."

I was the one who needed to feel remorse. I had pried. I waved my hand in front of my face as if I could banish the tears and the fumes in one motion.

"You haven't even tried the fruit I brought." Erik pointed out, his gaze falling to the container "You should have some. They will bring some color back to your face."

I twisted the top open, grateful for a distraction. I poured out a handful of the small red seeds into my palm. Their chilled texture felt alive against my skin.

"They are cold..." I noted.

"Almost frozen actually. I find its the best way to enjoy one." He reached forward to point at them. "They go very well with brandy."

I put one in my mouth, sucking on it until it thawed between my lips. A burst of tart juice touched my tongue and a hard kernel still remained.

"Do I swallow them?" I asked my mouth awkwardly clenching the seed.

Erik shook his head and produced a napkin from the basket. "No you spit them out." he explained handing me the napkin. I did as he instructed.

"Not very ladylike of me to spit." I added. My lips were hungry for more and I slid them into my mouth in small but greedy handfuls. The carriage had quickened once again and I hope we were returning to the opera. I noticed Erik still looking at me and I held out my hand to him; a few seeds resting on it.

"Would you like one?" I asked for he had spoken fondly of them.

Without hesitation, he leaned his head over my hand. In a few seconds, his lips were touching the skin of my palm. They slowly closed over one of the seeds bringing it into his mouth. The sensation of the cold fruit and his warm lips against my skin was intense and sensual. His lips lingered there for a few more seconds before pulling away. His eyes were closed as I watched him move his lips and finally roll the seed off his tongue.

With a small laugh, he reached to remove the seed and toss it aside. "Forgive me. That was quite wicked of me." he admitted. I didn't response. I was still stunned by what he had done...and how much I had enjoyed it.

"I saw that young vicomte of yours slobbering kisses over your hand. Without asking you permission. I'm afraid I became a bit jealous of him."

A few seeds still remained. The sudden surge of heat on in my hand thawing them.

"Erik, what is this fruit?" I asked.

"Oh, I didn't tell you? It's a pomegranate...pomegranate seeds."

I swallowed hard and my hand shifted. While I had never tasted a pomegranate, I knew about the fruit. Persephone had eaten pomegranate seeds in the underworld. Hades had tempted her with them, and like Eve and the apple, it had sealed her fate.

"Do you know that a pomegranate is often viewed as a fruit of fertility and beauty? And yet some insist on labeling it the fruit of the dead." Erik lectured me, reading my thoughts. "Some say it only took four pomegranate seeds to tie Persephone to Hades, other say six."

I lost my appetite.

"Tell me Christine, how many have you had so far?"