"The opera ghost really existed."

This was the last line in my diary. The last line I would probably ever write in it.

The chilled wind from the ocean shore was blowing fiercely this October night, rattling the windows of the house as it past. With each gust that assaulted my ears, I could sense the ghosts of my past calling out to me. Particularly one.

The fire had almost disintegrated into embers. The light in my room had become so low that I only realized how much it had strained my eyes when I finally pulled away from my writing. I couldn't even see the hands on the clock, but I knew the hour was late. Perhaps one maybe even two o'clock. I hadn't been sleeping well since we left Paris.

None of us would ever be the same, but now here we were at least safe. Raoul and I had taken Genny back to the de Changy's Brittany estate. We lived still in a state of terror for a few weeks, frightened that the opera ghost would soon visit and seeks his revenge on us. By this point, Genny had been driven completely mad. The isolation in the cellars had sent her over the edge. She spent her days in her room or roaming freely around the manor house, softly singing to herself and constantly brushing her fingers through her hair and twirling a necklace at her throat. Most of it was gibberish, but often I hear a garbled tune from Faust, letting me glimpse into her madness. She still felt she was singing that night at the opera, the starring role of Marguerite. A role I feared, she would play for the rest of her life.

Raoul made a brave effort to keep his disappearance and his sister's madness quiet. There were only a few devoted servants on the estate some of whom had help raise the two de Changy children after their mother had died. Their loyalty was unquestionable so they did not pry as to why their master had returned suddenly, accompanied by his mad sister and another woman.

Raoul had begged for me to stay with him at his home and I obliged him for a while. Yet I still felt that Erik was lurking in every shadow, just waiting to claim me once more. The thought that plagued my mind was if Erik somehow managed to find me, would I go with him willing to spare my friends once more. My resolve was to never return to the opera or to Erik. Even in those moments of weakness when my body ached for his caresses and when my ears yearned for his music.

So I wrote instead. I placed all my conflict and my heartbreaks on paper. Maybe years later I would look back and laugh at how foolish I was. Or re-read my experience and be consumed with grief once more. There was no music here. I think Raoul and I found it both too painfully. I insisted finally that I find my own lodgings. Raoul offered a small cottage that rested among the de Changy's land holdings. It was nestled between the forest and high enough that I could look down out my bedroom window and see the lights of the town and the lanterns of the fisherman's boats. Raoul visited every day and did his best to make sure I was provided for. Yet I sense as he departed my company to reluctantly return to his home, one unspoken question still remained on his lips.

His proposal.

How could I accept it? I had dragged him through hell and back. I was responsible for the tragedy that had befallen him as his family. Yes I had saved him in the end, but how would marrying me be a suitable reward to him? Who deserved so much more than I could offer him. I had told him on several occasions that my refusal was not because I still had feeling for Erik. I assured him that I would never betray him and risk our lives to return to Paris. But I insisted that I felt the best thing for both of us was to remain as we were before all these terrible events. The only promise I gave was that I would consider it when I had forgiven myself.

But that could take a long time, possibly forever. It would not be fair to try to hold onto Raoul's heart when I was not worthy. There was another reason that soon I would no longer be able to conceal. I had removed Erik's wedding ring a long time ago, but there was no a piece of him with me that I could soon no longer deny.

I rubbed my eyes and checked the entry in my diary. October 30, 1882. It had been almost 3 months since we had escaped Paris. For all the exhaustion and anguish I had experience since then, I had blamed it on my nerves and emotions. Even on my laziest of days, I felt with the overwhelming need to sleep. While I tried to rest, my mind never did embrace the sweet call of sleep very often. I lied awake at night, sweating and shivering in turn, haunted by nightmares that visited me even in my wakefulness.

I did my best to hide my illness from Raoul who was already consumed by his own more pressing problems. At times, I feared for my life and wanted to seek a doctor. In the same thought, I was consumed by the saddening feeling that it would be a blessing for me to die. But it was not death that was stalking me.

My symptoms decreased and I finally snapped out of my delirium and recognized these changes for what they were.

I closed my diary and backed away from the desk. The wind rattled the windows once more, as if crying out for me to confess my secret. I held my arms over my abdomen, trying to comfort myself and the small life I held inside me. Raoul had been the perfect gentleman to me, never once using his position or letting his feeling towards me cloud his judgment. He had barely kissed my hand though he longed to do more. So I knew that the child I was carrying was not his. I would be a mother to a fatherless child and any hopes Raoul had of marrying me would be shattered. I could not let him do such a thing. I would not ruin him further. But mostly, I think the idea that I choose Erik over him, that I traded my most sacred virtue for his life in this way, would destroy him.

Erik had not really left me. I had resigned myself to love this child, despite its parentage. I had to soon make plans to leave this place and make my own way, despite any protests. I could not bear to bring any further shame on Raoul and his family.

The unknown frighten me. I clutched my diary to my chest and stared into the dying fire. Between the lines of my mad ramblings and indecision, I had outline everything that had happened to me over the past year. I made plain the hidden truths about Erik. That he had abducted me, driven my friend to madness and murder. He was an accomplice in the death of Carlotta. He had been responsible for the gruesome murder of Frederich. I had no doubt in my mind that he had caused the demise of Philippe de Changy and that he had made the chandelier fall that fateful night. He had imprisoned Raoul and his sister and was guilty of many more crimes that I could not detail on paper. And then there was what he had done to me. Broken me down through his lies, deceit and most horribly his love.

I had an address that had been lying on my desk for weeks. It was for the inspector who had contacted me after the murder of Frederich. He had suspected I knew more and I was ready to confirm his suspicions. I had everything I need to mail it off to him. He would have a confession but more importantly, I had recorded the entrances to the opera cellars, all the secrets I could remember including the old dungeons, the entrance on the Rue Scribe and the house by the lake. With one act, I could right all of Erik's wrongs and at the same time doom him to an imprisonment worse than the one he inflicted on himself.

I had only sought to love him. When the truth was revealed and my eyes became open to his horrible past, I did not become repulsed but only thought that in some small way, my love would save him from his misfortunes. I had given him that small hope, that brief time of happiness and then I abandoned him once again. I recalled that night in the carriage when Erik told me of the horrors of being displayed in a cage. As much as I loathed what he had done to me, I still loved him too much to cause him suffering like that once more.

I let my diary fall from my grip into the fire. It's brittle pages stoked the embers as they quickly lit up at once, bringing a roaring flame and heat into the room once more. I would be the keeper of my own secrets and of Erik's. With luck, no one would remember what had happened to us.

Not even our child.

I went to the window, being called once more by the ghostly sounds of the wind. I let my shoulders relax as I sighed, feeling a great burden lifted from me. My hands found the edge of the curtains as I felt a strange longing to look out at the lights of the lanterns and the coast one more time before going to bed.

I opened the curtains and two glowing yellow eyes starred back at me from amidst the darkness.

The End?

*Dodges the rocks and rotten fruit pelted in my direction* Yes a cliffhanger!

Is it Erik or Christine just seeing things? I'll let you the reader decide.

Just be glad that Erik made it through this fic alive(?) since I have a nasty habit of killing him off. However my body count stands at four as this end so nothing to brag about here. Yes I have thought about a sequel but I think leaving the end up to your imaginations is much more exciting that anything I could conjure up. Plus I have a long list of other thinks to work on, AU drabbles, steampunk, etc.

Thanks so much for reading this and for the brave souls who stuck with it even after my long absence. I apologize for my mistakes in the earlier and later chapters since I was without a beta and I tried to edit as best I can. If you liked this story tell your friends, share it on your blog. It would mean a lot to me. If you didn't like this story well you're a glutton for punishment for reading it till the end.

Hopefully I will start posting brand new Phantom phics soon. Until next time dear readers, I remain your obedient servant, P.C.