Disclaimer: Same as always!

Chapter Forty-Two

The Persian rose early in the morning, finding that he was still exhausted from his train ride from the north of France where he had been taking a respite for nearly six weeks. His servant Darius had not met him at the train station but he had everything waiting for him as he had asked upon his return to his flat on the Rue de Rivoli. He had fully intended to discover Erik's whereabouts the night before, but he saw no sign of him at the Opera. He thought it was likely that Erik had turned to the streets of Paris, but he would not have been able to show his face. Questioning people on the street was not going to get him anywhere, he realized. He attempted to logically deduce which direction Erik might have gone upon leaving the Populaire. Could he have gotten far? Where might he have gone? Did someone arrest him or take his life? No…surely news like that would have made the front page of the Epoque. He dressed in haste and hurried down the hallway, wearing dark clothing and a black bowler. He despised the hat, but it made him feel less conspicuous in Parisian society.

"Master, can I get you something?" Darius spoke suddenly, appearing from seemingly nowhere, as he often did.

The Persian was startled. "No…no, Darius, thank you. I have to go out. Has there been any news of Erik this morning?"

"No. But I will be glad to come and help you in your search, if that is your wish."

The old man thought for a moment and rubbed his smooth chin. "Very well. I suppose that two of us will cover ground more quickly than one. Let's be off at once."

Darius bowed and retrieved a dark coat and hat, following his master out of the flat and down the Rue a short way before they hailed a cab. "To the Rue Scribe," he told the driver. The men climbed inside and the Persian spoke to his servant. "I shall cover ground from the Rue Scribe and go east and southeast. You should go west and southwest from the Opera and see if you can find any clues of his whereabouts. We will meet at the small café on the corner of the Rue St. Augustine and the Rue Gaillon at one o'clock for lunch. Buy yourself a newspaper and read through it for clues. I will purchase one for myself as well. Be mindful of your words…phrase any questions carefully. You know what to do." Darius nodded, and soon they had arrived near the Opera on the Rue Scribe. The Persian paid the driver and the two men parted ways after first heading to a newsstand to purchase the latest papers.

The Persian noticed that some of the people on the streets were wearing their very best clothes. It is Sunday, he remembered with a hint of disappointment. It may be difficult to speak to many people today. He leaned against a brick wall and opened his newspaper, scanning it to check for any clues. He never dreamed he would find one so quickly, but on the gossip page, there was a small mention of Viscomte Raoul de Chagny's broken engagement to one Mademoiselle Christine Daae. The paper viciously went on to say that Mlle. Daae was now, not surprisingly, working as a seamstress' apprentice at a shop in the area of the Nôtre Dame. If Erik knows of this, would he not pursue her once again? This thought greatly troubled the Persian, and he set out once more to find a cab.

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Christine was in her room getting ready for church when there was a polite knock at the door. "Come in, Erik," she said, smiling to herself. The door creaked open as she was pulling her white gloves up her arms.

She felt a hand at the small of her back. "Mon ange, you look lovely…but must you cover up your graceful arms?"

She turned to face him, laughing. "Yes, I must, because they not only look elegant…they help my arms to stay warmer in this dreadful cold!" She encircled his waist with her arms and he kissed her hair.

"Ready to go, my fianceé?" he asked her, releasing her and letting his eyes roam over her attire.

"Almost," she said, holding out her necklace to him. "I could use your help with this."

He grasped the dainty necklace and his long, nimble fingers unfastened the tiny clasp. He brought it around her and hooked it at the back of her neck as she lifted her hair. "Thank you," she said, turning around and looking up shyly into his eyes. He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek and brought his lips gently to hers in a kiss.

"Are we ready now?" he whispered to her as he pulled away, his demeanor clearly indicating that he would much rather remain as they were.

"Let's go," she responded softly, taking his arm and following him from the room. They descended the steep staircase and she grasped her heavy cloak, pulling it around her. They exited the back door of the shop as a light snow began to fall.

"Mon ange," he began, as they turned the corner toward the front of the shop where his carriage was parked, "I have something to tell you."

She turned to him with a concerned expression on her face. "Please tell me it isn't bad news…I just don't want to hear any now…not when I am so happy!"

"No," he laughed gently, rubbing the back of her gloved hand. "It's nothing like that. I…I've told the Laurents…about us."

"You what?" she gasped, clearly horrified. "But, Erik! They are Raoul's friends! What if they tell him about you? What if he finds you and then you are arrested? Oh, Erik, how could you do that?" She grasped the front of his cloak, weeping and near hysterics. It was not at all the reaction that he had anticipated. He put his arms around her shoulders and tried his best to soothe her.

"Christine, please don't cry. It's alright…they have no intention of informing the boy of my location. Monsieur Laurent believes that I have a right to my privacy like any other man." He stroked her shoulders gently. "He told me that we may live in the house on their property for as long as we need to…until our home is ready.

She ceased her weeping and seemed to be relieved. "That is very nice of him. But I am still frightened, Erik, because I…" she paused. "Did-did you say 'until our home is ready?' Mon ange, what does that mean?"

He smiled and embraced her. "I was going to save it for a surprise on our wedding day, but I couldn't wait to tell you…I have designed our home and purchased land, and everything is being built within the next several weeks for us, ma cherie. I have received funds from several investments over the years, and everything is paid for."

"Oh, Erik!" she beamed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "We have a home?"

"Yes, mon amour. And I have another surprise for you."

"Is it a good surprise?" she asked, like a child receiving an unexpected gift from a visiting relative.

"Of course," Erik chuckled. "We can be married this week. You just choose the day."

"What?" she nearly shouted with joy, bouncing up on her toes to hug him around his neck. "Oh, my darling! I love you!" She kissed his smooth cheek several times before excitedly rattling off her plans. "I will get my dress tomorrow…and I will make adjustments to it myself, if I have to…I want to marry you as soon as possible…tomorrow evening, Erik! Oh, can we?"

"Tomorrow night, then, if that is what your heart desires. I will make arrangements for us. And we must inform our guests today, yes?"

She smiled at him lovingly. "Yes. Yes, my beautiful, wonderful Angel," she gushed. Suddenly, she stared into his eyes with a dreamy gaze. "Tomorrow…tomorrow I shall at last become your wife."

"And I your husband," he whispered, kissing her more passionately this time, before he helped her into the carriage. Just as they were leaving, another dark cab was nearing the curb.

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The Persian caught sight of a carriage leaving from in front of the small shop as his cab turned the corner. He thought that he had seen a tall man dressed in a black cloak and fedora helping a woman into it. Tapping on the roof, he sensed that his search may have come to an end before it had even begun. "Follow that carriage, please," he shouted to the driver.

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Darius sat on a step outside a closed tea room, leafing through his newspaper. There was no news of Erik anywhere on the pages within…but then a headline caught his eye: Opera Populaire To Be Reconstructed. He scanned the article for details. Viscomte de Chagny…Giroux and Associates of Melun…chandelier collapse the night of the Don Juan Triumphant…Opera Ghost remains missing and at large…reward for anyone with information regarding his location. He noted that all of this had been said in previous issues of the Epoque, except for the fact that Raoul de Chagny would be funding much of the reconstruction and that architects had been hired. He folded the paper into a manageable size and stood, drawing his hat down further over his eyes and lifting the collar of his coat higher on his neck. There was a chill in the air, and it had begun snowing. He continued down the street, peering in the windows of closed shops, thinking that perhaps Sunday was not the best day to begin a search for an incredibly elusive man. He had walked several blocks when he heard the ringing of church bells. Ahead of him, about a quarter of a mile, he glimpsed several carriages letting off their passengers in front of a small church. As he drew nearer, the carriages pulled away…all but one. It sat for several minutes before anyone emerged, as if the passengers were waiting until everyone else was inside the church. At last, the door opened and a tall gentleman, clothed completely in black, exited and pulled his fedora down low over his eyes. He gracefully spun around and reached into the carriage, assisting his female passenger, who was also dressed in a hooded cloak. Darius could not see the woman's face, and as he drew nearer, he watched as the man escorted the woman not to the front entrance, but to the side of the church. As the man and woman turned slightly, Darius was near enough to catch a glimpse of the man's face…or rather, of what was upon his face…a white mask. He stopped immediately in his tracks and slid to the side of the walkway against the shop windows. It is him…but it cannot be him! The ghost would never enter a church, escorting a woman! He shook his head, thinking that he must be hallucinating, when suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder from behind. Darius whirled around, ready to strike, when he recognized his master.

"He's here," the Persian spoke, almost disbelieving his own words. "Did you see him, Darius?"

The stunned servant nodded. "He…he went into that church, with a woman!"

The Persian narrowed his eyelids. "Something very strange is going on…and we need to find out what it is."

Both men grew silent and approached the church, signaling each other once they reached the unassuming building. The Persian went first, slinking down the narrow space between the church and the adjacent building, looking for a side door or some other way of entry. He still couldn't reconcile in his mind that Erik would have willingly walked into a church. Darius followed him at a distance, keeping watch behind and above them for any danger or prying eyes.

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Erik took Christine discreetly to the organ loft and made sure that she was comfortably seated on the step where she could not be seen. He hated to have to live his life in hiding…and he felt that it was terribly unfair to his future wife. First, it was my face that caused me to seek seclusion, but now I've added the fact that I am a wanted murderer, he sighed to himself. Suddenly, his senses were heightened, and he felt as though he had been followed. "I'll be back in a few moments, mon ange…you stay here and worship." He smiled reassuringly at her and she nodded.

Stepping gingerly down the staircase, he opened the door at the bottom and turned swiftly, closing the door behind him before he could be seen. He stepped in the shadows to the side entrance of the church and slowly turned the knob, listening.

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The Persian laid his hand on the church's side door and suddenly the knob began to turn. He waved furiously at Darius to get back and hide. Both men dashed behind the door so that whomever opened it would not see them unless they stepped outside…at which point, the person would be in peril if he made one false move.

The door opened slowly, noiselessly, only a quarter of the way, and the two men stood as still as statues, listening.

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If only I had my lasso, Erik thought. If that boy has followed me here, or has sent his henchmen after me, he will surely pay! He was seething, but at the same time he was being rebuked again by the internal voice that he had come to know so well. Suddenly, he had an idea. Throwing his voice in a hissing whisper, it bounced off the outside walls of the church and the adjacent building, so that it seemed the voice was everywhere and nowhere at once. "If you want to stay alive, I advise you to leave now!"

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A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I will likely post more next week! Blessings to you all, my wonderful readers and reviewers! I appreciate all of you! Thanks to my reviewers for your kind comments!