Disclaimer: See other chapters. I'm tired of writing these! -sigh-

Chapter Fifty-Five

Raoul paced back and forth across the immoderate rug in his study, wondering what to do with the information that he had unwittingly obtained from Meg Giry. A name. I have a name to put to that monster...Erik Durand. I could easily give his name to authorities and have him arrested for his crimes, he thought, almost gleefully. His conscience was beginning to voice its concerns, however, and it only served to make him more agitated. As soon as he had allowed the thought to roam freely about his consciousness, reality swept in like a merciless rainstorm. She would hate me forever. I would never see her again, no matter what I said or did. Taking her husband from her would not bode well for me.

He thought that perhaps he could leak the information to the gendarmes in an anonymous tip, but surely his own guilt would never allow him to face his innocent Christine again if that were to happen. He had no idea how to use the information...except that he wished to hire an investigator to locate them and keep tabs on their comings and goings. He would have been sickened by the idea, had he not deluded himself into believing that one day Christine would need him...most likely to rescue her from her seemingly unpredictable and volatile husband. Her protection and well-being are what matter now, he thought, muttering to himself as if he were trying to persuade his own mind of this "truth."

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"How are you feeling, young songbird?" came the rich, musical voice that she had come to love. It covered her like a warm blanket, and she stretched sleepily, all the way down to her toes, before opening her eyes. When Amêlie peered out through drowsy slits, Erik stood over her, his familiar white mask contrasting strikingly with his blue-green eyes.

"Monsieur Erik? You are back from your honeymoon?"

"Yes," he replied softly, his voice caressing her as though she were a precious sculpture. "We returned early, but if I had known that you were ill, I would have come to see my favorite student much sooner." He smiled, and she couldn't help but return the gesture.

Her parched lips cracked and began to bleed from the simple spreading motion of her smile, and Erik frowned with concern. "Here," he said, leaning over her. "I want you to drink this. It will taste horrible, but you must trust me. It will make you well." He placed a strong hand behind her head, lifting her so that she could take in the pungent substance.

She coughed and nearly retched. "That's awful!" she cried, her face twisting into an expression of disgust. She shook her head and gooseflesh raised on her arms. "Truly horrid!"

Erik laughed. "I know. But this should help you to keep liquids in your stomach. I can see that you are already quite dehydrated. We'll wait about twenty minutes and then I'll get you something to drink, alright?" He touched the back of his hand to her forehead lovingly, checking for any trace of fever. Smiling with satisfaction, he brushed her loose, dark hair out of her face. "No fever. That's a good thing."

Amêlie was surprised at his tenderness with her. She knew him to be kind, but never had he shown such great concern and care for her. She wished that it would never end. Suddenly, she felt nervous, disturbed a bit by the flutter in her belly. He is my teacher, she thought. And my friend. Nothing more. But Lord, I pray that one day You will see fit to send me a husband as giving and kind as this man. She smiled up at Erik, a dark yet friendly shadow against the white walls and ceiling. "Where is Madame Christine?"

Erik sat down in the chair at her bedside. "She's downstairs visiting with your parents. You have to get well soon, you know. We need to continue our lessons." He put on his most serious authoritative expression. "I'll not have you forgetting what little I have already taught you, Mademoiselle."

Amêlie giggled. "Of course not, Monsieur Erik. I had been practicing, before I became ill. But I don't want to talk about me any more...please, tell me about your trip!"

Erik shook his head. "Surely you aren't trying to change the subject on me, are you?" he winked. "Well, in any case, our trip was shorter than we planned, but wonderful. It is beautiful there in Perros-Guirec, by the sea."

"You had to cut your trip short?" she asked, curious.

"Yes...you were likely unaware, but my employer, Monsieur Giroux, passed away. He was an acquaintance of your father's, as well. We came back as soon as we heard, and apparently, in his will, he made me part owner of his firm."

"Oh! I am sorry to hear of his death, but...what a blessing you have received! The Lord certainly has looked most favorably upon you of late, hasn't He?" She smiled knowingly, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Mademoiselle, you one of the most spirited young ladies that I have ever known." He leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. Instinctively, her hand flew up to her face and she blushed furiously. Erik noticed it with some surprise, but immediately felt guilty...as if he had somehow tainted her pure heart. "I'm sorry, young songbird, I...I didn't mean to embarrass you. Let me go and get you that water. I'll only be a moment."

She called after him softly as he strode from the room...and her whisper would have been imperceptible to normal ears...but to Erik's, every word was clear. "I'm not embarrassed...I feel privileged."

Tears sprang to his eyes as he turned toward the hallway leading downstairs. He blinked them back, hoping that no one would see his emotional state. Thank You, Lord, for that beautiful child. She makes me want to be a better person. No, he thought, she makes me feel like I already am a better person. For the first time, Erik began to see that he might make a decent father one day, after all. If I can care so much for this child, then how strong a bond might I have with my own child...mine and Christine's?

Erik returned shortly to Amêlie's bedroom, carrying a small glass of water. "Careful now," he instructed her. "Sip it slowly."

She complied, and over the course of another ten minutes, she had finished the glass, and had no urge to discard the liquid from her stomach. "Now," he said, "I'll tell your parents that you are to drink one glass this size every hour until noon tomorrow...and then, you may have some broth." He said this, smiling when he emphasized the word, and it struck her as amusing.

"Monsieur Erik, you act as though broth were the most luscious food in all the world," she said, grinning broadly.

"Well, I suppose if one has not had any food in quite some time, it would be rather luscious, now wouldn't it?" he cocked one eyebrow at her teasingly.

She laughed. "I believe that I would much prefer the chicken itself instead of the broth."

"No. You mustn't eat meat right now...your stomach couldn't handle something of that sort. Please be a good girl and do as you're told." He patted her head, laughing to himself when he saw the displeased expression on her face.

"I am not a girl, Monsieur. I am a young woman, with a mind of her own."

"That you are, Mademoiselle. My apologies," he bowed.

"Now you're just teasing me." She paused for a moment then, studying him. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He sighed and reached down to hold her hand gently. "You are my friend. This is how friends should care for one another."

Amêlie smiled sweetly at him and let out a yawn. "Yes. You are right. But thank you, nonetheless," she said sleepily, and her eyes began to droop.

Erik bent forward and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. He began to sing softly to her, a gypsy children's song that he had learned long before. Soon, her breathing grew deep and even, and he prayed for her healing before gliding soundlessly from the room, easing the door closed behind him.

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Christine and Erik said their goodbyes to the Laurents after both parents had been given Erik's specific instructions for Amêlie's care. Monsieur Gregoire and Madame Suzette felt as though they were speaking to a licensed physician. After the couple made their way back to the guest house, the Laurents exchanged thoughts on the matter.

"He certainly seems to be knowledgeable in many matters, but medicine?" Monsieur Laurent remarked. "I never would have dreamed it!"

Suzette laughed. "Well, now, he has surprised us with his musical ability, his architectural knowledge, and other things as well...why should he not also know some things about medicine? He is rather a genius, to my mind."

"Truly...I've never met anyone else like him in all my years," her husband replied, shaking his head. "He has a bit of danger about him as well...though I must say that he is much more friendly now that we've gotten to know him a bit better."

"Yes, he has changed much since we first met him. I'm not sure what the reason is, but Amêlie knows...I can see it in her eyes when she is around him. She's a very good judge of character. And speaking of Amêlie..." Suzette paused, motioning with her head toward the large staircase, "...shouldn't we check on her now and see how she fares?"

Monsieur Gregoire nodded. "I hope that you can remember all of Erik's instructions...because I do believe that in my shock, I've forgotten them!" He laughed and put an arm around his wife as they made their way upstairs.

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Christine was snuggled against Erik on the settee when a sudden knock at the door startled them both.

"Who in the world could that be?" he said in annoyance, begrudging the fact that he had to move from the warmth of his wife's body. He strode to the front door, pulling it open swiftly, and was surprised to see the daroga standing there alone, hand poised ready to knock a second time.

"Hello, Erik," he said with some awkwardness. "I apologize for disturbing you so unexpectedly. I heard that you were back in town. I am sorry to hear about the death of your employer."

Erik stepped back from the door, motioning for him to enter. "Thank you, Daroga...and you are welcome here anytime. Please, come in. Is everything alright?" he asked, with some concern.

"Oh, yes, everything is fine. I just...well, I thought that I might bring you some things that I had gathered."

Erik looked at the Persian quizzically as the man removed his bowler and moved back to the front door. "I have them right outside." Stepping out, he reached to his right and produced a large bundle, which he heaved inside with a modicum of difficulty.

"What's all this?" Erik asked him, frowning.

"This," he replied, "is what I managed to gather from your former home." He glanced uneasily at Christine, whom he noticed was watching him intently. "Madame, good to see you again. How are you?" he said, bowing.

She smiled. "I am well. And you, Daroga?"

"Fine, fine." He returned her smile, his olive skin creasing at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Erik cleared his throat, and the Persian turned his attention back to him. "I...wasn't sure if you'd want them, or how you would feel about taking possession of them again, but..." He reached down and unfurled the large bundle.

Erik's eyes brightened when he saw many of his familiar possessions inside the curtain fabric. Much of his sheet music was there, in good condition, along with several other items that held sentimental value. "Thank you, Daroga," he said sincerely, glancing up at him and near tears. "I thought that I might never see these things again."

The Persian looked away in embarrassment, answering softly. "It was no trouble. You're welcome."

Christine rose from the settee and came to stand over the bundle. "Oh, Erik! So many of your books are here! Now you can read me your familiar stories like you used to, when we were...when I was..." She laughed nervously. "Well, when we spent time together as teacher and student."

Erik nodded at her, unable to find words for what he was feeling. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her close to him, sensing the Persian's eyes on them as he did so. After a few moments of pregnant silence, Christine spoke up. "Daroga, sit down, and I'll make you some of that horrid tea of yours," she grinned, glancing up at Erik. "That is, if you're in no hurry."

The Persian smiled. "I believe I just may have time for one cup of horrid tea, thank you, Madame." He sat down in the armchair by the window and Erik returned to his place on the settee. "So...was there a large funeral for your former employer?"

Apparently, any form of silence is torture to this man, Erik mused. "I don't know. We were unable to attend. There were...certain people who were likely to be there, and we wanted to avoid uncomfortable situations." He looked over his shoulder at Christine, who was standing at the stove in the kitchen area. She appeared to be busy with the task of tea-making, so Erik leaned in to whisper to the daroga. "The Viscomte de Chagny, I'm afraid."

A frown lined the Persian's forehead. "I see. He is causing trouble for you?"

"No...not yet. But surely, it is unavoidable. I have been made part owner in Giroux's firm, and I am the one in charge of the Populaire account. When he finds out..."

"He will hold your very life in his hands."

"Yes."

The Persian leaned forward, keeping his voice low. "You don't honestly believe that he would dare to harm you...not when he knows that doing so would leave Christine alone in the world. Do you?"

"She would be alone in the world with only him to turn to. She cannot survive on meager seamstress wages for a lifetime."

"No. She would be alone. She would never turn to him if he did such a thing, and he knows this. He is surely no fool, Erik."

"Pray that he isn't, for all our sakes."

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A/N: I'm so glad that you're all happy for Erik and Christine. They do deserve a bit of happiness every now and then, don't you think? But of course, this isn't just a fluffy, romantic story (though I do love those). It's supposed to be "dramatic." So, eventually, I hope to surprise you a little. You're all so sharp, that it's going to be difficult to do! Thanks so much for the reviews, again. I appreciate you all. Drop me a review, please! It only takes a second, you lurkers, you! -grin-