Author's note: My deepest apologies to my dear readers! This chapter was actually finished on Friday, but I couldn't upload it until today.

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty

September 18th 1892: the Opera Ghost

I made my way out of my world slowly, but with determination. I was walking slowly because, now more than ever, I was anxiously avoiding my traps, and the determination was caused by the fact that I finally had a place to go. If I didn't find answers there, I'd find them nowhere. And that was exactly what I was afraid of.

No, that was the wrong term. Of course I was not afraid. The Opera Ghost was never afraid. I merely was… a little nervous. Yes, that was it. It felt strange, being on the way to a house I couldn't even recall existed, hoping to find people who'd help me. Help me! Me! The whole concept was completely unfamiliar to me. I usually didn't need help with anything.

I thought about what to do once I arrived at the house all the way up to the ground level of the opera, yet by the time I reached it, I still had no idea how I'd behave in certain situations. What if the Vicomte would open the door, for instance? According to the contract, he wouldn't be home, but what if he was? What would I say? ´Excuse me, could it be possible that I am married to your former wife Christine and have taken in her and her child?´

If he was anything like I remembered him, he'd probably alert the police at once, right after slamming the door into my face. But then, there were ways of making sure he wouldn't do that. I fumbled under my cloak for my Punjab Lasso. It was still there. It was a small comfort to see that at least a few things hadn't changed. I'd deal with the Vicomte, in this way or another. That man still needed to be taught a lesson for having taken Christine away from me.

I stopped dead. What kind of a strange thought had that just been? I didn't even know a man called the Vicomte… or did I? It was a fact that I had also recalled who he was when I had been talking to M.Firmin. Was it a sign that I was recovering or that I was growing completely insane? I tried to cling to the thought I had had before, the thought that this man had taken Christine away from me. Perhaps it would enable me to remember more.

Yet it was no good. Trying to hold on to the thought was like trying to hold on to a slippery fish. It wriggled out of my grasp and dived back into the ocean of my thoughts. I knew that I'd never find it again in there. It was too small, and I was too impatient to search for it for more than a few seconds before I gave up and continued walking, telling myself that it probably hadn't been important anyway.

I'd go to that house, and I'd find answers there. It would be best if I spoke to a servant first. Servants could always be bribed easily, and I'd get enough information to continue the search for myself. Perhaps it would turn out to be nothing but an absurd joke. Well, in that case I'd have to have a serious conversation with M.Firmin. I expected much more respect from my managers.

Of course it was also possible that I'd meet Christine. I hadn't understood the entire contents of the contract or why it had been written, but I had learned that she seemed to be living in that house, whereas I did not. This ruled out the idea that I had taken her in. I didn't know exactly why that realisation made me feel sad, but it did.

"Sad? The Opera Ghost?"

I stopped again, listeing to a girl's voice, somewhere in the corridor in front of me. How could she know what I had been thinking? Yet the next words made me understand what was truly going on.

"I didn't mean ´sad´ in the sense of unhappy, but in the sense of pathetic," a second girl replied. "Completely, utterly pathetic. I mean, he made Estella change her mind about Meg by talking to her. It's so boring. I always thought the Opera Ghost possessed more… imagination."

I followed the girls down the corridor, mesmerised by their voices and fuming with rage. How did that girl dare call me pathetic? I was the Opera Ghost, I was feared by everyone. Imagination! I'd show her what true imagination meant. She'd curse the moment when she had said that. The exploration of my mind would have to wait. Other things were truly much more important now. Christine's house would surely still be there in a few hours' time.

Raoul

"Here we are!" the coachman declared, his words pulling me out of a light sleep. "Paris!" He sounded very proud, as if he had been the one to create the city single-handed.

I smiled to myself, opening my eyes expectantly. Yet what I saw was anything but the familiar street in which my house stood. Instead, I was looking at a completely different part of Paris.

As if he sensed my annoyance, the coachman went on:

"Well, our journey isn't exactly over yet. But we're in Paris, and that's the important thing, isn't it?".

I made a grunting sound that could be interpreted as agreement. Sure, from his point of view all that mattered was that we were in a city, where there'd be a hot meal and ale for him and hay and water for his horses. Besides, I doubted that he was aware of how big the city was. It would take us at least half an hour before we'd even reach the part of Paris I lived in.

Still, it was good to be back. I had missed the liveliness of the people, the fluency of the language that I heard everywhere. The sun had gone down by now, yet the streets were far from empty. They were filled with people either going out to the theatre or a restaurant or coming home from work. I didn't envy those who were going out, for I didn't feel like dressing up only to watch a mediocre performance of a mediocre play. Yet those who were coming home…

I sighed. I had been on quite a few journeys before, but I had never realised how much my home meant to me. I had been thinking of little else all the time. Of course I knew why it was like that all of a sudden: On my other journeys I hadn't been afraid of coming home to find my family frightened by some attack and my wife seeking solace in another man's arms.

As much as I hated to admit it, I was frightened as well. Would Christine even be there when I'd come back? Perhaps she had used the time while I had been gone to make a decision and was no longer staying at home. Perhaps she had found a new home with… him. The thougth made me shudder. I didn't know what I'd do if that had indeed happened. I'd never forgive myself for having invited that man into my home.

But then, it was not as if I had had a real choice. The Phantom had practically forced me to do it, or he wouldn't have protected my family at all. And protection they had surely needed… I groaned, slamming my fist against the wood panelling of the coach in a pointless attempt to stop my thoughts. Going over the scenes over and over in my head wouldn't help me either. I had made those decisions, no matter whether I liked them today.

"Is something wrong?" the coachman asked, looking over his shoulder. I should have known he'd hear the sound of my fist against the wood.

"No, no, I'm fine," I assured me. "I'm – Look out!"

A few people had started crossing the road in front of us without looking left or right. The coachman spun around in his seat, cursing loudly and jerking the reins to the right in order to get the coach away from the people. Instinctively I held tight, which was very good, for in the next moment the right wheel of the coach hit the kerbstone with a loud thud. We swayed slightly, then we came to a halt.

At once, the coachman left his seat and went around the coach to see whether anything was damaged. I got up as well as I heard him inhale sharply. I opened my mouth to ask whether there was a problem, yet looking down, I saw it for myself. There was a deep crack in the wood of the wheel.

"Can we go on in this state?" I wanted to know.

The coachman let his fingers wander over the crack for a few moments, mumbling to himself. Then he shook his head.

"It's too deep, Monsieur," he replied. "The whole wheel could break into pieces." He looked up at me with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have paid more attention to the street. But those people… they came out of nowhere…"

"I know," I muttered. "Don't blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done any differently."

"I'm afraid we need a new wheel," he told me. "But I have no idea where I could get one at this time of day."

I made up my mind quickly.

"Why don't you stay here in Paris for the night?" I suggested. "It's too late to go back to Oslo now anyway. I'm sure you'll find a room for you and a stable for the horses. In the morning you'll have the new wheel attached and come to my house to drop off my luggage."

"But what about you?" he asked, frowning as I left the coach.

"I'll walk home," I answered, handing him a few bank notes. "It won't take longer than one or two hours. I'll enjoy the walk. Besides, my family doesn't expect me yet anyway. So it doesn't matter when I'll be there."

With these words I made my way down the street. Perhaps a little walk would indeed do me good.