Chapter 4

After having Buquet's body nearly crash onto her unsuspecting head, Christine felt she had more than a few words to have with Erik.

Thoroughly convinced that she and Raoul had tricked whatever eavesdroppers had been lurking on the roof into thinking they were actually in love, she felt ready to tackle that challenge. In comparison to pretending she loved one she obviously hated so much, chastising Erik should be relatively easy. That is, unless he distracted her with some tasty fresh baked treats.

For someone who didn't eat very much, Erik knew how to cook damn well.

She slipped into her dressing room, locking the door behind her. After a few minutes of effort, Christine stood in shock in front of the gilded mirror; despite her desperate tugs, it would not open.

Christine felt a bit uneasy.

Why wouldn't the door open? She wasn't incompetent enough to fail at even opening a secret passage, was she? It had to be Erik's doing.

Now Christine was just downright irritated. Erik had the costume she needed for the masquerade, which was in less than an hour! It had taken hours of collaboration with Erik to somewhat match his costume while removing the intense death theme, and she wasn't going to let that go down the drain because whatever he had been planning onstage hadn't gone perfectly. She NEEDED that costume; if she didn't get it in time, she would have to wear the horrible dress Raoul had brought with them.

Christine suppressed a shudder. While Raoul had been absolutely thrilled with it, Christine felt being dressed as a peacock with a to-scale tail wasn't the BEST idea in the world, especially when that it offered Carlotta many opportunities to sneak up on her from behind under the cover of many iridescent feathers.

Sighing, Christine settled on using the second best method of communicating with Erik (face to face confrontation being the best) -Giry mail.

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Madame Giry made her way through one of the passages only she knew about, note in hand. Christine had hunted her down only an hour after the performance and had nagged her relentlessly until she agreed to descend into Erik's labyrinth.

As she rounded the final corner to Erik's lair, Madame Giry was surprised to see the wreckage in his home. Bookshelves had been toppled, furniture ripped, instruments smashed, and... was that a SHRINE to Christine? If so, it was in quite a state of disarray.

A loud, sobbing noise alerted Madame Giry to Erik's presence. She walked across his living room to his bedroom, from which the sobs appeared to be emanating. Pushing open the door a crack, she was shocked by the scene.

Erik lay in his coffin, sobbing profusely and half dressed. It had appeared he had begun to get dressed for the masquerade, but had given up halfway through. As a result, there were red feathers strewn everywhere. Half of Erik's clothes were that of Red Death, and the sword was hung limply at his waist.

However, that was not the worst part.

Wrapped in his arms, being peppered with kisses, was a photo of himself and Christine smiling placed in a heart shaped frame.

Madame Giry was disgusted. He had a heart shaped frame?

In a matter of seconds, she became far more shocked than disgusted.

Erik could SMILE?

Shaking her head in confusion, Madame Giry pounded roughly on the door before barging her way in. Erik looked up before plopping the Red Death mask on his face and hiding the framed photograph behind his back, evidently trying to cover up his weakness.

"I have a letter for you." Madame Giry plopped the note into the coffin, and twisted away as fast as possible, yearning to leave the room where such raw emotion existed. It was almost in danger of melting her cold exterior.

As she sprinted out of the room, she heard another round of bawling start up as she could only imagine Erik had opened the letter.

It only occurred to her as she was paddling across the lake that something very dreadful must have happened, because Erik crying was a very strange sight. Her small brain struggled to determine what it was, but she promptly gave up: emotions were not her forte.

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Erik threw the letter across the room in a fit of rage, brandishing his sword wildly as the note flew threw the air, turning it into quite a bit of confetti.

She runs off with that FOP and continues to pretend she loves him, even going so far as to use him for a costume?

His eyes blazed. Never again would he fall victim to a cheating woman. Never. Especially to one who cheated on him with the very embodiment of filth.

He would make his presence known at the masquerade that night... she would never forget who she had crossed.

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An hour later, Christine was hiding behind a statue, draining yet another glass of champagne.

Oh yes, the masquerade was going just exceedingly well. She had been forced into that repulsive peacock costume of Raoul's which regrettably matched his blue frilly suit all too well. It was just so damn heavy: the numerous jewels adorning it were cumbersome. Carlotta was dressed as some kind of cat -clearly another poor attempt to be seductive. She had even received a few nervous compliments on her singing from ancient suitors who could not be swayed by her terrible personality. Christine felt nauseous every time she heard praise of Carlotta's beauty and screeching by those evidently looking for an opera tart. Christine supposed she must have been mistaken when she had thought Carlotta's personality was a powerful enough contraceptive on its own.

However, there were one or two good points... Meg was still present on the dance floor (which meant she couldn't be off slumming it with some random patron) and Andre and Firmin seemed to have drowned their inhibitions in alcohol and were looking at each other adoringly in a more than platonic manner.

Thank god. Christine had been rooting for them all along.

Those two good points -despite the happiness they brought Christine- could not compensate for a more important matter: Erik.

Erik had blown her off! After all the work they had put in, he had completely disregarded her note. She hadn't seen him yet either... maybe she should give him the benefit of doubt. Maybe he accidentally fell into his thorn pit and was at home recovering, in no state to attend a dance and appear in all his glory.

Christine's eyes widened. What if he had been caught after he dropped Buquet?! He could be languishing in prison right now, and she was being so selfish and vain...

Christine started to laugh. The police catch Erik! What an idea. God, Christine, sometimes you can be so stupid. That's completely ludicrous.

That certainly wasn't it.

Then where was he?

There was a blast on the top of one of the stairs; red smoke started to flood the air on the second floor. All chatter died down instantly.

A figure clad entirely in red stepped out of the mist, holding a shining sword in hand that matched the gleam in the eyes just visible under the skull mask.

Well, there was her answer.

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Erik's eyes swept the silenced crowd.

He saw fear, anger, drunken confusion, regular confusion, and... was Christine looking petulant?

He saw red again, but this time it wasn't the smoke.

One foot followed the other gracefully down the stairs, moving deliberately slow in the hopes that those previously unaware of his presence knew who he was. Really, who else would come dressed as Red Death than the Phantom himself? The rest of the costumes resembled cute little chipmunks compared to him.

The crowd parted with gasps of fear -his favorite noise- and he glided across the floor to Christine. Literally, glided. He had installed small wheels in the bottoms of his shoes for expressly that purpose. It helped his ghost image immensely when he performed simple tricks like that; most opera goers weren't intelligent enough to figure out the trick, by the end of the night, he would have people claiming he swooped across the room like a gigantic bat.

As he reached Christine he stopped, drawing himself to his full height and gazing down at her with an expression of condescending disapproval. She looked like a common hooker!

Erik was rather upset to realize she couldn't see his perfected expression under his full mask.

No matter. He could still say what needed to be said.

"Christine... I wondered when I'd see you again."

A winning smile lit up Christine's face; "Really? I was thinking the same thing. Because, you know, you locked my mirror." Their voices were barely a whisper, but almost everyone in the ballroom was hanging onto their every word.

"You dare question the motives of the Phantom?" Erik's eyes flashed and he threw more smoke bombs, enveloping the area in a dark black smoke.

Christine rolled her eyes; "Please. As if that would faze me. I've seen more horrifying things during rehearsal."

Erik's eyes flashed again; "Your insolence angers me. You are an ungrateful lying slut who prostitutes herself out for money. You don't deserve my expert teaching; I've seen the mistake that I made. You know what I asked of you Christine, in return for all the favors I lavished on you? Love me, that's all I ask of you..."

Eyes widened in shock as the singer processed what he had said. "That was YOU on the roof? Erik, I swear, it's not what it seem-"

With a whirl of his cape and a clang of a sword, the Phantom disappeared from sight.

Christine collapsed on the floor, sobbing. "No, Erik, please!"

He wasn't listening.

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Three months later

The opening performance of Don Juan was to be that night, and Erik had plotting to do.

He absolutely couldn't stand to see the fop following Christine around despite her rebuffs. Erik knew that this rebuttal had to be a public thing, something to win back the ghost's favor, while the pair privately engaged in unspeakable acts.

He wouldn't fall for it. He was a strong, independent man who didn't need some woman bossing him around.

However, that didn't mean he wouldn't kidnap Christine. At least he'd be in charge then, and she'd be out of the fop's greasy grasp.

If Erik couldn't have her, the slimeball certainly couldn't either.

And so, a plot had hatched.

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"My makeup! It's MISSING! What's happened? Who took it? WHERE IS IT?" Raoul's shrieks echoed around his mansion, causing Christine to cover her ears and wince at the sound. If he hadn't popped one of her eardrums before, he had to have done so by now.

Raoul tore out of his bathroom, eyes wild and roaming independently of each other. Christine had to admit, it was a pretty creepy sight.

"Did you take my makeup?" Raoul's voice was low and venomous, almost succeeding in scaring Christine. She, however, had seen Erik when he hadn't had some yummy pastries as a snack, so she was WELL aware of what scary truly was.

Her slight snort snapped Raoul's temper. He took a step towards her, only to slip and fall on a note his foot had caught. Picking himself up the ground, he opened the letter.

"D- D- Dur, Ral di Changy-"

Christine looked up, unimpressed. "Raoul, do you know how to read?"

He looked offended. "Of course! Didn't you just hear me reading?"

"I heard you mispronounce a bunch of things, if that's what you mean by 'reading'."

With a glare Raoul tossed the letter to her.

"Dear Raoul de Chagny,

I regretfully (not) have to inform you that I have stolen all of your beauty products. I suspect this could only improve your looks, which makes me question why I did it, but I suppose the pain of losing your goo will hurt you more than it will improve your self esteem. Unfortunately, some of your junk got on my suit when I was stealing it. I'll be sure to send the dry cleaning bill to your residence.

Please tell Christine I'll be seeing her shortly.

Ta-ta!

Your faithful servant, O.G.

P.S. Does the loss of your beauty products hurt yet? DOES IT?

Ta-ta for real now." Christine looked up from her perch. "Well, that was an interesting letter."

Raoul continued to wail and sob in his realization that his precious beauty products might never be recovered.

Christine rolled her eyes and stood up. "If you're going to behave this way, I'm just going to get on down to the Opera Populaire for some last minute rehearsal. Tata!" Christine held back a derisive snort as she bid him farewell the same way Erik had.

During the carriage ride to the opera house, Christine's spirits dampened.

It had been months since she had heard from Erik, and now he was saying he would see her shortly? That part brought her copious amounts of joy; she had missed Erik immensely. After the masquerade, he had sealed ALL entrances so even Giry mail became a thing of the past. She had no way of communicating with him, and despite her best attempts to shove letters through the cracks around the mirror in her dressing room, they would always be shoved back into her room.

The saddening part came in the realization that Erik had not bothered to deign to write her a letter. He was communicating with her through hate mail. Of all the choices he could have made, that was not the kindest to their relationship. He was obviously still laboring under the misguided idea that she was involved with Raoul... and she could only hope to see him tonight to correct it.

Who was she kidding, OF COURSE he would be there tonight. Erik could never resist disrupting a little pomp and circumstance, and tonight would be the perfect time to make his dramatic entrance.

Content in that thought, Christine settled back in her seat to finish the ride.

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Raoul held the polished metal up for inspection reverently.

He had always kept the gun around as a prop and a precaution, but he had never had reason to use it before. Now, though, it would see true glory.

He was going to kill the Phantom. No one touched his beauty products. NO ONE.

His life would end that night.

It wasn't complete though. Not dramatic enough, not ironic enough... the gun needed a name.

Raoul raised a sharp pen to the barrel and began carving away.

By the time he finished, it read -in a very sloppy scrawl- Opear Goest Slyer.

Tonight it would live up to its name.

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Dancers leapt across the stage, the fire behind them casting ominous shadows on the walls as they danced seemingly without a path. The cacophony of noise produced by the orchestra clashed but each note still managed to flow perfectly into the other.

This was Don Juan. Chaos.

Behind the stage, Piangi prepared to enter, but his first notes were cut off by a punjab about his neck. His eyes rolled up and his neck snapped -although rather quietly. The fat around his neck had managed to smother the sound.

As Erik removed the lasso and hooked it back on his belt, a small piece of paper fluttered out of his pocket and landed next to the body. He stepped past it without noticing, and walked onto the stage, the first notes of the Point of No Return already being caressed by his velvet voice.

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Christine couldn't hide the smile when Erik emerged on stage. It really was him. It had been three months since she'd seen him, and she's had to admit... she'd gotten freakishly obsessed in those three months. She was almost -dare she say it- a phangirl.

As Erik neared her singing quietly she couldn't help but approach him too, reveling in his presence.

Up in Box 5, Raoul was not so happy.

His shot was clear. He pulled the pistol out of his pocket; Opear Goest Slyer would finally do its work.

He pointed the gun directly at the stage. So what if Christine was a little bit close? She was collateral damage.

Erik looked up at the Box and spotted the gun, grabbing Christine and slashing ropes so the platform they were on crashed to the ground just as Raoul pulled the trigger.

There was no telltale bang.

Raoul looked at the front of the gun, poking it in irritation. Why hadn't it fired? He pulled the trigger again while he stared directly into the barrel. Nope, nothing again.

Firmin and Andre were looking at him in disbelief. How hadn't he just killed himself? The gun was directly pointed at him.

Raoul popped open the cylinder.

No bullets.

"Oh fuck."

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Erik dragged Christine behind the stage, his mask half of in his desperate escape attempt.

"If I can't have your love, than neither can the fop."

"Erik, I don't love Ra-"

"Don't you say his name! I heard those things you said on the rooftop the night of the masquerade."

"Those were all lies. We never meant anything we said. We heard someon-"

"Oh, really now. Lies? Carlotta could put on a better act than you are now. Like I believe that. Lies!" Erik scoffed.

Christine yanked her hand away. "We heard someone rustling around on the roof immediately after RAOUL DECLARED HE WAS GAY. We thought whoever it was had overheard that, so we tried to cover with excessive love and sloppiness. I mean really, all I ask of you is your eternal love and servitude, along with organizing my many beauty products? That's pretty much what marrying Raoul would mean. Don't you think that's a LITTLE much to be asking of someone? Eternal love? That's ALL you ask of them? It's a pretty big order to fill, Erik. I thought you would have recognized terrible acting from all the performances you've seen Carlotta give. Yes, Carlotta could put on a better act, because this isn't an act."

Erik mouth was hanging open. "But... but... I heard..."

Christine snorted. "Oh please. Erik, Raoul is obviously gay. He puts gunk in his hair and squeals over dresses, all while winking coquettishly at any available man in the room."

Erik was defeated. "I can't argue with that logic..."

"Erik, I love you. Please never make such a ridiculous assumption again."

"I love you too, Christine."

At that point, the pair had reached Piangi's body. Christine gasped in horror before slapping Erik across the face. "Erik! What have I told you about killing people!"

"It was necessary!"

"You could have just tied him up! Just because he loves Carlotta doesn't mean he deserves to die!"

Erik shuffled his feet and mumbled something incoherent.

Christine noticed the piece of paper lying next to Piangi. "What's this...?"

She snatched the paper off the ground. "New Year's Resolution? You made one?"

Erik's eyes widened as he flashed back three months.

In a stroke of brilliance, he scribbled down his resolution.

"I will not kill Carlotta. That's pretty obscure. I mean, what are the odds I'd kill one specific person? Oh… wait…"

Yeah, Carlotta probably wasn't the best choice to not kill. There was a decent chance of that one.

He ripped off the part of the paper he had written that on. Well who else could he not kill?

Carlotta, Carlotta, Carlotta… PERFECT.

Then, he remembered his thought process at the time. He had figured out someone he likely wouldn't have killed.

While Piangi WAS a fan of Carlotta, he was probably the best male singer the Opera Populaire employed, so it wouldn't do to have him killed. He was also rather kind to everyone on stage. Really, the only problems Erik had with Piangi were his morbid obesity and strange love of Carlotta.

With trembling hands, Erik opened the piece of paper.

I will not kill Piangi.

Erik looked down from the note at the body.

"Oh shit."

His New Year's resolutions just always had a way of coming true.

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A/N: So that concludes it! I hope everyone enjoyed the ending… I mean, I only inserted several chapters' worth of fluff in between the joke and its punchline.

On a positive note, this only took me a couple of days to post!

Whew, that finishes that! Now my shout outs: To You are Love, Phanatic01, Million (who I THINK got an actual account, but I don't know your new penname), EMCLucky13, x-sayrie-x, and Hugabouv, thank you for the reviews. An extra big thank you to Almost an Actress for her lovely reviews on every chapter.

I love you too, silent readers.

Please drop me a review with opinions! Feedback is gladly welcomed.