There was nothing for it. I told Christine directly that we looked like leaving Paris, and why. She went mad at the managers—no surprise there—swore she'd get Raoul to withdraw his patronage. She acted as if she had two husbands sometimes. Neither of us had strong feelings for where we'd want to go if we left Paris. I suggested she confer with Reza, since we were agreed we had to drag him along wherever we went.

She didn't like the idea of me getting a proper job, but while I hadn't had much in the way of expenses for awhile, I still didn't see my savings keeping the four of us going forever.

So it was Raoul, Christine and me, sat down with my managers to make a deal. I tried to get Christine to remain behind, but that was a lost cause before it even began. Messrs Richard and Montcharmin struggled to make small talk with 'Mademoiselle Daae', who wasted no time in clearing up their misconceptions. Raoul worked overly hard, I think, to be a friend to all parties. I made a mental note to take him to task over it later.

They came straight to the point. They wanted me out of their cellar, out of their theater. They wanted no more notes, ungrateful bastards; and would be paying no more salary. They knew I'd killed in the theater, and it stood to reason that my reign of terror had not been confined to the opera house, as stealthy as I could be.

I told them, bluntly, to cram their suggestion that I'd killed everyone who'd gone missing in Paris for twenty years. Their ham-handed tactics insulted my intelligence and—well, Raoul talked me off the ledge. Right. I agreed I'd leave the opera and trouble them no further. I only wanted time to go below and clear out some things.

What guarantee was I offering that I'd trouble them no more, they wanted to know. Seemed to me it was no trouble to pick me up again if I reneged; after all, I was a damned pathetic Opera Ghost with two babies in tow. I floated the idea of leaving Paris—they liked that very much.

It appeared we had an arrangement. They said they'd see to having the investigation terminated and I'd be free to go. The offered me two weeks to clear out my lair, such as it was. Preliminaries accounted for, we stood.

Christine was seething; I had to get her away from them as quickly as possible. She viewed their treatment of me as a vile betrayal.

"His genius is wasted on you! Ingrates!" she hissed as I bustled her out of the room

Raoul caught up to us. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

Christine wheeled on him. "What am I thinking? What are they thinking? Did you tell them?" she demanded.

'Tell them what?"

"That they can go to the devil! That they wouldn't have a theater without him! Bastards!" Raoul and I each grabbed an arm and dragged her into the street; she was incoherent.

"Darling…language…" I reminded her.

"Oh, piss on you too! Let me go, both of you!" She darted ahead of us.

Raoul was nonplussed. "What's wrong with her?"

"She's had a difficult few days, and she's only now realizing she's got to leave everything behind. She needs a moment; that's all." We followed along.

"How do you know that?" he asked, amazed.

"Because I love her and I've taken the time to know her," I replied pointedly. "Listen, I'd like to let this lay for the evening. I just want to see my children and settle Christine, if it's possible. Reza and I can make plans tomorrow."

"Of course, I'll hold them off," he nodded. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing for it," We turned the final corner toward home. "We've got to go."

Perhaps this sounds strange coming from a mason, but it was incidental that the jumble of bricks and mortar before us kept sun and rain off my head. My babies were born there; hell, my babies were made there. There, Christine found me, scolded me, loved me, swatted me, forgave me, seduced me…leaving the theater behind was nothing, but walking away from 118 Rue de Capucines…

Christine awaited me on the steps.

"Such a charming little house," I smiled weakly. We held each other upright and wept.

Gaston and Reza were waiting for us in the parlor. "You want to talk in the morning," Reza confirmed.

I nodded. "Now, I have to make music with my boy."

Raoul rose. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Don't…make any hasty decisions, Erik. You can stay with us—or Christine and the children can stay—"

"No!" Christine interjected.

"--if you and Reza want to go on ahead to search for a place."

I embraced and kissed him. "Thank you…so much," I smiled. He nodded uncomfortably, embraced Christine and left us.

Suddenly I felt exhausted. Falling onto the sofa, I smiled as Gaston pressed a cognac on me.

"PAA-PAA!" My bear crashed in, knocking the wind out of me. My huge boy; he smelled so good. "Papa, I bit those nasty coppers," he whispered.

"I know!" I laughed. "I love you, my big man. Thank you for taking care of Mama and Miri-ange. We must look after our girls, you and I, hm?"

He nodded solemly. Don't let him grow up so fast, God.

-0-0-0-0-

How many more concerts will we hold here? Masson on the floor, in my waistcoat and shoes, sawing away at the violin—charming the most incredible sounds from it. My wiggly baby on my knee, giggling and waving her fists. She'll be banging the keyboard any day.

How many more dawns will peer into this window and find Christine and me curled up like puppies?