AUTHOR'S NOTE: Not as fast as I used to be, I know. But I didn't have The Phantom Holiday Special to work on while I was writing The King of the Catacombs. Anyway, the more reviews I get, the more you spur me on… (hint, hint…) ;-)

The Musician of the Night: I think he wouldn't say no to that… ;)

TheQueenSarah: No, not pathetic. :) There'll be plenty of OCs around, so it may not be too easy to guess. As for the possible Erik/Mme Giry pairing, it actually appears on the list of pairings to play with. g That she rejects him does not mean she would not be interested. And yes, you've seen me right through as far as the closing passage is concerned: Your assumption is absolutely correct.

Bea: I just couldn't resist bringing in the purr – after all, he does it so often in the Holiday Special… Jealous? She would fiercely deny that… but there's a grain of truth in it.

Nugrey: You definitely see it coming. ;) If I may say so, danger will truly not come from outside alone…

Kodu: Pleased to hear that. Oh, and about the "joke": Seeing it from this perspective made me snicker, too. g Strange, how could I miss that?

Ashley: I know you love evil twisted drama. When writing this, I actually thought you'd certainly appreciate it… ;-)

V. Laugh in your Loneliness

Actually, Raoul de Chagny was not a fool. He knew that the Phantom liked to think of him as one, but he knew equally well that he did not truly consider him one. It was only that the Phantom just could not admit he saw anything positive in his rival for Christine's love.

Winning the Phantom's respect had been hard, and still Raoul frequently had the feeling that it was not exactly much respect he had won himself, but then again, he could understand more or less. After all, what would he feel like if Christine chose another man over him?

And sometimes, even though he and his fiancée had actually wanted to marry in July already, he still felt she might. Sometimes he feared that she would decide to share the Phantom's darkness, after all. And he knew that if this was what her heart told her, then he would let her go, even if it broke his own.

Just what the Phantom had done on that night when Raoul had dreaded that he would either die or never see her again. It was proof enough of how deeply her dark angel loved her.

And it gave Raoul a feeling of guilt, even though he kept telling himself that he had every right to marry Christine, no matter if it forced the Phantom to remain lonely or not.

Which was why he was here, more or less. Why they both were here.

Sitting at a small table in a dark corner, just as the Phantom preferred it, each with a glass of wine before him, they watched the girls dancing in the cleared space in the middle of the room. They certainly were pretty, those girls, and they certainly weren't exactly decently dressed, but they also weren't in a crude state of undress. This was not a bad place, after all. This was the Maxim.

Of course, this place had seen better times, and also better patrons. Since the Communards controlled the city, some attended the bar who would not have been there otherwise; usually it was a place reserved to noblemen, wealthy foreigners and better bourgeoisie. Now there were a handful of men not exactly to be trusted.

To be exact, this included the man coming towards them, judging from his appearance. He was tall and dark-haired, and his hair fell down to his shoulders in an untidy mane. His thin moustache and narrow line of a goatee were neatly trimmed, though, and his dark clothing would not have stood out in a crowd, except for his rough black leather coat, perhaps, and the hat he carried under his arm. And on his shoulder perched a slender white furry creature with a few small, light brown dots, twitching its whiskers at all the smells around it: a pet ferret by the name of Madame Blanche, as Raoul knew. No, Maurice de Bracy did not look like the nobleman he was. And he also did not do a nobleman's work: He was a police officer, an important man in Gérard de Chateaupers's Criminal Police.

"Gentlemen." He greeted them with a brief nod. "Mind if I join you?"

"Feel free," Raoul replied. After all, Maurice was an old friend.

In Maurice's wake came three lovely girls, two dark, one blonde, who immediately crowded around them. While one of the dark-haired girls began massaging his shoulders as soon as he sat, the other two exchanged a glance and then approached the Phantom, who followed their every movement with his eyes. They did not heed Raoul much, and he was glad they didn't. After all, he was engaged. The girls knew he was, and they had ceased trying to seduce him at last, when they had realized it was pointless.

"Ah, Erik. Back in action?"

"I was never gone, Maurice."

"No, I expect you weren't." Maurice had a peculiar way of smiling; he always pressed his lips together when he did, which made the corners of his mouth go down a little. For Raoul's taste, it was more a grimace than a friendly expression, but Maurice was not a man to look friendly, and even in his politest moments there was a certain gruffness about him. "There was trouble on my beat last night."

The Phantom raised his one visible eyebrow. "Really? I did not realize you take any beat yourself, just like a common policeman." The fair-haired girl stroked his unmasked cheek with the tip of her forefinger, and he gave a little growl of pleasure in response.

"Sometimes I do." Maurice's expression did not change. "In times like these, I trust myself rather than common policemen. At least those not belonging to my department. Yes, Lilie, keep him busy." The fair-haired young girl winked at him, and her well-tailored green dress rustled as she leaned down over the Phantom to tickle him under the chin. "And I found a severed head in the gutter."

"Not my fault," the Phantom growled, throwing back his head so Lilie could trace his jaw line better with her finger.

A severed head? In the street? Good God! But of course, the Phantom was not disturbed in the least by the mention of such things.

"And there was yet another murder committed on the same street tonight." Maurice spoke calmly, quite emotionlessly. "A man, around forty. His neck was broken, and we found fine threads on it, like of a rope, as well as some bruises probably caused by the aforementioned rope tightened suddenly. What really killed him, though, was not the tightening in itself, but a hard blow to his back, right between his shoulder blades, which must have thrown him into the noose, if you get my meaning. From the print on his jacket, we assume that he was kicked into it – I think the murderer in question held onto the rope with both hands and pulled it towards him hard while he delivered that kick. Does that story sound familiar?"

While Raoul held his breath, a tiny smirk played around the Phantom's lips briefly. "Oh, I think you've got me there."

Maurice nodded quietly; he must have expected that answer, and it did not unsettle him in the least, while the second girl who had approached the Phantom to caress him withdrew her hand hastily. Lilie's fingers froze somewhere along the side of his jaw. "There's only one more thing I need to know, then: Why?"

"Because he was walking down the street carrying a severed head. And upon closer inspection, he turned out to be a Communard."

"I see." Maurice pulled a slim notebook and a pencil from an inside pocket of his dark coat and made a short note, then snapped it closed again. "And why was the head found somewhere else, then?"

"Because he dropped it when he fled."

"That makes sense. Stay away from my notebook, Suzette." The girl's full lips formed a pretty little pout, but she did as she was told, then smiled at Raoul and showed rather more cleavage than it was proper. Raoul quickly turned his head away, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks.

"What a beast," Lilie purred. Obviously she had overcome her momentary shock, for she was busy tickling the Phantom beneath the chin once more, while her dark-haired companion was tugging at his cravat, cooing over him softly.

It's the mask, Raoul thought. The mask makes him mysterious. The mask magically draws those girls… He only hoped they would not try to take it away from him; after all, he knew the Phantom's nasty temper.

"Beast indeed," Suzette agreed, picking up Maurice's hat and putting it on. "A beast wearing clothes."

"Oh, we could certainly do without those clothes," giggled the last, and the other two joined in, snickering softly.

Raoul hoped he was not blushing too much. Not that he normally felt embarrassed when he heard such talk, but to hear such things from women… Yet the Phantom merely smirked; he actually seemed to appreciate it. What an indecency. "I thought you were against Erik doing such things," Raoul said to start a less awkward topic, keeping his eyes strictly on Maurice and ignoring the shadows playing seductively around Suzette's ample cleavage framed with scarlet silk as best as he could, as well as the glances they exchanged and their soft laughter.

Maurice shrugged. "All I want is the streets to be safe. Yet in times like these, they aren't, not even during the day. Because of the Communards." The word sounded like an obscene insult when he used it. "So one more of them dead is a good thing, in my opinion."

"Well spoken," Suzette agreed. "Some of our patrons these days…"

"Horrible," Lilie agreed. "Absolutely no manners. No idea how to behave to a lady."

Raoul almost pointed out that those three were no ladies at all, but luckily he bit his tongue just in time. Perhaps being honest and outspoken all the time was not such a good idea…

The ferret slipped off Maurice's shoulder, then climbed down onto the table where it sniffled around a bit. Suddenly it seemed a lot larger than it appeared when it crouched on Maurice's shoulder. Then it curled up close to its owner's hand, its small black eyes glittering as it watched its surroundings.

"Those are rough times, Erik. Kill or be killed, as good as." Shaking a long strand of hair out of his face, Maurice used the opportunity to point towards one of the small round tables at the other end of the room with his chin. "See that man, the one with the black hair, sitting there all alone? Now a woman comes towards him." But he did not wait for the Phantom's positive reply; he continued straight away and out of the corner of his mouth. "His name is Charles LaCroix. You need to remember him, because he's a dangerous man."

The Phantom's eyes narrowed as he watched the man Maurice had indicated. Raoul followed his gaze, pretending to stretch comfortably, and shot him a quick glance. The man was pale and indeed black-haired, his hair parted at the left side and flecked with grey, and his features were hard, a permanent frown lingering on them, as it seemed, drawing two deep lines into the skin between his nose and each corner of his eye. Just like Raoul, he was in the usual kind of evening dress, with black jacket, white cravat and cream-coloured, almost white waistcoat. His age might lie somewhere between fifty and sixty, but he might also be younger, Raoul was not quite sure about his estimation. Certainly a grim fellow, but not a particularly dangerous-looking man. Yet if Maurice said so… Maurice must know. Maurice always knew.

"You want me to kill him?" the Phantom asked quietly, so softly that it was almost drowned out by the music of a pair of flutes from the background.

"No." Maurice waved it away by a lazy gesture of his long-fingered hand. "At least, not yet. I just want you to remember him. He works for Michel Delannay, Head of the Commune Council."

The Phantom nodded grimly, his eyes still on LaCroix, and they had acquired an expression Raoul knew only too well: They seemed to have turned to gleaming blue ice. "I will remember him, trust me." And Raoul had no doubt he would.

Heavens, what times were these where a high-ranking police officer practically gave the Phantom permission to murder?

The girls had been paying close attention as well, though one was busy with Maurice's hair and two with the Phantom's. An onlooker at one of the other tables might think that they were common courtesans, and that therefore the men's discussion was of no importance, but Raoul happened to know about those three. They were Maurice's agents, all of them, his faithful spies in the better underworld of Paris, watching those who were suspicious-seeming and rich enough to afford a courtesan instead of a common whore from the street.

"Ladies," Maurice said, patting Suzette's hand, "I want you to keep an eye open for LaCroix. Especially for who keeps him company. Leyla, I think that's a job for you."

The last of the three, slim, dark-haired and pretty with large dark eyes, raised her head, averting her attention from the Phantom for a moment, her full lips forming a sulk that made Raoul want to kiss her – a notion for which he pinched his own thigh hard under the table to banish the idea. "I know what you mean, but I'd rather stay with sweet Erik here."

"For everything you do, I'll pay you double of what he pays you."

Fair-haired Lilie laughed, a sound like pearls clicking together. "A gracious offer, Leyla! You should consider it."

"And my sole attention for some time afterwards." Maurice's expression did not change, yet his eyes acquired a sparkle Raoul was altogether suspicious of. He knew of Maurice's liaison with those girls. With all three of them.

Leyla bowed her head gracefully, twirling the end of her gold-stitched blue shawl between the slim fingers of one hand. "We shall see…"

"Good." For the first time this evening, Maurice smiled in a less grim and peculiar way.

Downing the rest of the contents of his glass, Raoul re-filled it from the jug on the table. There was a warm, tingly feeling spreading in his insides, which meant he was getting drunk, but for once he did not care. If he could forget those new truths he had learned during the day, and if only for one short night, then he was happy to, and good riddance. His parents hunted and probably sentenced to death, their estates confiscated, him and his young fiancée in mortal danger, the Opéra Populaire on the brink of ruin, perhaps, at one word of those who ruled the city now, and not to forget the enemy army outside, surrounding the city and waiting, waiting like a vulture waited for his prey to die. Coming home from war, attached to a cavalry regiment in a desperate attempt to win more soldiers, as there was no use for sailors this time, he found that war had visited his home before him, and that war was casting its shadow over it.

War was like… a creature. A crouching predator, ready to pounce suddenly and destroy all he knew and loved. And nobody could tell when it would strike…

Shivering inwardly, he filled his glass once more. He had hardly noticed it was empty already.

Lord in Heavens, Christine! He was endangering her by his mere existence, and yet she was the dearest thing to him on earth. Maybe it was better if she stayed with Erik, for her fiancé was a prey of war, frozen to immobility by the predator's fiery eyes. Erik would love her and cherish her when war had sated its insatiable hunger on himself.

Dimly, he heard Maurice call for more wine. His senses were heavy with grief and alcohol.

And still there was laughter here, and still pretty girls were dancing, their bare arms flashes of bright pink in the twilight…

Life goes on, even if in the shadows.

The Phantom was watching him, and his eyes glittered. Poking around in my head, are you? But what did it matter? What did it really matter, when all was said and done?

What did anything matter?

"There is no justice in this world," Maurice said softly, drawing Suzette onto his lap. "There is just us, and what we try to do to restore it."

"There is no justice." The Phantom's usually so melodious voice was a throaty growl. He was balancing a girl on each of his knees, yet his eyes were on those dancing in the clear space between the tables, now hiding LaCroix from view.

"No justice," Raoul muttered, thinking of his planned wedding. If not for that accursed war, he and Christine would have been husband and wife already! And he doubted there would be any chance for him to get married any time soon, not with the Communards at large in the city.

He emptied yet another glass. The wine was not bad here, even in times like these. Closing his eyes, he savoured the taste, along with the slight dizziness that was already taking him. That bloody alcohol. It was certainly doing him no good.

No justice, no bloody justice. At once Raoul was not quite sure anymore about the correct meaning of those words.

But what did it matter? They all died in the end, didn't they? Some sooner and some later, but the time came when all went to Hell.

Strange, but somehow the prospect made him feel oddly light-headed, and he could have laughed out loud at the idea.

He realized that the Phantom was watching something fixedly, and then he saw that the dance was over, and that the next number was one single girl. A singing girl. Hmm, and she was pretty. Maybe a little kiss wouldn't hurt? No, he was not supposed to. Shame, really. But at least she had a pleasant voice.

Snatching the jug, he refilled his glass before everybody else could drink it all. Wine went away so quickly, bloody thing; one moment it sparkled like dark blood in your glass, the next it was gone.

Blood. No more blood. He was sick of it.

He returned his attention to the singing girl, who was a more pleasant object to study. And she had nice curves, too. Shame about the kissing, really. And about the fondling, too.

The song ended and the patrons applauded, and the Phantom silently slipped out of his chair and mingled with the crowd milling about between the tables, leaving the two girls to look after his retreating form. For some reason, this made Raoul snicker. "Well, he can be a bit single-minded at times…"

Maurice's lips twisted into a lopsided grin, and he barely looked up from the activity he was busy with: feeding his ferret a lump of sugar over Suzette, who was sprawled comfortably on his lap. "Let him play, ladies."

"She's nothing for him," Lilie stated. "She won't take him to bed. She's a decent girl, you see." The way she said it, it almost sounded like a bad thing.

Maurice shrugged, momentarily unsettling Suzette slightly, who swatted him around the head playfully in protest. "Yes, but I don't think that's what he's after, precisely. He hasn't taken anyone to bed yet, as far as I know." And he threw the two at the other side of the table a questioning look.

"Not yet, no," Leyla answered, interpreting the look correctly.

"We would know otherwise," Suzette supplied.

"Though that doesn't mean we weren't trying." Lilie sighed. "As long as we merely fondle him, he won't say no, but there are certain regions where he won't let us go."

"And he won't be parted with his trousers," Suzette said regretfully.

"We managed to get him out of the rest once, though." There was something close to pride in Lilie's voice.

"And he somehow managed to keep all of us busy," Leyla recounted, smiling at the memory.

Raoul found only one reaction to a story like this: he snickered. So the Phantom was starting to make his experiences with women? Perfect. Maybe he would stay away from Christine now.

Actually, this was the reason why Raoul had taken him here in the first place: So the Phantom could find himself a girl or two to have fun and a loose affair with and forget about Christine for a little. And until now all was going well, as it seemed, though not quite as fast as he had hoped. But since those girls apparently went after him themselves, and without asking for payment as it seemed, things were really going well.

Ah, what a lovely old world.

He was truly getting drunk, he thought as he snickered to himself again. But what did it matter? In the end, they all died, every single one of them… they all died in war's looming shadow…

He filled his glass once more.