Sorry for the long wait again. And the short length. And I know people will complain about the cliffy. But hey, I haven't had a cliffy to play with in a while, so I think I get at least that allowance. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it. As always, a huge thank you to everyone who's stuck with me all this time. Thank you.

disclaimer: ...I think you get it by now.

chapter 12

March 9, 1873

I looked up from re-reading the old newspaper Mama Valerius had given me to practice on, feeling as if I had already read each page a hundred times over; yet, if that was the case, why had I never seen this article?

"Erik?" I called. "Erik, have you seen this?"

He emerged from the back storage room, where he had spent most of the afternoon, tidying and organizing. When he had announced his intention to me earlier, I smirked to myself; I wasn't the only one experiencing cabin fever from this past winter, then.

"Have I seen what?" he said.

I held out the newspaper to him, and he took it, curious. "That article, there."

He skimmed for a few moments, and I watched his golden pupils move back and forth as he read. "This is the old one from January? …Ah, yes. I have seen this." He handed it back to me, shrugging. "You should ask her if she'll give you new material to read, I think you've worn that one out."

I merely blinked at him. "You… you've already seen that?"

"Well, yes, I'd have hoped so. That paper is two months old."

I waved that aside, folding the paper along its worn crease and setting it on the table. "You didn't tell me," I said at last, getting to the crux of the problem. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"I wasn't aware I had to," he replied.

I worked hard to contain my sudden upset and hurt at him keeping something of such massive significance as this from me, trying to see it from his perspective. He was right; I had already had the paper for nearly a month at least. And I should have seen it, perhaps, but all the same…

"I'm just going to go ahead and apologize up front, right now. Hopefully that will avoid any resulting arguments from my obvious oversight and stupidity." He said it with a bite in his voice, something that had been absent in our conversation up until now.

I sighed, massaging my temples with my fingers; reading always gave me such a frightful headache. "Fine, Erik," I conceded. Maybe it would work. Maybe we wouldn't fight today.

He nodded curtly, and turned away, but before he could get out of the room I called after him, "Though I'd appreciate knowing about things like this in the future."

"As you wish, Meg." Why was his voice so cold?

I slumped back in my chair, picking up the paper again, rifling the pages as I looked for the article once more. Why had I never seen this before? I read through it yet again, slowly, forcing my lips to form each word in English, though keeping silent. Maybe something would leap out from the page of newsprint, trigger something in my memory, something that I might have glimpsed before today.

But no—try and try though I might, and though the words grew more and more familiar as I read them over and over, sometimes aloud, sometimes silently, no whispered murmuring of having seen it before came to me. Naturally, I was perplexed; I had read every single page of this paper front to back several times. So why was it that I was seeing this for the first time?

Finally convinced, I put the paper down and merely sat, thinking. But thoughts soon turned to hunches, which quickly turned into nagging suspicions, and I picked the paper back up, leafing through, locating the article, as I had done seemingly hundreds of times already today. I looked at the page, closely this time, ignoring the words, seeing the actual newsprint. Could it be…?

Yes. There it was, proof, right before my eyes: a light crease down the middle of the page, showing where it had been folded, going against the rest of the paper. My heart sank in realization; Erik had purposely hidden this from me.

But why? That is what troubled me most, not knowing why, the reasoning behind his actions. Why had he felt it so necessary that I not see this?

What else could he be hiding from me?

Of course, that was a silly thing to wonder. He kept his past life under lock and key, only allowing me tantalizing glimpses every so often, so of course he was hiding things from me. I didn't think I wanted to ever know everything he had done, either. I might not have been able to handle that.

No; though I was to a certain extent curious about his life before the Opera, or even during, I felt like I had a right to know what went on now. Didn't I? I mean, I was married to him, wasn't I? I was an implicit part of his life now, so didn't I deserve to know who or what else was?

Part of his life… His life. Was that all I was now? What had happened to my life? Where had my identity gone? Before, everything had seemed so certain. I hardly knew who I was anymore. What had happened? I must have been so young, so naïve; now, it seemed to me like I had suddenly woken up to find myself here, to see my world clearly for the first time. It wasn't jolting, I didn't have to break through a fairytale world of perfection to get to where I was, but all the same. It was… different. I looked again to the incriminating page, the words on it possibly spelling out my future for all I knew. Had the other operettas been performed yet? Were people still looking for Erik? I paused—if that were the case, then we were in danger of our secrecy becoming compromised. If the truth leaked out… well, I couldn't bear to dwell on the consequences, not now. There were other things to worry about.

Should I confront Erik with my newly-acquired knowledge? Demand to know what else he was hiding from me? I didn't want to start yet another shouting match, but it somehow seemed inevitable, like two trains hurtling towards each other, and it was only a matter of time before they collided.

Though perhaps it wasn't inevitable. I sat and pondered that for a moment. Maybe someone had the information, the resources to make an informed decision and shift the tracks, allowing the two trains to dance close, but not collide. What then? It would certainly avoid something dreadful. But eventually the tracks would have to be reconciled, returned to how they were before.

I'd bring it up with him, of course. Eventually. But why initiate another argument when it could be avoided altogether?

--

Regardless of my decision, I was still substantially upset, and I now had no way of letting go of some of my anger. I couldn't talk with Mama Valerius about it, she wouldn't understand; or worse, would go poking around, looking for answers. It was wearing me down, trying to keep things like Erik's true identity and my past hidden from her, and now that I had effectively stopped talking to Erik about substantial things to avoid an argument, the peace I had been trying for eluded me even more. Damnable irony.

So, it was with some trepidation that I climbed into bed that night, my back to Erik to keep from looking at him and betraying anything. I curled into a fetal position, snuggling under the blanket, startling when I felt him shift slightly next to me—he almost never moved when he was sleeping. Please, please let me be, Erik. Please…

Of course, I next felt his hands on my shoulders, causing me to startle again. There was a pause before he started lightly kneading some of the tension from my shoulders and neck. "You're tense," he whispered.

I straightened myself out, trying to bat his hands away. "Not tonight, Erik," I said. "I just want to rest."

I couldn't see him, but from the awkward silence between us now, he seemed taken aback; and who could blame him? In all honesty, I had never thought I would have been able to say such a thing to him. Intimacy was the last thing I needed right now, however. I was a good liar, but not that good.

Still, I felt guilty for turning him down like that, so, steeling myself, I turned over and cuddled close to him. "Tomorrow," I promised, kissing his cheek gently.

He sighed in what seemed to me like contentment, holding me close to him. I reached up and cradled his face with my hands before gently stroking the thin wisps of hair on his head, watching as his eyelids drooped steadily before ultimately closing in quiet slumber.

I maneuvered my head back to my pillow, letting a sigh escape my lips. My heart tugged at me softly as I watched Erik's peacefully sleeping form, but other than that minor annoyance no other guilt plagued me. I smiled.

Perhaps this was going to be easier than I thought.

--

May 22, 1873

I paced back and forth, my hands behind my back, my eyes closed. No wonder Erik did this when he was writing music; the rhythm of my steps, the constant movement lulled me, helped to calm and clear my head.

My rhythm was interrupted momentarily by a second set of footsteps joining me. I opened my eyes, looked around; there Erik was, walking beside me, my mirror image—excepting, of course the glaring discrepancies.

"What are you up to?" he asked.

"Just thinking." I stopped to look up at him.

"Should I be scared?" he teased.

I poked my tongue out at him. "Definitely."

We hadn't had a major argument since I had decided to keep what I knew to myself, and I was keen to keep it that way. Of course I knew I had to bring it up eventually, but the relative serenity I was experiencing was far too intoxicating to relinquish just yet.

There was a sudden knock at the door, and both of our heads swiveled around at the unexpected sound. Reacting first, I stepped towards it while Erik melted into the shadows in the far corner of the room.

"Hello," I said, inwardly wincing at my less-than-perfect pronunciation, copying Erik's habit of only opening the door enough to peek from. "Can I help you?"

The strange man in the doorway momentarily consulted a slip of paper in his hand in astonished confusion, his dark eyes scrutinizing me from the bronzed and weathered face. Agitated, he fumbled with the strange little cap that he had balanced precariously on his head, finally speaking. "Ah, I'm sorry to bother you, Miss, I must've gotten the wrong address…" He consulted the paper again, this time staring at the metal numbers tacked up on the wall next to the door instead of looking at me.

"Who are you looking for? I can get Mrs. Valerius—she's our landlady."

"No, no, I don't think that will be necessary, child, thank you. Unless…" He stared at me again, the beginnings of comprehension of some sort creeping across his swarthy features. "How long have you lived here, mademoiselle?" he suddenly asked me in rapid-fire French.

"Almost a year," I replied, also in French. "Why?"

He ignored my question, asking another one instead. "1872, then, am I correct? And when did you leave France, mademoiselle? You are from France, are you not?"

"Yes, I'm from France—I was born there."

"And the other question? When did you leave?"

I glanced behind me, unnerved, feeling a hand on my shoulder. I looked at Erik, a question in my eyes. He nodded.

"1871."

"I see." He paused. "You are… not alone?" he asked, gesturing at the empty space behind me that he could see, clearly alluding to the fact that I had turned my head away for a moment.

"My husband is home, yes." I smiled; I never tired of saying that phrase. My husband…

Whatever emotion had been steadily building within him suddenly shattered; I could see his face fall. "A thousand pardons, Madame," he said, contrite. "For a moment, I…" He turned away and took a few steps down the hall, only to come running back several seconds later. "Madame," he said, the glint of excitement returning to his eyes. "Madame, is, perhaps, your husband's name…Erik?"

I felt Erik stiffen behind me, and before I knew what was happening, he pushed the door open with tremendous force, I near-having to leap out of his way.

"What," he said, his eyes ablaze, "the hell do you want, Daroga?"