Author's Note: Last chapter! Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: see Chap 1

CHAPTER SEVEN

Costumes, props, stage sets, ballet, acting, show posters, rehearsals, dress rehearsals, all of these things were micro-managed by the Phantom, until finally, finally, it was opening night. It was the most talked about opera in Paris, and indeed all of France, written by O. G. himself, and anyone who was anyone turned out to see it.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Selene asked quietly, as she was backstage putting on makeup.

Erik's voice answered from behind the wall. "Absolutely, my dear. Trust me."

She nodded. "I trust you. Always."

She took her place in the orchestra pit with the others and began warming up. M. Reyer was fidgeting nervously behind her. She gave him an encouraging smile. "Everything will go perfectly," she assured him.

"And... intro..." M. Reyer said, gesturing with his baton. And the opera began.

Behind the scenes as the music began to swell in the opening notes, Erik carefully dropped down behind the lead tenor and knocked him out. Christine was there, watching him wide-eyed. He gave her a grin. "He'll sleep for a few hours and wake up fine," he assured her, putting the unconscious man into a supply closet.

Erik was already in costume - he slipped onto stage, before curtain came up, and he was in position when it rose. And when the first notes came out of his throat, the audience went absolutely silent.

As Selene glanced at the flabbergasted audience she grinned. No one had expected the new lead tenor to be so good. Only the Angel of Music could sing like that. She glanced up at the stage and they locked gazes. She felt her face heat up at the intensity of his gaze, and smiled. He was singing to her, and she was playing to him.

When Christine came on, in the character of Selene, she took the audience's breath away. Her voice and Erik's combined to send chills down everyone's spines.

The first two acts of the opera passed in a flash. The ballet corps, the sets, the music, the acting, everything went absolutely perfect. The audience was loving it. And then the third act began, and Selene began to tense up.

She was hyperaware of Erik and Christine moving about on stage, singing about the undiscovered country. Soon they would rise up through concealed wires, and the main lead would be "shot down" by the other actors, men from the city who thought that the man's presence was wicked.

As the "flying" started, Selene glanced up and saw police quietly slipping into the theatre, lining the walls and approaching the stage. She glanced over at Mme Giry, and the older woman nodded. Selene returned her attention to the notes, and to the stage, her fingers flying over the piano and coaxing a light ethereal tune from it with the help of the violins, in time with the flying couple on stage.

Then the angry mob of "townspeople" entered, and "shot" at the man. The police sprang into action, and swarmed over the stage, joining in the shooting. One of the bullets hit Erik and another severed the wires, causing him to fall to the ground behind one of the set pieces.

A woman screamed, and the lights flickered wildly as everything stopped and people began shifting in their seats, wondering if this was part of the play or not.

Selene could only stare, her heart in her mouth, as the police pulled Erik from behind the set piece and checked his pulse. "He's dead," the policeman said grimly.

"Who invited you anyway?" one of the actors asked the police, half in shock. "Couldn't you see we were in the middle of an opera?"

"We were tipped off that a criminal was present," the policeman said. "Don't you know? This was the phantom of the opera." And he ripped the lifelike mask from Erik's face, exposing his disfigurement.

Selene felt tears spring to her eyes as people gasped and screamed and cursed, and she felt like swooning. She couldn't believe it. She was vaguely aware of the stagehands helping Christine off the rig and Mme. Giry clearing the stage. The gendarmes went off with Erik's body, and some went to clear the audience, and the managers were beside themselves in confusion trying to direct everyone and failing at everything.

"Come, my dear," M. Reyer said, putting an arm around her shoulders gently, "there's nothing we can do. Come, we'll get you a glass of wine for the shock." He led her away backstage and gave her a glass of wine in Mme. Giry's office.

Selene could only sip at it, staring at its blood-red depths. It looked like Erik's blood onstage... she started to tremble and put down the glass before she dropped it.

"I'm terribly sorry," M. Reyer told her sincerely, patting her arm. "I wish..." He sighed. "That wonderful voice..." He excused himself, looking quite shaken as well.

Selene sat there, staring blankly at the wall, until Mme. Giry came in with Christine.

"Selene?" Mme. Giry said quietly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Selene replied, blinking slowly. "It's odd, I can't, I can't even cry."

Mme. Giry gave her a hug. "I know, my dear, I know." She held her for a long time before letting go. "I think you need some rest."

"I couldn't sleep," Selene said, shaking her head. "Not without..." She shook her head. "I can't stay here. Not in the opera house."

"But where will you go?" Christine asked, eyes wide.

"I don't know," Selene said blankly. "I just... I have to get out of here. I'll send for my things. You can tell them all I went to visit family." She stood up hastily, kissed both Christine and Mme. Giry on the cheek, and left.

She met Nadir at the back entrance of the opera house. Somehow he'd heard the commotion and he'd come to find her. "Selene," he said, looking her over for injuries, "are you well?"

"Yes, no, I don't know." She clutched at his arm, feeling like she couldn't breathe with all these people and all these policemen around, a grim reminder of what had just happened. "Please, take me out of here. I need to get away."

He nodded. "Come with me." He led her to a waiting carriage, and they headed off through the streets of Paris. "I have connections. I can get you a ticket to the countryside," he offered.

"Spain," Selene said, smiling faintly at the memories. "We were happy there."

Nadir nodded. "Spain, then."

He got her on a train to Spain directly, and by morning Selene found herself in Barcelona. She checked into an inn and collapsed on the bed, exhausted. Finally, here, she could cry. She cried herself to sleep.

"Selene?" A quiet, heavenly voice woke her from slumber.

She opened her eyes lazily to see- "Erik!" She bolted up from the bed and threw her arms around him. "You're alive! You made it! Are you hurt? Did you just get here?" She kissed him fiercely, not even giving him time to respond.

He returned the kiss eagerly, and when they finally broke apart for air he pressed his face to her shoulder, just holding her. "We did it," he said, his voice muffled, "we are free."

She gave a laugh-sob of joy and kissed his hair. "Did everything go all right?"

"Nadir was perfect as the Parisian gendarme," Erik said, leaning back slightly to tell the story. "And my placement of props was perfect, I didn't even bruise when I sliced the wires and fell."

She hugged him again. "When you fell, and he ripped off your mask and pronounced you dead, I couldn't breathe. I didn't know if you were alive or dead."

He smoothed her hair. "But it's all fine now, my love. I'm here, we're both fine."

She nodded and kissed him lightly. "Hopefully we never have to do that again."

"Never," he promised.

The next morning the scandal was in all the papers. "Opera Ghost killed in Surprise Raid". "The False Phantom Gives up the Ghost."

"These puns are truly awful," Erik said, grimacing at the front of the newspaper.

Selene snickered. "Then why are you reading them, dear?"

"True." He put down the paper. "So, my love, what are we going to do today?"

She shrugged lightly. "Tell Mme Giry and Christine, and Nadir, that we made it safe and sound."

"I shall send a telegram directly," Erik promised.

"And M. Reyer," Selene added.

"Why him?"

"He was truly worried," she said, "and I think he will be sorry you are gone. He was dreadfully shaken up last night but he still took care of me."

He nodded. "I will send a letter to him, explaining the situation."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you," he replied honestly.

A week later, M. Reyer got a letter in the post, from a M. Erik Destler. He opened it, and went pasty gray in the privacy of his office. This was the handwriting of the Phantom of the Opera... He started to read.

"M. Reyer,

With this letter you will know that the news of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I am alive and well, and indeed planned the entire event from start to finish. The opera I wrote was only to be performed that one time, to allow me to fake my death and free Selene and me from hiding our marriage. The main policeman who shot me was actually a friend of mine whom you will recognize as the Persian. He shot me with a small blank filled with wine, and I sliced the wires myself. When I fell, I landed on a pile of cloth to muffle the blow. I injected myself with a mixture of substances to appear as if dead, and placed a small ball under my arm to cut off my circulation. A common trick. When I was carted off to the morgue, the Persian was there to inject me with a stimulant and revive me. Selene and I are now safely away from Paris. And on that note, thank you for your many years of service to the Phantom of the Opera. If you need anything, ever, you may ask Mme. Giry or the Persian; they will know where I am. May you continue being a wonderful conductor. Sincerely, Erik Destler."

M. Reyer could only stare at the letter in shock, and then he began to laugh. He laughed so hard the other orchestra members thought he'd gone quite mad. But he'd never been happier in his life. "Come," he said, waving to them, "we need to practice."

Selene and Erik settled in Spain for the time being, surrounded by fields and farmers who didn't judge on appearances. Selene taught piano and art lessons, and Erik taught math and singing lessons.

They traveled all over Europe in the summer, and when Christine and Raoul got married, they attended the wedding in the back row, smiling proudly.

Mme. Giry got periodic updates from the couple, and then she got a brief letter.

"Dear Mme Giry,

We are moving to America, the land of opportunity. There in the large cities we will find a place to showcase our talents without having to hide behind masks. Erik hopes to sell his compositions, and I hope to perform in an orchestra again. And another thing, Antoinette, I am pregnant. Erik and I are both thrilled, and even though he is nervous the child will be born deformed, I will love my child no matter what he or she looks like. I personally think it will be a girl, I can sort of sense it. When the baby is born we will write you again, but after that I don't really know what the world has in store for us. Thank you again for taking care of Erik all these years, and helping the two of us grow closer. Erik sends his love.

Love, Selene Destler."

The End