Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera.

Author's note: At last, it's time for something interesting. This is a long chapter, but I didn't really know what else to do except break it up into several chapters--but that didn't work so well. So, here you go. I hope you can all follow along.


Hello again, Dear Journal.

It would appear that I spoke to soon. Actually, looking back at the high hopes I had only yesterday, I feel like a complete fool. That is the extent of the drastic change that has occurred in my life in less than twenty-four hours.

Raoul woke up early that morning. This is it! he thought, this is the day I take Christine away with me. We will find a nice house somewhere quiet where we can marry and put all this Erik-nonsense behind us. He smiled, thinking of all the wonderful memories he had shared with Christine and all the new ones they were going to create together.

Granted, he knew his brother would not be overly pleased, but that could not be helped. Last night he had relayed Christine's tale to him and was, judging by his reaction, pretty certain his brother was convinced that he had lost his mind. He determined to tell Philippe as little as possible until all the arrangements were final.

He dressed quickly while the servants readied his carriage. He did have breakfast with his brother, not wanting to raise suspicion before the time was right; but he knew that arranging all the details for the trip (tickets, lodging, etc.) would take most of the day so he left as quickly as he could get out of the house.

That evening, he and the Count both dressed for a night at the Opera. Raoul couldn't help his nerves, there were so many variables, so much could go wrong. But still, the excitement of seeing Christine sing one last time before taking her away with him kept his spirits high.

There are a lot of things I should have done differently.

The Opera was pact for the final performance. Rumor had spread of the outstanding new singer, Christine Daae, playing the lead and everyone who was anyone in Paris made an appearance.

From the privacy of their own box, Raoul and Philippe watched from above. Philippe was mildly bored, while he'd admit that his brother's little love interest had an extraordinary voice, he had already seen this show several times and was attending mainly for social and business purposes.

Raoul, on the other hand, was thoroughly engrossed in the production. His eyes lit up when Christine made her entrance and never left her as she glided gracefully about the stage.

Once or twice throughout the production, she'd look up into Raoul's box and make brief eye contact or smile brightly. Raoul would blush and beam back at her. He was absolutely giddy in his love for her.

I should have listened to my instincts when they told me Raoul and I were being watched last night. I should have taken the lost ring as a bad omen, though I generally would not be considered superstitious by any stretch of the word. Still, I should have sensed that all was not right.

Shortly before intermission, Philippe decided he had had enough opera music for one night. He leaned over to his brother and whispered, "Raoul, what do you say we duck out of here early? We can have a night on the town once more--for old time's sake--before you ship out next week…"

Raoul sighed. I suppose it's now or never. "Philippe," he said, looking at the ground like a guilty child, "I am not going abroad… at least, not the way you think I am."

The Count's eyebrow quirked. He knew what was coming but didn't want to believe it. "And why, may I ask, is that?" he said with a forced calm.

"Because, brother, I intend to carry Christine off tonight. I am in love, Philippe, and I am going to marry her."

Philippe's face turned bright red and he tried his best to keep his voice low, since other people were trying to watch the opera.

"Raoul, this childishness needs to stop now. I'm sure your secret engagement and forbidden love affair was a fun game while it lasted, but it needs to end." When he saw the shocked look on Raoul's face, he continued, "You didn't think I knew, did you?"

Raoul shook his head. He thought they had been so careful.

Philippe handed him a piece of paper that had been folded in his jacket pocket. "Look," he hissed, "I didn't want to show you this but it seems I have no choice. It's an article I found in the Époque about the Vicomte de Chagny and the opera singer Christine Daae. Don't you see? Everybody knows about your little affair. Don't you see what you are doing to yourself? Think of your future! For goodness sake, think of the de Chagny name! Does our family mean so little to you?"

The boy was silent for a moment, considering everything his elder brother had said. Finally he looked into Philippe's eyes, with the despair of a lost child. "She needs me," he murmured, barely audible.

Philippe's face softened slightly. "Oh Raoul, what am I going to do with you? I suppose this is as much my fault as anyone else's. I've coddled you too much, little brother. Let us not be anymore argument between us. I don't wish to forbid you to leave… I just… I just think you need to look at this rationally. Try to be sensible, Raoul. At least think about it, okay?"

Perhaps I should have left last night when Raoul wanted to, although I'm not sure it would have made a difference. Granted, it would have been a lot less dramatic, but Erik would have found a way to bring me back. The man is a magician.

Raoul did not respond and both brothers watched the performance in silence for a few minutes. Then, without warning, Raoul swore he could hear a voice near his left ear.

"Coddled too much, indeed! HA! Listen to your brother, boy, and heed his advice!" said the voice.

"Did you hear that, Philippe?" Raoul asked urgently

"Hear what?" his brother responded.

"That voice! It sounded like it was standing right beside me… you could not hear it at all?"

"Stupid boy! Go back home to your toys and games. You are not man enough for Christine!"

"There! I heard it again! It was by my right ear this time. Tell me you could hear it!"

"I heard nothing. Are you going to watch the show or should we leave?"

"It was him! I know it. It was Erik!"

"Enough of this, Raoul! You let that girl fill your head with ghost stories and now you are hearing voices! If you let this continue, you will go mad."

Raoul sighed. He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with his brother.

"You're probably right. I need to get some fresh air, I'll be right back."

As he got up to leave, Philippe grabbed hold of his arm. "Don't do anything foolish," he warned.

Raoul simply nodded and headed towards the stairs.

I underestimated Erik when I thought Raoul and I could just escape out from under his nose. I am speaking figuratively, of course, as he does not have much of a nose at all in the literal sense.

Ah, look at me making jokes at a time like this. Where was I?

Raoul paced the lobby for a few minutes, trying to clear his head and figure out what to do about Erik. The sound of Christine's lovely voice pulled him out of his thoughts. The doors to the auditorium were open, as it would soon be intermission, and he took the opportunity to watch her a little more.

He positioned himself beside the right-hand door, leaning casually against the wall as he watched his love, looking as glorious as ever, enchant the crowd with her voice. In her final aria, she spotted Raoul beside the entrance. She smiled and extended her hands toward him, trying to relay every ounce of her love for him in song.

Raoul was so moved, he almost felt a tear forming in his eye when he was startled by another chilling sound in his ears. It was the voice again. It echoed in his head and all around him, and yet he knew no one else would hear it.

You see, boy? You've failed! She is mine.

Oh yes. I was kidnapped again.

Almost before he had a chance to register the comment, all the lights went out in the theatre. It only took a few moments for the stagehands to turn the gas lights back on, but it was distraction enough. By the time the lights came one, Christine Daae was gone.

He took me during the performance! If I were to take a very detached, indifferent view of the whole operation, I'd have to admit the genius in which he carried out his plan.

"Did you think you could get away, Christine?" he growled. She saw his yellow eyes glowing in the darkness seconds before she felt his bony fingers grip her arm hard.

"Stop it, Erik! You're hurting me!" she plead, trying to tug out of his grasp. He held fast and began to pull her with him as he walked quickly through the darkness of the catacombs.

"Am I, Christine? Well, I suppose you would know, wouldn't you? You know all about hurting people!" he shouted, glaring at her.

Christine looked into his glowing eyes. The look she saw in them shocked her. It was not sadness… nor was it anger… it wasn't even hurt. She had expected those emotions and was prepared to deal with them. But no, the look in his eyes was the look of complete madness. She swallowed hard, more frightened now than she had ever been in her life. Great, Christine, you've really done it this time!

But I am not indifferent. He is a horrid man. So there.

"Now, now, Christine. Don't look so surprised. You remember this place, don't you?" He spoke to her in a mock-pleasant voice, as if talking to a child.

After a few minutes of useless struggling, Christine resigned herself to follow him the rest of the way to the lake house.

"Erik, what are you doing? Why have you brought me back here?"

"Why, I thought that would be obvious to you, my dear. This is your home now."

"Please, Erik, let me go. What do you think kidnapping me is going to accomplish? Do you think you can make me love you?"

He paused briefly, his shoulders jerking in quiet sobs. When he regained his composure, he sneered at her. "Love? Love? What do you know of love, stupid girl!"

Then he continued, the madness and rage more evident in his voice with each word. "Hmm… what shall Erik hope to accomplish by taking you away with him? I know… perhaps it is this: You are mine, Christine. You will always be mine. But, I realized last night, on the rooftop--oh yes, I heard you planning to betray me with that handsome idiot--that, perhaps, you needed a reminder. I will never let you go, Christine. It's best you get used to the idea."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"My, we are inquisitive today, aren't we? You ask so many questions! No matter," he said cheerfully, "Your Erik knows how to be patient. Especially with you, my dear. He has been most patient with you. Because he loves you, Christine. Did you know that?"

Without waiting for a response he continued, "Well then, ingenious child, I shall answer all your questions in time. In fact, I shall answer your questions always. There is much we can learn from each other. We will have so much time together now that you will be my wife."

"Wife?" she whispered, shocked. Looking back, she really shouldn't have been surprised, but it was alarming to hear the words coming from his mouth.

"Why yes, dear." he said lightly, "We are going to be married. Won't it be grand, Christine? You will make the most lovely bride."

"Just because you say it in a happy voice doesn't make it a good thing!" she replied acrimoniously.

He just laughed--a sound that made her shudder. "Now, Christine, that attitude will just not do! It's quite unbecoming. Don't you see, Christine? I can give you everything. You can have the fairy-tale wedding that all girls imagine. Well, I can't give you the handsome prince, but I'm afraid, dear girl, that that cannot be helped. But… but, you'll be pleased to know that the Wedding Mass is complete!"

"You wrote a Wedding Mass?" she asked incredulously. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that, come to think of it.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, as if the question was completely absurd. "I had to do something while you were off plotting against me with your darling boy."

After he dragged my back to his home, I ran to my bedroom and locked the door--not that locks mean much with Erik, but it made me feel a bit better at any rate.

"I hate you! I hate you!" she screamed as she slammed her bedroom door in his face.

"Oh, my darling Christine. I know that is not true. You wouldn't hate your Erik. He loves you, after all. He would even forgive you for betraying him… don't you see, Christine? If you loved me, I could forgive anything. I would deny you nothing… if only you would love me!"

"Go away!"

He sighed patiently. "I know you are eager to freshen up, Christine. It's been a long day and I'm afraid it will be much longer yet. I do not doubt that this will be an adjustment for you, but I'm sure it will all work out in time. I'll leave you now so you can think about your choice."

"Choice? What choice?" she asked, opening the door a crack so she could see him.

"Why, of course you have a choice, my dear girl! You always have a choice. I am not so heartless a monster… you can choose to marry me or not."

She looked at him incredulously. "Then I choose not." she said quickly

Again he laughed that insane laugh of his. "Oh my darling, you are adorable! I am afraid you should give it a little more thought than that. Marriage is a big decision, you know, and there could be terrible consequences for making the wrong choice!"

"What kind of consequences?"

Before he could answer a bell rang loudly throughout the lair. "Ah! It would appear we have a visitor! Oh, but I have not invited anyone… no, no, no… this was to be a private engagement celebration! I shall have to go ask them to leave. I'll be back soon, my darling. Do think over your situation carefully."

He said something about giving me some time alone to sort things out.

The second he saw the empty stage where Christine stood seconds before, Raoul was off in a flash, sprinting in the direction of her dressing-room. He has her! I will find him and kill him!

He threw open the door of the dressing-room and rushed over to the mirror against the wall. I know this must lead to somewhere, he thought as he tried to pull the mirror back. However, when he pried the mirror off the wall he saw nothing more than a blank, solid wall. No! NO! This is unacceptable! I know she went through here before. There must be a trick to it…

He explored every part of the mirror and the wall, running his fingers over the surface to find a button or lever of some sort. After a few seconds of searching with no results, he grew frustrated, kicking and stomping and shouting at everything and nothing.

"That will only make things worse." a calm voice stated behind him.

Raoul whipped around to see a tall, dark-skinned man with jade green eyes. His clothing was unusual and he was clearly not from Paris.

"Erik's traps are very clever. The door you seek does not even open from this direction. The lever is on the other side"

"Who the hell are you? And what do you know of Erik?" Raoul demanded.

"I am the one who can help you. I am the one who knows as much as any mortal man can know about Erik. I am the Persian."

"How did you know to find me here? And how do you know that it is Erik who took her? Perhaps she ran away on her own or left with another man…" Raoul inquired. He had to know what, if anything, this Persian knew about his situation.

The taller man just laughed. "I was at the performance tonight. Believe me when I tell you that no one could pull off a feat like that other than Erik. I have no doubt of where your fiancée is being held tonight."

"Then by all means, man, take me to her!"

"Very well, but you must follow my orders exactly. The cellars are extremely dangerous… now more than ever because Erik is down there protecting them. You and I could easily be killed tonight… are you aware of that, M. de Chagny?"

"Believe me, sir, when I say that I would do anything--and I mean anything--to bring Christine back to me safely."

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Erik glided about the caverns, nothing more than a shadow, silently slipping in and out of tunnels and trap-doors. Before long he came across two figures, slowly making their way down stairs and around corners, avoiding the lake entirely and ever conscious of his many traps.

Excellent work, daroga. he thought to himself. It didn't take you nearly as long as I thought it would. It appears you have not yet lost your touch.

He chuckled cruelly and the figures paused briefly before pressing forward cautiously.

That's right, daroga, you haven't forgotten. Keep your hand at the level of your eyes! You never know what kind of wicked things are about.

As he departed back to his house, he pulled a lever to the left, shifting a wall along the path of the two travelers. The change was so slight that it was likely neither man would notice. However, it was consequential enough that Erik could predict exactly where in his underground palace they would end up.

Be careful, gentlemen. Mirrors can be frightening things when used correctly…

------------------------------------

When the lights came back on in the auditorium and some of the panic died down, one of the managers came onto the stage and announced that Christine Daae has disappeared and nobody knew how. Philippe stood up in his box, his first thoughts going to his brother Raoul, who had left several minutes ago to 'get some fresh air'.

While he genuinely hoped that his little brother had not run off and done something foolish, in his heart he knew that would not be the case. Damn that boy… he said they were running away tonight but I didn't think he would leave during the performance! He probably didn't want to risk me trying to prevent him from going. Agh! I need to stop this!

He ran out as quickly as he could, pushing his way through the crowds.

People were shuffling aimlessly about in the lobby and auditorium. Some were eager to leave, afraid of the Opera Ghost. Others were looking for gossip. The managers were desperately trying to push people back into the auditorium, assuring them that the show would go on, the understudy was well equipped so that refunds would not be necessary.

The train! he thought frantically. He knew Raoul would have made arrangements ahead of time. Since they planned to escape tonight, there must be a train leaving soon that they planned to be on. Philippe ran directly to the de Chagny carriage, and alerted the driver.

"Driver! Take me to the train station. And hurry!"

The next time I saw him (whether it was hours or minutes, I do not know) he was holding me while I lay on the floor with a bruised forehead. He shook me awake and cursed me for trying to kill myself.

"Stupid, stupid girl!" he muttered as he lifted her limp body from the floor and placed her in a stiff, wooden chair, fastening her tightly with ropes to keep her upright.

She began to stir and looked, horrified, upon the man who was dabbing her bloody forehead with a damp cloth. She tried to turn away but he grabbed her chin and roughly forced her to look at him.

"Oh no you don't, Christine! Look at me! Thought you could escape me this way, did you? By killing yourself?"

To set the record straight--though it is likely, dear journal, that only you and I will ever know the truth--I did not attempt suicide.

Christine's eyes widened in confusion as she tried to decipher what was happening.

"What? N--No…" she tried to shake her head but his grip on her face tightened and she winced against the pain.

He continued to rant, "No, no, no, Christine. You cannot escape me that easily!" He laughed maniacally. "Are you really so stupid that you would think that I would ever let you go? Don't you see, Christine… even in death you cannot escape me!"

"Death?"

"Yes, death! What else would you be trying to accomplish, hmm? Banging your head against the wall… perhaps you just want to mar that pretty complexion of yours… perhaps you just want to look a little more like me, hmm? Is that what you were doing? No, my dear, you are not allowed to die yet. We must wait until the time is right… until you have made your choice…" "

"Honestly, with all the traps and poisons down here, do you really think I'd kill myself by hitting my head on a wall?" she asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm from her voice. Does he really think I am that stupid? If he does, then why on earth would he want to marry me… does he want an imbecilic wife? What a boring existence would that be?

However, her words were ignored completely as Erik continued to rant and shout out his anger. He dragged her--and the chair she was bound to--to the music room where he positioned her beside the far wall which, unbeknownst to her, was the adjoining wall to Erik's secret torture chamber.

"Never matter, never matter… since I cannot trust you to behave yourself, I shall have to keep you tied up like this. I will simply have to watch over you, my little dove, until I am sure you will not hurt yourself again."

The truth of the matter is that I tripped. As I was pacing through my room, I was so blinded by tears and, well, plain old shortsightedness. It's so bloody dark down here, that didn't help at all either. Anyway, at some point I tripped on the corner of a rug and fell head first onto the corner of the bedpost. It knocked me out and I fell on the floor by the nearest wall. It also left me with a nasty cut across my forehead. I don't think it'll scar but, then again, such trivialities seem unreasonably vain at this point.

For the next few hours he alternately shouted, threatened, pleaded and wept.

Sometimes he towered over her, demanding for her to choose him.

Other times, he buried his face in the hem of her dress, promising her the world if she could only love him.

And sometimes he would sit, curled on the floor or leaning against the divan, rocking back and forth for long stretches of time, tearing at his hair and moaning, "She doesn't love me… she doesn't love me…" again and again.

Through all of this, Christine stared straight ahead, refusing to let herself be moved. Forget it, Erik, remember who you are dealing with… I am the master manipulator. None of this is going to work. I am not going to marry you. I do not love you… none of your tactics will change that.

After an undefined amount of time, he stood up--graceful as ever--and bowed formally.

"Perhaps you need more time to think. I will leave you for a few hours. Don't move!" he warned in a sing-song voice as he laughed at his own joke.

Not that Erik would believe me. Then again, I suppose he really doesn't have any reason to believe anything I tell him. But, no, I am not going to apologize for anything. I'm paying for my crimes and then some.

"Christine!" a voice sounded through the wall. Christine perked up her head and listened again. It was Raoul.

"Raoul!" she cried, and then cringed and hoped that Erik had not heard her.

"Christine, we need your help. We are trapped in this room. I can see nothing, it's completely dark. Come to the door and let us out!"

"I can't, Raoul! There is no door that I can see. Even if there was, I am all tied up… I can't move at all. Oh, Raoul! Please help me! He has gone mad… I should've listened to you… I…" she broke down, her body shaking helplessly as she had no more tears left to shed.

On the other side, Raoul began to pound the wall mercilessly. The Persian pulled him back roughly.

"He's tied her up… that madman tied her up! I'm going to kill him!"

"M. de Chagny," the man said evenly, "we may be here for a while. You must calm yourself and conserve your strength. You will need to be ready to face anything if you want to save Christine."

Then, against the wall, he said, "Mlle. Daae, I need you to listen to me carefully. Look around and tell me if you see a key. It might be in a little black bag," he added, remembering a similar situation back in Persia years ago.

She looked around as best she could, spotting something on top of his organ that matched the description.

"I see it!" she cried, "I'll try to get it, but you must be quiet now. I hear him coming!"

Seriously, though. What good would suicide do me? It wouldn't save Raoul or anyone else for that matter. I may have lost this game, but I intend to accept my defeat with as much class as I can muster.

"I have returned, my dear. Have you come any closer to making your decision?"

What decision? You keep telling me I have a choice but you don't accept my answer and then you threaten me and leave me to 'think it over again'. Seriously… what kind of choice is that? Wait… Christine, no… don't think of that now. You have a mission remember?

"Erik, please untie me," she pleaded.

He quirked his head to the side. "You know I cannot do that, Christine. Why must you make this difficult?"

She dropped her head pitifully.

"No… don't… do not cry, Christine! You know how it pains me to see you cry!"

"These ropes are hurting me, Erik. Please… they hurt so much…"

"I can't untie you. You will try to hurt yourself again."

That wasn't my intention in the first place, you awful man. If you'd listened to me, you'd know that! "No, Erik, I won't. I promise. Please…"

He nodded slowly and knelt before her, deftly releasing her bonds. He took her small wrists in his hands and, sure enough, they were marked with angry, red rope burns and bruises.

"Oh!" he gasped, "I have hurt you! I am so sorry, Christine… this… this is a crime deserving of death!"

Christine shuddered. She remembered another time when he had said those words. It was very… unnerving.

Suddenly the intruder bell rang once again.

"Visitors, visitors!" he sang, "This is most unusual! Do I go about bothering people in their homes? People should know better than to show up uninvited."

He turned to Christine and said, "Fear not, my love, I shall return shortly. How pale you are! Don't worry, I will not be gone long. I will go tell him that we are in no need of company today and then your little Erik will return to you. My darling, Christine…"

With a gentle caress across her cheek, he turned and disappeared from the room, his cloak rippling behind him as he melted into the shadows.

She sighed, relieved and worried at the same time. This little diversion was most fortunate for her but most unfortunate for whoever had strayed too far underground. She thought a quick prayer. Perhaps it was just a cat or something that set off the alarm…

After waiting a few breathless seconds to be sure he had truly gone, Christine rose from her seat and snatched up the little black bag.

Retrieving the key from inside she put her ear by the wall and said, "I have it! Can you hear me in there? I have the key… what do I do now?"

Neither the men, nor Christine knew exactly what could be done next. "Try looking for a crack in the wall that could be a door or an opening," the Persian offered hopefully.

Besides, I'd make an ugly corpse with my head all banged up like this.

Philippe returned to the Opera from the train station. After talking to the various personnel, he determined that Raoul and Christine had not shown up that night. He waited until the train they were scheduled to travel on had come and gone, but there was no sign of them.

Frustrated and weary, Philippe realized that it might be time for him to accept the alternative. He swallowed hard, this was not something he wanted to think about.

For days… weeks even… his brother had been speaking of ghosts and angels and trap-doors in the Opera house. At first, he waved it off--Raoul always did have an active imagination. This singer-girl was obviously having quite an affect on the boy, but Philippe had assumed he would grow out of it and come to his senses.

However, the night Raoul shot off his gun at a 'ghost' in his bedroom, Philippe knew there was much more to this problem than he originally guessed. As far as he knew, madness did not run especially run in his family, but it could be so very hard to predict sometimes. He determined, at that point, to keep a closer watch on Raoul.

Now, after the ordeal tonight, he was inclined to believe his brother may have run off in search of the Opera Ghost.

As the driver took him back to the Opera, Philippe growled and clenched his fists. He was not afraid of ghosts or devils, but the idea of running around the cellars of the Opera all night, chasing after his mentally unstable little brother, was not what he had in mind when he got up that morning.

Following directions from various stagehands, Philippe made his way down underneath the building. He came upon a lake and remembered one of the stories Raoul relayed to him from Christine. He must have gone this way, he thought as he came upon a small boat. He cautiously stepped in and began rowing through the water, thinking angrily of all the things he was going to say and do to Raoul when he got his hands on him.

However, before he had ventured too far, he heard an exquisite sound echoing out from the water. I voice more sublime than any he had ever encountered filled his ears with singing. Entranced, he leaned over the edge of the boat, trying to get as close to the fading sound as possible, not wanting to miss even a single note.

Without warning, two monstrous, skeletal arms shot out of the water. There was a splash, a scuffle, and Comte Philippe de Chagny was no more.

"A pity," Erik said as he dragged the lifeless body to shore, "I think the two of us could have gotten along. Your brother should have listened to you. I'm afraid his fate is looking equally grim at the moment."

With one last look at the body, he shrugged and made his way back home where his love would be waiting for him. I hope she will not be worried… but, then, I was not gone long. She's such a good girl, waiting for me as she does. I must be sure to thank her someday. Not now, though. Now I have a Requiem to sing.

I don't know why I seem to be the linchpin in this whole mess, but I am. If I killed myself tonight, Raoul, Erik, that Persian gentleman, and thousands of Parisians would have died. It's an odd feeling really, holding the fate of so many others. I don't think I've ever mattered so much in my life.

"I have returned, Christine. But I'm afraid it was a bit of bad news. You see, when I went out there to speak with the man… to tell him he was not welcome… well, you see, he was already dead. It was a tragic accident really. Why do you look at me that way, Christine? Oh! You must wonder why I am all wet. Such a good girl you are, worrying for me like that. I am wet, dear child, because it is raining. Yes, it is raining cats and dogs outside!"

"It's raining underground… in the cellars… inside the Opera house?"

"No more interruptions, ingenious child, I must sing his Requiem."

"You are mad, Erik!"

He knelt at her feet once more, pleading. "Oh Christine, if I am mad it is because of you! If you could only love me… oh my darling girl… if you loved me I could do anything! I would be a gentle as a lamb! Don't you see that I don't want it to be this way? I don't want to live underground anymore… in a house with trap doors and a coffin. I want to live in a house with a real bed and go out like a regular man. I want a wife like everyone else. There is nothing I would not give you Christine. I am a magician, you know, and a ventriloquist. I would live only for you and adore you. I would live to entertain my wife during the week and take walks in the park on Sundays. It's all I want, Christine. You are so kind… so beautiful… if only you could love me. But no, love is too much to ask for a monster such as myself. But we could still be married… we could still enjoy each other's companionship. I know of many people who did not know each other before they were married but have adored each other ever since. I will not ask for your love if you cannot give it… just… just a kind word… one kind word, Christine… that is all I ask. You who are always so sweet and gentle to everyone… is there nothing in your heart but hatred for me? Do you have just one kind word for your Erik?"

He paused, waiting for a reply, but she only stared at him in shock and pity.

"No?" he asked quietly, "Well then, my love, do let me get back to that Requiem."

He sat down at his organ and began to play. After a few moments of continuous music, he paused.

Christine held her breath at the conspicuous silence. He knows!

"Christine…" he ground out dangerously, "What have you done with my bag?"

"What bag, Erik? What are you talking about?" she answered, backing away towards the wall that separated her from Raoul.

"You know very well what I am talking about. Give it back or you shall regret it."

She continued to back away from him, eyes wide with fright. "Stay away from me, Erik." she warned.

Suddenly he was before her, his arms wrapped around her as he forcefully, painfully wrenched the bag from her hands behind her back. She screamed in pain and Raoul, hearing her cry, roared with rage and despair.

"Christine!" he cried

Erik visibly tensed. "Is that the reason you were stealing my key? Is there someone in there?"

"No, Erik. There is no one."

"Really? Is that so? Then you will not mind if I go have a look. There is a window… up there… at the top of the stairs. Every torture chamber must have a window, you see… so that one can check on the state of its occupants."

"There is no need to go up there Erik. No one is there. Look, I'll go up and look for you!" she offered.

"Oh, how kind of you… sparing me all those steps at my age. Here… I will even turn the light on for you." he sneered, flipping on a hidden switch.

There was another cry… two men shouted in surprise at the blinding light that suddenly surrounded them. When their eyes adjusted, Raoul discovered what the Persian had already known. The torture chamber was simply a room covered top to bottom in mirrors. It appeared to be a forest… but in truth there was only one tree, with a noose attached, that was duplicated thousands of times by those treacherous mirrors. Within minutes the lights magnified the temperature of the room and the men began to suffer the effects of the intense heat.

Christine paled even more, if that was possible.

"Erik, what is in there?"

"It is simply a forest, child, don't trouble yourself with it since there is no one in there…"

"The why is it so hot against the wall?"

"Because," he said simply, "It is an African forest. Now, come sit with me, I have something I wish to discuss with you."

How did this happen? This time last year I had no one. Now I have two men ready to kill or die for me! Goodness, when it rains, it pours! Couldn't there be any middle ground? It would certainly make my life easier.

"Erik, turn out that light! Please!"

"Now, my beauty, don't think of that right now. Look here, I want to show you something."

He opened two black boxes on a shelf in the corner of the room.

"See these, Christine? Aren't they clever? Now, listen carefully, I would hate for something terrible to happen on accident. It is time for you to make your choice. If you will accept my proposal and be my wife, you will turn the scorpion. If you refuse, you will turn the grasshopper."

The ultimatum Erik gave me was the true absurdity of the night. Marry me or I kill everyone in and around this building. Choose me or blow up thousands of people. Really, what kind of choice is that anyway? What kind of sick person is so selfish as to allow so many deaths just so she doesn't have to endure a miserable marriage? I've heard that misery loves company, but honestly! In the end, though, I think I surprised Erik by the choice I made. I wonder if that is an indication of the type of person he thinks I am. Not that I've given him cause to think otherwise. No apologies, though, I know I'm being stubborn but I am not going to accept full blame in this. He is the lunatic, after all.

She nodded nervously and allowed him to continue.

"I am going to leave you now one last time. I will allow you some privacy to think. When I return, I will know what your choice is. If you have not made your decision by the time I return, I will turn the grasshopper for you."

So here is the true irony of the evening: while my choice was clear in theory, it was dangerously difficult in practice.

"Be very careful of your choice, Christine. If you choose incorrectly, we will all be dead and buried before you can change your mind."

Why? Well, I'm glad you asked. I will explain it, though you will be tempted to laugh, dear journal, at the ludicrousness of it all. In two identical black boxes lay two nearly-identical bronze knobs. On one knob was carved an intricate imitation of a scorpion. On the other, an equally detailed representation of a grasshopper. Meanwhile, the chambers beneath us were completely packed with barrels of gunpowder. The choice was this: turn the scorpion and drown the gunpowder in water, or turn the grasshopper and ignite the powder and, consequently, blow us all to pieces.

"Alright, I'll go now. Beware though… that grasshopper hops. Indeed," he laughed, "it hops jolly high!"

The nearly-identical knobs is where the trouble lay. I know I've said it a hundred times, but my eyesight is terrible and it is unreasonably dark down here. I really could not, to save the life of me (literally), figure out which was the grasshopper and which was the scorpion. You see, I should never have smashed those blasted spectacles a while back. I really need to learn to think things through a little better. This is where my impulsiveness gets me!

For the next sixty minutes, Christine paced and fretted. She more or less ignored the passionate pleas from the men in the torture chamber. Occasionally she'd comment in answer to a question, but she knew that they really couldn't do much to help her or anyone else at the moment. Everyone's fates were resting entirely in her hands. And she had no idea which knob to choose!

When Erik returned, his emotions were entirely unreadable.

"Mademoiselle has not chosen the grasshopper." he said with an eerie calm. "Mademoiselle has not chosen the scorpion. The time has come, Christine. Which do you choose, the Wedding Mass or the Requiem?"

"Erik, stop this! Of course I will marry you… please end this now! Let those men go! I choose you!"

"You see, my dear, there lies the problem. Erik cannot trust the words that comes from Christine's lips. Christine has told too many lies. No, Erik can only trust Christine's actions. But she has not turned either handle! Well, then I shall have to choose for her. Goodbye, my dear. I love you."

"STOP ERIK! Look! I have turned the scorpion!"

Anyway, to make a long story short, just as my time ran out, I saw him slowly, dramatically reaching out to turn the grasshopper for me. Well, I'm glad it was the grasshopper he was reaching for because I quickly grabbed the other knob and turned it hard. Wouldn't that have been awful if he had tricked me again and I turned the wrong handle? Then again, I suppose I wouldn't care because I'd be dead before I could regret it.

"Oh Christine… you do not know how happy you have made me!" he murmured. She could hear his breath coming in ragged gasps. The insanity in his voice was replaced with something else that she could not identify.

He extended his hand to her and she reached out and took it without hesitation. He groaned so slightly at her touch and stared at her in absolute wonder. She is an angel! My angel! My wife…

So that left me with another problem. Erik had made no prior promises to save Raoul or that Persian man (I wonder who that is, anyway. I must remember to ask Erik at a later time) and the torture chamber was quickly filling up with water.

As cold water started to seep in through the trap door in the floor of the torture chamber, the men collapsed on the floor and lapped it up greedily, ignoring the bitter taste it made as it mixed with the gunpowder in the chamber beneath them.

However, the momentary relief of the trapped men was replaced by a new kind of panic when they realized the flow of water was not stopping.

"Help us, Christine! We will drown in here!" Raoul cried out.

"Erik!" shouted the Persian, "I know you can hear us… please open the door! I saved your life… at least you can return the favor!"

"Daroga? Are you in there to? You should not have gone in there," Erik said matter-of-factly, "it is very dangerous."

Christine grasped Erik's sleeve tightly. "Please, Erik! I have chosen you… you have already won! I beg you… let them out! Don't blame Raoul for my mistakes!"

"Nonsense, my dear. You have a fiancée now and you have no need of a second. I will throw the key away. I am finished with torture chambers. I wish to live like any other man. Other men do not have torture chambers in their homes. I shall throw this key away."

"NO!" she cried.

That is when I took my second biggest risk of the night.

The pleas of the drowning men grew louder as the water rose, but Christine paid no attention at all. At that moment it was only her and Erik.

"Erik…" she said quietly. She approached him slowly, but purposely, until her hands touched his sleeves over his upper arms. She was not willing, yet, to touch him further but it seemed that the small gesture was enough for the affection-starved man.

"I am not demanding anything of you or giving you some sort of ultimatum. I have chosen you and I will always choose you from this moment on. You may not believe me… I haven't given you cause to believe me… but I am truly sorry for everything that has happened. But… I am here now, willing to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Where you have known pain, I will show you infinite tenderness. For every tear you have shed, I will replace with a thousand caresses," her thumbs rubbed lazy circles on his arms as if to prove her point, "I am asking you, as a favor to your wife, to save those men. But the choice is yours. Either way, I am here to be your real, living bride, forever and ever. Whatever you decide, I promise that I will dedicate my every breath to making you the happiest man alive."

For a moment he only stared at her. She expertly hid her nervousness as she thought silent prayers that he would believe her. Please, let this work…

Then he nodded. "I will do it as a favor to my wife. Go and rest, Christine. I will do what I can. I will need your help in a few hours… I will call you when the time comes."

In the end, it turned out alright. I was afraid he wouldn't believe me, but he did. Was I bluffing to him when I made all those promises? I'm not sure yet. I spoke passionately to save Raoul. But, then again, it looks like I am going to be here a while. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt me to try and make the best of it. I'll have to ponder that a bit.

When she returned, Raoul was still unconscious from the ordeal and the Persian had just barely woken. He began to ask questions of Christine but she did not answer him. Instead she curled up in a chair with a book. She could not read it--it was too dark--but it helped keep the appearance that she was not interested in the exchange between he and Erik.

She had come in to help Erik get the men situated in the little room. When he went to fetch her he warned her not to speak to them, reminding her that she belonged to him now. She had no wish to disobey him now. After giving so much to ensure their safety, Christine wasn't about to throw it away by stupidly disregarding Erik's not-too-subtle threats.

After helping the semi-conscious Persian to the surface, he returned to attend to the boy, who still lay unconscious on the sofa. Christine gave him a questioning look. "He will live," was his only response as he lifted the boy over his shoulder and carried him out of the room and out of Christine's life forever.

Anyway, what matters is that it worked. Erik took Raoul upstairs and released him.

When he was out of his fiancée's sight, he dropped the boy unceremoniously to the ground on his back and dragged him the rest of the way by his jacket collar. However, instead of taking him to the surface, as he had with the daroga, he took him in the opposite direction, speaking to the boy's unhearing ears the entire time.

"I suppose you want to know where you are going," he sighed. "As much as I love my wife, I am afraid I do not trust her enough yet. Trust is not something that comes easily to a man like me. That's all there is too it, I'm afraid. It's no outlook on you, really, although I hate you with a passion and would kill you in a second if it wouldn't upset Christine so. Though I'm not sure why it upsets her so… I've killed so many just like you without a second thought… for crimes far less than your own, in fact. But no… Christine would not like it. She is a good girl like that… never wants blood on anyone's hands. But still, I cannot release you. As I have said, I cannot trust her yet. And so, young man, I'm afraid you are going to have to be a hostage for a while."

Raoul groaned in his sleep but did not wake up.

"Oh, hush now. It's not as bad as all that. The Communards used these dungeons for years. I'm sure you'll be quite comfortable."

He thrust the boy into a cell and proceeded to lock the door.

"It's a shame, really, that a young man such as yourself had to choose an actress for your first love interest. You should have started with someone less complicated… like the whiny, air headed daughters of some of your socialite friends. You are not good enough for Christine. Ah, but you live and learn right? Well… hopefully for you… that still remains to be seen."

When he was securely locked up, Erik turned on his heel and left without a glance back.

No matter what happens now, I will rest easy knowing Raoul is safe.

Erik returned to his flat, half expecting that Christine would have run away or locked herself in her room again.

However, upon entering he saw her, looking so beautiful and innocent in her white dress, curled up in his chair with her book.

As timid as a little child he approached her. When she caught a glimpse of him emerging from the shadows, she looked up from her book and smiled sweetly at him. She carefully set down her book and stood.

As he came closer, she did not scream or back away. Instead she waited for him, still smiling, still radiant, her arms outstretched to receive him.

When he had come as close as he dared, he tentatively reached out and touched her waist. Then she closed the remaining distance between them and rested her hands against his chest. It was a cautious embrace--with the girl accepting his touch presently but in a position to push away if she felt threatened--but it made Erik's heart burst with a happiness that he never thought he'd know.

Encouraged by her response, he leaned forward--lifting his mask ever so slightly--and brushed against her forehead a kiss that was so light that she scarcely felt it.

She did not die. She did not scream. She did not faint or pull away or any of the horrible things he imagined.

The emotion of it all overwhelmed the poor man and he collapsed at her feet, clutching at her skirt with his hands wrapped tightly around her and his head resting on her waist. He sobbed and trembled like a child.

Overcome with pity and something else, Christine knelt beside him, holding him closer and allowing his head to rest against the top of her chest. For reasons Christine could not explain, she too began to cry.

When he came back he kissed my forehead. I let him, figuring that I'll have to get used to it sooner or later. He cried, and then I cried--it was all ridiculously emotional, I'm ashamed to say.

Christine rested her cheek on top of Erik's head while he buried his face in her neck. Before long, Erik began to choke with the tears falling in his mask. He took the material off and pulled back to look her in the face. Maybe now she will run from me…

She did not run, though. She pushed a thin piece of hair that had fallen across his brow and pressed a light kiss to his temple. "My Erik…" she whispered sadly.

"Yours, Christine, ever yours…" he murmured as he sank once more in tears upon her breast. She is an angel. I do not deserve this wonderful creature. She does not love me. She loves the boy. I can give her that… I can do this… for her…

In retrospect, I think at some point during that time he may have wanted to tell me something. Whatever it was, I didn't catch it. I might ask him tomorrow, if I remember. I suppose, if it was important, he'll just tell me later. It probably doesn't matter; I won't dwell on it more.

"Christine…" he said as his sobs died down. I have to do this now before I lose the nerve… "I… I…" he could not speak but he lifted his hand which held the gold ring she had given him and the smaller band that he had given her and she had lost. Take it Christine… go back to your boy… leave your Erik to die knowing you are happy somewhere…

She did not understand and so she closed his hand back over the rings. "You better hold onto those… or put them into a safe place until the wedding."

The broken man did not have it in his power to explain or to argue with her. He merely wept more and clung to her tighter.

After a few more moments, she started to laugh.

He looked up at her, his twisted features contorted into what she supposed was a questioning expression.

"Look at us," she giggled, "crying like a couple of old women! How ridiculous we must look!"

He laughed a bit and gazed at her adoringly.

"I tell you what," she offered, "how about you go change. I'll make us some tea and we can talk a little. I think we both need to wind down a little before bed."

"That sounds nice."

So then I made tea while he changed clothes (for some reason that I am afraid to ask about, he was wet from head to toe when he returned from his patrol of the cellars earlier that night). Afterwards we sat and talked for a bit before he sent me off to bed.

Speaking of which, I am physically and emotionally exhausted. I'm going to try and sleep, if sleep will come. Wish me luck…

Christine.