A/N: I've switched vocals etc around in parts of this (not all of it)...simply because I never knew the difference between Andre and Firmin anyway!

Also, I'm sorry I didn't update last weekend as intended- I lost my internet connection sooner than I expected

Chapter 30- Outside

Erik glanced back over his shoulder and checked that Christine still looked as though she was fine. Dark eyes peered back at him from under waves of hair but neither of them said anything. Her hand felt so warm in his, like he was holding a blanket, holding a comfort. Despite the cold in his home,
in the opera cellars, somehow Christine Daae retained her unattainable warmth.

The burning in his chest has eased somewhat in the journey back up to the surface, as he liked to call it, but it had not disappeared completely. His anger had, however, dissipated quickly. The horror on her face would, however, always remain engrained in his suffering memories.

He felt her squeeze his hand and he resisted the urge to squeeze back and give her some comfort. Erik was in no mood to offer her any comfort at all though the feeling of her close by offered him some. It worried him that he was no longer angry with her, that her apology was somehow enough to sway his fury, but on the other hand, he welcomed the break from his temper.

What had replaced it, though, was almost worse. He knew what it was, had felt it many times in his past, but had not had the feeling for many years. It was back with a certain ferocity now, digging at his soul, beating him down. The memories of past rejections pummelled his mind as he pulled Christine from one corridor to the next. Her existence was what he needed yet all that he feared and resented.

She had ripped the mask from his face, she had hurt him and in a way, betrayed him. He would probably have shown her, eventually, had she asked. Christine squeezed his hand again and he recognised it as a cry for his attention. He did not give it, he continued to navigate the dark passageways he had created under the opera house until they were at the corridor directly beneath the stage.

He turned to face her now, feeling his heart strain, as he looked into her eyes.

'I'm sorry,' she said, repeating her earlier statement as if he had not heard it the first time. When he did not respond she said it again; 'I'm sorry,'

There was more desperation than meaning in the second repetition.

'Erik...' she said and his trained ears heard the crack in her voice. 'Please,'

'What?' he snapped.

'Please forgive me...' she whispered, looking into his eyes.

'Why should I forgive you?' he asked, his anger slowly returning, replacing
the feelings of hurt.

'Because I didn't mean to hurt you,' she said. The words said by her were like a punch to his stomach. She had recognised his hurt and he was not sure anyone else had done this in the past.

'Never mind,' he said.

'Oh, Erik...' she said softly. 'Please don't be like that. I am truly sorry...'

'Why, Christine?' he said, turning away from her, no longer able to see the softness of her face.

'Why what?' she asked, sounding confused.

'Why are you sorry?' he said. 'It achieved what you had hoped, didn't it?'

'I'm sorry because you are hurt,'

'Then you are not sorry you did it,' he said simply, he wasn't asking her a question. 'You are sorry about the consequences,'

'No...' she said. 'That's not right,'

'If I had not reacted the way I did, would you still be sorry?'

She fell silent.

'As I suspected,'

'I never wanted to upset you...' she said. 'I don't ever want to hurt you,'

'We need to go,'

'No,'

He turned to look at her. 'What?'

'I want to talk to you,'

'All you do is talk,' he snapped.

'Yet you care for me,' she said softly, reaching out and touching his arm. He moved it away, afraid the touch might somehow change things, but he felt it. Light as a feather, a delicate touch that filtered through the material of his shirt. He felt it, all in that second, touch his skin and warm it.

'Of course,' he said, how could he deny it? 'But talking has been our only contact,'

'I know...'

'I've had enough of talking to you,' he said coldly.

'You don't mean that,' she said and he saw her eyes water. 'I've hurt you but you don't mean that,'

He didn't.

'Forgive me, Erik,' she said softly. 'I'll miss you...'

He blinked but tried not to show too much of himself, too much emotion, emotion he had thought was long gone. Christine's eyes were so earnest, so deep, that they looked like a person might get lost in them.

'You won't miss me,' he said.

He saw her throat move as she swallowed hard. 'Of course I will...'

'Christine,' he said. 'You won't miss me because I'm not going anywhere,'

She did not move but the tears that had welled in her eyes spilled out onto her cheeks.

'I told you before that I care for you,' he said, feeling his heart pound. His mind tried to stop his mouth but it was no use. 'I care you more than anyone else. I would give anything to you, I would die for you...'

She remained silent.

'Kill for you,'

With that he turned away, taking her hand in his once again and leading her up the stairs towards his hidden entrance to back stage. He pushed the door up slightly, glancing out on the stage. He saw there some of the chorus girls sitting cross legged, staring up at an animated Joseph Buquet

Joseph glared around him, for dramatic effect, no doubt. 'His skin... is like yellow parchment,'

Erik sighed as he watched through the gap. Joseph Buquet swayed, drunk, and held his hand to his own face.

'And there is a black hole there for the nose that never grew!' Buquet swung a piece of material around and around above his head and then let the loop fall down around his throat, where he placed his hand between it and his neck. 'You must always be on your guard, little girls,'

He swayed again and Erik shook his head watching as Buquet regained some balance and lifted the make shift lasso from over his head.

'Always,' he mumbled. Erik lifted the door quietly and helped Christine out, glancing behind him as Buquet finished his little story. 'Or he will get you... with his magical lasso!'

Erik dropped the trap door hard, causing the thud it made to shake the stage. All of the chorus girls looked around them and then ran away screaming as he pulled Christine into the shadows. It was a moment before he realised that Christine's body was pressed against his, that he could feel her breath on his neck, feel her chest move as she took in air.

He stepped away from her slightly and caught a glimpse of Madame Giry staring at Joseph Buquet. Her face was pale but her eyes were full of anger.

'Those who speak of what they know often find, a little too late, that prudent silence is wise,'

Buquet stared back, his drunken haze washing him of all common sense, and he laughed. He felt Christine at his side, she too, watching Antoinette Giry.

'Joseph Buquet hold your tongue,' she growled. 'You have no idea what he is capable of, he could burn you with the heat from his eyes,'

The drunken man fell quiet for a moment before frowning at her. 'Who are you to tell me what to do?' he asked.

'I am merely warning you,' she said.

'Of what?' he asked, but did not give her chance to answer. 'You are threatening me, Madame,'

'I am trying to help you,' she said, shaking her head.

'I don't need your help,' he snapped and moved past her, pushing her as he did. Antoinette lost her balance from the force of his push and she fell to the floor, landing on her side with a pained yelp.

Erik jumped forward, pure and unhinged fury biting at his nerves, but he felt Christine's hand on his arm, tugging him back.

'You know Madame Giry?' she said, half statement, half question.

'Yes,' he replied, his veins bubbling with anger.

'She would not want you to hurt him,'

Erik glanced out at her fighting to get to her feet, from anger came hurt at the sight of her struggling. 'No,' he said simply and turned away.

Christine's eyes were on him. 'I should have known,'

He said nothing, he knew what she was referring too.

'She rarely entered into any conversations about the Opera Ghost and then... even when she did, it almost sounded as though she were defending you...'

He nodded.

'Are you friends?' she asked.

'We were,' he said, taking Christine's hand again and leading her along the corridors quietly.

'Not anymore?' she whispered.

He shook his head, leading her towards her room.

'Why?'

'No more talking,' he said simply and with that they continued on in silence.

Gilles Andre walked through the corridors and into the office he now shared with his long time friend, Richard Firmin. When he closed the door behind him his friend, who was sitting at his desk by the window, glanced up briefly, an expression of loss written across his face.

Gilles approached wearily, knowing how appalling his friend's moods could be. 'Something wrong?'

'Mystery on Gala Night,' he said simply, without looking up again.

'Pardon?'

'This is very poetic,'

Gilles frowned. 'What is?'

'Mystery of Soprano's flight,' Richard glanced up and threw the pile of newspapers towards the end of the desk, where Gilles was standing.

He looked down and read the first one, then lifted it and looked at the second, then the third.

'We've made all of the headlines,' Gilles said, looking at his business partner.

Richard raised an eyebrow. 'Have you read it all?' he said, 'We suspect foul play?'

Gilles nodded though he barely saw a real disaster.

'Bad news, isn't it, on the Soprano front?' Richard said, leaning back in his seat whilst rubbing his temples. 'First Carlotta and now Christine?'

'Yes,' Gilles said, but he was smiling, could barely help himself. 'But still, the seats are being sold, are they not?'

Richard reluctantly nodded his head.

'Ahh,' Gilles said, smile turning to a grin. 'Gossips worth it's weight in gold...'

'Damnable,' Firmin said, shaking his head.

'It's publicity, free publicity,' Gilles said, squeezing his friend's shoulder. 'Our take is vast, the publicity is doing us wonders, we don't have enough seats!'

'Gilles,' Firmin said, still shaking his head from side to side. 'This might have escaped your attention but we don't actually have a cast,'

'Of course we do!' he said.

'Just no leading lady?' Richard said, staring at him sceptically.

'Minor point, my friend,'

Richard laughed bitterly. 'Why do we always go along with your ideas?'

'This is a joint venture,'

'Yes...' Richard said, dragging the word out.

Gilles chose to ignore his cynicism and began rifling through the papers on his desk. 'Charity, bill,' he said, throwing them to one side. 'Hmm...'

'What?'

'A letter for you...' he said, handing the envelope with it's elegant hand writing to Richard. His partner took it from his and stared at the seal on the back.

'Strange,'

Gilles glanced up. 'I have one too,'

Gilles ran his letter opener along the seal and the paper parted at the join with a small pop. He slid the letter out, noting the quality of the paper.

'Perhaps someone who wishes to make a donation?' He said, as he opened the paper up to read. 'Dear Andre, What a charming Gala, Christine enjoyed a great success...'

Richard finally smiled at hearing the praise. 'A fan,'

But as Gilles continued a block of ice forming in the pit of his stomach. 'I must, however, that Carlotta leaving has left me a little less than fazed, I'm hardly bereft about it. The chorus was enchanting but, somehow, the dancers lost there way. That was a lamentable mess,'

Richard frowned and tugged at the seal on his envelope. 'Dear Firmin, just a brief reminder...'

'Reminder?' Gilles interrupted, confused.

His friend shrugged his shoulders. '...my salary has not been paid...'

'Salary?'

'That's what it says, let me finish,' Richard said. 'You should send it care of the ghost, by return of post,'

Gilles leapt forward and looked over Richards shoulder, reading the next line, 'Please turn over...'

Richard stared at the page in his hand before slowly turning to the other side, seeing the same elegant handwriting adorning the back. 'I don't think anyone likes a debtor so it's in your best interests to ensure that my orders are obeyed,'

They stared at each other for a moment, unsure of what to say. The note dropped from Richard's hand, open, onto the desk. Gilles glanced down at it and then let his eyes move back to his business partner. Slowly, he felt his confusion turning to rage. Someone was attempting to extort money from them!

It was Richard who spoke first, 'Who on earth would have the gall to send this??' he looked down at the letter again, 'Someone with a puerile brain, no doubt,'

'They're both signed with the initials, O.G,' Gilles said, staring at the strange signature.

'Who the hell is he?' Richard fumed, fists clenched.

The realisation came to them both at the same time, they looked at each other, and said, almost together, 'Opera Ghost,'

'This isn't funny,' Richard said. 'Not amusing in the slightest,'

'This thing is abusing our position,'

'Furthermore he wants money,' His friend shook his head.

'Hmm,' Gilles said, looking once again at the letter. 'It's a funny sort of spectre, don't you think?'

Richard glanced up at him. 'What ghost expects a large retainer?'

'The man is clearly quite insane,' Gilles said.

They did not have time to mull this over for long as in that moment the door to their large office burst open and Raoul de Chagny charged in, face hot with rage.

'Where is she?' he demanded.

'Carlotta?' Gilles asked, confused.

'Miss Daae,' he answered. 'Where is she?'

Richard shot Gilles a sideways glance. 'How the hell should we know?'

'She's not with you?' Raoul asked, looking from one man to the other. 'She's been missing all night and all morning, where is she then?'

'We're as in the dark as you are,' Gilles answered gently. No use annoying the money. He had heard the already rapidly spreading rumours about Raoul and the young Christine. The people who had seen him hammering on her door the evening before were quick to speculate on the status of their relationship and seeing Raoul's face now, Gilles was inclined to agree with their judgement.

'Don't argue with me,' he said firmly, but there was something strained in his voice. 'Isn't it you who wrote this letter?'

Richard's eyebrows lifted and Gilles reached out for the letter. 'What is it that we're supposed to have written, exactly?'

'Do not worry about Miss Daae,' Gilles read, paper in his hands. 'The angel of music has her under his wing but make no attempt to see her again...'

Richard simply shook his head, disbelief etched on his tired face. Silence had fallen in the previously chaotic room. Raoul was staring at the managers whose eyes were firmly fixed to the letter.

Eventually, it was Raoul who broke the silence. 'If you didn't write it then... who did?'

The quiet in the room was short lived. Without knocking Carlotta entered, closely followed by Piangi. Gilles felt a pang of relief flush through him, he was glad to see the Diva, she had been locked in her room for what seemed an eternity, refusing to see anyone.

'Where is he?' she demanded, with no introductions.

'Welcome back,' Gilles said.

'Where is the patron?'

Raoul stepped forward. 'I'm right here, what is it now?'

'I have your letter,' she said waving the paper around in her hand. 'A letter which I rather resent,'

Gilles saw Richard frown again before he spoke. 'Did you send it, Vicomte?'

'No,' Raoul said, shaking his head.

'You didn't send this letter?' Carlotta said, moving towards Raoul.

'Of course not,' he said.

'Then you did not write, Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered...'

'Certainly not,' Raoul said.

Carlotta continued reading from the note, 'Christine Daae will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune... should you attempt to take her place,'

Gilles shrugged his shoulders, what more could he do?

'Far too many notes for my taste,' Richard said, sitting down. 'And really, most of them are focused on Christine Daae,'

Gilles nodded, this much was true.

'All we've heard since we got his is Miss Daae's name,'

Antoinette Giry was so quiet that Gilles did not even notice her walking in through to open door. He wondered how long she had been standing there listening and he thought, for a moment, that there was something very off about this woman.

'Christine Daae has returned,' she said simply, in her usual cool voice. There was no elaboration, she simply stated a fact and left it at that.

'Where is she now?' Gilles asked, biting back a scathing comment about the young woman.

'In her room,' she said

'May I see her?' Raoul asked, almost timidly.

'She needs to rest, she refused to see anyone,'

Gilles shook his head as they all stared at each other, it was then that Antoinette Giry produced another letter and handed to Richard.

'I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature,' he read. 'Detailing how my theatre is to be run... you have not followed any of my instructions,'

Gilles blinked, there was something terrifyingly sinister about these notes, something that unnerved him.

Richard continued. 'I will give you one last chance. Christine Daee has been returned to you, safe and well, she will continue on in the lead role in Hannibal but rehearsals for Il Muto will start early,'

'Il Muto?' Gilles asked.

Madame Giry nodded, 'It is our next production and not due to start for another month,'

'Then why rehearse now?'

'Read the letter,' she said simply.

Richard coughed and then carried on reading the note aloud. 'The show is popular on its own and will sell tickets. It will open on Saturday night,'

'Isn't that a little soon?' Gilles said and wondered for a moment why he was considering following this lunatics instructions.

'No,' Antoinette said. 'Most of the cast already know the score it won't take long to bring everyone else up to scratch,'

'Is it worth taking Hannibal off for this?' Richard asked.

'I would say, for more than one reason, yes,' she said.

Gilles was pacified at the thought of tickets selling themselves, hard work was for the cast. If Madame Giry was sure they could have the show ready in time then he was happy with that.

Richard looked back down at the note, 'I will be in touch, O.G,' he shrugged.

'Are we actually going to do this?' Raoul asked,

Gilles glanced from Madame Giry to Richard and then he nodded. 'Yes,'

'Because this mad man says so?' the patron asked, staring around him.

Carlotta smiled. 'He has got some taste, this mad man, Il Muto is brilliant,' she said. 'I for one, shall look forward to it,'

'It's a very popular production,' Madame Giry said, her tone always sounded so measured and reasonable.

'If the tickets will sell...' Gilles said.

'And what about the tickets already sold for Hannibal?' Raoul demanded.

'We will offer to replace them for Il Muto or refund,' Richard said.

Raoul seemed to think for a moment. 'Fine,' he said. 'I will clear it with my brother but we had better get rehearsals going as soon as possible,'

Madame Giry nodded. 'I will get started,'

'I will tell the stage hands and costume designers to find out the old set and do what needs to be done to it,' Richard said.

'Not much,' Madame Giry said, looking thoughtful.

'Good,' Gilles said.

'Let rehearsals begin,'