A/N: Apologies for the Hiatus to those of you still with me. Most of this is written now and I will post whenever I get chance. Craving reviews.

I got a little disheartened with this… for many reasons but have decided to plough on regardless.

I hope you like these chapters. Most are unedited to get as many up today as possible. I am still in the market for a beta… I think.

RR

Sorry again.

Chapter 36- Gravity

Christine's nervousness about Il Muto had subsided because she simply could not stop thinking about Erik. She had thrown him out in a fit of hurt and rage and now her anger had given way to sorrow. He played with her mind even when he was not with her, even when she could not see nor hear him, he was always there.

The costume she was wearing was very uncomfortable. Playing the pageboy meant she had to wear boyish clothing, not fitted for her shape and tugging her in. Still, she was happy that she was in the show, the pageboy was important. Carlotta had been pacing back and forth behind the stage and Christine wondered how someone with so much confidence could suddenly be so nervous. For a moment, Christine even felt sorry for her, thinking that maybe there was more to the diva than met the eye.

However, she could not even dwell on this. As quickly as her thoughts flicked to the show, to her surroundings, they shot back to Erik. It was as if he was inside her like some sort of disease. Part of her was glad that he had not apologised to her when she had confronted him, she knew that if he had, she would probably have forgiven him. Their trust was all but gone yet there was something about him that made her, in essence, weak. She could not resist him, he had a pull over her, something that kept her mind on him, something that kept her running to him.

She knew that somehow she needed to break this but her sadness at this thought was almost overwhelming.

A voice disrupted her thoughts and she was glad of the distraction. 'Are you alright?'

She smiled at Raoul, 'Yes,'

'Are you sure?' he asked, eyes on her. 'You look so very... sad,' he had searched for the word and found the exact right one.

'No,' she forced another smile in his direction. 'I'm fine,'

He frowned but let it go. 'Are you nervous?'

'A little,' she lied.

'I'm sure you'll be wonderful,'

'And silent,'

Raoul sighed, 'I'm sorry, Christine,' the light was suddenly gone from his eyes. 'If it is any consolation at all... I much prefer your voice, I think you would make the better lead but we cannot let him get the better of us,'

She nodded. 'I'm not angry,'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, I'm sure,'

He smiled but it looked like an effort. 'Have a good show, I'm sure you'll be magnificent, words or not,'

She blushed, in spite of herself, at his genuine compliment. 'I'll try,'

'No effort required,' his eyes twinkled as he leaned down and sneakily, lightly, kissed her cheek. It was the softest of touches but she felt a glow where his lips had been. As he moved away from her his smile widened. 'I'm waiting...'

She looked away.

'If anyone needs me,' he said, a little too loudly. 'I shall be in Box five,'

Gilles Andre spun around to stare at Raoul. 'Are you sure that's wise?'

Raoul grinned and shrugged his shoulders slightly. 'Well, it would appear there are no seats left except for those in Box Five,'

With that Raoul turned and walked away, down the steps and out of sight. Christine glanced at Monsieur Andre, who's eyes were slightly wider than they probably should be, slightly more moist.

'Is everything alright?' she asked, keeping her eyes on him.

He managed a nod. 'Yes, yes...' she was not convinced.

'Good...'

'Thank you, Miss Daae,' He forced a pained smile. 'Break a leg and.. er... all that,'

'You too,' She said, managing a grin.

He laughed uncomfortably. 'I'll get to my seat,'

As he disappeared she tweaked the curtain slightly and let her eyes gaze up to box five, which was occupied by a solitary figure. Raoul looked down and spotted her in the small gap, he waved his hand, and she let the curtain fall closed again.

Looking down at herself she checked that her costume was still in place, she tightened her shoe laces and took a deep breath. Erik was back in her head again and briefly she wondered if he would always haunt her.

Reyer Stepped in. 'Are we all ready?'

There were mumbles and nods all around.

'Then I will take my position,' he said, walking towards the door. 'Thirty seconds, ladies and gentlemen, good luck,'

Christine would look back at this moment and wonder why she hadn't noticed Reyer's nervousness and why she had not picked up on his wording. He had never wished them good luck before.

Luck was exactly what they needed and exactly what they did not get.

Nadir was looking at him as if he were some sort of foreign object. Erik scowled but he knew that it was only half hearted and the Persian spotted it too.

'Tell me again why you wish to travel with me,' Nadir asked, leaning against the wall to the kitchen.

'I'm not really one for repeating myself,'

Nadir shrugged. 'What's going on?'

'Nothing,'

He lifted his eyebrows, apparently, when someone has been around you for many years they seem to think that they know you. Perhaps this was true.

'I don't believe you,'

'I need to get to the show,'

Nadir moved towards him, 'Why don't we start tonight?'

'Travelling?' Erik asked, eyeing the Persian suspiciously.

'Yes,' he nodded.

'No,'

'Why not?'

'Because, Daroga, I have to attend to the show,'

'What are you going to do, Erik?' he asked, and Erik could hear the fear in the smaller mans voice. Nadir a strong man, a brave and courageous police officer, but Erik could always hear his fear. It was faint, but there.

'Nothing,

'You're lying,'

Erik did not have the energy to refute this.

'Erik, lets go tonight,'

He glared. 'No, we can't,'

'If you're not going to do anything, as you say, then why not?'

'The show,'

'I'm sure it will survive without you,'

'They have ignored me!' Erik snapped causing the smaller man to take a cautious step in the opposite direction.

'People do that sometimes, Erik, it's just the way people are,'

'Not with me,'

Nadir stayed silent for a moment and Erik wondered what he was thinking. He could barely contain his own anger, he was furious but he was not really sure what he was furious about. True, he was angry about being ignored, he was angry about Carlotta but what was it? Was he really more angry about Christine and Raoul, about her betrayal?

She had denied it, of course, but he knew what women were like. He was wrong to trust her, he should have let her go when she tore the mask from his face but his pathetic puppy dog love overcame him and he foolishly forgave her.

No more.

He would not forgive her again.

But he loved her...

'Don't hurt anyone, Erik,' Nadir pleaded.

'I can't promise that,'

Nadir sighed loudly. 'Is there anything I can do to stop you?'

Erik stared at him for a long time, watched the sparkle in the Persian's dark eyes disappear, watched his shoulders slump, before he answered him.

'No,'

Joseph Buqet had taken to hanging around up in the rafters above the auditorium. When he wasn't working or when there was a performance on he would come up here and look around, sometimes watch the stage show, sometimes he wouldn't bother. He tried to stay as close to the side of the building as he could, on more than one occasion he had seen shadows lurking up here.

As he climbed up to watch the performance of Il Muto he realised that a certain sense of sobriety had overtaken him. He wondered when the last time he had drunk alcohol was and, to his dismay, he could not remember. Alcohol tended to wash him of the wounds of his past and now, edging into sober, he was beginning to remember.

People in the Opera Populaire often saw him as foolish or idiotic, they never imagined that he was once an intelligent and popular man, with a family he doted on and adored. So long ago. Lately he had been feeling his age. As he climbed higher he felt a little dizzy and gripped tighter to the rope his hand was holding. His legs were weary now, his bones and joints ached. Only when he drank did he ever feel like he had anything to live for.

When he was only nineteen he met the woman of his dreams, Olivia, when he was training to work in the bank. She was a customer, rather well off, and she was completely stunning. She swept him away and as if instantly, he loved her.

A year later, after a length of courting, he asked her to marry him. Her tears and yes made him the happiest man alive. Two years later their son was born and then, two years after that, their daughter.

How he had loved his family... how he loved his family.

It all went wrong one day in the bank. Olivia had stopped by to bring him some lunch, she knew that he rarely ate well at work. There was a robbery, a lot of shouting, but Joseph could not remember the words that were said. The only thing he remembered was the sound of the pistol going off, the sight of his beautiful wife collapsing at his feet... blood all around her.

She died instantly, according the doctor, whatever his name was, she was shot straight through the heart, and, effectively, so was Joseph.

He struggled to cope with her loss, with little time to mourn, two children and a job, he began to slowly fall apart. First, the job went, then his resolve and finally, judged incapable of caring for his two wonderful children, they were gone too.

He had nothing left.

After this he drank and travelled a little after selling what was left of his house. There was enough money made to keep him for nearly two years on a diet of bread and beer but it didn't last, couldn't last. Eventually he had to find another job and was lucky enough to stumble upon the manager of the Opera house, who was a good, kind man, and took pity on him. He had been there ever since... he could not really remember how long that was.

When he reached the top of the rope and was standing on the planks above the stage he saw a shadow move across his field of vision. It made him jump back and nearly fall but, fortunately, he managed to grab another rope to steady himself. Heart pounding he slowly turned in a circle and looked around him. He couldn't see anything but he felt a breeze across his back.

He spun around.

There, somehow in front of him, was what looked like a man, dressed all in black except for his white mask. The hat he wore on his head cast a shadow over his face so Joseph could not see his eyes but he knew who it was. He was finally, really and truly, face to face with the ghost.

Joseph glanced over his shoulder, looking for an escape. He jumped from the beam he was on to one next to. It teetered under his feet. The Ghost jumped too, but he did not seem to mind the movement of the wood. He looked steady and calm. Joseph turned and ran in the other direction but when he glanced over his shoulder the Phantom was gone. He paused for a moment and looked around him.

No sign.

As he turned to begin to run again he was stopped short.

Somehow the ghost was in front of him. Only feet away.

Joseph jumped again.

The ghost followed.

The ghost smiled, tilted his head.

Was he taunting him?

Suddenly, without warning, the stand off ended and the ghost leapt across the small gap between them. He grabbed josephs arms and threw him to the beam, so that his stomach was on it. He tried to turn but the ghost had his knees in his back.

'Yellow parchment,' He hissed. 'Indeed,'

Joseph felt the bile rise in his throat, felt the fear spread further throughout his body as he realised the hopelessness of the situation.

'Please...' he choked.

The ghost said nothing but dug his knees deeper into Josephs already weak back. Pain coursed through his fragile body and he felt the air slowly spill from his lungs.

'I didn't mean it,' He managed to breath. 'I'm sorry,'

'Too late,' His voice was so soft it was almost pleasant.

Joseph felt the rope go around his throat, he was already struggling for breath, so when the phantom tightened it, his world went black and he was left with only the thoughts of his beautiful Olivia.