A/N Aplogies for the delay in posting but this needed ALOT of attention and ch16 will follow very shortly. I hope I have done this justice so far as this is an important one. Enjoy!

Chapter 15

Meg had spent most of Sunday fantasising about her new wardrobe and lovingly putting every carefully chosen item away. She had, with Rosa's help, purchased several dresses, long skirts, blouses, lots of lovely new under things and new shoes. She felt like a new woman! They had decided to leave the decision regarding what she would wear to Elena's wedding until a later date as Rosa assured her it would need their full attention and that she had plans for that particular dress but would not elaborate further.

Erik had helped her carry the packages from the pile she had made on the living room floor up to her bedroom and actually smirked at her as the pile re-formed on her bed. He seemed to be secretly impressed by her efforts to burn a hole in his extremely deep pockets. Well the way she figured, she had performed in practically every Populaire production for the past ten years in one form or another so she had contributed to the revenue that had paid his ridiculous salary. She would not feel bad about spending his money most especially if he didn't.

Monday morning of a new week began in a brand new dress.

"Good morning Erik." She took in the forced calm on his face, the straightness of his shoulders and the telltale movement of his jaw that meant he was grinding his teeth. Overall he was looking particularly ominous this morning whatever had crawled under his skin. Well she would ignore it because she was wearing a new dress, butter soft kid slippers and she felt wonderful; not even Erik was going to spoil her mood.

"Meg." Erik was incensed despite the vision of spring that had floated down the stairs. Federico had tripped up the outside steps with their regular basket of pastries about a half an hour previously and he had spent every minute since staring fixedly at it. The young Italian had pointed out an envelope "for the bella signorina" tucked in amongst the sticky delights before he had smiled and waved behind him, disappearing about his business again. The unmitigated nerve! What flowery words had he written to his little dancer? Not content with sending fruit anymore? His fingers itched to rip the envelope open but he knew if Meg were in his place she would never do it.

"Oh! Did you go down for them this morning?" Meg looked confusedly at the basket and then dumbfounded at Erik. Had he changed his routine and ventured out without his bandages...had someone been unkind? No, he would never do that. But then what was the stiffness in his tone all about? Had she done something...perhaps her dress looked awful though she knew it did not?

"No I did not. The son brought them up a little while ago..." Erik cleared his throat, "and left a note for you." Even saying it was making his neck itch. There must be hundreds of young glossy haired girls up and down every canal in Venice without having to come sniffing around Meg! He had almost forgotten about the peaches and the incident in the gondola as there had been nothing obvious since so he did not feel like he had to speak to her about it. But the young Pellizzari had obviously just been biding his time.

Meg reached across and plucked the letter from the basket and pulled out a chair to sit across from the storm cloud who had just rumbled at her. What in the devil was eating him? Oh Maman!

"Maman has written finally!" she ripped the envelope open, not noticing when something fell out and floated to the floor to land at Erik's feet.

Antoinette? It was a letter from Antoinette? Of course it was. Idiot! He frowned to himself at the relief that fact had brought him. He spotted a smaller pink envelope just poking out from underneath the floor length tablecloth and silently retrieved it, watching Meg as she munched a pastry while intently digesting her mother's missive.

Ma fille chérie

You cannot imagine how it eased my mind to receive word from you at last. I am so relieved you have reached your destination and yes, I can imagine Venice being the perfect place for our "friend". You probably do not even realise what a brave thing you have done but I am certain it is not lost on your companion.

Since you departed it has been a hive of activity here and not all of it good. The gendarmes returned as soon as the pompiers declared the building safe and spent hours rifling through the cellars. If there was anything of value it was likely destroyed when they ransacked it. A statement was issued just after the fire declaring the mysterious Don Juan dead - you may have seen it in the French papers – and their searches since have turned up nothing new. Without a body the investigation is at a standstill and honestly I am of the impression that the de Chagny family are loath to have the spotlight on them for any longer than necessary. Messieurs André and Firmin are trying everything to extricate themselves from their contracts and as a result the Viscomte has withdrawn funds for the rebuild until the managers acquiesce. Oh Meg it is a mess! Meanwhile all the staff still have to be paid and I have just been trying to keep the girls in their usual routine; I think it helps them to focus on something other than the chaos all around.

"No! They cannot do that." Meg almost choked on her pastry and reached for her coffee, indignant at the two men and just a little at the Viscomte although she could understand why he was doing it.

"Do what? Who?" Erik's ears pricked at her reaction and his stomach rolled with something akin to apprehension. It had to be news from Paris.

"Um...the managers, Fermin and André. They are trying to get out of their contract and Maman says Ra..I mean the patron will not release funds to help rebuild until they stop. None of the staff have been paid."

"Fools!" Erik did not know who he was directing it at more. All three of them he supposed...the ones who would not listen, who refused to heed his warnings and the man he held responsible for destroying his well laid plans. As Meg continued to read he noticed her demeanour change quite dramatically. Her hand moved to cover her mouth and her eyes flickered from the page to him and back again.

Christine came to see me when the Viscomte met with the managers and she was most upset to find you gone. She was taken back to the de Chagny estate after the fire and remained closeted for some days – the Viscomte mentioned she had been quite overcome with nerves. His sister resides there so she is not entirely without female company. Their betrothal has recently been announced officially in the papers here and an October wedding is expected. I have enclosed a note from her that she asked me to pass on...perhaps you could write to her and put her mind at ease?

I must finish now as I can hear a furore in the corridor...they are like children! Please keep in touch my love and perhaps you will come home for a visit soon? Pass my regards to our friend; I can appreciate that you have your hands full but I know of no one else who could manage as admirably as you. Never give in to tantrums!

Bisous

Maman

Christine wrote to me...but of course she would. Who else is she going to need to talk to? Who else has she ever needed to talk to? Where was it? Maman had said she had enclosed it...surely she had not forgotten. Meg snatched up the envelope and looked inside, and then all around the coffee pot, pastry basket and sugar bowl before raising her eyes slowly to meet the steely blue ones across from her.

"Looking for this?" Erik held the pink envelope by one corner between the tips of his thumb and forefinger as if it were dipped in acid. He knew exactly who it was from and that fact combined with the sickly smell of whatever had been sprayed on it was giving him a headache.

"Where did you get that?" Had he read it? Had he opened her letter before she came down to breakfast? No, he wouldn't dare! Of course not...stupid...her mother's letter had been sealed...but then how had he...?

"It fell to the floor when you opened the envelope," Erik answered loftily in response to her silent question, dropping the letter as if it burned rising from the table as he did so. "If you will excuse me, I shall leave you in peace."

Then he was gone, up to his room to brood no doubt. He must have known it was from her...who else would write to her, in a pink envelope no less and scented...ugh! It smelled just like the stench that permeated everything in La Carlotta's dressing room – including that bad tempered little yapping rat she carried everywhere with her. Oh Christine! She tucked a finger under one corner and ripped, taking a deep breath in preparation for what was to come.

My only friend,

I cannot believe you have left us all! Madame said she had sent you away to stay with an old friend while all of this blew over. What old friend? Where are you? How could you leave when you must have known the premiere was the worst night of my life? My angel is gone, they say and I cannot sleep! Raoul insisted I see the family physician and he has given me something to help but it makes me feel nauseous. I take it only because the sleeplessness is torture. Oh Meg it was horrible! Raoul, the managers and the police all forced me to sing but I wished I could have run away. I knew the minute I stepped onto the stage that something awful would happen but I never expected HIM to take Piangi's place! I almost could not do it – what they asked, his voice was so seductive – but I knew it had to end. Oh why did I touch his mask? Now I cannot get that twisted face out of my mind and even the laudanum does not help.

Twisted face? What did she see that I did not? How cruel – Christine had never been unkind...and she knew she was walking him into a trap the minute she agreed to sing! How could she? Had Erik known? Or was he so blinded by his obsession that he just did not care? Drugs...they were giving her laudanum for goodness sake! Christine should not be taking things like that...she's not strong enough! Was no one thinking anymore?

He tried to force me to stay with him, be his wife – can you believe it? For years he let me believe he was an angel, sent by my poor father to help me sing. Then he forced me to choose between sparing my darling Raoul's life if I stayed or letting him die if I did not!

Oh God no! Please no! She had no idea it had come to this, down in the candlelight...in the place she had thought beautiful but really it must have seemed like hell to her confused young friend.

Who could make such a choice? I was so terrified so I told him I would stay...I even kissed him to convince him I was telling the truth! Meg you cannot imagine the horrors I have endured!

Which was more horrific for her? Making the only choice she could have or forcing herself to kiss the man who professed to love her? Still, she must have been terrified...poor Christine. Oh Erik what have you done? How did you think you could win when she never loved you? Her heart broke for the futility of it all.

He seemed to change his mind then – I think he had gone completely mad, not at all like the angel who sang to me. He let us go and now the police believe he is dead! I know I should be grateful he cannot hurt us any longer but still I wonder what happened to him after we left.

Forget him! Forget it all...what a damned mess. Meg smashed her fist onto the table upsetting the knife from her plate. Oh she wanted to scream! This was far worse than she had suspected.

Oh I almost forgot...Raoul and I announced our engagement and he thinks we should wait until after the summer before marrying. It will give everyone enough time to forget about what happened – I do not want anything to overshadow my day! Writing just isn't the same as sitting next to you – I shall have to wait weeks and weeks to hear your thoughts. Please come home, I need you!

Yours in hopefulness

Christine

And just like that she changed direction...was that really her friend or the laudanum? How much of what she had read was real? How much was coloured by chemicals? But if even half of it was true then Erik had some explaining to do and it was long overdue. She had deliberately not questioned him, feeling that it was all too raw and if she was honest, fearing the consequences. She had seen him fall apart, ripping at the seams with violent nightmares, trapped inside his own personal hell and she had no wish to visit that upon him again. But damn him she wanted answers now! Breathe...in and out...in and out...breathe.

She needed coffee and to think. Shakily she topped up her lukewarm cup adding a few spoons of sugar and then drank deeply. Her hands trembled around the china and the tremors seemed to intensify and grip her entire body all at once. Unbidden tears welled and fell, stinging as they spilled over to her hot cheeks.

"Oh Erik, what have you done..." Meg wrapped her arms around her head and flopped to the table, resting her forehead on the linen cloth, giving herself up to the tears that continued to chase down her face, tears that she had been fighting since the night of the fire.

From up in his room Erik heard something he realised he never wished to again. Meg was crying; desperate keening sounds like a lioness that has lost her cub. What in the devil had Christine said? He had sat on the edge of his bed waiting...the sense of foreboding that had started the moment he recognised the letter crashing over him; this day had been coming for a long time. Torn between the fear of the locked box in his mind he knew would be opened and the agony of hearing her in distress, he finally made the only decision he could.

"Meg?" Cautiously he stepped across the room from the bottom of the stairs and held his breath. She had her back to him and he recognized the tightness across her small shoulders that he sometimes felt. She was angry and she would let him feel the full force of it any second now.

Slowly Meg raised herself up from her chair, hands braced on the table. "Sit down."

Now it begins, he thought. Carefully he approached the table giving her a wide berth as he passed. He could see the arch forming at the top of her spine, shoulders squared, head bowed and knuckles white with tension. Pulling out his chair he waited for her to be seated opposite him. And he waited.

"I said sit." Meg ground out through clenched teeth, trying to keep hold of what little composure she had. Then she realised he would not until she did. Oh for goodness sake, this is not a dance! Unhurriedly she lowered herself back down to her chair and waited for Erik to do the same.

Erik noticed as he sat the puffiness around her eyes, red and swollen from crying, the grim set of her mouth and the twisted piece of pink paper in her right hand. What horrors were written within?

"The night of the fire...I arrived after you made your escape through the mirror and so missed "the last act". I now have a firsthand account of what transpired...courtesy of Christine as you may have gathered. I wish to have your version - the truth Erik...because until all of this comes out then none of us will ever be free." She spoke clearly, succinctly and without emotion. For the first time since he had come downstairs Meg lifted her eyes and looked at the man sitting opposite her. He had a look of resignation in his eyes yet still the Phantom hung around him like a veil, struggling to keep his pride intact.

Erik's voice cracked as he tried to form words that would not come. How did he even...he did not know himself what had happened or how, never mind how to begin to explain it. Perhaps Meg would be able to make some sense of it? That was supposing he could tell her to begin with.

"I..I'm not sure where to start?"

"How about at the very beginning and why Christine?" Meg softened her voice just enough to allow him the encouragement he seemed to need.

Erik nodded slowly, swallowed and placed his hands palms down on the table in front of him. He could do this; he had to because Meg of all people deserved to know. Maybe someday, somehow she would understand and perhaps not hate him for it.

"She...Christine used to come and sit in the chapel for hours...talking and praying to her father. The stained glass window behind the altar backs onto of the passages I used and I often heard her. She spoke of an angel...an angel of music that her father had promised to send to her after his death...an angel who would keep watch over her, guide her and protect her. One day I stopped to listen; she was crying and I called out her name. She seemed so alone with no one left in the world...like I was. I...I meant to let her know she was not alone...to comfort her. Immediately she sat up and wiped her eyes and whispered back to me. "Angel" she said, "Angel of Music?" What could I say? What would you have had me say Meg? "No, actually I am the monster that plays tricks on the stagehands and demands the outrageous salary"? I had an opportunity to talk to someone, to have someone speak to me like I was real, even if I wasn't. Every day she came and called out to the Angel of Music and every day I answered. Eventually I began to teach her to sing, moulding the voice she had been given into something powerful and rich that would reach right to the back of the royal box and high up into the dome. I wrote for that voice, knowing she could give wings to the notes I created. She would be my voice."

Erik clasped his forehead in his fingers, wincing at the memory of all the wonderful plans he had made for that voice, for Christine, for himself. He remembered treasured glimpses of the little mop of dark curls that used to trail behind her blonde friend from his perch high above the stage. He wondered absently at what point they had changed places...with Meg becoming the one who followed, who stayed a few steps behind...in shadow, forgotten.

Meg poured more coffee from the pot, added three heaped spoonfuls of sugar and slid the cup towards him across the table. The floodgates had opened and she would do everything to keep them open. "When did she become more than just your voice?" she encouraged gently.

"The new managers had just arrived and it was amusing to watch them attempting to handle La Diva. When Carlotta stormed off and Christine stepped forward I saw her properly for the first time...all grown up...no longer the little lost girl from the chapel. Then she opened her mouth and sang to the heavens. To me. I was lost." Oh God I cannot breathe! Erik felt that first kick to his stomach all over again and bit down hard on his lip to stop the tears forming. He needed to hold it together in front of Meg or he would never finish this. How had he lost her when he had fought so hard to keep her with him? Of course! HIM!

"Then HE showed up! Of all the people in the world she had to have known in a past life it had to be the new patron. He didn't even recognise her the first time he saw her! No, not until he heard the voice I had created did he even give her a second glance." Erik almost spat the last words out, finding the anger again at the injustice he had felt. How dare he!

"She was wonderful that night and although I did not see her sing I heard every note. The Viscomte was in my box despite my instructions to the contrary; it seems the blatant disregard for my orders coincided with his arrival. She had been given Carlotta's dressing room and...well you obviously know about the mirror since you found your way down to me. She was confused, the Viscomte had approached her and I could feel her being pulled away from me; I knew the time had come to show myself. I opened the mirror and held out my hand to her, she followed as I knew she would. I took her down below and I sang to her...words I had written just for her. Everything I felt for Christine was in those words, in my voice. I tried to show her how it could be, how if she allowed her soul be her guide that she could...she could...then I showed her the doll and she fainted."

"Doll?" Meg was loath to stop him at any point in this fascinating account but she simply had to know. Was this the little monkey she had seen? Surely not.

"Perhaps you did not see it. There was, is a mannequin back there; a life size wax model of her. I made it."

Oh my God Erik! A shiver ran down her spine just thinking about it so she only imagine how her friend had felt, especially if up to that point her poor friend had believed he was a spirit. But he had helped her develop the gift God had given her and written beautiful music for her and she would only ever be able to imagine what that must feel like. Still, making an effigy of someone was decidedly creepy and knowing how talented he was she would wager it looked just like her...like looking in the mirror.

"Go on."

"I placed her on the bed and left her to sleep. When she awoke she came and touched my face; I...I thought she was...and no one had ever...but she grasped my mask and pulled it away. She would NOT leave it be, she just HAD to see! WHY Meg? Why did she have to be so curious?" He looked pleadingly into the face of his only true friend, begging for clarity to that which had hurt more than anything.

"I don't know Erik...perhaps since you had hidden from her for so long she desperately needed to see the truth; maybe she was not ready for it all." Meg could not understand why her friend had been so terrified and horrified by his face – after all it was blatantly not as that creep Buquet had described it over the years but then perhaps Christine had projected those images onto the reality and seen something very different?

"She was horrified and disgusted but somehow it was worse than I feared...I needed her to be different but she wasn't. I brought her back up before anyone could come looking. I never took her there again...until the fire." Erik cradled his face in his hands, hiding the subject of Christine's horror from the only person who had never recoiled from him. Why could she not have seen what Meg saw? How were two who had shared so much been so very different?

Everything had been designed and planned to capture the attention of the one woman who he thought could set him free but she had failed him; his face had failed him...as it always had. That night after he had delivered her back to civilisation he had mourned the loss of his dreams, dreams that had been too farfetched to be real. Erik squeezed his eyes tightly as he remembered his manic thoughts that night. He had come so far, worked so tirelessly; surely he would not let the Viscomte win? Perhaps she could learn to love him, once the fear had subsided. What was fear except that which one does not understand? He thought to make her understand...he had to. Where had it all gone so wrong?

Every cell in her body cried for the broken man opposite her and the young life he had almost destroyed. Meg could see the torment he continued to endure, the fickle nature of humanity and now finally understood where the haunted look Christine had carried had come from. She had been haunted...by memories of a man desperate to be free, desperate for recognition. Her poor innocent friend had believed in an angel, trusting completely the voice that had comforted her and had wrapped all of it up in memories of her father. Meg could not begin to imagine how strange and disorientating it must have felt to realise there was no spirit guide, just a complicated man and the very one who terrorised the company no less. Christine was not strong of mind, she would not have been able to make sense of it all and it was no surprise she turned to the stable, calming presence of the Viscomte, a man she had known as a child.

She could also see how this would not have gone down well with Erik. He would have been enraged, murderously so as it turned out, jealousy tearing him apart. The new patron would have gotten in the way, distracting Christine and depriving Erik of the one thing Meg realised he needed more than anything else - human contact. Oh what an awful tragic mess! There was more, much more to come but Erik needed a break and if she was honest with herself, so did she. Neither of them had really eaten anything so she rose from the table and moved to the kitchen, putting on fresh coffee and slicing some oranges to make juice.

"Erik, go upstairs and freshen up...then come back down and eat with me. You can talk more when you have something in your stomach." She spoke quietly and gently, just like she moved and it was enough to propel her friend into motion. Silently he dragged himself out of the chair and trudged across the room to the stairs as if he were walking knee deep in snow, OG completely forgotten for a change. He was carrying so much on his shoulders...perhaps by the time he closed his eyes tonight he would have shed some of that weight, she thought hopefully.