A.N. I am currently reading/watching/researching anything I can to make a smooth story that has elements from the Leroux book, the Webber play (which includes the 2004 movie), and others. My hope is that, no matter what material of Phantom of the Opera you are familiar with, it will be an easy and enjoyable story to read. If there is anything that you don't understand, do not be afraid to review or message me personally to point out the problem. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 2

"Viscount"

Emile whipped his head around, searching for a reasonable source for the voice to come from. Malory had not said a word in a good hour and she knew better then to think that he was a viscount. There was nobody else in the box and he was beginning to think that he was crazy. Of course no one would ever say that to him, he must have been just imagining things.

But he could not be imagining the cold. It baffled him that Malory couldn't feel it, too. In an attempt to ignore it, he tried to turn his attention back to the performance. Those pesky little hairs would not go down, though. Emile could have sworn that he felt fingers grace the back of his neck and he tried to swat away whatever was there.

Okay Emile, he thought, don't get carried away. It must have been a bug. A small gust of air, perhaps.

He knew it wasn't a small breeze when the feeling settled on his nape. Emile stiffened, reasoning it was just his imagination. It had to be, there was no other explanation for it. It was also his imagination when whatever it was slid around to his throat.

What he knew he was not imagining is when it began to squeeze.

Then it suddenly didn't matter if it was his imagination or not because he couldn't breathe.

Simultaneously, he grasped Malory's shoulder and tried to grab at his throat. It was such a natural instinct, wanting to pull away whatever was there. He could feel something on his neck but he couldn't rip it off. Malory was looking at him in shock, hands reaching to help but not knowing what to do. Emile stood up, followed by Malory.

In a desperate attempt to get the thing to release him, Emile jerked, pulled, tugged, anything he could think of but nothing would stop it. Lack of air was getting to him and black spots started to pop in his vision. Struggling for any air, he gasped in vain. The black spots were getting bigger and longer until they would pop. He was lightheaded and didn't even realize that Malory had called out for help. He didn't realize that the show had stopped and somebody rushed into the room.

He didn't realize when he slipped into unconsciousness.

There was a beautiful voice. Singing.

A flash of light, a candle maybe.

Then a quick bar of music.

A crash.

Emile was thrown out of whatever he was seeing by a sharp slap. Sitting up abruptly, he almost knocked his and Malory's heads together. He took a deep breath in and, although it was ragged, was relieved to find that he could in fact breathe. A man, one Emile had not met before, was kneeling by him, checking his pulse. It was only then that he realized that he was on the floor of his box. His cheek burned and he felt a driblet of water fall onto his shoulder. He wondered how long he had been out.

"Monsieur," Emile asked the man, knowing it would take too long with Malory, "how long have I been unconscious?"

"Only for a moment, maybe two, but the real question is what happened?" Emile didn't know the man and gave him a look that said he had no business to know. He turned to Malory and made sure she caught the look too.

"He is..." She paused, trying to think of the right word, "a doctor. You should tell him." Emile sighed, knowing how rude the look had been. But how was he supposed to explain what happened when he doesn't know himself?

"I was just being choked. There was no one here but Malory and myself, so I don't know how it was possible," Emile tried. It was all it was, so simple but so baffling at the same time.

888

The doctor ended up not being able to explain anything and the ride home was silent. Emile wondered if Malory was just about bursting with questions she wanted to ask but didn't know how to say them. Or maybe she just believed what he said. She had been there; she had seen that there was no one that could have been strangling him. But that is what it certainly felt like.

It wasn't so silent when they entered the estate though. His mother had been waiting just beyond the door, arms crossed over her bosom. Malory had made a quick escape, making an excuse that the baby was kicking, but Emile wasn't so lucky.

"And where have you been, Emile?" Christine demanded. To an ear that hasn't been accustomed to a mother, it would have thought that it was just an innocent question. But those that have, the sharp edge to her voice was frightening.

"I saw a performance with Malory," Emile explained, feeling very much like a little boy being scolded than a twenty one year old man.

"I told you to forget about the Phantom!" His mother was shouting now, drawing closer to her son only to have him back up.

"I didn't say I was going to see about the Phantom! I was just seeing a performance!" Emile tried to defend himself, knowing that it wasn't going to work.

"Emile, stay away from the opera house. It causes nothing but trouble." She said no more before she turned on her heel. Christine needed no confirmation, she just assumed that her son would obey.

He knew that he would too.

888

Checking the mirror just one more time, Emile searched for any sign that it happened at all, but there was nothing. No rope or hand marks, nor bruising, not even slight discoloration. He was beginning to think that it might have just been a bug that somehow lodged itself in his throat.

He knew that was ridiculous, no bug could choke a man enough to pass out, but at this point, he was willing to believe anything.

Glancing once more at his wall mirror, he slipped into bed and blew out the candle. Through the darkness, he could feel sleep coming, but it wasn't soon enough. It left him time to think, which probably wasn't so good for him.

What had he seen in his dream? It was all so blurry, all so quick. It meant nothing but Emile couldn't help but feel he should know what had happened.

As he slipped into sleep, he couldn't take his mind off of the one thing he knew had happened. That voice.