Part 9:

((trigger warning for violence/ suicide mention/ death mention))

C-

I text him to let him know I'm coming, that I want to talk, but he doesn't respond. I hoped he would, but I didn't dare expect it. I go through the day like a robot, on full autopilot, just one task after another while I try to prepare myself for the hard part of the day. Permanent rejection. I can feel it coming on. I know that, if I can't manage to get him to talk, it's over.

And then I don't know what I'll do. I really don't know. I don't feel like I can just bounce back from this. I don't see how I can ever recover. Like so much else in my life, he'll just haunt me, and I'll try to live my life like a person, and I'll just seem like a phantom myself, the way I was when I met Meg and him, but worse, so much worse.

I walk, a funeral march playing in my head, from work, past my apartment, to the shop. I don't see him at his window upstairs, or in his work room from outside. The shop itself is closed, even Darius absent. The effect is eerie, too still for what I know should be a place of life and living. The colors still seemed drained, everything ashen and quiet. It all looks the way I feel, which is probably not a hopeful sign.

I sit down at the bike rack, my bike miraculously in one piece and still here, even my helmet still right where I'd thrown it, and pull out my phone. I dial Erik, my phone going so far as to automatically suggest his number to me, some auto function of Google, or something, based purely on how often I've tried. It rings..

And goes to voicemail. I try again, to the same effect. One more, I think, I'll just try once more, and that'll be that. It rings, painfully slow, and goes to voicemail. I sigh and let it read me my rights, swallowing hard as it gives me 'speak now' tone.

"Hi, Erik. I guess.. well, this is goodbye. You got what you wanted. You pushed me away. I won't.. I won't come back. I won't call. No texts. I'll disappear for real, if that's what you really want. I.. I just wish I understood why, is all. But I guess we can't always get what we want, huh? I don't want to leave you alone, leave you behind, but if you really don't want me around, how can I argue?

Before I run out of time, I wanna say you can still call me. If you change your mind. I won't lie, I'll probably be pissed, but if you talked about it with me.." I stop, shaking my head. I wonder if the sound is audible or if the line will be silent, empty. "I miss you. Still.. Still love you, too. I shouldn't, for how much I hurt, but I do. So.. I wish you the best. And, uh.. bye." I shrug and hang up, feeling more empty than ever. I tried. I tried so hard, and I've left the door open for him, but I know he won't come through it. He made it this long, after all.

I tear up almost instantly, but there's no passion. It's just a release of the defeat I feel. This is it. It's over. I'm done. He doesn't want me.

I unlock my bike and collect my helmet and walk away. The end..

E-

I watch as she goes, from inside the shop, hidden carefully behind a shelf. It was unbearable agony to let the phone ring, to know how desperately she was reaching out, and to essentially slap her hands away by staying silent. I watched her talk into the phone, her voicemail appearing on mine, but I dare not open it until she is gone and away, for the fear of dashing out after her, breaking my agreement..

Safely distant, I open the sound file and hold the phone to my ear with a trembling hand.

I nearly cry when I hear her voice. I feel my heart break, then, knowing this must be goodbye, for both our betterment.

And yet, when she says 'I love you' again, I feel myself truly shatter. It bursts out of me, tears slicking the inside of my mask, my throat tight, too tight for air or words or life. How can I have turned away this marvelous woman, who somehow feels such a thing for me? I, the undeserving, the unworthy. She chose me. It hurts to know I had her affection, that for those brief months she was nearly mine, and that I had to send her away. I, as an individual, am too dangerous, too needing. But worse, there are those out there that I have wronged who would stop at nothing to make me pay. And I agree that I deserve to pay, but not her. I can't let her suffer for me.

Daroga said they were searching the states, the original ones, the worst ones, city by city, the hard and long and fruitless way. If they find me here, with her, what wouldn't they do to her to see me suffer? I can't, I can't.. She has to be free. I cannot ever be, but she must. What is the point of this life if people like her cannot find joy and freedom?

It's best this way. It needs to be this way.

C-

I debate calling Meg to give her the update, but I know she'll just want to come over and talk and cry with me and I just want nothingness. Just a small escape from the everything. I want to hop on a bus and leave the city, disappear forever.

Maybe in ten or twenty years I'd show up on a t.v. show about mysterious missing persons, and the world would wonder what happened to Christine Daae. But I can't. At least, not that quickly, not that easily. I could never really abandon Meg, and even Raoul, now that we've reached an understanding. But I can't really deal with them trying to help. I'm just in a state where nothing will help.

For tonight, at least, I really will walk in the shadows of death and despair, just let it be sad and terrible and dark and scary, and maybe when tomorrow comes I'll be able to face the day, if not the future. It must have rained some time ago, the pavement and the asphalt and the bricks of all the buildings glistening. There's no comfort in thinking the world cried for me, even shortly, but I think it anyway. Maybe mom and dad in heaven, or wherever we go, opened up the skies and let it be sad for me, knowing that at the end of it I wouldn't really feel much of anything.

I wonder, shortly, if they would be disappointed in me for considering joining them? I miss them so much, and life is scary and hard and I keep ending up feeling lost and alone.. but I know I'm not the kind of person who could do that. I'm too afraid, and honestly, too stubborn. As much as living hurts, I know that, for some reason or another, I need to keep going for myself. It feels impossible and distant, but I know there's a lasting happiness out there for me, somewhere. Maybe it's here, in this city, with someone else. Or maybe I'll find I'm happiest alone, after all this heartache, and be one of those confident, independent ladies who's untouchable and imperial and magic. Maybe I'll get my house back, and get a million cats, and be one of those terrible stereotyped witch-ladies who otherwise live alone. Wouldn't that be interesting?

I almost laugh at the thought, but someone steps out in front of me and my bike. I lurch to a stop, glad I wasn't riding, because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to stop.

"Sorry." I say, even though I'm also pretty sure they stepped in front of me on purpose, and I redirect my bike and me. But the person grabs onto my bike, stopping us. "Excuse me. Do I know you?"

"Not really, but you know a friend of ours. We'd like you to call him." The man, with a heavy, vaguely french accent, says. His face is covered in a mask, crudely made and painted, like a fanatical mockery of Erik. Is that what he's here for?

"We?" I ask, and then I notice the other figures sneaking from the shadows. I clench my keys in my hand, preparing for the worst. "I don't know much of anyone." I say.

"Yes, you do. A tall, masked man? We know he's in the city, and we have reason to suspect that you know him.." The first man says.

"And why would you think that?" I ask stubbornly, refusing to shake or shudder in front of them. "Who even are you?"

"Who we are is of no concern, not to you, unless you do know our.. friend. We've heard small rumors, whispers in the city.. and we've also been tapping the phones. You and your friend.." He snaps his fingers here, thinking.

"Meg. Meg Giry." One of the other figures supplies.

"Ah, yes. You two have been quite talkative of some fellow matching our description, and you keep calling this one number.. but he does not answer."

"So I'm having some boyfriend troubles with a guy who's kinda like your guy. Why not just trace my steps and investigate for yourselves? Why are you calling me into this?" It's not that I want to lead them to Erik, but I want to know if they even know where he is before anything else. Maybe if they weren't smart enough to follow me, I can trick them somehow..

"Because it will be much more fun this way. We never imagined the bastard could make such a.. lovely friend." I can hear a grin in his voice, dripping with disgusting insinuation. I grimace, afraid, but resolute.

"We're not friends. Not anymore. Not according to him. I'm not.. worth anything to you."

"You are mistaken. He knew we were coming, he tried to send you away for your own protection, but you came back this last time.. we know how you both feel." The ringleader's grip on my bike tightens, leaning forward over the bars.

"You don't know anything." I spit, and drive my key into his neck, just above his collarbone. I need no further convincing that these men and/or women mean me and my Erik harm, and even with all the torment, I cannot simply allow it. The man roars, falling to the ground, my key lodged behind the bone, torn away from me. His lackeys jump forward, all six of them, to grab me, and I use all the defensive training I have to offer to fend them off. That is, the whole half a year of taekwondo I took in middle school. I manage to deck one and elbow another, possibly kick another in the shin or abdomen, but after that I am lost in a web of fiercely gripping hands and bodies pressed against mine, trying to contain me. I fight anyway, snarling and kicking and writhing. I refuse to go down quietly or easily.

A gunshot rings through the street, and the only light for the block goes out, the rest already broken or maybe even shot. The gang- what else could they be?- drags me into an alley, slamming me against a wall, hands on my arms, someone pulling my hair to control me. The leader walks into the darkness of the alley, somehow still darker than the street, the pistol-style gun pointed up. He pulls the key from his neck carefully, dropping it to the ground, a trail of blood dribbling behind it. Part of me reels that I did that, but most of me is just concerned for what he's going to do to me for it.

"Very fearsome. It's no surprise the Phantom would fall for someone as crazy as he." He compliments me, and then back hands me. There is dual pain from the strike itself as well as the pull of hair and whiplash. I feel my lip split, my head and jaw ringing with second hand pain. "Now, you will take out your phone and ask for help, Christine." He says, holding out my phone, taken from my bag. I must have dropped it at some point. His lackeys don't let go of my arms, waiting for me to say something.

"He won't answer. He didn't earlier. Why would he now?" I spit, blood pouring from my lip. It tastes like salt and iron, the wound itself burning.

"Maybe he won't. But won't it hurt him to know he could have saved you? That you left such a tearful message, begging for help, and he did not answer?" I feel myself pale at this new implication. I'm not ready to die yet.. "Now call him."

"No." I steel myself. I won't give them the satisfaction. He slaps me again, with the hand with the gun, the metal crashing with my skull, everything ringing. I feel what can only be blood drip down my forehead, into my eye, coming from somewhere beyond my hairline, I'm sure. He doesn't ask me again, and I don't get to answer. He just slams my head back into the wall, further jarring my sight and thoughts with a resounding, sickening crack.

"Which thumb opens the phone?" He asks, hand on my throat. I can't reply, and I don't mean to, but my right hand twitches, and his lackeys wrestle my fist open to steal the print. One of them punches me in the stomach, stealing my breath, pressing the home button against my thumb, unlocking it. The leader dials Erik quickly, turning to pace like a teenager calling their crush, fidgeting with the gun like the cord of an old landline. I almost start to laugh, so sure he won't answer, but then I hear it pick up, and I hear Erik.

"Christine!?"

E-

I am weak, so weak, to answer, but I wish to apologise, to beg for forgiveness, to just hear her voice once before the end of everything. But it's not her on the other side.

"I did not think you would answer, old friend! There goes plan 'A', as the Americans like to say." I know his voice. It haunts my nightmares, his beatings still causing me pain to this day. Reed.

"What are you doing with Christine's cell phone?" I hiss.

"We were simply having a bit of a chat and I felt so badly for your rejection of her, I thought I would help you get back together, friend! She misses you dearly, don't you, little lovely?" He moves the phone away from his own head, presses it against something else. "Come, come, beg for him, little girl."

"Erik!" Christine. "Don't come- they gotta gun, stay safe, run away-" She's cut off, and I hear a smack, a terrible, wicked sound.

"Christine!" How dare he? I burn for what I wish to do to him.

"Have you no sense of self-preservation, girl?" I hear Reed sigh, can almost hear the shake of his head. "At least she is interesting, non?"

"What do you want, you bastard!?" I roar.

"We want you, of course. It's not that I don't like being in charge, Erik, my little Phantom, but I had plans to dispose of Reed Senior that you made rather inconvenient messes of. That, and all the blame we got for the messes you made while on the run. But I think I rather like the little lady. Perhaps I won't tell you where we are?" He purrs. I hang up, and grab my things. I don't need him to tell me where they are. The walk from here to her apartment is short, and she has only been gone around ten minutes, and how could I forget her description of the path, shared with me on a happier day? No, I will find them easily.

I have only a few tools I need, only a few I have been allowed to keep. My black mask of death, for surely someone will die tonight, my lasso, and a knife. Unsure of what injuries Christine may have, I grab my small first aid kit, and tuck it into a pocket of a heavy, lengthy black coat, for the sake of hiding in the shadows. Formless, colorless clothing and a well placed shadow has saved me more than once in the past..

Gathering these things takes only a moment and then I am at the shop entrance, and this is the only time I hesitate. To leave is to break my agreement, and surely Darius and Daroga and who knows else will be after me, as per the agreement.. But to not leave is to condemn Christine to death or worse, and I will not allow this.

I tear down the streets, the chirping at my angle meaningless. It dies in a matter of minutes anyway, the sound less important to me than the signal it's sending out, and even that holds little meaning at the moment. All that matters right now is righting this wrong, correcting what should have never happened. I have not fought, have not killed in many years, but the knowledge, the feeling is still there in my hands, in these tools. I had sworn, to myself and others, 'never again', but all vows are worthless if they forsake her..

I hear her yelling and fighting, expletives flying from several mouths, and in several tongues. Up ahead, in an alley, no light to be found. Good. They will not see me coming. A poor choice on their part, for surely Reed remembers my impeccable sight..

I whip around the corner, lasso flying for the closest three heads. Pulled tight and fast, they clack together, a beautiful, satisfying crunch of mask and skull colliding rings out. A man with a gun- it can only be Reed- takes aim, but I pull the mass of bodies in the way with a yank to the side, the shot depositing itself in one of them. The rest of the 'fight' passes in a blaze of silver and red, until I am the only one left standing, hands drenched in a mix of disgusting bodily fluids, red and slick, victorious. I toss the knife to the ground. I will not need it anymore; it's done its job.

Christine looks up at me, her vision unfocused, blood on her face and in her eye. Streaks of her blond hair are stained a strawberry red, still wet, the ends dripping. I lean down to her, to take care of her before we're apprehended, before I'm taken away.

C-

I'm not sure what happened. I saw it all happen, but it was so fast, so wild, and then it was over. Only the tallest shadow remains upright, looking for movement in the fallen ones. Satisfied they will not rise, it comes for me. Is this death? Is he here for me?

But as it crouches in front of me, long and thin hands sweeping my hair away from the gash on my head, I recognize the ring on his right hand, shining just barely in the night, and then the yellow eyes seem less like hellfire, and more like neon dandelions in the dark.

"Erik.." I mumble, trying to reach a hand out to him, but I can't see much. It's so dark. My hand collides with his arm, and I try to hold on tightly.

"Christine.." He mumble back.

"You got a new mask." I say. Even in the shadows, I can tell it's black, like his coat.

"Technically, this is my first mask, but yes, it is new. I destroyed the other one.." He explains. "What did they do to you? Where are you hurt?" He asks, fussing with something, a box, I think.

"My head. Front 'n' back. Punched me.. Don't think anything else." I try to remember the details, but, failing that, I focus on what hurts in this moment. "My leg hurts too, but I dunno why."

"Head wounds first. Lean forward, please. I must work quickly, and try to explain myself.. Oh, I am so sorry for this.." He murmurs, eyes flitting everywhere but my own. I do as he asks, leaning forward. He hastily inspects the back of my head, then takes out what looks like an ace bandage from the box- first aid kit- and wraps it skillfully around both the front and the back injuries.

"Why'd they want you?" I ask. He looks over his shoulder, then turns to inspect the rest of me. My arms are scuffed from being pressed against the wall, though I had not noticed until now. Erik takes out a bottle and uses it to wash off the scrapes, full of dirt and brick. It stings, but I don't protest.

"My past. I told you I was born in France, yes? Well, I was.. not taken care of. I am unsure of much, but I took care of myself by thieving. I did not like it, but I had no other way to survive, no way to have a job or a life.. I was found by that.. bastard's father, who used my self-developed skills for his gang's interest. I did not like this, and many other things, so I killed him, and ran. That is why I travelled. To escape the backlash, but it only got worse. Wherever I went, some group had heard of me, and desired me, and tried to kill me when I refused. I am known, Christine, as the Phantom in some places, or the 'Mask of Death' in others. This is.. this is what I wanted to hide from you. I did not want you to be hurt by my past actions, and now.." He sighs. It takes a while to really process that. Erik, my Erik, was a thief and a killer. I feel.. strangely unsurprised, but the weight of the truth still sits heavily in my stomach.

"And I do not look forward to the way you will surely see me now that you know the monstrous things of which I am capable." He says, and I realise he hasn't looked at me since he started talking, adamantly focusing on my injuries.

"Erik.. it sounds like you didn't have any choice."

"The law did not see it that way. I do not expect you to try to keep in my good graces for fear, Christine. You need not ever fear me like they should have. You may- you should speak freely."

"I don't. Fear you, that is. I mean, I'm a lil intimidated, but not afraid. Mostly impressed you stayed alive.. I don't think.. a life like that, I'd.. I dunno." I slur, lip slightly swollen, and still bloody. Erik looks up at me, finally, a bit unsure.

"You do not hate me?"

"No! Di'n't you once say I could set fire to a whole city 'n' you'd still think I was great? I feel the same for you! Well, maybe not a city of innocent people, but these gang guys? I.. I really can't blame you for standing your ground, for doing what you had to, if you really had no other support. I wasn't there, I can't.." I shrug. "You're still the person I knew before I knew this, so what does anything else matter?"

"You are too sweet for me, Christine." He says, hand on my cheek. It's wet with I don't want to think about what, but I'm fine with it. It means he's here. It means he cares.. For a second, despite the hot and puffiness of swelling injuries, and the dark, and the dead people lying around us, it feels like that most perfect hour in his apartment, at peace and happy and understanding.

"I kind of like you, you jerk." I reply.

"I kind of like you, too. I'm still so.. so sorry for this, and for what's coming next." He sighs, pulling away to look me over. I don't a get a chance to ask what's coming, as it apparently arrives, surprising us both.

Before I can process it, he's pushed away, kicked, I think, to the side, lights suddenly flashing everywhere. I hear a strange clatter, but I'm knocked into the wall again, my head cracking against brick wall for a third time tonight. When my vision can focus, I see Darius, Mr. Khan, and several other people standing over Erik and I, separating us. Darius has a gun pointed at Erik, and while that deeply frightens me, I find myself much more worried about something else.

Erik's mask has come off.

It takes a second for him to realize it, eyes flitting, flying from the gun to me. In that second, I take in the details, the face that was hidden for so long. It's hardly a face as I've known before- so thin, cheekbones apparent, almost like there's no muscle there at all, or just very thinly, like an old man. But it's more than that. His eyes, which had always been cast in shadow, are sunken in, the color a twilight purple like when someone's sick or exhausted. And, strangest of all, he has no nose. Instead, there's a gaping triangular hole, set right between his eyes, like it was cut off at the base.

When the second has passed, and his eyes meet mine, I see why he hid it so desperately for so long.

E-

The force of the unexpected kick knocks me back, jarring my elbow. It stings across my shoulder where he struck me, but otherwise I am simply surprised. I am not surprised to be staring down the barrel of a gun, though. I expected this, from the moment I ran from the shop. My agreement, broken. My life, over. Short, sweet, simple and easy.

The breeze I feel over my face, however, is more than just surprising. Frightened beyond compare, I flick my eyes to the left, looking for Christine. My eyes widen to match hers, parallel circles of shock. My face, my curse, bare to the world and to her. Of all the people in the world- why her? After everything else, why this?

I turn back to Darius, hearing his gun click, loaded. I don't even have time to whisper an unheard apology or goodbye, simply clenching my eyes, bracing uselessly.

"No!"