(A/N: Just to clarify, when Erik talks about "Pigeon", he means Raoul. He mentioned that earlier, but I wasn't sure if you would remember, so just making sure. Thanks to all my reviewers, I really appreciate your support. Please R&R and enjoy the chapter!)

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CHAPTER NINE:
Erik POV

I wandered the rafters, keeping an eye on Christine as she made her way along one of the more dangerous passages to the stage. She seemed to hear my cape swishing along behind me, and would frequently look up at me. Once I think she spotted my mask, for she gasped and kept moving, but a little quicker than before.

I had let my eyes wander out to the audience, which I could see from this high up. My managers had not followed my instructions, again. Christine was the "silent role" for starters, which was not pleasing. She had stayed silent long enough as a chorus girl, it was her time to be a star, not that pampered diva!

As if they couldn't plan anything worse, they had allowed Pigeon, who had been courting Christine the past couple of weeks, was sitting in my Box as well.

That was the final insult! I would show them I was a force to be reckoned with, and not an imaginary apparition. It was surely time to crack the whip upon the hides of those two fools.

I was just about to head to the walkway above the seats, which was a good perch to observe the stage, when I heard Joseph Buquet's voice.

"What a pretty bird I caught," he purred below me. I rolled my eyes. That man was far too lustful for my taste. He abused his position at the Opera Populaire. I was just going to ignore the antics of that fat drunken slug, all of which I could hear clearly, when the voice of the woman he preyed upon reached my ears.

"Speaking of performing, I really have to~" I looked down to see my beautiful innocent Christine's lips forced against Buquet's. Jealousy and anger screamed within me, and instinctively, I grabbed the Punjab Lasso from my belt. I didn't need to use it to free her, for she did that herself.

Pushing away from him, she turned to run, but he caught her by the hand. She countered well, striking him hard across the face with livid anger written on her usually serene face.

I hesitated, surprised and a little satisfied with her. She was feistier than I thought! I liked that she could handle it by herself and that she was quite capable of defense.

But I couldn't let it end there. Now that Buquet had taken a taste, there was no turning back now.

Walking down an iron staircase, I slipped past a group of ballerinas who were more than a little tipsy, gulping down bottles of alcohol freely.

"Eh, you!" one called to me, sleepily, "What are you about?"

I calmly removed an exact replica of Carlotta's bottle of throat spray, which was filled instead with bitter, acidic wine. I considered flitting into the shadows, but her currently inebriated state changed my mind.

"I'm assisting our leading lady," I replied in an undertone, keeping my back to the stagehands that staggered past me. It seemed like I was the only one in the opera house who wasn't intoxicated.

As I expected, the ballerina looked at me in a daze.

"Parfait!" she muttered, and slumped forward onto the dressing room table, apparently in a stupor. I smirked and crept over to the table where Carlotta's maid had set the bottle of spray down.

Slowly, savouring the moment, I switched the bottles, and headed back to the stairs. I again had to pass the unconscious ballerina, who stirred as I approached.

"M'sieur, mon vin?" she asked, pointing shakily at the real bottle of throat spray, thinking it was wine. I glanced at Giry who was busy watching the performance.

Unscrewing the top, I slid the container to the ballerina, who downed it one gulp. She began to hack loudly.

"Tastes like a fat woman!" she coughed, and I laughed a little as she thumped her chest.

"You have an unparalleled sense of determining flavour, mademoiselle." I would have toyed with her more, but Madame Giry gave me a harsh stare and the ballerina had slipped back into oblivion again. I glided up the stairs, thinking it was best to avoid any more contact with the performers.

I was in the rafters in time to see my Christine pretending to grope Carlotta, watching them exchange bitter looks behind the flamingo feather fan. She wouldn't be upset when Carlotta was upstaged, I could tell.

Buquet was stumbling along one of the walkways, and I waited for him to turn away before floating behind him as swiftly as a specter. I think he felt my cape whoosh behind him, for I saw him turn back, with a look of confusion on his thick red features.

I hurried across the narrow planks, to the swinging platforms above the stage, to get a better view of the action below me.

Piangi belted out something that I couldn't understand but guessed it had something to do with the plot, and strode over to Christine, who was doing a very pretty job of pretending to dust the curtains. He put his hand over her rump and she turned around, a look of fake surprise on her face.

"Though I'd happily take the maid with me," he told the audience. I narrowed my eyes at him. Didn't he wish he that was true. I decided he was next on my list to dispose of. I had seen him eyeing up Christine as he hung off of La Carlotta's arm earlier that day. Buquet was first of course. I would deal with that fat slug soon enough.

I leaned over the edge of the railing, watching Carlotta and Piangi dance around in a circle, singing something completely unfathomable, while the chorus bounced up and down for no apparent reason and Christine sat on the bed waiting for her cue.

I couldn't watch such a waste of an opera any longer, and hurried out one of my little passageways to the other side of the stage. I looked out the small window tucked behind the lever that controlled the chandelier. I briefly considered dropping it, but thought against it. I would only do that in an extreme emergency.

Stepping out of the hidden trapdoor in the ceiling, I stood behind the chandelier to hide myself.

"Poor fool he makes me laugh, ha ha ha!" Carlotta shrilled, not seeming to notice me though she stared directly at where I stood.

"Poor fool he doesn't know, ho ho ho!" The chorus around her joined in, but weren't loud enough to stop that woman's infernal voice from reaching my ears. It was time to stop this once and for all.

"If he knew he'd never ever go~"

"DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX FIVE WAS TO BE KEPT EMPTY?" I boomed, throwing my voice so the chandelier trembled. The audience gasped, looking around at each other. Pigeon, who inhabited my box, looked around, his skin now milk-white.

The performers on stage lost their characters, whispering and clutching onto each other. In fact, only two people still stood where they were: Meg Giry and my Christine, who, of the two of them, was the only one who did not have any signs of fear on her face.

"He's here, the Phantom of the Opera," Meg breathed in a carrying whisper.

Thanks for pointing out the obvious, I thought to myself, narrowing my eyes. Meg had to learn a new catch phrase, preferably one that wasn't so annoying.

Christine stared up at me, her expression full of apprehension. I read her lips.

It's him… Carlotta rounded on her.

"Your part is silent, little toad!" she reminded her with venom, but quickly gave the audience a little giggle in case they had heard her.

"A toad, Madame?" I muttered to myself, "Perhaps it is you who are the toad." Christine looked over at Meg and nodded her head to the side a little. Her eyes warned her not to do anything rash, and quickly returned her gaze to La Carlotta who was getting a heavy dousing of the throat spray I had switched.

Smiling, I turned on my heel and slunk back behind the doorway. My plan had worked and it was only a matter of time until La Carlotta would have to stop singing.

"Serafimo, away with this pretence! You cannot speak, but kiss me in my~ UGGH!" Her voice caught in her throat, coming out as a large croak that surprised even me. I paused in the hall and listened to her voice, which was now worse than ever. The audience was laughing and I was certain this amusement was not shared with her. I would have listened longer if I hadn't heard the footsteps of Joseph Buquet behind me.

I stepped back into the shadows as Andre, I think, announced that Christine would be singing the lead in Carlotta's place. It was about time some sense was knocked into his head.

Buquet strode past where I hid, not able to see my mask with his blurred vision. As I surveyed him, I noted he reminded me of the gypsy man who had held me prisoner for a portion of my life. The once familiar sensation of terror threatened to creep up my neck but I brushed it away. I had taken care of that louse when I was nine; I certainly could take on a half-drunk stagehand. My days of being fearful were long gone, and I would never let myself fall prey to that feeling ever again.

I followed where Buquet had gone, and found him on the swinging walkways above the stage, eyeing up the ballerinas. He had better take a good look; this would be his last. He caught sight of my cape as I slipped past him and he looked behind him, starting to get the feeling someone was watching him. And I was!

Hurrying through the ropes along the side, he glanced around him, trying to find me, but I was too quick for him. I swung across the rope above his very head, so that if he had looked up I would've been in plain sight. He then turned around, after looking down at the stage, and I dropped down from the ceiling in front of him. We were so close that we almost touched noses, but I didn't have to worry about that for long. As soon as he saw me he ran as fast as he could onto the swinging planks.

Too easy.

It was ironic that he always warned about running from the Phantom of the Opera and that it would "spell your doom", when that was exactly what he was doing. I suppose he used the "do as I say, not as I do" method of teaching, but it certainly wasn't working out well for him on this particular night.

I darted after him, keeping a few paces behind. He dove for the ropes, hauling his bloated body up with much effort on his part. I slowed my pace slightly, so he would have a head start. I liked to put false hope into my victim's mind to make the end of the chase all the more satisfying.

Grabbing the same rope he had used, I shot up like a monkey and swung myself across to another set of planks. Buquet was walking across the set directly in front of me, but stopped cold when he caught sight of me waiting sinisterly for him to pick which way to run. Either way he chose, he could not win against me.

He faked going to his left and then to his right, both times I followed with lightening quick precision. He chose to go to his right, running with his arms flapping like a woman, which would've made me laugh had I not been so intent on revenge. I countered by pulling myself halfway up the rope and lying in wait for him to run onto the walkway.

He ran on, panting heavily, and I knew our chase would be finished soon.

Sliding down upon the ropes, I shook the walkway violently so it was unstable. He tripped on the spaces between the planks, falling to his knees. The smirk that curled my lips was inevitable, and I pulled the long rope from my waist.

He lay face-down over a gap in the walkway, almost as if someone had perfectly placed him so there would be as little trouble for me as possible.

I flipped him over with one hand, slipping the lasso around his neck with the other. I pulled it taut, watching his face and body contort wildly as he struggled to take a breath.

Leaning over him, I whispered, "I do hope you will perform well for me." His face blanched, realizing the meaning behind this attack. He opened his mouth and sputtered incoherent apologies.

"I-I didn't..." I took him roughly by the collar, hanging him over the small gap beneath which some of his past fancies pirouetted. His eyes bugged out as he measured the drop in his head which must have been a good thirty feet down.

"You must be always on your guard," I hissed with eyes as cold as ice. "Or I will catch you with my magical lasso." And with that last remark, I let him go.

For a moment, he fell straight down, before snapping back up again, surely breaking his neck. The audience and performers below let out a collective scream, erupting into many that carried around the theatre. I lifted my foot off the rope and he collapsed onto the floor, in a deadly heap.

I watched his still form feeling morbidly pleased with myself. I swished my cape around me. My work was finished here.

I crossed above the backstage where ballerinas wailed to each other in utter terror. Madame Giry held one sobbing girl's head in her arms as she looked up, to where I stood, with cold accusing eyes.

You know I didn't mean to frighten them, I thought so she could read it on my face but she just shook her head and looked away from me.

Behind her, with a red cape pulled over her shoulders, was Christine who simply stood with a blank expression on her face. I felt my smile drop. I hadn't thought of her.

Meg Giry ran over to her fearfully, looking even more skittish than usual.

"Christine? Do you know what happened? Christine?"

She didn't look at her as she spoke. It was like Christine didn't even know she was there at all.

"It's my fault… it's all my fault…" she breathed, and stepped back from Meg, who ran off to another girl who was crying inconsolably.

Guilt clawed at my insides. Her fault? No! She couldn't think because she was forced to kiss that pig it was her fault he was dead. Pigeon, whose rear end had been occupying my seat, ran to her.

"Christine, are you all right?" he asked, and she jumped to life, backing away from him quickly, as if she had been burned.

"Raoul, you're not safe here," she told him, before fleeing the scene with Pigeon (whom I now knew as Raoul) hot on her heels. I shot off after them. This night was beginning to ruin both of us, and if I were going to do some good, it would be to clear her of her guilt.