Hello there,

For all of you who have reviewed so far, thank you so much! I'm so happy that you enjoyed my little spin in the past chapter—I spent quite a few days deliberating on how I would want Chapter Sixteen to occur with Erik in Amsterdam, and I knew that the Erik in my mind wasn't perfect, he was human. So I went with that.

A few of you have private messaged me asking if the Organization is headquartered in Scotland, and my answer is yes. The Organization's building is actually out on the unnamed island west of the Isle of Skye. The only way to get to and from that island is by boat, and only one boat is allowed to travel between these two landmasses.

For those who have asked me, and also begged, for this story to not end soon, all I have to say is this: do not fear, for am I rather good at lengthy writing, and not half-assing. I would never end this story so quickly.

Now, for those of you who were originally T rated fans, be warned: there is a rape mentioned in this chapter, but not thoroughly described and I will put asterisks in bold (***) before and after that segment, and also any other citrusiness in this fanfic. You have been warned, so please don't leave any hate comments.

Ever yours,

Soprano in Shadow


Christine watched, breathless, as the composer prowled towards her, his eyes smoldering, as though ready to pounce. Every inch of her skin had prickled into goose bumps, and those who were seated in the first two rows could probably hear the unevenness of her breath. As he held his hand out for her to take, her body trembled at the thought of sharing physical contact with him after a week and a half. She hesitated for a moment. And then their hands touched.

He was back.

To Christine, that was all that mattered. It didn't matter that Erik Destler had to prompt Christine in moving to her respective places during the specific phrases he was singing, and it didn't matter that murmurs were rising from the audience as they watched the normally composed and perfect Christine Daae make mistakes. All that mattered was that he had come back. After the horrors of these past several days, hearing his voice alone soothed all of her worries.

Utter silence flooded the stage, and Christine realized that she had missed her entrance, and Monsieur Reyers was watching for her signal. Looking out into the audience, and then back to Erik's encouraging expression, Christine knew that she should continue the duet…Except she could no longer hold back. Not with the chance of Erik leaving her once again.

"I love you." The audience gasped as Christine broke the silence with those three words. Never in the history of this opera theater had the fourth wall been broken between the stage and the audience. History itself was in the making!

Erik watched her steadily, and Christine wasn't sure if it was in anger for ruining his opera, or for another reason entirely. However what he did next went beyond what she had expected.

"Say you'll share with me

one love, one lifetime.

Lead me, save me from my solitude.

Say you want me with you

here, beside you.

Anywhere you go, let me go too.

Christine, that's all I ask of you!"

Instead of continuing the opera, as Christine Daae had expected, she had not expected him to add in her name to Don Juan's declaration of love.

He was back, and he loved her.

Nor did she expect to see Erik Destler looking up at her a moment later, as he dropped down to one knee.

Christine barely registered dropping down onto her own knees in order to hide her face within the breast of the man she loved, tears falling from her eyes.

He was back, he loved her and he had just proposed.

The audience stood to its feet, and the members of the opera came onstage, all applauding and roaring their approval. Erik looked down at his new fiancée, smiling warmly as she peeked up at him from her hiding place. Helping Christine up to her feet, the couple blushed at their performance, and bowed together, acknowledging the house.

The tinkling sound of a champagne flute caught the attention of the audience and cast, as all turned up to look at one of the opera boxes. The opera box held the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, and in his hand was the champagne flute. Quiet whispers began as the audience began to remember that Christine was otherwise engaged to the Vicomte.

That is, until he delivered a short bow to the couple. Erik, in response, gave the blond man a stiff nod in response.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention? If you could all raise your glasses, I would like to make a toast!" The Vicomte announced. Instantly the doors of the opera house opened with a sudden bang, as waiters filed in, each holding a tray of filled champagne flutes, and delivering them to their guests efficiently.

Waiting a moment longer, Raoul raised his glass toward the couple. "To my dearest Erik," the composer cringed at the Vicomte's term of endearment, "may you always keep Christine happy, and may the two of you always find joy in your life together. To my darling Chrisitne, I love you. You will always be my truest, and closest friend. I'm so happy that you've found someone stubborn enough to deal with you." A light ripple of laughter broke from the audience, as each guest had their glass raised. "To Erik and Christine!"

"To Erik and Christine!"

Christine turned to look at her newly announced fiancé in surprise. "Did you arrange all of this?"

Erik shrugged. "I arrived at the opera house a little before seven, and since I didn't have much to do, I contacted Raoul and Michael. They both helped with keeping my presence this evening quiet until the appropriate time."

Christine studied the masked composer for a moment before reaching up on tip-toe and meeting his lips with her own. Instinctively, Erik's arms wrapped around the soprano's waist, before moving away and cutting the kiss brief, much to the brunette's dismay.

"Friends, guests and fellow opera lovers," Erik began, "we regret to inform you that tonight's performance has been cancelled due to these… current events." The composer was rewarded with light laughter at that remark. "If you could please go to the main ticketing office, there are agents available who will be willing to either refund tonight's performance, or allow you to select a different performance night. Thank you so much, and have a wonderful evening!"

Applause filled the house once more, as the newly engaged couple took a second bow before heading offstage. Immediately cast and crew from the opera began to crowd Erik and Christine, offering their congratulations.

However Erik seemed to have other plans—his time for being pleasant was finished. Growling under his breath, Erik took a firm hold of his leading lady's hand, and began to walk briskly trying to avoid any more publicity for the day.

"Erik, be nice," Christine hissed. "They're only wishing us well—you don't have to get grumpy again." The composer's only response was a noncommittal grunt, as they left the backstage area and arrived at the back doors.

Taking a peek out of the back door, Erik's face was blinded by light from photographers. Cursing under his breath, Erik slammed the door shut.

"Damn reporters!" The composer snarled. Christine was taken aback. Why was Erik in such a terrible mood? Was it something she had said or done earlier?

"Erik, wh-" Erik cut the brunette off with an abrupt kiss, one that made the soprano's knees feel like they were melting into jelly. A moment later, Christine found herself in a town car with her fiancé, the tinted windows almost black from the inside.

No, this isn't right

Realization struck her—the kiss had been a tool for distraction, in order to slip a pair of sunglasses on her face! Annoyed at the composer's brusque manner, Christine punched her fiancé's bicep.

"What was that for? You couldn't have just said, 'hold on, we have to deal with reporters'? If you didn't want anyone to know we were engaged, then you probably shouldn't have proposed in front of an entire audience!"

Still Erik Destler refused to speak to her, much less looking at her. What was going on?

"Driver, stop here. I'm getting out."

The driver began to slow down, when the man sitting next to her barked out, "Driver, carry on."

"Driver, stop!"

"Driver, don't listen to her."

"Driver, pull over and let me get out."

Nervously, the driver began to pull to the curb—he wasn't going to put up with this couple, no matter the cost when, in a flash, the cold muzzle of a gun met the back of his head.

"Driver, keep going, or I swear I'll pull the trigger. I am not a happy man today, and I'm more than willing to overcompensate you for your trouble." Weakly, the driver nodded and rejoined the remainder of the night traffic—just as quickly as it had appeared, the gun was gone, hidden once more in the Don Juan costume.

This had gone too far. "Erik, what is wrong with you? You can't just pull a gun on a driver! How cou-"

"Just shut up, Miss Daae! I don't want to hear one word from you until we've sorted some things out." Obediently Christine kept quiet, not knowing why the eccentric composer was in such a murderous rage.

Minutes passed, and Christine realized that the driver was pulling up at the curb of Antoinette's apartment building. Silently, Erik handed over three one hundred dollar bills—a two hundred and fifty dollar tip for silence.

As they rode the elevator quietly, Christine watched her quiet fiancé out of the corner of her eye. She had never seen him look so pale. Was he shaking in anger? Why were his hands balling up in fists?

The ride up was fast, and the walk to the front door was even faster. Silently, Christine moved forward to unlock it, only for the door to open from the inside by Antoinette.

"Antoinette! You're here, oh thank goodness!" Forgetting her fiancé momentarily, Christine rushed into her adoptive mother's arms.

Only for Christine to be pulled out of the older woman's grasp by her fiancé, as Erik half-pulled, half-dragged Christine away to his bedroom, suitcase in hand.

Along the way, Andre and Firmin craned their necks down the hallway, as they watched from the kitchen.

"Now, children, don't fight too much! Press conference tomorrow afternoon, darlings!" Firmin called out happily in a sing-song voice, while Andre watched the scene, a concerned expression on his face.

Grunting, Erik swung the light soprano into his room before tossing his suitcase over by the bed, and locked his bedroom door. Instantly, Christine drew out a long needle that she always kept hidden in her clothes and crouched into a defensive position.

"What's going on, Erik? Why all of this rough handling? Why are you acting like this?" Christine asked, demanding to know her fiancé's intentions. Walking over to his suitcase, Erik unzipped it, pulling clothes out and reorganizing them in drawers, ignoring her.

Christine had had it. She had not just experienced one of the happiest moments of her life, just for it to be ruined. Moving forward, she flicked her wrist and sent the needle flying. Only for it to firmly drive itself into a framed photo that Erik had suddenly brought up as a shield out of nowhere.

Christine squinted at the couple in the frame for a moment, before realization dawned on her. She crumpled to the floor, as she felt her heartbeat thump away uncontrollably. She felt as though she were drowning, as though she couldn't breathe. How had he found out?

"I want to know, Christine Daae, if you're a double agent. Exactly who are you, and what do you know about this man, Joseph Bouquet?" Erik growled, as Christine's eyes widened in fear. This was not how tonight was supposed to go at all. What had happened to their earlier happiness?

"Erik, please. Let me explain-" Christine's plea was ignored, as Erik hurled the picture frame through the air. Breaking against the wall, the picture lay undamaged, as splintered wood, and broken glass painted its own picture on the carpet. Stomping over to the photo, Erik snatched it, and shoved it harshly in her face.

"Where is he? He took away a year of my life! Where the fuck is he!" Erik shouted, demanding to get whatever information he could from the girl before him. In his mind, it no longer mattered to him what happened to this person sitting before him—he wanted justice to be served, and he wanted revenge.

Christine cowered away from the picture, closing her eyes away from the happy and smiling couple. That was another time, and another place. She had done so well with forgetting about him.

Banging on the bedroom door distracted Erik for a moment, but that was all that she needed. Christine rolled away from her interrogator and leaped up, only for Erik to block her path.

"Erik Destler! What are you doing in there! If I find one hair on her harmed-" Antoinette's angry voice caused the composer to wince.

"You are going nowhere until you give me answers!" Erik growled quietly to the younger woman, who nodded in reluctance. "I won't harm the silly bitch, Antoinette! I just want to know where he is!" This was not the Erik she knew—he didn't even know who she was!

"Erik! You need to calm down. This isn't like you at all!" Christine exclaimed, as the composer began to back her into a corner.

"Tell me where he is, little girl, and I promise I won't harm you," Erik said tauntingly, his golden eyes glinting darkly. Christine shuddered, as she tried once more to forget the images of the past.

"Tell me!" He shouted at her again. His voice triggered something.

She failed.

Screaming, Christine collapsed to the floor, unable to suppress the memories that had haunted her for the past three years.

It was her scream that snapped Erik out of his bloodlust.

"Christine?" He seemed confused, as though he wasn't sure what had just happened. Looking down at the trembling girl, Erik harshly reprimanded himself, as he scooped the girl up, and laid her down on his bed. "What have I done, forgive me, mon ange." Humming from the opera Erik ran his fingers through her hair until finally, her heartbeat began to slow down, and her breathing returned to normal.

"E-Erik?" Christine's timid voice nearly broke the composer's heart. How could he have done this to her?

"It's alright, love. That monster is gone. You're alright," Erik said softly, trying his best to soothe his broken girl. "I'm sorry you had to see that…this is why I left. I didn't want you to see this side of me, ever. Forgive me?"

Hesitantly, Christine nodded, as she stared up into his eyes and saw the truth behind his words. He had never meant to hurt her, but his bloodlust had gained control. She had seen these warning signs before, and she knew what would happen along that road.

"Erik, I-I'm willing to forgive you if you promise to do something for me. I need you to promise me that after this assignment, you'll retire. Otherwise, I won't marry you until you do."

Erik was silent, before he turned away for a moment and spoke. "I need to know what happened in that photo."

Christine closed her eyes and swallowed. "I need you to promise me-"

"Tell me about the photo first!" Erik snapped, causing Christine to flinch once again. He reined himself in. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to stay in control. I promised. Please, tell me, Christine," he said quietly.

Nodding, Christine opened her eyes as she licked her lips. They were in for a long evening.

"Well, everything began after the death of my mother—she died when I was six, as I've mentioned before, and I was told that she had been killed in a car accident. I later found out from Antoinette that she had actually died during a mission. She had been tortured by a then rival organization, and when she refused to divulge any information, they killed her… we didn't even have her body to bury—they had thrown her body into the sea, according to a spy the Organization and planted long ago. Her coffin is empty. We buried an empty coffin, and the fact that we couldn't even give her a proper burial broke my papa's heart," Christine said sadly. "That very day, I vowed that I would do anything to make my papa smile again."

Erik raised his brow, curious. "So you trained?"

Christine nodded. "Apparently I was the fifth in a line of prodigies. From what I understand, you were the third, and before me was-"

"Joseph Bouquet," Erik said flatly, remembering the thin young man.

"Correct. Well, since forever, Joseph was always Joe to me, and before my mother's death, when he wasn't training, he would be playing with Raoul and me (although, if you think about a nine year old boy playing with two four year olds, it was more like babysitting). About a year before my mother died, Joseph, reaching the age of ten, was sent to headquarters against his will in order to begin the more grueling process with kids who were at least five years older. That was the last time I would see him for ten years. The ten years following my mother's death, I trained hard. Since Antoinette had taken me in for the first three years after the funeral, I was taught personally with her daughter, Meg, which is how we've become so close. By the time I was ten, I was even a match for Antoinette herself, and so every year from then on, I was sent around the world to train with the best there were.

"Once Raoul caught up to my level, he became my sparring partner, and we grew close once again. After those nine years were up, I was sent back home to my father, who I hadn't seen in so long…I remember the first time he saw me, he called me by my mother's name, because I had grown to look so like her. He was proud of what I had accomplished, and offered to become my mentor and my instructor for the remainder of my training—this was a year before I was to become a fully-fledged assassin, and would receive my tattoo.

"When I found out that Joseph was also going to join our training sessions, I was elated. I was amazed at the man I saw, and I developed a crush. He was the older kid who watched out for me, and he had come back looking devastatingly handsome. Yet, he was the same Joe I had grown up with, and maybe it was just because I already felt so comfortable with him, but during that year of training, we fell in love. It was a young love, more like a year long summer romance that could have one day developed into something more. But for me, that was enough. He reminded me of a simpler time, before my mother had been killed…

"We would train together, walk together, we would do everything together. And when he kissed me, I would feel butterflies in my stomach. But then everything went horribly wrong."

Christine began to tremble once again, and Erik squeezed her hand in reassurance.

"I found out later from Antoinette that his training was a farce. My father had been assigned to watch over Joe because something was terribly wrong with him. I learned later that it was a condition called acute situational mania, or as we know it, bloodlust. It causes the mind to seek out and cause offensive provocation instead of defensive provocation, which is obviously the Organization's initiative. It boiled down to this: after the past five years, when he had reached his twenty-first birthday, Joe began to steadily develop this condition. You know how Antoinette says that everyone must have their one pillar of strength?" Erik shook his head in response—he had never heard about this before. "Well, for me, it's performing, for you it's composing, for my parents it was each other, and so on. Well, while he was isolated from his friends, Joe didn't have a pillar, or anything to turn to. He wasn't talented in anything else—just killing. And the amount of assignments we start off with… well the first kill on our sixteenth birthday alone could drive any of us mad. That is the reason why we have counselors at hand twenty-four hours a day.

"Sure, when I saw Joe, and when I was with him, he was his normal self. However, I also found out through research, that when he wasn't with me, he became violent. When he turned twenty-one, about a month before I turned sixteen, he approached my father. Joe, in his growing bloodlust, had taken out enough short-term assignments, that he could retire right then and there, get married and live a very comfortable life.

"There was just one problem: he wanted to marry me. He had tried to form me into his pillar, but by then it was too late. Looking back, I'm sure Antoinette and my father could have handled this better, but back then today's procedures hadn't been designed yet. He asked my father for his permission to marry me and my father, afraid of what he might turn into in the coming years, turned him down flat. Joe begged him, saying that he could save me from ever having to get my hands stained, that he would always make me happy above all else, but my father refused. He said that if Joe could persuade me by the end of the week to not go on my first assignment, then he would think about it, knowing that I was too stubborn to change. But Joe still tried. He tried to corner me by saying that if I loved him, and wanted to marry him, I would refuse the assignment. But who would want to get married at my age? I had been training my whole life in order to protect those I loved, and to make my father proud, and in saying no, I thought I was protecting Joe.

"But I was wrong. Joe disappeared and requested a transfer and also a few short-term assignments. But I didn't worry about him. I went on with my training, and on the night of my birthday, Antoinette took me to the Organization's tattoo artist, and I received both my rose and my mission. The client was a quick kill, and upon passing, I went home to celebrate with my father.

"However, when I arrived home, I couldn't find him. I finally found him in the basement, tied to a chair, with Joseph waiting for me to get home. He knocked me out, and when I regained consciousness, I was on the floor with my hands duct taped tightly together and my feet were spread apart and somehow pinned to the floor. My clothes were gone, and the only thing I could see was my dad, who smelled weird, crying, asking for me to forgive him. But I didn't understand why. Then Joe appeared wearing only a pair of jeans, standing next to my dad, holding a box of matches, demanding for my dad to sing me 'Happy Birthday'. He refused several times, despite being lightly tortured in front of my eyes, although the only screams that could be heard were my own. Finally listening to my pleas, papa relented. He stumbled a lot, I think he was barely conscious by then, but Joe was relentless, telling him to keep going. While my dad was still singing it, Joe had moved over to where I was splayed on the floor. My dad stopped singing as Joe started shouting at me, saying how all of this was my fault, how no one understood, and how much he loved me.

(***)

"T-then he made papa finish singing the rest of the birthday song, and while he was finishing, Joe, h-he took off his jeans. Papa…h-he stopped again, but Joe m-made him continue on, and when he finished singing—oh god! W-when he finished… he…." Christine had to stop, as she began sobbing, remembering that night, and almost feeling the flames on her face once again.

"He threw a match at papa's feet…and… oil…that was the smell… and flames were everywhere by the chair… and papa was… oh papa. His cries for help! And when he threw the match h-he…" Christine broke off again, this time unable to continue.

"Did he rape you, Christine?" Erik asked quietly, and sobbing, Christine nodded in response. Erik felt sick.

(***)

"At some point I went unconscious, and when I woke up, I was in the hospital. The flames hadn't touched me, but papa… Papa was still alive when they found him, but barely. He died before I gained consciousness with Antoinette watching over him.

"The day after that, Antoinette filed to adopt me… and ever since then I've been in therapy sessions to try and forget the past," Christine said sadly.

Erik pulled the young woman toward him, embracing her tightly—he wished that he would never have to let Christine go. "I'm so sorry I made you relive all of that, my love. If I had known-"

"But you didn't, Erik. But I need you to promise me that you won't-"

"We'll discuss that after this assignment, mon ange. Let's try and forget this evening after the opera ever happened. But Christine, when exactly is your birthday?"

Christine looked at the composer sadly. "December twenty-third, why?"

Erik felt his heart drop, as nausea began to overtake him. "December twenty-third was the night when Joseph Bouquet was assigned to show up as my second. He's the reason my life fell apart for almost two years."

Christine smiled softly. "Then we must have been meant to be. We, the Two Angels in the Night, must have been destined to come together."

Erik looked at her confused. "The 'Two Angels in the Night?'"

"Antoinette emailed me last night about the two of us becoming long-term partners if we stayed with the Organization. I thought that would have been a fitting name for the two of us, having gone to Hell and back," Christine explained.

Erik leaned back on the bed as Christine snuggled up to his chest, sleep beginning to claim the pair after such an emotionally draining day. "Two Angels, hmm? What a pair we are," Erik said, before dropping a kiss on top of Christine's curly brown hair, and falling into a dream filled sleep…

And in his dreams, he was killing Joseph Bouquet over and over again.

And it felt good.