Unseen Genius

by Kay Blue Eyes

A woman appears at the Opera determined to save the theater from the fiery fate she has seen in her dreams. But will her visions leave her at the mercy of the Opera Ghost or will she find an unexpected connection with an injured, masked man she finds deep

66. Into the Night

Hey all! Sorry this chapter took so long to get out to you. Terpsichore and I had some computer problems that delayed this update! (That and this chapter is about twice as long as normal!)

Thanks to all of the wonderful reviewers who responded for the last chapter! You guys inspired me to try and make this the best chapter ever! Oh and two very talented people did some fan art for the story over the last week. Silvin did a comic style drawing from the last chapter that just blew me away. And iluvmyphantom did a really beautiful pic of Brielle. If you want to check it out go to the following link.

http// img143 .imageshack .us /my .php ?image bri517 wp. jpg

(As usual take out the spaces. And just in case it won't show up there is an equal sign between image and Bri…enjoy!)

Oh and P.S. another big cliffhanger at the end of this chapter… but do keep in mind this is not the end yet! Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 66: Into the Night

One heartbeat of time passed. Two. Pulling himself out of the stunned stillness enveloping the room, Conner slowly looked down at the splash of red flushing brightly down the front of his jacket. Surprised by the growing sight of blood, the Irishman struggled to comprehend what had happened. He fired his gun… but I haven't been shot… I don't have time to be shot… I must be imagining…

Black, gauzy webs weaved themselves through his brain, making it difficult to process even the simplest thought through the shock. Seconds later, a bone-shattering coldness insidiously crept over his body, spreading like a bitter fog through his veins, freezing his every limb until he couldn't feel his extremities. Distantly he felt his fingers loosen from the trigger of the gun in his hand, until the weapon slid from his grip and bounced against the floor. The world tilted under his feet. Losing his balance, he sank boneless to the floor.

There is no pain, he thought dimly. Where is the pain? Raising a hand to press against the wound on his shoulder, he felt the warmth of his own blood washing through his fingers. A high feminine scream tore through the buzzing that was ringing through his ears, effectively shocking him out of his stunned sense of detachment. Chasing the ragged echoes of the shriek waves of burning agony suddenly blistered across his chest. Feeling suddenly faint, Conner squeezed his eyes tightly shut. A groan ripped from his throat as he heard someone take a few steps toward him. He should be concerned, he knew, but he couldn't seem to make his quickly weakening body respond to his alarm.

"Haha! Very physical indeed, my lord. Shall I finish him off for you or..." Beaumont's smooth French broke through the quiet of the room before being cut off in mid-sentence.

"Shut up, you idiot, and show a bit of discretion. I take no pleasure in the fact that he forced me to take action. This will make everything ten times more difficult!" Andrew huffed angrily, stuffing his pistol back inside the concealment of his jacket. "Do you realize that the entire ballroom could have just heard that shot? I have no idea how sound carries in this place. Blast it all, we could be set upon by a hundred people at any second!"

The sound of a lighter set of footsteps hurriedly rushed to Conner's side. Stirring at the noise, he managed to open his eyes in time to see his sister's ghostly pale figure drop to the floor next to him. Somehow the sight of her panic-stricken features was able to distract him from the fiery pain eating away at his left shoulder. God a-mighty, she looks as if I am about to die… No way in hell am I going to do that… there are too many other important things I have to do. I have to help Bri! I have to marry Meg! Get up, Conner… Do something! His foggy mind began to clear as a new wave of adrenaline washed through his system.

Looking stricken, Brielle leaned forward and pressed both her small hands against the wound in his shoulder, sparking off another wave of painful torment, but effectively slowing the amount of blood loss. Mumbling to herself, Brielle's snowy brows drew together into a fierce line of concentration, her fear-flattened eyes turning dark as wet slate. Gritting his teeth against another moan rising up the back of his throat, Conner attempted to offer up a smile, automatically feeling the need to ease the stark terror from Brielle's taut expression, but in the end the weak grin turned down into a grimace.

"Do not move, you dolt," she whispered hurriedly, a fine tremor beginning to work its way through her hands. "Do you want to bleed to death? You should have stayed hidden…"

"I couldn't stand it, to let you just be taken. Would hurt my… male pride," Conner rasped, surprised that his voice actually worked despite the searing pressure pushing against his lungs. "Leave me, Bri, and get away from here, or it would have been for nothing."

His sister opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off when Andrew strode forward and hastily dragged her backward by one arm. "Enough! We have to go now. Leave him to his fate. It is his own fault for holding a gun upon an English lord!" Andrew reasoned moodily as he hauled Brielle's struggling body across the smooth marble floor.

Grappling with her captor, her now bloody hands slipping ineffectively over Andrew's upper arms, Brielle let out a screech of protest. "He could bleed to death! Let me go!"

Leaning down to haul Brielle to her feet, both his arms wrapping about her small waist, Andrew ignored her pleas, turning his eyes instead to the man standing a few feet away from him. "It may take some time for him to bleed into unconsciousness. Make sure that he will not speak to anyone until then. It wouldn't do to leave a witness behind," Andrew ordered smoothly, his cool tone unaffected by the woman struggling within his arms.

"It would be my pleasure, my lord," Beaumont replied, stepping forward with a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes.

Throwing herself against the confines of Andrew's arms, Brielle clawed the air towards the assassin, trying to grab hold of him and slow his progress toward Conner. "Don't you touch him, you black-hearted bastard!" she screamed so loudly that Andrew was forced to place a hand over her mouth. Her eyes darted to Conner's, then away to skitter about the room, searching wildly for something to do. He could practically see the wheels inside her head spinning madly with her every thought.

Completely unconcerned by the desperate, muffled cries coming from behind him, Beaumont advanced to where Conner lay helpless upon the floor. Watching his own death casually walking towards him, Conner painfully stretched out his uninjured arm toward where his gun lay a few feet away. Without quickening his steps, Beaumont strolled forward, opening and closing his fists excitedly all the way. When he finally came up along side Conner's prone form, he casually placed his heel upon the redhead's outstretched hand. Crushing down with a twist of his foot, he practically grinned when Conner let out a pained howl.

Crouching down low, his heel still pressing down upon Conner's hand, Beaumont leveled his prey with a predatory gaze. "Time to go to sleep, monsieur."

With his heart racing within his chest and the bullet wound burning with his every breath, Conner kicked out a leg and knocked Beaumont off balance. "I don't think so, boyo," he snapped back, hating how weak his own words sounded in the air.

Just as Beaumont was righting himself, a murderous fury now burning brightly in his eyes, a surprised yelp issued from across the room. Momentarily distracting him from his attacker, Conner flashed a quick glance toward the sound just in time to see Brielle clamping her teeth even harder upon Andrew's hand. Screeching now in protest, Andrew struggled to pry her mouth off of him. Taking advantage of his loosened grip, Brielle released his hand. Spinning around quickly, she drew back her arm and ruthlessly smashed her palm into Andrew's perfect aristocratic nose.

Releasing her completely, the young lord covered his face with both hands, stumbling backwards as a river of blood poured down his chin. Without missing a beat, Brielle lashed out and kicked Andrew in the kneecaps, causing his shout to become a full-fledged bellow. Breathing hard now, her snowy hair hanging in loops about her face, Brielle picked up her skirts and took off running into the darkness, her pale figure standing out like a beacon in the shadows.

"If you want me then you will have to find me first!" she called mockingly over her shoulder, the slight tremor in her tone betraying the fear still pumping through her system.

Dropping his hands from his face, Andrew glared after her, his injured nose already swelling up to twice its normal size. Gesturing wildly, he began limping in the direction she had taken. "Forget about him and get after her!" he shouted, looking back at where Beaumont stood next to Conner.

Growling under his breath, Beaumont shot Conner a brief fuming scowl, that one look containing all the boiling darkness festering within the Frenchman's soul. Straightening fluidly, he left the bleeding man and shot off in a full-out run after Brielle, Andrew following with an awkward limp behind him. Feeling as if he had just escaped a dance with the devil, Conner let out the breath he hadn't been aware he had been holding, but his relief was short lived. All too soon a new, more tangible fear for Brielle's safety burst violently within him, momentarily even blocking out the pain burning in his chest. By the bloody saints, he looks a like a man… but he isn't. Beaumont would kill her without a qualm.

Struggling to get up and follow after the fleeing villains, Conner fell back to the floor when the world under his feet tilted sickeningly upon its axis. Cursing the weakness stealing through his body, Conner could only watch helplessly as Andrew and Beaumont disappeared around a far-off corner. And then a terrible thought floated to the forefront of his mind. She didn't run off because I told her to… to save herself. She ran to draw them away from me! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! And now all I can do is lay here and bleed. Curse of curses, may I be kicked far over the hills of Damnation!

"It is up to Erik now…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Skirting around the edge of the crowd in the main entranceway, Meg searched desperately for the man she had met earlier that night, the man she knew simply as Erik. Earlier she and Conner had been flirting outrageously on the outer edges of the party, when a nearby door had been flung open, offering them the brief but alarming view of Brielle struggling with a male attacker. At that point Conner had told her to go and find Erik as he ran off to begin the rescue himself, leaving her desperately worried about him as she tried to slog her way through hundreds of half-drunk partygoers.

"Excuse me please. Excuse me," she practically chanted as she moved through the crowd, her naturally polite nature still coming through despite the tension building within her abdomen. A bead of sweat dripped down her temple behind her mask, making the uncomfortably stuffy attire even more unbearable.

I have to get help. I have to get help before Conner gets himself killed! I… I don't have time for this! Reaching up to tear her mask from her heat-flushed cheeks, Meg tossed the thing onto the ground without a backward glance. Screwing a look of fierce determination upon her face, Meg pushed forward. Shoving her way through the middle of groups, she used her dance-strengthened legs to make a quick line directly across the floor to where she had last seen Brielle and Erik. Bursting out of the crowd near the refreshment table, Meg hurriedly scanned the people nearby, finding it difficult to locate a man whose face she had only ever seen masked. In the end her panic drove her to step up onto a nearby chair for a better vantage point.

Spotting Erik almost immediately, pinning another man against the wall several yards away, Meg gracefully hopped off the chair and took off in a run towards him. "Erik! Erik!" she shouted, trying and failing to project her voice over the music. Expertly avoiding the wandering hands of several intoxicated gentlemen, Meg drew closer to her target. Breathing a little harder from her exertions, and the annoying weight of her heavy skirts, she opened her mouth and shouted his name again.

Having just let the other man go, Erik finally heard his name being called. Turning his head toward her, his porcelain blue eyes watched with veiled curiosity as she came up alongside him. "Mademoiselle Giry?" he said slowly, taking in her rumpled appearance with a quickly growing frown. "What is the matter?"

Staring up at him as she tried to catch her breath, Meg suddenly got the disorienting feeling that she had seen this man somewhere before, known him before Brielle had introduced him. Trying to shake off the shiver which chose that moment to chill her skin, Meg straightened to her full height. "Brielle is in some sort of trouble. Conner and I were on the other side of the ballroom and we saw her struggling with some man. Conner has already gone off to help, but he told me to find you!"

The expression in his eyes changed so quickly from mild concern to a black murderous rage that Meg nearly took a cautious step backward. Never in her life had she seen such intense darkness in a man's eyes. In that moment she was sure that she was standing in front of someone who had taken another's life. Who is this man? Not one of the stagehands like I thought earlier… people who look like that would not be hired here.

"Where did you see her?" he demanded simply, fear clouding his voice with every word.

Turning to point in the right direction, Meg had the strange sensation that everything would be all right. Despite the tide of fury flowing from his every fiber something about the fear she saw in his gaze settled her growing suspicions. This man, whoever he might really be under that mask, wouldn't allow anything truly bad to happen to her friend. Or so she hoped. I am just being dramatic… of course he hasn't killed anyone. "Behind a side door to the left of the main staircase. In the hallway they blocked off for the party."

Erik nodded and made to sweep off into the crowd but Meg reached out to stop him. "The man we saw. He wasn't Lord Donovan. I saw his face. He was someone I had never seen before."

"Then it is his misfortune to have stumbled into this place," he snarled low in his throat.

Shaking off her hand, he turned and stalked into the crowd. Startled by how quickly he melted into chaotic swirl of partygoers, Meg hesitated a moment before following in his wake. Though she was only seconds behind the masked man, Meg found that he had disappeared completely, his movements as silent and ephemeral as a ghost. Shaking her head in dismay, Meg spotted an odd shifting of the crowd up ahead of her. It looks as if they are moving out of the way for something… or someone! Barreling in that direction, without any of the finesse Erik so easily employed, Meg doggedly followed him. She caught up to him just as he was about to disappear through a side door.

"Wait! You cannot mean to do this alone! Should we not call for more help? I know that several of the stagehands keep pistols in their rooms."

"No! Pistols would be far too kind an end!" he shot out over his shoulder, his voice cracking like a whip through the air.

The finality in those words startled Meg, but before she could react, Erik had turned those heated eyes back to her. Feeling like a fly pinned to an examination board she froze under his gaze. "But… I may… need your help," he growled reluctantly, obviously unused to such a statement.

"Anything I can do," Meg promised vehemently, her golden curls bouncing with the force of her words.

Shifting his weight in impatience, Erik nodded. "Stay in here and make sure no one comes backstage. They will only get in my way."

Disappointed with the role he was assigning her, Meg glared at him. "I won't allow you to go into this alone! One man cannot go up against unknown odds. Brielle's life may depend on what we all do."

"I will not argue with you," Erik snapped. "Stay here or risk putting yourself in danger! I cannot guarantee your safety otherwise! And I know she would certainly murder me if you should accidentally die!" And with that he turned on his heel and practically faded into the darkness beyond the door.

Left fuming over this man's obviously huge ego, Meg didn't even notice when Carlotta broke out of the crowd and stepped up behind her. "Who waz dat man!" the diva demanded shrilly.

Jumping in reaction to the unexpected question, Meg swung around to look up at the pale-faced singer. "Which man?" she hedged.

"De one I just saw you speaking with!" Carlotta snapped, her dragon mask adding to the ferocity of her tone.

Not wanting to waste any time, Meg gave a dismissive shrug of her shoulders. "Oh, he is just one of Brielle's friends… but I really don't have that much time to talk right now, so I should be going."

Reaching out to latch a hand about Meg's arm, Carlotta prevented the dancer from leaving. "Whatever you do. Never speak to dat man again! And tell Brielle to do de same. He is dangerous… more dangerous dan you may realize!"

Trying to pry the singer's fingers from her arm, Meg stopped when she picked up on the genuine fear in Carlotta's dark eyes. "What are you talking about? He isn't dangerous… He is Brielle's friend and is on his way to help her right now."

"The only assistance dat man can offer is in a quick death. Really he is not a man at all. I would recognize those eyes anywhere… they are the eyes of de Phantom! What trouble is Brielle in dat she has come into contact with such a beast!"

Stunned by Carlotta's claim, Meg could only gape up at the taller woman with her mouth hanging open. "The Opera Ghost? You are saying that Erik is the Opera Ghost?"

"Yes!" Carlotta barked impatiently, panic beginning to seep into her voice, thickening her accent almost beyond recognition. "We must do someting. He cannot be allowed to run free in de building. He is a criminal… a murderer! Oh my God! Call de police! He will kill me if he sees me because I know who he is!"

Feeling just some of Carlotta's growing hysteria leak into her own unease, Meg's heart began to bang wildly within her chest. She isn't making this up. I have never seen her so afraid. I knew that he was different… I felt it… I saw it in his eyes. How in the world did Brielle get involved with him? Why would Conner think to ask HIM for help? I have to do something! But I cannot inform the police… not yet… Not before he helps Brielle. And she does need all the help she can get… no matter the source. Resolute in her hasty decision, Meg's expression lost some of its pale worry, her eyes hardening as she contemplated using a madman in her quest to save her friend. Grabbing hold of Carlotta's arm, she dragged the singer through the open door behind her and out of the main party area.

"Shh! Not so loud!" Meg hissed urgently. "There is something you must know."

Struggling with Meg, Carlotta shook her head violently. "No! No! You do not understand!" the singer practically screamed.

Raising a hand, Meg slapped it across Carlotta's face, snapping the older woman out of her growing panic and into a stunned silence. "Brielle is in trouble and I am going to need your help. Can I rely on you? Can I trust you with what I am about to tell you?"

Sniffing against the tears gathering in her eyes, Carlotta stood perfectly still for a moment, paralyzed with her own fear. Then slowly the hunted, trapped edge to her expression faded. "You say Brielle is in trouble?"

"Yes."

Blinking rapidly, the singer took a shaky breath. "Den tell me how to help."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Opening his eyes cautiously, Father Thomas stared blankly at the inside of his own hand. Pain, like nothing he had ever felt before, thrummed through his head, pounding within his cranium until he was sure he would die. Shifting slightly, he noticed dully that the underside of his palm was spotted with bright red drops and so was the floor. Wondering where he was and why his head hurt, Father Thomas slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, his broken glasses hanging precariously by one ear before falling to the ground with a tinkle of shattered glass. Raising a hand to press against the ache sharpening at the base of his skull, he winced when his fingers came back covered in blood. His mouth fell open in surprise at the sight and at the memories that came washing through his mind. I came here… I know I brought Aria with me, but then I was going to leave… and now I wake up on the floor. My God! He must have hit me and taken the child.

Fighting to get to his feet despite the protest of his rolling stomach, the priest crawled to a nearby pillar and pulled himself upright. I have been such a fool. I trusted him to be a good person because he once helped me. He used that trust… used my love for my sister in order to slowly lead me down his path of deception… What evil have I stumbled into? What evil did I almost willingly deliver that poor child into? I have to get her back… May I burn in hell forever if I don't! Sweating heavily, Father Thomas stumbled to the wall, using its support as he made his way out of the cramped backstage room. I have to get her back…

Moving almost blindly out into the hall, he blinked blurredly at his now unfamiliar surroundings. He had never tried to traverse the Opera House without his glasses before. Disoriented and in pain, Father Thomas hesitated slightly before pushing himself onward. His purpose was clear, his will resolute. So through his blindness, through the skull-splitting agony beating incessantly into his head, he forced himself to push away from the wall and begin to run. Tripping over loose floorboards and old set pieces he ran. I have to get her back… have to make it right.

Rounding a corner, Father Thomas ran smack into two people running the opposite direction. Falling heavily to the floor he gasped at the jarring of his head, bolts of searing agony nearly causing him to lose consciousness. "Father, you scared me…" he heard someone say distantly. Lying perfectly still on the ground, he couldn't quite find his voice to reply.

"Oh my God, what happened to you!" the voice suddenly gasped after noticing his disheveled state.

Opening his eyes he was able to just make out two female silhouettes, one with pale hair and one with dark, bending over him. Thinking he recognized the girl who spoke as Meg Giry, Father Thomas felt a slight shimmer of relief ease through him. Meg and Brielle are friends… surely she can help. "Mademoiselle Giry, listen very carefully. Something terrible has happened." He could see Meg looking away in impatient distraction, so he hurried on before she could leave. "Andrew Donovan is in this building and he has taken Aria! You have to go and tell Brielle before it is too late."

"What?" Meg stammered in horror. "He has her too!"

Confused, Father Thomas squinted at her, trying to read her blurry expression. "What do you mean 'he has her too'?"

"I think he has Brielle as well. I saw a wicked-looking man fighting with her earlier. Carlotta and I were just on our way to help her… but now you say he already has Aria! How in the world did that happen?"

A razor-edged blade of guilt buried itself into his heart at the reminder of what he had done. Finding it suddenly hard to breathe, he felt his eyes begin to fill with agonized tears of remorse. "It is my fault that he has the child," he admitted brokenly, his conscience demanding the confession. "He has been my family's benefactor for many years, and so when he asked me to help him I foolishly did. It was not until today that I realized his true character and refused to allow him to take Aria. But I wasn't able to put up much of a fight. He hit me over the back of the head… I fear he has gone completely mad! I was just on my way to getting Aria back when I ran into you."

His admission was met with a stony silence that left him chilled. The dark-haired woman took a step forward with a blistering curse. "You are an idiot!" Carlotta shouted, putting her operatic vocal chords to full use.

Cringing from the blast of sound, and the rhythmic pounding that followed in his head, Father Thomas lowered his eyes to the ground in shame. "Yes…"

Reaching out to jerk Carlotta away from where the priest sat upon the floor, Meg tried for some level of calm. "There is no time for that!"

"But from what you tell me of dis Andrew he is a crazy man and dis priest has let him kidnap Brielle's little girl! We should strangle de useless lout!"

"No, there is no time!" Meg insisted. "And besides, you can tell he is telling us the truth. He was deceived and is trying to make up for it now. We need all the help we can get."

Calming slightly at Meg's reasoning, the diva shot Father Thomas one last chilly gaze. "You are lucky den… tonight we are using everyone's help. No matter who dey are."

Reaching out a hand, Meg grabbed hold of one of Father Thomas's arms. "Come on, then. Try to stand."

Gaining his feet by sheer force of will, the pale-faced priest ignored the rebellious rolling in his stomach. "What are we going to do now? Do you know where to find them?"

Meg's tawny eyes narrowed ever so slightly in thought, her expression uncharacteristically calculating and hard. "No, but I know one man who will no doubt soon know that information. All we have to do is gather some help and spread out. Then when he finds them we can take over."

Nodding her head in agreement, but with a great deal more nervousness, Carlotta crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, and den we call the police so dey can take the man away. Just like you told me before, Giry, on de way over here… He has to go to jail."

Perplexed that these ladies were speaking of both using a man's help and then jailing him, Father Thomas winced and raised a hand to the bump at the back of his head. "Who is this man?"

"The Phantom of the Opera…" Meg replied casually as she set off down the hallway with a determined gait.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Careening through the relative quiet of the backstage, Brielle hiked her skirts up past her knees, the rhythmic pounding of her footsteps and the rasp of her labored breathing echoing overly loud against the vaulted ceilings. Cursing the elaborate skirts of the gown she had only an hour ago praised, she dared to toss a quick look over her shoulder, searching for pursuers. Seeing nothing but looming shadows behind her, she purposely slowed her pace.

Her beleaguered heart practically burst at the seams with fear as she waited for either Andrew or Beaumont to show their faces. On the edge of panic, Brielle fought the urge to continue her flight. If she ran now, and lost them quickly, they may return to where Conner still lay helpless. Despite the horror of another impending capture, she would not allow Conner to be murdered. Even though he was seriously hurt and bleeding, at least he had a chance of getting medical attention now.

Starting at a sound, Brielle jumped back into motion, running haphazardly down another hallway without any clear idea where she was going. In her initial panicked flight, she hadn't had the sense to map where she was and was now completely lost. Her hope of actually escaping began to diminish with each step she took, only becoming further lost in the twisting corridors of the back halls. With a despairing sob, she dodged around some old Romanesque columns. I cannot run much longer. Soon they are going to find me… I have to let them find me… it is the only way to know where they have hidden Aria.

Losing herself in the forest of plaster pillars, she crouched down low, hoping the white of her dress would blend in with the white of the set pieces and give her a few moments to think. Wrapping her arms around the nearest column to anchor the whirlwind of her mind, she leaned a burning cheek against the cool faux marble. I will not cry… I will not cry…

Erik where are you?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Choking back on a moan, Conner lay in the darkness, too weak to shift himself into a more comfortable position, only the chaotic mixture of anger and fear working to keep him awake now. Furious with himself, he realized that in the end Brielle had done all the rescuing and not the other way around. Cursing bitterly, he tried to blink away the cobwebs pulling over his vision. Do not pass out… For the love of God do not pass out…

Through the haze of his own self loathing the distant sound of approaching footsteps reached him. Thinking that either Beaumont or Andrew had decided to come back and finish him off, Conner gathered what strength he had left and dragged himself toward where his gun still lay several feet away. Managing to grab hold of it awkwardly, juggling it between his heel-crushed fingers and his half useless left arm, Conner was able to level it toward where the sound was coming from. Tightening his finger against the trigger, he very nearly had a heart attack when Meg came careening around the corner with Carlotta and Father Thomas on her heels.

Lowering the gun with a relieved breath, the redhead felt a wave of powerful fatigue pulling his eyelids shut. There was a distant gasp and a rush of feet before Conner was able to force his eyes to open again. He watched all expression bleed out of Meg's face as she gaped across the room at him. Trying to shift his body to cover the dark smears of blood marring the floor, Conner grimaced silently. God… it had to be her to come, didn't it? And see me in this bloody mess… please don't let her cry… please don't let her…

Rushing across the room with a choked scream, Meg skidded to a halt next to him. Her eyes went round with horror as she hurriedly surveyed his poor condition. Conner's worst fear played itself out as two fat tears splashed down her beautiful face. Weakly waving a bloody hand, the Irishman attempted to calm her. "Don't be doing that, lass. I look worse than I feel," he lied.

Dropping to the floor next to him, panic flickering brightly over her features, Meg reached out to touch him, drawing her hands hastily back when he grimaced in pain. "You have been shot!"

"Yes, I am aware of that."

"Do not try to be funny now!" she cried, hysteria edging into her voice. "Who did this to you?" Before Conner could answer Meg filled in the blanks for him. "Andrew Donovan did this, didn't he? I knew it was a bad idea for you to go by yourself. You should have waited for help, you stupid man!"

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Conner reached out and gingerly took Meg's hand in his. "They have Bri… and they said they have Aria too," he said gravely, determined to impart what information he could while he still had his wits about him. "I do not know how long ago they left… Brielle ran off… leading them away… I have sort of been in and out since then… but maybe that was twenty minutes ago… you can still catch them if you try."

Looking over her shoulder at Carlotta and Father Thomas, Meg squeezed his hand gently. "Do either of you know anything about doctoring? He is getting worse!"

Shaking her head, Carlotta held a hand over her mouth, looking ready to faint at any moment, her eyes morbidly glued to the blood on the floor. "No, I know noting. What do we do?"

His face ashen, Father Thomas took a step forward. With one hand pressed to the back of his head, he carefully lowered to his knees, squinting at Conner with unfocused eyes. "When I was younger I had some experience with gun wounds," the priest said somberly, bad memories darkening his expression. After a moment of tense silence, Father Thomas let out a long breath. "From what I can tell there is good news."

"What!"

"He is still alive, which means that the bullet must have missed his heart and lungs. If it hadn't, he would have been dead by now." Meg went deathly white at the news.

Leaning forward, Father Thomas unbuttoned Conner's jacket and tore open the redhead's shirt, exposing the deceptively small wound underneath. "The bleeding has mostly stopped by now… that is good…and it seems the bullet went all the way through… also good. He needs a doctor though… he has lost a lot of blood."

More tears tracked down Meg's face as she listened to the priest's crude diagnosis. Hating the sight of her grief, Conner raised their clasped hands to his lips. "Come now lass… what have you got to be crying about?"

"I do not want you to die," she whispered brokenly.

"Ack now, no one is going to die. Besides… I would think you would be happy today."

Sniffing, Meg glared at him through her tears. "Have you lost your mind? Why would I be happy?"

Fighting off the fog wrapping around his mind, Conner managed to flash a brilliant grin. "Because today is the day I ask you to be my wife, lass."

Shocked into stillness, Meg gaped down at him with her mouth hanging open. "W-What?"

"Marry me?" he repeated slowly, as if speaking to an unruly child.

"Do not tease me now, Conner! This is no time to be joking around. Everything is falling apart all around us! Brielle and Aria are who knows where… you are shot! Crazy men are running around with guns!"

Moaning deliberately now, Conner closed his eyes. "Oh, I am feeling faint… I do not know how much longer I can stay awake."

A flash of panic stiffened Meg's expression and her grip upon his hand tightened. "Shh, stop talking. Save your strength!"

"Marry me, say you will, Meg…"

"All right… all right…" she conceded hastily. "If I say yes will you lay back and rest?"

Feeling strangely lighter, stronger, Conner turned his attention to Father Thomas. "You heard her say yes, Father. If she tries to take it back later you can make her stick to her word."

Looking baffled, Father Thomas got stiffly to his feet. "Yes, my son… of course?"

"He is not as sick as I thought before…" Carlotta mumbled under her breath.

Seeing Meg's eyes narrowing down at him, Conner cleared his throat. "Well, now that that is taken care of, I feel a great deal better. So I think it is time to get back to more serious business."

Still studying him carefully, Meg nodded, allowing the conversation to be led back to the trouble at hand, for now. "I am going to stay here with Conner. Father Thomas, do you think you can go and get a doctor?"

"Yes, I will go as quickly as I can."

"Who will go to tell everyone about dat Andrew man den? Dere is no one left." Carlotta asked with a frown.

Without missing a beat, Meg fixed the older woman with a stern expression. "You will have to do it, Carlotta. I cannot leave Conner right now… And Father Thomas would not be able to see Andrew in order to hide from him. You are the only one who can. You are going to have to get help for Brielle."

"No… no I cannot do dat! Not on my own," the diva gasped, looking back and forth between Father Thomas and Meg. "I need someone to come wit me… I am… I am not brave like you… I cannot do it."

"You are the only one left. You have to."

Making a frightened high-pitched sound in the back of her throat, Carlotta wrung her hands in front of her. It was obvious to everyone in the room that what Meg said was true, it was the only way, but it was also obvious that Carlotta wanted nothing to do with the new plan. Muttering to herself in Italian, the diva paced back and forth across the floor. "I can say no… I can say no… I do not have to risk my life."

"Brielle is your friend," Meg reminded the panicking woman. "It is the only way to save everyone."

Shaking slightly, Carlotta nodded. "Yes, she was nice to me… when everyone else was mean. She is my friend." Her shoulders slumping, Carlotta stared at the ground for several moments, then, taking a breath, she raised her chin with all her usual arrogance, gathering her ego about her to buffer against the fear. "Fine," she snapped. "I will be de one to do it. But I get dat gun on the floor." Without waiting for permission, the diva bent and snatched Conner's pistol off the floor. "And don't tink I was scared to do it because I wasn't. I just don't like you bossing me, Giry. I will go now."

"Remember what I told you before. That you should go and get…"

Cutting her off dramatically, Carlotta sniffed at Meg's reminder. "I remember everyting of de plan. I go and get de help and den we find Brielle and de child. I can do it… and I will do it much better dan any of you could!" With that parting shot, Carlotta swept off, leaving everyone else behind to fend for themselves.

Watching her go, Conner couldn't help but notice that the further away the diva got from them the less sure her steps became. "I think you should go with her, Meg. Is it really wise to rely only on her?"

As Father Thomas gave a farewell wave and stumbled off to go and rouse the Opera's in-house doctor, Meg pursed her lips into a frown. "I am not leaving you unprotected while the Father is getting the doctor. She can do it. She will have to."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Moving silently through the darkness he had spent most of his life navigating, Erik made no effort to rein in the rage ripping through his entire body. The cleansing white hot heat of the fury burned away every superfluous thought and worry, leaving behind cool reason and calculation. He could think clearly, wrapped as he was in the protection of this one burning emotion. He thought as the Phantom would, for it was the Phantom, not Erik, who was the dark ruler of this underground kingdom. It was the Phantom who had the power to face down two armed men and come out the victor.

Racing up yet another flight of hidden stairs, Erik barely felt the hard stone under his feet, his blood bubbling with so much adrenaline he felt as if he could fly. Returning from a record-breaking dash to the lower cellars, he absently checked the deadly length of cured leather hidden up his sleeve, comforted by the all-too-familiar weight of the unusual weapon. He had not carried the Punjab lasso in over a year, and yet he knew with a certainty that should have concerned him, that killing with it would be terrifyingly easy. No, not just easy, killing Andrew would be a pleasure.

Since the night Brielle had awoken from her prophetic nightmare, he had been planning for this moment, hoping all the while that he would never need to implement any of it, never need to return to the dark places in his mind where the Phantom lurked. Thinking of Brielle now, of his regrets, tiny puncture holes poked through the blanketing fog of his anger. Andrew might not hurt her… but if she fights him I do not think his control will hold. It took me twenty minutes to run downstairs and back… if things went badly… if Conner did not stop them… he could have killed her by now.

Shaking his head to clear it of the icy spikes of fear stabbing through him, Erik slowed his pace as he came closer to the upper floors. Do not think of Brielle right now… she is fine… She is smart. She can outwit him… She is strong. She can fight him… Do not think of her being hurt right now. Think of the plan.

Calmed once again with thoughts of violence, Erik mentally checked off everything he had done in the last twenty minutes. Both on the way down to his subterranean chambers and back up to the surface, he had quickly reengaged every torture device within the cellars. The water trap was set, the deadly room of mirrors was slowly heating up to maddening levels, and every lasso, every small explosive device was poised for a passing victim. He was ready to commit murder.

Flipping up the hood of his cape to disguise the telltale white of the half-mask he once again wore, Erik slipped out of a secret door and into the world above. Step one… find Andrew and the man he brought with him. Stalking along the ground floor of the backstage, he tuned his senses to his surroundings, cataloging every sound, every sight for signs of a disturbance. Searching for the one clue that would tell him where the intruders had been, and more importantly, where they were going.

It took seconds for his finely tuned ears to pick up on the almost imperceptible sound of hurried uneven footsteps. Zeroing in upon the noise, Erik melted backward into the shadows. Moving with a predatory stealth, he glided through the murky half light until he was feet away from the as yet unidentified person, safely hidden behind a discarded dressing screen. Holding his breath he waited for the man to pass him by, watching the limping figure with murderous intent. He recognized the man almost instantly. It was Andrew who now stood mere feet away from him. It was obvious from his awkward gait and the blood on his face that he was already injured. And he was alone. Perfect…

As if feeling Erik's eyes upon him, Andrew stopped in mid-limp and drew a gun out of his coat pocket. Turning in a slow, wary circle, the lord surveyed his surroundings. "Brielle…" he coaxed. "Come on out now. Do not worry… I forgive you for lashing out. I understand you are frightened. Come out now and I promise I will not be angry with you."

Erik was on the verge of stepping out to meet the man, his lips peeling back from his teeth as the anger within him was replaced with black, roiling hatred, when a tiny voice of caution spoke within his head. Wait a moment before striking… think… where is the other man? As if on cue, a stranger rounded a nearby corner and strode purposefully toward Andrew, his unremarkable features unable to hide the slow rolling gait of a killer.

Lowering his gun with an irritated sigh, Andrew relaxed. "Beaumont, where the hell have you been?"

"Forgive me, my lord," the Frenchman replied, without any real regret tainting his voice. "Your limp slows you down and I lost track of you while I was trying to find the woman."

"And did you find her?"

"No, unfortunately she must know the layout better than us, for she has found herself a good hiding place and has gone to ground. The good news is that I know a way to draw her out again, but I must be quick about it. Do I have your permission to leave you here for a few minutes?" Beaumont asked with sarcastic civility.

"Yes, that will be fine. I have my gun… there is no need to worry."

"Very good, sir." Turning quickly, Beaumont strolled off down the hallway, once again leaving Andrew alone.

Erik allowed a few minutes to pass, insuring that the Frenchman was indeed gone, before he eased backward and slipped behind a tall stack of prop boxes. Raising a hand to cup around his mouth, the masked man allowed a mean smile to flicker across his face. He was about to have a great deal of fun. Projecting his voice so that it appeared to originate out of thin air in the middle of the room, Erik let out a burst of maniacal laughter, startling Andrew so badly that the man practically jumped out of his boots.

The seemingly inhuman laughter continued as Andrew whirled around and fired off two panicked shots in the direction he thought the sound was coming. Erik allowed his voice to taper off into a high-itched howl but he was far from done with the now terrified English lord. Andrew would suffer before he died. Drawing two small bags out of his jacket's inner pocket, Erik casually heaved the small missiles over the stack of boxes. Landing at Andrew's feet, the bags instantly exploded with two deafening booms and blinding flashes of light.

Stumbling backward with a shriek, Andrew tripped over a coil of rope and fell to the floor. "Stop it, John! You are dead. I will not allow you to stop me!"

Pausing with two more bags in his hands, Erik frowned. Does he actually think that his dead brother is doing this? The man must have truly gone mad. Emboldened by this revelation, the masked man raised his hand to his mouth again. Dipping his voice into a low rasp, he did his best to impersonate the same cultured English that he had heard Andrew use many times.

"Brother… your deeds will no longer be tolerated… you will not leave this place alive. Look well upon your surroundings, for this shall be your tomb!"

Bleaching deathly white, Andrew climbed shakily to his feet, terror glinting in the darkness of his eyes. Waving his gun in the air before him, the young lord slowly backed his way towards one of the connecting corridors. "What can a ghost do to the living?" he called in a thin showing of bravado.

Laughing again in a loud blooming cackle, Erik changed positions to where a pile of empty barrels was tied against the wall. Casually placing his foot against a supporting wooden pin, Erik gave the thing a firm kick. Springing free of its stay, the pin shot out, jarring the entire mountain into motion. Tumbling to the floor with a roar, the barrels bounced wildly across the floor, crashing into set pieces with disastrous effect and bursting apart when they struck the wall.

Gaping at the supposedly supernatural effect, Andrew whirled upon his heel and sprinted off down the hallway. Smirking grimly, Erik quickly followed. Hounding the young lord from the shadows, the masked man managed to scare two more bullets out of Andrew's gun. Reveling in the other man's tortured panic, Erik steered his prey down a very specific path.

Running obediently according to Erik's silent plan, Andrew soon found himself plastered flat against a dead end. "John… John… by all that is Holy, cease this torment! I am your brother!" Andrew pleaded, his eyes darting for an escape route.

Stepping casually out of concealment, Erik allowed Andrew a glimpse of his shadowed form, wanting very much for the other man to know who it really was who held his life in his hands. Pulling the hood away from his face, Erik met Andrew's bewildered expression with black disdain. Just as understanding and rage flickered across Andrew's handsome features, Erik turned and pulled a wall sconce downward. Behind the wall a series of levers and pulleys jolted into action, swinging open the trapdoor right under Andrew's feet without a sound. With a garbled scream the young lord fell out of sight and into the torture chamber beneath.

Pushing the wall sconce back into place, Erik watched the trapdoor reseal itself. He had led Andrew to a small octagonally shaped room lined entirely with mirrors. The genius design allowed for maximum heat conduction without offering any sort of ventilation. The air within could reach temperatures exceeding one hundred and twenty degrees, killing the occupant within slowly and painfully. Turning, he unhurriedly walked back down the hallway and on to his next victim.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Afraid to move from her hiding place, Brielle had remained firmly ensconced among the tall set pieces. She was terrified of what lay ahead of her, for she knew that in order to find her daughter, she had to face the very man who had so easily murdered his own brother, her husband, all those years ago, and who had kept her captive within his house months ago. Working up the courage to do so was taking longer than she had hoped. All right… you have to move sometime. This is not just about you. He can make off with Aria and you may never see her again. MOVE!

Climbing to her feet, Brielle nearly jumped out of her skin when a series of gunshots echoed down the hallway. Frozen in mid-action, she turned her head toward the sound, her stomach tying itself up into terrified knots as she listened to the silence that followed. Please Lord… please do not allow anyone else I love be hurt.

Forcing herself back into motion, Brielle paused again when the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears. Ducking down, she hid herself as the figure of a man dragging a burlap sack rounded a nearby corner. Recognizing the face of the killer whom Andrew had hired, Brielle held her breath to keep herself from giving away her position. Keep walking… do not see me… just keep walking. As Beaumont passed by her, Brielle noticed something rather odd about the bag he was roughly dragging behind him. The bag bucked and ripped in movements separate from the motions caused by the Frenchman's handling. With a gasp Brielle realized that there was something alive within the confines of that sack.

Stopping in the middle of the room, Beaumont tilted his head to the side with a smile. Turning slowly, he glanced about the room with predatory eyes. Though Brielle was sure he didn't see her yet he most surely had heard the noise she had just made. "We meet again, Madame. I would like to take a moment to invite you to come out of hiding in a civilized manner." Pausing there, Beaumont waited a beat before continuing. "Fine. Then I will use other means to get you out."

Bending over to reach for the bag at his feet, Beaumont did not see the shadowed figures moving above his head on the balconied floor above them. Before he could open the bag's drawstrings, a sandbag seemingly loosed itself, dropping down with lightning speed to strike him in the back. Falling to the ground with a surprised grunt, the assassin was momentarily stunned into stillness. Leaping down from the story above, two stony-faced stagehands fell upon Beaumont with their fists, punching him mercilessly wherever they could reach him. Fighting back with the practiced ferocity of a trained killer, Beaumont knocked one man backward with a well placed kick to the head. Seeing his partner's blood splattering onto the floor the uninjured man let out an ear-splitting shout for help.

A loud shout issued from down the hall in a guttural battle cry in response to the cry, heralding the arrival of a small crowd of people led, strangely enough, by Carlotta and Madame Giry. Two more men, one Brielle recognized as James Turner, entered the battle with Beaumont, trying to tackle the Frenchman into submission. Standing on the sidelines, Carlotta jumped up and down, pumping her fists in the air and shouting encouragement. Watching the scene next to the diva, Madame Giry merely stood sedately as the stagehands worked to best Beaumont. Quickly losing patience, the older woman frowned as Beaumont was able to severely bloody two more men. Carrying her usual hefty cane, the dance mistress finally waded into the chaos surrounding Beaumont and managed to crack the Frenchman over the head with a deft swing. Stilling on the floor, the assassin didn't put up a fight as several more punches pounded into his flesh.

"All right… all right. Don't kill him yet!" Madame Giry commanded, poking the two now bloodied stagehands with her cane. "He is to go to the police, along with the Donovan fellow as soon as we find him. Good job everyone!" A cheer went up at her words and the men all took a step back from the man lying on the floor.

Clapping her hands, her cheeks stained a bright red, Carlotta strode forward excitedly. "Very good! When he wakes up we can question him." Bestowing all the bruised and sweaty men around her with a charming smile, Carlotta came to stand next to Madame Giry. "Tank you all for helping! You are all heroes!" Her eyes lingering on Mr. Turner a bit longer than the rest, Carlotta's smile turned into an appreciative perusal.

"You were very brave Monsieur Turner," she said, her expression brighter than anything Brielle had ever seen before.

Looking as if he didn't know what to say to that, the tenor ducked his head and rubbed at the bruise now darkening his cheek. "How could I do anything else? It is my pleasure to help a beautiful woman in need."

Rolling her eyes, Madame Giry fixed both singers with a withering glance. "There is no time for your silliness. This is serious business. Carlotta, you said there were two men we needed to find. So we must be on the lookout for the other one. We were lucky to hear those gunshots… otherwise we would still be on the other side of the theater. Obviously it was not this man doing the shooting since he does not have a gun… so we must assume that it was the other one." Pointing at the two men who had rappelled down from the floor above to take Beaumont by surprise, Madame Giry ordered them to go off and tell the other lookouts that one man was captured.

As the two young men ran off to do her bidding, the dance mistress moved to a pile of rope. "Do you think this will work in tying this scoundrel up?"

Seeing that she would be safe at last, Brielle stood from her hiding place and moved out from behind the columns on shaky legs. Thank God! Thank God! Turner and the one remaining stagehand turned toward her, ready for another fight, but as soon as they recognized her they relaxed and smiled. Barely able to walk under the weight of her relief, Brielle leaned against the wall weakly, tears of happiness filling her eyes.

Spotting her, Carlotta let out a loud gasp and rushed to her side. "You are all right! We have been so worried and have been looking everywhere!" Spreading her arms wide, the diva captured Brielle in an enthusiastic hug.

Finding herself wrapped in Carlotta's excited embrace, Brielle clung to the older woman, needing a moment to prove to herself that this wasn't a dream, that she really was saved. "Conner… my brother… he was hurt…" she managed to mumble around the lump gathering in her throat.

Pulling back, Carlotta nodded. "Oh, he should be fine. De priest went to get a doctor…" Tilting her chin up proudly, she paused dramatically. "But I was sent on my own to get help for you! So when you see Meg you tell her how good I did, yes! I thought dat at any moment de Phantom was sure to kill me but I did it anyway!"

At Carlotta's last words Brielle's smile slowly faded from her face. "The Phantom?"

"Yes… I saw him," she replied, a note of bitterness entering her tone. Frowning, Carlotta looked at Brielle searchingly and lowered her voice. "And I want to know why Meg says he might help you… how do you know him?"

Not knowing how to reply, Brielle lowered her eyes to the ground. Erik killed the lead tenor last year… the man that I know Carlotta loved. What can I say to her? Distracted from her musings, she saw a slight movement out of the corner of her vision. Turning her head in time to see Beaumont slide a small knife out of his pocket, Brielle's mouth fell open in shock. No…no… he was only pretending to be unconscious! Opening her mouth to scream a warning, she watched as the Frenchman plunged the blade into the leg of the young man standing nearest to him. Jumping to his feet without any indication he was injured, Beaumont dashed toward where he had dropped the bag he had been carrying. Snatching the sack up before anyone could stop him, the assassin raced across the room toward Brielle, one hand tucked in the inner pocket of his coat.

Reaching Carlotta and Brielle within seconds, he viciously knocked the diva to the side when she leveled a small pistol at him. Too stunned to hardly move, Brielle raised her hands to defend herself, hearing Madame Giry call for help as if through a fog. Easily evading her pitiful attempt at self-defense, Beaumont quickly dropped the bag at their feet and wrapped his arm around her throat in a stranglehold. Facing Madame Giry and the wave of reinforcements racing down the hall to help, Beaumont calmly surveyed the scene from behind the shield of Brielle's body.

"You will all stay where you are," he commanded, tightening his arm around Brielle's neck until she was gasping for air. "Or I will break this lady's neck. It would be easy to do… like snapping a twig in two. So now you will all allow me to leave."

Everyone froze at his words. Scrambling backward, Carlotta got to her feet and stumbled towards where Madame Giry stood. Crossing her arms over her chest, the dance mistress never took her eyes off of Beaumont. "There is no escape for you. We have already called the police. They may already be here… no one will be able to get past them. And we will not let you leave."

His features transforming into something unnamable and vile, Beaumont turned his face and planted a tender kiss against Brielle's cheek, once again tightening his hold as he did so. Completely out of air now, Brielle clawed at the iron grip at her throat. "Do not think I am bluffing. Her life would be nothing to me but collateral damage." When no one moved out of his way, he merely shrugged and kicked the bag at his feet. A high pitiful wail of a small child issued from the rough cloth sack. "Will you be so brave if I get the child out and slit her throat? Get out of my way."

Rolling her eyes downward in horror, Brielle looked at the sack at her side. Aria is in there? He put her in there? God in Heaven… Beginning to feel faint, Brielle thought she was seeing things when a shadow appeared against the far wall, materializing into the shape of a man as if by magic. No one else in the room seemed to notice this strange occurrence, but they all felt a distinct jolt of electrifying intensity shoot through the air. With a tingle of awareness Brielle knew Erik was nearby.

"Your employer has already been dealt with. Let the woman and the child go and I will grant you the mercy of a quick death," a disembodied voice whispered coldly through the air. Pausing ever so slightly over the words 'woman and child' as if they were difficult to say.

Cursing against her ear, Beaumont loosened his hold around her neck, allowing her several wonderful gulps of air. "I was warned about you, sir. But do not think you can frighten me with your trickery. I know you are just a clever man."

"Then you are a fool…" the voice snapped back, causing Carlotta to nearly turn green where she stood next to Madame Giry.

"No, sir… I think it is you who are the fool," Beaumont laughed, finally bringing the hand he had kept in his coat pocket out into the open.

Clutched within his fist the Frenchman held a small pipe-like object with a fuse hanging out the top. Releasing Brielle, he brought out a match and lit the stick of dynamite with an almost casual air. Tossing the now lit explosive into the middle of the expansive room, the madman continued to laugh as he watched everyone freeze in shock, then dive for cover. A moment passed as if in slow motion, then the backstage was rocked by an earth-shattering explosion. Blinding light and burning fire shot out in all directions, scattering set pieces and people indiscriminately.

Protected from the brunt of the explosion by distance and some boxes, Brielle fell to the floor and wrapped her body around the bag that Beaumont had put Aria in. When the burning white light finally faded and the smell of smoke filled her nose, Brielle opened her eyes to a world on fire. Everything was burning around the small smoldering hole in the middle of the room.

Unable to hear anything over the buzzing in her ears, Brielle stared blankly at the flames. They are dead… did I just watch everyone die? she thought hysterically. Sitting up, she turned to the wriggling bag next to her and numbly began working at the knot holding it closed. They are dead…dead… They are all dead…

A hand painfully clamped onto her shoulder then, dragging her to her feet. His face streaked with dirt Beaumont picked up the sack holding Aria and threw it over his shoulder, never once letting go of Brielle. "I told them to let me pass didn't I?" he asked no one in particular. "But no one ever seems to listen… I love that."

Turning in his hold Brielle pulled back a fist to slam into his smug mouth, rage over his callousness giving her the strength to act. Expecting the move Beaumont moved away from her and then brought his hand across her face, knocking her to the ground with the force of the blow. Standing over her, the flames at his back giving him a demonic air, Beaumont sneered down at her. "Never raise your hand to me again woman or I will make you watch me saw off your child's head."

Tasting blood in her mouth she stared up at him, recognizing the truth in his words in a moment of horrified clarity. All the fight drained out of her body as he bent and dragged her to her feet again. Walking along ahead of him obediently, Brielle allowed herself to be led from the room. Her mind remaining blessedly blank as Beaumont pushed her onward. Brielle hardly noticed when they came to a stop at the head of a dead-ended hallway. Distantly she heard the muffled sound of a gunshot, but couldn't bring herself to care. They must be dead… I didn't see anyone moving. And Erik… Erik… It is all over now…

Heading toward the sound, Beaumont forced her down the hallway, his dark eyes scanning the floor in confusion. "There must be a trapdoor… that fellow did mention he had Lord Donovan captured… how lucky would it be if we just found him?"

Making a quick circuit of the area, Beaumont finally began pushing against the stones in the wall, and then moved to pulling on the nearby wall sconces. Finally finding a sconce that moved, the Frenchman grunted in pleasure when a door opened up in the floor. Walking to the edge of the trapdoor, Beaumont gazed down into the void below.

"Why, hello there, my lord. What trouble have you gotten yourself into?" Turning to look around at his surroundings, Beaumont retrieved a length of rope that was lying on the floor. Lowering it into the hole, he waited a few moments, then went to work pulling Andrew out of the trap.

Drenched clean through with sweat, Andrew appeared at the lip of the trapdoor, the rope tied securely around his chest. Limply allowing himself to be dragged out, the young lord lay gasping on the floor for several minutes. "That bastard… he really does have torture chambers… I was certain I would die…"

Eyeing his employer with interest, Beaumont reached down to help Andrew to his feet. "Good thing I happened to hear those gunshots… or I never would have gotten the second half of my money."

Shooting Beaumont a stony glare, Andrew shrugged off the assassin's helping hands. "Yes, and your concern for my safety is touching. I…" Cutting off in mid-sentence, Andrew finally caught sight of where Brielle sat mutely in one corner. The angry tension in his features relaxed as he slowly made his way to her side. "Brielle… you are safe, thank God…"

Staring straight ahead without saying anything, Brielle didn't give any outward reaction to his words. They are dead… all of them… because they tried to save me…

Sighing heavily, Andrew turned to look at Beaumont. "I think it is about time we leave this place. Help her to her feet and we will go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kicking a burning plank of wood off of himself, Erik felt a trickle of blood or sweat run down his cheek. Narrowing his eyes against the light of the flames around him, he marveled for a moment that he was still alive. Brielle… Sitting up straighter despite the aches in his body, the masked man quickly looked about the room but didn't see any sign of her or Beaumont. He must have already taken her.

Climbing slowly to his feet, Erik quickly became aware of other movements around the room. Madame Giry was rubbing the base of her back not far from him, James Turner was helping Carlotta to her feet, and an assortment of stagehands were slowly trying to regain their wits. It was a miracle but apparently everyone had survived the explosion. Relieved for that one blessing despite the overall gravity of the situation, Erik leaned against a nearby wall for support.

Brielle… Aria… you have to save them… Straightening, Erik walked shakily out into the room, unmindful for once in his life, that everyone could clearly see him; he was in too much of a hurry. Nearing the closest door, the urgency to find Brielle growing with his every step, Erik ignored the pain threatening to slow him down. Brielle… you have to save them…

"Wait! You wait!" a voice outside his inner monolog shouted. Turning his head slowly at the distraction, Erik was met with the sight of a Carlotta aiming a gun at his chest. Without any sign of her usual dramatics, the diva kept a steady bead upon him, clearly set upon killing him should he move. Stilling, he raised both hands up in a sign of surrender.

Kill her… you don't have time for this… kill her… a dark voice chanted impatiently in the back of his head. As he watched, Madame Giry tried to take the gun from the diva.

"No, we wait for the police. Dis is the Phantom… and he will pay for de crimes he committed against us!" the Italian woman shouted, her dark eyes cold and fixed on him the whole time. "He killed Piangi… he killed de man I loved. It is right he should hang! I want my revenge!"

Kill her… kill her! the voice whispered more urgently. Feeling a wash of violence pumping quickly through his system, Erik tensed. Kill her… his breathing coming quicker he was on the verge of leaping forward when another, gentler, voice shivered through his mind. Stop that, boyo… lilted Brielle's unmistakable accent. Catching and holding his breath, all thoughts of murder came to a crashing halt.

Relaxing his battle stance, Erik felt his expression soften. "I am guilty of the crimes you say. I know that when I die, I will surely burn in hell forever for them, and so I will not try to deny your charges. You do deserve your revenge… But still… you must let me go."

Growing red in the face, Carlotta shook her head. "And why must I!"

"Because I am the only one who can save Brielle now… They have had enough time to escape the Opera house. You must let me go before they get any further ahead," he stated simply, every fiber of his being praying that she would do as he asked.

Clenching her mouth into a tight line, Carlotta's eyes blazed brighter with selfish fury, causing most of Erik's hope to begin to fade. Moments ticked by and she did not lower the gun. Turning his eyes to heaven, Erik silently did something he had not done in a long time; he prayed to God. Please… please make her let me go.

Ever so slowly, Carlotta allowed her weapon to tilt toward the ground, the fire dwindling in her gaze. "I will never forgive you for what you did…" she snapped. "Know dat…" Lowering the gun further, she gestured for him to leave. "But you must hurry to catch dem… if you fail I will never forgive you for dat either."

Nodding silently, Erik turned and swept out the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sitting mutely in the carriage Andrew had stuffed her into, Brielle stared sightlessly out the window, holding Aria tightly in her lap. Tears of grief rolled unnoticed down her cheeks as she thought of all the pain caused that night. Conner was shot… Carlotta… Madame Giry… all those men… they may have been blown up… and Erik… Stopping herself before she could fully contemplate his death, Brielle reached up and scrubbed at her face, but her ruthless control could was not quick enough to stop the sorrow settling into her bones. Her expression breaking, Brielle shook her head. No, I should think about it! It is my fault… it is my fault… Closing her eyes she leaned her head against the side of the carriage, an almost physical pain lancing through her heart, leaving no more room for fear. Looking ahead into the grim future she now envisioned for herself Brielle could practically see the years stretching out before her, years without Erik.

As a moan worked its way up the back of her throat a faint shimmering of warmth began to determinedly fight off the winter blanketing her soul, quieting her sounds of grief. Letting out a shaky breath she frowned at this last remnant of comfort. God… what have I done to deserve this last cruelty? I can still feel him glowing within me…

"M-Momma… I am scared…" Aria whispered from her lap, thankfully providing Brielle the distraction she needed to pull herself out of her darkly spiraling thoughts.

Gently stroking a hand over Aria's hair, the Irishwoman choked back a sob. "Don't be frightened, love. God is watching over us…"

"I wish he w-would w-watch a little closer…" the child mumbled as the carriage jerked to a stop.

The door to the coach opened with a snap and Andrew quickly reached in to pull both of them out into the night. "We must hurry. I have a small boat waiting to take us downriver. Once we get clear of the city I will be able to arrange more comfortable passage back to England," he explained as he ushered her toward the open doors of a large warehouse.

Casting a quick glance around, Brielle noted the rows of large darkened buildings on both sides of the small street. Andrew had taken them deep into the vast commercial district surrounding the river. At this late hour there would be no hope of anyone seeing them. This part of the city shut down at sunset.

Dully observing that the warehouse Andrew was leading them towards proudly boasted his family name upon the side Brielle felt the ridiculous urge to laugh. He owns this bloody building… and most likely the boat we are to get on… How did I think I could ever hide from such a man? "Whatever you have is fine… I do not care," she found herself saying as she stepped into the waiting building.

Smiling at her answer Andrew nodded. "I am glad you are indulging all this last-minute travel." Ignoring everything he said, Brielle simply looked down at Aria. Resting her cheek against her daughter's hair, she followed the two men deeper into the building. Be strong Brielle… you have to protect your daughter… if you die of grief, Andrew will be the only one left to raise her… you can't let that come to be.

When they reached the door facing the river, Brielle sensed another warming sensation deep in the pit of her stomach, comforting her and melting the fear clenching about her heart. Blinking in surprise at the feeling she stopped in mid-step. As she stood rooted to the floor the sensation grew, setting the hairs along the back of her neck to standing on end, and a tremor to shake through her stomach. She knew this feeling. It was exactly how she felt every time she was locked in Erik's arms. Sucking in a breath, she forced herself to stare at the ground.

This isn't real… this isn't… Feeling an unexplainable urge to look up Brielle allowed her eyes to rise to the mountains of boxes looming up above her. Far off to one side, high atop the stacks of merchandise a shadow silently followed their every movement. Staring now Brielle felt her heart stutter back to life. He… is … here. Don't look up… don't act like something is different… or they will know. Lowering her head as if nothing had happened she forced herself to continue walking with Andrew and Beaumont.

Growing restless in her mother's arms, Aria stuck her thumb in her mouth. "Y-You feel him too," the child whispered softly in Gaelic, the very edges of her mouth tilting upward in hope.

Turning towards them at the child's words, both Andrew and Beaumont frowned at her. "What did she say?" Beaumont demanded.

"She just said she hates boats," Brielle lied easily, feeling her wits and spirit slowly returning to her. He will save us… and if he is here then perhaps the rest are safe too! Accepting this, Andrew took hold of her elbow and led her out the door and back into the night air. Breathing in the smells of the river, Brielle surveyed the moderately sized boat docked directly in front of her. Think Brielle, think. How can you help him!

A slight sound behind them caused Beaumont to pause in the open doorway. "My lord, get the woman onto the boat quickly…" he said slowly, his eyes searching the darkness inside the building as he hurriedly reached a hand inside his jacket.

Without questioning the man's advice, Andrew quickened his steps, practically dragging Brielle out onto the dock. Looking back over her shoulder, Brielle saw Beaumont pull out another small stick of explosives. Trying to jerk out of Andrew's grasp without dropping her daughter Brielle let out a shriek just as the Frenchman lit the fuse and tossed the bomb back into the warehouse.

A blast of light shook the sliding door out of its rollers, washing the cool night with a heart stopping boom. Standing in silent horror Brielle felt a gust of heated air tearing over her face, bringing with it a choking cloud of smoke and dust. Squinting her eyes Brielle could see flames flickering just inside the blown out doorway. Opening her mouth to shout Erik's name she found herself being jerked to the side as Andrew leapt forward and grabbed hold of her arm. Digging her heels into the ground Brielle tried to slow her forward progress.

Apparently satisfied with the destruction he had wrought Beaumont stepped back from the now burning doorway. Straightening his jacket he smiled through the soot blackening his face. "Sorry about your warehouse, my Lord. But I think it is a…"

The Frenchman drew to a sudden stop when a low howl issued from behind the leaping wall of flames. Whirling about, knife in hand, Beaumont stood with his mouth hanging open in shock as a devilish figure came striding through the swirling curls of smoke and fire. Looking very much like the Devil himself Erik's cloak billowed out around him on the hot waves of air. Catching glimpses of the scene behind her Brielle stumbled when Andrew dragged her further out on the dock, panic now clearly etched across his pale features. He hesitated just shy of leaping into the waiting boat, his eyes transfixed upon Erik's dark shape among the flames.

"God above… he has come for me… come for me straight out of hell itself…" the young lord whispered.

Recovering himself from his initial shock Beaumont raised the knife and threw it through the clouds of smoke toward Erik's shimmering form. Gasping aloud Brielle watched Erik's right shoulder shoot back from the impact of blade meeting flesh. Pausing slightly the masked man reached up and pulled the small knife from his shoulder, letting it drop to the ground, his eyes shining like a demon's through the rolling smoke. Staggering back a step Beaumont reached for the larger blade strapped to his side but before his hand could wrap firmly around the handle Erik raised one arm with a fluid flick of his wrist, a high pitched whistle tearing through the air at his movement. Beaumont stiffened where he stood near the beginning of the dock, then his body crashed to the ground, his head turned at an odd angle as he slipped sideways and fell into the water below.

Staring at where Beaumont had stood in open-mouthed shock, Andrew pushed Brielle onto the waiting boat. "Move it! Go!"

Jumping onto the boat after her, Andrew hurriedly cut all of the moorings with a small axe that was lying next to the railing. Setting Aria on her feet, Brielle quickly looked around for some sort of weapon. She hadn't seen Erik near the Frenchman but she was sure somehow Erik had killed Beaumont. Killed Beaumont? I am glad… God forgive me, I am glad.

"You are too late, Andrew… There is nothing more you can do. Give up and maybe he will spare your life," she called when her desperate search for a weapon yielded nothing.

Spinning around to stare at her with a wild, trapped look in his eyes, the young lord shook his head. "No… no… I won't let him. I am the older brother. I get to win. I won't let him win again. Not now… not ever again. John won't get the best of me…" he muttered crazily to himself as he took a step towards her, the axe still gripped firmly in his hands.

Confused by his rambling, Brielle took a step back, pushing Aria behind her as Andrew took another step closer, the weapon gleaming at his side. "John? What are you talking about."

Not appearing to hear her now, Andrew raised the axe up higher. "You may kill me, John… but not before I take her with me."

Seeing his intent, Brielle let out a gasp and dodged to the side as he swung the blade at her with deadly intent. "Don't be afraid, Bri… we will go together… be together forever. It won't hurt, I promise… I make sure it doesn't hurt for the ones I love… John didn't feel a thing and neither did Father when I poisoned him…"

Picking up Aria, Brielle let out a shriek as Andrew came towards her again. As the axe swung back a black shape tore itself free from the rest of the night and flung itself into the young lord's side. Grunting, Andrew fell to the deck, his body knocking the one lantern onboard over to crash down the stairs and into the hold. Scrambling backwards, Brielle watched Erik pick himself up and jump atop Andrew with a roar.

Fists and curses flew as the two men grappled violently with one another. Strengthened by the madness flickering over his features, Andrew put up a terrible fight, seemingly not even feeling the blows Erik rained down upon his face. Smiling through the blood covering his face, Andrew raised one clawed hand and ripped the mask from Erik's face with a shout of victory.

Laughing hysterically, Andrew threw the mask to the side. "Still ugly, John… my one regret is that fire merely scarred you and didn't kill you!"

"Shut your mouth!" Erik hissed, smashing his fist into Andrew's face.

Dazed by the blow, the young lord's movements became uncoordinated. "I will just have to kill you again… again…"

Throwing himself back into the fight, Andrew managed to knock Erik off himself for a moment. Looking to Brielle, Erik flung out a hand, desperately gesturing for her to escape as the boat began to slip down current and away from its moorings. "Brielle, jump off. Get as far away as you ca…" Cut off by the burst of flames that suddenly shot out of the hold below them Erik fell to the side, tamping out the smoldering embers that had landed upon his clothing.

Realizing that the lantern must have set everything below on fire, Brielle felt panic prickle through her. Aria didn't know how to swim, and she didn't know if Erik could either. "Erik, we have to get off before the whole thing goes up in flames!"

"I know… jump… I will be right after you!" he called back from the other side of the steadily growing blaze.

Raising on her tiptoes to see better over the fire Brielle could just make out Andrew's form smash into Erik from behind. The quickly weakening deck shuddered under her feet with the force of their bodies hitting it. Stumbling backwards as the boat rocked to the side she saw Erik roll on top of Andrew, both his hands wrapped firmly around the young lord's throat. Loosing sight of the fight as the flames licked ever higher Brielle could hear the gargling sound of Andrew fighting for breath.

Feeling the heat of the fire begin to sting her face Brielle frantically backed up until she ran into the ship's railing. "Erik! The fire! I won't leave without you! Come with me now! Leave him behind before it is too late!"

"I have to kill him, Bri… or he will hunt us for the rest of our lives. I have to kill him to make sure he won't!" Erik shouted back, a change in the wind dampening the flames slightly. As soon as the words left his mouth, Brielle saw a strange look pass over his features.

Hesitating a moment longer with a murderous look down at Andrew, Erik finally uncurled his hands from the young lord's neck. Standing unsteadily he leapt around the flames beginning to lick up between the boards of the deck and left the young lord behind. Reaching her side, he hurriedly wrapped both her and Aria in a fierce embrace, needing to feel the warmth of her body as much as she needed to feel his.

"My God… we are the same, he and I," he whispered against her hair. "Only he never learned to let you go…as I learned to let Christine go."

Not liking what she was hearing, Brielle pulled back worriedly. "You are nothing like him! Don't ever say…" Another rush of heat cut her off before she could continue, slamming into her with enough force to knock her back precariously over the railing.

"Jump!" Erik shouted over the roaring of the flames, panic giving his poor disfigured face an almost absurd animation in the dancing firelight. Without waiting for her to react, he reached out and pushed her overboard. Tumbling back with Aria clasped in her arms, Brielle hit the cold water without a sound.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gasping for breath Andrew opened dazed eyes to stare up at the endless black sky stretching out above him. Rage shuddered through his every pore as he felt the weight of the man choking him lift suddenly off of him. Blinking against the red spots dancing across his vision he fought to sit up, propping his oxygen starved body against a nearby barrel. Looking about at his surroundings he could see nothing but the blazing of a hellish inferno.

Raising a hand up to swipe away the sweat stinging his eyes he didn't even try to get up. Grief shot through his body, replacing the rage, for he knew he would not walk away from this night. I am going to die… He thought numbly as his head lolled weakly to the side. I have failed… I have wasted everything. John… you were right.

Through the blistering heat of the approaching flames a comforting rush of cold air slowly wrapped around Andrew's prone form, chilling him down to the bone. The gentle brush of a cool hand smoothed across his forehead as he slowly opened his eyes. Blinking against the soft white light shining into his face Andrew could barely see the outline of a man crouching down before him.

"Who are you?"

The light dimmed slightly revealing the familiar scarred features of his brother. He looks sad… he should be happy. He won after all… why does he look so sad? Andrew wondered absently, oddly noticing that he could no longer feel the pain of the fire approaching his body. In fact, he could hardly feel his body at all.

Unable to meet John's sorrowful eyes any longer Andrew dropped his gaze to the ground, in shame. Distantly he felt tears splash down his cheeks but he couldn't find the strength to wipe them away. His vision began to grow black as John continued to smooth a cool hand across his forehead. He shouldn't be doing that… not after what I did. He shouldn't be doing that.

"Hush now, brother. It is ended… and you will be judged. I may forgive you for what you have done but you have still to stand before God."

No… no! Andrew's mind screamed in horror of what was to come. John please! No… I am lacking… I have always been lacking something good inside of me…

Shaking his head solemnly John turned his face to the side. "I know Andrew… I know… Hush now, Brother… I will be with you…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fighting to find the surface in all the black surrounding her Brielle held onto her daughter with one arm and paddled with the other. Using the ghostly flickering of the fire above as a beacon she kicked upward. Breaking through the water she gasped in a breath of air, quickly insuring that Aria's head was likewise above water. Looking around her she searched for Erik, thinking he must be nearby.

"Erik! Where are you!" she called out over the water, dismayed at how small her voice sounded next to the hissing of the flames brushing against the river. "Where are you!" He was right behind me… he said he was right behind me… she thought, a cold wash of dread settling deep within her stomach. He was right behind me…

Fighting to stay afloat in the choppy water, Brielle continued her frantic search until her daughter began to sputter at her side. "M-Momma, I am getting c-cold…" the child stuttered through chattering teeth.

Giving one last look around her, Brielle struck out toward the shore, where she could see a small crowd beginning to form. That is right… he is probably already onshore… Feeling more confident now, she ignored the chill of fear clawing at her heart and swam faster. Reaching the docks, she was surprised to find several men waiting there to help her out of the water. Glad for their assistance, she handed Aria up to them before allowing them to pull her to safety as well.

"Lord above, mam'selle. What in the hell happened out there?" one of the men asked.

Ignoring that question, Brielle grabbed hold of the man's sleeve urgently. "Has a man come to shore… a tall man with dark hair and blue eyes?"

Surprised by her fervor the man shook his head. "No, mam'selle. No one else has come to shore 'cept you."

Staring up at the man in shock, Brielle slowly released him and shot to her feet. Cupping her hands over her mouth, she faced the river. "Erik! Erik! Where are you!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her own voice echoing back to mock her across the water. As the boat began to sink beneath the river's surface her screams became more desperate. "Someone has to go in there! There is a man…he is still in there! ERIK!"

Warm hands took hold of her arm when she moved to leap back into the cold water herself. "Stop that now mam'selle."

Fighting the hands holding her back, Brielle felt hot tears begin to splash down her cheeks. "No… no… he said he would be right behind me… he is still out there."

"You are going to have to come with us now, mam'selle," one of the men said quietly, but without kindness. "George says he found a couple of bodies floating on the other side of the dock and I think the police will need to ask you a few questions about them."

"What?" she asked dazedly. "A couple of bodies? What do they look like…" As another man carefully wrapped Aria up in his coat Brielle was slowly being pulled away from the dock. "What do they look like!" she screamed as the men bodily dragged her off to the police man waiting several yards away.

"ERIK!"