I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart. Big thanks once again to my wonderful beta Luthien Saralonde, I love you girl, you're the best!

THE PHANTOM'S RETURN

When Erik looked up again from Joséphine's still form, Nadir and the Vicomte were gone. Florence sat quietly in the chair by the window, seemingly exhausted, while Mathilde sat opposite him on the other side of the bed, now and then stroking her friend's hand, begging her in whispered tones to wake up again.

How long had they been gone? Erik had completely been lost in his thoughts. He knew he should wait for their return, but he could no longer wait to take revenge on Clara. He had to go to her and end it tonight. His blood was boiling with white hot anger against the vile woman.

He looked back down at Joséphine's unconscious form to calm back down, but seeing her there, fighting off the poison did nothing but fuel his determination.

Slowly, he rose from his position on the bed. Something must have shown on the unmasked left side of his face though, because Mathilde rose as well, alarmed.

"Monsieur, what are you doing?" she asked him, her tone hesitant.

"It is nothing of your concern," Erik answered and started walking towards the connecting door between his and Joséphine's quarters.

But suddenly, his way was blocked by the petite form of the servant.

"You cannot leave now, Monsieur!" she cried, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

Erik looked down at her, silently admiring the maid's courage to stand up to him. No wonder Joséphine saw her as a true friend, they really had a lot in common.

Still, she had no right to hinder him. Not when his mind was set.

"I am the master of this house," Erik reprimanded her, "and now move out of my way!"

Mathilde did not move, though her whole body had started to tremble.

"Move, Mathilde," Erik said threateningly, his voice rising. "Now!"

"What is going on?" Florence had woken up from their exchange, and spoke up, her voice still a bit hoarse from sleep.

Mathilde immediately saw her chance to get an ally against her master and addressed her mistress' friend. "Monsieur wants to go after Clara," she explained.

"As it is my right to do!" Erik cut her off. His eyes had taken on a dangerous gleam and Mathilde's heart started pumping wildly in her rib case. She wondered if she was in her right mind to provoke the infamous Phantom of the Opera. But she could not let him leave now. He was clearly not thinking straight, and thus could endanger himself and Joséphine by any rash actions.

Luckily, Florence had come to the same conclusion (without the Phantom part of course) and had risen to stand beside the maid. Together, the two women blocked his path.

Erik wondered if the world had truly gone mad tonight. Within a few hours he had been kissed by the woman who so long had been his centre of affection and it had meant nothing to him, then his former adversary was helping him, and now those two women, an upper class lady and a servant girl, stood united in front of him to keep him here.

And he hated to admit it, they were winning. Had it been a man blocking his path, he would have punched him in the face and walked over his crumpling form. But these two, both only coming up to his chin in height, knew that he would never harm them. He could glare all he wanted, yell at them to let him pass, but to no avail.

The Phantom of the Opera had been bested by two women.

'Maybe if Madame Giry would not have cowered so quickly before me, she would have dissuaded me from my plans more often,' he thought, amused.

When he turned away, frustrated to no avail, he missed the look of triumph on the Florence's face, and the look of relief on Mathilde's. Both knew that their victory was only temporarily.

Mathilde's relief was even bigger when the Vicomte and the Persian chose that moment to come back.

Erik whirled around, surprised, but immediately schooled his features. He really had not noticed how long they had been gone.

Both men seemed exhausted, but all of them showed signs of that night's strain. Erik's gaze graced Raoul, then settled on his old friend.

"As you assumed, there was arsenic in the laboratory. It was the sole jar that had recently been touched," the Daroga informed him outright. "And we saw footprints of lady's shoes on the floor."

Hearing this, Erik cast a sideways glance at his wife, and Nadir knew he had been right about saying to the Vicomte that the only thing that had held Erik back until now was his fear how Joséphine would react to his revenge. Even now, he could not be sure his wife would forgive him if he killed Clara. But maybe, having the Vicomte and her friend Florence on his side, she would understand his reasoning and his need for going after her stepmother.

Erik was torn. He knew that Joséphine would not condone his actions, but he had to end this, and there was no better time than now, while she was still unconscious. If he was fast, he would be back before Joséphine woke up.

Something must have shown on his face, for the Daroga had approached him and said quietly: "Go, we will take care of her. As far as I see it, she will not yet wake up in the next few hours."

Erik gave him a short nod and for the second time in a few minutes, started towards his own rooms. This time, neither Mathilde nor Florence stood in his way, though both looked slightly worried.

When he wanted to close the connecting door behind him, Raoul slipped in. Erik looked at him fiercely, his patience wearing thin. "What?"

Raoul returned his look apprehensively. "I know you want to go to the hospital. Let me come with you."

"No."

But the young man was not so easily deterred. "Listen, it will be less suspicious if you and I show up there together. The 'son-in-law' and the host of the ball are merely enquiring after the state of the poisoned guests. You can simply slip away at an opportune moment."

Raoul's argumentation was solid. Erik had not yet thought about how he was going to approach Clara once he arrived at the hospital. His emotions, most prominent his need for revenge clearly interfered with his clear thinking. Just like it had been the night of 'Don Juan' when he decided to abduct Christine after she had exposed his disfigurement to the public eye.

"Take your revenge, Erik, but don't get caught. I don't want to get Christine and myself any more involved in this."

Erik smirked. "You became involved when you decided to help me. But I promise not to implicate Christine any further."

Raoul seemed content with that, so Erik went over to his trunk by the bed, but halted before opening the lid. "And remember, I am the Opera Ghost, I don't get caught."

Raoul let out a snort at that comment, then came to stand next to Erik. His eyes widened when he saw some of the trunk's contents. There, right on top of some clothes, the mask of the Red Death was staring up at him. A chill ran down his spine as he thought back to the night of the masquerade ball.

Erik felt more than saw Raoul's reaction, and felt strangely shameful for what he had put the young man and his beloved through. Lifting the mask from the trunk, he shoved it in Raoul's hand. "It is not the mask you have to fear. It was the madman that wore it back then."

Raoul shook himself from the memories, and inspected the mask more closely. It truly was an artistic masterpiece. "You were Poe's Red Death," he finally stated. Erik nodded. "You scared the hell out of me when you showed up that night," he admitted quietly.

"And you still grabbed your sword and came after me," Erik replied.

"You were threatening Christine," came the aristocrat's reply.

Erik no longer found it hard to accept that he and the 'fop' had something in common. They would do everything to protect those they loved and cared for. He took back the mask to put it back into the trunk, then thought differently, and put it on the bed. Raoul looked at him quizzically. Before explaining himself, Erik sorted trough his belongings, and soon a long hooded cape, black both inside and out, a small dagger, and a small object resembling a flute joined the mask on the bed.

Erik closed the trunk and walked over to his desk. Ignoring Raoul's presence, he tore off his mask and wiped his face with a cloth he had taken from his pocket.

At the first moment, Raoul was shocked to see Erik's disfigurement again. In the flickering light of the many candles in the underground lair, when Raoul was fighting for his life, this face had seemed monstrous, the grotesque features contorted by rage and desperation. Now, looking at it again, he no longer saw a monster, but simply a man with a terrible fortune thrown on him upon birth. Society did not accept well people who were different.

Realizing how uncomfortable Erik must feel when being stared at, he averted his gaze and turned his attention to the desk. Erik had opened a drawer and taken out a pot with a dark liquid in it, which he was now applying to a full face mask he had seemingly conjured from nowhere. When the whole mask was painted black, Erik carefully placed it in a wooden case, then turned around, grabbed a bag from under his bed and put it with everything from the bed inside. Finally, he put his skin-coloured mask back on and walked towards the door.

Raoul no longer could restrain himself. "What..." but Erik cut him off.

"Joséphine would not want me to kill Clara, no matter what she did to her. But if Clara dies from her own hand, none of us will be responsible for it," he told him cryptically.

"You don't really think that Clara is going to commit suicide, right?" Raoul asked, irritated.

One hand on the doorknob, Erik turned back around. His lips curled into an evil smirk. "When the Phantom is finished with her, it may seem to her the only way to end her suffering."

Not caring if Raoul followed, he strode into the hall. Raoul stood there for a moment, dumbstruck, then hurried after him.

A/N: I haven't written yet what Erik will do to Clara, so if you have ideas, feel free to share them with me. Thanks for reading!