A/N: Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews on my last chapter! I'm glad that you enjoyed reading that scene as much as I loved writing it :)

Chapter Twenty-Three

After Erik had gone, there was a moment of silence and absolute shock. Everyone was staring at the body that lay on the stage, with its face still showing traces of the fear and horror that Patrick had felt before he died. Nobody wanted to be the one to speak first, to let out the tide of feelings that was building up between everyone who had witnessed Patrick's death.

Suddenly the door from the ballet studios swung open and Madame Giry strode in briskly. She looked around at everyone's horrified faces, not seeing the body lying on the ground. "What is it? Why are you all standing there instead of practicing?"

Her question was the catalyst. Everyone started talking at once, trying to explain to her what had happened. She held out her hands, trying to stop the deluge of words.

"Everyone, please, calm down. I cannot understand you if you all speak at once. What is the problem?"

Paulette managed to make herself heard above the crowd. "The Opera Ghost just came in and killed Patrick!"

Madame Giry frowned. "Excuse me?"

Everyone moved aside, making Patrick's body visible. Madame Giry's eyes widened and she rushed over to kneel beside it. Why? She wondered, confused. Why would he kill a stagehand at random? Especially one who is related to Angelique. He would have no desire to hurt her; why did he do this?

She turned to Paulette. "Did he say anything about why he killed Patrick?"

"He did," said Paulette slowly, "but it did not make any sense. He was yelling at him that he had hurt the woman he loved or something like that. Can ghosts fall in love?"

Madame Giry froze. No. It couldn't have been…was it really Patrick? What reason would Patrick have to do something like that? The she remembered the look on Patrick's face when she had told him that Alison was in love. She remembered vaguely his moodiness in the past weeks. She remembered that she had found a bottle on the floor after the rape had happened. Oh. Of course.

She stood up decisively. "If the Opera Ghost killed him, I am confident that he did something to deserve it. This need not be mentioned to the managers, is that clear?"

Nobody responded.

"I said, is that clear?"

There was a mumbling of "Yes, Madame."

"Good. Now get back to practicing! We have a show that we must perform in a week, and if you are not ready, I personally will punish you."

There was a much louder chorus of "Yes, Madame." They all rushed off to perform their various tasks, still very much shaken. After all, it wasn't every day that one witnesses a murder.

Erik walked quickly down the tunnels, trying to calm himself down before he got to his house. He succeeded in getting the anger to dissipate some, but the satisfaction remained. When he had killed before, there had been no real personal motive. He had always either been ordered to or that person was just simply in his way to achieving his goals (like Buquet and Piangi). After he had met Alison, he had stopped killing for both reasons in the hopes that she would stay his friend. He had learned from Christine that killing was always detrimental to a relationship, and he had no intention of making the same mistake with Alison.

But this…this was entirely different. This was a man who had hurt her. Hurt her badly. Made her wake up screaming and crying and fighting an invisible enemy. This man had done something unforgivable and he needed to be punished.

Erik had been an angel before. He had been the Angel of Death, and of course, the Angel of Music. But never had he been an Angel of Vengeance, dealing with past wrongs and crimes that would never be acknowledged. It had felt good, like he was finally doing something right with his talents.

He reached his house in a pensive but satisfied mood. Alison was sitting cross-legged on the floor, writing on a piece of parchment with one of his pens. She hadn't heard his footsteps or seen him come in. He tiptoed behind her and looked at what she was writing. As she raised the pen from the paper, whispered in her ear. "I wish that you would write these words in French so that I could understand them."

As he expected, she started violently and jumped to her feet, nearly upsetting the inkbottle that was perched precariously on a rock near her. She turned to face him, eyes shocked and frightened, then relaxed when she saw him.

"Erik! Why did you do that?"

He shrugged, smiling. "A different way of saying hello, mon amour."

A slight smile tugged at her lips. "Well, all right then. Just don't do it too much, or my heart might not survive."

"If you wish it, I will not."

"Good. Thank you."

Erik wandered over to his desk and removed his mask, sighing at the sensation of the cool air on his face. He never wore the mask while in Alison's company, but he still couldn't get used to having his face be completely bare. But it felt nice and Alison never teased him or made him feel inadequate because of it. He bent to pick up several sheets of music, but then stopped. When should I tell her that she is safe? Should I do it now or wait for a better moment? I think I will do it at dinner tonight. Then she will be more surprised. Besides, she seems rather absorbed right now, he reflected, looking at the studious care with which she scratched her words onto the page.

They spent the rest of the day not speaking, just practicing their art. He played his excitement and satisfaction onto the page, notes pouring out of his fingers that fit perfectly together in a triumphant melody. Now and then he would pause the music to write it down.

She also poured out her emotions in a very different way. Her pen flew across the paper, and the stack of finished compositions grew and grew. She wrote her rape for the first time, with a single tear slipping down her cheek as she relived it. She wrote Erik, his warm arms around her to comfort her from her nightmares. She wrote her fear and his acceptance. She wrote her uncertainty for the future. Neither of them realized the time had gone by until their hunger was impossible to ignore.

They both stopped what they were doing and looked at each other.

"Dinner?" they both asked at the same time, and smiled at how well they knew the thoughts of the other.

They collaborated on dinner, and ate exchanging jokes and smiles. Finally, Erik sat straighter and said, "Angelique, I have some good news for you."

"What is it?" she asked, curious.

"You do not need to hide any longer for fear of Patrick."

She frowned. "Why? Has he left?"

"In a way. But one thing is for certain, he will not be coming back."

Confusion showed in her face. How can Erik be sure of that? And how would he know… She noticed the smug expression on his face and understood. Her eyes widened.

"Erik. You didn't…"

His silence was the only answer she needed.

"Erik! How could you? How could you put yourself in danger like that? When I told you that Patrick had done it, I didn't even think to keep you from killing him. I thought you had changed now, I thought you were different. There was no reason really for you to kill him. I don't count. I'm afraid of him and angry at him, sure, but that doesn't mean I want him killed because of me!"

Erik was confused. "I thought you would be happy. You no longer need to be afraid and…"

"Nobody deserves to be killed for me. He was drunk and he was jealous, and I agree, he should have been punished, but not like that. I know you've killed before and I understand why you did what you did. But that doesn't make it right! And not only did you kill him, but you put yourself in danger in the process. You were already a wanted man. What if the managers find out and set the police on you? If they found you, they probably wouldn't even bother with a trial! They would just kill you where you stood and excuse it because they thought you were too dangerous to be allowed to live. Don't you understand what the consequences are? You can't just do things like that and expect no reprisals. Think for a moment, like the genius you are, and don't think that you're doing any favors by killing for me."

She pushed back her chair and stormed out before Erik could reply.

"I was just trying to help you!" he shouted after her. "At least I had good intentions. Forgive me if I did not aid you the right way!" He made his way over to his organ and put his head in his hands.

"I did not mean to hurt you," he whispered miserably. "And now you will never come back." This was the day he had been dreading, when she would finally walk away from him because she saw how awful he truly was. Tears began to slip down his cheeks, and he felt his loneliness and depression creep in on him again. I messed it up by killing someone, just like I did with Christine. I am such a fool. Why can I not learn from my mistakes? He sat there for a long while, hunched over, feeling black depression settle on him like a blanket. Then, before he could wrap it around him and give in to the pain, he heard the pad of footsteps behind him. He turned his head quickly and his eyes went as wide as they could go when he saw Alison standing there behind him.

"Alison?"

"Erik." Her eyes were full of trepidation and apology.

"You…you came back," he whispered.

"Of course I came back! I love you. Even when I am upset. No matter what happens, I promise that I will always find my way back to you. This is an awful time to say this, but I can't live without you."

He smiled a little, hardly letting himself dare to hope that she had not abandoned him like so many others did.

Her face had been tender, but now it became serious. "I've been thinking a lot about it all. And thank you. Thank you for making sure that he won't come back. My mind rests easier, but at the same time I wish you hadn't killed him. I shouldn't have yelled at you the way I did. I know that you were only trying to help me and I appreciate that more than I can tell you. Can you forgive me?"

He seemed surprised that she would even ask. "Of course. But it is I who should be begging you for forgiveness. I did not think of the situation from your side, and I know that you would have no desire to have someone killed for you."

"Then let's forgive each other," she said with a smile.

"That sounds like the most wonderful thing in the world."

He took her into his arms, gently, slowly, and tenderly kissed her. Her hands went softly to his cheeks, one perfect, one damaged, and caressed them both as she kissed him back.

They broke the kiss languidly and smiled at each other.

"I do have one request, though," Alison told him.

"Anything."

"I want you to promise me that you will stop the killing. Whether it's in revenge, or because someone's in your way, I don't care. But I don't want you killing anyone, both because it hurts you and it hurts them. Will you promise me that?"

He hesitated. "What if I am attacked? Am I allowed to defend myself?"

"Of course. Just don't go and pick fights."

He nodded and sat up straighter, solemnly. "Angelique Taylor, I swear to you, by music and my love for you, that I will not kill another human being unless in self-defense. I swear that I will never break my promise so long as I am living."

She was slightly awed by the solemnity of it all, but nodded. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Anything to keep you here with me," Erik responded tenderly.

They shared a kiss, to seal the bargain. Erik held her close in his arms. He had never believed in God before this moment, but now he felt that he did.Thank you, if you exist. Thank you for sending me this wonderful woman. Thank you for letting her forgive my faults and love me even though I am flawed in ways that she will never be. I am everlastingly grateful that she is in my life.

But please, let her stay forever.

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