A/N: Thanks to EnigmaZZ and CupidsArrow17 for hitting the follow button. :)

Wheel of Fish: Madeleine's picture on the mantelpiece is in Kay, I think, at least I made a note of it when I tried getting an understanding of Erik's house and his belongings.

LeticiaMaree: Funny you should ask about Erik's deformity ;) It's the full face one and he mostly wears a full face mask. I'll try and incorporate some more descriptions of Julianne, perhaps in Part 2.

I've finished writing Part 1 (there are 2 more chapters after this) and am currently taking a break from this project. A) Because I generally need a small break between stories to clear my head and catch up on notes to set up the next one, or in this case the next part. And B) Because I've had a plot bunny stuck in my head for a little while now that I needed to start writing. I might post the Prologue for said new project today or soon-ish, but I will also try and work on Part 2 of Coda simultaneously. We'll see how that goes :) Just wanted you to know in case you're expecting an instant continuation.

Chapter 17:

When Julianne emerged from her room the next day there was no trace of Erik. The house seemed empty and deserted and when no response came, even to her tentative calls, she assumed that he had gone to attend to what he called "business". Hesitantly, she entered his bedroom, took in the large bed, the broken desk and wobbly nightstand as well as his discarded clothes, and then slipped through to the bathroom of green marble that felt warm and alive. She tended to herself and then meandered back into the sitting room, helped herself to food and made herself comfortable on the sofa, tucking her legs away beneath her body which caused her knees to smart. She had tentatively examined the gash she had acquired as a result of her fall and although it, thankfully, wasn't deep it prickled and stung almost continuously where her skin had been torn off.

She sat like that for quite a while, straining her ears for any sound of the boat that would indicate Erik's return but there was only silence, briefly interrupted by light paws padding across the floor as Ayesha appeared, deciding to keep her company this time. It concerned her to realise how accustomed she'd grown to his presence; it almost felt as if months had passed rather than a mere handful of days. The house possessed life when he was in it, as opposed to the tomb and the ruins she now saw before her. Still, she preferred thinking about Erik in practical ways, what he did or did not do, that it was safer to have him within her sights than not knowing where he was and what he might be planning.

Yet those practicalities weren't the whole truth. She had not only grown accustomed to his company but also to him, perhaps she had even grown to like him somewhat. At times her thoughts wandered guiltily to the Vicomtesse's letter that she still carried at her heart, remembered the wistful fondness with which she had described her time with Erik. Only a few days ago she had called her mad for that, but now she understood. He could be positively charming and well-mannered whenever he wanted to be. He was a great conversationalist and knew how to tell the most adventurous, delightful stories. He had even demonstrated a patience and calm she had not expected, indulging her questions about his life in Italy and offering further details if necessary.

But there was the dangerous side still, as deceptively simple as it was to forget sometimes. He was a murderer, a blackmailer and a stalker. She repeated those three words in her head time and time again, hoping that they would ground her. She knew, somewhere in the recesses of her brain, that she valued his companionship because any form of it had been lacking in her life since Édouard's passing. No sneaky glances from her domestic staff, no pitying words, just a deep, surprising understanding of and genuine interest in one another, a routine that was as comfortable as it was predictable. But none of that justified a naiveté or purposeful forgetfulness of the other kind of acts he was obviously capable of. She could not simply forgive him or forget everything he had put her through, and yet she understood the Vicomtesse's feelings and her husband's protectiveness. There clearly was an allure to Erik that surpassed all reason.

The stillness was at last pierced by the sound of water washing up against stone that she had been waiting to hear since she had discovered his absence. She slipped her legs out from underneath her and sat up straighter, ready to greet him, accepting Ayesha's disgruntled meows as she unceremoniously slipped off her lap. But when he appeared, striding with determination into the sitting room, she could instantly tell that something had upset him. The usual unnerving calm that surrounded him was replaced by intimidating anger.

Had Monsieur Moreau let him down? Had he chosen to defy him, even? The thought alone was ludicrous. Yet she could not imagine what else might have happened.

"Your little plan is working out rather splendidly, wouldn't you say?" he hissed, throwing an envelope at her.

"I don't know what you mean," she frowned, but he refused to offer further explanations.

Instead, he began pacing up and down before her, like a wild animal steeling itself for the best moment to pounce. She did not like where this was going. Carefully, she slipped the note out of the opened envelope and as her eyes flew over the letters, her heart constricted.

"Now that you cannot pretend anymore, let me ask you again. Are you satisfied?"

The force of his voice drove her deeper into the sofa.

"She was an old woman, Erik, it's only natural she would retire."

But his eyes blazed dangerously and she knew she should not have approached it like this.

"This is your doing, little wench!" he growled, taking big strides towards her.

Avoiding his eyes, she shoved the note back into the envelope which she placed next to her on the sofa. Then, she tilted her chin up defiantly and reciprocated the threatening eye contact.

"Madame Giry has served you well, Erik, and she has served you often enough. She never doubted you, always believed in the best of you because of the help you offered her daughter. But then she began seeing a darker side. The Sûreté was here after the incident with Christine Daaé, did you know that? They discovered that the counterweight had not fallen by itself." The more she spoke, the more venomous her voice became. "That's when Madame Giry started to doubt you. But still she helped you when you returned, believed you would not harm her even though she had betrayed you to me, even when that body was found did she not fear you."

"But then you spoke to her again," he intersected breathlessly, "you little viper with your cunning words, you put fear into her heart! She deserted me because of you!"

"Enough!" Julianne yelled, rising to her feet and staring up at his figure that still towered over her even though she was standing upright. "You know yourself what you are capable of. I heard you speak to the daroga, I heard the humour with which you then viewed your recent murder. I am no fool. That man, whoever he was, was killed to send a message to me."

"Yes, you and your meddling ways!" he interrupted angrily. "He was a merchant, a good man who had never betrayed me until you entered my life. He trespassed! He expressed concern because my courier had been battered with questions by a certain, nosy woman!"

"Had I known that it would justify his murder, I would not have done it!"

She could feel tears stinging in her eyes and loathed herself for the emotions that always flowed so freely. She did not want him to mistake her tears for weakness when they were truly nothing more than a manifestation of her anger.

"It was you who killed him, Madame Doucet, you who drove Madame Giry away!"

A breathless silence engulfed them both but neither one was prepared to walk away just yet.

"Have you no heart?" she at last asked quietly. "Are you truly monstrous enough to commit these dreadful acts without a snippet of remorse?"

She did not have time to regret her words, for he was on her in a second. His chest pressed against hers, while his left arm snaked around her like a rope, bending her own arm upwards against her back. The pain was excruciating, knocked all air out of her lungs. It was as if her shoulder was slowly pivoted out of its socket.

"Monstrous, Madame?" His voice seemed to defile her, it was as ugly as she recalled it being the first time he had spoken to her. "Shall we see how truly monstrous I can be?"

She saw him lifting up his free hand and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow that never came.

"Look at me!" he bellowed and she flinched, her eyes automatically flying open again.

And there it was before her, his face, disfigured as she had assumed but so much worse than she could ever have imagined. Flesh that seemed to be decaying, yellow and sickly, sharp bones protruding everywhere and nothing but a gaping hole where his nose should have been. She wanted to be tactful but her eyes kept slipping over his features time and time again.

"Your actions by far surpass your face in ugliness, Monsieur," she managed quietly in the end, staring into the sunken sockets, into the amber eyes she knew could be soft and gentle also.

He growled, shrieked as if in pain and yanked his hand away from her arm. When he began to pace once more, she carefully lowered her aching arm, gingerly rolled her shoulder to gauge the damage. Thankfully, it only seemed to be sore but not injured.

"You women are all the same," Erik growled suddenly, making her head snap sharply in his direction, "you try to convince me that the distortion of my face is bearable, then you stab me in the back. Why do you expect me to conduct myself like a true gentleman when I am being denied companionship at every turn? You clip my only outreach to the outside world. You put fear in the heart of the only woman who ever trusted me. Yet you expect me to treat you with courtesy?"

Her heart constricted with pity for him, but at the same time, as she looked into his half-crazed eyes, she also knew that he would be capable of anything and that she was in great danger.

"She betrayed me, Julianne, she did," he was approaching her with rapid steps, "yet when she kissed me I had to let her go. Would you not call that courteous? I wished her well, her and the Vicomte, but in my misery I begged her for one last favour. An invitation to their wedding, hand-delivered. Oh, I would not have attended, of course," he chuckled and she was mortified to see tears running down his waxen cheeks, "I would have been quite dead at that point. But she did not return, Julianne…" She flinched when he reached for her hand and the movement was so sudden that she cried out in pain. "She betrayed me again!" He dragged her forward against his chest. "And if you can be monstrous, so can I!"

A thousand words were swarming around in her mind but not a single one made it past her lips. There was no point reasoning with insanity.

"If you had only stayed away, Madame Doucet, stayed far away in your little box everything would have been altered to my will. Nobody would have left and nobody would have died."

"An opera house is just a shell without music," she whispered, her chapped lips were trembling against each other.

"A shell?"

His twisted lips silently echoed her words. Then he tipped his head back and let out a laugh that made her skin crawl. It was a sound she would never forget, filled with utter grief and desperation.

"A shell indeed," he then whispered to himself, "but at least it continues to stand. No, I did what I had to. You killed the merchant!"

How utterly unhinged he was.

"I did what I had to do to survive!" she screamed, her panic finding a body in that one sound. "I did what I had to do to protect this Opera. I gave you a chance, I reasoned with you, I made you offers that were ludicrous in light of what you were asking. So don't you dare blame all this on me, don't you dare overlook my efforts, Édouard!"

The silence crashed around them, thundered in their ears while slowly Julianne's face flushed. That one name seemed to put an entire gulf between them, it laid bare far too much of the sadness and anger in her heart, and the strange mixture of thoughts she'd been having for some time now. It was surprising enough for Erik to loosen his grip on her, and embarrassing enough to make her flee into her room where she succumbed to the tears that seemed powerful enough to drown her.