Sorry for the long wait but as I said before I was out for Christmas and New Year's. I returned at the beginning of January but then I had to go back to work and run some errands and let's not forget winter sales!

Anyways, I'm back with the new (and second to last) chapter of the story. I hope you enjoy! In the meantime check out the illustrated version of the Masquerade chapter on my Tumblr. The ID is jadeite-art.

Disclaimer: Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

Chapter 19 - Revelations

Erik came out of his box and sank onto the small step by the door. Normally, he would've gone to get some flowers and rushed to Carlotta's dressing room to congratulate her on a magnificent performance but given the circumstances, he didn't think he should. Certainly, his ugly face was the last thing she wanted to see right now.

A pair of suede shoes entered Erik's field of vision. Lifting his eyes, he saw Daroga who held him out a hundred euro bill.

"Come on, take it," the guard prompted when he didn't move to pocket the money. "You earned it. You made that girl sing like I've never heard before. Really, I'm impressed."

"Oh yeah," Erik muttered, taking the bill and twisting it in his fingers absentmindedly. "She truly surpassed herself tonight."

"So? What are you waiting for? Go tell her!"

Erik sent the guard a skeptical look.

"You heard her before, Daroga," he huffed. "I disgust her."

Daroga rolled his eyes. "I bet she didn't mean your looks but rather your behavior. Whatever it is you did to piss her off, you should go and apologize to her right now."

"If anything, it's her who should apologize to me."

The guard rose a brow questioningly.

Erik cried, "She tore my mask off! In front of other people!"

"Well, yeah, that was pretty mean of her," Daroga admitted, "but I bet she had some good reason for it. I mean, if she just wanted to hurt you, she could've done it a long time ago and in front of a larger and far less comprehensive audience."

"She wanted Christine to see," Erik said quietly.

Daroga's eyes popped wide.

"Christine? That little blondie, that was Christine? Christine Daaé?"

Erik nodded. "Her last name is different now and she's younger but she looks and acts just like the Christine I used to know."

"So let me get this straight," Daroga said. "You were trying to hook up with both Christine and Carlotta at the same time."

Erik felt his cheeks flush under his mask. "That's not how it went!" he fumed.

"Oh yeah? How did it go?"

"At first I thought I wanted Christine but getting to know Carlotta better I changed my mind. I let her go once and for all. It's just that… she couldn't let me go apparently."

Daroga chucked. "What?"

"She began rambling about loving me and wanting to marry me and then she just kissed me!"

"WHAT?!"

"I didn't see it coming, I swear! She suddenly just grabbed me and kissed me and then Carlotta came in and freaked out on me!"

"Can you blame her?"

Erik ignored the question. "I'm certain Christine is over me now that she saw what I look like," he said bitterly. "Thing is, Carlotta saw it too."

The guard threw his arms in the air. "And there he goes again!"

"It's over now…"

"...the Music of the Night!"

Erik sent Daroga a glare. "Seriously?"

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," the guard chuckled.

The ghost was being overly melodramatic in his opinion. Couples fought sometimes. It wasn't the end of the world.

Exhaling deeply, he said with all the patience he could muster, "Sitting here and mopping isn't going to solve your problem so get your skinny ass off there and go talk to that poor girl. Honestly, Erik, what have you got to lose at this point?"

Absolutely nothing, Erik thought. For what he knew he'd already lost the one thing he held dear in this world: her. He wouldn't be surprised if she just slammed the door into his face. Yet, if there was even the slightest chance she'd hear him out, he had to take it.

Standing up, he headed downstairs without as much as another word.

Daroga watched the ghost go before resuming his patrol. He'd claimed once that he had no time to babysit Erik and yet there he was! Did the Persian do it too back in Erik's time? Was he doomed to fill in the role because of his apparent resemblance to that character? Was it… destiny? Naaah, if this whole thing was about destiny then Erik would've hooked up with Christine, wouldn't he? Certainly, his destiny couldn't involve Carlotta. Could it?

Meanwhile, Erik crossed the Opera House, heading towards the backstage. He knew Carlotta had been relocated to a different dressing room, one that used to belong to la Debonnaire and in his time - oh the irony - to la Carlotta herself.

Suddenly he stopped to a halt. There, walking the hall was none other than Antonio, all pampered and carrying a giant bouquet of roses.

"You!" he growled, approaching the man. "What are you still doing here? Didn't I make myself clear the last time? Stay away from Carlotta or I'll have you hanging from the chandelier by your own guts!"

"Chill man!" Antonio hissed, backing away. He wasn't exactly afraid of Carlotta's bodyguard, but he'd rather avoid a fight. He couldn't risk ripping his brand new Armani.

"Just tell me one thing," Erik said, stalking ahead, "why do you keep going after her? 'Cause you don't love her, that much is clear."

"Isn't it obvious? Carlotta is a frigid bitch, you certainly must know that…"

He didn't actually.

"... but she comes from money and she has a background. Her family's been in the industry for generations."

Oh! So that's what it was really about!

"I never really liked her much, especially that big ass of hers, but she could've been my ticket to a great career."

"Oops, I guess you're late for that ride," Erik sneered.

Antonio shrugged his shoulders. "So are you."

Erik frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I just saw your Acting Manager go inside her room," Antonio said, wiggling his brows suggestively.

Only then it occurred to Erik that the Italian wasn't going to the backstage but rather returning from there, flowers still in hand.

Blood drained from Erik's face. He pushed past a rather confused Antonio making him drop the bouquet, the roses scattering on the marble floor, and sped towards the backstage.

"Let it go, dude!" Antonio shouted to his back. "The cunning bitch beat us to our own game!"

What did he know! Carlotta wasn't like that. She would've rather died than sold herself for fame or money. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps Thibault just dropped in for five minutes to tell her she nailed it tonight. Oh, who was he kidding! He bet his life the pig was up to something!

Bursting into the backstage, he ran to Carlotta's room and yanked at the handle. The door was locked. Faint noises were coming from the other side: huffing and growling mixed up with muffled cries. Panicked, he banged on the door but it didn't budge. In a strike of clarity, he remembered he had a passe-partout. He frantically searched his pockets until his trembling fingers locked on cold metal and turning the key in the lock he slammed the door open.

A horrifying scene unfolded in front of his eyes. There was Carlotta's limp body lying on the sofa, one arm dangling lifelessly from the edge and legs sprawled open. Above her hovered Thibault, one arm slammed over her mouth, the other one pushing against her inner thigh, his swollen member sticking from between the folds of his dress shirt, the tip less than an inch from the girl's naked flesh.

A red haze blurred his vision. In a flash, he was at the man's side and grabbing at his collar, he yanked him off Carlotta. Thibault heaved, choked by his own shirt, but he couldn't care less. Dragging him out of the room he threw him to the floor.

Tripping over his own clothes, Thibault fell on his knees, coughing and spluttering. The ghost walked toward him, looking like the incarnation of wrath. He shot up, pulling his pants up in the process but dealing with the button and zipper he couldn't avoid the punch that came his way. There was a little crack and he felt a something sticky pool over his mouth.

Erik struck again but this time Thibault was ready. With unsuspected agility, he ducked the second blow and sent a fist into the ghost's jaw. Erik staggered back surprised. He'd clearly underestimated Thibault who, despite his flaccid physique and older age, turned out to be a valid adversary.

Growling like an animal, the manager threw himself at Erik like a wrecking ball. It felt as if he were back in an arena, facing anything from strongmen to wild beast armed with nothing but a piece of catgut. His instincts kicked in and he stepped aside at the last second, sending Thibault smashing into the wall. The second he turned he sent his way another punch.

Thibault took no time to retaliate, smashing his huge fist right into his masked nose. For the second time that day Erik felt the thin rubber band holding his mask in place snap and the offending object fell off his face, hitting the floor with a clang.

"Fuck, you really are horrid!" Thibault grumbled, finally seeing that face he only knew from gossip and lore. "I've never seen anything as disgusting as you in my life!"

"I could say the same about you," Erik hissed.

"I still cannot figure how'd you get that little cunt to fuck with you."

Erik gritted his teeth but didn't respond to the obvious provocation. Fist-fighting would get him nowhere as they both possessed similar strength and skill. Oh, what he'd give to have his lasso now!

Pacing around and looking for an opportunity to strike, Thibault continued, "I get sick at the stomach just thinking about it. Really, how'd you do it? Did you knock her out first or what?"

"I'd never lower myself to your level."

"What? You think I knocked her out? Oh no! She passed out on me. Shame, really. I enjoyed her screaming. It turns me on when they fight back."

In a heap, Thibault threw himself at Erik but the ghost dove under his arm, his hand extending to his waist. Before he realized what was going leather strap closed in around his neck. His eyes bulged out as his fat fingers dug fruitlessly into what he realized was his own belt. He looked up into that macabre face, twisted in anger, teeth exposed in a wicked grin and those yellow eyes blazing like hellfire, and finally understood why people feared the Opera Ghost.

Erik pulled the noose tighter still, taking a sick pleasure in every choking sound that escaped Thibault's throat. Just a little bit more and it'd be over. No, that would've been too merciful.

Feeling Thibault go limp, Erik loosened the grip on his neck. Less than a minute later the man regained consciousness but in that time he managed to bind his wrists and ankles.

Cursing and yelling, Thibault wriggled wildly against his bonds but failed to free himself. Holding him by the feet, the ghost dragged him down into the cellars. There he stopped in a room full of junk and worked something on one of the walls. A stone retracted revealing a gaping hole in the ground and the ghost sent him pummeling into the depths below.

A loud thud announced Thibault's landing in the torture chamber.

"Anything broken?" Erik asked.

"I'll kill you!" came Thibault's raging yell.

Erik just smirked. "No, I will kill you. Everything in its time though. For now, enjoy the sights."

Reaching into the hole, Erik pushed a switch and the torture chamber mechanism sprung to life.

"What the hell is this?! Let me out of here! Do you hear me you freak?!"

Thibault's cries died out as the trapdoor closed onto itself. He'd have something to do for the next few hours trying to escape the chamber. He'd gladly stay and watch, popcorn in hand, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

Rushing back upstairs, he stopped in front of Carlotta's dressing room. Collecting his mask off the floor, he tried to fix it but the thin rubber kept slipping from his fingers and after a few attempts he just gave up and tucked the mask under his belt before going into the room.

Carlotta had come to her senses. He found her curled into a shaking heap on the floor, eyes vacant and black tears marking her cheeks. Dropping to his knees, he crawled towards her and pulled her into this arms. He was afraid she might push him away, but after a moment of hesitation she circled her arms around his waist and snuggled into his chest.

"Shhh, you're safe now" he hummed, stroking her hair soothingly. "I won't let anything bad happen to you, I promise."

"E-Erik," Carlotta stammered in between sobs. "T-Thibault, he… he..."

"He didn't do anything," he told her. "I came just in time to stop him."

She pulled away a little and her eyes skimmed across his bloodstained shirt all the way up to his naked face, taking in the bruises that already began to form around his jaw. She took his hands in hers and he hissed when her fingers brushed over the raw flesh of his knuckles.

"Erik, what did you do?" she asked quietly, her eyes wide in horror.

"What do you think? I beat the crap out of him!"

He'd saved her! Why was she acting as if he'd done something wrong?

"Is he…?"

"He's not dead. Not yet."

"Erik, please, don't kill him."

Was she for real? Thibault almost raped her and she was pleading his case?!

"I've been indulgent with that pig so far, closing an eye on his slimy affairs because I told myself it was none of my business, but this time he'd crossed a line!"

"Erik, please don't do this. I'm not worth it."

"Oh, but you are more than worth it!"

"You don't even love me. You love Christine. You've ever only loved Christine."

Oh, so that was her problem. He'd completely forgotten.

"You're right, I do love Christine," Erik admitted.

He always had and he always would but he'd finally realized that his love for her was, and had always been, more like that of a father for a child: full of affection and admiration but entirely platonic. If he'd mistaken it for something else in the past it was likely because I lacked a point of comparison that he had now.

"I love her," he said again, "but I'm not in love with her. I'm in love with you."

Carlotta shook her head in disbelief. "Christine is your destiny," she argued. "She has to be the reason why you came back alive."

"She is. That's the one thing I'm certain of."

Carlotta sent him a questioning glance.

"She sang an aria from 'Faust' one night," he explained. "I was dead and yet I heard it, loud and clear, and it… pulled me back."

"Was it the Jewel Song?"

"Yes. How do you know?"

"Erik," Carlotta whispered, "Christine didn't sing that aria. I did."

"What?"

"It was just a couple of weeks after I arrived at the Opera. I was asked to understudy for la Debonnaire because Julianne had broken a leg. It was a last minute thing so I stayed in late to practice. I still remember that night because it was the night when I was first given a chance to sing something big. It was also the night when I first saw your ghost."

There was a long moment of silence as they both tried to make sense of what they'd just discovered. It seemed like a minor detail but the implications were huge. For starters, it suggested the two of them were linked somehow before they actually knew each other. Was it because Carlotta was a progeny of la Carlotta? Then again, Erik had never been close with the diva. Why should her great-great-granddaughter bring him back from the dead? It would've made sense if she were Christine's great-great-granddaughter, but la Carlotta's? The two of them never even spoke to each other directly for crying out loud!

Carlotta broke the silence first. "I want to go home," she said.

Standing up, she went to her vanity, grabbed some beauty pads and squished some make-up remover onto them. Half of the product landed on the floor and she cursed over her breath.

"Here, let me," Erik muttered, taking the pads from her.

Sitting her down on the chair, he knelt before her and gently wiped her face of what still remained of her make-up. He then brushed her hair back and helped her dress and gather all of her stuff.

Walking her out of the Opera, he called an Uber and got inside with her. The driver glanced at him in the mirror and his eyes widened.

"Yeah, I'm ugly. Deal with it," Erik growled. In the dawn of the recent events, his looks were the last thing he cared about. "Now, get going!"

The man hit the gas and fifteen minutes later they stopped at Carlotta's building. Erik walked her all the way up to her apartment, thankful they didn't run into any of the neighbors.

"Would you- would you like me to stay?" Erik asked as Carlotta searched for her keys.

She shook her head. "Don't take it personally but I'd rather be alone."

Erik nodded in agreement.

Carlotta found her key and opened her door. Going inside, she called, "Erik?"

"Yes?"

She looked at him pleadingly. "Promise me, you won't kill Thibault."

"Give me one good reason why."

That was a damn good question. For everything he did to her and likely to several other women before her, including Julianne and la Debonnaire, she wished he died, slowly and painfully. At the same time, she loathed the thought of Erik becoming a murderer again.

"Do it for me," she said, unable to come up with a better argument. "If you love me like you say you do, then do it for me."

After a long pause, he whispered, "Okay, I won't kill him."

"Promise me!" she demanded.

"I promise."

He meant to ask her if he could kiss her goodbye but she'd already disappeared into the apartment, closing the door behind her.

He returned to Palais Garnier and, respecting Carlotta's wish for alone time, didn't try to contact her through the rest of the weekend. When on Monday she didn't show up at the Opera he got the uncanny feeling something was wrong. He sent her a couple texts but she never replied. He then tried to call her but the number was unavailable. Out of his mind with worry, he decided to check on her personally. Arriving at her building, he stood at her door but before he could ring the bell, a familiar grouchy voice caught his attention.

"Mademoiselle isn't home."

Erik turned to see the old lady from apartment 83 returning home with a sack full of cat food. Good thing he'd fixed his mask. He bet she'd have a heart attack if she saw him without it.

"I saw her leave with a suitcase yesterday evening," she said. "She didn't tell you she was going away?"

Erik shook his head. "Do you know where she went?

"She didn't tell and I didn't ask."

Erik's heart sank. Carlotta left without saying a word. That could only mean one thing: she was trying to escape from Paris, from the Opera and from him.

"Thank you for your help, Madame," he said, heading for the stairs.

He didn't care to call for Uber and just walked all the way to the Opera.

Palais Garnier welcomed him back with an eerie silence. The night had long set and the lights were out. The moonlight seeping through the skylight filled the Grand Escalier with a strange bluish glow. The place felt empty and cold. So did he.

Uff, that was a long one! The longest I've written so far I think. Enjoyed all the drama?

What did you think of Antonio's little cameo? Epic douche, huh?

And Thibault gets literally caught with his d*** in the air! He sure got his butt kicked pretty good for waving it around!

Only one chapter left!

We're only a step from the great finale!

What do you think Erik did with Thibault? Did he actually listen to Carlotta's plea and let him live?

What could be the reason why it was Carlotta and not Christine who woke him up?

Please be so kind and leave a review!