Chapter Fifteen - Blood, Fire, Choices, Oh My!

Since the night of the Masque Ball, things became hectic in the opera as the managers tried to get Faust set in motion once again. The week was filled with madness and all kinds of inconveniences for everyone within the Palais Opera, and no one truly got a good night's rest. The ballerinas received no quarter from their instructor, the stagehands and scene-shifters worked day and night to prepare the sets and practice for the show, and the managers received a constant bombardment of notes from the Phantom of the Opera.

Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae continued to see one another, playing their game of "betrothal" in bliss, meeting in darkened corners or the rooftop of the opera, sharing sweets and flowers and whispers. Philippe de Chagny frowned upon Raoul doing such things, but he was not at liberty to speak. He continued to visit La Sorelli, much to the dancer's delight, though his eyes always strayed towards the direction of Angelique Archambault's workroom.

Angelique, in the meantime, kept her eyes on her work…and the trapdoors that she became extremely familiar with that were tactfully placed all over the theater. She came down each night to Erik, sewing by the fire as he played the violin or piano, the two of them taking turns reading to one another, sharing supper and what happened to the both of them throughout the day. Christine came down every other night and stayed, making Angelique's stomach twist unpleasantly. While she cared for Christine and had no qualms with her, Erik continued to insist stubbornly that he had to make the singer love him. Christine, in the meantime, would visit Angelique and pour out her heart to her, sharing all her fears, concerns, and hopes.

"I do love Raoul, but it can never really happen," she sighed, shaking her head on night. "I'm supposed to see him tonight, on the rooftop by Apollo's Lyre…he wants to elope."

"How romantic," Angelique smiled, though the happiness didn't quite reach her eyes. "But you won't, will you?"

She shook her head, her golden hair swaying around her mournful face. "I'm so frightened of what Erik would do if he found out…and while I don't love him the way he wants me to, he is still my teacher, and I cannot bear it for him to be unhappy."

Angelique nodded, understanding all too well what she meant. "What time are you meeting?"

"Within the hour…wish me well?" she asked, embracing her friend. "You say a word of this to Erik, will you?"

Angelique shook her head, already knowing that one way or another, Erik would find out, with or without her help. "Be careful, Christine."

"I shall be," she promised, picking up her cloak and slipping out of Angelique's room.

Angelique remained there, looking down at the jacket she had nearly finished. It was Erik's design – the royal blue color dazzling and striking with the gold accents and glittering buttons, while red ribbons streamed off the shoulders. All that was left was to add the final buttons at the front and she would have all the costumes ready for the next day's big performance. Setting her work aside for the moment, she leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling in her room. "How it aches…I wish it would stop. I can't stop my feelings for Erik, but I can't impose them upon him…even if I did, he only wants Christine." Her eyes began to sting, her hand curling into a fist as she roughly used her knuckles to wipe away the tears that began to form. "No…don't start. Don't cry over something you can't change…there's no point it."

A knock at the door made her sit up, sniffling as she regained her composure. "Come in," she said, inhaling deeply as so to calm herself as she reached for the needle and jacket once more.

The door opened and Erik stepped into the room, raising an eyebrow at her. "What is the matter, Angelique?" he asked, noticing her eyes.

"I rubbed it too hard," she answered, glancing at him before getting back to her work. "By the by, I'm nearly finished and I'll probably be heading upstairs once I'm through."

"Very well," he nodded. "Erik shall be going out as well…" His mouth curled into a frown, meaning only one thing.

"This outing wouldn't happen to do with the de Chagny brothers, would it?" she asked accusingly as she sewed another button into place.

"Just one," Erik admitted. "He shall be meeting Christine at Apollo's Lyre tonight."

A wry smile came to her face as she shook her head. "There is nothing you can't find out, is there?" She felt sorry for Christine, but really, what could they have expected from the Opera Ghost?

"No, Erik supposes not," he chuckled, adjusting his fedora over his brow, his mask in place. "He shall return momentarily."

"Erik," Angelique pleaded futilely. "Won't you just let them-?"

"Christine shall love Erik," he growled. "If she cannot, then who?" Turning on his heel, his cape swishing around him as he moved, he stalked out of the room, his footsteps fading as he moved farther and farther away, until at last the front door shut.

Her fingers curling around the lapels of the fine jacket, Angelique let her tears run free at last as she bowed her head in hopelessness. "…me."

~OG~

"Oh, Angelique, they're gorgeous!" Jammes sighed, admiring the outfits the seamstress had finished just in time for the event. "I can't wait to start the show with these new costumes!"

"It is very exciting," Meg beamed. "You'll be there to watch us, won't you?"

"I certainly would like to," Angelique nodded, smiling at the two girls. "Now you'd best be off, you'll need all the rest you can get for tomorrow's performance."

The giggling girls waved goodbye as they hurried off, completely unaware of the turmoil that their friend suffered all the while. Angelique watched them go, feeling an empty hollowness within her as she smoothed out a rich scarlet cape on one of the mannequins. She sighed as she arose from the floor, walking to her bunk and picking up her cloak. Tossing it over her shoulders, she decided that a quick walk about town ought to do her some good and clear her head. "It would be a good opportunity to take a peep into the stores," she thought, hoping it might distract her for a bit. So it was that she exited through the side door down the hall and stepped back onto the streets, memories replaying in her head of how she had come here, nearly a month ago, and had her life changed in seconds.

There were very few people out on the streets at this hour, most of the masses scurrying home for the night or wandering in and out of unsavory places. After her encounter with Maurice, Angelique kept a knife tucked into her sleeve or belt at all times, anxious of her surroundings. On this quiet snowy night, however, she was distracted and hurt, wondering what she was doing here at all. There were times she wanted to up and leave forever, perhaps even traveling out in search of her uncle, no matter what the costs…and yet, she knew it would break Erik's heart if she should vanish. She was also quite certain he would find a way to track her down and convince her to return…she was his friend, after all…

Stopping before a boutique window, she gazed at the display, tugging at her hair as she saw chocolates and sweets arranged in romantic formations and dainty trays. "For The One Who Holds Your Heart" it declared, written in beautiful cursive.

"But I do not hold his…not in that manner," she shook her head, shivering as she fought not to cry.

It all happened very quickly.

There was the strange, imposing sense that someone was behind her during this vulnerable moment, and before she could reach for her arm, two burly arms constricted her, one pinning her arms to her waist, the other going for her face. Her mouth opened to scream but the stranger's large hand covered her mouth with a cloth, a sweet, dizzying smell overtaking her. She squirmed, holding her breath in hopes that she could fight it, but he remained steadfast, never letting go.

"Make him think you're out!" she thought. "Before it's too late!"

She slowed her actions until she stopped, her lungs about to burst, her nose wrinkled as she fought to stay away. Sure enough, he loosened his hold on her, allowing her to snatch her weapon and stab it into his side. A roar of pain filled the air as the man gripped her shoulder. She jabbed him with her elbow, but the action made her head spin.

"No!...No, I can't! I have to…get back…to the opera…Erik…"

She had managed to make it across the street, tripping and stretching her arms blindly until at last she swooned and collapsed, her mind focused on one face before going black.

"Erik…"

~OG~

"I am frightened of him, Raoul…so, so frightened!" Christine wept, covering her face with her hands after telling her beloved everything that had happened since she came to the opera.

He wrapped his arms protectively around her, his brows set together sternly as he thought of the man who stole and frightened Christine. There was no doubt that he must be awful, but Christine, as terrified as she was of her teacher, certainly held a degree of awe and adoration for him – at least, for his talents. "But do you love me, Christine? Tell me, if Erik were good-looking, would you still love me?"

Her arms were flung around his neck at once as she trembled and said, "Oh Raoul, if I didn't love you, then I wouldn't give you lips! Take them, for it may be the last time."

Feverishly, he did as he was told, drinking in her sweet kiss, unaware of the pair of blazing eyes that glared down upon them from upon Apollo's bronze shoulder. They watched as Christine dragged Raoul away, leading him back into the opera to show him a way out to safety.

"Ah, but he cannot be safe, not from the Opera Ghost, even if he leaves the theater," Erik thought malevolently, slipping down skillfully before taking a separate route to catch them before they left. Sticking his hand into his pocket, he rubbed his thumb over the ring he had meant for Christine, his thoughts flickering back to a certain seamstress. "Angelique…why were you upset when Erik left this evening?" he mused. "Could she possibly crave Erik's presence with her always…? Oh yes, that must be it." He rolled his eyes, a grumble passing through his lips. "Or perhaps she is utterly in love with Erik and hopes for him to return her affections – ah, yes, what a fool I am, indeed. So very obvious!" He continued mocking himself on his way to the foyer, certain that this would be their final destination. The more and more he teased himself, however, the appealing words started to prod at his brain and heart. "No…it is not possible…is it?" he thought stopping at his hiding place and stroking his chin. "…could it be-?"

"Tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, tomorrow, Raoul! No matter what I say, we must leave together!"

Erik's head snapped over to the slit behind the curtain, his blood boiling at the news.

"I love you," she whispered, kissing him once more before running away.

Raoul shook his head, frowning as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Humbug," he muttered. "I have to save Christine from that humbug before it's too late!"

"Humbug, you say?" Erik hissed, watching him leave. "I shall show you a humbug, monsieur."

Waiting until the cost was clear, he took another passage until he exited the opera, stalking after the muttering Vicomte as he strolled home. They did not have fair to walk, as the opera was a mere few blocks away from the de Chagny estate, causing Erik to smirk. Waiting until the young man entered the house, he slunk through the darkness and climbed up the gutter-spout until he arrived at a balcony on the second floor. There, he tugged his cloak closer to his body and waited.

It did not take more than fifteen minutes before the young man entered his room, ready to sleep. "Good, then it is the right room," he chuckled quietly, waiting until the Vicomte had turned out the lights and began to situate himself. Approaching the window, he leaned his face forward, knowing that the only thing visible to Raoul at this hour of night would be his cat-like eyes, glowing like burning coals in the night.

From within the confines of his room, Raoul shouted, "Humbug, humbug, humb-!" His insults stopped the moment he turned his head towards the French doors, seeing the eyes in the dark staring at him. He trembled, groping the nightstand and lighting a match. Quickly, Erik closed his eyes and stepped away from the window, biting back a cruel laugh as Raoul lit a candle and gaped at the now empty window. He covered his mouth, wanting to burst out when he saw Raoul approach the window and then check under the bed like a frightened child. The young man looked baffled and insulted as he blew out the candle and got back into bed. The moment he pulled the covers up, Erik stood before the window and stared once more, enjoying their little game.

Raoul sat up, staring back in awe and fright. "Erik, is that you?" he called out from the bed. "Man, genius, or ghost, is it you?!"

Erik allowed himself to chuckle once more, letting his eerie voice seep through the glass and drift chillingly around Raoul, watching him shudder. As the boy clumsily reached over and turned his face away for the briefest moment, Erik unlatched the window and silently snuck in, crouching at the foot of the bed. When Raoul looked back, he gasped in fear, still only able to see Erik's eyes. However, this time, Erik caught a glint of something in Raoul's hand…a revolver.

Raoul took aim as Erik fell back, the shot echoing in the room, the bullet flying through the window as Erik winced, feeling a sharp pain pass his arm. While Raoul gasped in shock, looking down at his own shaking hands, Erik exited the room and sat on the balcony's rail, gripping his bleeding arm. "Blast!" he hissed.

"Sir?! Sir, was that you?!"

"Are you all right?"

"Raoul! Mon Dieu, brother, what is it? What happened?"

Thinking fast, Erik forced himself to climb, using the gutter-spout once more until he arrived at the roof, hiding behind the peak as he waited for them to check the balcony.

"It was Erik, I know it was!" Raoul insisted.

"The blood is here," a servant agreed. "But it's gone up the gutter-spout."

"You've shot a cat," Philippe stated flatly, clearly unimpressed.

"No, Philippe, it was the Opera Ghost, I know it," Raoul snapped. "Just you wait – I'll prove it to you."

"Oh, Erik has no doubt of it," Erik rolled his eyes, wincing once more as he slid down the roof and found another gutter spout to use. Climbing down, he cradled his arm as he moved silently through the streets, making his way towards the stables of the opera. "Angelique will not be pleased," he shook his head, a "tsk" slipping out of his mouth.

"Angelique is not here."

Erik spun around to confront the voice, reaching for his lasso, when he saw a familiar astrakhan cap upon the hidden figure. "Daroga!" he spat, wincing as his arm ached. "How dare you-!"

"I see you have been occupied with the Vicomte," the Persian smirked, pulling out a piece of cloth. "Allow me-"

"Erik does not need your assistance," he scoffed.

"You shall if you wish to save Angelique," the man informed him.

Erik gave him an incredulous look, ready to snap a dirty response back when he saw how stern the Persian's face was. Fear and worry bubbled within him, his eyes widening as he thought of his darling girl in peril. "Where is she?!"

"Come, I have a cab waiting at the front of the opera," the Persian said, guiding him away. "I shall tell you all I can, but only if you let me fix your arm."

"Damn my arm!" Erik cursed as he followed the man, his sense of referring to himself in third person having flown out the window. "Just tell me!"

"She was kidnapped and taken away, but the man was unfamiliar," the Persian shook his head. "I can't imagine who would want to-"

"I can," Erik said, his fiery eyes narrowing. "Quickly, get to the carriage, there's not a moment to waste!"

~OG~

She was fighting against the black void that she was trapped in, swimming against the ominous current, her throat dry as she futilely called out for the one person she desperately hoped to see."Erik! Erik!"

A low, sinister chuckle filled her ears, causing her to shiver, as she felt herself slowly returning to the world of the living. She forced her eyelids open little by little, her blurry vision lazily clearing…

"Oh, no!" Angelique felt her stomach churn at the sight of two shadows standing by the fire. The parlor was all too familiar – the green walls, the pristine white fireplace and mantle, the flowery patterns on the lavish rugs…

"Welcome home, Angelique," spoke the woman stepping towards her as she sneered contemptuously.

"Capucine," breathed Angelique, the blood draining from her face.

"You didn't think we had forgotten about you, did you, Angie?" smirked the second figure, joining her mother's side.

"Helen," Angelique whispered, her throat closing as she uttered the name.

"You've been a terrible girl, Angelique," Lady Archambault-Lenoir hissed. "You've caused quite a hassle – I never thought you'd actually make it this far on your own and for so long. But we've found you now." That wickedly sweet smile stretched over her face as her eyes seemed to shine demonically at her in the fire and lamplight. "Now be a dear and tell us where Maurice is. I sent him looking for you nearly two weeks ago. Surely, you've seen him."

The vision of Erik coming to her rescue flashed in her eyes, Maurice crippling under Erik's hold. "I shall always come for you," his velvety voice said soothingly in her mind, a sudden rush of courage surging through her. Her jaw set firm, she whipped her head towards her stepfamily, her eyes narrowed as her brows furrowed, startling the two women. "He's dead," she stated coldly, slipping off of the lounge and planting her feet firmly on the floor.

The two of them gawked at her, stunned. "Y-You're lying!" Helen stammered, pointing accusingly at her.

"He's dead, Helen," Angelique repeated, her head held high, her tone even and icy. "He tried to rape me, tried to hurt me and then take me away…and do you know what happened? My guardian angel rescued me." A delighted smile came to her face as she imagined Erik standing close by, offering his hand to her. "My angel came and protected me, and he'll do it again!"

"She's absolutely mad, Maman!" Helen whispered.

"Angelique, I've had enough of this-!" Capucine said, raising her hand to strike. Bring her arm down, she gasped as Angelique grabbed it with both hands and tossed her aside. The elder toppled onto the floor and nearly crashed into a chair, the sharp pain starting again in her breast. "You-!"

"No, Capucine, I have had enough of this," Angelique informed her. "I won't let you hurt me any more. I rule my life, you do not. I am not afraid of you."

"How dare you-!" started Helen.

"No," Angelique said, turning around and glaring at her step-sister. "How dare you, Helen? Your family has made my life a living nightmare since our parents wed. You all hid your true selves fairly well, but it wasn't until Papa died that you all came out and showed your true colors! You destroyed me – you stripped me of my confidence, my happiness, my life! Well, I am no longer yourCendrillon," she declared, her hands placed defiantly on her hips. "I have a new life, and I will not let you destroy it as you have ruined my past."

"You wicked wench!" Helen howled, running and tackling the girl onto the floor. "I'll show you!"

"Get off of me!" Angelique demanded, wrestling with the manic girl on the carpets. The two of them rolled and kicked, scratching at each other in an attempt to overpower the other.

"H-Hel…len-!" Capucine gasped, her fingers curling at the frills over her chest. Her heart was pounding much too quickly, her mind spinning as she forced herself onto her feet. Tripping over her own steps, she felt that she could not breathe, her insides feeling about ready to burst. With a final strangled gasp, she reached the mantle for support, knocking the clock, figurines, and gas lamp down as she grasped frantically to hold on before falling onto her back, her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

At the sound of the crash, Helen looked up, allowing Angelique to punch her face. Stunning the girl, she shoved the other off before scrambling away to the other side of the room, the smell of gas and burnt rugs and wood filling her nose. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of her stepmother lying on the ground, unmoving, while the gas lamp had been shattered on the floor, a fire spreading and consuming the furniture within seconds.

"Maman!" Helen screeched, running through the fire to grab her mother, shaking her violently. "Maman?! Get up! Get up, you old cow!" she demanded, hysterical tears sliding down her face.

Angelique covered her mouth as he jaw dropped, fear and disbelief gripping her. The distinct crackle of the fire eating away at the wood found throughout the room snapped her back to her senses, panic filling her mind. "Helen!" she shouted, calling to her stepsister. "Helen, get out of there! Listen to me-!"

The fire, having spread vertically across the room now, made contact with the fireplace, a loud hiss followed by a roar filling the room as it began to spread even more so over the walls. Touching the paintings placed nearby, the fire licked the materials, greedily fed by the ingredients with which the canvas and paint were made, allowing it to travel faster and further. The fire upon the coffee table consumed the next gas lamp, and just as Angelique had shouted her warning, the glass shattered and the fire bloomed, its heat reaching the ceiling and nearby seats, surrounding Angelique in flames. Fighting back a scream as the glass and flames flew near her, she held up her arm in defense, when the small chandelier dangling from above was loosened from its hold as the fire raged on.

Angelique could see it fall, a distant memory of a much larger one in the Palais Garnier falling and killing a man filling her mind. She felt that she was moving much too slowly and everything around her was much too fast. Coughing and crying, she took a step back, tripping over her own skirts as the chandelier crashed onto the floor, several of the little gems flying, one of them smacking Angelique on the forehead. Stunned by the pain and smoke, suffocating from the heat, she felt herself collapse onto the ground, a horrifying scream filling the air.

Perhaps it was the heat, or perhaps her spirit was being lifted up, but she felt at peace when a set of strong, thing arms curled around her and picked her up, crushing her face into a man's chest as she felt herself flying through the air without really moving. There was a familiar scent to this figure that carried her off, the smell of home…

"Driver, go! Now!"

The whiny of horses pierced the air as the coolness of night wafted around her, a comfortable darkness closing in on her. She coughed and gasped for breath, moaning as she curled closer against the figure that held her.

"Angelique…? Angelique, please, say something," the beautiful voice pleaded.

Her eyelids fluttered open, two faces coming into view once again…this time, however, they were welcomed with a weak smile. "Daroga," she murmured, seeing him offer a small smile.

"We are very glad you're well, Miss Archambault," the Persian said, his eyes moving to someone else.

Tilting her head, her heart fluttered at the sight of a masked face. "E-Erik…" She felt her tears, hot and large, burst free from their prisons and trickle down her face. "Erik…you came for me."

"Erik promised he would, did he not?" he whispered, a shaky smile on his lips. "He was so worried for you, Angelique…Erik thought he lost y-" He gasped as she lifted her head, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth before slumping against him once more, murmuring, "My guardian angel…" Within moments, she was unconscious once more, her forehead resting against his neck, the feel of her lips tingling on his face. A spark had shot through him as she had graced him with her kiss, a strangled gasp caught in his throat. He curled his arms around her, even though it hurt, and gently crushed her in a tight embrace, pressing his own lips to her forehead. "My Angelique…" he whispered, cradling her softly.

The Persian watched them, one eyebrow cocked in curiosity and amazement. Glancing out the window, he saw the flames overtaking the house, realizing that Angelique's past truly was dead now, forever behind her. Seeing how she and Erik acted around one another, he felt a flicker of hope grow within him. "Perhaps there is hope for Erik after all…"

~OG~

Angelique curled comfortably under the covers, content in the soft, warm cocoon which she was wrapped in. Her eyelids slowly opened, her vision clearing to show her room in Erik's house. She smiled, a relieved sigh escaping her. "I'm home," she breathed, sitting up and stretching. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she ran her fingers through her hair. "How long have I been asleep?" she mumbled, slipping out of bed. Shrugging, she left for the washroom. "I'll check the clock in the Louis-Philippe room later…"

She started a hot bath and slipped into the tub, soaking up the delicious warmth of the water. A shiver passed through her spine as she remembered how she came to be in her old home, her stepfamily tainting it with haunted, scarred memories. She shook her head, struggling to clear her mind when she remembered that after she was knocked down, she had awakened in Erik's arms. She drew her fingers over the water's surface, blushing as she recalled how she thanked him. "I might have been too forward with that one," she whispered, wondering how he reacted. She only remembered stretching up to kiss him and then fading out once more. Staring at her reflection in the water, she sighed, getting up and grabbing a towel. "It still doesn't change anything."

Angelique took her time brushing her hair and selecting a gown, though her stomach grumbled in protest. "I feel like I slept a whole day away," she mused, leaving her room and entering the hall, her brows furrowing as she heard Erik's voice, persistent and demanding.

"You must make your choice, Christine, or they shall perish!"

Fear gripped her heart once more as Angelique forced herself to run faster, a cry of despair breaking free from her as she saw Erik standing over Christine and pointing at a small slot in the wall that had been hidden before behind a curtain. The poor girl was tied to a chair, weeping on and on, lifting her head as she heard the cry. "Angelique! Oh, Angelique, please help us!"

Hearing her cry, Erik raised his eyes, his look changing from one of frustration to worry and shame. "Angelique-"

"What have you done, Erik?!" she demanded, her hands curling into fists. Seeing the slot, she ran to it, using the footstool to reach it.

"No, Angelique-!" Erik warned her.

She peeked, gasping as she saw an iron tree at the center of a room of mirrors, a hanging noose dangling from one of the branches. Trapped within the confines of this torture chamber were the Persian and the Vicomte de Chagny. "Monsieurs!"

"Mademoiselle Archambault?!" Raoul asked, all the while running around the room, struggling to find an escape. "Please, help us!"

"Erik has kidnapped Miss Daae," the Daroga choked, the heat slowly getting to him. "We tried to save her…"

"Save her?!" Angelique asked, feeling Erik tug her off of the stool. "What-?"

"He took me during the performance," she wept. "If I don't marry Erik, he'll…he'll kill Raoul and the Persian!"

"Enough!" Erik bellowed, frightening Christine once more.

"You…you wouldn't!" Angelique stammered, her heart aching once more. "Erik, I thought that you-"

"Christine knows too much of Erik, and she is his!" he insisted, shaking her in desperation. "You must understand, Angelique, please! There is no one else-!"

"Stop it! Stop!" she cried, breaking free of his hold and bolting from the room. She ran out of the house and fell to her knees, covering her face and crying as she felt her heart break into pieces. After everything they went through…he still insisted on having Christine, he still believed that Christine would be the one for him… "You should have let me die," she murmured. What was she supposed to do now?

"Angelique?!"

Her head snapped up, her eyes widening in terror as she saw a familiar figure rowing through the lake towards the house. "Philippe?!"