Let me be your shelter.

Let me be your light.

You're safe, no one can find you.

Your fears are far behind you.

Resting her cheek against the top of his head, Christine sings softly as she rocks Erik back and forth until his breathing calms, settling into a normal rhythm.

"I am sorry, I did not expect to have such a reaction," he says, pulling abruptly away to sit up on his own. "I fear a lack of sleep and food left me more vulnerable to the destruction than I anticipated."

"No food until what M. Khan brought tonight?"

Shaking his head, he says, "Food has never been of much interest to me, my sense of taste is limited…yet another disability - you must find me incredibly tiresome with my tale of woes."

"What else?" Accepting his discomfort at being held, she wraps her arms around her knees and rests her head on them, studying him.

"You want to hear more," he snorts in a rough imitation of a laugh. "Let me see. I have difficulty sleeping…having been awakened too many times over the years to be assaulted in some way. Of course, I suspect you might suffer the same problem."

With a slight shrug, she says, "What else? I want to hear all your woes."

"My hearing is acute, but I have to take care my left ear remains uncovered at all times, since the right is partially blocked."

"That must be frightening, being a musician and all." With a playful smile she adds, "Perhaps that might be a blessing considering your dislike for Carlotta's singing."

"Carlotta's singing issues are more to do with her heart than her throat," he says, finding himself smiling, too. Getting to his feet, he offers hand. "I believe I have exposed myself quite enough for one day. You have only just returned…I should not want you running off again. That you are here at all, knowing what you know and seeing what you see, is quite a miracle."

Straightening her odd assortment of garments, she surveying the room again. "Erik, look," she says, running back to the throne, moving the remains of the mannequin to one side, she lifts up the monkey music box for him to see.

"So all is not lost," Erik says. Walking over to her, he takes the figurine. "No worse for the wear, shall we wind him up?"

"Please."

"Not here," he says, leading her to the door, turning off the lamps returning the music room to darkness, "Best to wait until we can do so comfortably."

"What do you think we should do, Maman?" Meg asks, taking the seat recently vacated by the daroga.

"Finish our tea and go to bed?" Adele smiles, resting her hand on her daughter's. "This day has been filled with so much information and emotion, I feel confused."

"You?"

"Yes, me," she says, giving Meg a playful slap on her hand before lifting the tea cozy to check the heat of the teapot.

"Should I brew some more?" Meg starts to get up.

"No, this will be fine," Adele replies. "At this rate we shall both be relieving ourselves all night with neither of us get getting any rest."

"What did you think about M. Khan?"

"From all ways of looking at him – I would say he is quite a fine man, a gentleman and clever," Adele says, her face flushing. "Were I the Vicomte de Chagny, I should be careful of crossing him."

"Do you think Raoul will continue pursuing Erik?"

"Christine more likely, but, they are one and the same at this point…so, yes. So far the police are not listening to him, but who knows if or when that might change."

"How do you feel about returning to your job at the Opera?"

"Mixed emotions, dear," Adele says, sipping her tea. "When one is cast out like so much garbage, returning is not easy. Who is to say the same thing might not happen again…you?"

"I want to dance."

"Yes, of course."

"Christine wants to sing."

"And now that he has been declared dead, Erik wants to live," Adele murmurs. "But is Paris the place for all of us? Christine's return has certainly complicated matters."

The driver pulls the carriage over. "M. Vicomte, please," he says, speaking into the communicator. "The horses are worn and need to rest. There has been no water to offer them."

"What?" Raoul wakes from a doze. "Why have you stopped? How dare you? I said to continue circling until I said not to," he says, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Yes, sir, I understand, but the horses…they do not."

"Horses do not get tired."

"With all due respect, sir, they do need to rest and drink," the older man says. "I am, in fact, concerned about my own alertness, I nearly nodded off just now."

"Very well," Raoul growls, opening the door to the carriage. "I will get out here. Take the horses and yourself home."

"Sir, are you sure? The streets are no place for a fine gentleman like yourself on a night like this."

"I am going inside," Raoul says, putting on his hat. "What I am seeking is in there, nothing will be served by staying outside. Now go."

"Very well," the driver says. "Do you wish me to return, once the horses are tended to?"

"Do what you want," Raoul mutters, "No one else takes me seriously, why should you?"

"What if M. Phillippe has returned home and asks where you are?"

"Tell him I have entered the bowels of hell again," he shouts over his shoulder.

"M. Vicomte…"

"Go. Take your precious horses," Raoul screams as he runs to the main entrance of the Palais Garnier. "Leave me be."

Pushing the already ajar door to his bedroom open with his foot, he takes a tentative step inside. Handing Christine the music box, he blocks her from entering. "Let me go in alone."

"But…"

"I will be fine," he says. "I only wish to see if there is some clothing to be salvaged, better than these rags."

"Your tails?"

Erik barks a laugh. "No, not evening dress. There are a few garments I need, more suitable to simple living, trousers and soft linen shirts…a brocade smoking jacket I was particularly fond of."

"Very well," she pouts, propping herself against the wall, resting the music box on her hip. "Call me if I can help."

"I promise."

As expected, the coffin has been destroyed. The novelty of the thing had begun to bore him, although there was a certain comfort in being embraced by the satin lining. Walking to his armoire, the fact the doors have not been damaged gives him hope.

"The brocade is quite beautiful and your handwork superb," he said to the elderly Chinese woman.

The smile breaking across her face revealed an absence of teeth, but the sparkle in her eyes made her beautiful. "This, too," she said, offering him the emperor hat created from the same fabric."

"I shall cherish this."

The sigh of relief at finding the jacket intact still tucked in the corner of the carved mahogany cabinet, made by the same craftsman who made the throne. Most of his other clothing was strewn around the floor, but the cabinet itself was undamaged.

"Christine, join me, please."

Putting the music box down on a small table inside the door, she stops short at the sight of the coffin. "I still cannot understand the idea of a coffin as a bed, but…"

"It is of no matter," he says, waving her toward him.

"Your clothing."

"The most important piece is safe, the others just thrown around, but that is not what I want you to see."

"What then?"

"I told you there were treasures."

Her eyes widen as he sweeps aside a pair of boots, and presses a button, opening the floor of the cabinet. "A hiding place?"

"Much like where I hid in the throne."

"You could not fit inside there, it is much too small."

"Not too small for business papers, money…or jewels," he says, lifting out one of several black velvet bags. "Cup your hands."

When she does, he pours what appear to be dozens of diamonds into her palms. "There are emeralds, rubies and garnets as well."

"Where did you get these?"

"Payment for designing a palace."

"In Persia?"

He nods, opening another of the bags. "Ah, here they are, the sapphires…to match your eyes."

"The Shah gave you these?"

"Not exactly, but I did earn them," he says.

"This is everything I could have desired," the Shah said, admiring the wall of glass. Each panel with the ability to become a doorway leading to secret passages or simply provide a hiding place suitable for spying if he so wished.

"Since it appears my work is done, might I receive payment and be on my way?" Erik asked. In reality he had no real expectation the monarch would be willing to allow him to leave. There were too many secrets only he and his employer…captor shared. Best, however, to continue the charade so he could make his escape.

"Are you so anxious to leave us?"

"I am a natural wanderer, sire. There is much of the world I have yet to explore."

"Very well, I shall miss you," he says, handing him the velvet bags."

"And a horse…for my departure at dawn."

"As we agreed."

Bowing to the ruler of the land where he created his most formidable work and most heinous crimes against other humans, he said, "Farewell, then." Maintaining the position of servitude, he backed out of the ballroom until he heard the older man leave the room through one of the mirrors.

Erik did not wait to discover if there would be a horse. Nadir would facilitate his leave-taking from Persia, just as he, unknowingly, was the instrument of his servitude there.

"The francs?"

"Again payment for services rendered..here."

"Oh, my."

Sorting through the garments on the floor, he chooses a small assortment. With the exception of the smoking jacket and hat, every article of clothing was either black or white.

"Bring the music box, here if you would." Bringing out two leather travel cases from a curtained closet, he packs the clothing, pouches of money and jewels in one. Having dismantled the monkey from the box, both pieces just fit, allowing him to close the bag. "One more thing." Pressing yet another lever, the front panel of the armoire opens up revealing a violin case.

"You play the violin?"

"I do."

"How wonderful." She reaches out to stroke the case. "May I see it?"

"Later, when we return to the dressing room," he says, after putting on a simple black overcoat and fedora from the cabinet, he hands the other bag to Christine then lifts his own. "Now we see if there are some garments for you."

The idea of returning to the Louis Phillippe room stirs both anxiety and happiness in her stirring her stomach. "I do hope the room is not ruined."

After putting down his things and lighting a lamp, he says, "As I supposed."

Despite her determination to not let what she saw disturb her, Christine cannot stop the gasp from escaping her throat or the tears from flowing from her eyes. "The hangings were so beautiful." Was all she could murmur stroking once fine blue fabric, now torn and fouled with human waste.

"They obviously felt my creating a bedroom for you was a worse crime than what I had for myself."

"How dare they."

"People in gangs often do what a solitary person would not do alone," he says. "In any event, these are just things."

"No, they were your things. My things. These things were beloved – parts of our life. Things that gave us joy and comfort. A part of us."

Erik walks to her and wraps his arms around her, stroking her back. "Let us see if there is some clothing for you – the stench is quite pungent, even for me. So much for putting in two bathrooms, fools and degenerates."

"You can joke?"

"I cannot allow myself to do what I would like," he replies. "We need to leave here as soon as we can. This place is no longer a safe harbor. If there is an opportunity, I will return to scavenge for other items worth retrieving, but for the moment, grieving is an indulgence we cannot afford ourselves."

Once again, the doors of the armoire have not been damaged. Sighing in relief when he opens the cabinet, he finds both the green morning dress, lavender tea gown, and another pale yellow frock fallen from their hangers, but intact...and most importantly…clean. A forest green coat of fine wool and matching felt bonnet decorated with purple roses survived as well. The blue dress and velvet cape are nowhere to be found. Likely stolen with several other dresses by one or more of the females who searched for him, much like the missing items from his own wardrobe.

"Three dresses, outer wear, a decent assortment of undergarments and a pair of shoes," he says, waving her over. "You may wish to discard the soldier's jacket, just stuff it into the back of the armoire out of sight. Wear the coat and hat…there are some fine leather boots as well. The rest should fit easily in your bag. I shall check the bathroom for toiletries. We need to move quickly."

"I hoped we could stay here." Removing the Hussier uniform, she follows his instructions. "Do you think someone will be looking through these rooms again?"

"One never knows," he says. "I should like to take it with us, but I fear we have quite enough to carry."

Kneeling on the floor, she folds each garment carefully. When finished she stands up, slips into the long overcoat, she sets the hat on her head, fixing it with the long hatpin already attached and ties the ribbons under her chin. "I wanted to straighten things up, sleep in a bed. Silly of me."

"Idealistic and hopeful – I would expect nothing less from you" Erik says from the other room. "I, for one, expected we would find nothing useful – except of course, for the jewels. Even then, there was a risk the safe had been discovered. You are obviously instilling some of your unbridled hope in my heart. You are a Pandora indeed." A few towels draped over his arm, he holds up two bottles as he returns to the bedroom. "We are in luck – shampoo, body lotion and…" lifting a small white block from his pocket… "a bar of soap. The coat and hat are quite flattering. I say we look quite respectable."

"This reminds me of when Pappa was alive and we could only bring what we could carry," she says, taking the items he hands to her, adding to her case. "No room for mementoes."

"Is there something here…something you took a fancy to…I have my monkey."

"The ormolu clock. I never had anything quite so lovely…and it seems permanent…there is an element of home about it."

"My mother was fond of it as well," he says, retrieving the small clock, featuring a pair of porcelain cherubs, placing it in her bag. "Another survivor of the rout."

"Thank you."

"Thank you," he says, taking her hand to help her up. "Now we must take our bounty and leave this place. Can you manage?"

"Yes I am fine," she smiles up at him. "Back to the street?"

"Back to the street," he says. "The work being done to make repairs has made the passages too dangerous. A short walk and we will be inside, as safe as possible for a time."