The pounding in his head was close to unbearable. Why had he drunk so much? The blackness was so oppressive. Anyone would need something to calm their nerves. No one could fault him. That is if anyone found him here…alive. The attempt to find a candle failed him. Outside of burning the tips of his finger and thumb, nothing was accomplished. One match left but for what? Jiggling the flask, he judges there is enough for one more good swallow.

Pressing the container to his lips, he throws his head back to drain every drop. Was it his imagination? Was the darkness less than before? Perhaps he was becoming accustomed to the lack of light. Would his eyes reflect in the dark like the "cat" he shot? A grim chuckle rises in his throat. Could he also see in the dark? Seemed to be able to do most everything else. Maybe that was why Christine was in love with the brute. Raoul always believed had her teacher not been so ugly she would not have taken any interest in him. Fetching a scarf from the sea at thirteen years old hardly matched up with someone who was educated, entertaining and an angel to boot.

Squinting, he takes in the room. There was definitely light coming from somewhere. Someone was here. Voices – Christine and someone else…a man. The monster? The uniform coat proved they were here earlier, why would they return? For him? A shiver of fear runs up his spine. Would Christine allow her angel to kill him this time? No use trying to run and hide – where would he go? Once again he curses himself for imbibing. Sober, he could use the light to make some sort of escape or at least hide. And yet, as he pats his chest, he feels some comfort. Perhaps he will have a second chance with that cat. For now, it was best to not move.

"Well, he was smart enough not to swim again," Erik says, pointing to the gondola as he helps Nadir from the skiff. "The sirens can be testy."

"Sirens?"

"You have not heard of the sirens who live in these waters," Erik chuckles. "There is a modest current which keeps the water flowing, more a like a river than a lake – otherwise the water would stagnate and become a swamp. A few workers fell in and almost got carried away, so I spread a rumor that there were sirens."

"Of course you did. What other mischief did you wreak on these poor people?" Nadir says, shaking his head.

"Someday I shall write a book about it…or an opera."

"I can hardly wait," the daroga groans. "A more serious question is who told him where you were?"

"Adele."

"Was he supposed to find you?"

"If he was able."

"You involved her?"

"She involved herself," Erik says. "There was no reason for her to help him – he turned the opera house upside down. Adele was in control – whenever there was a problem, she solved it, so she was just fine with my pranks."

"She knew he might drown?"

Erik nods. "But he did not and things proceeded from there."

"What happened then?"

"You must wait for the book," Erik sniggers. "Look, the door is ajar and I can see a sliver of light."

"A lantern?"

Erik shakes his head. "An electric lamp." Taking his friend's arm, he leads him inside. "Stay here."

"But…"

"Follow me then, but keep quiet," Erik whispers. "Christine must be here – Raoul would not know about the electricity."

"I can help if there is a problem."

"You cannot even walk by yourself."

Nadir pulls a revolver from a holster strapped across his chest. "I have this."

"And I have this," Erik says, pulling out his garrote.

Darius sniffs the air. "I smell water."

Christine turns to him. "The lake. Raoul must have left the door open."

The young Persian shakes his head. "I felt a draft, then the smell. It could be Nadir trying to get in."

"Go check then. If it was Erik he would just come in," she says, pointing in the direction of the anteroom. "I will see to Raoul."

"He appears to be unconscious…or dead," Darius says without emotion. "Leave him until I return."

"I am perfectly capable…he may be injured," she says folding her arms.

"Please. I am asking you to keep your distance. If Nadir is indeed trying to get in, his assistance will be welcome, whatever the vicomte's state. He is not to be trusted."

Sighing deeply, she says, "Very well."

Certain Darius was gone – for however short a time – she turns to look at Raoul…the boy she loved so dearly for so long. The summer at Perros was magical in so many ways – Pappa's stories, of course. Having a friend, though…a handsome young man, a possible suitor, but a friend her own age was special. Then there was the sea itself, so fresh and clean. The memories of that summer would lull her to sleep many a night after grueling days walking, often not having a place to spend the night. The handsome young vicomte gave her someone to dream about…to wish for.

Was he unconscious? Asleep? Drunk most likely. Much as she tried to avoid believing he was addicted to drink, there was seldom a moment alone with him when she did not detect the smell of alcohol on his breath. When his step was less than steady. When his words were vaguely slurred. The biggest tell was the imprisonment. Gentle though it was – her room was most comfortable and there was nothing she lacked – the de Chagny house was still a jail.

Edging forward, she tries to get a closer look in the dim light, wishing now she had turned on another lamp or two to brighten the pervasive blackness surrounding them. The Hussar jacket is spread out beneath him, so he chose this spot to lie down – ruling out death…thankfully.

Perhaps he simply fell asleep – the darkness here was complete and if he was drinking, might have simply overwhelmed him. Sleep was certainly preferable to what must feel like torture to a man who believed he completely controlled every part of his life. The traumas of Erik's life were likely enhanced by living in this place. One can imagine becoming mad if there was no hope of release from so much emptiness.

Does she really think I am not aware of her? The man, whoever he is, is foolish to have left her alone. Did he really think she would obey him? Not the monster certainly, he would not have left her here with me. Most likely I would have another noose or something more lethal around my neck. Just a little closer, my little baggage, for you certainly turned out to be such. Phillippe was right about you.

Just another step – to see his face. His face would answer her questions.

Pulling Darius into the anteroom by the collar, Erik puts a finger up to his lips. "Nadir hurt his leg and is having difficulty walking," he whispers. "Is Raoul here?"

Darius nods. "He is unconscious or dead. I told Mlle. Christine to stay away from him."

"Stay here."

All they heard was a gasp and a brief scuffle.

"Erik, no," Nadir says, pulling him back as he lunges toward the door. "Listen first. Assess what is going on – then take action."

The fall was broken by the heaviness of her coat, but his hold on her ankle was firm.

"Did you think you would escape me?" he hisses, getting to his knees.

"Let me go," she spits, kicking at him with her other foot. "You are drunk. Do you really think this is going to help?"

Pulling the revolver from his vest, he releases her ankle and rises to his feet. "Do you think your new boyfriend is going to help you now?" he asks, pointing the revolver at her head. "You should be happy, now you can meet the monster in hell."

"What about you? If you kill me, do you think you will escape?"

"Why not – you gave me light. I can kill you and then kill your friend whenever he decides to come back." His laugh is strange, out of place. "I was in darkness and you gave me light and now I can leave this hellish place once and for all. I am certain Samuel is still driving around and around and around looking for me. An excellent servant, I shall make certain to increase his pay."

"You do not know the way," Christine says. "The path out of here is rife with traps."

"Then I shall die." Cocking his head to one side, his lips turn up in a sad, crooked smile. "We shall all be dead then. Maybe that is the way this was supposed to end. No more pain and heartache."

"You are being foolish."

"Yes, so I have been told for most of my life," he says. "One more act will not matter."

"It will, Raoul."

"You were my one chance at redemption and you failed me. You betrayed me with a ghoul. One cannot sink much lower than that." Cocking the pistol, he says, "Enough talk. I am tired of talk. I loved you, Little Lotte, I truly did."

"Put down the gun." The smooth voice, deep and threatening whispers in his ear at the same instant the light disappears.

The darkness envelops him again. "Nooo. Turn on the light. I will not shoot her. I promise I will not shoot her. Just please turn on the light." Shuffling his feet, he trips on the Hussar jacket, next to where she was lying. Gone. Where? He cannot see anything.

"Turn on the light!" he screams.

"I told you to drop the gun."

Christine crawls in the direction of the lake door. "Erik?" she whispers.

"You are safe." A welcoming arms scoops her up from the floor, pulling her close, then pressing her gently behind him. "Darius, take her please. Nadir, flip the switch."

The small light comes on again.

Spinning around, Raoul fights to regain his bearings. After a moment, he focuses on Erik standing in the doorway.

"You! I knew you were not dead," he says, aiming the gun. "Now you will be."

A shot rings out, knocking the gun from Raoul's hand, sending it flying across the floor into the remains of the organ.

"You were right, daroga, a gun is much more useful than a garrote under certain circumstances," Erik says, keeping the revolver directed at Raoul.

Raoul charges him, tripping, then grabs onto the Phantom's arms. Erik lets him fall to the ground. "I have had quite enough of you. We all have. Get up."

"Do not leave me here."

"Worse…we are sending you home." Removing the garrote from his pocket, he wraps the wire around the vicomte's wrists.

"Are you certain you can walk without assistance?" Erik asks Nadir when they reach the gate.

"I am fine," the daroga says. "Darius, you are fine with the vicomte?"

"Yes, he is being quite accommodating."

"Just get me out of here," Raoul grumbles. "Hell hole."

"Very well, then," With that, he closes and locks the door behind him.

"What now?" Darius asks.

"Cabby?"

"Ah, I was wondering if anyone would be coming," Albert yawns into his hand.

"Thank you for waiting," Darius says.

"Where is the lady and her husband?"

"Lady? Husband?"

The cabby nods knowingly.

"The three of you then?"

"No," Nadir responds. "Have you seen the de Chagny coach?"

"As a matter of fact, he just returned," Albert nods toward the rig parked across the street.

"Good timing," Nadir says. "Darius, perhaps you can help the vicomte to his carriage."

"Yes, daroga," Darius says. "Come on, M. le Vicomte. You must be exhausted."

"Yes. Exhausted," Raoul says, stumbling into the street with Darius guiding him. "My hands."

"Have no fear, I will remove the binding in good time."

Watching their progress, Nadir looks up to the driver. "May I ask your assistance, yet again?"

"Of course, you have all been so generous. What can I do?"

"Help me into the coach."

"Of course, forgive me should have noticed," he laughs lightly, jumping down. "Did those workmen hurt you?"

"No, I tripped and fell."

"Good thing then that…um…stranger came to help."

Nadir smiles at the erstwhile young man, then holds out the four hundred francs he recovered from his watchmen.

"Oh, no, Monsieur," Albert demurs as he waves the money away. "You have already been more than generous."

"You are a fine young man. As a former sheriff, I can recognize less than righteous people." Placing his hand on the driver's arm for balance, he says, "Now help me up."

"Sheriff?"

"Yes, in Persia. Now, I merely assist the gendarmerie."

"I see. Yes, indeed, I see." Opening the door, Albert helps Nadir into the cab.

"When my son returns from assisting the other gentleman, we will be returning to the Rue Rivoli address," he says. "Then I have one more errand for you to run before you go home. Tomorrow you might want take your family to the shore for a short vacation…away from the city."

Lying on the chaise, beneath the blanket Erik wrapped around her, Christine still feels as if the shaking will never stop despite the warmth and comfort of his arms. The journey up from the fifth cellar forced her to focus on each step, allowing Erik to guide her as he had in the past. There was no time to think about what just happened. So like when she left the same music room only a few nights earlier. Only this time, it was she who was threatened with death. Safe now in the old dressing room, the events of the past hour strike with full force.

At first her mind went to the memory of the earlier attack came flooding back, confusing her. The fall was unexpected. First the feel of something grabbing her ankle. Hitting her head on the floor had her lose focus for a moment. A brief moment of blackness. Then disorientation. When her vision righted itself, she saw the gun focused on her increasing her sense of powerlessness – no path for an escape.

This was not a stranger – no matter the palpable rage distorting the usually handsome face. This was someone she knew…loved once. Not a fragmented vision from a nightmare. A real person. Raoul. This was Raoul. Talk to him. You must talk to him. Anything. Just buy time. Maybe he would listen to reason. Talk until Darius came back. Where was he? Why was he taking so long? Why had she not listened to him?

Then the light was gone again – not just in her mind, but in reality. Erik! The light going out meant Erik was there. Darius knew nothing about the lights. Relief flooded through her body. In the darkness she found hope. A burst of energy she did not think she possessed found her crawling blindly running in the direction of the door into his arms. Thank God. Thank God.

"Drink this – just a sip. Then some water," Erik says, holding the vial of laudanum to her lips. "It will calm you."

"I never thought he would want to kill me." Her nose screws up in distaste. "This tastes terrible."

"Made thus so you do not desire a liking for it."

"And yet people do." Taking a sip of water, she already feels her calm returning.

"Yes, people do quite often."

"He was drunk. He always drank quite a bit."

"Another craving people acquire. Certainly that was a factor."

"He almost died himself."

"That, too," Erik concurs. "The darkness was also a factor. All those things combined might drive one mad."

"You?"

"Of course me – but it was my choice and I made accommodations."

"Are we all mad?"

"To some extent," he smiles down at her face, her blessed face. "You are here with me, some would find you quite mad for your choice."

Whatever would he do with himself if he had not been there to stop the crazed vicomte? Had Nadir not been there with his gun. How he wanted to just put Raoul out of his misery, his behavior like that of a crazed rabid dog. No, let him live with what he did to her. Let him know the sin it is to kill or want to kill someone – how no amount of contrition can salve the guilt. Well, the boy will never have the opportunity to offer any words of sorrow or regret to her. Raoul de Chagny will never see Christine Daae again if he can help it.

"Can we lie together on the floor, as we planned – was it just a few hours ago?"

A moment of hesitancy, he does not know if he will be able to restrain himself from touching her. Kissing her after coming so close to losing her again. "Yes, I believe I would like that."

After arranging the sleeping bags they found in the company wardrobe on the floor, he removes her blanket adding it to the impromptu bed.

"I want to take off these clothes," she says. "They are much too tight, I doubt I can sleep in them."

"As you wish."

"You take off your outer clothes, too," she says slipping out of the Il Muto costume, leaving on her chemise and pantalets.

Turning away at first, but unable to resist, he watches her. The look in her eyes entices him – a challenge. How can he refuse, but the fear in his heart is real. As ravaged as his face is, so is his body. Yet, he wants desperately to be close to her. Just feeling her next to him will calm his own recollections of the earlier events.

"Let me turn off the lamp first," he says.

The light extinguished, he removes his outer garments and the wig. Folding them over the vanity bench on top of Christine's garments. Taking a deep breath, he lies down on his back, pulling the blanket over his chest up to his chin.

"Will you hold me," she asks. Rolling over onto her side, she lifts one leg over his, stroking the fine hairs on his chest.

The movement encourages him to wrap his arm around her. "Like this?"

"Tighter. Roll on your side, so you are facing me."

"Christine…"

"I want to kiss you. I want you to kiss me."

"We are not wed."

"Ah, but we are. Did you forget so soon – at M. Khan's. I wear your ring; you pledged your earthly goods," she says, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck. "We might both die and never to have known each other truly."

"I still do not believe you want this wretch."

"Oh, my beloved man." Shifting her body over his, she takes his face in her hands and kisses him gently on the lips. "Believe me when I say I do."

"I shall try, but I still think I am dreaming."