This is the final chapter! Hope you've enjoyed my little story. I have to thank Filhound for her efforts on my behalf to untangle my misunderstandings about everything Algerian and about litigations! It was good to have her expertise at my elbow for this story! Thank You! And thank you to all my readers and reviewers.

As always, I don't own Erik or Christine or Nadir, just my OC's.

Enjoy!

Revenge: Chapter 13

Babette sat up straight and faced him with a countenance filled with regrets and conflicting emotions. Her actions had released much of the hatred she had held for her father over the years, although she still felt violated, abandoned, and as if she had been treated like dirt by this man. "Monsieur, I had no intention of killing this man; I only wanted to make him suffer the way he had made my mother and myself suffer. I wanted to teach him that there are consequences to the actions he takes, that what he does affects other people besides only him. I only wanted to humiliate him, but then, when he became so very aroused, it was like a taunt, daring me to do something to make things right. A very good customer of mine had given me a jeweled Persian dagger that I always wore for protection. In my line of business a girl can't be too careful. I saw his erection as the symbol of all the misery that he had caused and whipped out the dagger and sliced it off. He needed to feel as violated and degraded as I had, and for once in his life, I wanted him to have to live with the consequences of his actions."

"Even if it meant you could go to prison?" asked the inspector pointedly.

"Prison can't be any worse than what I have already experienced, thanks to him, Monsieur. Since my mother died I have been dragged from one whorehouse to another and finally sold to one of them and then sold to a pimp who tried to sell my services on the streets of Paris. I only ate what I could steal that he didn't steal back from me. I was only a child just on the verge of becoming a woman. Monsieur, can prison be any worse than that?"

"No, I expect not." The inspector took in a deep breath and then let it out, "Young lady, you speak well for yourself, and others speak well of you. You seem to be honest and hard working, diligent and caring of those for whom you have accepted responsibility. But, no matter how tempting a target your father was, I cannot allow someone in my arrondissment to go around gelding people, so I am going to recommend that you be charged with disturbing the peace, for which you should serve a 30 day sentence in prison and six months of probation should the judge be agreeable. I believe that he will be amenable to this, since your establishment does render a service in giving 'comfort' to the brave legionnaires that are stationed here in Algeria. I will recommend that your supervised parole be in the care of Monsieur Mulheim," and here he looked at Erik, "If that is agreeable to you?"

Erik nodded, "Yes, Monsieur Inspecteur, it is."

"During which time you will be allowed and encouraged to continue in your previous line of work. In my experience the judge should be amenable to this because you have no past criminal record and provide 'essential services' to the community. Judge Faveaux is a very reasonable man..."

Babette interrupted, smiling, "Pierre... I mean Judge Pierre Faveaux? He is a good 'friend' of mine..."

"Well maybe he might be compelled to see your plight with sympathy. Perhaps he might even make your father pay you back your dowry," he added. "It seems to me that you were cheated by him; no father should treat his daughter like that, and you are quite lovely Mad...Mademoiselle de

Ville."

Babette could hardly suppress a grin, "Yes, Monsieur Inspecteur, I understand... and thank you."

The inspector turned to deVille, "Monsieur deVille, since your own actions and past might influence the court to not pursue any charges at all, and since the publicity might cause you even more humiliation, you might want to consider not pressing charges against your daughter for assault or attempt to murder." Before Reynard could respond, the inspector smirked and added, "After hearing what you have done in the past, your daughter's choice of punishment seems to have been quite apropos, though certainly not something we could officially condone." Reynard grew angry and was about to protest, but the inspector continued, "There are some people who should not be allowed to be a father. My own wife and I are barren and I would have given anything and would have been most overjoyed to be a father."

Reynard hung his head, hoping the inspector didn't know about his abandoning Fatima and his young son, and acknowledged his defeat. He now would have to face not only other prison inmates, but all of his erstwhile friends and the men of his command as a damaged person, damaged by a woman no less – his own daughter. It would be worse than being in prison, hearing the whispers and seeing the looks on the men's faces, hearing the sniggering when the men either didn't think he could hear or didn't care whether he could.

"I understand there is also a matter for a military court where you have been charged with desertion. As a person already in a penal command, that carries a possible death sentence. I do not know the particulars of the case, nor is it in my jurisdiction. But for the sake of your wife and children, I hope you

can find your way out of that situation. I will make these recommendations to the court."

Reynard took in a slight gasp at the mention of the word "children" – so, he knew! But seemed to be overlooking further charges? He tried very hard not to let on that he had noticed this slip of the tongue, looking askance at the inspector.

The inspector stood back and looked at Babette and Reynard and nodded, "Good! Then this investigation is complete. Madame, I will escort you back to the town jail to await your hearing before the judge. Once you are arraigned, you will most likely be taken to the Barberousse Prison in Algiers. They have a women's building as part of the prison where you will stay for thirty days, minus the time you will have already spent here in the town jail, and then return here." He turned to Reynard, "I believe you are past due for catching the ship to return to your barracks? Since you are a member of the penal brigade, you will wait for the next ship to leave for Mers El Kébir under your present military guard; I trust they have adequate medical facilities there?"

"Yes, sir. They do. And thank you for your time"

The inspector stood and took his hat and coat and notebook and left the house, after taking a moment to thank Erik and Christine for their hospitality on his way out. Babette hurried to her room to get her valise which she had packed earlier and went to the front door where Christine and Erik were waiting.

"Christine, Erik, thank you for everything! You have been such a comfort to me." Babette said, trying hard to hold back her tears. She reached out to take hold of Christine's extended arms.

"Nonsense," declared Christine. "It's no more than anyone else would do under the circumstances. Besides, it's only for a month. You'll do fine."

"You'd best not keep the inspector waiting," added Erik, and as they looked, they could see the inspector leaning out of the carriage, holding the door open for Babette. Erik reached out and gave her a kiss on the cheek before she turned and hurried to the waiting carriage.

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"But, Mother, I don't understand!" cried Ahmal. "Some of this doesn't make sense. She was a nice lady, but she was my sister? I didn't know I had a sister."

Fatima was folding laundry in the kitchen while Ahmal sat on one of the chairs, watching her skillful hands as they neatly handled the fabrics.

"Neither did I."

"But why did she do something so bad? Was she crazy in the head?"

"Son, sometimes people can be wronged so badly that all they can think of is to get back at the person who wronged them; revenge. Apparently Ray was very bad to both her and her mother and she was very young and impressionable at the time. On top of that, he had been drinking heavily and was under that influence and couldn't see what effect his actions were having on her. Alcohol can do very bad things to some people, take away their ability to clearly see the end results of their own actions. Sometimes alcohol can make a person irresponsible. My son, always remember to take responsibility for your actions. Know that everything you do has a reaction somewhere and to someone. And that reaction is your responsibility."

"I understand that, Mother. Like if you throw a rock and it breaks a window, you are responsible for the broken window!"

"Yes, but it goes beyond that. What if someone was standing inside of the window and got hurt? Or what if something valuable was sitting on a table inside that window and was broken as well? These would also be your responsibility."

"That too?"

"Yes. We must always be careful of our actions because they might hurt someone or something unintended, even unknowingly. For example, your father. He loved me, and I loved him. But our love was forbidden by my father. When he found out that your father and I had … been together, he lost his temper and sent me far away and accused your father of things the military did not allow, so your father was also sent away. Neither of us knew where the other had been sent. When you were born, I had to struggle for the two of us to survive. I couldn't go back to my family and had no idea where your father was. But I was a good laundress and good at mending clothes, and you were a very good baby, and strong. Your grandfather was a Berber chieftain and I see that strength in you. Your father is a handsome and a clever man, and I can see those strengths in you as well."

"You still love him, don't you, Mother?"

She thought for a moment before answering, "Yes, I suppose I do. I love both of them, but your grandfather had a terrible temper, and I see that in you as well. Try to hold your temper and not lash out without first thinking about what you are doing and who you might hurt – including yourself!"

Ahmal sadly nodded his head, thinking of some of the things he had thought of doing or had said in the last few days.

"And your father has a weakness for drink. You may also have inherited that same weakness. It is a good thing that we are Muslim and do not drink, for you can see where it can sometimes lead if not done in moderation."

He looked at her, puzzled, "What does that mean, 'in moderation'?"

"It means," came the strong authoritative voice of Erik as he entered the kitchen, "to hold back and not allow your friends to coerce you into drinking more than you should. And by the way, you did very well today. I was very proud of you," and he tousled the boy's thick dark hair.

"Now, don't let that go to your head, young man!" cautioned Fatima and she handed him a stack of linens to carry. "Here, help me carry these upstairs."

Ahmal grinned and started for the stairs with his armload of freshly folded laundry. "Don't worry. I am never going to drink!"

Erik and Fatima chuckled softly as she headed for the stairs with her armload.

"By the way, our guests will be staying here for a few more days until his ship docks. I hope you don't mind?" he asked with a smirk.

She paused as she went up the steps, "Thank you, no, of course I don't mind. He's your guest, why should I mind?" And she hurried up the stairs with a slight blush just as Christine came in from the courtyard with a basket filled with freshly cut flowers.

Erik turned to her, "There you are! I have been searching the house, wondering where you'd got yourself off to." He took the basket from her and set it on the table before sweeping her into his arms and planting a kiss on her lips.

She giggled through his kiss before pulling away to tell him, "As you can see, I've been in the garden. I thought the house could do with a bit of freshening up after all that business."

"I agree, but first, Madam Mulheim, would you do me the honor of accompanying me for a walk?"

"Why, Monsieur Mulheim, I had the exact same thought in mind! Of course, I will accompany you!" She giggled before breaking away to find a large vase. "But first let me get these blooms in water. Wouldn't want to waste them."

"I agree." Erik smiled at her as she deftly filled a large urn with water and stood the flowers she had gathered in it so that they all had access to the water. She grabbed her shawl from a hook near the door and took Erik's arm and they stepped outside.

They walked in silence for a short while before she turned to him and took a deep breath, "It has been a trying day. The fresh air smells clean, restorative."

Erik drew her closer, "You restore me, my love." He pulled her in and looked intently into her eyes before giving her a kiss as she melted into his embrace. "I love you so."

He was about to kiss her again when the sound of someone clearing their throat came to their ears. He pulled away just enough to ask, "Can I help you?"

"Pardonne moi, Monsieur, Madame, I was wondering if you knew the whereabouts of the residence of a Monsieur Mulheim? I have been told that it is in this vicinity."

Erik and Christine both stiffened at the sound of that voice.

Without turning his head, Eric replied, "You have found him, now what is it you want, Monsieur de Chagny?" (This boy is becoming far too much of a nuisance for his own good. He doesn't seem to know when to stop.)

Erik slowly turned to face him and Raoul took a couple of steps backwards, tripping slightly over a curbing stone.

"YOU?! YOU are this Monsieur Mulheim I keep hearing about? I might have guessed. How can it be that you seem to have mesmerized an entire population? And you, Christine, how can you succumb to his so-called charms when you have seen him for what he truly is? The monster of the opera, the fiend that kidnapped you, the murderer of so many?" Raoul took a step forward and his fists clenched repeatedly as he spoke.

"Raoul, we were wrong. We were very wrong! Erik is no murderer! He was working with the Sûreté to trap murderers and other scoundrels who were plaguing the city, and using the Opera House as their base."

Raoul smiled but there was no mirth in it as he slowly shook his head, "That's a lie! How could we not know about that?"

"I had been working with them to uncover a ring of thieves and murderers who were plotting to take over the government. Since we had already been trained in such covert operations in Persia, the Daroga and I were ideally suited to be of service. Once they were apprehended, we had planned to come here to start afresh. It would have been a smooth transition, if not for your meddling."

Raoul scoffed at this, "You? Working with the Sûreté? Now there's a fairy tale if I ever heard one!"

Erik turned to fully face him and growled, "You can believe whatever you like, just go away and let us live our lives in peace!"

Raoul looked puzzled, "Your face! What have you done to it? You almost look … dare I say, normal?"

"It is only a new mask, well, that and finally being outdoors in the sunshine. This I could not do in Paris. I am still the same beneath the mask. Would you care to see?" Erik reached for his mask but Christine intervened.

"Darling, no. You have no need to prove yourself to anyone, much less the Vicomte." As she reached for his hand, Raoul couldn't help but notice the wedding ring on her hand, then looked at Erik's hand and could see how the rings matched. "Yes, Raoul, we are husband and wife. Now, please, leave us be."

"I don't believe it! I have been searching everywhere for you! Even to America…"

"And how did you like my automaton?" Erik smirked at the thought of him chasing off to America and finding only a mechanical 'Erik'.

"You did that on purpose, just to lead me in the wrong direction, didn't you!"

"Not at all. It just happened to be ready to ship at the same time as we were leaving for Algiers. It was a simple mistake for anyone to make." ('Especially someone as simple as you,' he thought.)

"By the way, I believe we have an acquaintance of yours staying at the house, a Monsieur de Ville? Perhaps you would like to join us for an evening meal? Nothing fancy, just some soup and bread."

"I hardly think so."

"Perhaps Raoul is afraid to see how really 'normal' our household is?" posited Christine, just loudly enough for Raoul to hear.

"He's staying with you?" Raoul shook his head with a simpering smile, "Now I've heard everything."

"I don't see why not. He needed a place to stay until his ship sails, and since his wife is my housekeeper, it just seemed to be a good fit."

Raoul held up a hand and shook his head, "Just a minute here. I feel like I'm speaking with a different person. Who are you?"

Erik gave a bit of a crooked smile, "I am Erik Mulheim, who have moved here to Algeria and been accepted as a master builder and architect and husband (and here he pulled Christine closer to his side) and am trying to live a fairly normal life. This is all I have ever wanted." He gave Christine a simmering look like he was about to kiss her.

"What, no opera houses to haunt?"

Erik rounded on him, as if to attack him.

Christine quickly stepped between them. "Raoul! That wasn't very nice!" she chastised him.

"No, I suppose not," he said, though his amused grin denied his words of remorse.

Christine turned to Erik and rested her hand on his chest, "Darling? Let me speak with him … just for a few minutes. I'm sure I can convince him that this is all over for him and that he needs to move on?"

Erik's visage had grown stormy, but when she tugged at his chin so he was looking in her eyes, he softened and he told her, "Alright, but I'm not leaving you alone. Just stay within sight. I'll wait right here."

She gave him a peck on the lips and patted his chest with her hand before turning to Raoul, "Raoul, could we walk for a bit?"

"Raoul," she began softly, "it was very clever of you to find us, but now you need to turn that cleverness into finding a wife for yourself. Find someone who enjoys all the panoply that revolves around being a comtesse, someone who enjoys being a beautiful ornament on your arm for all the soirées and dinners. That sort of life is not at all to my liking. My needs are far simpler than that, they always have been."

"You've got to be joking! You were the hit of the Bal Masque in Paris last year! You could have all of Paris at your feet without batting an eyelash. Everyone I know loves and admires you and your singing…."

"But, Raoul, I thought you didn't want me to perform? You would put me into a cage of your own making, a gilded one, no less, but still a cage. What kind of life would that be? Certainly not the sort I have dreamed of."

"But Christine," he began.

She shook her head sadly and told him in a soft voice, "My world – my life – is singing. I come alive when I sing; my heart swells and my spirit soars. Not even you, with all your wealth, can give me something like that. And how would you feel, knowing that you had clipped my wings and taken away the greatest joy of my life? Seeing the pain and sadness in my eyes every day? No, I can see by your expression that you would not want that."

He looked into her eyes and sadly saw that she was telling the truth that he had never noticed before this. Yet he tried one more last ditch effort. "Maybe we could go somewhere else – anywhere else – maybe to America, or to South America, or to New Zealand? I will build you a palace and an opera house just for your performances…"

She smiled sadly while slowly shaking her head, "Raoul, that isn't reality. You could never do that. Once you finish your tour of duty here, you will be a Comte, even if it's mostly in name only, but you'll have a myriad of responsibilities. You cannot move away from France, well, not permanently anyhow. You are France , France is in your blood. I have no such ties or allegiance. My allegiance is only to Erik now, and I tell you this before breaking the news to him: I am with child, our child! Raoul, I will always love you – as a brother, as a dear childhood friend, but nothing more. Come back when you have found yourself a wonderful and loving wife and we can all celebrate together! Until then, Au revoir." She gave him a light kiss on the cheek which he returned, then turned and rejoined Erik.

"Au revoir, mon amour," he said with a tear in his eye and turned to eventually rejoin his unit, "On second thought, I need a drink!" and he headed for a French-speaking bar.

Christine wrapped her arm around Erik's and rested her head against his shoulder before looking up into his eyes, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For allowing me some time to say good-bye to Raoul. He will be back, but not until he is happily married and settled into his routine in Paris or wherever they will choose to live."

Erik raised his visible eyebrow, "So you have already invited him here after he is married? Are you sure that is wise? Are you sure he will not want to swap wives?"

"He would have a terrible time tearing me away from my family!"

'Hmm," Erik hummed, "And what if I wanted to swap spouses?"

She hit him lightly on his arm, "I doubt you would be able to tear yourself away from your burgeoning family!" She grinned slyly and turned away.

"Family?" His eyes scanned the building behind her before his face began to redden. "Family?" he asked again, only much softer. "Does that mean that you… I mean that we…?"

She turned back to him and nodded with a shy smile, "Um-hmm."

He swept her up into his arms and twirled her around in a circle, ignoring passersby who smiled at their enthusiasm. "Christine!" He set her back down gently and murmured, "I do so love you!" and kissed her, so deeply that she pulled away.

"Erik! Maybe we should continue this at home?"

They were both blushing by now, as he led her back to their splendid and comfortable home.

Finis.

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And that's it, folks! Read and review, if you like! And thank you so much for reading!