My Note: Sorry about the long wait for an update, I've been on holiday and unable to upload this new chapter. I hope you enjoy this chapter, please review with feedback and all that good stuff - you know I need it!

Chapter Six

Erik jumped to his feet as his disbelieving eyes saw Christine fall to the ground, her body hitting the wooden floor with a terrible thump. Her golden ringlets spread across her face, covering it like a death mask, her white nightdress and matching robe fanned out and acted as a shroud over her unmoving body. She looked like a corpse, a fresh corpse on the music room floor, for a second Erik thought he might be sick.

"Mademoiselle Daae!" he shouted in alarm, "Mademoiselle Daae!"

The girl made no response, she was out cold, her body utterly motionless. Erik ran to her and knelt by her side, tapped her face, her smooth, pale cheeks were startlingly cool, she felt like a porcelain doll. The girl didn't move, her lips remained still and slightly parted, her eyelids firmly closed. Tapping her cheeks with a heavier and heavier hand, Erik became all the more desperate to the point that he was nearly slapping her. Regaining control of himself, Erik returned to tapping her cheeks lightly, then he tried her neck, then her arms, then her hands, trying to gain a response.

"Christine! Christine!"

From the bottom of a pool of blackness, Christine could hear someone call her name, yet she didn't know who it was that called for her. Could it be an angel? No, the voice that called her wasn't that of an angel, it was far too mortal, touched with panic and fear, and all good Christian children know that angels do not know panic or fear. Yet despite it's humanity, the voice had undertones of great beauty that echoed gently in her ear. The voice was oddly comforting, like a hug or a kiss from a loved one, it made her feel safe and relaxed, and suddenly the pool of blackness became oddly warm and cosy, an inviting place for her to stay.

"Christine! Christine! Can you hear me? Wake up Christine wake up!"

Wake up? 'Have I fallen asleep?', thought Christine. Perhaps she had, yes now that she thought about it she could remember going to bed. In that case it had to be her father, waking her up in the morning when she had slept to long. Still, it wasn't often that her father had to wake her, she was often up of her own accord, helping around her house and out playing the fields. So why did she have to be woken? Was it market day, did she have to go to town with him? Did she have chores to do? Or was it the mother's birthday, for on her mother's birthday she always woke early to make breakfast for her, with a little help from her father of course. Yes! That was what it was, it was her mother's birthday! 'Yes', thought Christine, 'father must be waking me to prepare breakfast for Mama! I think I will make her pancakes with berries and tea with biscuits and I shall serve them on the best china on the best tray in my best clothes!'

"Please Christine, listen to me, please wake up!"

If Erik had been panicking before, he was hysterical now, shaking Christine's shoulders as if she were a rag doll in an attempt to rouse her. For five minutes he had been shaking the child, shaking her limp body and calling her name, yet she had made no response, not even a flutter of her eyelids. She had a pulse, thank god, but it was weak and shallow, filling Erik with alarm. If she didn't wake up soon what the hell was he to do? Call another member of staff? Send for a doctor? Of course, he would have to, but what on earth would they make of the situation, a young girl in a classroom with her teacher in the middle of the night in just her nightclothes. A situation like that lead to very clear assumptions, there would be scandal, there would be anger, there would be disgracing and for certain there would be imprisonment, even hanging.

"Can you hear me Christine? Please wake up!"

Erik shook her once more, he could feel beads of sweat run down his face as he panicked all the more. He shook Christine's shoulders again, more violently that he'd meant to, and grasped at one of her hands, gripping it and shaking it with his own. What the hell had she been doing down here? Why had she entered so suddenly without knocking and without reason? Surely she hadn't heard him practising? And if she had, what was she doing prowling the school so late at night? There had to be an innocent explanation, but right now, all Erik could think of were wholly uninnocent explanations that gave him no further insight or aid to rousing the girl.

"Please Christine! Wake up! It's me, Monsieur Mannette!"

Monsieur Mannette? Who on God's earth was that? That wasn't father's name, that wasn't her mother's name, that wasn't the name of anyone that Christine knew, and the unseen presence of this man, with his melodious voice, made Christine quiver with fear. So the voice wasn't that of her father? No, how could it be? It was far too deep and masculine to be confused with her father's soft, gentle tone. So father wasn't waking her up to make breakfast for Mama? No, of course he wasn't, for it wasn't Mama's birthday, Mama had died. Mama was dead! The revelation made Christine reel in horror as she was confronted with a cruel flashback of her mother's funeral. She could see the grey graveyard, feel the damp grass under her pinching black shoes, her arms were cold with the sharp November wind, and her face wet with tears. She could see a coffin being lowered into a pit, and she could feel a strong hand gripping tightly onto her own. Who's hand? Her father's hand?

She turned away from the grave and looked up to see who was holding her hand, but it wasn't father, father wasn't there, no one was there, for father was dead! Father was dead! Father was dead! Father was dead! Shock ran through Christine, her whole body trembled and spasmed as if trying to wriggle away from the fierce, ugly truth that had suddenly confronted her. Yes, father was dead, quite dead, and she all alone in the world. Her loneliness and solitude stung Christine and filled her body with pain, as if a knife had been forced into her side. She was all alone! Yet out of the darkness a voice still called for her, persistently crying out her name in tones of increasing desperation and urgency. Her angel was calling for her, her angel.

Christine's eyes shot open and in an instant she was sucked from the world of darkness and plunged into the crude light of reality.

"My angel! My angel! Where has he gone?" she cried out, her face flushed bright red, tears creeping down the sides of her face. She looked like a small child, reflected Erik, a small, frightened child.

"Shh Christine, shh, you are safe, calm down, you have nothing to worry about," whispered Erik, squeezing Christine's hand in an attempt to calm her.

"But my angel? My angel! Where is he?" Christine looked up at Erik, her eyes as wide and helpless as a child's.

"I don't know what you're talking about Christine," admitted Erik is a low, flattering whisper. His hands were shaking from shock, and he was feeling close to fainting himself.

"There was an angel," whispered Christine, her eyes darting around the room as if she was trying to discover where she was, "There was an angel, I heard him singing, the angel of music, my angel…" her voice trailed off and she gasped for breath. Talking seemed like so much work, she just wanted to lie down and sleep.

"Come here Christine," said Erik swiftly, noting how pale and weak she looked. Standing up, Erik attempted to help Christine to her feet by lifting her hands, but it was no use, the child didn't budge. Erik hesitated for a moment, he'd never done this before, and in doing it he'd be breaking everyone of the student - teacher codes of conduct at the school, not to mention society's codes of practise, but none the less, he bent down and hoisted Christine in his arms, holding her close to his chest.

My, how small she was in Erik's arms, so light and so fragile that Erik thought she might shatter if he dropped her. Too afraid of being caught in a compromising position if he carried her back to her dormitory, Erik held Christine with one arm, and used his free hand to clear his desk, scattering his things haphazardly on the floor. He then lay Christine on his desk, as carefully and delicately as if she was a precious antique. Removing his dress coat, Erik folded it and placed it under her head as a pillow, a little colour was returning to Christine's cheeks now, and to Erik's relief she looked less like a body lying in state.

"There was an angel," said Christine once more, her tone less frail and more determined that before. "I heard an angel right here in this very room, I swear it sir."

Erik swallowed uncomfortably, "You are very tired child, very weak and very tired, you do not know what you heard."

"No sir" protested Christine with unexpected vigour, "I was perfectly lucid and I heard an angel! I heard the angel of music!"

Erik shrugged, "I daresay you did, now let me fetch you a glass of water from somewhere."

"Do you believe in angels sir?" asked Christine meekly as Erik paced the room in search of a pitcher of water.

"No."

"Oh! That is a pity sir. Do you believe in God?"

"No Christine, I do not believe in God."

Christine gasped and a hand flew to her mouth, she had never met an atheist before.

"Why do you not believe in God sir?"

"Because child I see no need for belief, what is fact is fact, and what is not is false. I follow what I can prove, what I can hear, what I can see, I do not follow doctrine out of blind belief."

"Then you have no need to believe in angels sir, you can accept them as fact, for I heard one with my own ears in this very room!" Replied Christine quickly and eagerly, a smile spreading across her face.

For a moment Erik had a mind to be offended by this impertinent child's tone, but in spite of himself he found himself smiling, and he shook his head slowly and humorously.

"I don't have any water Mademoiselle Daae, I would offer you a little cognac to steady you, but I think under the circumstances that simply wouldn't do," said Erik slowly, deliberately changing the topic.

"A little cognac would be fine sir," grinned Christine eagerly, life returning to her body just at the thought of her favourite drink, "as a child my father used to give me a little before bed," she added with a sweet smile.

"Hmm," murmured Erik with a raised eyebrow, "Well in that case just a little," he smiled back as he saw Christine's grin grow even wider, displayed nearly everyone of her pearly teeth.

"You speak of your father a lot Mademoiselle, and with great fondness too," began Erik as he fetched the crystal decanter that he kept hidden away in the store cupboard, and the lone the crystal glass that accompanied it.

"I suppose so sir," admitted Christine softly.

"You say he was a musical man, so tell me Mademoiselle, did your father play in an orchestra?"

"I believe he did as a young man sir, he told me many stories of his time in the opera houses of Europe; Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Vienna and Berlin," replied Christine, fidgeting nervously as she sat up on the desk, "But he was a private man sir, one that thrived in the seclusion of the country rather than the bright lights of the city, he was more than content to remove himself from orchestral pits. After he married my mother, he made his own compositions and played them wherever he could."

"Your father must have been a very wise man Mademoiselle Daae," Erik commented ruefully, "And would you have called him a success at this Mademoiselle?"

"Some called him a genius sir," sighed Christine was a shrug of her shoulders. "I was told by these people that my father could have achieved many great things had he not fallen ill so young."

A tense silence descended upon the room, broken only by the sound of cognac trickling from the decanted to the glass; Christine could feel a lump forming in her throat. It was little more than a year since her father had passed away and the memory was still raw and painful.

"If you do not mind me asking Mademoiselle, what was your father's name?" asked Erik softly, momentarily stalling from pouring Christine's drink.

"Gustave Daae sir," muttered Christine, trying to clear the dry sobs from her throat and repress the tears that were springing to her eyes.

"Gustave Daae! The Swedish composer Gustave Daae, why I -", Erik stopped himself short as the sound of Christine's quiet sobs reached his keen ears.

"Mademoiselle Daae? Christine?" murmured Erik gently, stepping out of the store room and tentatively making his way over to his pupil as she tried to dry her eyes on her night robe's sleeve .

"I'm sorry sir," whispered Christine, gratefully accepting Monsieur Mannette's offer of his pocket handkerchief.

"No Christine, it is I who is sorry, I should have known better than to persist on asking questions about such a delicate subject. I was wrong and I ask that you forgive me. Here, have a sip of your drink, I'll give you a moment to dry your tears and compose yourself."

Erik handed Christine her cognac, which she accepted with a trembling hand, and walked over to the other side of the room, faking a sudden interest in his framed copy of Faust. It was only part of the first act, and it wasn't an original, nothing near it, but it meant a lot to Erik, and looking at him now calmed him, and gave him strange strength and comfort. For a moment his heart wished that he could give the same to Christine.

Christine sipped at her cognac slowly, each sip making her a little calmer and a little more composed, Monsiuer Mannette had not given her much and she soon finished it, resting her empty glass on the edge of the desk, making the crystal sing. Erik turned and gave Christine a smile that remained unseen behind his mask as he approached the desk where she sat.

"The voice I heard earlier," began Christine pensively as her teacher approached her, "It was your voice, was it not sir?"

Erik said nothing, instead he reached out for Christine's glass, took it to the decanter and refilled it, tipping it's contents down his throat, swallowing in a single gulp.

"I'm right aren't I, it was you," asserted Christine, looked Erik right in the eye.

Erik shut his eyes, he tightened his grip around his glass, and slowly, painfully, gave a small nod.

Christine sighed and shook her head sadly, "So that is why you don't believe in angels sir, because you are as blessed as one."

Erik opened his eyes and looked at Christine with slight confusion, his brow furrowed in concentration as if he was trying to read her mind.

"Oh sir, you are so very blessed," lamented Christine with genuine sorrow that weighted deeply upon her heart, "Why do you squander such talent on this silly little school?"

"That's it!" snapped Erik, suddenly all the gentleness and softness was gone, and it was as sharp and metallic as a carving knife, bitter and vexed, it had the bite of a caged tiger.

"I have allowed this charade to go on for far to long! That is quite enough Mademoiselle Daae! I expect you out of this room and in your bedchamber this very instant, before you give me cause to do you ill!"

His voice was so fierce that it hurt more than a slap from his hand ever could, she had never heard a man speak with such anger, such unprovoked and sudden anger. Filled with alarm Christine didn't even ponder the possibility of disobeying her teacher, and indeed, within that very instant she leapt from the desk and ran as fast as her dainty feet would carry her, up to her bedchamber where she flung herself under her covers and fell into a deep sleep, filled with strange dreams. It was the next morning that she realised that her nocturnal fears were indeed quite gone.