A/N: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, as much as I would love to, nor is Erik mine, wish as I might that he were. This is Gaston Leroux's story, which I always imagined ending differently. Then again, so have a lot of people.

Christine's Farewell

The audience seemed cold to her, but she could not understand why. Perhaps the memory of Carlotta's fate, when she'd uttered those horrendous "co-acks" still weighed on everyone's minds.

Christine knew that none of that should matter to her now. Her mind should be on performing the role of Marguerite in Faust. It would be her way of saying good-bye to Erik, who had done so much for her in the time she had known him. Something about the way some in attendance kept gazing around and up at Philippe, Raoul's elder brother, confused her.

What was so interesting up in his box? And why did he seem to be thinking of something else entirely?

Christine's self-assurance was fading quickly. The old nervousness she'd not felt for quite some time was rapidly taking hold. Could she maintain her composure long enough to finish this scene? Or at least this aria?

It was at the end of this act that Carlotta had experienced the catastrophe of losing her voice. She'd not performed for a brief time after that incident.

At that moment that Christine, and, indeed, all in attendance, thought of La Carlotta, she appeared in a box directly opposite the stage. Seeing the smugness on her rival's face, Christine forgot everything but her part. She no longer had anything to prove except to herself. She sang with all her being and surpassed anything she'd done before this night.

Finally, the last act, during Marguerite's invocation to the angels, the entire audience was enraptured, as though they were themselves in the presence of an angel.

Raoul stood from his seat in the centre of the amphitheatre. Christine stretched her arms out towards him and sang out, "Holy angel in Heaven blessed, My spirit longs with thee to rest!"

The stage was suddenly, unexpectedly, plunged into darkness, but immediately, the gas illuminated the stage again. What had just transpired?

More shocking than the temporary loss of light was the disappearance of Miss Christine Daae!

Where had she gone? Had the angels really come down from heaven to reclaim one of their own? Was this what the morning papers had meant about Philippe trying to stop Raoul from marrying the young singer? Had this been planned? So many questions were being uttered by the curious crowd, but none were yet being answered.

The crowd behind the curtain was no less frantic. Some speculated Christine had run off with the Vicomte; others said she had eloped with Philippe, who, as the elder brother, had more money and more lucrative title; others still accused Carlotta of doing away with her rival. Some even chimed in with the idea that the Opera Ghost had taken her.

This last suggestion only met with chuckles, since all the trap-doors had been thoroughly checked and the idea of some unforeseen accident occurring was laid to rest.

Mauclair, the gas-man, and his assistants who tended the lights, were nowhere to be found in the opera house. Who, then, was working the lights this evening? And who the devil had orchestrated these events?

The managers, who had ordered that no one, absolutely no one, was to disturb them during tonight's performance of Faust, had locked themselves away in their office. Though some had attempted to inform them of the evening's events, they would hear none of it. Indeed, Monsieur Moncharmin was more concerned with obtaining a safety pin than to hear what anyone had to say.

Then, it seemed, Mother Giry had gone missing, too. What was going on at the Opera tonight? Had some terrible curse befallen them?

Mercier, the acting-manager, had gone to try to fetch Messrs. Richard and Moncharmin from their office, but, once again, they would not emerge. Moncharmin did, however, open the door long enough to hear Mercier say that someone ran away with Christine Daae. His response was that whoever did it had done a good job of it and handed Mercier the very safety pin for which he had been frantic over not moments before!

Mercier ran back to tell the others of the strange behaviour. A man came up behind them to ask where Christine was. Had Raoul's face not been so sorrow-stricken, they might have found the question, given the circumstances, absurd. Surely, everyone who was in the opera house knew that she had disappeared! But no one knew how it had happened!

Raoul, however, had no doubt that this was all Erik's doing. When he'd seen the stage vacant, he had rushed upon it in a fit of love and despair. He was sure he could hear her plaintive cries for him through the floorboards but, alas, the stairs leading beneath the stage were off-limits to everyone that night. How could he get to her? What must Erik be doing to her at this very moment? He feared the worst might have come to his beloved.

He'd ventured to her dressing room and found her clothes were strewn across the furniture, awaiting a bride who might never return to don them. The mirror beckoned. He had seen Christine pass through that glass one night. There appeared to be no mechanism he could operate to give him access to the Phantom's lair. Would it respond to a particular spoken word? If only he knew Erik's secrets!

He'd then run out to search for the gate that Christine had mentioned to him before, the one that would lead to the lake under the Opera, but he could not find it nor could anyone tell him where it was. Any that he asked merely looked at him as though he were a madman. He'd run up and down stairs frantically, hoping to chance upon an entrance to the cellars. Weary, he entertained the notion that she had been found and was safely ensconced among friends.

And so he'd gone backstage to find some answers. "Could you tell me where Christine Daae is?"

His question brought him ridicule from some of the stage-hands. They jostled the Vicomte rudely, thinking he'd finally gone completely mad! They could hardly fault the poor boy; he had had a bit of a turbulent romance with Christine, especially with her tendency to suddenly disappear.

But Raoul was not insane; he was certain that that monster had dragged her off to his house on the lake far below the stage. He could only shudder as he imagined the vengeance Erik might wreak if he knew that Christine had been about to betray him and leave him forever.

'Well, of course, he knew,' Raoul realised with dread. Why had he not convinced her to leave with him that same night they talked of marriage while they were on the rooftop? Why had she been so insistent on singing for that horrid creature one last time?

The commissioner of police arrived just then and inquired where the managers were. The entire crowd followed as the commissioner was led towards the managers' office.

Raoul, however, was stopped by a hand on his shoulder and a deep voice telling him that Erik's secrets concerned no one but Erik.

The Persian bade him follow. He led Raoul back to Christine's dressing room by a different path from the one he took before. The Persian tried to work the mechanism that would allow the mirror to swing open, but it would not budge. They would have to find another passage to gain entrance into Erik's lair.

As they descended, Raoul could hold back his curiosity no longer. "Why are you helping me?"

The Persian only shook his head. "I am not doing this to help you, Monsieur le Vicomte. I am doing this . . . to repay a debt, shall we say?"

The cryptic response left Raoul with more questions, but he knew they would have to wait until after they had rescued Christine from those evil clutches. How long would it be until he could see and hold his precious angel? The torment might kill him before Erik ever had a chance to.

They scurried past old sceneries from operas that had long since been performed and through tunnels few knew existed. They journeyed along corridors with little illumination until, finally, they were in the fifth cellar.

Erik's Ultimatum

Christine was dishevelled. She was also confused. One minute she was basking in the praise of the audience, the next, a blindfold was upon her eyes and a soft cloth was covering her mouth and nose. She was only barely conscious, only slightly aware that she was being carried somewhere.

Whoever this was, he was certainly being gentle. His touch when he turned down one corner or another was gentle; his demeanour, however, was anything but. How was it that she could feel his anger emanating just from his touch? He had not spoken a word or even made a sound in the time since he snatched her from the stage amidst cover of darkness.

"Wh-" she started to ask until a gloved hand stilled her lips. She sighed in mild frustration. She had no choice but to be silent until they got where they were going, not that she could have put up much of a fight in her current state.

But where were they headed? The house on the lake? Somewhere else in Paris? Would he take her somewhere else altogether?

So much she could only surmise and hope that someone would come looking for her. She wasn't even sure of how much time she would have before this figure would tire of her and -

And what? She had no clue as to his intentions. If this was Erik, he might force her to marry him, or he might kill her for betraying him with Raoul. If this was someone else, someone whose identity she would not know until the blindfold was removed, she could only imagine the fate that would befall her.

Who would possibly want to hurt her, though? She had caused no harm to anyone. Well, there was Erik, but that was only a little emotional hurt when she didn't want to stay with him beneath the opera, and he'd told her she could leave so long as she wore his ring and promised to return to him!

She'd been so lost in thought that she had lost track of the turns they took. The sound of rippling water brought her back to her senses. Were they at the underground lake? Was this Erik leading her deep down below once again? What fate awaited her? Was it her death, or did a marriage to death lie in her future?

The small boat rocked as they slowly crossed the calm waters. She tried to keep her breathing steady, but she could feel those two eyes boring into her, contemplating her all the while. She felt as uneasy as she had all those times Erik had sat across the table from her and watched her as she ate.

Erik regarded his beloved Christine curiously. After all he had done for her, how could she so easily walk away with that- that- that simpering little fop? What could Raoul give her that he couldn't? Erik was willing to give her everything! She could have a career, a home anywhere she wanted, all the riches she deserved if she stayed with Erik. He would do anything for her to make her happy.

Yet she betrayed him up on the rooftop, the one place she and that impetuous fool had thought he would not follow. It had broken his heart to hear her say yes to another man. Now, he had to understand why.

And so he had nabbed her from the stage to bring her back to his house on the lake to - He wasn't even really sure why. All he knew was that he needed to hear from her lips that she did not and could not love him. Whatever she chose, Erik would have to live with it, for however long or brief a time.

If she left him, he knew would not be long for this world. This world had been so cruel to him, even from birth. His own mother had been unable to love him or even to gaze upon his disfigured face! His father avoided him as much as he could. Perhaps in the next world, if there was one, he could find some peace and acceptance.

At last, they'd reached the far shore.

Erik moored the small vessel and gathered Christine into his arms once more. Carefully, he set her upon steady land but kept a watchful eye on her sitting form and a firm hand gripping her limp hand as he departed the vessel. She had been unfaithful to her promises to him one too many times for him to take his chances. She would either explain why she turned from her teacher, the one man who loved her absolutely, even before she was lauded by Paris's cultured elite, or she would admit her love for him and agree to spend her life with him.

What else was a poor, lonely, love-stricken opera ghost to do?

He still had not spoken a word, but Christine, rousing from the chloroform of several minutes before, recognised the smell and ambience of the house by the lake. It was clear to her now that this was most definitely Erik. Had he known what she and Raoul were planning for tonight?

Dread suddenly filled her so that, as she stood, she nearly stumbled, but Erik caught her and held her steady. He guided her through what she surmised was the door to the house on the lake and had her sit upon a sofa near the fireplace. When he was sure she would not simply make a mad dash for the door, he removed her blindfold.

If he expected her to be shocked at the identity of her "host," he would have been disappointed. She was fully prepared to see that dark mask again and to find herself in these familiar surroundings. "Erik, why have you brought me back here?" She swallowed hard to keep her voice from trembling. It would not do for him to hear fear in her now.

Behind the mask, his eyes were both angry and saddened. His voice remained as steady as ever, with a mocking undertone that belied his true feelings. "Did you truly believe there was anywhere you could go that I would not know what you did? Paris has an entire underground world of which you know nothing, Christine! But you, you thought you could make your plans with that slave of fashion and live a life without music? You have wounded your Erik with your betrayal. How am I to trust you again? How can I ever let you return to the world above if you could so easily agree to another man's proposal?"

Throughout his scolding, Christine remained stone-faced and silent. Any reaction from her might send him into a rage where he would have no control over his actions. All she did was blink.

"Very well. The only way Erik will be able to trust his precious angel not to fly away is if she marries Erik. Then, Erik will know that Christine loves him. Oh, Erik has seen the way Christine looks at Raoul, and that is not love in her eyes. That is only an infatuation, old feelings from childhood. Erik saw a girl look at him like that long ago, but she is gone because of Erik's hideousness." His demeanour seemed to soften for a moment, then he turned to face Christine again. The fury had returned. "What will be your choice, Christine?" He gestured towards the mantle and two boxes resting there. "Turn the scorpion and be my wife, or . . . turn the grasshopper and watch him hop!" He gave a malicious giggle as he watched her reaction.

She couldn't help herself. The terror and shock on her face was plain to see, as was her confusion.

"Ah, I see that I have your full attention now! Good. You have one of two choices: Spend your life with me as my good and faithful wife and I will never harm another person as long as I live. Or, you can refuse me, go free to marry your vicomte," his voice dripped with derision and resentment, "but remember this: If you leave me once again, if the grasshopper hops, the opera house, and everyone inside of it, will be no more!"

He turned away from her, cackling; a thought stopped him. "You have until the sands in the hourglass have run their course." He flipped the hourglass by the door and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

How could she choose? Either choice meant death to her. He gave her only one hour to make her decision. Would someone find her and rescue her in that time? Or would she be forced to become death's mistress to save so many from their own deaths?

This might be the longest hour of her life.

She rose and began pacing. Her stomach rumbled slightly, reminding her that she'd not eaten in several hours. She felt dizzy. She reached out to keep from falling, but failed and fell to the floor in a faint.

One hour later, Erik unlocked the door keeping Christine captive. When he saw her lying on the floor, blood on her face, he feared the worst. Fear turned to anger, and he bound her to a chair before waking her.

"So? You would deny Erik his bride?" he spat.

"I fell," she offered weakly.

"Fell?" he echoed in disbelief.

"I haven't eaten since this morning . . . I got dizzy . . . and I fell. You weren't there to catch me."

He stared at her, incredulous. "Did - did you want me here to catch you?" he whispered.

She gazed up at him and saw him for the first time. Not the Angel of Music, not the Opera Ghost, but the man - Erik. The man who would do anything for her.

Wordlessly, he awaited her response.

"Yes. And Erik? I will marry you," Christine declared in a timid whisper.

Never before had those words carried such weight. Her body felt as though she were physically carrying the weight of the world upon her shoulders and not just Erik's and her fate. She felt drearily heavy now that she had answered his question. Would he believe that she meant it? Or would he think she was, once again, being false just to save herself?

Erik, the dreaded Phantom, for the first time in his miserable, wretched life, felt hope. Hope that he wasn't the monster everyone thought him to be. Hope that someone could truly love him. Hope that he might actually be able to live as an ordinary man.

"Christine" he whispered as he moved to untie her. "Are you sure?" He was terrified she would change her mind and say no. It would kill him if she said no. It would kill everyone above them if she said no, as well as the both of them. Christine was frightfully aware of that fact.

When she looked at him again, standing in all his dark majesty, it was not pity she felt. True, he was a pitiful creature who had never known love. Something inside of her said he did not need pity. He needed something entirely different, and he needed it from her. He needed it soon, or he might die from the loneliness.

She knew that all he had done for her was out of love. Strange, she thought, how deeply his love for her ran. It was more of an obsession, really. But that obsession had allowed her to blossom. He had brought out the song in her heart once more; he had enabled her spirit to take flight; he wanted to make her a star. He would kill for her. There was nothing he would not do. Anything she asked of him, he would do, just to make her happy.

All he was asking was that she make him happy, too.

"Yes, Erik, I am sure." She lifted a hand to caress his mask. His eyes glowed when he saw how her blue eyes glistened. "I will marry you," she repeated.

He had to believe she loved him. Otherwise, he might make good on his threats. It appeared he did believe her, for he fell to his knees, clutching her waist for support, and wept. Christine could do nothing but stroke his head as he buried his face in her skirts. He would not allow her to see his face made even more gruesome by his sobs.

When she attempted to kneel beside him, he held fast so she'd remain standing. He was not worthy of being comforted by one such as she!

But she had consented to marry him.

It was only to save the opera house and her precious vicomte!

She finally realised her feelings for him.

But she had plotted to run off in the night without so much as a farewell to her teacher!

Conflicting thoughts were coursing through his brilliant, tortured mind. He sobbed even harder. "Oh, Christine!" he lamented.

Her heart raced, even as time slowed. She lowered herself beside him and embraced this man who would move mountains for her if she wished it. What had she ever done to deserve the love of such a gifted man? She would make the best of this situation, perhaps convince him, one day, to move them both to a house aboveground, somewhere they could start a new life, away from cruel and uncompassionate people.

Erik lifted his gloved hand to brush the blonde locks back from her pale face and wipe the dried bits of blood away. Once again, he produced the simple bands he had shown her before, when he had forced one onto her finger as a symbol of her promise to return to him.

This time, he delicately placed one on her left hand and promised to love, honour, and obey his Christine, in sickness, health, and whatever else might come their way.

She, in turn, removed the glove from his hand, slipped the ring onto his finger, and promised to honour, obey, and cherish her Erik from this day forward. And she promised that she would never lose her ring again.

And thus, with a kiss, they were married.

Raoul's Torment

"This way, Monsieur le Vicomte," the Persian instructed. "It is not much farther to the entrance."

Raoul took a deep breath to steady himself. The Persian chided him to keep his hand at the level of his eyes to avoid being caught by Erik's most dangerous weapon, the Punjab lasso. Every noise made the young man jump, but the Persian was focused on one goal: getting the vicomte to the house by the lake. He owed Erik that much.

Now he wondered if there were some way to save Erik. He was so tormented, even as a child. And as an adult, he'd been turned into an assassin by the Shah of Persia and the Little Sultana! He had never known what it was like to be accepted by anyone. Should he guide this young noble to his death or show him the way in and plead his case to Erik? Would Erik even listen to him now?

Was all of this trouble really over that young soprano? Could a woman be worth all of this?

He shrugged those questions off mentally and beckoned silently to Raoul. "Not a sound must we utter beyond this point!" he whispered urgently. "There is no telling how many chambers he has constructed here! He could listen to our words in this corridor for all we know."

Raoul nodded. He would have to be extremely careful not to breathe too loudly lest he give away their location. In this darkness, he could only see the movement of the man in front of him. Where he was leading him, he did not know, but he would have to trust him if he had any hope of saving Christine.

The Persian stopped suddenly, began turning his head as though he were listening for something, then pressed his ear to the wall. He felt the cold rock until he reached a spot above his head and to the right; he pushed the spot in to reveal a door in the rock ahead of them.

There was nothing left to do but walk through it.

Raoul hesitated. What if this was a trap? What if the Persian had brought him here for Erik? Where would that leave him? Dead? And what about Christine? Could he really leave her to the machinations of that madman?

He found his resolve and followed the Persian into the monster's lair.

After they had recited their vows to each other, Erik and Christine were both so exhausted from the evening's events and from crying together that they had fallen asleep sitting slumped against the wall. His arms encircled her protectively as he drifted off to a peaceful slumber. Her head rested against his chest, comforted by the steady thump of his heartbeat. Was this what it was like to be married? She could get used to this, she thought with a small smile as sleep overtook her.

A few hours later, Erik and Christine awoke in each other's arms. A dreadful clatter had startled them awake.

"Erik?" She gazed up at her new husband questioningly.

"Wait here, my wife," he bade her as he helped her get into bed. 'My wife,' he thought, pleased. What a pity they'd not yet consummated the marriage.

Whoever was caught in one of his traps would just have to -

-would just have to watch while they did, he thought with sadistic joy when he saw that it was Raoul that was tangled up in a net just inside the entrance to his home.

'Our home,' he reminded himself.

"Ah, monsieur! It seems you are caught up in a trap intended to keep trespassers out of our home!" Erik moved to a lever that would lower the net. "I do apologise, monsieur. Come in, I will show where you can . . . freshen up."

"I have come for Christine. Let me see her," the young vicomte demanded.

"Of course you came for her," he responded patronisingly. "And you will see her. Once you have had a chance to straighten your suit and compose yourself. This way, monsieur."

Erik's voice dripped with derision every time he said monsieur.

He led the infatuated man to a small room with a washbasin, a mirror, and a few other amenities.

"Make yourself comfortable and presentable, monsieur. You will see Christine soon enough."

Erik closed and locked the door behind him. He made his way through the maze of hallways back to Christine's bedroom. She was precisely where he'd left her on the bed.

There was something a bit different about her now. Perhaps she was growing accustomed to the thought of being his; maybe it was the fact that she was now ensconced underneath the covers. Whatever the change in her, it made her radiant.

She gave him a small smile. "What was that noise, my love?"

He smiled back at her behind his dark mask. "Nothing to worry about, my dear."

He crossed to the bed and sat beside her. He lifted his mask just enough to be able to kiss his bride. When he pulled back, she smiled up at him, then pried the offending scrap of material from his face. She looked at him without any fear or disgust at his skull-like visage. He pressed his thin lips to hers once more, savouring their fullness. Her arms slowly encircled his thin shoulders.

With one hand he massaged her neck; with the other, he undid the lace at the back of her dress. He knew Raoul could see all that was happening, but that didn't matter now. All Erik could think of was how beautiful she looked and how good it felt to hold her. The feel of her gentle hands upon his bare skin as she helped him out of his clothing was almost more than he could bear.

"Oh, Christine! My love, my angel, my wife!" Erik cried into her hair as he, at long last, knew the love he'd waited his whole life to feel.

From behind the two-way mirror, Raoul watched, transfixed and puzzled. Had Erik just called her his wife? But how could that be? Christine loved him. And yet, there she was, being embraced by another!

Had she simply been toying with his affections? Had this been her plan all along? Use Raoul for his money, his position in society, then abandon him for this madman?

All these questions would surely drive him insane!

So would the scene playing out in front of him. No matter how hard he tried, he could not avert his eyes.

Watching the woman he'd loved since he was a child being loved physically by another man held a bizarre fascination for Raoul. He had been with women himself, of course, but he'd never seen that expression on any of their faces. The way she closed her eyes as Erik kissed her neck or the way she sighed when he moved with her were new to him. He tried to close his eyes to it, but it was a beautiful sight to behold, even though the man on top of her looked half-dead. There was such love in her eyes when she gazed up at the Phantom, Raoul noted with sadness.

How could he have not seen it before? He'd convinced himself that Christine had loved him, but she never had that light in her eyes for him. Not even when they were children had she gazed at him so adoringly.

His thoughts turned to Meg. Odd, he thought, that he should think of her at a time like this. She was pretty, of course, but there were others prettier.

Christine lifted a hand to caress her husband's jawline and brought him towards her for another deep, lingering kiss. The feel of their bodies pressed together was the perfect melding of two who had truly and completely given themselves to each other. Their songs had joined into one seamlessly, and now they had a physical manifestation of that union.

Christine and Erik remained entwined in love's duet for the entire night. How long could they possibly keep going? This was utter torture for Raoul. Nothing that Erik could have devised would have been this painful, the Persian knew. But the only way he would believe the truth was if he saw it on her face and heard it from her own mouth.

"Erik?" she murmured.

"Yes, mon ange?"

"Might we have a proper wedding? In a church?"

"My Christine may have whatever she wishes!" he promised with a gleeful chuckle.

When Erik was reasonably certain that his bride was asleep, he gingerly rose from the bed. He had other business that needed tending.

Anguish and Confusion

"Ah, monsieur, I do apologise for keeping you waiting for so long! My darling wife required my attention," Erik informed the dumbstruck vicomte with a smirk. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

Raoul turned to him slowly. "What kind of sick game are you playing, Opera Ghost?"

"Game? There is no game! And why do you call me a ghost when you can plainly see that I am a man, flesh and blood, like you?"

"You are nothing like me! I want to speak with Christine. Or have you killed her already?"

"Why, monsieur, would I ever harm my wife? She has committed no crime against me. You, on the other hand, plotted to run away with her. It was you who turned her against me! But she has remembered her love for me, and, I can assure you, she is quite content now."

Raoul shuddered, recalling the look of ecstasy on her face each time Erik had kissed her. What kind of game had she been playing all this time? He truly loved her, even when they were children, but could she so easily forget him all over again? Raoul heaved a heavy sigh, then looked over at the Phantom once more. "I wish to see Christine. I want to hear it from her very lips that she does not love me."

Erik fixed him with a stony glare. Raoul's resolve faltered. "Very well, monsieur, you may speak to my wife. But, " he warned, "if you attempt to leave here with her, if you try to remove her from our home, you will regret ever having come to Paris." With a glower, Erik exited the small room and locked it once again.

He was startled when he saw Christine approaching him sleepily. "Erik? Was that Raoul's voice I heard? Or was I dreaming?"

Sadly, he confirmed that it was her childhood friend. "He wishes to speak with you, my dear." Erik's shoulders slumped when she nodded. "Very well, my dear. He is just beyond this door."

Christine lightly caressed his mask before walking through the entrance. She wasn't sure what she would say to him, but she knew she had to tell him something. How could she break his heart by telling him she had married another? Would he believe that she loved Erik? Or would he try to convince her to run off with him as he had that night on the rooftop?

"Hello, Raoul," she greeted flatly.

Meanwhile, Erik went in search of the Persian. "Daroga!" he urgently whispered down dark corridors. "Daroga, where are you, you scoundrel?"

After several minutes of this, the Persian finally made his presence known. Once he'd shown the young vicomte into Erik's lair, he had hidden himself until the opportune moment. "Erik, what are you planning?"

"That is my concern, Daroga, not yours, not anyone else's."

"Will you let her go free?"

"Why should she wish that?"

"That is not what I asked. But if she does, would you?"

"I could deny my wife nothing that would make her happy."

"Wife? Do you seriously mean to tell me that you intend to force her to marry you?"

"Force? Never! She has become my wife, by her own vow, her own heavenly words, and she wishes a proper wedding in a proper church. Yes, to me! Don't look so disbelieving, you dastardly daroga!"

The Persian could not read him. What dark secrets lay within that diabolically brilliant mind of his? Had he finally gone mad? Had he killed the young singer?

"Raoul, why have you come here?" Christine asked calmly.

He gazed at her across the table, incredulous. "Why? Because I love you! Because I feared what that monster would do to you! Because I could not lose you again!"

"Erik would never harm me. I am his wife. He loves me," she stated with absolute certainty. She had to make him leave. She could not bear it if Erik became violent on her behalf again. Her face was perfectly serene, betraying none of her tormented thoughts.

"Christine . . . Would you have left with me that night? That night on the rooftop? I thought you loved me -"

"I thought so, too, Raoul." Her voice was soothing. "Perhaps I convinced myself I did. I held such fond memories of you, of my father . . ." Her eyes misted in her nostalgia, but the moment passed quickly. "All the other chorus-girls entertained noblemen, patrons of the opera house; I did what I thought was expected, and -"

"Christine . . . Do you really love him?" Raoul feared her answer would be yes more than he feared any torture Erik could devise. "Do you wish to remain here, underground, with that . . . that . . ."

She turned on him suddenly, a harsh expression marring her delicate features. "With that what? Musical genius? My teacher? My husband?"

Raoul sank back into the hard wooden chair, defeated by that one word: husband. "I saw you together," he admitted so quietly that she didn't hear him.

Erik and the Daroga were still arguing. The Persian tried to talk some sense into the Phantom. Why would he not listen to reason? "If that young singer suddenly disappears again, there will be others who will search for her. Eventually, they might make their way here!"

"Ah, but daroga, it is you who guided that insolent fool down here!" Erik exclaimed. "After what I did for you, for your family, you would betray me like this?"

"I saved your life once, Erik. If need be, I will save it again, but do not expect me to help you clean up one of your messes. That is not why I came here. I knew that that boy would continue to attempt to find a way to get down here. By bringing him here now, I thought that -"

Erik regarded him coldly for a moment. Even with the mask, the Persian knew how hard those eyes must be on him now. He could only stand there and wait. Waiting for the viper to strike was harder than the actual wound would be. The Persian knew full well that he should not speak or move until Erik did.

Erik knew that he knew, as well. He stood there, glaring off into the distance, for long moments. His mind was racing. What if Christine wanted to leave with the boy? What if she didn't love him, as she'd said she did? What if she left without so much as a goodbye? It would surely kill him to know she loved another. How could he live without his precious angel? Might she be planning her escape even as they stood here?

"You will go to the kitchen and wait there. I must see to something," Erik finally instructed. The anguish of not knowing what was in her heart was causing him too much pain. There was only one way to be certain.

The Persian skulked off silently while the Phantom returned to the corridor behind Christine's bedroom. From there, he could listen to their conversation unnoticed. Even the mirror no longer showed anything other than the reflection of the room in which it hung.

"I must stay here. I have no choice." Christine's voice was muffled.

Erik's heart sank. She had made him believe she loved him, but it was an act, a ploy to save everyone above ground! Of course she didn't love him. His own parents couldn't love him. How could he have had any hope of anyone sharing her life with him?

"But why must you stay?" Raoul's voice betrayed his torment. "What has he done to you?"

"He has loved me. He brought the joy back into my voice, to my heart! He has helped me in ways you could not imagine."

"Christine, if you come away with me, I will take care of you. I don't care what my brother says, I will do anything to make you happy!"

Unseen by the Phantom, she gazed back at her old friend wistfully. She shook her head, nearly imperceptibly, setting her golden locks swaying. Erik, from his perch, took her silence to mean she wanted to accept his offer. Would he be able to let her leave him if she asked? Would she dare ask him or did she fear what he might do? Would she even care if her betrayal killed him?

He heard her take a deep breath and sigh. Whatever she said now would determine his fate.

"Raoul, you don't understand," Christine's voice was almost pleading. "I am Erik's wife. I remain here because I love him. I don't have a choice . . . I never had a choice . . . My heart has belonged to him from the moment I first heard his voice."

Erik grinned to himself. She called herself his wife! And she said she loved him!

"Christine, please!" the vicomte begged. "You cannot stay here with that madman! He kidnapped you and forced you into that sham of a marriage. You must come away with me, like we'd planned."

'Madman, eh?' Erik pondered. Perhaps this slave of fashion should see just how mad he was!

"No, Raoul," she insisted, shaking her head. "I will stay with him. I shall remain with my husband. You must leave our home and never return. I told you, I entertained your affections because that was what the other chorus-girls had done. You were a patron, so I did as expected. I sang for you so you would show kindness to the Opera and to the managers. I sing for my husband now."

Erik's anguish turned to feelings of triumph! The boy would not have to die. He knew that he and Christine could no longer remain in Paris, either. Hurriedly, he made his way to the Persian. "Daroga!" he called.

"I am here, Erik."

"Do you still have the keys to that château in the country?"

"Yes, of course, I keep them on me should I need to make use of it. Why?"

"I need to make use of it."

The Persian understood. Erik needed a new home, far from Paris. "Shall I make arrangements for you to journey there?"

"Yes. There is much still to do here. We will need a few days to prepare for the long journey."

The Persian nodded, bowed slightly, and made his way back to the world above. He would help Erik this one last time. He could only hope that the stress of losing Christine and the distance they would travel would not kill him. Perhaps the debt he owed could be considered repaid.

Erik tried to keep the smirk from his face as he unlocked the door. Christine stood to greet him. "My darling!"

He glowered at the sulking form that remained seated. "Have you heard enough from my wife? Has she told you what you needed to hear?"

Raoul only sat there in stern disbelief. This angel of the morning was choosing this creature of darkness over him? He had never lost a woman to another man, much less one so pitiful as this! Ah, that was it! Pity! She felt sorry for him and so was trying to make his remaining years a little better.

The bewildered vicomte rose. "Yes. She told me she is your wife," he stated morosely. "I shall leave you. If you would be so kind as to point me in the right dir-"

Erik made a sweeping motion, bidding the young man to follow him. Christine stayed close to her Phantom. When the trio reached the door that led back to the Opera House's cellars, Christine bade her old chum farewell for what she knew would be the final time. "Goodbye, Raoul. Perhaps we shall see each other again someday. Or, when we are settled in our new home, I might write to you?"

"Perhaps . . . Little Lotte." Raoul gave her one last sad smile before retreating into the darkness.

Erik turned to her, mystified. "How did you know?"

"Know what, my love?"

"That we would be leaving Paris?"

"We are? I only said that so Raoul would not come looking for me again. If he thought we were gone, he would have no reason to return."

"Ah, you little vixen! Come, we must make haste, for we will have only a few days before we must leave. You will like our new house. It is out in the country, away from prying eyes."

"I would like any house if it is where I can live with you, my Erik."

Epilogue

As for Raoul, he continued to sponsor the arts. He took a particular interest in Meg Giry and, though he never loved her, they enjoyed many a pleasant evening together until he introduced her to the Baron de Barbazac. The baron, an old friend of Philippe's, found her black hair and dark eyes exotic rather than swarthy, as others were wont to call her.

Philippe had calmed some of his ways after the fiasco at the opera, but he continued to enjoy his bachelorhood. There was not a woman who could tame him, he liked to boast, until he met Jacqueline Sorelli, the younger sister of La Sorelli. Jacqueline, like her sister, was a fabulous dancer, an up-and-coming prima ballerina. With Philippe sponsoring her, she could have her choice of dance instructors and venues.

Raoul eventually recovered from losing Christine to the Phantom and Meg to the Baron de Barbazac. He even married an Italian woman from a well-to-do family and was never seen in France again.

Christine and Erik settled in their château in the country, by another lake, in the south of France. The mild weather was good for Erik, and their life there was free from the troubles they'd known all their lives. Their happiness was only made greater by the arrival of their first child, who showed all the talents of both his parents. He had his mother's smooth skin, saffron hair, and warm smile, and his father's voice and genius.

His eyes glowed in the dark, too.