"Remember to hold the scarf loosely on your purlicues," Erik says, sitting on the chaise longue upholstered in a heavy gold brocade watches as Christine comes from behind the dressing screen to display her costume.

After giving him a nod, she checks her gown in the gilded mirror hanging on the wall. Similar in size, this looking glass is far grander than the one in her old dressing room. The entire room is reflective of Carlotta's more grandiose taste both in furnishing and color. An overabundance of bold colors and heavy fabric make the room feel close even though twice the size of her earlier accommodations.

"My dress seems to blend into the furnishings," she comments.

"Carlotta is nothing if not overblown in all ways – vocally, physically and in all matters of taste," Erik sniffs. "There was no time to redecorate to your tastes."

"You asked? I cannot believe you asked."

"I suggested a change to Adele and she agreed, simply saying there was no time before this performance."

"You suggested…"

"I told her you deserved better than a room that looked like a bordello, but considering the previous occupant, one could not expect otherwise."

"Erik!"

"I only speak the truth," he states. "Your purlicues, let me see how you will hold your scarf."

"Oh, yes, my purlicues," she bursts out laughing as she drapes the length of red, green and gold silk fabric from the hook on her dressing screen between the thumb and forefinger on either hand. "I remember now.

What a difference between this night and the last time he prepared her to go on as Elissa in Hannibal. Was it only just over two weeks ago?

"Purlicues," Erik repeated, wishing he could walk through the mirror to show her what he meant.

"What a silly word," she said, while trying to follow his instructions. "Sounds more like a sewing stitch or something one would do with one's hair."

"You are thinking of curlicues, but, yes, it is a rather silly word," he agreed. "Just let the fabric flow over your hand, let the scarf dance and flow with your voice."

"Like this?" she asks, holding the scarf as he directed.

"Yes, perfect," he said.

"What if I drop it?"

"Then pick it up with your fingertips." A hint of annoyance in his voice. So many months of work all to be destroyed by concern over a prop. "Pretend the scarf is your lover – you want to hold onto him, but you must let him go to war. Give him his freedom so he will return."

Had he really said that to her? Had she remembered those words to say them to him? Were they true? This courtship business was most confusing.

"I am so nervous, Angel."

"Put the energy into your song, all your feelings and fears."

"You were right about the scarf," she says, interrupting his thoughts.

"Was I? How so?"

"When I focused on the scarf being my lover, the song made more sense. I stopped thinking about the notes."

"And you were brilliant."

"Was I?"

"Do you think those idiot managers would have wanted you back were you not?"

"I owe all of this to you," she says, walking over to him, placing a kiss on his brow.

Closing his eyes, he breathes deeply before saying, "You have a gift, I only reminded you of that fact. Kissing me is not necessary."

Stepping back, she laughs again before returning to her vanity. "Well, maybe I think it is."

A rush of color floods his face. "Please do not mock me."

Sighing, she returns to where he is sitting, bends over to wipe his forehead with a tissue.

"Now you are wiping the kiss away?"

"You are such a silly man," she says, showing him the tissue. "I left some of my lip rouge behind when I kissed you. Of course, you could walk about with the red smudge, I doubt anyone would notice, however," she laughs, kissing him again in the same spot.

Taking the tissue, he gets up and checks himself in the mirror. As she said, there is indeed a bright smear on his forehead, seeming more obvious in contrast with the white porcelain of his mask. Opening a jar of cleansing cream, he removes the stain.

Taking in the face looking back at him, he still feels anxious at making an appearance tonight if only in Box Five. No one need see him at all if he sits in one of the back seats. Nadir and Adele will sit in front. He may not be able to see the stage, but hearing Christine is all he cares about. Why did he ever agree to such an arrangement?

"Everyone believes the Phantom is gone, so there is no reason for you to hide."

"You do not think wearing a mask is reason enough?"

"We have gone over this…"

"I know. I know."

"So you will sit in the audience as any other gentleman would."

"There. You can see how fine you look," she says, coming up behind him, her face reflecting in the mirror next to his.

A grumble is the best response he is able to give. There is something particularly contrary in his feelings about this – his mother who could not bear to see him with his face uncovered and Christine who insists he not be so concerned about his appearance. In his heart of hearts, he believes his mother to be correct on this point.

"Better than hiding behind a mirror – I much prefer you sitting here with me," she retorts.

A light knock on the door and the voice of the stage manager saying, "Ten minutes, Mlle. Daae," interrupts them.

"Time to go," Erik says, dropping the dirtied tissue into the trash. Turning to face her, he pauses taking in her precious face before pressing his lips against the top of her head. "Feel free to improvise your cadenza at the end of the song – that little flourish you have been toying with, I quite like it."

Before she can speak, he turns quickly and disappears into the hallway.

"Erik!" she calls, following him through the door, but he is gone. "Phantom indeed." Stepping back inside to recover her scarf, she checks the mirror one more time. "First kiss from the man and he rushes off." Smiling to herself, she places the stole over her shoulders as she leaves the room, closing the door behind her to sashay down the hallway to the stage.

"What is bothering you?" Adele asks. "Stop fidgeting."

Nadir sits down in the chair upholstered in red velvet, then bounces back up again to look over the railing into the auditorium. "Cannot see a thing from this box without nearly falling over the edge."

"Who are you looking for?"

"Erik and Raoul."

"Together?"

"No, not together," he snaps. "Erik was supposed to be here," checking his pocket watch, "ten minutes ago."

"He is probably just making sure Christine is ready to go on," she says, adjusting her black shawl emblazoned with jet crystals and silken fringe. Sitting in a box to watch one of the programs is a rare event, but Nadir insisted she accompany him and this was an opportunity to wear her new dress. For all her efforts, he was now completely distracted by the girl's two suitors.

"He promised he would sit here with us."

"And the vicomte?"

"He said he was not coming at all."

"Then why are you looking for him?"

"You are much too credulous."

"I?"

"Raoul de Chagny is possibly the least trustworthy person in Paris."

"More than Erik?"

"Erik tends to keep his word. Lying is not one of his sins."

"And yet…"

"I suspect he is shy of the crowd."

"So, you forgive him?"

"As long as he is not going about playing pranks and frightening people, I suppose I can forgive him not wanting to do so unintentionally."

"He has been behaving himself since Buquet's body was discovered and the flymen spread the word that Joseph was the phantom," she chuckles. "Who would have thought they would come up with that idea?"

"Certainly saved a police investigation into his death."

"It was an accident. I saw the body. The stairs were slippery and he fell."

A raised eyebrow is his response.

"Or did not fall in the cellar?" Pressing her hand against her mouth, she sighs. "I did not consider…Erik?"

"In a sense, the Rue Scribe entrance to Erik's house is rigged with a number of booby traps – he was always fascinated with trapdoors and secret entrances. Only luck prevented the vicomte meeting the same fate."

"Do you suppose Raoul will try to contact Christine again?"

"I do," he says, "which is why I am concerned about Erik. I would prefer him here where I can keep an eye on him if the boy somehow does appear."

"You did not tell me that." Adele shudders. "Does Raoul know this?"

"Yes. He is quite stubborn despite my efforts to convince him to leave Christine alone." Unable to contain himself any longer, he pats her on the shoulder, pausing to stroke the soft velvet. "Lovely garment."

Unable to stop the flush rising to her cheek, she bows her head. "A bit of fancy I saw in a shop window."

"Well, it suits you dark but deceptively soft and playful," he says as he continues to the exit. "However much I should like to stay and enjoy your company I must find at least one of them. My Persian soul tells me trouble is brewing."

"What if Erik shows up here?"

"Sit on him."

"Much better," Erik mutters to himself, settling himself onto a catwalk. "The acoustics might be better in the box, but from here I can observe her…and the rest of the stage area as well." All this business about being a gentlemen is wearing on him. Too many people. Too much of a threat. The fear of being assaulted is never far from the surface when outside his safe places. However much he loves this building, his comfort here lies in the dark, hidden spaces. Places he can control. Wanting Christine to have her freedom is one thing. Exposing himself to the dangers of being above ground is another. Hopefully she will understand his need to keep to the shadows...at least for now. Then, of course, there is the boy.

"Ah, here she is." Allowing himself to relax. Nothing to fear while she is on stage. Even the silliness of the scene with her carrying the foolish head is enriched by her voice. "My Angel of Music."

The applause is even greater than the night only a few weeks ago when she first sang her solo. When the moment arose again, bolstered by his gentle kiss and words she is certain he spoke upon her entrance, her improvised cadenza soared. Erik was most definitely there with her on stage – both singing with and through her. No wonder the thousand or so people listening are so appreciative.

After her first bow, she looks up to Box Five, but the only person visible is Adele. Of course, he must be sitting at the rear so no one can see him, but where is M. Khan and why does Adele look worried? The joy she has been feeling falters. Something is definitely amiss.

As the crowd rises and the applause continues, she forces herself back into her role of Prima Donna and accepts several of the bouquets of flowers being handed to her. The smile on her face bright, if her blue eyes fill with concern.

Handing off the flowers to the dresser, she rushes back to her dressing room. Perhaps he is there waiting for her. "Of course, that is the reason he was not in the box."

Pushing the door open she rushes into the room, only to have the door slammed shut behind her.

"I thought we might revisit our last meeting here…only this time to have it take a different turn," Raoul says, turning the key in the lock. "I even brought you a single rose."

The beating of her heart is so strong, she can feel the blood pounding in her ears, unable to hear him. "What are you doing here?"

"I just told you. Our last meeting here was rudely interrupted.'

"You were not invited," she says, moving behind the chaise to avoid the flower he extends. "I thought I was clear about when and where I would see you."

"You never objected to my presence when we were young, Little Lotte."

"That was years ago," she argues. "I am no longer Little Lotte. Do not call me that."

"You have a habit of appearing where you are not wanted, Monsieur le Vicomte," Erik says, coming through the wall mirror, drawing Christine toward him – moving her toward the dressing screen. "I believe the lady does not wish your company."

"A lady does not live with strange men." Raoul backs away from both of them toward the door.

"If that is so, what is your interest?"

"The same as yours, I suspect. A pretty mistress."

"You vile creature – speaking of her in such a way," Erik growls, pulling the garrot from his waistcoat, holding the wire at his side. "I suggest you leave now while you are still able."

"Erik, no!" Christine grabs his hand, taking the weapon from him. "This is not the way…Raoul you must leave. Now."

"You choose him over me? I do not know what is under his mask, but I am certain the sight is not a pretty one."

"You wish to see my face? Here, fill your eyes with my ugliness," Erik sneers as he removes his mask, tossing it to one side, taking a step toward the vicomte. "Now what?"

Raoul's lip curls. "Dear God, you are a monster."

"So I have been told."

"Christine? How? Why?" Raoul gasps.

"You would not understand, even if I told you," she says, clinging to Erik's arm. "Now, please leave us."

"Well, then, thank you for making this so much easier." Raoul pulls a revolver from his waistband.

"What are you saying? What are you doing?"

"I killed the Phantom while he was trying to accost you."

"Put the gun away, vicomte." Inching forward, holding his arm out toward Raoul, Erik pushes Christine behind him. "This will resolve nothing."

"That is crazy," Christine says, "no one will believe you. I will tell them the truth."

"Pity you will have to die with him."

Erik lunges, body slamming the younger man.

They fall onto the chaise where Erik reaches for the gun.

"Stop!" Christine cries, looking around the room for some way to help. "Please. This is crazy."

In an effort to fight back, Raoul grabs the bandaged hand, digging his fingers into the wound.

With a cry of pain, Erik pulls his hand away before slamming his fist into Raoul's jaw. Pressing his arm across the vicomte's throat, he growls, "You think a little pain is enough to stop me. You bastard."

"No, but this might," Raoul says, wrenching himself from under Erik's body, onto the floor, now pointing the gun at Christine.

"Get down, behind the screen!" Erik calls out to Christine as he gathers himself to lunge once again at the vicomte.

Raoul turns the gun on his rival.

The two men struggle for control over the weapon.

A loud crash signals the door being kicked open.

Two shots ring out.

Christine screams.

Raoul falls back, mouth open, eyes wide in shock.

Erik staggers to his feet, backing away from the now bleeding body, the revolver hanging loosely from his fingers.

Nadir closes the door behind him, his pistol still centered on Raoul as he walks slowly toward the still body. "Are you alright?" he asks Christine as he passes her.

Nodding yes, she takes deep breaths, biting her lower lip, she gets to her feet. Reaching out her hand, she walks tentatively toward Erik. "Are you alright? You are not injured?"

Erik shakes his head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I am alright. The vicomte appears to be in serious condition."

Nadir walks over to the chaise, kneeling down, he checks for a pulse in Raoul's neck. With a deep sigh, he takes the small blanket from the chaise and places it over Raoul's head. "Foolish boy. I told him to stay away."

"You knew he was here?" Christine asks, her face pale, her body shaking with fear and cold.

"Come sit down," Erik says, leading her to the vanity bench, grabbing her dressing gown from a hook on the screen, he places it over her shoulders.

"I suspected he would be here," Nadir admits. "Despite my encouragement to stay away."

"There were two shots," Christine says.

A brief survey of the room reveals a hole in the wall mirror.

"I was always a better shot than you," Nadir says.

"She would not allow me to garrot him," Erik replies.

Christine frowns, shuddering as she looks down at the weapon still clutched in her hand. Handing it to Erik she says, "You are both terrible. How can you joke?"

"Sometimes humor is the only way one can cope with horror, mademoiselle," Nadir says. "I meant no offense."

Looking up at Erik, Christine questions him with her eyes.

"Be careful what you say, my friend," Nadir says, tilting his head in a sign of caution.

However much he wishes to say the death would have been less messy…if death happened at all. His inclination was only to stop the boy from hurting her. To say as much would destroy her. Raoul was the only one to blame for his death – not Nadir, not him and certainly not this lovely young woman.

"As M. Khan said – while not kind, was simply our way of dealing with a terrible incident," he says finally, taking the wire from her and returning it to his pocket. "I, too, am sorry for offending your sweet heart.

"I believe Carlotta kept some brandy in her dressing table." Opening the drawer, he pulls out a silver flask. "Here it is." Taking the stopper off the carafe sitting on her vanity, he pours Christine a glass of water, adding some of the amber liquid. "Here, take a sip."

Instead of taking the glass, she wraps her arms around his waist and begins to sob. Erik rubs her back. "I think we need to leave," he says, looking at Nadir for agreement.

The daroga nods. "I am surprised no one has bothered us yet. I will, of course deal with the police…he broke into the room waiting for Christine, shot at me, etcetera."

As if on cue, there is a knock.

Opening the door slightly, he smiles and lets Adele in.

"My God, what happened here?" she asks looking at the three of them, then seeing the body on the floor. "The Vicomte?" Her dark eyes dart from one man to the other.

"He came to assault Christine, then threatened both of us," Erik tells her.

"I killed him," Nadir adds.

"I want to go home," Christine says.

"That seems to sum things up nicely," Adele smirks. "Yes, home would be advisable, although there is a large group of admirers waiting for you."

"I could not, Madame."

"Of course you could not," Adele says. "Shame though, the managers did plan quite a nice party for the re-opening."

"Adele!" Nadir exclaims.

"She is jesting, daroga," Erik says. "She planned the party."

"Stop it, all of you," Christine shouts. "A man is dead. I do not understand this making jokes."

"Sometimes tension is eased," Adele says, stroking the girl's hair. "I fear we older folks are a bit jaded."

"That is what Erik and M. Khan said," she replies, resting her head against the dance mistress' hand, a small grin curving her lips. "He certainly does not look very noble lying on the floor that way with a blanket over his head."

"There, you see," Adele chuckles. "Removes some of the horror. God will forgive you."

"I think I will have that brandy now," she says, taking a sip from the glass.

"Would you like to change your clothes?" Erik asks.

"Here let me remove the skirt," Adele says. "You can wear your dressing gown."

"Like the last time," Christine says, putting down the glass and stepping out of her costume. "But different."

"Yes, very different," Erik says, taking her by the arm, leading her to the mirror.

"I might have known you would have one of those in here," Adele comments.

"Of course."

"Of course."

"Go," Nadir says. "Adele and I will make this go away."

"Go away?" Christine frowns.

"Do not worry, mademoiselle. All will be well."

Looking up at Erik for reassurance, he pulls her close, kissing her once again on the top of her head. "Trust M. Khan to do the right thing, my dear," he tells her. "Thank you, my friends," he says to both Nadir and Adele before leading Christine once again through the mirror.