Phantom of the Opera 1. Chapter One

_I don't know what I'm getting into with this. I'm blaming the coffee for this one. It's a Phantom/Casablanca cross-over, inspired by caffeine, the ALW film, and "Casablanca," of course. Reviews welcome..._

* * *

Chapter One

It was quiet in the upstairs room of the Belle Vivre Cafe.

The nightclub was not due to open for another few hours and the chairs were still upturned on the tables, the piano still closed, glasses lined in shining rows behind the polished bar.

Erik smiled when he heard the sound of a woman's quick footsteps on the stairs.

A few seconds later, Christine was in his arms.

"Am I late, dearest," she said as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Not at all, love," he answered, kissing her foreheard lightly.

"I was so afraid I would be. I went to pick up my new gown from Madame Tribot and she gossiped for what seemed like hours. I couldn't wait to get away, to be near you. I see Sam isn't here yet."

Letting the young singer go for a moment, Erik lifted a chair from a table and set it down in a sqaure of sunlight near the large window.

Sitting, he drew her onto his lap and pulled the tortoise shell comb from her cinnamon-brown hair.

"Are you nervous about tonight, Christine," he asked, toying with her long curls.

"Just a little bit," she admitted, resting her smooth cheek against his, feeling just a hint of a five o'clock shadow grazing against her skin.

"You will be wonderful, Christine. You will sing like the angel you are."

"I do hope so, dearest! I want to...for your sake. You and Sam have put so much into this club. I don't want to let you down."

"And after, Christine?"

He slipped one large hand beneath her blue skirt, finding the softness above her silk stocking and garters.

She gasped when she felt his touch...it was so intimate, so unexpected. But she took his other hand and laid it against her breast.

"Are you ready for this, for tonight." he said, his voice hoarse and hot against the delicate skin of her throat.

"Oh, yes, Erik," she whispered, tangling her fingers into his dark hair, "I am ready for tonight...for you."

He could have taken her then and there. He knew she wouldn't refuse him. And it wouldn't be the first time he'd had a woman that way.

But not his innocent Christine.

Tonight, she would sing for him in that very room. Dressed in shimmering white, she enchant the cafe's patrons with her exqusite voice.

Later, in his small apartment above the club, he would remove that spangled gown from her sweet body and slowly make love to her for the first time.

The night could not come soon enough for either of them.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two 

Christine pressed herself against him as he caressed her, moaning softly at his gentle touch and at the sound of his voice whispering her name.

"Erik," she pleaded, growing lightheaded with desire, "I don't want to wait until tonight. I need you now."

He shook his head and set her on her feet. 

"I need you, too," he said, standing, "but wait…wait until tonight. I promise you heaven."

They heard a voice in the lobby downstairs, humming and coming closer.

"It sounds like Sam is here," Erik remarked as he straightened his tie. Christine picked up her comb and, sitting on the leather settee by the window, quickly put up her hair.

A thin man with elaborately combed gray curls peered into the room.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Oh, no, Sam," Christine answered, glancing over at Erik.

"We were just waiting for you," Erik added, lighting a cigarette, "Christine's ready for the final rehearsal."

Sam sat down at the piano and opened the cover. Arranging the music on the rack, he smiled at the singer.

"Well, then, Miss Daae. What shall we begin with?"

"The last song, please," she replied, smoothing her skirt and coming over to the piano.

_You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss. A sigh is just a sigh as time goes by...   
_  
As she sang, she looked across the room to Erik. He was leaning back against the bar, his blue-green eyes closed as he listened to her. The sunlight streaming through the café's large window shone in his thick brown hair.

He was so handsome, she thought. Almost too handsome to look at.

_It's a fundamental story, a fight for love and glory. A case of do or die as time goes by.  
_  
He took a long drag at the cigarette and she blushed, knowing what pleasure his hands and lips had already given her…wondering what new passion the night would bring.

The harsh sound of a ringing telephone cut into both her song and her reverie.

"I'll answer that," Sam said, rising from the bench, "Yves said he'd call about the last minute arrangements for the doormen."

When Sam had gone, Erik took his place at the piano and began to play.

"Sing for me, my Angel." 

She recognized the song he was playing. It was one of his own, one he'd written for her.

_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses… _

"Don't stop, Christine. Keep singing," he instructed her, as he ceased to play and rose.  
_  
Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendors…_

Coming close to her, he traced his fingers along her delicate collar bone. It was a trick he taught her…if she could concentrate on her singing when he touched her like that, nothing could distract her during a performance.

He'd used the trick on other singers, but he had never enjoyed it as much as he did with Christine.

He smiled. She already given him her heart, her mind, her voice. Tonight, she would give him her body and soul.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

As Sam crossed the kitchen to the office where the phone continued to ring, he couldn't help smiling.

He knew Erik had a way with women…they could not resist his charm and good looks. But Sam had never seen the man so captivated by a lady before. And the fact that Miss Daae was so obviously in love with Erik made it so much better.

He knew Erik had found her at the opera. She'd been singing in the chorus there. Despite having a remarkably beautiful voice, she'd had little chance for advancement.

Erik had always had a ear for talent and an eye for beauty. His nightclub in New York had been known for its lovely and talented entertainers.

He'd hired Christine to sing at the BelleVivre. And quickly fallen in love with her.

Sam Reyer was a sentimental fellow. He wished the couple all the best.

Erik leaned closer to her and she could no longer continue singing as his lips brushed against her earlobe.

"Christine, Christine, Christine…."

Her hand slipped inside his gray jacket to rest against his heart and she laid her head on his shoulder.

They remained like that for a long time, silent and lost in each other's presence.

That was how Sam found them when he burst back into the room.

Keeping one arm around Christine's slim waist, Erik looked up at his pianist, noting that Sam's face was pale and there were beads of sweat on his high forehead.

"Good God, Sam! What happened?"

"That was Michel. The Germans…the Nazis entered Paris an hour ago."

Even as he spoke, they heard the sound of a harsh voice crackling over loudspeakers out on the boulevard.

Erik glanced toward the window once, then looked back at his young lover and old friend.

"We have to get out of Paris. As quickly as possible,' Erik said, keeping his voice calm for Christine's sake.

"Sam, I want you to bring my car around and take Miss Daae back to her apartment. While she's packing, go down to the station and get three tickets for the next train out of Paris. We'll go to Marseilles and, well, from there…London or home toNew York."

Sam nodded, sliding the sheet music back into his case.

When Sam had gone, Erik took both of Christine's hands in his.

"Angel, there's a few things that I was involved after the last war that…well, if the Nazis found me, it would be very bad. Smuggling, things of that sort. But I don't want you to worry. Everything will be fine…don't be afraid."

She stood on her toes and kissed him in a show of bravery she didn't really feel.

"I won't be afraid for myself, Erik. Only for you."

He held her hand as they went downstairs.

"I want you to pack as quickly as you can. Just what you can fit into a small bag…just what you can carry yourself…there's no telling what it'll be like at the station."

He stopped on the landing and pulled her into his embrace, breathing in her rose perfume.

"Christine, we'll get married along the way…one way or another, I want you to be my wife."

He pushed her gently back against the wall and kissed her one more time with increasing desperation.

_Nazis be damned…Christine was his…forever. _


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four 

Sam dropped Christine off at her little apartment.

"I have to go for the tickets. I'll come back for you in an hour. We'll meet Erik at the station."

"No need to, Sam. The station is so close...I will meet you there."

Sam shook his head at her.

"No, Erik will be angry if I leave you on your own."

"I'll be all right...really." 

An hour later, she stood inside the chaos of the train station, watching for some sign of Erik and Sam in the anxious crowds. A few needed items had been packed in the small valise she clutched with both hands.

Then she saw Sam pushing his way towards her. He reached her side and she knew something was very wrong.

"Sam, where is Erik?"

"Miss Daae...Christine...I don't know."

"What do you mean," she said, clutching his thin arm with a trembling hand. 

"After I got the tickets, I went back to Belle Vivre and he wasn't there. But the place had been...well, everything was wrecked. Things were smashed. The bar, the piano, the windows. All destroyed. His apartment upstairs had been ramsacked. And there was no sign of him."

"Oh, dear God...no!"

He drew a small leather case from his overcoat and pushed it into her hand.

"Christine...your ticket is in here. And some money. Erik figured this day might come...sooner or later. You'd better take it and go."

"Go? But what about Erik...we can't leave him!"

Sam Reyer lowered his voice and leaned closer to the young woman. He saw that her face was white, her amber-brown eyes wide with terror for Erik.

"I'm not leaving him, Christine. I'm going back to look for him, to see what I can find out."

"I'll go with you, Sam."

"No, you're not, Christine," the older man said, taking her by the elbow and guiding her through the throngs toward the train.

"I won't go without him," she protested, trying to tug her hand free, "Sam, I can't...I love him."

Sam held onto her arm firmly and they neared the passenger car.

"Christine, I know you do. And he's so madly in love with you. But there isn't anything you can do to help him. I can't search for him if I'm busy looking after you. Paris isn't safe now...you've got to go. For his sake as much as yours. He'd want you safe more than anything else." 

She nodded slowly, the tears flowing freely down her face. 

"Sam...when you find him...tell him. Tell that I didn't want to leave without him. And tell him that I love him...promise you will tell him."


	5. Chapter Five

_I should warn you...this chapter is a bit brutal. I didn't like having to write it...but it's short, at least. _

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Chapter Five

Erik opened his eyes slowly and found he was lying face down on the stone floor. The room was in total darkness, but he sensed that it was very small. And very cold.

It seemed as if his body had been taken away from him and replaced with the purest pain.

He was so thirsty...so very thirsty. He'd asked for some water, but there had been nothing but grating laughter. Laughter followed by the silence.

The floor was wet...the water was probably filthy, but it didn't matter to him. The thirst was too much.

Twisting his head downward, he touched his mout to the warm, shallow puddle. And tasted...not water...but blood.

Fighting against nausea, he ease himself onto his back.

_Whose blood is it...mine...some other poor soul..._

He couldn't remember the past few hours. Or were they days now. Perhaps it was a blessing that he could not.

He heard someone moan in agony. For a monent, he wondered if someone else was in the room with him. Then he recognized his own voice.

_Christine...Christine..._

He bit his lips...not against the pain, but to keep himself from calling out her name. He wouldn't betray her...if they knew about her...they might try to use her...to force him to tell things he didn't even know...

_Christine..._

Even as he fought to keep silent, he knew his soul was screaming for her through the torment of his body.

Even the clang and echo of the iron door couldn't drown out that cry.

_Christine..._

A heavy boot dug into his bruised ribs.

"Get this garbage up...move him."

Two pairs of rough hands grabbed him and hauled him up from the floor.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six 

Christine sat on the edge of the narrow bed, a small piece of paper in her hand.

She had been in Marseille for two weeks, a long refugee amid hundreds of others. But, unlike the others, she was not eager to leave...she stayed on waiting for word.

The note was from Sam, hastily scribbled and sent to her by heaven only knew what means.

"I am sorry...there is no sign of Erik...don't give up hope."

Her shoulders shook as she fought back the fear and the sobs.

Two weeks...two weeks of waiting, of nothing...now only a note, a note dated a week earlier. 

"Mademoiselle Daae?"

She turned to Berthe Firmin behind her. Marseilles was crowded with endless refugees and, over the fortnight, Christine had been obliged to share the hotel room with strangers.

The Firmins had arrived two days earlier, a pleasant young couple with two small children. They had been very kind to Chrsitine, sensing that something was very wrong with her.

In turn, she did not burden them with her troubles and gladly offered to look after the children for them.

The slim blonde woman sat down next to Christine and gave her hand a friendly pat.

"Thank you for putting the girls to bed for me, Christine. I hope they weren't too difficult."

"No, they were very good. Not difficult at all," Christine reassured her, forcing a tiny smile.

"Well, Adele and Madeleine can be a bit trying at times. Louis and I have spoiled them. But usually, they are perfect angels.

At that last word, Christine's smile faded and she looked away quickly, the note crumpling in her hand.

"Christine, I am sorry. Did I say something to upset you? I didn't mean..."

Madame Firmin put a comforting arm around Christine's shoulders.

"You left someone behind in Paris, didn't you."

Christine looked at the other woman, saw the genuine sympathy in her pale blue eyes.

"He used to call me his Angel," Christine said softly.

"Poor Christine. You loved him, didn't you? You didn't want to go without him."

"Berthe, if Louis had told you to go without him, would you have gone?" 

Berthe considered the question for a second, then nodded. 

"Yes, Christine. If I knew that's what he needed me to do."

Berthe stood and picked up Christine's gray hat from the chair.

"Christine, I'm sure he is all right and he will come for you soon. Now, Louis is here in case the girls awaken and it's still early. Come outside with me for a few minutes...we can sit in the little cafe across from the hotel. You've been hiding in this room and you need some air."

As the two women crossed the drab lobby, a lad approached them.

"Mam'zelle Daae? I have another message for you."

She gave the boy a few coins and unfolded the paper. She felt her heart hammering when she saw Sam's familiar scrawl on the dingy paper.

Then she sank to the floor, the note fluttering down to rest near her face. 

_Erik is dead. _


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Slowly, Christine drifted back to consciousness. She felt a mattress beneath her body, smelled a man's cologne on her dress.

Someone had brought her back to the hotel room.

But who?

She heard a man's voice close by.

"She dropped this paper when she fainted, Madame Firmin. It must be the reason for her distress."

Who was he? It was not Louis Firmin. This man spoke excellent French, but with the faintest trace of an aristocratic accent.

The voice was somehow familiar, but she could not place it.

_The paper...Sam's note...three words...Erik is dead..._

She bit her lip until she tasted her own blood. She had to keep from screaming in front of this stranger.

"Madame, who is this Erik?"

"I don't know," she heard Berthe reply, "her husband perhaps. She said there was someone in Paris...a man."

"No, I don't think she is married. There is no wedding ring."

_Erik...her teacher, her friend, her lover...gone. And she had nothing. Not even a photograph of him. Only the memory of his warmth and his embrace, of his voice and his smile...of his passion and his tenderness._

"I think she's waking up, poor girl," Berthe remarked as Christine stirred.

She opened her eyes and saw Madame Firmin sitting next to her bed. A man stood beside her. A pleasant-looking man, slim and well-dressed.

"Christine, you had us very worried."

She sat up slowly, wondering how he knew her name. Berthe gently pushed a pillow behind her back.

"When your mother first brougt you to Paris, we used to play together in the Bois," the man went on, holding out his hand to her, "you often wore a red shawl."

"Raoul," Christine said, remembering the little boy with golden hair, "Raoul de Chagny."

He had indeed been the playmate of her childhood. His father had been French, his mother the daughter of titled Englishman. They had been good friends until his parents were killed in an accident and he was sent to live with an uncle near London.

"I'm afraid we meet at a bad time, Christine. You must have some very bad news."

He was holding Sam's note. The paper was neatly folded, but the bitter words were there...unseen and unchanged.

"Yes, Raoul. Someone that I...someone close to me..."

She broke off and willingly let the tears choke her voice.

"Please...just leave me alone for a time...please..."

Raoul nodded. He remembered the sudden deaths of his parents. Sometimes, there was nothing one could do but give and let the anguish spent its fury.

He pressed a handkerchief into her hand and led Berthe from the room.

When they had gone, Christine huddled on the bed. Clutching at the pillow, she sobbed.

_Erik...I love you._


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The next morning, the desire to be alone did not ease. Rather than drive the Firmins from the hotel room, Christine went out.

What would become of her now? Her life ended when she left Erik in Paris. That note had merely been the coup de grace.

I should have stayed with him. I should have let them killed me, too. I was a corward. 

"Christine?"

She glanced up and saw Raoul beside her. He tipped his hat, offering her his arm.

"Were you going somewhere?"

"No, Raoul. I just wanted to walk...to get out of that terrible little room for an hour or two." 

"May I walk with you. There are so many refugees here now, Marseilles is not so safe."

"You are not a refugee, then?"

He shook his head and paused to allow a tired looking woman carrying a crying infant pass them on the narrow, old street.

"No. I am here on business. My uncle got me a post with the Foreign Office."

They strolled in silence fora time. From a small cafe, she heard the sound of piano. The garish, rattling tune jabbed ruthlessly into her heart.

Raoul saw her distress and guessed that the music reminded her of something...of someone.

"Christine, I am so sorry. About your friend..."

A strong, salt-laced breeze tugged at her hat. She reached up to secure it as she interrupted his condolences.

"Eril was more than my friend. Raoul, he was my life...my soul. He vanished the day the Germans took Paris." 

He took her hand.

"I am sorry, Christine. Truly sorry. And I know you probably don't want to hear this...not from me...and not now. But I've often thought about you. Often wondered how you were."

She did not answer him, hardly felt him take her hand.

And they walked on.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine 

The short man was a familiar sight in the streets of Casablanca. Known only as Andre, he was a recognizable felllow with his perpetualy nervous air and large, bulging eyes.

He glanced quickly at his watch and then looked around the crowded club. The night was young, but only a few table remained empty and those were marked as "reserved."

From every wall, mirrors shone with the images of the diverse guests who passed away their time with dining and good music. They were the wealtiest of the refugees who waited to leave the hot, dusty Moroccan town. And, while fate gambled with them, they amused themselve with the roulette wheel and the card games in the club's exclusive back room.

Andre leaned across the gleaming bar and motioned to Daniel.

"Is the boss in his office?"

"Oui, Monsieur Andre. He figured you would be round this evening."

Andre glanced around the room again.

"Daniel, give me a cognac first. On my tab."

Daniel laughed and shook his head.

"The boss says no more credit for you. You and your damned nerves will bankrupt the place."

Andre shrugged and squared his shoulders in attempt to look confident.

"Hmmm. Well, then. Never mind. After tonight, I won't need credit here." 

Daniel made a subtle nod towards the door.

"I'd be careful what you say tonight. Inspector Giry's got a table reserved. Got some German guests coming. Important fellows that he'll be oiling and flattering."

With yet another nervous glance around, Andre eased his way through the table towards the stairs to the office. He paused at the piano where a tall thin man with gray, curly hair was just opening the keyboard.

"Evening, Sam," he said, glancing down at the sheet music, "no singers tonight?"

Sam Reyer shook his head.

"Not tonight. Ingrid got a little too curious about the boss so he told me to fire her. He gave her good references, though."

Sam began to play as Andre climbed the steep stairs.

While the little man waited for his knock to be answered, he looked over the rail. From the landing, he had a fine view of the nightclub with it mix of French mirrors and carved Moraccan screens.

He saw a young couple in the entrance. The man was tall and blonde, dressed in a fine suit of white linen. The beautiful woman beside him wore a pale yellow dress. Her soft brown hair was swept back into a low know against the nape of her neck.

From the other side of the heavy door, he heard a voice.

"Come in, Monsieur Andre. I've been expecting you."


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten 

When Andre entered the large office, the club's owner was seated at his desk amd did not look up as he swept some papers into a drawer.

"Well, what do you want now," he asked his visitor, "are you here to beg for more credit at the bar? Or perhaps you've had some sudden good fortune and would like to settle your bill at last?"

He did not offer Andre a seat, but the nervous little man slid into the chair opposite the desk. 

"Monsieur, I wil be settling my debts soon enough." 

The proprietor glanced up at him sharply.

"Does this have anything to do with those two _German_ couriers who were found murdered last night?"

Amdre shrugged, though once again he was startled by the man's voice when he referred to the dead Nazi couriers. Many in Casablanca had reason to dislike the Germans, but the edge in this man's voice...

Andre turned his thoughts back to himself. Empathy was not his strongest trait and he had no real desire to know this man's mysteries. He knew he couldn't make a profit on them and that was all that mattered these days. 

"May I have a drink, Monsieur? Daniel refused to let me..."

The man cut him off with a gesture towards the cut-glass decaters that stood on a low table in the corner.

"Daniel was following orders," he said as Andre scurried over to pour a glass of cognac.

"Monsieur, do you know what those couriers were carrying when they arrived in Morocco," Andre asked, clutching the cognac and settling himself on the edge of his chair.

"All of Casablanc knows."

Andre's hands shook as he pulled a dingy envelope from inside his jacket. He laid it on the desk with a sort of childish pride.

The club's owner glanced at it only briefly as he pulled a leather-bound account book from the drawer.

"And those are the letters of transit?"

"Three of them," Andre said with a vigorous bob of his head.

"Why are you showing them to me?"

"I thought, perhaps, you would like to buy them."

"I have no need of them, Andre. I have no reason to leave Casablanca."

"You could resell them, Monsieur. Plenty of buyers right here in your club. Make a small fortune."

The man shook his head.

"I'm not interested and you know it. I don't traffic in human lives here." 

Andre shrugged and stroked the dingy envelope lovingly.

"It doesn't really matter, Monsieur. Like I said, plenty of other buyers. But...I need a safe place to keep them. Just for the evening. If anyone should find them on me, they might think I killed those couriers."

"You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with that, Andre?"

"You have your secrets, Monsieur. I have mine."

-------------------- 

When Andre had gone, the man rose and picked up the envelope. 

A narrow flight of steps led up to his apartment. He unlocked the door of his bedroom and removed a picture from the wall.

He held it for a moment, his hands trembling...a portrait drawn from memory. A young woman with soft brown curls, her lips parted as if waiting to be kissed.

He turned the picture over and opened the back of the frame. He slipped the envelope inside and returned the picture to the wall.

He looked up at it one more time...as if it were a holy icon.

_Oh, Christine..._


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven 

Christine hid her unease as she looked around the nightclub, knowing they had no other place to go now.

Unless Raoul's contact could and would help them...and if they could meet his price. 

The headwaiter showed them to their table, removing the _Reserved_ placard and adjust the small lamp that stood in the center of the pristine white cloth.

"We are meeting someone here this evening," Raoul informed the man, "has Monsieur Andre arrived yet?"

"I believe, sir, that he was at the bar earlier. I will have someone inquire for you." 

A waiter came to lay menu cards before them.

"We would be dining. Just bring us some champagne," Raoul told him, "and cavier."

"Very well, sir."

When the waiter left them, Christine turn to her companion.

"Raoul, do you think that's wise," she asked in a hushed voice.

He gave her gloved hand a reassuring pat and smiled at her with a confidence she knew was false.

"We must keep up appearences, dearest. We have enough for now. And if this Andre fellow is willing to bargain, we won't have to stay in Casablanca for long."

"Monsieur de Chagny?"

They looked up to see an auburn-haired man in a policeman's uniform standing before the table.

"I am de Chagny," Raoul said, rising, "are you Monsieur Andre."

"No, sir. But may I join for a moment. I have news of your...friend." 

Raoul nodded and the man took a seat at the small, round table.

"I am Inspector Raymond Giry."

Raoul seemed almost startled at the word _inspector_. He had no trust in these Vichy agents. But he concealed his reaction beneath an amiable facade.

"Inspector, this is Christine." 

"Ah, a pleasure to meet you. One sees so many beautiful women here these days. From all corners of the world. But I must be honest with you, ma cherie, you put them all to shame."

As he spoke, he took Christine's hand and kissed in with the air of a practiced dandy.

"You flatter me, Inspector," she said and smiled politely as she drew her hand back.

The Inspector returned his attention to Raoul.

"Forgive me for intruding, sir. But I could not help overhearing. You asked after Monsieur Andre, did you not."

"Yes. I was supposed to meet him here this evening."

"Ah, I see. That is too bad," the Inspector said with mock regret, "you see, Monsieur Andre was arrested not an hour ago."

"Too bad, indeed," Raoul said quite casually, "what in the world is he accused of?"

"Oh, you did not hear about those German couriers? He was suspected in their murder." 

"No," Raoul lied. "we had not heard. We arrived in Casablanca only late last night."

"The poor devil denied it, of course. And tried to resist. My men had no choice, but to shoot him. Forgive me, ma cheire. One should not speak of such ugly things in the presence of a lady."

As Raoul carefully maneuvered the conversation away from the demise of his contact and toward mundane subjects, Christine looked around the room once more.

She smiled at sight of a piano against one of the ornately painted columns. Then she stifled a cry of surprise as she recognized the man who had just taken a seat at the instrument.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Christine rose from the table, keeping herself as calm as she could with her pulse pounding like thunder in her veins.

"Raoul, Inspector Giry," she said, "will you please excuse me for a moment."

She caught Raoul's questioning look and smiled at the two men.

"I've just recognized an old friend. Someone I haven't seen in some time. I won't be long."

She took a deep breath as she made her way through the maze of tables, the mingled voices of the club's patrons seemed to swarm around her as she approached the piano.

She leaned toward the man, laid a haid on his arm...

Startled by her unexpected gesture, he looked up from the sheets of music.

"My God! Christine! I never...I never expected to see you here!"

She smiled down at him.

"Good evening, Sam."

He looked over his shoulder at the stage where the band was still playing, then he stood and took both her hands.

"Christine, it is so good to see you again. You look lovelier than ever!"

"Thank you, Sam. It's good to see you looking well."

He took his place at the piano before speaking again.

"Christine, did my note reach you in Marseille?"

He was almost sorry he'd asked her for he saw her eyes shimmers as if with tears. But he could see that she would not let herself cry then and there.

"Yes. I received. Sam, tell me...please. How did he...how did Erik die?"

Sam Reyer let his thin fingers rest on the keys and said nothing.

"Please, tell me," she repeated, "I can bear it."

The old pianist looked at his reflection in the massive mirror across from him. How much could he tell her?

"I don't know, Christine. I simply don't know. A friend...a friend found him...found his body in Pere Lachaise."

Christine closed her eyes as if that could prevent her from picturing Erik...poor Erik lying dead in among the tombs. She had heard accounts...overheard Raoul speaking of the terrible deaths caused by the Nazis...she felt her heart shattering anew at the thought.

"Perhaps I was wrong, Sam. I don't think I could bear to know more."

He reached up and gave her hand a friendly squeeze.

"It's just as well you weren't there, Christine. He wouldn't have wanted you to endure that."

She looked at the songs arranged on the piano.

"Do you ever play any of his songs?"

"No," Sam said, shaking his head, "not since Paris. And they were such fine songs, too."

"Do you remember any of them?"

"Remember any? My dear girl, I remember all of them."

"Then play one for me now, Sam. Please."

She looked around the club, towards the bar, towards a door that no doubt let to a gambling room for select patrons.

"That is, if your boss would not mind."

Sam shrugged. He knew his boss would mind, that the evening's music had been selected and no change was allowed. But he could not refuse Christine...not when so many of those songs were written for her. Besides, it would be good to hear her voice again.

As the band ceased to play, he tried a few notes from memory.

"Do you recall this one, Christine?"

_See a bird, simply flying above the rooftop out of London, flying, simply flying in the sky. Not a word, but imploring me follow, follow I can hear him crying as his sings his last words.._

* * *

**And you thought the man at the piano was...**

**Oh, the song at the end...it's "Simply Flying," one of the final recordings made by the late, wonderful Steve Barton. **


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

The club's owner ran a finger along the edge of the picture frame. There were so many things that portrait could not capture.

The sound of her voice when she sang...the way she smiled when she saw him...the soft perfume she always wore...the warmth of her body in his embrace.

Why was she the one memory he couldn't leave behind in Paris? What made her different from all of those other women? Was it because she was the last one?

He turned away from the picture and drew back a heavy drape to reveal a small door. It opened into a narrow passage. From there, he could look out through the dozens of mirrors into his nightclub...La Belle Reve.

He walked slowly and silently through the dark little corridor. Through the partition, he heard the band's last number of the set winding down. He could see couples on the dance floor, holding close as they tried to forget...for a few hours, at least.

He saw Sam, too, the one friend he still had...the one person he still trusted, sitting at the piano.

There was a woman beside Sam...a lovely woman in a yellow silk dress...a young woman with soft brown hair and shining eyes.

_Oh, God...it couldn't be her...not here!_

Sam began to play...and the woman began to sing.

_I dream I'm a bird in that open sky. A dream it remains for I cannot fly. Oh, speak to me now and try to explain flying. In my dreams, I am with you...simply flying in the sky._

He heard his own breath grow ragged as he moved closer to the glass.

She was so close to him...so close he had only to slid open the mirror to reach out to her.

_All these days, all these nights...that's all you wanted, wasn't it...to see hear her sing again...to see her from a distance..._

With a shaking hand, he reached up to touch his right side of his face and felt the cold, hard features...and the burn of tears beneath the smooth leather.

What would she do if he went to her...would there be joy in her eyes...or horror?

_Then it seems when I'm with you, I sense the motion, cease to fear...because I'm flying, simply flying._

The music ended and he heard the applause as the audience rose to its feet to give her a standing ovation.

From beyond the mirrors, he shadowed her as she walked back to her table...he could not stand to lose sight of her for a moment.

He saw an older gentleman rise and offer her a carnation from the vase of the table. She smiled her thanks to him.

She soon reached her table. A handsome man took her hand, surprise and admiration in his eyes.

_You idiot...she is young and beautiful...she believed you dead...did you think she would mourn you forever?_

Alone in the shadows, Erik leaned back against the wall and wept.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

As Christine took her seat at the table again, Inspector Giry praised her effusively.

"My dear lady, your voice is exquisite! If you are staying here in Casablanca for a time, you should speak with Monsieur Erik. He is known for his exceptional taste in music and in singers."

Christine jerked her head up to look at the Inspector.

"Monsieur Erik," she said in a calm, but low voice, "who is Monsieur Erik?"

"Why, he is the owner of La Belle Reve."

She set her champagne glass down carefully, afraid that the Inspector would see how her hand shook. To her relief, Raoul had turned away to speak with the waiter.

"Oh, I did not know that, Inspector."

"Ma cherie, it has been such a pleasure to meet you and a privilege to hear you sing. I do hope to see much more of you during your visit to Casablanca. But, if you will excuse me, I see that the rest of my own party has arrived. Good evening to you both."

Taking her hand and kissing it again, he left the table.

Christine did not dare breath for a moment. Could it be? Could this nightclub owner really be Erik...her Erik?

That explained why Sam Reyer was here...but not why he had lied to her...about Erik's death in Paris.

Why...why...what had really happened when she left him that nightmarish day.

Raoul's hand was light on her wrist.

"You sang so beautifully, dear. I didn't realize how lovely your voice is. You've never sung for me...not since we were children."

She could hear a touch of sad reproach in his voice. But she could not find the words to apologize or to explain.

She had not sung at all since Erik's death.

And now...was he really alive and here in Casablanca...in this very building?

She looked around the room, searching for some glimpse of a tall man with thick brown hair and blue-green eyes.

Near the door, she saw Inspector Giry greeting some newcomers...three men in uniform.

But she was barely aware of them, of Raoul's hand tightening around her wrist at the sight of the German officers.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen 

Another man, tall and thin, approached their table. As he glanced quickly towards the German officers who were now seated on the far side of the room, Christine noted that his hair was heavily streaked with premature gray and thin scar traced his forehead. 

"Pardon me, are you Monsieur de Chagny?"

Raoul also looked toward the Nazi officers before nodding to this newcomer. 

The man slid into the seat next to Raoul and held out a small jewelers box covered in worn green leather. Raoul snapped it open and saw a heavy gold ring inside, an antique bishop's ring set with amethysts and seed pearls.

"I have heard, Monsieur de Chagny, that you might be interested in purchasing this ring." 

Raoul took the ring from the case, tested the weight of it in his palm.

"How much do you want for it?"

"Not much. Not much at all. I'm rather desperate for money and it might make a pretty ornament for the lady," he said with a nervous smile at Christine.

Raoul passed the ring to her. She took it, feigning curiousity and admiration. She knew the man had no plans to sell it, that the offer itself was a ruse to arrange certain meetings.

She handed the ring back to Raoul who tucked it back into the shabby case.

"I should like to have it," she lied, "it's quite pretty."

Raoul gave the case to the man and gave an indifferent shrug.

"I'm afraid I am not carrying enough money this evening? Perhaps tomorrow?" 

"There is no hurry, Monsieur. Perhaps you would call at the Cafe de Fantasie in the morning? At ten? Simply asked for Philippe. I am a regular there."

"Very well, tomorrow at noon. I will see you then."

"It would be better if the lady did not come with you. The Fantasie is not really a suitable place for a woman. Perhaps she might care to visit the bazaar? It is a fascinating place. Many nice things there." 

When Philippe had gone, Christine continue to look around the room, so desperate for some sign of Erik.

She saw that Inspector Giry was alone again, the Nazi officers were dancing and flirting with several women near Sam's piano.

As the band began to play again, the Inspector rose and crossed to the bar. 

"Wait here, dearest," Raoul told her, "I need to find our Monsieur Philippe and ask him for the measurement of that rings...and directions to the Fantasie. I won't be long at all." 

When he had gone, Christine left the table and took a seat beside Inspector Giry.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

"Ah, Chrsitine! What a very charming surprise!"

"Inspector, earlier you spoke of a Monsieur Erik. I should like to ask you about him.""

"Of course, ma cherie," the Inspector replied, sliding his stool closer to hers, "perhaps you are thinking of singing here, after all. You would be a welcome addition to the place, I dare say. May I buy you a drink?"

"No, but thank you," she said, hoping her voice would not betray her eagerness, her anxiousness, "please, what can you tell me about him?"

"There's not a great deal to say about him. He has few close friends here in Casablanca. Though I do consider myself a good acquaintence, at least. He's a very private man, though La Belle Reve is the most popular establishment in the city."

"How long has he lived here?"

"I don't quite know," Inspector Giry admitted as he accepted another brandy from Daniel, "I'm almost ashamed to say that. It is, after all, my business to know these things. I'd say eight or nine months. He opened this place about five or six months ago. It used to be called Madeleine's, but the previous owner was most inept. I don't know if Erik bought the club outright or if he won it at gambling."

_Gambling...she remembered seeing Erik play cards in the club...and other games of chance in the back room of La Belle Vivre...she had never seen him lose._

"Where is he from? Do you know?"

"I believe he lived in Paris for many years. But he is not a Frenchman. He may be English...or even an American."

_Erik often spoke of "returning" to New York..._

"I know it must seem as if I am prying with all these questions, but what does he look like?"

"Ah, well! How exactly does one describe another man to a lovely lady? He is quite tall, very dark hair."

_Dark hair...Erik's hair was thick and brown, but not so very dark...perhaps it was someone else, after all._

"Inspector, tell me...what color are his eyes?"

"His eyes, cherie? Well, some might say thay are blue. Others would call them green."

_It could only be her Erik...her beloved Erik._

"He does come down into the club from time to time. He doesn't mingle with the patron very much, though. And he doesn't do it very often."

He paused and sipped at his brandy.

"I suppose it's because of the mask," he added.

"A mask," she repeated as if it were some strange and foreign word.

A mask...but why...

"I assume the poor fellow met with some misfortune. He's never spoken of it to me and I respect the man enough not to ask. The piano player's his close friend. They turned up in Casablanca together. But he's never said a word about it, either."

_A mask...oh, Erik...what is it...what has happened...why did Sam tell me you were dead?_

"So, why the curiousity, ma cherie? Will you be singing for us again?"

"Sing? Oh, no. I don't think so. I am sure my husband would not approve."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Erik returned to his apartment above the office. He turned on a small lamp and, tossing his jacket onto a chair, went to stand before a mirror.

He kept his eyes closed.

_Go to her...go to her...you need her more now than you ever did in Paris..._

Slowly, he reached up...amazed that he could keep his hand steady...and peeled away the kid leather mask.

_And what of that man with her? Her friend? Her lover? Her husband?_

Still, he did not open his eyes.

_Would she scream at the sight of you? Or would she weep for you? What would be worse...her fear or her pity?_

He reached up again, ran his fingers over his face. It was still damp and stinging from the tears.

_What would it be like...how would it feel if she touched you know? Or would she shrink back in disgust?_

He forced himself to open his eyes, to look at his reflection.

_No! No...Christine must not see this._

He carefully replaced the mask and, putting on his jacket, went down to his office. He found Sam there.

"I'm going out for a while, Sam. Close up as usual."

Sam looked at his friend intently. If Erik knew that Christine had been there, he gave no sign of it. His voice and eyes were calm.

"Erik, there was a lady here tonight," he said cautiously.

"I know, Sam. I heard her."

There was a long pause. Outside, they heard the sound of a drunken man singing.

"What did you say to her?"

Sam shook his head. He'd given Erik his word and, as much as it hurt to lie to Christine, he could not break that promise.

"Sam, she must never know."

* * *

In the small hotel room across the square from La Belle Reve, Christine looked out at the now dark nighclub. Only a small light burned in the bar and her eys traveled to the upper windows.

_Is he there now...is he so close to me now...after all these months?_

"Christine, come to bed. It's very late. You must be exhausted," Raoul said, buttoning the top of his blue cotton pajamas.

Christine shook her head. She had not yet changed out of her silk dress or even removed her gloves.

"Raoul, I'm not sleepy. I want to go for a walk."

"Don't be ridiculous, dearest. It's not safe out there, especially at night!"

She paused at the door and smiled back at her husband.

"Raoul, don't worry. I won't stray past the hotel courtyard. I will be safe enough there."

But she did not go to the tiny, palm-filled courtyard behind the hotel. Instead, she hurried across the square towards La Belle Reve.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Even at this late hour, a few people passed Erik on the darkened street. A few looked nervously at this mask and averted their eyes quickly. Others...those who had been in Casablanca longer...recognized him and muttered a low greeting as they went about their own business.

He found a small bench and sat down. By day, the seat would be occupied by old men who smoked and talked of the past.

The past...

Erik let his back rest against the cool plastered wall and remembered a rainy afternoon in Paris.

* * *

He sat at the piano, alone in the upper room of La Belle Vivre. Sheets of music were strewn about him, all in the same strong hand...the ink still wet on some.

In these past weeks, the urge to write had been so strong...since he met Mademoiselle Daae.

She'd been wasting her beautiful voice in the Opera chorus, theater politics relegating her to minor roles as pages and ladies-in-waiting.

She'd been playing a saucy maid when he first saw and heard her. Even in the mingled voicese of the chorus, her voice had captured his attention and he had gone backstage to meet her.

She was still in costume when the manager introduced them, so pretty and innocent in that rose-colored dress and lace cap. From that first moment, he'd wanted her. To sing at La Belle Vivre...and for himself.

He'd asked her to come with him for a late dinner, but she'd refused and said she already had plans to spend the rest of the night with some of the other girls from the chorus. But she agreed to join him for coffee the following morning.

Over cafe-au-lait and fresh croissaints, he'd given her the address of La Belle Vivre and asked her to come sing for him there.

His club was small, but it was known for the quality of its entertainment. His current singer...and former lover...Charlotte-Marie...was leaving soon to marry a Czechoslovkian businessman. And, even if she had not planned on leaving, he did not intend to renew her contract. She was good, but the regular patrons were growing bored with her.

Christine would take her place and easily outshine her.

He heard the rustle and snap of an umbrella being closed downstairs and laid aside the unfinished lyrics as Christine joined him.

The walk in the rain had given her face a delicate glow. Or perhaps she was only blushing as he rose and untied the green silk scarf she wore close around her throat.

"Sam isn't here today: he informed her, "he was complaining of a tootache last night. So I'll be rehearsing with you this morning."

Christine returned his smile as she leaned her folded arms on the piano to look at his compositions.

"I should like that very much, Monsieur."

"It's been three weeks, Christine. There is no need to call me Monsieur."

As he sat down to select the music for her practice, he gestured towads a heavy wicker basket on the bar.

"I had planned to take you to the Bois after rehearsals."

"Oh, that was sweet of you, Erik."

He found he enjoyed hearing her say his name. He could listen to that sweet sound forever.

He had already planned for her to be his lover. He hadn't realized he would fall in love with her, too.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

"What do want me to sing for you today, Erik," she'd asked him, "one of your songs?"

As she leaned forward to look at the music, a single curl fell loose from her comb and lay against the slope of her neck. He reached up and twisted the curl around his long finger.

Then he rose and closed the piano.

"Forget rehearsals, Christine. We'll have our picnic here."

He almost laughed at the surprise in her bright eyes. He and Sam had always been very strict about rehearsals.

"Go, unpack the basket," he said, pushing two tables out of the way to make room. He unfolded a tablecloth with a shake and spread it on the floor.

As she knelt down near him, she glanced up at the large window and the stormy sky beyond. Her garnet earrings sparkled in the gray light as she turned back to him.

"Erik," she said quietly, "I'm glad it's raining."

He set down the wine glass and touched her face, letting his fingers trail slowly from her temple to the corner of her mouth. He pulled her closer, one hand around her slim waist, the other still tracing the contour of her smooth cheek.

He let his forehead rest against hers for a mment, then he kissed her. As his lips brushed hers lightly, he felt her arms winding around his shoulders.

"Come, Christine, open your lips...open them for me."

It was both a command and a plea as he tightened his hold on her.

Shyly, she did as he asked and he tasted her for the first time, his tongue probing the sweetness of her mouth as she clung to him.

When he broke away at last, they were both breathless and he heard her whisper his name as he held in his arms.

_Erik, I love you._

* * *

"Good evening, M'zieur. Would you like some company tonight?"

He looked up and saw a woman standing over him, one of the many whores that worked Casablanca's streets. There were so many of them now...native girls sold by their familys, refugee women who sold themselves in desperation.

She was a pretty thing, a tawdry young Frenchwoman. She smiled at him hopefully.

He rose and patted her painted cheek.

"Not tonight, little one."

She was a stranger to him...he had from time to time looked for a few hour's forgetfulness with the women in the brothels. Women who would, for a price, ignore his mask.

But never with these sad girls on the streets.

He turned to go, but then he stopped and looked back at the prostitute.

_Be thankful, then, that Christine has found someone to look after her...she, too, could have ended up like this poor thing...at least, Christine was spared that fate. ._

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few francs.

"Did you change your mind, M'zieur?"

He pressed the money into her hand and walked away.

_Of all the torments they had inflicted on him, perhaps this one was the worst...they had not killed him, they had made a mistake and given him the chance to escape...to escape and live to see the woman he loved lost to another man...lost forever._


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Christine rapped on the door of La Belle Reve, catching sight of movement through the dark window.

"Please," she prayed in a breathless whisper, "let it be him...let me see him again."

It was Sam, though, who answered her knock.

"Christine! What are you doing here?"

She caught his thin wrist, afraid he might close the door.

"Sam, please...where is Erik? He's still alive...you lied to me, but I know he is still alive."

To her surprise, Sam pulled her inside and led her to the bar.

"I'm sorry, Christine. Don't ask me that."

"Why Sam? Why did you lie to me?"

"My dear girl...I had no choice. I did as he asked."

She let go his wrist then, suddenly confused and afraid.

"As he asked...but why would he want me to think he was dead? Sam, I don't understand."

"Christine, don't question me. Don't question him. Go back..."

He paused, seeing the outline of a heavy wedding ring through the white material of her gloves.

"Go back," he continued, "to your husband. Leave Erik in peace."

"In peace? Sam, I love him and he is alive...I must see him."

"Christine, when I told you he was dead...I wasn't lying. The Erik you knew in Paris is dead. He is not the same...he is a changed man. For both your sakes."

Christine heard the sadness in Sam's voice. She knew how close he had been to Erik. A loyal friend, always. She hated to trouble him like this, to force him to betray Erik. But she had no choice...she could not leave, she could not go back to Raoul knowing that Erik was alive, that he was so near.

"Sam, not a day has gone by that I didn't regret leaving him, that I wished I had stayed with him and died by his side. Please, I must see him. Tell me where he is."

Sam looked at Christine. She looked like a woman in pain, her small hand gripping the brass rail of the bar as she begged him. How could he say no to her?

"He isn't here right now," he said at last, "he went out...he likes to walk at night. I don't know when he will return...sometimes, he doesn't come back until morning."

"Then let me wait for him."

"Christine, I don't think it would be wise..."

Sam stopped, surprised by her strength. He knew she would not go...that she would wait unless he picked her up and pushed her out into the street. He certainly couldn't treat her like that.

"Very well, Christine. I won't stop you from waiting. Only be careful."

He didn't know what else to say. He picked up his portfolio and tugged open the door.

"Good night, Christine. And, please, don't hurt him."

He closed the door and Christine was left alone in the shadow-filled bar...alone to wait for Erik.


	21. Chapter Twentyone

Chapter Twenty-one

Christine stood alone in the nightclub. The only light came from a tiny lamp on a table near the bar. The rest of the room was filled with shadows, shadows in which the mirrors gleamed.

She looked for a place to sit down. All the heavy chairs were upturned on the tables, the stool upturned on the bar.

She made her way to the piano and sat down on its bench, her form lost in the darkness.

She waited, knowing Erik would come...he would be there...she would see him soon.

As she sat there, all of Sam's words circled around her...warnings...Erik had changed...he did not want to see her...he wanted her to think him dead.

_Why Erik...why...no matter what it is...no matter what has happened to you...I will always belong to you._

She heard a footstep outside and the door swung open. A man entered La Belle Reve, but she could not see him clearly.

He closed the door softly and walked to bar. In the low light, she saw him...it was Erik.

He was standing in profile, reaching for a bottle and small glass...his hands were as fine and as strong as she had remembered them as he poured a small amount of brandy.

His hair was indeed darker than it had been in Paris, but she saw no other change in him as she carefully rose from the bench, not trusting her trembling legs to support her now.

He was as handsome...no...as beautiful...as ever and she could feel the magnetic power of his presence there in that room.

He must have heard her move for he turned in the direction of the piano.

"Is that you, Sam," he asked and her heart raced at the sound of that rich, beloved voice.

It was then that she saw the stark white mask that concealed the right half of his face. The Inspector had told her the truth.

"Who's there?"

As he spoke, he reached behind him and switched on the light.

When he saw Christie standing there, one hand on the piano to keep herself from falling, the glass fell from his hand and shattered on the floor.

She held out her arms to him, needing to feel his embrace again.

But he did not come to her. His magnificent eyes were unchanged and, in those first moments, she saw a flicker of disbelief and joy turn to anguish.

And he turned away, his hand was raised to cover the mask and his head was bowed.

"Christine...Christine," he said in a broken voice, "why did come here?"


	22. Chapter Twentytwo

Chapter Twenty-two

She went to him, then, reached out to lay her hands on his.

He drew away quickly and, when he looked at her again, the pain in his eyes was gone. A strange mix of anger and fear took its place.

"Oh, Erik...Erik..what have they done to you," she whispered, feeling the burn of tears in her own eyes.

She felt her heart breaking for the second time in her life. This man had been her friend...he was to have been her first lover, her husband...the man she willing gave her soul to.

And he would not touch her now...would not let her feel the warmth of the embrace she'd longed for night and day.

"Why did you come here, Christine," he said in a harsh voice that seemed to tear into her like a jagged and rusted blade, a voice that was as cruel and severe as the false features that hid the right side of his face.

She would not let him frighten her. She knew him too well...he would not harm her, even if she defied him

"Erik...why did Sam tell me you were dead?"

"Because I asked him to," he said, bitterly.

The shattered glass crackled beneath his shoes as he leaned over to turn off the little lamp on the bar.

"That's no answer, Erik," she countered, "why did you want me to believe that you had died."

He was standing quite close to her now. Towering over her. So tall and powerful and masculine.

She had only to wrap her arms around him. But, suddenly, she did not dare.

"Because, Christine, I did die! Because the man who loved you in Paris was murdered in a cold, blood-soaked room deep below the very Opera House where he first saw you! Because, Christine, there is nothing left of the Erik you knew...the Erik you loved."

She no longer held back her tears. She let them flow freely and laid her hands on his shoulders, feeling the familiar shock of touching him.

"Oh, Erik...I died, too. When I read those three words...I felt my soul die. And I wished more than anything that my body had died, too."

As if he feared she might try to remove the mask, he grabbed both her wrists, pinning them behind her back. That action brought her body tight against his and his face close to hers.

For a moment, she felt the tension leave him...for a moment, his gaze seemed to soften. It seemed as if he might kiss her at last.

His breath was warm on her skin and she closed her eyes, let her body relax against him. It was so good to feel him again, to be so near to him.

"That man you were with tonight...who is he, Christine?"

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, suddenly sick with guilt. For the first time since her quiet wedding to Raoul, she felt as if she had betrayed Erik...as if she had betrayed them all.

"He is my husband, Erik."

He pushed her away, all the brief tenderness gone.

In the dimness of the large room, she saw the hardening of his chin beneath the mask, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Suddenly, he caught her by the arm and pulled her towards the entrance.

"You faithless little whore! How long did you wait? A week? A month?"

"Erik, please...you're hurting me," she cried as his fingers dug into her flesh.

He loosend his hand, but he did not let her go and jerked her close again.

She gave him no time to accuse her again.

"I have mourned for you every day since I read Sam's note. And I will mourn for you every day of my life."

She yanked her arm free and faced him in the doorway

"Perhaps I was wrong, Erik," she sobbed, "Or naive. I thought you loved me. I believed you when you called me your angel and when you promised me heaven."

With that, she turned and ran out into the square.

Erik did not watch her go. He let the door slam shut on its own as he sat down at the piano and tore off the mask.

_Christine, don't go...don't leave me._


	23. Chapter Twentythree

Chapter Twenty-three

Christine fled back across the square to the hotel, hearing only the soft echo of her own footsteps. She reached the door and looked back only once, hoping Erik had come after her. 

She knew, however, that he would not. He was the one who had sent her away. The one who had wanted her to believe him dead in Paris.

_Is it only because of the mask and what in hides? Or is there some other reason that he shuns me now? _

She did not return to the room. If Raoul was still awake, how could she explained her agitated state to him? She went instead to the little courtyard and sat down beneath the palms.

And what of the passion and tenderness during those few short months in Paris? Were they as false as his death...meant only to trick an innocent girl? 

She refused to believe that. He could have seduced her so easily...there were so many times when he had the chance. She would not have refused him and he knew it.

And, on that last bitter day in Paris, he spoke of marriage.

The pain of seeing him again...of knowing he was alive and rejecting her...hurt more than the news of his death.

She stared up at the slim curve of the moon visible above the roofs of Casablanca. And at the small, shining rooms of the hotel.

_If only it were Erik...not Raoul...who waited for me in that room. _

Poor Raoul...he had been so kind to her. So patient and gentle though he knew her heart was forever shattered by Erik's death.

He accepted the fact that she could never love him...that her soul was lost for good. But he had married her despite that.

Raoul had been there for her...even as Erik had deceived her into a terrible, drowing grief. 

Wearily, she rose and went inside. She did not see the German officer who watched her from the darkened doorway.

She slipped into the room and saw that Raoul had fallen asleep. She did not want to disturb his rest, knowing the risks he faced in meeting with this Philippe. So she undressed in the dark, drawing on a peach silk nightgown and sinking slowly onto the bed beside him.

_If I told him the truth...and if Erik had not rejected me...would he let me go? _

She laid her hand on her right cheek and shivered. 

_What did they do to him...what did those beasts do to him? Had they truly killed the beautiful, charismatic man to whom she given her heart and soul? _

Raoul did not awaken, but he must have felt the tiny tremors that shook her body. He turned and put his arm around her.


	24. Chapter Twentyfour

Chapter Twenty-four

The next morning, Sam found his friend still slumped over the piano. The mask lay on the floor where he had thrown it.

"Erik? It's nine o'clock. You would want anyone to..."

He was going to say "see you like this," but realized Erik might take those words the wrong way. His friend was in a sorry state and Sam almost regretted letting Christine wait to see him.

Erik straightened up, one hand covering his face. That lack of trust pained Sam. He knew the truth, he had seen what the Germans had done to Erik. He had sought out a doctor who had been willing to treat his injuries in secret after his escape. He had tended to Erik during weeks of pain and fever, heard him calling Christine's name over and over in his delirium.

Sam knew the worst of it, but Erik still kept his features hidden from him.

He picked up the mask and laid it on the piano.

"Thank you, Sam," Erik said as he turned his back on him and pressed the mask onto his face.

As Erik went up the steps that led to his office and the apartment above, Sam called after him.

"I'll bring some coffee up for you. You seem as if you could use it."

When Sam returrned with the hot, strong coffee, Erik had changed from the rumpled clothing of the previous evening and was just knotting his gray and green silk tie.

Taking the coffee from Sam, he looked out the window and saw Christine leaving the hotel with her companion of the previous evening.

_Fool...what woman wouldn't exchange a dead lover for a living husband..a hideous ghost for a handsome boy._

Raoul walked with Christine as far as the bazaar before going in search of the Fantasie and Philippe.

"I shall see you back at the hotel after lunch," he said as he kissed her cheek and left her in the crowded market.

For the better part of an hour, she wandered through the stalls full of exotic flowers, heady perfumes, rich spices, and beautiful fabrics.

She knew she should worry for her husband now. There was always danger in a rendezvous like that, even more so with Nazis present in Casablanca.

But she could not tear her mind from her reunion...her sad confrontation with Erik.

_I won't give up on him...I will try and try...I will go back to him._

For now, she had to keep up the facade of being just a lady shopping in the bazaar. She paused at a stand selling shawls and scarves.

She picked up a large shawl, a generous rectangle of sheer ivory silk mottled with rich tones of gold and russet. Roses were scattered over the delicate fabric, embroidered in coppery thread.

"Ah, Madame has fine taste," the stand's proprieter said with a little bow, "very fine tast indeed."

As she asked the seller his price, she sensed someone standing near her...another customer, no doubt.

Shaking her head at the too-high price of the shawl, she stepped aside a little to make room at the table for the newcomer.

"I would be willing to give Madame a discount of, perhaps, ten francs," the seller was saying as she started to put the shawl down.

"Good morning, Christine," she heard a quiet voice say.

She turned to find that it was Erik who stood beside her.

He wore a finely tailored gray suit and his face remained covered by that frowning mask. She let her eyes meet his and found them without expression...not blank, but totally with emotion.

Before she could answer him, the stall owner broke into a bright, toothy grin.

"Ah, ah! So the lovely lady is a friend of Monsier Erik!"

He then eagerly quoted her an absurdly low price for the shawl, but she did not hear him. Her eyes...all of attention was fixed on Erik. Inspector Giry had implied that he was a sort of reclusive. She never expected to see him here beside her in the market.

He looked away from her, though, and picked up a corner of the shawl to read the original price scrawled on a little paper tage.

He handed the seller the full amount without the customary bargaining. As the man folded the shawl and wrapped it in tissue paper, Erik returned his calm gaze to Christine.

"Madame, I am sorry about last night. I shouldn't have treated you so roughly."

"I am the one who should apologize to you, Erik. Those things I said when you made me...when I left you...I shouldn't said them."

The man handed the parcel to Erik with a bow and profuse expression of gratitude. But Erik seemed to have forgotten the man's existence as he laid the wrapped shawl in Christine's hands.


	25. Chapter Twentyfive

Chapter Twenty-five

As Erik pushed the parcel into Christine's hands, he was careful not to touch her.

But she held his gaze and, for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes...a fugitive ghost of the passion and tenderness that she remembered...that she longed to see again.

In another second, it was gone and she wondered if it had been nothing but her memory, a wish, a trick of the late morning light.

"Erik, you didn't have to buy the shawl. If you meant it as a peace offering, there was no need."

"Madame, it is very rude to question a present. I wanted you to have it. It suits you well. And that is reason enough."

She hated the chill cadence of his voice, so in contrast to the generosity he had shown.

"Why must you be so cold and formal with me," she asked as they left the merchant's stand, "why must you call me Madame?"

She saw the uncovered side of his facing tighten into a frown to match to scowl of his mask. He seemed ready to reproach her...to insult her, even.

Something across the market square seemed to catch his eye. He turned sharply, watching anxiously as the concealed what had attracted his attention.

He grabbed her arm. His hold was rough, but not cruel this time.

"Christine, were you followed here?"

_Followed...not by Raoul...surely he was otherwise occupied with his business at the Fantasie. And he had always trusted her...she had never given him reason not to._

Or did someone know the reason for their hasty flight to Morocco?   
  
"Followed, Erik? What did you see?"

He wathed the throng of shoppers for another second, then drew her with him into a tiny alley.

"You'd better come with me to Belle Reve," he said, not letting go of her as he quickly led her through a labyrinth of grimy and narrow back streets.

He stopped in a cramped cul-de-sac that ran behid his nightclub. A set of exterior steps led up to his own rooms.

It was not until they reached his apartment did he let you her arm, dropping it abruptly.

Winded from the hard pace he had set, Christine dropped the shawl onto the sofa and sank down beside it.

"Erik, what did you see back there in the bazaar? Why did we run?" 

Erik slid the bolt into place and check to make certain that the door leading in from the office was secured before he answered her.

"A German officer was watching us...watching you. At first, I thought he was simply attracted to you. I think there was another reason. He seemed to know you."

She heard the hate cracking his voice like lightning as he said the word German. 

He caught he shoulders and pulled her up to face him. 

"Christine, tell me now...do you or does this husband of yours have any dealings with the Nazis...here or in Paris?" 

She felt her knees buckling with fatigue and fear and Erik eased her back down onto the sofa.

"Tell me the truth, Christine," he said in a low voice, "are you in danger?" 

She looked up at him helplessly. There was nothing to gain in silence or denial.

"Erik, there is a price on my husband's head."


	26. Chapter Twentysix

Chapter Twenty-six

_A price on his head... _

For a moment, it seemed as if a demon was whispering in what was left of Erik's soul.

_Let the Germans find this boy...you could arrange it...hand him over to the Germans...take Christine away...she wouldn't have to know...she would be yours forever...let the Nazis deal with him the way they dealt with you... _

The way the Germans dealt with me...oh, God...no!

He involuntarily raised his hand to his mask, hoping Christine had not seen the shudder that passed through him.

He remembered the chill of that stone floor oozing into his weary body, the taste of his own blood, the pain without end, the unappeasable brutality of his captors, of the horrifying knowledge that he would never see her again...and then the oblivion...the emptiness of memory that was a blessing...he would never know exactly what they had done to him...only the results of those days of agony.

He drew a chair close to the sofa and sat down in front of her.

"Christine, tell me everything that happened...from the moment you left Paris," he said tensely, fighting the urge to take her in his arms and hold her, to promise her that all would be well.

She reached out and laid her hand on his knee.

"I trust you now, Erik, as I always have."

"Tell me everything," he repeated, forcing himself not to flinch at her touch and at her confidence in him.

"I didn't want to leave Paris without you. I want to stay with Sam, to look for you. He insisted that I go, that it was what you wanted. I went to Marseilles and waited for you to come. Or for some news from Sam. Days went by without word. I was so sick with fear, not knowing where you were...not knowing if I would ever see you again. Then the note came...telling me that you were dead. Oh, Erik, you don't know what it was like!"

"I don't want to know, Christine. Go on."

As he spoke, he gently removed her hand from his knee. It was so cold and small. He wanted only to hold it between his own, to warm it, to feel her slim fingers lace with his own. He did not dare, knowing he would never let her go.

"When I read those terrible words, I must have fainted in the hotel lobby. But a passerby carried me up to the little room I was sharing with a family from Rouen."

_Oh, my poor Christine...I left you at the mercy of strangers, didn't I? _

He didn't want to think of her like that...a frightened girl lost amid hundred of refugees...frightened, frantic...helpless.

"When I came to, I found an old friend at my side. I hadn't seen Raoul de Chagny in so many years, but he and I played together as children...he remembered me and was so kind, so helpful."

Suddenly, she slipped off the sofa and onto her knees before him. He saw the plea in her eyes, a cry for mercy...

"Erik, I was alone...I was frightened...I had no one...and he was so good to me. Then he asked me to marry him."

He reached down and cupped her delicate jaw with his fingers. Her skin was damp and he wondered why he hadn't noticed the tears.

"Christine, how long...how long did you wait...after you received Sam's note...before you married this de Chagny?"

"Six days," she whispered.

_Six days...six days... _

He felt himself drowing in his own rage, felting in closing over him like stagnant water.

He kicked back his chair and jumped to his feet, letting Christine fall away from him.

_She could not even wait a week...damn her. _


	27. Chapter Twentyseven

Chapter Twenty-seven

He walked away from where she knelt on the carpet, her head bowed and her eyes lowered.

_Not even a week! _

"Continue your story, Madame de Chagny.

She did not move as she resumed her account.

"He took me out of Marseille and brought me to his uncle's home near London. We were married there. A few weeks later, we went back to Paris."

"Paris? But why?"

"Raoul's uncle, Sir George Lowethorpe, is employed by His Majesty's government. Because Raoul was raised in Paris, he has been acting as Sir George's agent there. He was working to establish contact with various small underground groups that are organizing to oppose the occupation."

Erik nodded slowly. During those days when Sam and a physician named Ravic had hidden him and tended to his injuries, he had heard talk...mainly from Dr. Ravic...of such groups and agents.

_You gambled, Christine. You married into constant danger.  
_  
"Raoul wanted me to stay behind in England. He said Sir George and his wife, Isobel, would look after me during his absences. But I went back to Paris with him."

"Why did you go back with him? Surely, you knew the risk," Erik said, watching her reflection, afraid that her answer might involve him.

"It was my duty as his wife," she said, rubbing her forehead as if to ward off a headache, "And I hoped to find Sam...to learn exactly what happened to you...to find out how you died."  
_  
So you were there...I was calling for you through the pain, through the fever and delirium...and you were so close to me. _

He met his own gaze in the mirror and his fingers found the edge of his mask.

"And this price on de Chagny's head?"

"A man Raoul trusted...a friend he knew at the university...he went to the Nazis and told them of Raoul's activities...that Raoul was the liason between the resistance groups and the British government. We had to flee Paris...the order had been given for Raoul's arrest...and we then came here to Casablanca."  
_  
And then you came back to me. _

Raoul sat across from Philippe in the tiny, tawdry Cafe du Fantasie. It was, as Philippe had said, no place to bring a lady. It was a shabby blend of coffee house and brothel.

"I would advise you not to stay long in Casablanca, Monsieur. And be very vigilant while you are here."

Raoul slowly stirred the thick, foul-smelling coffee that a thin, toothy waiter had set before him. It was quite obvious that the majority of the patrons were not there for the quality of the service or the menu.

"You know something that I do not," he asked.

Philippe frowned, sipping reluctantly at his own drink.

"Are you aware that three German officers arrived in Casablanca shortly after you?"

"Yes. I saw them last night at La Belle Reve."

"Major Christiaan Hetzner is the senior officer. He is here for one purpose and one alone. To make certain that you never leave Casablanca."


	28. Chapter Twentyeight

Chapter Twenty-eight

"I had not planned on staying here long," Raoul said, not surprised that Major Hetzner's presence in Casablanca was connected with his own.

"I was supposed to meet with a Monsieur Andre," he went on, "about some letters of transit which would allow safe passage out of Casablanca. For myself and my wife."

"You know that Andre was killed," Philippe said, idly tracing circles on the worn table top.

"Yes, Inspector Giry informed me of his death last night."

Philippe shook his head with a snort of disgust.

"Inspector Giry? I would not trust him, Monsieur. His only loyalty is to his own unstoppable appetites. Not to France, not to the traitorous bastards of the Vichy government. He would sell his mother to the German's if he thought it would support his vices."

"His vices? Perhaps I could use his vices to arrange passage to Lisbon."

Philippe shook his head again and added more sugar to his coffee.

"Gambling and women are his passions. He is likely to demand a night or two with your pretty wife as payment for his help. It would not be the first time."

Raoul frowned. Was he prepared to make that sort of sacrifice, even if Christine would consent to such a devil's bargain?

"The letters of transit that Andre was supposed to sell me...I understand they were not found when he was arrested."

"If he really had them to begin with," Philippe shrugged, 'there is a rumor he gave them to someone before Giry's men took him."

"Do you know who might have them?"

"I have heard...and I trust my source...he is a bartender at La Belle Reve...that Monsieur Erik has them."

Raoul set his cup down so quickly that the bitter coffee sloshed onto the tabletop."

"You know Monsier Erik," Philippe asked him with a curious lift of his shaggy eyebrows.

"No, but his name is...familiar to me. Who is this Erik?"

"Erik owns La Belle Reve. My source said that Andre went to see him just before his arrest."

* * *

Erik looked down at Chrsitine. She was leaning against curved arm of the sofa, her eyes closed and the tears drying on her face.

_Go to her...she would leave this de Chagny for you...she would be safer with you... _

No...I must end this now!

He turned back to the mirror and slowly pulled the mask from his face, wincing through clenched teeth as the adhesive pulled at his skin.

Then he went and stood over her.

"Open your eyes, Christine, and look at me."


	29. Chapter Twentynine

Chapter Twenty-nine

Philippe leaned across the table towards Raoul, lowering his voice even though the tables closest to them were empty.

"Monsieur, there are others here in Casablanca who share in your work, who try to aid the resistance in Paris and other places. But our information, our list of contacts is no longer current. You have just come from Paris...there is a great deal you could tell us."

"I will be glad to help youi as much as I can," Raoul assured him in an equally hushed tone.

"Good, good. Listen, mon ami, there is a meeting tonight. Will you come?"

"Yes. I have reservations for Belle Reve again. Hiding in plain sight as they say. But I can leave early. When and where is the meeting?"

"Meet me here. By the kitchen door in the back. At a quarter of midnight. I will take you to the meeting at a safe house just outside the city."

He held out a bony hand to Raoul.

"Thank you, Monsieur de Chagny."

* * *

"Christine. look at me. Look at my _face_!"

Christine opened her eyes and slowly let her gaze travel up Erik's tall form to his face.

The mask was gone.

Her hand flew to her mouth, but it was too late to hush her scream.  
_  
Erik...mon Dieu..oh, Erik... _

The right side of his face from his temple almost to his chin was ravaged. The flesh was twisted and ridged, the skin discolored and, beneath his eye, it seemed to drag painfully downward.

His lip curled into an agnry smile at her cry and he bent over her.

"Now you know, Christine," he snarled, grabbing her by both arms and yanking her onto her feet, "now you know!"

Then he saw her eyes...the horror and instinctive revulsion in them was already gone. In its place, he saw only a strange, gentle sadness...a sorrow he could not bear to see.

"I don't want your pity!"

He jerked her closer until her body was crushed against his.

She tried to pull her hand free. She didn't want him to let her go, but she needed to touch his poor face, to let her fingers trace the damage features, to take away his agony.

But he held her too tightly.

"Erik, you didn't have to hide this from me...you didn't! I could have endured it."

"You think so? Don't deceive yourself, Christine...don't lie to me! You think you could endure an eternity of this?"

With that, he kissed her.

She felt herself pushed back against the bookshelf, his mouth hot and hard and unforgiving on hers.

The suddenness and harshness of his kiss startled and terrified her. He had never been so cruel with her. Passionate, but never cruel.

She found the strength to wrench herself out of his arms and pushed past him to the door. She slid back the bolt and turned to look at him again.

He did not meet her eyes, but stood with his hand over his disfigurement.

"Sam was right," she said in a broken whisper, "Erik is dead."


	30. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Christine sat before the mirror in the hotel room. She had washed away the traces of her tears, but her lips were still bruised from the severity of Erik's kiss. She prayed her husband would not notice.

As she went through the motions of pinning up her hair, she felt herself plunging into a deeper grief than ever. The Erik she had loved in Paris was indeed dead. The masked...no, unmasked man...who had handled her so roughly in that little apartment above the nightclub was not the same man she'd wanted more than life.

She knew she would never cease to mourn for him.

Raoul was fastening his cufflinks when there was a knock at the door. Cautiously, Raoul opened it a few inches until he recognized the hotel's bellboy.

"A package for Madame de Chagny," the lad said, with an amiable little bob of his head towards Christine.

She saw the parcel he held. It was the shawl Erik had bought for her that morning. She had forgotten it when she saw the terrible ruin of his face...when he kissed her so brutally.

"For my wife," Raoul said, glancing suspiciously at the plain wrapping. A bold hand written the hotel's name on the paper, beneath it were the words **Madame de Chagny**.

Christine rose quickly and took it from the boy.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a shawl I bought in the market this morning...something to remember Casablanca by," she said with a smile she hoped was light and easy, "I didn't feel like carrying it around the bazaar so I asked that it be sent round to the hotel."

Her explaination seemed to satisfy Raoul who tipped the lad and sent him away.

"I'm sorry, Christine. I didn't mean to sound so nervous. But my meeting with Monsieur Philippe...well, I will explain to you later. Come, we should be going now."

Christine fastened her pearl bracelet around her wrist.

She did not want to go back to La Belle Reve...not knowing that Erik was so close, but lost to her forever.

Suddenly, she unwrapped the shawl and, with a surge of defiance, swirled in over her shoulders. It seemed a perfect match for her simple ivory silk dress.

"It's beautiful, dearest," Raoul said, taking her arm, "it suits you."

* * *

Erik tore the frame from the wall of his darkened bedroom.

He pulled the picture of Christine free from the wood and glass. He was only vaguely aware that his hands were shaking violently as he tore it to pieces.

Every sharp rip of the heavy paper was like a curse in the stillness.

_She will never forgive you now..._

The pieces of her portrait fluttered across the floor and he stepped on them as he bend to pick up the envelope.

He tucked the letters of transit inside his dinner jacket and, checking to make certain his mask was secure on his face, went down to his office.

_And you don't want her forgiveness..._


	31. Chapter Thirtyone

Chapter Thirty-one

They found themselves at the same table as the previous evening. From his place at the piano, Sam caught Christine's eye and gave her a small, polite nod.

From across the room, Major Hetzner narrowed his gray eyes and watched as Raoul de Chagny leaned close to whisper something in his wife's ear.

Such a lovely little thing. And he'd heard she had a pretty voice, too.

He wondered how she would react to the sight of her husband lying dead with a bullet lodged in his forehead.

Or perhaps...before they executed him...they'd deal with him the way they'd treated that nightclub owner in Paris...the one who had escaped.

In his office, Erik glanced indifferently over the night's reservation list. He paused only for a moment when he saw the name _de Chagny_

He would not watch her from the mirrors tonight. He adjusted his mask again and went down the stairs into his club.

He saw two German officers pausing in the door of the gambling room and saw Daniel's eyes narrow at the sight of them. Like some many of his emplyees, Daniel was a refugee who had his own unfortunate encounters with the Nazis.

Erik had never asked Daniel...or any of them...what they had endured, what they had lost to these animals.

_No...not animals...and that is the evil of this...they are humans who lack humanity._

He knew, too, that many of his employees were involved in organizations that met in secret. He never questioned their clandestine meetings. So longs as they did not endanger Belle Reve.

He saw a third officer seated at a table with Inspector Giry. He felt a sickening shock of recognition as he remembered a tall, thin officer with thick blonde hair and almond-shaped gray eyes.

He clenched his fist in the pocket of his dinner jacket to keep himself from checking to make sure the mask was really there. Then he saw what...no...who Major Hetzner was staring at.

_Madame de Chagny...the shawl shimmering around her shoulder's...the soft light of the club like a veil over her..._

He felt a rage surge up through his already tense body. He falling to his knees, hammered down with pain, but still coherent enough to see the smirk on the Major's face. And now Hetzner was here in Casablanca...here in his own nightclub...watching Christine.

_Six days...don't forget...you were hardly cold in your grave when she rushed in to de Chagny's arms._

He avoided passing her table as he made his way to the bar.

"Evening, Monsieur," Daniel said, offering his boss a flute of the house's best champagne as usual.

Erik did not answer him and, though he accepted the glass, he did not touch the sparkling drink.

"Monsieur," Daniel said in a conspiratorial voice, "there's a meeting tonight at..."

"I have no interest in your meetings, Daniel. You know that. It's a dance of fools."

"Begging your pardon, Monsieur, I'm surprised to hear you say that. You of all people have reason to join us."

Erik silenced his bartender with a frown.

"I have no desire for revenge. It takes too much effort. I want only to survive. Now, will you leave me in peace, damn it!"

Daniel shook his head as he moved to wait on an Hungarian businessman and his wife at the far end of the bar. His boss was a difficult man to deal with, but beneath the hard veneer, beneath that awful mask, Daniel was certain the man had a good soul.


	32. Chapter Thirtytwo

Chapter Thirty-two

"Christine, we will need to leave a little early," Raoul said, knowing that his lowered voice would be lost amid the clink of glasses and chatter of conversation around them, "I didn't tell you earlier, but this Philippe has asked me to attend a meeting tonight."

"Of course, dear," Christine answered, raising her voice a little, "I should love to visit the market again."

She was sick of this, sick of the deception and fear.

Wearily, she glanced around the room. And saw Erik reflected in one of the mirrors. He was speaking with a man behind the bar, only the masked side of his face was visible to her.

_No…I can't think of him as my Erik…that man in the mask is a stranger…someone I don't want to know…_

"Gutenabend."

Christine and Raoul both looked up to see Major Hetzner standing before them.

"Sie sind Frau de Chagny, ich glauben," he said with a brief, formal bow in her direction. He ignored the presence of her husband beside her.

Christine understand him well enough. As a little girl, one of her mother's friends had been a German widow and that kind lady had taught her a little of her language.

But she answered the officer in French, praying that Erik would not see or hear her speaking with a Nazi.

"Oui, je suis Madame de Chagny."

Even as she felt Raoul lay a warning hand on her knee, she realized how foreign that name seemed to her now.

"Ich bin Haupt Christiaan Hetzner. Ich bin erklärt worden, daß Sie eine schöne Stimme haben, Frau de Chagny," the Major said, ignoring her obvious slight, "würden Sie für uns heute abend singen?"

Christine carefully pushed Raoul's hand from her knee with a reassuring squeeze. She did not want to sing for this Nazi. She knew, though, that to refuse…to insult him further would be too dangerous.

She rose with a gracious smile.

"Je devrais être heureux de chanter pour vous," she said, as she took the Major's arm and let him escort her to the stage.

She saw Sam's thin lips purse in disapproval and then her heart froze. Erik was no long at the bar. He was watching her from the foot of the stairs. One hand gripped the rail, the knuckles white and tense.

Major Hetzner helped her onto the stage and resumed his seat beside Inspector Giry. His two subordinates emerged from the gambling room and joined him.

Christine saw the sulfurous intensity of hate in Erik's eyes. She had lost him, she knew, but she would not betray him again.

Nor would she give these Nazis any satisfaction with her singing.

Though she had been born in Sweden, in a pretty house outside Gothenburg, she had spent so much of her life in France…in her dear Paris.

"What song would you like, Madame," the band leader was asking her.

"Play _La Marseillaise,_" she said, just loud enough for Erik to hear.

The bandleader gave her a startled look. He was a loyaly Frenchman himself, but did he dare defy the Germans? He glanced at his employer.

Erik nodded.


	33. Chapter Thirtythree

Chapter Thirty-three

Christine saw Erik's nod. She knew his risk was as great as hers. She smiled and mouthed the words _thank you _to him.

She took a deep breath as the band struck up the rousing French anthem.

_Allons enfants de la patrie, la jour de gloire et arrivee!_

Erik knew he was gambling by letting the band play _La Marseillaise _for her. This Belle Reve was all he had…by helping Christine defy Major Hetzner…the man who had tortured him and destroyed him…he might lose even that.

_She's not doing this for you. Don't delude yourself. _

But he couldn't let her do it alone. He quickly crossed to the stage and stepped up behind her, forgetting…for a few moments at least…the mask, the curious stares…the chance that Major Hetzner might recognize him.

He quickly stepped up onto the stage, stood so close his arm was almost brushing against hers. He suddenly remembered how he taught her to sing through distractions, reaching out to touch her during rehearsals…

He moved a little closer so the sleeve of his dinner jacket grazed against the glowing roses of her shawl.

She turned towards him and a fold of the gauzy shawl hid his hand as it closed around hers.

And he realized that, during all those weeks in Paris…those distant weeks when he found himself falling in love with a girl named Christine Daae…that they had never sung together.

_Contre nous de la tyrannie l' entendard sanglant est levee!_

He found that their voices were perfectly matched. They mingled, the delicacy and purity of hers never lost in the power and richness of his.

He saw the stunned look on Raoul de Chagny's face and felt a surge of satisfaction that he soon forgot as he felt Christine's fingers tightening around his.

And he saw the Major's brow creasing in silent rage…a sight he only dimly recalled as the pain had swallowed up all memory.

Christine clung to his hand beneath the drape of the shawl, surprised by her own sudden courage. It wasn't the danger to Raoul that goaded her to this defiance…it was the loss of the only man she'd ever loved.

Then she saw that everyone in the club had risen…the patrons, the waiters, Sam, the bartenders…they were all singing with them.

The Nazis had stood too, they were singing something in German. But their three voices were lost in the stirring chorus of _La Marseillaise_.

Only Inspector Giry remained seated and silent.

_Aux armes citoyens! Formez vos battalions!_

When the anthem ended, Erik offered Christine his arm. As he guided her back to her table…and to her husband…it seemed as if they were lost and alone together for a moment, surrounded by applause and tears.


	34. Chapter Thirtyfour

Chapter Thirty-four

When they neared her table, Erik abruptly released Christine's arm and, giving her a slight and formal bow, left her.

She watched for a second as he moved into the mass of patrons and staff who all seemed to forget the forbidding scowl and mystery of his mask as they surged forward to shake his hand. She, too, found herself surrounded by people who reached out to thank her with tears in their eyes.

Finally, she reached her table and her husband. She saw both surprise and admiration in his eyes as he took her hand. She forced herself not to pull it away from him.

_I am, after all, Madame de Chagny…_

When the furor at last subsided, she saw that Major Hetzner's face was still flushed with anger as he spoke with Inspector Giry.

"Christine," she heard her husband say quietly and she turned to look at him.

Raoul paused and toyed with the mother-of-pearl caviar spoon before continuing.

"That man, Christine…is that Erik?"

She did not answer and only nodded as she watched Erik edge his way our of the crowd towards the stairs. She saw him stop and glance over at the German officers.

Erik's expression did not change, but she saw his eyes darkened at the sight of Major Hetzner. And she suddenly knew that this was the Nazi responsible for…for the unspeakable things that had happened to Erik in Paris.

Her fingers coiled themselves into the folds the shawl, her nails digging into her palms until she almost cried with the pain.

If she had the strength and the means, she would have gladly killed the Major then and there…not matter what harms came to her for doing it.

"Yet I thought Erik was dead. That note you received in Marseilles…"

"He wanted me to believe it, Raoul," she said, letting her helpless rage give way to a too-familiar sadness, "for my sake. He didn't think I could stand to know what…what had happened to him."

"What happened to him? Was it the Nazis?"

"I don't know what they did to him."

Raoul shook his head in disgust. He'd always felt a slight tinge of jealousy towards this Erik. He'd sensed that his wife had never stopped mourning his death. Still, he could not help but feel pity for whatever this man had suffered…yet another victim of the Nazis.

"Poor devil."

"Don't you dare say that about him, Raoul. He doesn't want your sympathy. Or mine."

The heated tone of Christine's voice caught him off guard. He laid down the caviar spoon he had been turning over and over in his hands/

"Christine, when you said you were going outside for some air last night…did you really go to meet this Erik instead?"

Chapter Thirty-four

When they neared her table, Erik abruptly released Christine's arm and, giving her a slight and formal bow, left her.

She watched for a second as he moved into the mass of patrons and staff who all seemed to forget the forbidding scowl and mystery of his mask as they surged forward to shake his hand. She, too, found herself surrounded by people who reached out to thank her with tears in their eyes.

Finally, she reached her table and her husband. She saw both surprise and admiration in his eyes as he took her hand. She forced herself not to pull it away from him.

_I am, after all, Madame de Chagny…_

When the furor at last subsided, she saw that Major Hetzner's face was still flushed with anger as he spoke with Inspector Giry.

"Christine," she heard her husband say quietly and she turned to look at him.

Raoul paused and toyed with the mother-of-pearl caviar spoon before continuing.

"That man, Christine…is that Erik?"

She did not answer and only nodded as she watched Erik edge his way our of the crowd towards the stairs. She saw him stop and glance over at the German officers.

Erik's expression did not change, but she saw his eyes darkened at the sight of Major Hetzner. And she suddenly knew that this was the Nazi responsible for…for the unspeakable things that had happened to Erik in Paris.

Her fingers coiled themselves into the folds the shawl, her nails digging into her palms until she almost cried with the pain.

If she had the strength and the means, she would have gladly killed the Major then and there…not matter what harms came to her for doing it.

"Yet I thought Erik was dead. That note you received in Marseilles…"

"He wanted me to believe it, Raoul," she said, letting her helpless rage give way to a too-familiar sadness, "for my sake. He didn't think I could stand to know what…what had happened to him."

"What happened to him? Was it the Nazis?"

"I don't know what they did to him."

Raoul shook his head in disgust. He'd always felt a slight tinge of jealousy towards this Erik. He'd sensed that his wife had never stopped mourning his death. Still, he could not help but feel pity for whatever this man had suffered…yet another victim of the Nazis.

"Poor devil."

"Don't you dare say that about him, Raoul. He doesn't want your sympathy. Or mine."

The heated tone of Christine's voice caught him off guard. He laid down the caviar spoon he had been turning over and over in his hands/

"Christine, when you said you were going outside for some air last night…did you really go to meet this Erik instead?"


	35. Chapter Thirtyfive

Chapter Thirty-five

Christine knew she had nothing to gain by lying to her husband.

Raoul was well aware of the circumstances that threw them together in Marseille and he had accepted them.

"Yes. When I spoke with Inspector Giry last evening, he mentioned that this club's owner was a man named Erik. Raoul, I had to know…"

"Of course, dearest. I understand. It was natural for you to be curious."

_Curious…oh, Raoul…it was more than curiosity…it was as if I had found my soul again._

"Christine, Monsieur Philippe told me that those letters of transit may be in Erik's possession. Monsieur Andre was apparently a friend…or at least an acquaintance of him…and he went to see him just before his arrest."

"And he thinks that Andre gave them to Erik?"

"Yes. Inspector Giry's men never found the letters on Andre or in his apartment. Christine, Erik may be our best hope of getting safely out of Casablanca."

It was then that Philippe appeared at their table. He took Christine's hand and, with a look of gratitude and admiration in his eyes, kissed it before drawing the shabby jeweler's box from his pocket.

"Madame de Chagny, I would be very honored if you would accept this ring…if your husband will not mind."

He took her hand and laid the heavy amethyst ring on her palm.

"It's last owner was Captain Gaetano Orselli who was assassinated for opposing Mussolini. I was told that he had inherited from his uncle, a well-known cardinal in Fierenza. He was a brave man, as well as a connoisseur of beauty and good music. I think he would be pleased if you would take it."

"Merci, Monsieur Philippe," Christine said, closing her fingers over the precious ring, "my husband has spoken highly this Captain Orselli and I am honored to take this ring."

"Monsieur, the meeting we spoke of," Philippe said with a discreet glance towards the German party, "it has been postponed until tomorrow night. The safe house we had arranged to use…well, it seems the house is not so safe."

As Philippe left them, Inspector Giry stepped up onto the low stage.

"Ladies, gentleman, may I please have your immediate attention," he was saying, "it has come to our…to my attention that there is illegal gambling taking place in this establishment. La Belle Reve is ordered closed until further notice. Please leave the club at once."

As he stepped from the stage, Erik caught him by the arm.

"How long are you closing me down for?"

"It's nothing personal, Erik. Just until Major Hetzner and his men finish their business here in Casablanca. That little performance you and Madame de Chagny gave certainly irritated the Major."

"So you're the Major's pupper now," Erik said with a disgusted smirk. He was very well aware of the fact that Inspector Giry was a regular at the club's roulette and card tables.

He released the Inspector's arm and watched for a moment as the patrons left the table. He looked for Christine and saw her…only for a moment…at the door.

Sam Reyer was busy closing the piano when Erik crossed the stage area.

"Sam, tell the rest of the staff they'll get paid as long as we're closed."


	36. Chapter Thirtysix

Chapter Thirty-five

Christine slipped the large amethyst ring onto her finger and looked at it under the light of the lamp. The rich purple of it sparkled, cooled by the soft luster of the pearls around it.

She remembered hearing Raoul and one of his Paris contacts speaking of Captain Orselli's death…how his body had been found lying along a desolate road outside of Rome. She remembered, too, hearing that it has been Orselli's widow…a beautiful woman named Ghislana Falerni…who had passed this ring onto members of the French resistance when she left Italy with an American friend.

Christine felt a sudden empathy for the unknown Ghislana, recalling the terrible emptiness her own soul drowned in when she thought Erik was lost for good.

She jumped a little, startled when Raoul put an arm around her waist and leaned down to kiss the curve of her shoulder.

"Christine, tomorrow morning I am going to speak to Erik."

She willed herself not to tense at both his words and the unexpected kiss.

"To Erik," she repeated, knowing the questioning tone must sound very dull.

Raoul sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled his wife onto his lap.

"Yes," he went on, running his fingers through her loosened curls, "I believe Monsieur Philippe was correct. And, if he was…if Erik has those letters of transit, then he is our best chance for getting out of Casablanca. After tonight, after the way you humiliated Major Hetzner, I don't think we can afford to waste much time."

_How can I do this…how can I talk to him like this…to talk about Erik as if he were a stranger…a passing acquaintance…_

"And if he isn't willing to help you?"

"I hope he will, Christine," Raoul answered as his hand slid beneath the lace of her nightgown to cup her breast, "for your sake."

"What do you mean, Raoul? For my sake?"

"You see, Christine, if Erik doesn't have those letters…or if he won't sell them to me…then our option will be for you to appeal to Inspector Giry. They say he is very fond of pretty young women."

"Raoul, are you asking me to…"

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, darling," Raoul said, kissing her and drawing her down beneath him on the bed.

Later, when Raoul finally slept beside her, Christine watched the room's thin white curtains flutter against the latticed window screens.

_I can't live like this…I can't keep betraying my own heart and soul every day and every night. I'll do what I must to help Raoul leave Casablanca…but I will stay here…I can't leave Erik again…even if he doesn't want me…I can't leave him again._

* * *

A quick author's note...the Captain Gaetano Orselli/Ghislana Falerni/amethyst ring references are a nod to "The Cardinal," a novel I am very fond of. 


	37. Chapter Thirtyseven

Chapter Thirty-seven

From the window of the hotel's little restaurant, Christine watching her husband hurry across the square to La Belle Reve. It was a long time before someone…even from here, she could see that it was the club's bartender. After a moment, Raoul disappeared inside.

Christine slowly stirred her café au lait and shook her head.

She knew that Erik would not agree to help them. The Erik she had known in Paris would have…she was certain of that.

And why should he aid them now? Why should he help the woman who had abandoned him, the man she had married so quickly.

_Erik…forgive me. I promise I will make it up to you…if only you will let me._

_-------_

Daniel frowned at the unexpected visitor as he led the young man up to the office. He'd tried to explain to him that Erik wasn't the sort of man you just called on.

But, when he'd given Erik the stranger's name, his employer had set aside the paperwork on his desk and, in tight voice, told Daniel to show him in.

When the bartender had left them, Erik leaned back in his chair and assessed his visitor.

"Have a seat, Monsieur de Chagny."

"You know my name?"

"Perhaps I saw it on the reservations list last night," Erik said with a smirk, "and you forget, Monsieur, that your wife and I are acquainted. In Paris, she was my…"

His voice trailed off into silence for a long moment.

_She was my what…my friend…my protégé…my lover? It never came to that…there was nothing between us…just a few kisses, a few caresses…a promise of more…_

He was suddenly very aware of the mask he wore…so hot and unyielding against his face.

_And this man is her husband…_

"What do you want, Monsieur?"

Raoul glanced once around the small office. It seemed a safe enough place to speak openly.

"I have been told…and I trust the man who told me this…that you are in possession of certain papers."

"Papers," Erik said, with a shrug and a wave of his hand towards his cluttered desk, "I assure you I have papers."

"I mean the letters of transit that were taken from the German couriers. I have reason to believe you have them. Or that you know where they are."

"If I told you I do, what then?"

"Monsieur, I need those letters of transit…two of them. For myself and for Christine."

"For your _wife," _Erik added blackly.

"Yes, Monsieur. For myself and my wife. I know you cared for her once…"

Erik rose and some of the papers fluttered from his desk.

"And that is none of your concern, de Chagny!"

Raoul rose, too, refusing to let himself be distracted by Erik's growing anger.

"I want to buy those letters of transit from you. I am prepared to meet any price."

"_Any_ price?"

"Yes. I can offer you twice what the letters would bring on the black market."

Erik shook his head and walked to the window. From there, he could see the de Chagny's hotel. Was Christine there, waiting for her husband to return with those letters of transit. Did she even know her husband had come here.

"I have no interest in your money. Assuming that I have these letters, I can assure there are a great many others who would match that offer."

"You loved my wife, Monsieur Erik…she would not refuse…"

"You would make a whore of your own wife…you would sell _Christine_ to a monster for the sake of a few scraps of paper," Erik said without turning, his voice terrifyingly calm.


	38. Chapter Thirtyeight

Chapter Thirty-eight

Raoul was caught off guard by the low fury he heard in Erik's voice. And when Erik finally faced him, he saw the almost demonic hate in the masked man's eyes.

"Monsieur, if that is the only way to obtain those letters, yes. It is not an offer I make lightly. But, in these times, there are prices we must pay…"

"Don't talk to me of prices to be paid," Erik sneered at him, "tell me, is this the first time you've made such a bargain? Is that why you married her? To use her as a whore? Is that why you married _my_ Christine?"

"Yes, Monsieur. This is the first time I have made that offer…the first time I felt it necessary. And I can assure you, Monsieur, that is not why I married Christine. You forget, Monsieur, you let her think you had died in Paris. And she has mourned for you every day since…do you think it is easy to marry a woman knowing her heart was left in another man's grave?"

"Enough," Erik shouted, slamming one hand down on the desk so that more papers scattered to the floor.

"De Chagny, you assume that I have the letters. And, perhaps I do. But you are the last man I would sell them to."

"If you won't sell the letters to me…for money or for Christine…then give them to me."

Erik reached into his jacket and Raoul took a defensive step back towards the door. Erik drew the letters of transit from the interior pocket and held them up.

"Give them to you? I have already made it clear I will not sell them. What makes you think I would simply give these to you? Why should I help you?"

"Because I work as a liaison between His Majesty's government and certain resistance groups in Paris…and elsewhere. By helping me, you would be striking a blow to those who…well, I assume that you wear that mask on account of the Nazis…forgive me if it is something you would rather nor speak of."

Erik did not answer him. Major Hetzner was here in Casablanca. Turning the letters over to Raoul de Chagny would do that bastard no harm.

"Where would you go if you had these? Where would you take her?"

"I would take Christine to London. I have family there. She would be safe with them. I would find some way to go back to my work in Paris."

_And I would never see her again…if they stay in Casablanca, at least she will be near me…and this fool might be killed…_

He folded the letters and put them back in his pocket.

"Monsieur de Chagny, I have given you my answer. I will neither give nor sell you the letters."

Raoul's hand was on the door handle, but he made one last effort.

"Erik, at least let me have one letter of transit. For her."

"For Christine?"

"Yes. I don't know what you feel for her now, but I realized that you loved her in Paris. Let me send her to London. Casablanca is no place for her."

* * *

Christine looked up from her now-cold café-au-lait when her husband took the seat across the little table from her.

"He would not sell them to me. For any price."

Christine caught the odd, tense tone of Raoul's voice and wondered just what sort of payment he had offered to Erik for those letters of transit.

"I knew he would refuse. Raoul, he's changed very much since Paris."

"Evidently. Christine, I am so sorry. But I am afraid that you will have to appeal to Inspector Giry. That is our final chance."


	39. Chapter Thirtynine

Chapter Thirty-nine

Christine watched as Raoul vanished across the darkened square to rendezvous with Monsieur Philippe. When he left, he had told her to get some rest…told her she need not wait up for him.

Once she lost sight of him in the narrow streets leading off the little plaza, she quickly opened her trunk and pulled out a cream-colored silk dress.

She dressed hurriedly, pinning her hair into a loose bun and slipping the amethyst ring onto her finger.

Wrapping the shawl over her dress, she left the hotel.

Perhaps Erik would not give her the letters, but she would rather risk his anger than appeal to the Inspector.

* * *

The two men met in the little alley behind the Fantasie. It was a cramped cul-de-sac that smelled of rotten vegetables.

Philippe held out his hand to Raoul.

"Your young wife is a brave, beautiful lady, Monsieur de Chagny. It is a pity such women must be caught up in times like this."

As the two men walked down the alley towards a waiting car, they were both unaware of a second car parked in the shadows of a brothel.

* * *

Christine pulled the shawl closer around her body as she walked quickly down the narrow street behind La Belle Reve.

_He must still care for me…he must still care enough to help us…_

She looked up at his window. The blinds were drawn shut, but she saw an edging of pale yellow light in the room above the office.

_Surely, Erik wouldn't want me to…to sell myself to that horrid Inspector…he would never ask me to do such a thing…_

She climbed the steep stairs and knocked on the door. There was silence, then she heard the sound of a man's footsteps and the door was opened.

Erik's hand was pressed to his face as if he had only just put on his mask. His dark hair was strangely disheveled, almost lifeless.

_But he wasn't expecting me to come…_

She wanted nothing more than to let herself fall into his embrace, but she knew his arms were not open to her. And she must keep in mind the reason for her visit.

"Madame de Chagny…"

He paused, making sure that the mask was indeed secure on his face before holding open the door to admit her to the unlit office.

"What are you doing here…"

"Erik, please…you must help me."


	40. Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty 

He said nothing, but offered her his hand to lead her up the dark stairs to his apartment.

_Did_ _her husband send her here…knowing I couldn't refuse her… _

In the little sitting room, he let go of her fingertips. As he did, the shawl fell back from her shoulders.

He wanted to forget…the pain, the mask, her marriage to this fool de Chagny…all the agonizing months of separation…he wanted to pull her down onto the sofa and make love to her at last.

_Do they realize she is my weakness…is that why she came here? _

"Christine, did you come here for the letters of transit," he asked her, surprised at the gentle tone he used.

"Erik, please give me those letters."

_At least she is direct… _

He slowly reached out and stroked her hair, his action causing it to loosen from the chignon.

"Did your husband send you to get them from me?"

"No, Erik. I didn't even tell him I was coming here. He doesn't know. He is at….he is at a meeting tonight."

"A meeting," Erik said with a short, hard laugh, "I know about those meetings. I suspect some of my staff attend them, too. Well, he is a fool among fools then."

Even as he dismissed these anti-German idealists, he knew that ten years earlier, he would've been one of them.

"Did your husband tell you what he offered me in exchange for the letters?"

"No. He told me only that refused all his offers."

"His offers were very…generous."

"Erik, please…I only need one of those letters."

"One, Madame? Are you planning on abandoning your husband here in Casablanca?"

"No, Erik. I want one for my husband. He must leave this city before the Nazis kill him."

Erik caught her by her shoulders, the tenderness gone from his hands.

"And why should I care if they kill him?"

"Please…there is information he has…things he knows about the resistance…he must get out of here safely!" 

"And what are you prepared to offer me, Madame? Or do you think I would just give you the letters out of sentiment…because of Paris?"

"You once said you loved me, that you wanted me…Erik…if you still remember those days in Paris, please help me."


	41. Chapter Fortyone

Chapter Forty-one

"And what price are _you_ prepared to pay for your husband's safety?"

"Whatever you ask, Erik," Christine said, trying to forget the hate she heard in his voice as he took a step towards her.

She slid the amethyst ring off her finger and, taking his hand, laid it on his palm.

"I haven't any money of my own, you know, but I know this ring is valuable."

"A gift from your husband, perhaps," he said, glancing at the purple gem only briefly, "Christine, I don't want your trinkets."

"Then what do you want, Erik? I will pay your price. Any price."

He let the ring fall to the floor and reached out to touch Christine's face, his cool fingers slowly tracing the soft curves of her chin and throat. He then tipped her face up until her eyes met his.

"_Any_ price, Christine?"

She found she could hardly breath, let alone answer him. She only nodded, her eyes never breaking from his. His meaning was very clear…as clear as the contempt she saw on his face.

"What a little whore you've become, my dear."

He reached up and, with a single violent tug, removed the mask from his face. He winced as the theatrical adhesive pulled as his skin and threw the mask down.

Then he drew off the dark wig. Christine saw that that his hairline was ragged, the scars that distorted his face reached well beyond his right temple. And his thick hair was heavy streaked with early gray.

She laid her hands on his shoulders and, standing on her toes, pressed her mouth against his.

His lips were so cold and unyielding and she could not help recalling their first, sweet kiss on that rainy afternoon in Paris.

She whispered his name against his lips and she felt his hands circle around her waist. She let her own hands wander down from his shoulders to his wrists.

Taking his hands, she tried to lead him towards the open bedroom door.

But he pulled her away from that door, wrenching her body against his.

"No, Christine," he said, his breath burning against her neck, "not there…on the floor or against the wall like the whore you are!"

With that, he spun her around to face him and pushed her back against the wall until she felt the carved molding dig into the small of her back.

Even as he pinned her body between the wall and his own, he seemed to hear his own voice…

_She only asked for one letter…one for her husband…what of her…does she mean to let him go without her…_

It didn't matter now. The only thing that mattered now was that Christine was his at last.

Her eyes were closed, her head tilted to one side. For a moment, he though she'd fainted…until she wrapped her arms around him.

_It wasn't supposed to be like this…_

Not a day had passed since Paris that she hadn't wondered what it would have been like to be his lover, his wife…and now…now this.

She felt him crumpled her silk skirt up around her waist as he kissed her, knowing that her lips would be bruised with his roughness.

"Christine, _my_ Christine," she heard his voice, muffled against her shoulder as he used his knee to part her thighs and drew one of her legs around his waist.


	42. Chapter Fortytwo

Chapter Forty-two

He entered her with a single, almost brutal thrust and she cried out as her shoulders struck the wall.

It was never meant to be like this…yet, it didn't matter. He was a part of her now and she clung to him, surprised at how close she was to her own breaking point.

Was it his release or her own that seemed to shatter her entire body?

She forced herself to look at him, to see the storm of self-loathing in his dark green eyes.

"Erik," she gasped, "I'm not doing this for him…it's for you…for me."

Finally, he let her go. He did not move away from her, though, but stood with his forehead resting against the cool plaster wall.

She wanted to hold him and reassure him. But her legs weakened and, her back still pressed against the wainscoting, she slid down to the floor.

He forced himself to keep breathing, to open his eyes and see what he had done to her.

Her hair was tangled around her shoulder, her dress still pushed up to her waist. He could see the bruises already appeared on her bare thighs. He never realized how fragile she was.

He expected to see tears…that she did not cry frightened him.

The Nazis did not break me completely. They had only begun the destruction…now, I have completed it myself.

He heard her say his name, her voice so small and distant.

When she touched his hand, he let himself sink slowly to his knees beside her.

"Christine, forgive me."

He did not dare to say more, to reach out to her.

Then he felt her hands on his face, gently caressing the hideous, twisting scars from chin to temple. Her lips followed the same course as her hands and her fingers lost themselves in his hair.

Her kiss was his absolution and he could taste his own tears on her soft lips.

"Erik, Erik," she whispered against him, "there was never a day when I didn't think of you, that I didn't want you, that I didn't love you."

With a trembling hand, he reached out for his mask. It lay on the rug near them, but she caught his wrist and shook her head.

He let the mask drop and slipped his arms around her.

Carefully, he gathered her to him and carried her into his bedroom.

The torn pieces of her portrait were still scattered across the floor and he hoped she did not see them as he laid her down on his bed.

She smiled when he took her face in his hands.

And he kissed her, still needing to feel that forgiveness that she had already given him.


	43. Chapter Fortythree

Chapter Forty-three

For a long time, he simply held her. She lay quite still his arms, her cheek resting against his.

It was if there had been no separation, as if nothing had ever come between him.

That promised night in the little apartment above La Belle Vivre had come at last as he tugged the wrinkled silk dress from her body.

He felt her twist her body closer, as if she could not bear even a shadow of separation from him.

He sat up and removed his own rumpled clothing, feeling her hands shake as she tired to help him with the buttons of his white shirt.

Then he pressed her back down against the pillows, his hands slowly exploring her body as she whispered his name.

His lips followed the same path as his hands, as if the tenderness could erase the cruelty of the previous hour.

God only knew what the morning would bring. There was still the matter of de Chagny and the letters of transit. Major Hetzner and his men were still in Casablanca…

But, for a little while, he would let himself know peace and pleasure.

He entered her so slowly this time, not wanting to hurt her again. Her hands were spread against his chest and she arched her body up against his, trying to draw him in deeper.

"Please, Erik…I want all of you."

He did not move except to let his lips graze against the sensitive curve between her collar bones.

He wanted to say something to her, but this was not the time for words. And what could he tell her that she did not already know or sense?

She whimpered, her hungry cries melting into moans of ecstasy as he moved against her and within her. Her hips rose, eagerly matching his every movement.

"Oh…Erik…mon Dieu…Erik," she sobbed breathlessly as she felt her soul drowning in his gentle, but relentless passion.

He gasped her name like a dying prayer as his own body convulsed with his release.

And, finally, they slept with their bodies tangled together and his face hidden in the cascade of her hair.

* * *

It was still dark when Erik sat up in bed, one arm still around Christine's waist.

He heard footsteps in the club below, the sound of a door closing…voices.

He shook her gently, cursing the need to disturb her now as she sighed and tried to snuggle against his chest again.

"No, Christine, wake up"

As she opened her eyes, he eased himself out of her arms and picked up her gown from the floor.

"There is someone downstairs. It might be just be Sam," he said, not wanting to alarm her too much, "get dressed as quickly and as quietly as you can."

He heard her wince as she rose and pulled the dress over her head, smoothing it down with shaking hands.

He gathered up his own clothes, hurriedly putting on his shirt, trousers, and shoes.

In the next room, he found his mask and wig. When both were in place, he turned to see Christine watching him from the bedroom door. There was a sudden sadness in her eyes when she saw the mask.

She crossed the room slowly and put her arms around his neck, pulling his head down so she could give him one more kiss.

"Erik, I love you."

He smiled…for the first time in so long…and brushed his thumb against her cheek.

"Wait here, Christine."


	44. Chapter Fortyfour

Chapter Forty-four

He went down to his office and picked up his jacket from his chair, checking that the letters of transit were still in the pocket.

It had been careless to leave them there. But, until now, those letters had little value to him. They had been a risk to keep, but worthless to him.

Things had changed. One of those letters would see de Chagny out of Casablanca…out of Christine's life forever.

And what of the other two? He could take Christine out of this dreary, dusty town…take her where?

Where could they go where his mask would not attract the curiosity and fear of others? Could she stand to live that sort of life, to see his horribly marred face before her every day, to lie beside that monstrosity every night?

From the bar, he heard the scrape of a chair and the low clink of glass.

He unlocked the center drawer of his desk and slid open a panel in the bottom of it. He lifted out the revolver and put it in the out pocket of his jacket.

From the stairs, he could see a single lamp glowing behind the bar. Three men were gathered there.

Sam Reyer, a thin man he knew by sight as Monsieur Philippe…and Raoul de Chagny.

He went down into the club and they all turned, clearly startled by his approach.

He said nothing to the latter two, but pulled his friend aside.

"Sam, what in the name of hell is going on here?"

"A secret meeting. Daniel and I were both there. Major Hetzner's men must have followed Phillipe and Monsieur de Chagny to the new safe house. There was a raid…not every escaped."

"What about Daniel?"

"He was hurt climbing out a window. A serious cut to his arm."

"Where is he?"

"Don't worry about him. We brought him to the upper room at Estelle's. He's always been popular with the whores there. Estelle and her girls will take good care of him."

"I want you to go upstairs. Christine is there, waiting for me. Take her back to her hotel…make sure she gets to her room safely and stay with her until either I…or her husband…gets there."

His hand tightened around Sam's arm as he went on.

"Make sure nothing happens to her, Sam. Be certain no one follows you. Do you understand me...don't let any harm come to her."

He watched as Sam hurried up the shadowed stairs, then he turned to face Raoul.

"Did anyone recognize you at the meeting? Did Major Hetzner or his goons see you there?"

"No…we were in a back room and heard them out front. We got out before we were seen."

"Good. Listen…about the letters of transit…I want you and Christine to come back here tomorrow night. At seven."

"At seven?"

"There are arrangements I need to make."

"Arrangements, Erik," they heard a voice from the door, "why, it sounds almost if you were conspiring to help Monsieur de Chagny leave Casablanca."

They all turned to see Inspector Giry standing in the entrance.


	45. Chapter Fortyfive

Chapter Forty-five

Erik fought the temptation to slide his hand into his pocket, to close his fingers around the revolver in readiness.

He knew, though, if that any trouble tonight would hinder his plans for the following evening.

"What are you doing here, Giry?"

The Inspector gave a lazy shrug as he helped himself to some brandy and took a seat at the bar.

"I was passing by and saw a light coming from the club. Knowing you just happened to be closed, I thought I should investigate…wouldn't like to hear that you'd been robbed."

He moved to refill his glass, but Erik stepped forward and pushed the brandy bottle out of his reach.

"Enough with the lies, Inspector. You followed the men here. On orders from Major Hetzner."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Erik saw Raoul de Chagny's hand reach for the brandy bottle, his fingers curling about the slender neck.

Erik caught the younger man's eye and gave a slight shake of his head.

_You have to trust me…for now, at least._

To his relief, Raoul let go of the bottle.

"I'm afraid, Erik, that I will have to arrest your two friends here."

"On what grounds, Inspector," Raoul demanded with admirably coolness.

"Come, come, Monsieur. You don't mean to tell me you weren't at the meeting tonight."

Erik casually stepped closer to the Inspector, relying on the dim lighting to give him the advantage. He leaned back against the bar as he spoke.

"Inspector, these men will not be leaving with you tonight."

"I hardly think you are in a position to say anything about it, Erik. I'm quite sure that you have those letters of transit on you. It might be very unpleasant for you if Major Hetzner found them in your possession.

The Inspector rose and picked up the brandy bottle to pour himself another drink.

"In fact," he added with a chuckle, "you might find yourself in need of a larger mask."

The Inspector's laughter died abruptly as he felt Erik's revolver pressed to his back.

"Monsieur de Chagny, there should be some rope in the store room. The door is at the far end of the kitchen…through that archway. I want you and your friend here to tie up the Inspector."

When the two men had taken the Inspector's own revolver from him and secured his hands beside his back, Erik set his own gun down on the bar.

"Put a gag in his mouth and take him back to the storage room. It won't be the first time he's spent the night there after a long evening of gambling and drinking. Then get out of here, both of you."

When Monsieur Philippe and Raoul de Chagny had left through the club's rear exit, Erik return to his room.

He switched on the light, half-hoping to find that Christine was still there…waiting for him.

He felt the weariness seeping through his body as he sank down on the rumpled bed.


	46. Chapter Fortysix

Chapter Forty-six

As the rising sun lit the façade of La Belle Reve, Sam hurried Christine down the stairs and across the square to her hotel room. Often, he looked back to be certain there was no sign of Major Hetzner or his men.

"Erik has given me orders to stay with you," he told her when they reached her room.

She was about to drop wearily into a chair, but Sam stopped her.

"You'd better change first; you wouldn't want your husband to find you looking like that."

Christine looked at her reflection in the small pier glass by the door. Her dress was badly wrinkled, her curls wild. Her face flushed as she realized Sam must know that she had spent the night with Erik.

Erik's old friend just shook his head with a kindly smile.

"I won't judge you, Christine. I know how much you love him…it hurt me to tell you he was dead. I only did as he asked."

She returned Sam's smile and patted his thin hand.

"I know you did and I understand why he asked you to. But that's all over now, Sam."

She went into the little bedroom and found a plain dressing gown to wear. She sat down at the vanity and begin to pull a brush through her hair.

She had never been happier than those moments in Erik's arms…after the anger, after the passion…when he simply held her. She could still hear him whispering…when he thought she was already asleep.

_Christine, I love you._

But why did he sent her back to the hotel with Sam…what had happened when he left her?

Why did she feel as if something was very wrong?

She went back to Sam who was sitting by the door, waiting…

"Sam, who was in the club…why did Erik send me back here?"

"You knew your husband and Monsieur Philippe were at a meeting? Well, so did the Germans. There was a raid and we had to find a safe place. Belle Reve was close enough."

They heard the sound of a man's footsteps in the hallway. Sam rose and motioned Christine towards the bedroom door.

She saw him draw a small pistol from his jacket as a key turned in the lock.

He quickly put the gun away when Raoul entered.

When Sam left them, Raoul pulled their luggage from beneath the bed.

"Christine, Erik has agreed to help us. He's giving us the letters of transit. We leave Casablanca tonight."

As she began to fold her dresses and tuck them into her suitcase, her husbands words suddenly struck her.

"_We_ leave Casablanca tonight."


	47. Chapter Fortyseven

It was late morning when Erik awaken. There was a dull pain in his face where the edges of the mask had dug into his skin.

Sitting up in bed, he slowly peeled it away and laid it down on the pillow. Christine…his Christine had rested her head there, her heart beating against his and her lips grazing his skin.

_She came to you willingly…she gave you one night of heaven…let that be enough._

He knew, though, that a thousand such nights in her arms would never be enough.

He slowly passed his fingers over the scars, forced himself to remember the pain even if he could not recall the tortures themselves.

He rose, knowing that he had only a few hours to make his arrangements…the letters…the airport…

The mask's empty eye seemed to stare up at him, condemning him forever.

He picked it, crushing the white leather in his hands.

"I cannot do it," he screamed to the emptiness of his room, "I cannot do it!"

* * *

At noon, Sam found Erik in his office. To his surprise, he saw that his friend wore neither a mask nor a wig.

The letters of transit lay on Erik's desk. Beside them, an open strong box and a folded document.

Erik rose, picking up that folder paper.

"Sam, give me a one-franc note."

A bit confused by Erik's request, Sam reached for his wallet and handed him the money.

Erik opened the paper he held.

"It's the deed to the club, Sam. La Belle Reve is yours now. Do whatever you want with it. Run it, sell it…it's yours for one franc."

"Erik, I can't take Belle Reve from you…it's all you have."

Erik shook his head and, removing some money from the strongbox, placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket with the letters of transit.

"You're not taking it from me, Sam. You bought it from me for one franc."

"Erik, what the hell is going on here."

Erik drew his revolver from his pocket and laid it next to the box.

"You've been a good friend. I'd have died if it weren't for you," Erik said, holding out his hand to him, "And I won't lie…there were times when I cursed you for helping me. But thank you."

"I take it this means you are leaving Casablanca with…"

Erik cut him off.

"I don't know, Sam."


	48. Chapter Fortyeight

Chapter Forty-eight

"What time is it, Sam?"

Reyer flipped open his pocket watch and informed Erik that it was ten minutes before seven.

"She will be here soon," Erik said, turning towards the window again.

"And what about our friend, the good Inspector," he added as an afterthought, his eyes fixed on the hotel across the square.

"I checked on him like you told me to and brought him something to eat."

"Let him out once we've left for the airport. Even if he goes scurrying straight to Hetzner, we'll have enough of a head start."

Tearing his gaze from the window, he picked up his overcoat and made certain the revolver was in the pocket.

"I suppose you are going to tell me what you're planning, Erik?"

Erik shook his head. More than once, he'd trusted Sam with his life…he would willingly trust Christine's life to him.

It was his own heart that he could not trust.

* * *

Downstairs, the club was empty and filled with the shadows of evening.

Erik laid the club's keys on the polished wood of the bar. He ran one hand slowly and lovingly along the smooth edge.

Le Belle Reve…the beautiful dream…it had been his sanctuary…it had brought Christine back to him.

_For a few moments, at least…_

His hand curled tightly around the rail.

_This is the way it must be…_

There was a heavy knock at the door.

He looked up and saw Sam at the foot of the stairs.

"Let them in."

He heard their steps in the entrance and let go of the rail.

He saw Raoul de Chagny quickly avert his eyes from the horror of the unmasked face before him.

_Yes, Monsieur…this is the monster your wife loves…the demon she gave her soul to last night._

He let the bitter satisfaction ease out him as Christine slipped her hand into his.

"Erik, I don't understand. Raoul says you're giving him two letters of transit…he thinks I am going with him."

He let himself forget the others in the room for a moment as he gently skimmed his fingers across the soft curve of her lower lips.

"You are going with him, Christine," he said.


	49. Chapter Fortynine

Erik's words hit Christine with a sort of dull horror. She knew her husband was still standing there in the doorway, but he didn't matter to her now.

All she wanted was for him to leave, to go back to Paris and his work. All she wanted to was to stay close to Erik for eternity.

She pressed her palm against Erik's scarred face, feeling the fever of his skin through her gloves.

"What about last night," she said, not caring if her husband heard the words she whispered against Erik's lips.

"Trust me, Christine. Trust me."

Erik took her wrist and pushed her from him. He saw Sam was still there beside de Chagny.

"Bring the car around to the back door and put their luggage in it. Once we've gone, don't forget to let the Inspector."

Avoiding Christine's frightened gaze, he turned to her husband.

"Monsieur, I will tell you the truth. After you came here and offered me Christine in exchange for the letters of transit, she visited me. She tried to make the same bargain…she promised to stay with me in return for your safety."

He took a deep breath, praying Christine would not speak and that her husband would accept the coming lie for her sake.

"I couldn't accept that proposal. I let her think I would."

As he spoke, he gently nudged her towards Raoul.

"I know you love your wife. And I know you've set your work ahead of her. But I swear to you now, if you attempt to use her like that again, I will kill you."

He did not wait for de Chagny to answer. He drew the letters from his pocket and handed them to Raoul.

He looked away as Raoul took Christine's arm.

"The car is ready, Erik."

Sam emerged from the kitchen door, sensing the tension in the room.

"Thank you, Sam."

It was Christine who spoke. Shrugging off her husband's hand, she went to him and embraced him.

"Thank you. You've been a good friend to both of us."

"It was good to see you again, Christine," he said, hugging her back.

He knew de Chagny could not hear him from across the room, but he lowered his voice and went on.

"Erik never stopped loving you, Christine. No matter what happens, always remember that."

"I will, Sam. You know I will."

As the old pianist let her go, she felt him slip something into the pocket of her coat.


	50. Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty

Almost no words were spoken among them as Erik drove them to the airport.

From time to time, Christine saw Raoul turn to look anxiously at the road behind them.

At the first opportunity, she tucked her hand into her pocket. She bit back a little cry of surprise as her fingers closed around something cold and hard.

* * *

Inspector Giry pulled off the blindfold Sam Reyer had tied over his face before yanking him out of the storage closet of La Belle Reve.

He found himself in a deserted street near the red light district.

His legs were stiff from the hours spent in the closest, but he didn't let that stop him from hurrying towards his office.

He knew he would find Major Hetzner there. He had given the German officer free use of his quarters.

* * *

As he held open the car's door, Christine tried to meet Erik's eyes.

_Was Sam acting on his orders?_

He did not look at her as Raoul's arm found her shoulders and they followed Erik into the small building near the landing strip.

Inside, a tired-looking policeman sat playing cards with a pilot.

"Evening, Jacques," he said, pushing some folded franc notes into the man's hand.

He wasn't sure how much silence the money would buy. He only needed enough time to see them safely to the plane.

"Henri, is everything ready," he asked the pilot.

Heni Palante rose and took the money Erik offered him. Only the promise of such a generous fee had made him agree to the flight to Lisbon. He was well aware that there were certain people who would prefer to see this de Chagny fellow remain in Casablanca.

"I'll bring the plane out to the runway. Have your things ready."

Back outside, Erik gave Raoul the keys to the car.

"Find someone to help you bring your bags to the plane. I want to say goodbye to your wife."

The commanding tone of his voice left Raoul with no chance to object.

He took the keys and left Christine with Erik.

* * *

The heavy car shot towards the airport, the small red flags with their black swastikas snapping in the wind.

When Inspector Giry informed him of the overheard plans at La Belle Reve, Major Hetzner did not bother to call for his driver or his men.

He had no intention of letting de Chagny leave Casablanca alive. That pretty wife of his…and that masked nightclub owner…they would pay for humiliating him in front of his men.

He had plans for both of them.


	51. Chapter Fiftyone

Christine could no longer hold back her tears when Erik laid a hand on her cheek.

"Why good-bye, Erik? You have three letters of transit. Come with us to Lisbon."

"No, Christine."

"Then let me stay here with you," she said, her hands clasping at the collar of his coat.

"Christine, Christine…I'd move heaven and earth to have you beside me forever. You were the one beautiful dream I could hold on to."

With one finger, he traced the path of a tear. He remembered the ill-concealed revulsion in Henri and Jacques' eyes at the sight of his exposed face. He couldn't force her to live with that horror.

"But this war won't last forever, love. And there is nothing I can offer you now."

"Erik, don't make me do this. I can't lose you again."

He smiled, stroking her face gently.

"You'll never lose me, Christine. And you will always be a part of my soul."

She kissed him then, her lips hungry and desperate on his.

Erik spread his hands across her back, feeling the sobs within her body. He returned her kiss with equal urgency, knowing that this would be the last time…

The last time he would feel the softest of her, the last time he would taste her sweetness.

"If you love me, Christine, you'll go now."

She no longer held back her grief as she released herself from his arms.

For the second time in her life, she felt as if her heart was being torn from her.

She saw Raoul standing by the steps of the small plane. Over the hum of the engines, she heard him calling for her.

"Hurry, Christine."

When she reached the plane, she looked back. But Erik was not there.

* * *

He found he did not have the strength to watch her leave.

He walked back the little office and saw Jacques in the doorway.

"An old flame, eh," the policman said with a little snicker.

Erik did not answer him. He was listening to the low roar of the plane as it began to taxi.

"Of course, that must've been before all this. I guess with a face like that, you can't even find a whore who take you."

He glanced without interest at Jacques who'd gestured to the right side of his own squirrel-like features before picking up the telephone.

"I think Inspector Giry would be very interested to know the role you just played in de Chagny's escape."


	52. Chapter Fiftytwo

Chapter Fifty-two

_The plane isn't away yet…_

Erik slid his hand into his pocket and took a step towards Jacques.

_I must give them time to get away…for her to get away…_

"Put down that telephone, Jacques," he said with a deadly edge to his voice.

"Your bride was generous, Monsieur Erik, but I think dealing with the Germans will be equally rewarding."

Before the operator could respond to Jacques' call, the policeman sagged to the floor as Erik struck his temple with the handle of the revolver.

He pushed the man's unconscious body into the corner. He set down the revolver on the table and, taking off his overcoat, tossed it down over the gun. Finding a coil of rope in a cabinet, he tied the main securely.

It seemed as if the hammering of his heart would drown out the whipping drone of the propeller.

_Christine…_

He wanted to touch her one last time…to hear her voice calling for him…to press her into his arms and bury his face in those soft curls.

_Christine…_

Behind him, he heard the door flung open so violently that the small window was smashed as it struck the wall.

Turning, he saw the Nazi officer in the entrance.

"Good evening, Major Hetzner," he said quietly.

He saw the revolver in the Major's hands and knew there was no way to reach his own weapon hidden so carelessly by his coat.

The Major saw the handle of Erik's gun beneath the limp sleeve of the coat. He removed his cap and set it down over the revolver, moving to stand between Erik and the table.

"I believe we've met before, Herr Erik," he said with a smile.

"In Paris," Erik replied, remembering for the first time the iron clawing into his skin.

"Ah, selbstverständlich," the Major laughed, "I never forget a face. I daresay that's my handiwork."

The Major's amiable tone vanished abruptly as he realized the sound of the plane had faded away in the distance.

Erik's body sagged with relief. Christine was safe from Hetzner and his men.

"They were on that plane, weren't they? Herr de Chagny and his wife?"

Erik did not answer him. He had nothing to lose, nothing to gain.

He felt the sting of leather against his skin as the Major's palm struck his cheek.

"And that little songbird wife of his? What was she to you?"

Erik remained silent. Christine was beyond the Major's reach now.

The Major's revolver was leveled at his heart. At this range, he could not miss.

_What does it matter…Christine is lost to you forever…let it come….let it end._


	53. Chapter Fiftythree

Chapter Fifty-three

Erik closed his eyes, let Christine's image fill his mind…

Christine with her own eyes half-closed and her face flushed as he made love to her that final time…

The sound of the gun shot seemed to almost split the small office in two and Erik felt the hot, thick spray of blood on his skin.

There was a heavy silence and then a hideous thud as Major Hetzner's body struck the floor.

Christine stood alone in the doorway.

For a long time, neither of them moved or spoke.

Then Christine let Sam's revolver fall from her hand as she cautiously stepped over the body, averting her gaze from the scarlet puddle that soaked his golden hair.

He could not say who was trembling more as she slumped into his arms and he cradled her close.

"He's…he's dead, isn't he, Erik," she said in a frightened voice.

"Hush, Christine..hush," he said, leaning back against the wall and letting her rest against him.

Her hand was still shaking as she touched his ravaged face.

"He was the one who did this to you," she whispered, pushing his hair back from his forehead.

He nodded as he caught her cold hand in his and held it against his cheek.

"I'm glad I killed him," she sobbed as Erik slowly covered her pale, tear-stained face with kisses.

Finally, his lips found hers.

"Christine, my angel…my sweet angel," he breathed, remembering the name he'd called her so often in Paris.

Only the sound of Jacques stirring in the corner drew them back to reality.

Carefully, Erik gathered her up and lifted her over Major Hetzner's body.

His car was still parked at the edge of the landing strip and he carried her to it.

He set her down beside it, but he was not ready to let her go. He kept his arms around her waist, let his face rest against her hair.

"Why did you come back?"

"I couldn't leave you again, Erik. I couldn't stand to live the rest of my life without you. Not after last night. And, then, when I saw the Nazi flags on that car, I thought I had lost you…and I would have if Sam hadn't given me his gun."

"Sam," Erik said, laughing, "Damn, I'm in his debt again."

He opened the car door and helped her in.

"We'd better get the hell out of here, angel," he said, settling into the driver's seat, "we still have two letters of transit left."

"Erik, anywhere you go…let me go, too," Christine said quietly as she leaned against him.

He put one arm around her shoulder and, turning the key in the ignition, eased the car off into the dark night.

THE END


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Drama, Romance