Phantom of the Opera 1. She Hated Mondays

A Thrill of Hope

Summary: AU-Modern Day POTO fic. A gruesome murderer is running loose, killing young college girls and then dumping their mutilated bodies. Erik Garner--an outcast determined to defeat other demons if it means he doesn't have to face his own--works on his own to track down the killer, refusing the assistance of the police he had aided long ago. A victim of a horrific childhood and hard life, Erik has trained himself to lock people out and never let his emotions show. But when a new student--Christine Daae--comes along, he finds his barriers struggling to stay up. And even as he finds himself falling in love with the young singer, the murderer sets his sights on Christine as the next victim...

Author's Notes: Yeah...came to me while reading "The Lovely Bones" and listening to the soundtrack...I thought..."Hmmm...what if he was a guy on the hunt for a gruesome killer and Christine became a target..." So...yeah...I have no idea if this will turn out well at all...it just sounded fun...

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own any of POTO characters. But I do own whatever minor characters appear, including the killer.

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Prologue

"She Hated Mondays"

She hated Mondays.

Ariel Young's morning had started like all the others: her alarm didn't go off, she misplaced her Art History notes, she could only find one shoe. She had walked into Physics class ten minutes late and was ridiculed by Professor Fauley. Her lunch card had been stolen and to top it all off, she had been dumped.

She really hated Mondays.

Adjusting the backpack on her shoulder, Ariel kept her eyes on the ground, following each step she took. All she wanted was to go home and sleep.

"Excuse me, miss?"

She whirled around at the voice and looked at the man it belonged to. He smiled welcomely.

"I believe you dropped this," He held out a spiral notebook and Ariel's heart nearly stopped. _My history notes! _She reached out and took it gratefully.

"Thank you," she said, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "I'd be so dead if I lost them." She frowned slightly as she saw a strange emotion flicker in his eyes, but just as quickly as it had appeared it was gone. _That's weird_.

"It happens," the man said. He smiled again and extended his hand. "Where are my manners? I'm Joel. Joel Marks." Ariel stared at his hand a moment before shaking it.

"Ariel Young," she replied.

"I know." She frowned. "It was on your notebook."

Ariel smiled and nodded. "Yeah. Right...old habit." She shifted on her feet as she felt his gaze sweep over her body. She was used to men staring at her. Ariel had been overdeveloped since she was 12. It wasn't long before the boys took an interest in her. She was 14 when she had first slept with a man--a senior in high school. It had been an uncomfortable experience and she hadn't even desired to repeat it. But that one night years ago wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as she felt now. She avoided his gaze and cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence.

"Hey, can I buy you a cup of coffee or something," he asked suddenly. Ariel hesitated, unsure of whether or not to trust the man who smiled so trustingly. "Come on...it could be your thank you to me." He grinned. "It's just a cup of coffee. Won't kill ya."

Ariel waited a moment before sighing. _It IS just coffee..., _she thought. _I mean, how much worse can this day get?_ Smiling, she nodded and took the arm he extended.

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She had hated Mondays.

That what Ariel Young's roommate had told him. Detective Richard Firmin turned his head from the brutal crime scene and once more looked at the picture in his hand. Here, the beautiful brunette smiled up at him shyly from beneath lowered lashes, her green eyes mesmorizing. As the coroner carried yet another body bag of the girl's remains past him, he tried to keep the picture's image in his mind instead of what he now saw.

What remained of Ariel Young has been identified and the truth of what had happened to her was finally revealed:

The young college student had been raped and murdered, her body mutilated and disposed of in an empty field..._Just like the others, _he thought. Det. Firmin sighed and placed the photo back in his pocket.

She had hated Mondays...and a Monday was the last day she had ever seen.


	2. The Outcast

A Thrill of Hope

Disclaimers: see Prologue

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"Students and faculty are still reeling from the discovery of a local girl's remains today," the redheaded newscaster said on the television. "I am standing before the scene where the remains of Ariel Young were discovered early this morning by a group of teen-agers out for a jog. Police report Miss Young had been abducted on her way to her dorm room Monday afternoon. Now, four days later, they found what was left of the young college sophomore. Family and friends have been notified. Not much information is being released at this time, but the obvious information is that this was, indeed, a murder. All female students are advised to stay in groups of three or more and to be on extra guard. Tune it at 10 for the rest of this tragic tale. This is Celeste Jordans, Channel One."

Erik turned off the television and ran a hand through his dark hair. He sighed as his gaze roamed over the table top. Various folders lay scattered, their pages worn and wrinkled, signs of how often they had been perused. Photographs lay on top of each of them and his eyes traveled from face to face. Lydia Eastport. Jessica Timehedge. Hilary Brown. Tabatha Calloway...

He leaned back as he tossed the next picture with the others.

Ariel Young.

She made five. Five victims, all attending the university, all in their first two years, all raped and butchered...what linked them together? What about them attracted this killer's attention? Was it their youth? Personality? Or was it their perfect, flawless faces?

He raised his hands, his fingers caressing the black leather that stretched over his own. A perfect, flawless face was the one thing he'd never had. For as long as he could remember, he had been cursed to wear this mask; to cover the horror that was his own reflection...

The ringing of his cell phone ripped through his thoughts, and he sighed as he reached across the table to pick it up. Bringing the small black device to his ear, he forced his thoughts away. "Yes?"

"Did you see the news," the female voice on the other end asked.

Erik ran a hand over his face. "I did, Antoinette."

Antoinette's voice was monotone has she continued. "What do you make of it? Same as the others?"

He once again looked at the pictures on the table top. "I wouldn't doubt it."

The woman sighed. "You must put a stop to this, Erik. Meg will soon be returning from out of the country, bringing with her a new student. I will not allow my daughter and her friend to be put directly in harm's way."

"We can't know for sure that they will be."

From the frustrated sigh that followed, he knew that she was losing her patience. "Erik, there has been murders each month," Antoinette went on. "There is no way of telling which girl may be next. None of you have a way of connecting the victims other than their attendance to this school. How can you tell me they won't be? Until this maniac is caught, every girl in this school is in danger." Erik was silent as she raged and for moments after she was finished. Finally, she sighed once more. "I'm sorry, Erik. I know you are trying. But Meg has been far from the danger in England up until now. Then she decides to attend the university here once more and is bringing Christine along." She paused. "I want neither of them hurt, Erik."

Erik closed his eyes. What was it like to have a mother who cared about you so much? To know that she would die before harming you or allowing another to do so? He felt the pain of his childhood clench his chest as he sighed. "Nothing will happen to them, Antoinette. I promise you."

The woman sighed. "I know...I've known you long enough to know that you won't quit so easily." She paused a moment. "Well...I must be going...Do get some rest, Erik. You've looked so exhausted lately."

Erik felt the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. "Goodbye, Antoinette." He slowly severed the connection, allowing the phone to slip into his lap. He'd never understand Antoinette Giry. How a ballet mistress could bear his company, let alone worry about his well-being was beyond him. Could it be that he had a companion...a friend?

_One of the many things I'd always been denied._

He looked once more at the young women smiling up at him. _The one thing these girls will never had again._ Frustrated, he slammed his palm down onto the table. _Dammit...who is this...monster?_ He smiled wistfully at the term. Him calling someone a monster...It was something to behold. _Who is claiming the lives of these women? And why? _As he stood and grabbed his long overcoat and pocketing his cellphone, he vowed to solve the riddle.


	3. The Orphan

A Thrill of Hope

Ahhh! Thanks so much to my reviewers! I am soo happy you like this story. I'm so touched!

Author's Notes: Okay, it wasn't until the other night that I was reading the fic "Erik the Vampire Hunter" and realized that I used the exact same last name for Erik in my story. SO, before there is any disagreent or anything like that, Garner was just the name that popped into mind because of the mention of Jennifer Garner on TV...so please forgive me!

Chapter Two

"The Orphan"

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_The room was dark and dreary, fitting the mood of its occupant perfectly.  
No light shined through the covered windows; no light shined at all, save for the light from the bedside lamp. The only sounds heard were raspy breathing and quiet sobs._

_The small bedside lamp cast an eerie glow over the form on the bed, the white sheets drenched in perspiration, tangled around the dying man's body. His dark brown hair was plastered to his forehead and his blue eyes were hazy with exhaustion. They were the eyes of a man who had fought a long, tiresome battle...and who was ready to surrender at last. His large, pale hand was encased in two smaller ones, the slender fingers curling into his palm. His eyes traveled to the small child's face. Oh, how she looked like her mother! Long, dark curls were pulled back, revealing a slender face that none could match. Even in her few years, the child was a great beauty, and he knew her beauty would only grow with each new moon. Her bright blue eyes-- now red from the sobs-- stared back at him, heartbreak and sorrow scattered through out them. Tears shined brightly on her pale cheeks and her chapped lips were set in a thin line...The face of a child who knew her one last tie to the world would soon depart._

_Seven-year-old Christine Daae kneeled next to her father's hospital bed, her world collapsing around her as she stared at him. She knew her father would soon be dead. She may not understand all the large, medical terms the doctors used, but she knew it in her heart._

_Another silent sob escaped her as she tightened her grip on her father's hand. "Why must you go, Papa," she whispered brokenly. "Why do you have to do?"_

_Charles Daae smiled softly. "Why does anyone have to die, Christine? It's just the way life works."_

_The young girl wrinkled her nose. "Well, life sucks." Charles chuckled softly, deeply detesting the word, yet pleased that even in this darkest hour, his daughter hadn't lost her fire. "But who will be there for me, Papa? Who will take care of me? Who will help me to sing? Who will play the violin at Christmas?" A broken sob escaped her. "Who will be my Papa now?"_

_Charles sighed and reached out with a pale, trembling hand to caress his daughter's cheek. "I will always be your papa, Christine. Just as you'll always be my Little Lotte...Not even death will change that." He wiped away her tears even as he felt his own stinging his eyes. "Christine...Do not cry for me. I have lived a good life...I've had love in my life. I loved your mother with all my heart. I had you; was able to hold you in my arms as you opened your eyes for the first time. I've heard your angelic voice in my ear, your petite laughter at the silliest things...I've been blessed. Don't cry, Christine...I can't bear it."_

_"I'm scared, Papa."_

_Charles' heart clenched in his chest. "So am I...but don't fret, Little Lotte...I promise that all will turn out alright...Do you know why?" Christine shook her head. "Because when I'm in Heaven, I am going to send an angel to you."_

_Christine's eyes widened at his words, awe on her face. "An angel?"_

_"Yes, an angel," her father nodded. "An angel of music...the most unique of all angels. I will send him to watch over you, Christine. He will guard and guide you, protect you against everything. And as you sing, Christine, he will come to you...Sing, Christine. Sing as if there were no tomorrow. For I know that when you do, your voice will reach the heavens and I will hear you." He breathed in deeply, eyes half-closing, and Christine's tears once more began to flow. "I promise...I will...send him to you, Christine...Christine...Christine..."_

"Christine!"

Christine's eyes shot open at the yell of her name. Squinting against the daylight, she looked up into the bright face of her companion, who had been shaking her out of her slumber.

"Christine, we're here," Meg Giry said excitedly. "You've slept the entire ride."

Christine looked around as she pulled herself up. She was in a taxi, not a hospital. She was nineteen, not seven. Next to her sat her best friend, not her dying father.

"I was worried you wouldn't wake up," Meg went on. "I've been shaking you and calling your name for five minutes...what on earth were you dreaming about?"

Christine looked at her blonde friend. She'd known Marguerite Giry most of her life. After being sent to live with her aunt after her father's death, she had met Meg at school and the two had soon become inseperable. Over the years, they had done everything together: started high school, discussed boyfriends--or lack of them, graduated. They had encouraged each other to pursue their dreams. And though they had begun at different colleges, it had only been a matter of months before they once more found themselves school mates. They had always been honest with each other and yet, now as they sat outside the new university they would be attending together, Christine couldn't bring herself to tell her friend about the dream. Instead, she merely smiled and shook her head. "It was nothing, Meg. Just a silly dream."

Meg waited a moment before she accepted the answer. "Well...then, come on, Sleepy-head! Maman will be waiting for us!" And with that, the bubbly blonde opened the taxi door and jumped out, heading for the trunk.

Christine remained in the taxi, smiling at her friend's enthusiasm, yet her mind was still on her dream. How well she recalled that night 12 years ago...she could still feel her father's cold hand wrapped around her own, could still hear his fatherly voice. She looked out the window at the students bustling by. She had long ago abandoned the hope of finding her "Angel of Music," passing it off as a father's attempt to appease his distraught child. But she hadn't given up singing. On the contrary, she built her life around it. She took classes, practiced into the early rays of dawn, she even chose it as her major...she still believed that if she sang passionatly enough, her voice would reach her father's ears...

"Christine!"

She sighed at Meg's impatience and climbed out of the taxi, walking towards the driver and her friend. She took the suitcase and duffelbag from his extended hands and murmured her thanks. Pushing a chesnut curl behind her ear, she turned to face the university that loomed before her. In her mind, "huge" didn't even begin to describe it. _Why on earth did I agree to come here, _she wondered. And then she remembered.

Because it was the university her father had wanted her to go to. He had said it was the best place for her gift to be appreciated and expand-- that it wouldn't be long before she would outrank the vocal professors themselves.

When her application for admission had been denied, she had been heartbroken. She had wanted to bring joy to her father--and to herself--by doing what he always dreamed she would do; by going where he had dreamed she would go. She had gone with a smaller university where she had excelled in her vocal courses. She'd been the leading soprano in concerts and productions, singing for hundreds of people--which was how she had come to be here. A representative from the fine arts department had been in attendance at a concert and, after being blown away by her performance in Aida, had approached her with a scholarship opportunity.

She had seen it as her father giving her a hand.

Now here she stood, her fingers tightening on the handles of her luggage as she stared at the campus that loomed before her.

"Meg!"

Christine turned at the delighted exclamation and watched as a familiar woman walked towards them, a smile on her face. She held out her arms to Meg and the blonde girl quickly dropped her bags and rushed into them. "Maman, it's so good to see you," she exclaimed, her arms encircling her mother's neck.

"Oh, welcome back, my daughter," Antoinette Giry said softly, placing a kiss on Meg's cheek. "You've been greatly missed."

Christine watched the exchange with a melancholy heart. This was one thing she'd never had--a parent's loving embrace at your return. Yes, after a weekend away from home, her father had always greeted her with a quick, affectionate hug and a peck on the cheek. But she had watched from afar as Meg's mother had cried and hugged her daughter at graduation, murmuring her pride and love; she'd watched brokenly at the tears that were shed when Meg left for college in England...and she envied the tears that were to come when Meg would one day wed.

Christine would never get to experience such things. Her aunt Josephine had shed no tears as she stiffly hugged Christine on graduation day, and she had been nowhere to be seen the day she left for college. No one would be there to walk her down the aisle the day of her wedding; no father to tearfully say the words, "I do," when asked who would give her away...

She felt the sting of tears in her eyes, but quickly brushed them away when Antoinette turned her attention towards her. "Christine Daae, my dear...it's been far too long," she said, walking over to embrace the girl gently. Christine sat down her luggage and welcomed the woman into her arms. She smiled.

"Hey, Madame Giry."

Antoinette pulled back slightly and cradled Christine's face in her hands, brushing a few unruly curls away. "Welcome to your new home, my girl," she said in that motherly tone that Christine had come to cherish. "Now, come! Let's get you both settled in and then I'll give you a grand tour." She turned away, motioning for the girls to follow. Christine sighed and slung her duffelbag over her shoulder.

"It's a madhouse in there, Chris," Meg said, smiling as she retrieved her luggage from where they sat at her feet. "Are you ready for this?"

Christine smiled. "As ready as I'll ever be." The two friends smiled at each other and Christine bent to pick up her suitcase. She straightened and frowned at the stiffness of her friend's posture and the stern expression on her face. "Meg?"

A hint of a smile appeared on Meg's face before she motioned with her hand. "If you will, Mdle. Daae," she said, and Christine grinned. Meg was imitating her mother's "teacher-vibe," as they had affectionately called it. She bowed down low and waved her arm for her friend to lead. Meg flounced into the building, her tingling laughter ruining her act. Giggling, Christine followed her friend closely, closing her eyes as she entered the building. _This is for you, Papa_..

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Unbeknownst to her, two pairs of eyes watched Christine from opposite ends of the campus. One pair was hidden beneath a black leather mask, staring at her in awe and adoration. They watched as the door closed behind her, their owner questioning if he had truly seen an angel enter the building.

The other pair, however, was hidden only by the shadow of the tree their owner leaned against, watching with a sick fascination at the brown haired beauty, a murderous gleam beginning to emerge as they marked their next target.

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Alright...there's chapter two...I think it kinda stunk there towards the end...who knows...it's the last full week of school...I appear to be slacking in everything. Please, please, PLEASE review and let me know what you think!


	4. Once Upon A Midnight Dreary

Chapter Three 

Thanks so much to all of my great reviewers! You guys bless my socks off! Ahhh! It's so great to get on here and see new reviews from people...it's like...double sugar coated sugar cookies or...Gerard Butler with no shirt...ohhh...that's would be a HARD choice to make. Welll, here's the next chapter! Christine finally meets Erik!

Author's Notes: I'd just like to take a moment and dedicate this chapter to a few people who were killed Sunday, May 29. Three of my fellow students in high school were tragically killed Sunday morning. Scott Moody, Megan Karus, and Paige Harshbarger passed away after a shootout at Scott's house. Supposedly, Scott took a shot gun, killed his grandparents, stepmother, Megan, Paige, shot his sister, Stacey in the neck, and then killed himself. Stacey made her way downstairs and called her stepsister, who in turn called 911. Stacey is in critical condition at Ohio State University Hospital. Scott and Megan were supposed to graduate Sunday afternoon. I live in a small community where everyone knows everyone else, and for something so horrible as a mass murder-suicide to happen here...it's hard to deal with. The police are waiting for Stacey to wake up so they can hear her recount of the tragic incident. All we can do now is pray for Stacey's recovery and for the family of those killed...I ask that you please keep them all in your prayers as our community starts to heal.

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Chapter Three

"Once Upon A Midnight Dreary."

Whispers were circulating through out the campus, students almost terrified to vocalize out loud the truth of what happened:

Yet another girl had been found murdered. The body of Katie Kelly had been discovered late last night hidden in a dumpster, raped and butchered like all the others. And while half of the school grieved for the loss, the other half voiced their opinions on who was the gruesome murderer and why Katie had been the victim.

"I bet is was the ghost that haunts the campus."

"Don't be ridiculous. The ghost is just a story. This creep is living and breathing.:

"I heard they were all screwing some big-wig in on the administrative board and when they got tired of it, he killed them."

"It's probably some loser who was finally fed up with being turned down."

The rumors were endless, Detective Firmin realized. He must have interviewed twenty students and gotten a different perspective each time. Now, as he stood before a tearful ballet mistress, he pushed them all from his mind. "Madame Giry, I understand Mademoiselle Kelly was a student of yours," he said, studying the woman before him. She certainly was attractive enough. As she nodded, he fixated on the stray blonde hair that fell into her eyes.

"Yes...Katie was studying to be a ballerina. She was quite splendid; well on her way to the top."

Firmin nodded, taking in her slim figure. He cocked his eyebrow when he noticed that she wore no ring on her left hand. "And when she left class the other day, nothing seemed unusual? She didn't leave with anyone different?"

"No, she left with the girls she always does. Have you questioned them?"

"Yes," he said, glancing at his spiral notepad. "They all said they left her before she reached her dorm, as they always do." _Without even the slightest thought a murderer would wreck their comfortable routine._ Sighing, he closed the notepad and withdrew a business card from his jacket pocket. "Thank you for your assistance, Madame. Please, if anything should come to mind, don't hesitate to contact me." He handed her the small card and took his leave, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Antoinette stood silent a moment, her fingers tracing the embossed card as she thought. She craned her neck slightly as she felt a figure appear from the shadows. "This madness must stop, Erik." She heard a chair creak as he sunk into it. "For goodness sakes, this time it was one of my own girls! This must end before..." She trailed off, refusing to even think about Meg at the hands of this psychopath. Only silence greeted her and she knew he was growing tired of being told everything over and over again. She also knew he was trying.

Finally, his deep voice reached her ears. "I heard your new student sing the other night," he said. Antoinette turned around, taking in the man's masked appearance. He sat facing her, his legs crossed casually at the ankles.

"Christine," she asked.

He nodded. "She had quite a gift...slightly disappointing, but a gift all the same. She seems almost to be trying too hard." He fell silent as his mind drifted to the singer with the chocolate curls. He had been scouraging the campus, his senses alert for the man who had been a thorn in his side for so long, when he had seen her. He had remembered Antoinette mentioning the return of her daughter and, having seen the cab pull up, kept himself hidden as he watched, curious to once again see the blonde dancer he'd watched grow up from afar and the companion traveling with her. The golden-haired teenager was the spitting image of her mother-- lean physique, light features, the stance of one who'd been dancing their entire life. He had watched the blonde girl retrieve her luggage from the trunk and call her friend's name impatiently.

What he had seen next was something he had been unprepared for:

Christine...

He was sure he'd seen the vision of an angel step out of the cab. He'd never seen anything lovlier than the chocolate haired beauty standing before the Admissions Building, her face to the wind, a wistful smile on her face as she embraced Antoinette...He was captivated...which was how he'd found himself in the rear of the auditorium as Christine sang during a rehearsal. Her voice matched her appearance-- that of an angel. Yet the emotion in her voice was lacking...the only thing he could find wrong with the young student.

"She's quite talented."

Antoinette's voice brought him back and he raised his masked gaze. The recent events were taking a toll on the ballet mistress, he noticed. Her usual straight stance was slightly slouched (A.N. say that then times fast!), her face stretched in exhaustion. Her eyes were red and swollen from her tears. "I am sorry for your loss, Antoinette," he said softly. "If I could have stopped it, I would."

The woman smiled softly. "I know, Erik." That was all she said...it was all she needed to say.

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_Where's the sheer genius in this...I brought my bag, I brought a drink, I brought food...I couldn't bring a stinkin' umbrella._

Christine mentally kicked herself as she ran through the violent storm, her brown hair nearly black as it lay plastered to her face and shoulders. She had gone to the library to study for her Latin test next week--only for an hour, she had decided-- and before she knew it, two had flown by, and the storm had flown in. She had barely gotten ten feet from the library before the rain plummeted down, soaking her to the bone as well as everything she carried with her. The rain fell so hard it hurt, and Christine found herself squinting through the downpour for any form of shelter she could find. "Brilliant move, Christine...sheer brilliance," she muttered, her wet hands holding her book bag over her head. She gave a cry of relief when she approached a large building, noticing that the roof hung low over the entryway. It should give her enough shelter for a few hours until the storm quieted down.

Nearly tripping over her own feet, she raced towards the building, and immediately recognized it as the Musics Building, where the instrumental music majors practiced. She tossed her bag to the ground as soon as she reached the overhanging roof and wrung out her thick hair, groaning at the water that was released. "Talk about a frizz job," she muttered. "Only God will be able to salvage my hair when it dries." Thunder crackled overhead, and she jumped slightly as the earth trembled with it. Shivering against the cold, Christine quickly glanced at her watch. 11:30. Check-in for her dorm wasn't for another hour and a half. Looking out into the dreary weather, she only hoped the storm would be over and down with by then.

Suddenly, a haunting melody reached her ears. She frowned, glancing around her. Someone was playing the organ...She turned to the Musics Building door. It was the only place it could be coming from. Picking up her soaked bag from the ground, Christine hesitantly made her way to the entry door, the storm drowning out any noise her shoes may have made. Stopping before the door, she quietly placed her ear against the metal. Who was it? Who could possibly play such a hauntingly beautiful melody? She hadn't heard a melody like that since...

She closed her eyes. Since the last time her father played his violin.

She stood there for a moment, allowing the music to wash over her, mind and body. It was beautiful, almost seeming to tell a tale of despair and loss..._Who is it? _she wondered. She had to find out. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, her fingers grasped the door's handle. Turning it as quietly as she could, she pulled the door open slowly. The room was pitch black, save a dimmed overhead light in the center of the room. Sofly closing the door behind her, Christine's gaze drifted across the room, searching for the one whose music filled her mind. Finally, her eyes focused on the organ on the opposite side of the room. Someone sat on it's wooden bench, his back to her, seemingly lost as he played. It was obviously a man, though in the darkness, she couldn't make out his features. She watched his hands fly over the keys, mesmorized at the results. Unconsciously, she found her feet moving slowly towards the secret musician, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag. She carefully watched her steps, moving cautiously around the various instruments scattered across the room, almost terrified to interrupt the man's trance. The music seemed to pull her towards him, crying her name. Soon she stood only a few feet behind him, and she watched his back as his arms moved back and forth. _Who was this..._

Suddenly, the music stopped and Christine jumped when the man whirled around. She stumbled back, nearly tripping over a drum that lay behind her. "What do you want," the man demanded angrily as she righted herself and the drum. Swallowing hard, she turned back to him, straightening to her full height. The man now stood before her, and she stared at him as he glared at her. He was tall, well over six foot, she would guess. Dark raven hair was disheveled, its color nearly blending in with the black mask that stretched over the top half of his face. Only his lips and chin were visible, and she could see his eyes from beneath the mask--green, almost gold. His attire was the same color as the mask--a black, long sleeved shirt, black trousers that appeared to be made for him, black boots that reached his knees, and black leather gloves. A long, black coat lay across the organ bench. She raised her eyes to his, snapping herself out of her reverie.

"Wa...was that you playing," she asked, then kicked herself. _Of course it was him playing...you stood behind him as he did._

The man stared at her a moment, his gaze looking her up and down. She felt an involuntary blush creep into her cheeks. "Yes," he said finally. His voice was deep and angelic, much like the voices you imagined the rough, rugged men in old-time romance books to possess. Christine swallowed again.

"It was beautiful," she said softly. She shifted her weight slightly. "Do you usually play at midnight in the Musics Building?"

The man smirked. "Do you usually intrude on one's privacy at midnight in the Musics Building?"

Christine stared at him, her mouth dropping open slightly. "Well...techinically since it is school property, it's not really anyone's private place. I just came in to get out of the storm." The man's gaze took in her soaked appearance before resting on her eyes. "Is, uh...is that why you're here?"

"I came here to be alone...which obviously is now not happening."

"Are you always so rude?"

His mouth dropped open slightly as he stared at her. "Excuse me?"

The words shocked Christine herself as soon as they were uttered. She never meant to voice her thought aloud, and from the expression on the man's face, she realized he was just as shocked as she. "Uh...are...are you always so rude," she stuttered. "I mean...I get that you probably wanted to be alone, but to totally shun someone who had to come in here...it is pretty rude." She watched his face closely, on the lookout for any sign of the anger he had first expressed when he realized she was there. Instead, the shock faded away, leaving only an unreadable expression.

"My apologies," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I'm unused to other people disturbing me in my time here."

"It's alright," Christine said, swiping at the wet hair falling into her eyes. "So...you come here a lot then?" When he merely stared at her, she cleared her throat. "My name's Christine Daae." She held out her hand to him. He stared at it a long moment before sighing and grasping it with his own.

"Erik," he said, and she was amazed at how much he said in that one word. He squeezed her hand quickly before withdrawing his own, allowing it to fall to his side.

Christine looked at him. "Erik...do you have a last name? Or is it just 'Erik?'"

"Just Erik."

She nodded, sensing that it would not be wise to push further. Her gaze fell on the organ behind him. "Are you a student here? Or a professor, maybe?" Still, he was silent. "You play beautifully...I've not heard someone play like that in years."

"Thank you," Erik said as he bent down and grabbed his coat off the bench. Christine watched him quickly put it on. "Our meeting was not exactly pleasant, Miss Daae, but I suppose it was a meeting all the same." He strode past her, and she smelt a faint scent of sandalwood and a strange cologne. She turned towards him as he walked to the door.

"It's pouring out there," she called to him from across the room.

He pulled the door open regardless, and she saw that the rain had stopped and the only sound heard was the chirping of crickets. "The storm has passed," Erik said as he stepped outside. "Final check-in will be over soon, Miss Daae. You'd best hurry." He held the door open, and it took her a moment to realize he was doing it for her. Holding tightly to her bag, she walked through the door and turned to face him. He shut the door behind him, and she heard the faint click as it locked. "The storm will be returning shortly," he said, glancing up at the sky. Christine followed his gaze, wondering how on earth he could tell that. "You'd best return to your room and change into dry clothing. We wouldn't want your lovely voice to be affected by a cold." She frowned at his words and quickly turned back to him, a question on her lips.

He was gone.

She looked all around her, staring out into the dark twilight, searching for the man who had been standing there with her moments before. Where did he go? And how did he know she sang? He was nowhere in sight. A chill crept up Christine's spine as the wind blew and she sighed, looking around once more before running towards the living quarters on campus. The entire way to her dorm, her mind wouldn't leave the strange man she had encountered. Erik...the memory of his music was still fresh in her mind, and once again she wondered how someone could play so beautifully...Only her father's music had moved her so much. As she checked in with the counter in her dorm and made her way to the room she shared with Meg, she wondered if she'd ever see the masked man again.

00000000

Erik sighed as he let himself into his room beneath the Musics Building. Tossing his coat onto a chair, he ran his hands through his already disheveled hair. What a night this had turned out to be...

He had only gone up to the Musics Building to release some of his frustrations over the latest murder. Music was his best escape...within it, the whole world fell away..all the despair and tragedy he had experienced in his life no longer mattered as soon as his hands touched those keys. He'd lost himself quickly...which is why he didn't hear someone enter behind him. Suddenly he had felt the presence of another and his music stopped. He whirled around in his seat only to be faced with the startled expression of his brown haired angel herself. He had been in shock to see her there, and he was sure she was just as surprised to be startled by him.

He had seen her take in his appearance, see her gaze linger on his mask, and he had felt the familiar feeling of resentment creep into his being. He had questioned her reasoning for being there, and recalled how nervous she had been as she replied. He had been curt and harsh to her, as he was to everyone. He smiled softly now as he remembered her reaction. _Are you always so rude? _No one had ever asked him that; no one had had the nerve to. He had been surprised and, by the expression on her face, she had been as well.

He had avoided her questions afterwards, content with merely gazing at her. Her jeans had stuck to her skin, her light jacket had been soaked through. Her long, dark hair was plastered to her head and shoulders, and she had to constantly swipe it away from her eyes. Her skin had been soaking wet, her lips almost purple from the chill. She was beautiful, even then...he had wanted nothing more than to wrap his coat around her, warm her with his embrace...but he had restrained himself...

She had commented on his music, and he had felt pride well within himself that his angel thought he played beautifully. He had seen some far off emotion appear in her eyes and disappear just as quickly. He closed his eyes has he recalled the feeling of her hand in his for that brief moment...She had been so kind...so trusting...

So foolish...

He could have strangled the young girl for being outside so late at night. Didn't she know there was a killer on campus? Didn't she know that her life could have been over that very night? How did she know that he wasn't the killer? He clenched his fists at the thought of Christine at the hands of the monster he was hunting...he had cut their exchange short, wanting nothing more than for her to return to the safety of her dorm. Yet he could not help the last comment he had made to her before he faded into the shadows. He had watched her as a frown marred her face, watched as she searched for him in the darkness. He knew she would never find him...he was good at being a ghost...

He followed her to her dorm, careful to stay behind her and hidden, wanting only to keep her safe. He had searched around them, his eyes open for a sign of someone who should not be there...He had been relieved when she entered her living quarter and headed up to her room.

Sighing, he turned to face his own living quarter. Once again, he had retreated to his solitude. While so many others lived their lives above, in the company of friends and family, drinking and partying, he stayed below, hiding from the world that had showed him no compassion in his youth...

Kicking off his boots, he pulled off his gloves as he made his way to the bed that lay against the wall. He stopped just before it, and with hesitant hands, drew off the mask that hid his deformation. His fingers gently traced his distortions, and he felt disgust towards himself. Would she have been so trusting if he had been without his mask tonight? Would she have grasped his hand and smiled at him so gently if she knew what lied beneath that black leather?

With a surge of anger, he tossed the mask onto the bedside table. Shedding his shirt (A.N. Just a moment to dwell.../sigh/ Alright...back to the story.), he flopped down onto the coverlet, closing his eyes as he sunk into the mattress. The world had been cruel to him...At first sight of the mask on his face, people had turned their backs, reluctant to even glance at someone so different...his own mother had never touched him unless it was to beat him...No one had showed him compassion...

No one except Christine...

As sleep slowly overtook him, the image of his chocolate haired angel filled his mind, and later that night, his dreams.

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Wa-la! Third chapter is done! Oh, and guess what! While I was writing this, my friend Naomi called and told me that she had something for me...guess what it is...SHE GOT ME A POTO MOVIE POSTER! AHHH! I'm so excited! so please...share in my excitement and review this chapter...please please please? I heart you all!


	5. The Competition

Chapter Four 

Holy Weasel Muffins! I got reviews! Ahhh! Thank you so much to everyone who was kind enough to review, and to all those who read my story and didn't...I love you all! And thanks for the condolences...you guys have no idea how much it means...So yeah...been going nuts over here, pulling my hair out to make this chapter explosive...I'm not sure it it worked...hopefully it did. Man..yeah..totally babbling. But I am drugged up on cold medicine...that's right...the dreaded cold bug got me...it's horrible. But hey...could be worse...I could not have any Gerard movies to watch...Speaking of...I rented Reign of Fire the other night and got to watch it today...ahhh! Talk about thick Scottish accent and just plain old hott! I suggest all you Gerry fans watch it...but pack tissues...Well...here's the next chapter...enjoy!

_0000000 _

_A Thrill of Hope _

_Chapter Four_

_"The Competition"_

Christine awoke the next morning, her mind full of thoughts of her midnight encounter with the strange pianist...Erik. For some reason she just couldn't get him out of her mind. How had he known about her? That she sang? Who exactly was he?

Thoughts such as these plagued her mind as she went through her day. Why couldn't she stop thinking about the masked musician with the velvety voice and hands that could create music like she'd only heard once in her life? Why did he hide behind the black leather? Was he scarred? Burned? Could he be hiding from someone? Did he never want someone to know him? He had said he enjoyed being alone...Was he a robber? Or was he--

"Miss Daae!"

Christine looked up at the mention of her name and her eyes met the impatient gaze of her vocal professor. Professor Reyer stood before his podium, fingers tapping its surface rapidly. He was a short man, well into his years of life, his thinning hair on each side of his head sticking out like Albert Einstien. It was peppered with specks of gray, as was his thin mustache. His designer suit hung from his thin frame.

"Yes, Professor Reyer," Christine asked.

"Miss Daae, you are Rochelle, and your aria is up. Would you please grace us with a song or would you prefer to merely sit and dream?"

Christine shook her head and climbed to her feet, ignoring the few snickers from the back of the room. She walked to the small platform that stood before Professor Reyer and turned to face him, hands clasped nervously in front of her.

"From the beginning of the aria then, madameselle," Reyer said, raising his hands to signal the pianist at his side. At Christine's nod, he lowered them, and the music filled the room.

At the first note, Christine pictured her father's face in her mind's eye and let the music lead her voice to him.

_In this world you'll have trouble _

_But I seem to be missing it all..._

As her aria went on, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and a chill ran down her spine. What was that...that feeling? It felt as if someone was looking straight into her soul...deep into the dark places of her being that no one had ventured into but her...who was watching her? Who studied her so intently? Thoughts running crazily through her head, she stumbled in the chorus. Quickly she righted herself, pushing the feeling and thoughts aside even as she felt the blush creep to her cheeks. _Keep your mind on the song, Chris_...

She sighed in relief when the music ended and Reyer gently clapped his hands. "Bravo, mam'selle, bravo. Lovely as always...though I would practice more towards the last chorus...wouldn't want a slight slip-up like that on opening night, my dear," the old man said with an affectionate smile. Christine smiled and nodded to him before stepping off the podium. "Well, that concludes rehearsals for today...enjoy your night, and do be careful, all of you."

Mindless chatter and the scraping of chairs on linoleum filled the room soon after. As she walked to her seat to gather her bag, Christine's eyes searched the large auditorium out, searching for anyone who was not usually in attendance; anyone who could have brought that feeling out in her. A flash of movement caught her eye, and her gaze traveled to one of the balconey seats in the back of the room just in time to see a flurry of black quickly disappear behind the curtain. She sqiunted. _What in the world..._

"Christine!"

She jumped at the exclamation of her name and the gentle hand on her shoulder. She whirled around to see the bright face of Meg Giry. She sighed, bringing a hand to her chest and smiling. "Meg...you scared the life out of me. Where did you come from?"

The blonde haired ballet dancer grinned. "Dance class with Maman...that's why I'm sweating like a pig...Christine, what is it? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

Her friend's words struck a chord, and suddenly Christine remembered when else she had had that feeling. _Last night...with Erik...he stared at me as if he could see straight into my soul...but...why would he sneak in here to hear me sing..._ "Uh...it's nothing, Meg...still just a bit startled is all."

"OH...I'm sorry, Chris...I didn't realize you were so out there." Her eyes traveled to the back of the room, and a grin appeared on her face. "Carlotta is scowling at you again."

Christine returned the grin quickly and glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, there was the big haired prima donna with her group of lapdogs in the corner, that so familiar scowl on her too tanned face. Carlotta Guidicelli had been giving Christine this kind of treatment since she arrived: cold shoulder, murderous glances, evil scowls. Meg had told her that before she had come, Carlotta had reigned in the vocal major--yet how with her nails-on-a-chalkboard voice was beyond anyone. Honestly, Christine had had no original problem with Carlotta. But soon after truly seeing her personality and manners, she quickly grew to dislike the girl.

She turned back to Meg and giggled. "Too bad her face doesn't stick that way," Meg said. "It would be an improvement."

Christine smiled and let her mouth fall open. Smacking her friend across the arm, she laughed. "Meg, that was cruel!"

"You know it's true, Chris," the blonde replied, watching as Carlotta and her "friends"--if you could even call them that--herded out of the auditorium. "She's been cold as ice since we got here...I mean, she was mean when I was here before, but since you came and stole the lead role right from under her nose, she's turned into Cybil Shepard!" Both girls laughed as they left the auditorium, Christine glancing over her shoulder, up into the that balconey seat...

00000000

Erik stared at Christine's retreating back, trying to push down the feeling of despair that she was no longer in the same room with him. What was the matter with him? Never before had he ever had feelings of this nature for someone...not since Luciana...

His heart clenched at the thought of Luciana, and he shook his head slightly, ridding his mind of it.

He looked once again to the now empty doorway of the auditorium. Christine...

Her voice still echoed in his ears; her face, so full of passion, was burned into his mind's eye.

He'd snuck into the auditorium once again to watch the brown haired angel sing. He watched as she sat unmoving in her chair, eyes glazed over as she was deep in thought...what had occupied her mind so? His heart had raged in anger at the cluster of girls in the back who snickered at her distraction, yet it had quickly dissipated when she rose to her feet and stood upon the podium. As the music began, he leaned forward in his seat, eyes fixed on the girl before him. Her voice surrounded him; filled his very being. It was perfect...the melody, the pitch, the volume...the only thing lacking was the emotion. _Oh, Christine...why do you try so hard? Don't you know that emotion can only come naturally? You can't force passion into your voice..._

Her eyes had traveled around the room as she sang, searching for something. He slid deeper into the darkness, avoiding her eyes at any cost. She faltered in the chorus, and he felt a smile creep across his face. She knew he was here...or at least_someone _was here. She caught herself quickly, averting her eyes and concentrating on the music. Eric had chuckled softly. _Never allow yourself to get distracted, Christine_...

Her aria ended, and the class dispersed. She dawdled at her seat, eyes still searching the room, and he started when they reached the balconey. He quickly raced from her line of vision, hissing in anger at having been so close to being caught. He waited several moments before glancing back to the door...she had disappeared...

So now here he stood, staring at the empty auditorium where the vision of beauty had stood only moments before. _Christine Daae...has an angel truly been sent here..._

_Ring._

Erik started, then caught himself when he realized the sound that had echoed was the ringing of his cell phone. Sighing, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the small black phone. Glancing at the caller ID, his heart stopped.

_Giry._

Antoinette only called him for one thing...But it wasn't possible...Katie Kelly been killed only days ago...He shut his eyes in dread as he raised the phone to his ear. "Yes?"

"Erik...there's been another one," Antoinette's monotone voice replied.

He sighed. "He's breaking the routine." It wasn't a question.

"No, Erik," she said. "He's not." Erik's eyes searched the room, waiting for her to continue. She only sighed in the silence. "Perhaps you should come to the weightroom and see for yourself."

000000

"Have you heard about the family giving the grant to the school?"

Christine glanced at Meg as they walked to the dorms. "I heard a mention of it. Why are they doing it again?"

The blonde shrugged. "I'm not really sure. Maman only said that they are interested in the Arts. Big fans of dancing and stuff like that. They heard that our school had a great Arts program and came to see a couple performances. I guess they were impressed. They met with the dean and everything. They're supposed to be here today, I think, checking out the campus and stuff." She grinned over at her friend. "I hear they've got two sons..."

Christine glared at her friend. "Meg...don't start."

Meg held out her hands. "What? I'm just saying...you haven't even showed interest in anybody since you got back. I don't who the guy was that broke your heart in England, Chris, but...come on...you've gotta get back in the game sometime. What are you going to do? Become a nun?" Christine only looked at the ground and continued walking. "Christine! Tell me you aren't considering becoming a nun!"

Christine laughed and looked up at her friend. "No, Meg, of course not. Life without a wardrobe? That's a fate worse than death." Meg sighed in relief and gently smacked her friend. "It's just...hard, Meg. Growing up with my aunt meant strick living conditions. You lived next door. You know. She believed dating would only lead to premartial relations and the last thing she wanted was 'a little hellion running around her house.'" She sighed. "I never got to date, and no one wanted to date me...I was the weird orphan with the psychotic aunt who was paranoid about everything that moved. I wasn't like you, Meg...I didn't have boys knocking down my door." She looked over at the blonde. "And then I went to England for school...and no one knew me. No one thought I was weird because of Aunt Josephine. Raoul was the first guy to ever pay attention to me in a more than friendly way. And...when he told me that he didn't see a future for us...it was like throwing me back into the past." Her eyes once more dropped to the ground. "It's just hard imagining opening up to someone else."

Meg watched Christine with a heartbreaking expression. She had forgotten how hard it had been for Christine growing up...and it was true. She had never had any trouble in the relationship area. Who was she to tell her best friend when to move on? "Oh, Chrissy...I feel lousy now."

Christine grinned. "Don't, Meggers. It's no big deal. I know that I have to move on sooner or later. You're just being a friend...don't beat yourself up." Sighing, she adjusted the bag on her shoulder. "Raoul de Chagny is just a hard act to forget."

Meg stopped in her tracks, eyes wide as her memory clicked. _Raoul de Chagny...de Chagny...why didn't that register before?_

Christine stopped and turned around, concern etched on her face. "Meg? Are you okay?"

The blonde ballet dancer shook herself out of her reverie, plastering a smile on her face. "Uh...yeah. I'm fine, Christine. Just...uh...just remembering something Maman asked me to do later. It slipped my mind completely."

Christine smiled. "Well, it's a good thing you remembered, then. You mom would kill you if you forgot to do something." A commotion behind them caused her to turn, and she watched as the Dean of the school and the head of the administrative board spoke ferventaly to a group of people behind them. "Hey...is that the family that's giving the grant?"

Meg looked where Christine pointed, and once more her eyes widened. "Uh...yeah. It is."

"Well, should we go and say hi? Being in the arts program and everything?"

"Um...I guess." Christine turned to go, and Meg's hand shot out, grasping her friend's wrist. "Christine! Wait...uh...I have to tell you something." Her brown haired friend stopped and stared at her, waiting. "The, um...the family that's giving the grant..."

She nodded. "Yeah?"

Meg swallowed hard, twirling a strand of blonde hair between her fingers. "Chris...the family...it's the de Chagny family."

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"And if you look this way, you will see our art studio, where the works of our painters and sculpers are kept. I don't believe a class is in progress at the moment, so we would be more than happy to show you inside," Dean LeFevre said, smiling as he motioned to the large building on the right. "Our art students are the next greatest artists of the world, I must say. Some of them could very well rival Picasso."

Phillip de Chagny smiled. "I would like to see that."

"Of course, Monsier," LeFevre said. "Andre...if you would please?" He said to his companion. "I do believe that the doors are kept locked when class is not in session." He held out a ring of keys, and Monsier Andre took them in an instant. The man hurried to unlock the doors, leaving LeFevre to his guests. "I must admit, Monsier...the arrival of you and your family here could not have come at a better time."

Richard de Chagny smiled. "Really? And why is that," he asked, wrapping his arm around his wife's waist.

"Well, I'm afraid our last grant ran out quite faster than what we expected. And what with the new students we recieve constantly with talents beyond comparison...it was only a matter of time before we would have had to turn some away."

Elaina de Chagny smiled softly. "Well...I believe that will not happen now. I have been rather impressed with what I have seen so far, and I do believe my husband and sons share the same enthusiasm. Philip has always loved art, and Raoul always found dancing quite enjoyable."

Philip smirked as he leaned next to his brother. "But, perhaps, not as enjoyable as some dancers." He dodged his brother's punch to the arm, and they both straightened before they caught attention.

LeFevre grinned and looked at Raoul. "Oh, then you will be glad to know that our dancing department is exceptional! Madame Giry is a splendid teacher, and her own daughter is quickly rising in her talent. I will be sure to introduce you to them." He glanced over his shoulder and his smile grew. "Well, speak of the devil! If it isn't young Meg Giry herself. And one of our newest talents as well!" He led them over to where two girls stood close to each other, whispering frantically. "Marguirite?" The girls jumped apart at the dean's voice, and he smiled. "My dear patrons, may I introduce Marguirite Giry, our finest dancer here, and Christine Daae, our new vocalist extraordinair."

"Christine?"

LeFevre turned at the sound of the youngest son's voice. "You know Miss Daae?"

Raoul de Chagny looked between the old man and the young brunette who stood before him. _My, God...can this girl get any prettier?_

"Why, Christine! This is quite the surprise," Elaina exclaimed. She turned to LeFevre and smiled. "Monsier LeFevre, we knew Christine when she still attended school in England. We weren't aware she had transferred here."

"Ah, of course," LeFevre remarked. "I had nearly forgotten...yes, we nabbed young Christine the moment we heard her sing."

Throughout the entire exchange, Christine had stood rooted to her spot, heart beat thundering in her ears. Her knees shook and her palms were soaked in sweat. Raoul...why on earth did it have to be Raoul? Out of all the rich families in the world, the de Chagny's had to be the grant givers...and now he stood before her, eyes boring into hers, and she felt as if she was once more in the cafe in England, listening as the man before her broke her heart.

"Her voice always was exceptional," Richard proclaimed, smiling at Christine from under his mustache. "Always knocked our socks off when she sang."

"She still has that effect, Monsier," Andre announced as he appeared beside them, keys in hand. "Everyone is looking forward to her opening night next month."

Richard once more smiled. "We will have to be sure to catch that performance then."

Christine smiled uncertainly at him, wanting to be anywhere but there--with Raoul. _Oh, please let a hole open up under my feet..._, she thought miserably. Avoiding Raoul's gaze was proving to be harder with each passing moment.

"We will be sure to reserve seats for you," LeFevre announced. "Now...if you would please follow me, I will show you the--"

"Before we get on to that, Dean, I have been meaning to talk with you about the unfortunate murders that have taken place on your campus," Richard stated.

The dean was caught off guard, and he stumbled on his words as he replied. "The, uh...murders. Of course, Monsier de Chagny...I was waiting for that to come up. However...I don't believe discussing the details and progress of the investigation in front of these girls is such a good idea."

"OH, that's no problem, Dean LeFevre," Meg's high pitched voice answered. "Christine and I were just returning to our dorms anyway...We should just...ya know...keep on going. Uh...it was an honor to meet you," she said, smiling at the de Changy's. They returned her smile as she gripped Christine's hand and pulled her away. "Oh, God, Chris, I'm so sorry!"

"Why didn't you tell me that it was Raoul's family, Meg," Christine asked harshly.

Meg winced. "Chris, I am so sorry. It never registered with me until you mentioned Raoul's last name again...if it had, I would have told you so much sooner. I didn't expect them to actually confront us." She looked over at her friend's weary face. "Are you okay?"

Before she could reply, Christine felt a hand on her shoulder. She whirled around only to look up into the face of Raoul de Chagny. "Raoul," she said softly.

"Christine...," he replied. He looked over at Meg. "Miss Giry? It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Raoul de Chagny...we didn't get a chance back there." He held out his hand and Meg took it hesitantly. "Chris has talked about you before. It's nice to finally put a name with the face." He looked over at Christine once more. "Christine...uh...could we talk for a minute?"

"I...I really have to get back, Raoul."

"Yeah..I know. It will only take a sec. Please?"

Christine looked over at Meg and saw her friend's questioning expression: _Want me to help get you outta this? _She sighed and said, "Meg...I'll meet you at the dorm." Meg glanced at Raoul before nodding to Christine. She waved her hand in farewell and turned on her heel, walking up the path towards the dorms. Christine turned once more to Raoul, pushing a large strand of curls behind her ears.

"It's good to see you again, Chris," he said softly. She looked up at him. "And I guess the feeling is one-sided."

"It is."

He laughed. "Okay...well, that was certainly subtle...but, I suppose I deserve that, huh?" When she said nothing, he sighed. "Look, Chris...about the last time we saw each other..."

"I really don't think we need to talk about this, Raoul...what's done is done, right?" She kept her gaze on the ground, knowing that she would be ruined if she met his eyes.

"Christine...I know I was horrible to you in England, and I'm sorry for that. I was a jerk."

"That's an understatement," Christine muttered.

"Once again...I deserve that. But...I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for a year and a half. Chris...I'd...I'd really like a second chance." He watched as she met his eyes for the first time, and saw the hesitation in them. "Look, why don't we just have coffee or something. Just as friends, nothing more. We'll just catch up. Honest...I just want to hang out with you again. Please?"

Christine searched his face, looking for any signs that he might be using a line or pulling her chain. She saw nothing. She sighed, looking away and into the crowd of students. Her head told her to forget it, move on and don't look back. Her heart told her to give it a shot; could he hurt her worse? _I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place now_, she thought. She looked back at him.

"Please, Christine...as friends. Nothing more."

She sighed. "I guess coffee will be alright...but just as friends, Raoul."

Raoul smiled brightly. "That's all I'm asking, Chris. Do you have a way for me to get a hold of you?"

"Um...why not just meet tomorrow at the Java hut here on campus?" At his look, she shrugged. "It's too soon for that, Raoul. Let's just get through coffee."

Raoul nodded. "Fair enough, Christine. I'll see you tomorrow...Noonish?" At her nod, he smiled. "Alright...see you then." He paused. "It was good to see you again." Christine nodded and watched his retreating back. Sighing, she tightened her grip on her bag's handle and turned around. _What have I gotten myself into? _Running a hand through her curly hair, she walked up the path towards her dorm, thoughts of what had just happened running around in her head.

She was jerked out of her thoughts, however, when she came to a large crowd gathered around the weightroom. Curiosity peaked, she wandered over to the crowd, attempting to peer over the many heads, but failing miserably. Turning to a redheaded girl beside her, she asked, "What's going on?"

The redhead turned towards her, and Christine recognized her as a girl from her dance class. "They found the body of Johnny Long in the weightroom this morning." Christine looked at her in shock. "He was like, strangled with a weight cord or something. I don't know. They're saying it might have been the freak who's been killing girls around here."

"Oh my God...," Christine murmured. She watched as four uniformed policemen ran into the building, walkie-talkies squaking loudly in incoherent phrases. "Poor Johnny..."

An officer walked out of the building, face grave as he turned to face the crowd. "Folks! I'm going to have to ask you to disperse immediately so our crime scene investigators can work in peace. I advise you all to please return to your dorms or head off immediately to your classes. Please, folks...nothing to see here."

The crowd murmured loudly as they all departed, the rumors circulating already. Christine turned to leave, and did a double take as her eyes fell on a departing figure. "Erik," she yelled, increasing her pace to catch up with the masked man from the night before. "Erik, hey! Wait up!"

Erik pretended to ignore the voice that called to him, wanting to avoid the confrontation altogether. He cursed inwardly when he felt dainty fingers grap his elbow. He turned around to look down into the angelic face of Christine. "Christine," he said in greeting, shaking free of her grasp and continuing on his way. Her light footsteps followed his, and he cursed once again.

"Erik...what are you doing here? I mean...you said you like privacy. A crowded campus in the middle of the day isn't exactly private," Christine said. "Did you hear about what happened?"

"It's hard not to hear about it, Christine," he replied shortly.

"Hey...ya know...this is probably a stupid question, but...um...were you by any chance in the auditorium today? In a balconey," she asked nervously, regretting the words the minute they were said.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well...I don't know. I just...I thought I saw someone and...," she trailed off. _And what? You don't even know if anyone was in the balcony. It could have been your eyes playing tricks on you._

At her side, Erik smirked. "It was me, Christine." She looked at him. "I was curious as to your talent. I wanted to see for myself."

She smiled, pleased that she could arouse his curiousity so much. "And?"

"And I've heard better."

She snapped her gaze to him, shocked. "Excuse me?"

"I don't believe I need to repeat myself, Miss Daae," he replied.

She walked faster to keep up with him. "Well, then don't. Just elaborate. What did you mean 'you heard better'? Was I really that bad?"

Erik stopped and turned to her, surprised that she could be so insulted by a simple reply. _Then again, she does try so hard...Perhaps it was wrong to speak my mind. _"You were perfect, Christine. Perfect pitch, volume, perfect everything." She stared at up him, her eyes urging him to continue. "It's the emotion in your voice, Christine," he said softly. "There isn't any."

"Wh...what?"

"You almost seem to try too hard...emotion cannot be forced, Christine. It has to come from within."

She was silent a long moment before she looked up at him once more. "You sing too, huh?" He stared. "I'm not surprised...a lot of poeple who play intruments so well sing too." She looked down at her shoes, an idea forming in her head. _Would it be stupid to ask_, she thought. _I mean...I only met the guy last night...but...it never hurts to try. _"Would you teach me then?"

Erik looked down at her, confusion etched on his face. "What?"

She blushed, pushing her hair behind her ear. "You know...tutor me. Help me to get more emotion...teach me to harness it." When he remained silent, she continued. "It would mean a lot...and I can tell that you know what you're talking about. Please?"

His face was expressionless as he replied. "I appreciate the thought, Miss Daae. But no." He turned to leave, but felt those fingers on his elbow again.

"Please? I'll pay you," she said desperatley.

"NO, Miss Daae. Now let go." He jerked his arm out of her grasp and walked away quickly.

Christine stared at his retreating back, hurt written evidently on her face. Why had he turned her down so completely? He said it herself--she had talent. Why--if he was so good to point it out--did he not want to help her improve it? Sighing in defeat, she turned to leave, then gasped as she ran head on into someone. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, looking up into the man's face.

The man smiled down at her, reaching down to pick up the book she dropped and handing it back to her. "No problem. You looked distracted. It happens," he said smoothly. "Is everything okay? You look a little upset."

A chill ran down her spine as he smiled down at her, and she gripped her bag closer to her shoulder. "Uh...yeah...everything's fine...thanks." She took the book from him and clutched it to her chest. "Um...I really have to go...sorry again." She quickly manuevered around him, glancing over her shoulder as she walked away. _What was up with that?_

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Joel smiled as he watched Christine Daae leave. He had unnerved her. It was obvious to see. His eyes traveled to her backside as she hurried up the path towards the dorm.

That was fine...it only made the hunt more enjoyable...

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Erik silently made his way to his apartment below the music building, thoughts of Christine and the most recent murder in his head. Why had the boy been killed? It certainly didn't follow the cycle the killer had been using...all victims had been female, and all had been killed a month after the previous one...what had made him add Johnny Long to the victim's list? Suddenly, Erik stopped dead in his tracks as he reached his door.

Detective Richard Firmin leaned against the wall, one leg crossed behind the other, carefully inspecting his thumbnail. He looked up when Erik stopped, and a smirk graced his face. "Hello, Erik."

Erik stared at the man he had not seen in years, shocked to see him actually leaning by his door.

"I didn't feel right entering your room without you here," Firmin said. "I figured I'd wait for you to get here."

"And how would you have gotten in in the first place, Richard," Erik finally asked.

The detective smiled. "I have ways, Erik, just as you do." He straightened to his full height. "It's been quite some time. You really haven't changed much since the last time I saw you." Erik was silent as he approached, stopping at his door.

"What do you want," he demanded.

"Your help," Richard replied. "I can only assume you know about the murders. And on that assumption, I know that you are attempting to find the killer yourself." He took the other man's silence as an answer. "So, I am here to offer a partnership. Help me, and I can certainly help you."

Erik stared at him. "I work alone, Richard." He turned to enter his room.

"We worked together before, Erik...It may have been only to return a favor, but we worked together all the same."

Erik halted, his eyes glancing at the man from beneath the mask.

"I know you want to catch this guy as much as I do...two heads are better than one. What do you say?"

Erik stared at him, and Richard felt optimistic. His hope was dashed, however, when Erik opened the door and went inside, slamming the door behind him, leaving Richard to stare.

He smirked as he shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "So nice to see your people skills have improved, Erik," he shouted through the closed door. "The offer still stands...I just want you to know that." When silence only greeted him, he turned on his heels and headed up the stairs. "Guy's more anti-social than Charles Manson."

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Okay...there we go...chapter ended. Not the greatest, I don't think. I was rereading it and am not all too pleased. So, don't be surprised if it is rewritten later...I just wanted to get an update up so no one thinks I died and left you all in suspense. Please review and let me know what you think!


	6. Proposals

Chapter Five

Alright...I know. I deserve to die a horrible, slow death by spider bites and a Barney marathon...I cannot apologize enough for not updating. I don't really have much of an excuse except that I am now a senior...and senioritis has hit full on. In every aspect of my so called life, it seems. I know that this is a very very late update, and I pray that all of you faithful reviewers haven't given up on me and my story...So...thank you all so much for being so faithful, and here is the long awaited chapter five. Read and review, and I promise that since school is coming close to an end, I will keep up on updates. Enjoy!

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A Thrill of Hope

Chapter Five

"Proposals"

_All around her was darkness.  
The ropes biting into her wrists and ankles left a burning course as she struggled against them, the blindfold she wore soaking in the tears that fell from her eyes. Her quiet sobs fell on deaf ears as a sinister chuckle pierced her own._

_"There is no use struggling, Christine," his dark voice intoned. "I've been binding people for a long time. You'll never break the ropes."_

_Her struggling ceased, and she drew a shaky breath. "What do you want?" She gasped as callused fingers twirled a lock of her chestnut curls, and fear sank into her heart._

_"What do I want," he asked. "Quite simple really." Fingers tugged at the blindfold, and her heart beat raced. She felt his breath on her ear as he drew close. "Your life," he whispered, and the blindfold fell away._

_She looked up and screamed as the knife plunged down..._

Christine shot up in bed with a scream, her brown hair plastered to her face with sweat. With wide eyes she took in her surroundings. No tight ropes. No blindfold. No knife. No psychopath.

She was in her dorm, in her bed, the sheets tightened around her hips, and no face but Meg's concerned one stared at her.

"Chris," the blonde girl asked, switching on a light. "Are you okay?"

Christine squinted against the sudden brightness and drew in a shaky breath as she ran a hand through her deshevled hair. "Yeah...I'm fine, Meg." She smiled softly. "Just a bad dream." Her friend smiled.

"Yeah. With everything happening, it's no wonder." She lifted her hand to stifle a yawn. "Do you think you'll be able to get back to sleep?"

Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, Christine sighed. "No. I have to get up in about two hours anyway. I think I'll just go and grab a shower and some breakfast. You go on back to sleep, Meg."

The only response was a soft murmur from the lump of blankets on the bed next to her. Chuckling softly and shaking her head, she threw the blankets of and swung her legs over the side of her bed. She paused for an instant, listening to the soft breathing of her best friend and the quick beat of her own heart. _What a hell of a dream_, she thought to herself. _Must have been something I saw on TV._

Yet as she gathered her toiletries and headed off to the shower, she couldn't shake the feeling of dread running down her spine.

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Erik slipped down the air ducts with ease, his boots not making a sound as they hit the linoleum. His golden eyes quickly grew accustomed to the darkness of the weight room, and his gaze was drawn to the white chalk drawing that ran across one of the large weight machines. Walking silently across the room, he bent down to examine the drawing better.

The boy had been killed when exercising early, it seemed. His legs had been draped over the edge of the machine, one bent at the knee. One arm and hand had fallen limp to the floor, while the other was draped over his head, as if fighting off the killer before his life was stolen away.

Erik's eyes caught a sight swinging above him, and his gaze traveled to the severed rope.

He'd been strangled with the weight rope.

Erik brought his hand to his chin, brow furrowed. Why kill the boy? What brought about this change in MO? What satisfaction could the killer have possibly gotten by murdering a --

"I knew you would show up sooner or later," a voice behind him said. Erik stiffened, his hand dropping to his bent knee. "Firmin," he said. "Do you truly believe that you know me so well?"

The detective chuckled and light filled the room as a switch was hit. "Enough to know that you would never risk being seen in the front of a crime scene in the middle of the day, even if there are no officers around, as well as that you rarely ever use a door, therefore must find an alternate entrance."

The masked man rose to his full height as Firmin approached and turned to face his old acquaintance. The detective nodded towards the equipment. "He was killed with the rope. CSI cut it earlier and just confirmed the skin cells found on it. How on earth the killer was able to do it with those weights attached his beyond us."

Erik glanced behind him. "The weights were used as leverage." Firmin looked at him. "The rope was around his neck and as it was pulled by the killer, the weights pulled the opposite end. His neck was snapped in moments."

Firmin nodded, fighting back the urge he had to ask how he knew it so well. _Perhaps it would terrify me to learn the answer,_ he thought. He remembered well the damage the masked man could create. He'd seen it first hand, on more than one occasion. His train of thought was interrupted when the man in question spoke. "What do you want, Firmin?"

He straightened, his mind once more on the case before him. "My men and I are at a dead end, Erik. We were before, now even more so. No one on my team can crack into this lunatic's head. Even when we think we're onto something, he turns in a completely different direction." He paused. "We need your help, Erik." The masked man spun around, walking back towards the air ducts, Firmin quickly following suit. "You've done it before. You aided us in the McGregor case--"

"To return a favor," Erik interjected.

"And practically solved the case on your own. Now you are working on the same case as we are. Why not help each other? It could spare another talented young woman her life!"

At those words, Erik stopped just below the air ducts, the flawless face of Christine Daae flashing before his eyes.

Hope surged within Firmin as he watched Erik's motionless back. But the hope quickly changed into disappointment as he raised himself into the duct.

Before he completely disapperead into the darkness above, Firmin heard his echoed response of "I'll consider it."

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"Can I get you a refill, my dear?"

Christine looked up at the old woman holding a coffee pot and smiled softly. "Yes, please," she said, lifting her mug from the table. She waited until the woman refilled Raoul's mug before lifting her own to her lips and taking a sip. Swallowing the hot liquid, she raised her brown eyes to the man sitting across the small table.

"So...um...how did your family get involved with the University? If I remember right, your parents don't usually do the whole grant thing," she asked, finally breaking the silence. Raoul smiled and lowered his mug.

"Phil and Dad saw an opera show that the school put on. They were real blown away and got to talking to some of the administration. Dad found out about the money thing and talked to Mom. She was just thrilled he and Phil were branching out in their money deposits."

Christine smiled, recalling a few of their others. She never thought she'd ever forget Madame DeChagny's face when she found out about the dating service- which turned out to be an escort service-, or the animal training facility- which turned out to be a race track.

"So they met with all the big wigs and proposed the grant. It was accepted readily, and here we are." He watched as her small hands brought the mug to her lips. "I had no idea you were here, Christine." Brown eyes met his. "I tried looking for you after I graduated a few months ago, but they said you'd transferred. I wanted to see you." He paused. "I missed you, Chris."

Christine ran a hand through her hair. "Raoul, I thought we weren't going to talk about this."

Raoul nodded. "Yeah, I know, but I can't help it. I missed you. I'd almost given up before I saw you at the campus...you look good, Chris. Beautiful." She lowered her gaze to the table top and traced the several ring stains there with her finger. "Look, i nkow that I was a jerk. A huge one. But it was stupid. Senior stupiditis...isn't that what you said all of us seniors suffered from?" He saw a smile tugging at her lips and he grinned. "Come on, Chris. You always said you believed in second chances and that everyone should be allowed one. How about giving me mine?"

Christine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I don't know," she said, raising her head to look at him. "You really hurt me Raoul. You were the hardest thing to try to get over."

His face fell at her words. "So...you're over me?"

She smiled softly. "I said 'try.' I honestly thought I was until I saw you the other day. Then I realized I wasn't."

The smile that used to steal her breath away appeared once more. "Well, the same goes for me. Christine...I'm really sorry for the way I treated you. I really am. And I really want to give it another shot. I now we can make it work this time. Please, Chris?" he took her hand in his. "I swear that I won't hurt you again."

Her pulse thundering in her ears, she looked at their joined hands. "YOu promise?" He nodded and squeezed her hand. She sighed and smiled at him. "One more chance."

Raoul laughed and brought her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

Today was a good day.

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Today was a bad day.

That's what Angelina Johansson thought as she watched her brother drag another unconcious girl to the basement of their 3 story house. It was a very bad day. She could tell by his stature. And, of course, by the large bruise covering her left cheek.

Something had set him off today. Something he had seen that afternoon had sparked his temper like she'd never seen before. She had merely asked him what was bothering him when his fist swung around and knocked her to the ground. He had that look in his eyes and stormed away, leaving her sprawled on the kitchen floor. Upon hearing him returning that night, she ran behind the banister, hiding herself from his as well as she could. And there she still was.

"Angie," Joel yelled, now coming up the stairs. "Ang, where are you?"

Angelina closed her green eyes and rested her forehead against the banister. He sounded like her big brother again. There was no anger in his voice; no warning of the danger that was to come. Just curisosity and worry as to where she was. Taking a deep breath, she rose to her feet and walked towards him. "Here I am."

He turned to her and his eyes traveled to her cheek. Pain etched itself into his face. "Oh, Ang...Ang, I'm so sorry," he said, walking towards her. His fingers traced the discolored skin and she flinched. "Angie, you know how I get. You aren't supposed to even be near me then."

Angelina nodded, a strand of bleached blond hair falling over her forehead. "I know," she whispered.

"Fingers grasped her chin and tilted her face upwards. She gazed into the face of the brother she loved...and the killer she feared. "Hey...I'm doing it all for you. You know that." She nodded. "Don't worry...it's almost over. Alright?" She nodded again, tears slipping from her eyes. "Hey...I Love you, Angie." He enveloped her in his arms, pulling her against his chest.

Angelina wrapped her arms around his back, burying her face against his shoulder. "I know .And I love you too," she whispered. "I really do...I love you, Joel."

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Alright! Chapter five is up, and chapter six is almost done! Once again, I am so very very sorry that my senioritis affected my updating times...I am very very sorry! Ahhh! I"m supid! SO please, don't give up on me and review...I will have the next chapter up as soon as I can! Until next time!


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Phantom of the Opera, Romance