Disclaimer: I never tire of playing with these most beloved, fascinating characters, finding new plots for them to be involved in. For the pleasure of this activity I must thank Leroux, as well as Webber and Kay...Most of all, my sincere thanks to Gerry Butler, who inspired this particular tale...

Chapter 17: At The Gates Of Death

As the coach neared their destination, Erik felt his beloved Christine stir in his arms. When he looked down at her, he saw that her lips were moving, soundlessly. Her eyes, however, remained closed.

Buquet noticed as well, and leaned toward Erik and the young woman protectively ensconced in his arms.

"What is it, Monsieur?" He inquired with some anxiety.

Erik tried to smile reassuringly at Buquet, but found he could not. Indeed, his heart had begun to pound in a rather alarming fashion. Christine, he well knew, would be furious when she awoke. Who could fault her? Even though she loved him, she could not possibly enjoy the idea of being so precipitously forced into marriage.

"She is beginning to awaken, Monsieur Buquet, " Erik whispered, hoping that she would really not, as yet.

And then Christine sighed, moving sinuously against Erik. He smiled sheepishly in the darkness, glad that Buquet could not see the instant effect this movement had sparked in him.

Then Christine opened her eyes.

Erik fruitlessly attempted to stifle a groan. He had hoped she would remain unconscious at least until he could get her into the little chapel...

"What...Where? Am I...Papa!"

"Shhh...no, my love, it is your Angel of Music. Relax, beloved, for you have nothing to fear."

"Erik?" Her eyes turned upward, seeking his.

In answer, he bent his face down to hers, and lightly touched his lips to her own.

"Oh...Erik..." She stirred against him once more, and eagerly returned his kiss.

Erik, truly smiling now, gently lowered the arms that had already begun to reach for him, however weakly.

"No, no, my sweet, wait...Let me carry you out. You are apparently still half asleep."

Gathering her firmly into his arms, he carefully stepped out of the coach. Buquet hastily stepped out on the other side.

Christine, still weak from the effects of the chloroform, was limp in the Phantom's arms. Erik frowned, now beginning to worry. He had researched this drug. It had recently come into use as an anesthetic during surgery, and very successfully so. Had he given her too much? He would never forgive himself if he had.

He turned to Buquet, who now came around the coach, and was walking toward them. His face, barely visible in the dim moonlight, showed obvious dismay.

"Where have you brought us, Erik?" His voice was full of awe and dread as he looked about him.

Erik reluctantly brought his eyes up from Christine's face. He was not at all surprised by the man's reaction, for strange, fearful shapes loomed a few feet ahead of them, made even more terrifying by the moon's gloomy light. A fence of black iron spikes surrounded the shapes, and there was a formidably huge gate in the very center of it, before which Erik and Buquet stood. To Buquet's alarm, the gates were wide open, as if their arrival had been expected.

They were standing in front of a cemetery.

"What place is this, Monsieur?" Buquet now demanded, his anger overcoming his obvious fear. "What do you plan to do with my niece?"

"Please calm yourself, Monsieur Buquet. There is nothing to fear. The chapel is on the other side of the cemetey, but that way is currently impassable."

"Why?" Buquet had drawn closer now, and Erik noticed immediately that his right hand had drifted dangerously close to the right pocket of his trousers.

"There was a fire in the adjacent rectory, and the rubble has not yet been cleared away. We must enter through the cemetery, unfortunately. I am quite sorry, Monsieur, but there is no other way."

"Erik...never have I known you to lie to me, but these are extraordinary circumstances! You would do anything to make Christine yours, would you not? What sort of marriage ceremony do you have in mind? Might it be one performed in hell?"

At the mention of her name, Christine stirred again.

"Erik, what is it? Where are we?"

"Hush, my beloved...All is well. We shall be wed, as soon as Monsieur Buquet calms down."

Turning to Christine's uncle, he now said, "I realize this entrance looks extremely forbidding, sir, but I assure you, no harm shall befall your niece. If you will simply follow me..."

"Niece? What in heaven's name are you talking about, Erik?" Christine began to struggle in his arms. "Put me down! What are you...Why are you carrying me? Where are we?"

"All in good time, my dear," Erik soothed her, as, turning away from Buquet, he stepped toward the cemetery entrance.

"Monsieur Le Fantôme! You shall not take another step!"

Erik half-turned toward the irate Buquet. "Do you mean to shoot me, sir, with your niece in my arms?" he inquired calmly.

Buquet was livid with rage. "How dare you imply that I would harm my own niece! Set her down at once, so that I may deal with you, man to man!"

Erik carefully lowered his sweet burden to the ground, but he steadied her with a gentle arm about her shoulders. She looked up at him quizzically for a moment, then frowned.

"Erik...can you please explain to me what is happening here? We were in The Tuileries, were we not? Where are we now? And why is Monsieur Buquet here with us, wherever 'here' is?"

Suddenly she gasped. "I remember now! You...you...drugged me, Erik! You...you...!" She took two steps away from him, and he made no move to drag her back to his side, but stood unmoving, looking at her with all the longing he was capable of.

"Christine, let me explain...," he began, knowing it was fruitless.

"I see," she retorted, as her own anger now rose. "You would now like me to extend you the courtesy of listening to your explanation! Well, I think there is no need for one. You have abducted me! You have taken me away from everything I love, and against my will! To what end, sir?"

Stepping further away from him, she began to take in her surroundings, looking about her wildly.

"What place is this? A...cemetery?"

"Christine!" Erik pleadingly held a hand out to her. "I beg you...do not be afraid! Beyond this place of Death lies the gateway to our happiness! Trust me, and come with me!"

"Do not listen to him, Christine! At last I see that he is truly a madman! Come over to me, and we shall return to the Opera House!" Buquet beckoned to her with his left hand, while he kept the pistol aimed at Erik with his right.

Christine glanced over at him. "Why are you here, Monsieur Buquet? Why should I trust you? What is your part in all this?"

Buquet sighed patiently, a strange thing, under the circumstances. "I feel responsible for your welfare, since I am...your uncle, my dear."

"You are what?" Christine felt a sudden wave of shock sweep through her. She turned from one man to the other. Whom could she trust now?

"It is true, my love, " Erik said, softly. Then, as if he had read her thoughts, he added, "You may trust either one of us, for we both have your best interests at heart. In this instance, however, he intends to take you away from me. He does mean well, but I am taking you to Paradise, if you will trust me."

She shook her head, bewilderment taking the place of shock. "What do you mean, Erik? What Paradise do you speak of? We are at the entrance to a cemetery!"

"My love..." he whispered with all the love that dwelt in his soul, as he dared to take a step toward her. "There is a chapel on the other side of the cemetery. We are to be married there. A priest awaits us even now..."

"Married? Erik, what madness is this? You are forcing me to marry you? Why are you taking from me what I would have given you of my own free will?"

"I know, my sweet...it was a cowardly action on my part...I feared to lose you to another..."

"Ah, I understand...you are speaking of the Vicomte, are you not?"

He nodded, lowering his head. "I suppose I have now instead succeeded in throwing you into his arms..."

"No, Erik...that is not so...but...you have asked me to trust you. Why have you not trusted me? Why have you taken this drastic step?"

Now she turned toward the silent, but vigilant, Buquet. "Why have you accompanied us, Monsieur Buquet? And what is this tale that you are my...uncle?"

Sighing, he replied, "It is quite true, Mademoiselle. I had never made myself known to you, because I was afraid you would not want such an uncle. I am your father's bastard brother, never mentioned in the family. Furthermore...I have a murder on my soul..."

He was most unexpectedly interrupted by the clatter of approaching horse's hooves. Then a harsh shout rang out.

"Christine! Step away from that man at once!"

It was the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.