To my dear readers:

I crave your indulgence in sifting through the beginning of this rather stale and crusty story. My writing style has changed quite a bit over the last four years (have we really been writing this for that long? Thank goodness it's only been on this site for two!) and, hopefully, has improved quite a bit, too. As we move forward with the story, I intend to go back and edit the older bits (as I desperately wish my 15 year old self had had a little bit more sense of character development. Or character in general.) and hopefully bring them up to scratch. It was not my intention to add another Mary-Sue fic to this site, and I firmly intend to uphold that promise by editing the crap out of what had once been the best thing I had ever written.

I remain your obedient (or... like... not) author,

Kit.

To my dear readers:

What she said.

~Beth

Chapter 1

Katherine eased the small boat under the grate and motioned her friend forward. Belle followed her under the iron bars, carefully avoiding their sharp ends, and the two resurfaced just past the barrier.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Belle whispered anxiously.

"Yes, of course it is," Katherine replied. "I haven't been sneaking around down here during performances for nothing. The water gets pretty deep up ahead, so be careful."

Belle shivered and took a shaky step forward. She wasn't the best swimmer and the green colored water didn't look very inviting. Even in the dim light of the cavern, something horrible and stringy could be seen floating in it, just waiting for a chance to wrap its slimy form around an unwanted guest.

That was absurd, Belle told herself. The algae couldn't be on his side, too. Although rumor had it, the Phantom could make strange things happen with seemingly harmless objects…

"Belle, don't be frightened. You still like the vicomte, don't you?"

Belle nodded with feeling and thought of all the money she'd scrimped and saved to attend the operas ever since the Vicomte de Chagny became patron of the Populaire, only to find out that he was secretly engaged to Christine Daae. She swallowed her fears, taking special care to ignore the slimy water plants, and went waist deep into the discolored liquid.

"What I don't understand is how you went exploring in the Phantom's lair without getting caught," Belle remarked, flicking an unidentifiable bug off her arm.

"Oh, it's very simple," Katherine shrugged. "Like I said I only come during performances and I try not to touch anything. So even if Erik was looking for evidence of a girl digging around his lair, (which is probably the furthest thing from his mind,) there wouldn't be any reason for him to get suspicious."

Katherine could recollect with perfect clarity the historic day she decided to follow the sewer caverns under the opera house and discovered on her own who the real "ghost" was. Not a Phantom after all, but a man. A man of flesh and blood. What ghost ever slept in a bed and needed the light from a hundred or more candles to see by? A spirit couldn't be moved to write the music Katherine had heard that night from Don Juan, either. Erik didn't float through the walls and cast spells; he merely used a number of trap doors and magician's tricks to frighten his less cunning enemies. That was the genius of it all. That's what had everyone else scared out of their wits.

Belle kept her hands on the boat and continued down the dark tunnel. Katherine cocked her head as the sound of desperate singing echoed through the opera basement. There were three distinct voices; two male and one female, all arguing and trying to sing over one another, the noisy pleas and angry threats somehow mingling into a harmony. As the two girls came out of the tunnel's opening, a strange scene came into view.

A young man was tied to the portcullis with thick ropes wound painfully tight around his chest, arms, and wrists. His damp hair fell into wet, brown strands around his face, and one of the ropes wound about his arm was taut enough to reopen an old wound, causing his white shirt to be stained with crimson. A taller man with thin patches of hair and a strange deformity on the right side of his face held tightly to the end of a rope that was tied around the first man's neck. Up on firm ground, a young girl stood in an ivory wedding gown, pleading with the man holding the rope; pleading with Erik. No one noticed the two girls with the boat near the dripping cavern that led to the exit.

"Angel of music, you deceived me. I gave you my mind blindly." The girl cried piteously, unable to comprehend the inner workings of a man who would lie and kill for her without mercy. She was still in partial shock from the gruesome choice she was being forced to make. The words, "Choose me, or choose death," seemed to glare at her through the tortured eyes of the Phantom.

"You try my patience. Make your choice," Erik viciously yanked the rope and Belle caught her breath as Raoul choked and gasped for air.

Katherine quickly moved forward, positioning herself directly in front of Erik, "And what exactly," she exclaimed fiercely, one hand poised delicately on her hip as if reprimanding a small child. "Do you hope to accomplish?"

Erik loosened his hold on the rope slightly, a bewildered expression on his face. Raoul let out a relieved gasp as air flooded back into his lungs. Belle quietly sloshed her way through the water over to the vicomte. She looked at him with soft eyes, smiling slightly. Raoul thought he recognized her from somewhere, but with his life still in danger, he couldn't be bothered to think anymore on the subject.

The young girl's head was tilted slightly to the side, giving her the distinct look of a confused puppy, her wide chocolate eyes scanning the scene before her. Belle knew her to be Christine Daae; the girl who started this whole mess. Away from the lights and splendor of the stage she looked quite lost and out of place.

"You dare..." Erik whispered, rage bleeding into his smooth voice. Erik's eyes were focused on Katherine, growing colder and harder than they were seconds before.

"Let the man down." Katherine said.

"And why," Erik snarled. "Would I do that?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

Silence followed.

"No."

Katherine slid her hand over Erik's clenched fist that held the rope and began to pull and pry at his fingers. Erik jumped at her touch, letting the rope slip from his grasp. Belle slid the noose over Raoul's head and let it fall into the water.

Erik stared, unbelievingly, at the pale hand that lay against his own. Why didn't she let go?

"Killing won't solve anything." Katherine said, removing her hand suddenly as if she had forgotten it was still resting on his. "Has it ever solved anything? Done any good for you?"

Erik opened his mouth as if to say something, but the echoing voices of the mob cut him off.

"Revenge for Piangi, revenge for Bouquet!" They sang.

Erik promptly shut his mouth again. Seconds passed slowly.

"It is too late for me now..." He whispered sadly, shifting his gaze downward.

Raoul looked at his saviors with interest, especially the familiar woman who was just inches away from him, who was watching the scene between Erik and Katherine with a mixture of fear and mild interest. The moment she sensed that Erik was no longer a threat to either the vicomte or Katherine, or at least distracted enough for her to get away with it, Belle loosened the knotted ropes around Raoul's chest and arms, flinging them into the water with a sign of disgust. The vicomte relaxed his sore muscles and went limp at his sudden release.

"Raoul!" Christine moved forward a step to assist, but Belle had already given him the support he needed to steady himself. Raoul hoarsely whispered an apology as he used Belle's slender shoulder to help himself stand.

"Don't apologize," she answered him softly, "I'm sure anyone recovering from near strangulation would be rather unsteady. Come with me; there's a boat we can take back."

Another man suddenly appeared from the same tunnel Katherine and Belle had come from. He looked very much like an older copy of Raoul, only his forehead was more clearly defined, and a distinguishing mustache curled above his lips. He too had come to save the vicomte, but the man named Philippe stopped in his tracks when he saw the young girl letting his brother lean on her.

"Raoul, thank heavens you're alive! I came looking- Great Berlioz, man! What's happened to you?"

"Don't make him speak now," Belle chided. "Let him catch his breath. Christine... help Christine, she's going to faint."

Belle was right. Once the rush of adrenaline had passed, Christine's shaken nerves finally gave way and her eyes grew hazy and even more distant before she finally collapsed. Philippe caught Christine just in time to prevent her elfin head from hitting the rocky ground. Erik moved to help her, but Katherine held him back.

"Let her go," she urged him softly, meaning the words in so many more ways than seemed possible. "It's too much for her. Let her awake in her own bed, leaving this all behind as a bad dream."

Erik gazed questioningly into Katherine's dark eyes with mounting confusion. Why did it matter to her? Why did she care? And where were all these people coming from?

Philippe lifted an unconscious Christine to the waiting gondola and pushed off towards the angry voices who still screamed for Erik's life. He looked back only once to reassure himself that Erik wouldn't pursue them and make Philippe his next lasso victim. He didn't even take the time to cast a final glance at his brother to confirm he was going to be safe.

Belle helped Raoul into the boat and chose a different route of escape. She wouldn't seek safety and sympathy from the same maddened mob that hunted their fellow man down for nothing more than physical imperfection. More stories of kidnap and torture would only feed the mob's senseless fury, and that was not Belle's intention in coming here tonight.

Panting heavily in the swaying craft, Raoul kept his gaze on the disappearing form of Christine until the boat passed through the entrance of the cavern and she was out of sight at last. He hoped Philippe would have the decency to find her a respectable place to stay; perhaps with Mme. Giry, or some friendly home inhabited by other women. When his view was impeded by solid rock, he turned his attentions to Belle, trying to remember where he'd seen her from while ignoring the growing pain in his arm. His guide stayed in the water, pushing the boat back through the murky pool. She stopped just before the grate and put a hand on the wall beside it.

"Katherine said there should be a hidden lever of some sort to open this. It may be concealed behind a loose rock." Belle searched diligently for such a stone, but to no avail. Frustrated, and somewhat fearful, she kicked her foot under the water and struck against something hard jutting out from the floor. Belle looked down, but nothing was visible in the repugnant stuff. She inhaled deeply and plunged under the water. Belle opened her eyes and felt them sting from the pollution. She quickly shut them again and used her hands to feel for the metal switch. When she found it, she pulled hard to release the mechanism and came back up coughing to maneuver the boat past the opening grate. She started and jumped quickly out of the way as the grate suddenly closed itself shut again.

Still coughing from the water she'd swallowed, Belle shoved the boat sideways to keep it stationary just outside the entrance to a sewer pipe. She took a parcel from the bank and climbed into the boat, across from the wounded man.

"We should stay here until it's dark enough to walk down the street unnoticed," she said with a stray cough, "I don't want to attract any unwanted attention."

The girl leaned forward and slowly ran her hand over the top of Raoul's sleeve. She tore it at the shoulder, taking the time to inspect the gash there. Without touching the wound, she traced its length with two of her fingers, and frowning asked, "That's from him too, isn't it?"

He nodded in affirmation, and she lowered her eyes to search the parcel for what items she needed. The arm was cleaned and wrapped with the greatest of care and a fervent hope that this time it would be allowed to heal without hindrance. Belle was only sorry she had nothing for his chaffed wrists.

"Thank you."

Belle nodded and shivered violently in the evening chill. She and the vicomte had both been completely soaked, and the cold, night air seemed to seep through to the bone. She pulled two heavy cloaks out of the sack and handed one to Raoul as she struggled to find the hood of hers in the mass of fabric. Raoul took the cloak with his good hand and put it around Belle's shoulders. She smiled in gratitude as best she could with her teeth chattering. Raoul looked at her closely, his hand still on her shoulder.

"I know you. I've just remembered where I've seen you before," he said. "In the street you lost a hairpin and I helped you find it."

Belle felt her cheeks flush despite the cold. She'd dropped the hairpin on purpose. Finally she had tired of passing his home and his person on the way to make deliveries without an excuse to address him. "I'm always losing things. I can be rather clumsy."

Raoul smiled back and pulled the cloak tighter around himself. The dampness was unbearable.

"I believe if we kept together, staying warm wouldn't be so difficult."

A look of incredulity crept over Belle's face. It couldn't be possible that the Vicomte de Chagny was asking her to huddle beside him. Perhaps it was just a hallucination. She was going numb in the head.

"Come, we'll both freeze to death otherwise."

She made her way to his right side and stiffly leaned against him as he brought his arm around her shoulder. By doubling their cloaks, the warmth around them was significantly increased, and their soggy condition became a little more than tolerable. In time, when her neck and shoulders began to ache from the stiffness, Belle allowed herself to relax, and her head gradually slipped downward to rest on his shoulder.

A strand of her hair brushed against his cheek, and again, Raoul thought of his fiancée. With any luck, Christine would be safely on her way to the heartening sight of a blazing fire and a warm bed. She and Raoul both had survived this ordeal and they would live to see another morning. No matter if it was gray and dismal as an aged dog. Only minutes ago, he had expected to die in a dark, forgotten place under the earth, or be forced to watch his whole life walk away with another man. But the Phantom had not anticipated on these two girls giving them a third option of escape.

"You saved my life and Christine's," he was able to say, slowly regaining the power of speech. "You and your friend. Was it your idea to come here or hers?"

"It was a joint decision." Belle said vapidly. She felt a little sleepy in her current position.

"Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

A million thoughts—most of them shameful—flashed through Belle's mind, but she repressed them with some difficulty and timidly lifted her eyes to meet Raoul's, "Can you teach me to play the piano?"

A look of surprise passed over Raoul's face before he replied, "You can't play?"

Belle shook her head and let it drop again, "Piano lessons aren't exactly a priority in my family."

The vicomte leaned back in the boat and savored a gust of clean air as it made its way into his pained lungs. It made him even colder, but it was better than being cut off from it completely.

"You ask a very easy thing in return for your invaluable help. Consider it done, mademoiselle..."

"Belle. My name is Belle."