Love Denied Does Not Kill

The lone dark figure dragged his pain wracked body through the dark Paris night. This was a pain the man had never experienced so acutely. This pain was caused by the love he had for a woman. Or rather love on his part. The matter of her affections for him had been in question until tonight. A woman so far beyond him she traveled with angels. At times he thought her the angel even when she used to ask for her Angel of Music as she searched for him in her lonely night time hours. She was the angel not him. He was far too demonic. A monster in face and deed. A monster he was born. Now as a monster he would die.

Why had he fostered the lie? How could he expect any good to come from the lie? He knew why he encouraged the deception. One time in his life he had given comfort and it had been accepted, even welcomed. His need to have some gentleness, to experience love drove him to foster the lie for so many years. He had received the love of the child. Later he wanted the love of the woman. He wanted to show her he was a man and not a ghost or angel. Just a man who loved her with all that was in him. Every breath he took was for her. Each note he wrote was for her. He had made the mistake of taking her to his home and letting her get close enough to remove his mask. Until that point she had been more than willing to stay with him. Even eager. She had responded to his few tentative caresses. She could accept that he was not her Angel of Music. She could even accept the reality of him as a man. She could not accept the horror of his face.

He was nothing more than a man. A man living in darkness his whole life. A man kept apart from society because his face did not meet the approval of those who thought less of him because of a deformity he did not choose to burden himself with. Now the truth was shown to all of the Paris opera society who had been present on this his first and last performance as a composer and performer. It had all ended in a fiery catastrophe of his own engineering. There was no one else who held blame. It was all his doing. Every last hateful deceitful deed. As much as he blamed Raoul for all that had befallen him, in truth he could not even share his guilt with his hated rival.

Puddles from the thaw a few days prior still sloshed water as he walked soaking his clothes and boots. With the temperature dropping a thin coating of ice had begun to form. He had not thought to bring his cloak, hat or gloves. What difference would it have made anyway? His goal was not to survive but to perish. The man felt his life hanging by a thread in this land of the living. A thread he was all too willing to sever.

A few short hours ago it had begun to rain then gradually becoming sleet then turning to snow again and the mercury on the thermometer was headed downward. In his hiding place in the alley behind the opera house he had watched the chaotic mass of humanity trying to save the burning building. Almost four hours passed before he could leave his position behind the stack of crates in the alley. He found a little warmth in the debris around him. It gave him a little shelter from the weather while also blocking the wind. Water dripped from his clothing. His hair and skin were soaked as well. He shivered from the chilling rain that had turned to freezing rain then snow. He did not want to die here in this alley and be found and dragged through the streets as the oddity of the moment.

Once a proud man commanding hundreds of people at the Paris Opera House to do his bidding now he was reduced to the mess of a man who sought not to die in the streets or alley ways of Paris. He could not rest easy knowing all of Paris was viewing his face and his personal shame. Christine had already served him a nasty dish of humiliation. He hungered for not one scrap more of that bitter meal. He sought a safe quiet place to lay his head as he gave up on this miserable existence he had lived for thirty grueling years. Not a great number of years for the normal man but a seeming eternity for the deformed tortured soul dying from lack of love. Dying for tenderness of any sort. He had never felt the stroke of a loving hand. No lips had brushed tender kisses upon his face, his lips.

He had left his nearly destroyed home in the hands of the fire brigade and volunteers struggling to save something they knew in their hearts was already too far gone to make a difference. The gendarmes more than likely had gone into his home looking for him along with the local police. He saw many surrounding the opera house itself. The mob infiltrating his home in the fifth cellar had no doubt destroyed his precious realm of tranquility. The torches of the onlookers rivaled the blaze of the fire. The noise of the excited crowd roared louder than the gas light explosions. The raining glass did not deter anyone from staying and watching that regal building turn to charred ash. This was live entertainment and cost them not one sou.

The poor of the city thought it just that they were able to witness this end to a place where they would never find a welcoming gesture. If they could afford the price of admission they did not have the proper clothing to gain an easy or welcome entrance to the hallowed halls of the wealthy elite of Paris. The nobles did not rub shoulders with the common man unless the man were a servant drawing his bath or putting him to bed after a night spent too deep in his cups.

The merciful darkness shielded the furtive specter from those who hunted him with his death in the forefront of their minds. One painful tortured step after another, moving from one dark shadowed corner to another he made his way further from the inferno of the opera house. His opera house. His home. If he cared to look he could see flames shooting into the sky as explosions set off rumblings in the surrounding areas and the vibrations shook the windows several blocks around the burning building. He cared not that his former home was well on it’s way to ashes. No thoughts other than to seek out a peaceful place to die entered his immediate concerns.

He made his way slowly through the dark familiar alleyways. This was his domain. He had lived in the darkness of night for so long he could barely remember what daylight looked like. His skin was so pale from lack of exposure to the sun. Now he looked close to deaths door. Indeed he looked as if the angel of death had called him to follow him into that shadow world of black enternity.

The man leaned tiredly against a wall. He closed his eyes trying to block out the sight of the rushing crowd headed toward his former home. The Paris Opera House. He was far enough away that the sound of the explosions had become muffled.

Breathing deeply he coughed nearly going to his knees in weakness. His body shivered with cold. Strangely he felt hot inwardly. He seemed not to feel the cold as he had earlier. Shoving himself away from the wall he continued on his set path. Soon he would have his release from this life of pain. This torturous lonely existance. In his opinion he should have been allowed to die at birth. If his mother had not been so cowardly she would have ended his life as soon as she saw him. She had always wished for the strength to take his pitiful life but her religious convictions had stood between her killing her son and allowing him to taint the world with his presence. His mother had never let him forget how much of a burden he was or her wish for his demise. Often he had heard her pray for just such an occurnace. Her son being the spawn of some hellish demon had thwarted her at every turn.

He was no longer even aware of the cold night air taking the warmth from his body for the coldness in his heart had no rival. The pain in the man’s body was equaled only by the pain in his heart. A pain that made his chest feel as if someone had reached deep inside and ripped his still beating heart from him. A heart that had only known the pulse beats of love for such a short time. A life lived in misery finally had hopes of finding that one thing all humans have a right to expect. Something that normally starts with parents and ends with a family of one’s own. Love. Oh the simplicity of that sweet word. How he had longed to have that emotion returned by anyone. He had hoped, prayed, begged God to show him mercy and allow him this one thing he craved most. He should have remembered God had cast him to hell the moment his father's seed was planted in his mother's womb.

Love had never known this poor tortured disfigured soul until Christine Daae. Love had not been given or received. Until Christine he had only two loves. The loves of his life were his music and the opera house he made his home. For a short time he had fooled himself that Christine could love him. In the most painful way possible she had proved she cared not one whit for him. Her action of betrayal made it seem as if she almost hated him in fact. No one could do what she had done to him and have even the smallest bit of affection for the one they betrayed.

So briefly had he known the joy of his love for his angel. Only long enough for his heart to learn to share it’s beat with another. Long enough to dream of a life shared and now all lay in ashes. His dreams. His hopes. His love. Even his beautiful home The Paris Opera House. All gone in but a few hours of a plan born of a doomed obsession. A desperation. All lay in ashes under a thin layer of freshly fallen white snow. How innocent the white looked next to the charred ruins still smoldering in the darkness. The hiss of the melting snow as it fell upon the remains of that once grand building of music and dance gave evidence to the fire that had burned hours ago. Now all lay wet from the feeble attempt to save the fast burning monument to so much talent. The rain had doused the remainder of the flames while cooling the hot remains. The snow continued to fall heavily soon blanketing the ugly remains as if nature wanted to hide the blemish under her concealing pure white blanket.

That pure white beauty covered the ugliness of his evil deed. A pure white blanket to cover his sin, cover the shame of his failure to be a man. To have this deceiving blanket cover all his sins would be a kindness and mercy from the heavens. A mercy denied him throughout his life. As he trudged through the deserted alleyways he prayed to a God he often had doubts of existing to show him mercy now. He prayed for the depth of the cleansing snow to be so deep as to cover all until such time as the warming temperature melted that heaven sent blanket and the charred remains of the opera house had turned to dust. An unreasonable request but in this moment his thoughts were not clear or realistic. His body felt on fire but it shook with chills. His head hurt with tormenting images of Christine in the arms of her knight and savior. That damn boy with his charm and handsome perfect face. Each tortured breath he thought might be his last as his head began to swirl as if he had turned to many times in a circle. His skull felt ready to split with his fevered thoughts and pain.

God! How he wished he could go back and change things. Take back the last few hours. Change his lust dominated decisions. Now that a modicum of sanity was returning to him he saw the futility of his actions along with the destruction of all he held dear in this world.

Madame Giry and her daughter along with hundreds were homeless and without employment due to his blinding obsession with his Angel. He could place no blame at her door. The responsibility for this horror lay exclusively on his monstrous shoulders. A weight he would have to bare as he did so many others. His life was one huge burden. At times it seemed as if the weight of the world were on his back as if he were Atlas supporting that blue sphere in the heavens. Such was far from the truth. He was a mere mortal man burdened with a horrific face and equally horrific life.

Nothing was left but the pain of loss and hopelessness of all the tomorrows lived in loneliness and loss unless some kind fate granted his wish for death which he was sure was imminent. He had no fear of a long life for he knew he would die soon as his heart could not go on much longer under the stress of his pain. The burning searing pain surely must kill him. For hours he waited for death to claim him but that dark angel did not see fit to visit just yet.

Even in death he was a failure for his miserable life was to continue. Death had not been his reward. Failure to live wisely and failure to die a timely death this was his legacy. A failure in all things normal men have was an insult to his genius but love had taken all reason and sensibility from him in the moments when he thought on the life he and Christine could ultimately share. In those moments his genius had deserted him. He became an imbecilic boy. Careless with all that was important to him.

His lust for Christine and his desire for love of a woman drove him to ruin. His genius was matched only by his madness in this time of his quest for the one thing he wanted most, love. Such a puny emotion yet with the power to unman him, guide his actions and control his thoughts. Not that he was ever truly considered a man. Oh no. Demon. Monster. Angel of Music. Phantom of the Opera. This was not half the names he could claim as his own.

So many titles attributed to one man. With so many titles one had to wonder why he was not conceited or thought of as someone of great importance. At this moment he would like to claim the title of corpse. Not the living corpse as he was once called during his stellar career as a freak of nature in a sideshow. Heaven forbid not that. Oh to lay claim to death at this moment of his greatest pain would induce him to rethink his ideas of God not existing or being merciful.

All these random bits of his past played across his inner eye. God what a fool he had been. An aging fool. He should have remembered. Light does not exist in the dark. He was pure darkness. His angel was pure light. Christine the love of his life. The destroyer of his soul. The knife that plunged deeply into his heart came when she removed his one precious shield from the world, his mask. Further twisting of that sharp blade came with her words of rejection. The blade cut deep. Death was but a short distance away.

Beaten by love for a woman and her betrayal of his love for her had left him heartbroken and soulless. He felt he was surely at deaths door knocking at heavens gate or more likely hells burning pit considering all the sins he had committed. Yes, he would be in hell soon. No man could continue to live with this much pain. Death would be a welcome release for his tortured and twisted soul.

This was the state of the man that dropped tiredly on the doorstep of the one person he considered his dearest friend other than Madame Giry. If a monster could claim friendship Nadir Kahn was his one true friend. Nadir Kahn the person who knew him even better than he knew himself. The only other person he trusted with his true name and his very life.

Nadir Kahn had been in his life since his time in Persia as an assassin for the Shah and his demented mother. Those two people had contributed to the loss of a large piece of his soul and brought forth the deepest and darkest corners of his mind to create devices for torture and death. As a young man of eighteen he had left the safety of the opera house to travel the world. He had secured a position as an architect on the presentation of drawings alone. He hired a man as his agent to present his proposals for upcoming building projects. The young man had told the owner of the firm he was a recluse. His face had been badly scarred in a fire in his home as a child and did not like to appear in public.

Knowing a man of the caliber of this unknown architect could go to another competitor and gain a position the young reclusive man had been hired sight unseen. That had lasted for almost a year until clients demanded to see who designed the homes they would occupy. A man who hid from society may well have evil intentions. Illegal acts could well be hidden by his anonymity. That life had been disgarded without a backward glance.

Russia had been the next stop in his travels. For a time he performed as a magician who sang to entertain with his angelic voice as he performed his magic. His mask seemed part of his act so raised few questions. His mind was always seeking further knowledge than what was immediately available around him. He had been in Russia performing and amazing crowds with his magic when life again changed for the young traveler.

When Nadir Kahn had come to offer him the position as an advisor and architect for the Shah of Persia he eagerly accepted. He would design and supervise the building of a new palace and design different projects to dispose of criminals. Erik had been eager to explore his fascination for death and ways to bring it about. His interest was in the invention not the use of these devices. A talent he excelled in and drew the attention of the Shah’s mother.

A more twisted soul could not be found beyond the fires of hell. She was a true life monster. A soul so twisted it even rivaled Erik’s own tortured soul even at the height of his madness. Her penchant for blood had lured Erik to the point where he was almost lost forever. His hatred for humans and their cruelties had fed his rage for a time. He lost himself in the glory of taking even a minute portion of revenge on the humanity that had shunned and ridiculed him his whole life.

For a time it mattered not that the souls his devices put to death had no baring on how he had been treated in the past. What drove him was having his moment to know that in their last moments before death they begged his pardon and he allowed their demise without compunction. The defining moment and changing of his satisfaction to guilt had been when he learned that women and children had been put to death for no other reason than the evil demon woman took pleasure in the bloodletting. No true crime need be committed. The Khanum said you were guilty and that made it so. No trial and no defense. Just the sentence of death.

Never had Erik taken his rage and anger out on the weaker beings of his species. He revered women even though his experience with his mother and other female encounters had left him feeling less than a man and more the monster and demon as he had been told he was since he was a small child. Some ingrained integrity and goodness would not allow him to harm a child or a woman. He could show indifference to their passing but not aid in the ending of their lives.

Erik’s conscience would not allow for the slaughter of innocent women and children. The putting to death of a woman guilty of a crime caused him a moment of silent regret but the total disregard of guilt or innocence of those being put to death daily had taken his soul into a dark realm he feared he could not escape. Nightmares began to plague him and nearly taken his sanity from him.

To be put to death for a crime was one thing but to die for someone’s sick twisted pleasure was quit another. When the true use of his devises came to light Erik could not stand idly by and let it continue. He dismantled the mechanisms that made his devices work and refused to reassemble them.

So the beginning of the end of his life in Persia had started. With the help of Nadir Khan he had escaped Persia barely with his life but with a little of the treasures of the palace traveling with him. The bags of diamonds, gold coins and other precious jewels he considered ample compensation for his services. Yes, a few sacks of wealth in exchange for the abrupt loss of employment and home. To Erik it had seemed a fair exchange. The Shah and Khanum had not agreed. They could not make Erik pay so they chose to make his accomplice pay. Nadir had spent three years imprisoned by the rulers of Persia.

Escape had not been an easy task. Erik had suffered much torture and merciless beatings at the hand of the Shah’s mother before an escape could be planned and implemented. That woman’s darkness made Erik seem like a ray of light. Erik would never admit openly but he was somewhat frightened by the woman. He never showed his fear in her presence. A glimpse of fear in Erik’s eyes would have been the end as that evil woman would have fed on his fear and used it to control him. Such a beautiful woman on the exterior but so horrendously ugly on the inside. This was the woman who had set her sights on Erik the moment she set eyes on him as he entered the palace. Her lust for blood was only equaled by her lust to have Erik in her bed and under her complete control.

Having known he would not hold favor with the rulers for long he had set in motion ways to secure wealth that could be quickly gathered in case of a hasty need for flight. This forethought had allowed him to escape Persia with more wealth than one man could hope to spend in a lifetime. Erik considered it a fair recompense for the Shah and his mother’s misuse of his talents. Nadir helped him then and he would help him now.

The man at Nadir’s door was fearfully known as The Phantom of the Opera or The Opera Ghost. A specter alive but still a ghostly visage. He had haunted The Paris Opera House for over twenty years. A trickster let loose among superstitious volatile performers he had let his imagination have free reign.

Having a mother who could not even stand to touch her infant son to feed him caused a deep hurt and pain in him. A pain he thought never to heal. Her gift of the damn mask when he was but only an hour old became more than a way to hide his hideous face. It was a shield against those who would hurt him. With his mask he felt stronger. His mother could never understand how she could have a child that looked like he was part demon and part angel. His ability to learn quickly and his musical skills convinced her she had bore a child touched by Satan. Never once did it cross her feeble brain that her son could be a God given gift to the world with his talents for music and song.

Longing to rid herself of her burden but having religious convictions to prevent her ending his life she eventually salved her conscience by letting Gypsies take him with the promise of a better life among those willing to accept oddities in their mist. How the woman could have deluded herself had always mystified Erik. As a small boy he had been a piece of property the gypsies had placed on display in their sideshow as a horror from hell. He was The Devil’s Child. The Living Corpse. The title varied from time to time. The only thing that stayed the same was the cruelty.

Those hated names his mother would have agreed fitting as she considered him a demon born as a curse for some sin she had committed. That woman had never been able to look at her son with anything other than fear and disgust. She had been all to eager to accept the few coins in her hand from Jacques, the Gypsy king in exchange for her small seven year old son. The cloth sack had drawn curious looks as the caravan passed. The oddity of his looks catching Jacques eye as their wagons had driven by the yard he was playing in on that hot summer day. One of the last peaceful and carefree moments Erik would have for many years. One of the few times he had been allowed to leave his dark basement bedroom. An unexpected treat that led to tragedy for the small disfigured boy. With a few coins passing from one hand to another he went from purgatory to hell in a few short minutes.

The exchange of those few paltry coins of ill-gotten gain led to the next five years of torture for the little boy. Five years of gawking, horrified, and leering faces. Five years of near starvation for the body and complete starvation for the soul of the youngster who was caged and beaten and treated as little more than an animal No, that comparison was unfair for the animals were treated far better than the poor creature they caged and gave so little care. No, he was not like an animal. He was regarded as less than those beasts of burden and exotic wonder. He was a monster housed in the body of flesh and bone and sinew.

The one comfort of this pitiful creature was a figure of a monkey he had fashioned from bits and pieces he found left by the crowds of onlookers that visited his cage to stare and torment. He drew solace from this lifeless piece of discarded garbage. A comfort to a lost soul who had no love and comfort from any living human source because even as he entered the world he was destined for loneliness and heartbreak. To others it would seem to be nothing more than a crudely fashioned attempt to make a toy but to the boy if was a friend that he drew strength and solace in the hours after each night of display and beatings. To him it was a friend to give hope in his hopeless situation. A friend to tell his hopes and dreams to that he had long ago given up achieving only a small flicker remaining in his desolate existence.

At the age of ten he had been driven to fight back one night by a particularly vicious attack. The young boy’s anger finally could be contained no longer. A hate and rage so strong it gripped him in an unrelenting fury and fueled his mind to seek one thing and one thing only. Escape. Escape from his cage. Escape from his torture.

As his cruel tormentor stood outside his cage greedily picking up the coins tossed at the small heap of humanity the boy had put his small arms through the cage and given strength in his anger he had killed the man in a strangle hold fueled by years of anger that built up to that one moment that pushed a young soul beyond endurance to the point of taking a life. The surge of power in that moment of pure hate gave the small boy strength beyond what his small frame should possess. The boy had no remorse. No guilt in the taking of a life. Until his anger cooled and the red haze of a murderous rage had left him he stood and looked at the still dead form of his tormentor. No thoughts expressed by a change in his facial features. No emotion showed on his face at all. The eyes void of all emotion. An empty vessel. A body without benefit of a soul.

If not for the pity of a young ballerina who had attended his humiliation on this night he would have been hung for his crime. The young ballerina, Antoinette LaSalle, had been at the fair with other ballerinas from the opera house looking for entertainment and fun. Instead what she found was a little boy only a few years younger than herself caged like an animal being beaten worse than any animal she had ever seen. His reluctance to remove his mask had brought the old Gypsy’s cane down on the boys back in vicious flesh tearing blows. Each strike of the cane upon the boys back had made her young girl’s heart cringe in pain as if the blows hit her own flesh.

The removal of his mask and the jeers from the men and horrified screams of the women and children in the unfeeling crowd had seemed to take what little life the small crouching figure had left. His dirty little body lay in the filth beneath him on the cage floor not moving. The only sign of life the fast rise and fall of his too thin chest. He lay in misery with his dark green eyes looking into her eyes begging for a mercy Antoinette at sixteen had no idea how to give as much as she wanted to. She had stayed long after the others left looking on in pity as the trembling and bleeding boy lay and knew he prayed for death. To her shame she gave her own prayer for his quick end. Better a quick death than this death little by little.

She watched as he crept up behind the man counting the coins that had been tossed at the boy in the cage and greedily gathered by the man more caring of the coins than the boy he beat nearly unconscious to please a crowd of ignorant humanity. She could have given warning but something had held her tongue and she watched in silent horror as events played out in front of her innocent eyes.

Having taken the man’s life the boy after a time of silent comtemplation fell to the ground clutching his only friend a toy of some sort to his bony chest. The empty look in his eyes gave way to fear. The despair in his eyes and the pleading for one scrap of human kindness guided her young heart that fated night and held her tongue in silence as she witnessed this sin.

Hearing voices and the sound of men approaching she had searched the man’s pockets for and found a key that released the boy from his prison. She had led him through the dark deserted streets of Paris and hid him in the cellars of the opera house.

After that night she lost a small portion of her innocence. A small dark stain was on her soul but she had in all the years of her life never regretted those moments of guilty silence. Given the chance to go back and change it all she would not choose a different path. Even after Erik’s insanity and his destruction of the only home and employment of hundreds of people she considered it a fair exchange. A world with Erik in it was a far better world than one without his genius and music.

No, not for one moment had she held any regret over saving and releasing him. Her regret had always been that she could not get Erik to except he had more to offer than the small disfigurement that covered such a small portion of his body. Given the beauty of his voice and body he was more attractive than most men she knew. With his gift for composition and verse he could make an impact on the world for the better. That was until she had brought Christine into his small world.

That night of his first murder was the start of the boy’s new life. A life lived five cellars down underneath the opera house. This was where his love for music was born and his seductive and hypnotic voice came into maturity.

He became a ghost. Not quite seen but heard and most assuredly felt. The Phantom of the Opera or Opera Ghost. Too many names had been his title over the intervening years. Non labeled him a man. A part of the human race but still held apart from it. He was an apparition not a man. Or so he led the occupants of the establishment to believe.

So easily they believed this face to belong to the devil. In this manner they excused their intolerant attitude and lack of care for a fellow being. If he were a monster or possessed of evil the treatment he received they considered just. If they would but ask two questions they may have seen things differently. Who was the monster in this drama? The small frightened creature that had no defense against those horrible blows or the so called children of God who stood by and watched as ill treatment was dispatched for entertainment?

As he grew up he composed musical scores and original operas. The music was balm to his ravaged soul. He demanded they be performed. Singers and dancers were to be given parts as he saw fit. At first they guffawed at his audacity. This must be a prankster. Some practical joke taken to the extreme. The notes with the demands were discarded as so much rubbish. Soon they learned to take a more serious look at this ghost of their opera house. The accidents and near deaths brought them to their knees and quickly they saw the sense in capitulation.

They did not perform his operas for they could not have an unknown gracing their beautiful theatre but they decided to heed his advice somewhat on the running of the opera house itself. He made the demand for twenty thousand francs a month be paid as his salary. The money was to be left by Madame Giry in box five who even through her short marriage and birth of her child had remained a source of a tenuous friendship to this ghostly visage.

The young ballerina who once took pity on a poor caged child of the devil had grown up and married and had had a child of her own. A little girl named Margarite or Meg as she later became as Margarite seemed to large a name for such a tiny fragile girl. Antoinette Giry became the ballet mistress of the opera house after an accident prevented her from dancing again. Her husband’s death had left Antoinette free to spend more time with the ghost and for him the passing of her loved one was a blessing. Did he feel sorrow for her loss? Not much. He could only grasp that it was to his advantage as it allowed his friend more time to spend with him.

Life had gone on and Erik had terrorized the opera residents and got his way in the running of the opera by force and threats. This ghost wielded so much power over all the opera house. Life would have continued in this fashion if not for the arrival a little girl. A girl so grief stricken by the loss of her father she readily believed the voice from the walls and behind her mirror speaking to her was the Angel of Music her father had promised her. Alas it was only Erik trying for once to comfort a human. Her cries had touched his cold heart as no other had. Erik did not consider himself to be in the same category as others. How could he be with half angel and half demon marring his face? He had been told all his life he was a demon so who was he to dispute such statements? One look in a mirror gave strength to the harsh words condemning him to solitude and loneliness.

The entrance of that little girl with the chocolate colored hair and her warm sad brown eyes was the beginning of the end for Erik nay I should say the end of The Phantom of the Opera. With her coming a foul wind blew through the corridors of the opera house and brought devastating changes for all who lived there. The road to destruction took ten long years to come to the final death blow to the lives of all connected in his sad tale. The harbinger of doom had a name and her name was Christine Daae.

Even as a grieving child she had captivated the lonely young man Erik had been. As he matured and Christine did as well he went from wanting to teach her voice to soar with the angels to wanting to share the delights of flesh to flesh that other men took for granted. His association with Christine was doomed even before Erik had any interest other than as a tutor. Christine was not a strong person and had a weak character. She needed constant reassurance and attention. Erik’s very passion that promised his devotion into eternity was too overpowering for Christine. She wanted a gentler passion. Her childhood sweetheart was the one she chose not the poor demented fool who promised her the world and a life of passion and devoted love.

At first Erik only gave comfort to a small child by letting her believe the voice that reached out in the darkness to chase away the loneliness was the angel her dead father had promised her on his death bed would come in her time of sorrow. The Angel of Music.

He had invested so much of his passion in this one little vessel of humanity. Ten years he had watched her grow to a beautiful woman. A woman who stole his heart from his very chest and stilled the very breath in his lungs. He taught her to send her voice to the very heavens to compete with the angels. How could he do anything other than fall in love with this innocent beauty? A heart that had been black and cold now beat with the warmth of love. He had been so sure of her. After giving her his very soul and she embraced his talents and shared his precious music she had to return his love. Young at only seventeen to his thirty he thought their music and song would bridge any gape. His love for her would make any age difference insignificant.

He should have known. Fate had never rewarded him with anything but sorrow and pain why should he believe this angel could have been his? This light in his world of darkness would shy away from him. He should have protected his heart but in his foolish quest to have what other men have he had left himself open and unguarded. She had ripped apart what was left of his soul and left him an empty shell. Music could not fill the deep hole Christine left in his chest where his heart should have been beating a rhythm to match his music. Nothing could ever fill that void.

That boy had come to spoil his dream. Her dear friend from her childhood the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. Oh, what bitterness that name brought to his mind. To speak it was like poison dripping from his tongue. That horrible noble young blueblood had taken Christine’s young heart and allegiance with little effort. Erik had witnessed their declaration of love on the rooftop of the opera house and set in motion events that led to the loss of life and the destruction of the opera house and the lives of all who lived and worked within it’s walls.

In his black jealous rage all sane thoughts fled his mind. His insanity reached a level that no one could make him see the impossibility of what he wanted so badly. Her heart had been won as soon as she saw the young vicomte again. Erik's one thought was to get her to come and be his wife. Foolish impossible delusions of a man made mad with unrequited love. He had cut the cord on the chandelier he had rigged to fall as a precaution bringing it down in a blaze of glory on the heads of all the fools who had come to see his masterpiece he had forced them to perform. His first and only opera to be viewed by an audience. Don Juan Triumphant. No triumph had been his. Only failure graced his actions. He had thought it ingenious to replace Piangi with himself and declare his love to Christine during the performance. In his arrogance and lust for this little angel he had not counted on her betrayal. In front of those prying eyes she had removed his mask and exposed his vulnerable well kept secret. The one thing that could bring him to his knees. Revealing his face to the world. The shame and sorrow of his life. The awfulness of his monstrous face.

His anger had driven him to unspeakable actions. All the plotting and planning and he had been undone by the touch of her innocent sweet lips. Two intensely sensual and persuasive touches of her honeyed lips and he had fallen apart. Caved as only a man who has never known that soft salutation. He had crumbled before her and let her and that damnable boy go. Released them to go and leave him in his misery.

He had known it would be only a matter of time and his heart would kill him for surely no one could live forever with this strangling crushing pain in their chest. It stole the very breath from his lungs. He had flirted with the temptation to allow the angry mob of theatre patrons and gendarmes to find him in his lair but his pride would not allow them to display his horrible self for all to see. He would slink off and die alone as it was meant to be. He had rushed toward this day since he first drew breath and longed for it all the days in his mothers hate filled care. His life had been one long waiting period for his eventual demise. Thirty years awaiting his eventual death and relief from the agony of his existence in a world that did not want him or any part of him. Not his angelic voice and certainly not his heavenly music.

So that is how he found himself here lying spent on the bare boards of Nadir’s doorstep. Dying of love with his heart in seemingly irreparable pieces somewhere in the hands of the young diva who fled with her lover a few hours ago leaving her Angle of Music in hell.

The one being in all the world he knew who would allow him to die in peace and dignity lived behind that closed door. He would allow him to rid the world of his unwanted personage. Nadir would understand and allow him this mercy.

The trembling hand barely had enough strength to knock feebly upon the door. Two strikes upon the door then the weakness overtook the man leaving him spent near death.

Perhaps he had some of those Persian potions that would send a man into a darkness from which he never returned. That was Erik’s last coherent thought as he passed out and lay flat on his back with his face exposed in a way that would enrage him at any other time. Now in the moment of his greatest torment he could care less. He welcomed the darkness of oblivion for it offered a respite from the world of such cruelty toward a beast broken and humiliated by a lover’s cruel rejection.

The pitiful man lay in a drenched heap shivering from an unnatural coldness and fever induced chills. His breaths seeming to come in labored gasps. His chest rattling in a disturbing rhythm. This was the condition of the man when the door opened. The Phantom of the Opera. Opera Ghost. His human name was simply Erik. Erik’s guardian would offer assistance.

Chapter Two

Healing Wounds and Healing Heart

Darius was just going to retire for the night when he thought he heard a knock upon the door. Noting the time he knew it would not be welcome news. Nothing good came with a knock at two in the morning. He would have been in bed hours ago if not for the nagging feeling that he was needed and should be prepared to help. To calm his nerves he had baked bread and homemade pastries. He had just finished cleaning. He was on his way to bed having decided his intuition was wrong when he heard the faint knock. If he had been in bed he would not have heard such a feeble knock.

Darius cautiously went to the door. He pressed his ear to the door but heard not one sound. He had a feeling that whatever was behind the door had something to do with Master Erik. He had dreamed of him last night. It had been a most disturbing dream. It had involved fire and death. Darius opened the door and saw the man lying unconscious, wet, and shivering at his feet. One look at the figure lying in a heap on his master’s front step and his heart contracted in sympathy and despair.

Master Kahn and I knew this day would come. The stubborn fool would not listen to any warning from either of us. Master Khan and I have prayed so hard for your tortured soul. Master Erik why would you not heed or warnings. Hr love was not for you. We warned you many times. It seems as if all our warnings have been in vain. Allah forgive whatever you have done Master Erik.

He stepped out to pick up the man and his eyes were drawn to the blaze of light coming from the direction of the opera house. The night sky was alight as if a thousand candles burned. Bending down he put his right arm under Erik and lifted him up. As soon as he was standing Darius put his arm around Erik’s back then placed Erik’s left arm over his shoulder. Half dragging half carrying Erik, Darius took Erik inside closing the door with his foot. Erik slumped down having lost consciousness.

Heaving a deep sigh Darius picked up Erik as if he weighed no more than a child. Darius was a big man standing over six foot six with solid muscles from all the physical training he performed everyday. He had the philosophy that a healthy body made a healthy mind. He was a man of muscle and bone. Not a man one would say unguarded words to without fear of pain raining down from those ham like fists. No one suspected and Darius made sure no one found out but his heart was as soft as mush toward anyone in pain or need of human kindness.

He helped Erik to the settee and set him down. Standing up he shook his head in sorrow. Poor Master Erik. What torture in your soul has lead you to do something that is surely going to be your end? It had to involve that vixen soprano Christine Daae that had ensnared his heart. Foolish man. She wasn’t a bad person she was just extremely bad for Erik. How could he think someone so innocent and fickle of heart could love and sustain a man of his passionate nature? She would have wilted during one of his passionate tirades. Poor Erik was so desperate for normalcy he grabbed at the first thing that caught his eye that his desperate need convinced him she was what he wanted and needed.

She was much too weak a personality for Erik. Even at the age of nineteen she still had much of a little girl in her. She would have withered and died in his permanent presence. She needed a much softer soul. Not one as twisted and dark as Erik’s. Darius had seen the future and it did include a woman for Erik. He hadn’t seen her visage but she was there beside him and they were embracing. Master Nadir knew of his visions and had always heeded his warnings and advice. Erik was not so easily led. He had always balked at things he could not see. This personality trait and the gift of his face from some deity he could not see had made him skeptical any god existed in any form.

Darius left Erik and went to wake his master. Once again they would have to nurse Erik and help aid in his recovery. He hoped it ended better than the fiasco in Persia that had ended with his master spending five years in a Persian prison.

Darius knocked on the door and waited for the permission to enter. Not wasting time on preliminaries he stated, "Master Erik is in the parlor and he seems to be quite upset and not himself. The skyline over the opera house is lit by a burning fire. I surmise it is the result of something Master Erik has done." Nadir cursed fluently in Persian. Damn Erik. I knew it would end in disaster when he first took notice of that young little temptress. I knew no good would come of it. Erik is much too passionate for the likes of Christine. Christine is much too timid and clinging. Her loses so young in life made her an insecure young woman. I warned him repeatedly she would shy from him. He needs a much stronger woman. One who will stand up to him and not let him have everything his own way. Erik is at times too impulsive and needs someone who can restrain him from doing things inappropriate by social standards. He thinks because I discouraged his association with Christine I didn’t think him entitled or disserving of love from anyone. This is not true. Erik needs love more than anyone I have ever known. As for deserving love who among us truly gets what we deserve in this life?

"How does he look? Spare me full details. Just tell me how near death he is."

"He is not well Master. I fear he has given into the darkness of his soul. I fear he has lost the will or inclination to continue on this plane of existence."

"Go to him and give what comfort you can. I fear it will be a long night. Please make a strong Egyptian coffee. Tea I fear will not suffice on this occasion. Get the extra blankets then start a thin chicken broth. He will need nourishment as well as the warmth of the broth. I’ll be right out Darius. Take care of him as best you can until I freshen up and then I’ll be right out.”

Darius folded his hands together and bowed out of the room. A smile was hidden as he bowed. He knew Nadir hated it when he acted subservient to him. They had many discussions on just this subject when they weren’t trying to save the world from Erik and Erik from himself. He so loved to irritate his master. He couldn’t help thinking of the man he worked for as master at times but he knew him to be a good friend also.

They had been through many hard times together. Darius had only been a young boy of twelve when he had gone to be a houseboy for Nadir and his wife. He had been a companion for Nadir’s son Riza as well. Darius had worked for Nadir for wenty years. Most of his life had been dedicated to the service of Nadir’s family then at the passing of his wife and then his son, Darius became Nadir’s personal valet. More friend than employee after so many years. He had recently turned thirty -two. He thought of leaving some day to start a family of his own. The need had not called to him strongly yet. When it did he would leave Nadir with his blessings.

Nadir started to remind Darius he was not to behave as a slave. Respect was one thing but subservience was another. They had been rehashing this same argument ever since coming to Paris ten years ago. If Nadir hadn’t convinced him in all that time that Darius was more friend than servant what made him think he could change the man now? Besides he had more serious matters to attend to. Namely poor Erik. A man who would send Nadir to an early grave and a man he secretly considered like a brother. Erik was only six years younger than Nadir although at times Nadir felt more like a father than a brother or friend. Erik’s life had left him with a somewhat naïve idea of life. He was an adult who at times seemed like a child in his naivety. A naivety that warred with his adult emotions. His childlike pleasure at the simple pleasures had always fascinated Nadir. Something as simple as a butterfly in flight brought him hours of enjoyment and wonder. He would speak of this wonder until another was presented to him. In his dark home he had very few wondrous things other than his music and the songs of the operas he listened to whenever one was being performed. Rarely did he leave his home in daylight. Only on a few occasions had Nadir persuaded him to leave the dark safety of the catacombs.

Nadir would never let Erik see his regard beyond that of friend because Erik had a hard time even accepting his friendship. He considered himself not worthy of anyone’s love or kind regard. The past few years leading to his final plunge into madness had only strengthened his belief. This last fiasco to find love would most certainly drag his spirit closer to a living hell. A hell Nadir hoped he could save his friend from descending into permanently. Many times Erik had come close to giving in and engulfing himself in the dark side of his nature almost obliterating any human kindness or caring he might possess. In the last moments before he gave into the darkness entirely he would pull himself back. If Allah willed it he would survive once more.

Allah above what has your foolish heart made you do now Erik? I should have known something was amiss when you made me promise not to attend the opera tonight even though it was the opening of your own work. Erik had been so quiet over these past few months I had foolishly thought he finally had come to accept Christine was not for him. Why did I not realize this quiet was the signal he had descended into madness?

Although with Erik it is hard to tell madness from genius. His brain worked in a different way than a normal man. His intelligence was beyond comprehension. Any morals he had were from his own sense of right and wrong. Erik had never had adults to guide him into manhood. He had more or less raised himself. A true crime against all that was blessed in this world. With only a little love and compassion at an early age Erik could have been a great gift to this world.

Abruptly halting his musings Nadir forced his tired body from the bed and went into his bathroom to freshen up and dress so he could face this new life changing drama that was Erik’s life. Nothing in Erik’s life was simple. Everything that happened was on a grand scale. Nadir knew from the moment he had accepted responsibility for Erik his burden would be great. Keeping Erik from the world and the world from Erik was a lifetime occupation. Whatever new dilemma Erik presented Nadir felt it was his obligation to see if he could set things right. It had been his job for over ten years now to watch over Erik.

Having freshened up and dressed Nadir went out to face this new problem in his life. handle Erik. When would they both find peace? Damn but he was getting too old to for this. I feel ancient. I am only Thirty-eight but I feel as if I have lived a hundred years since I have known Erik.

Hearing footsteps the broken man raised his ravaged face toward Nadir. The utter hopelessness tugged at Nadir’s heart. This is what has become of a once supremely proud man. He has been reduced to tears and complete devastation. Erik sat in abject misery sobbing uncontrollably. It seemed the very blood from his broken heart ebbed out in every tear leaving him weaker and deeper in despair.

"Why Nadir? Why could I not be allowed this one bit of happiness? Why should I always be denied love? Why could she not love me? I gave her my music. I taught her to make her voice soar. I would have given her the world for only a tiny bit of consideration. I would not even have made demands on her. I would not ask her to share my bed if she did not wish it. Her companionship and her heavenly voice singing for me alone would have been enough to sustain me. I would never have forced her to gaze upon my face. I would gladly wear the hated burlap sack I had as a child when on display with the Gypsies."

"Erik we have gone over this many times. You were blinded by her. Infatuated. Blinded in your need for someone, anyone to love and share your life with. She took all you could give then threw your love back in your face. I do not think she did this to hurt you. She just had a greater love and regard for her young vicomte. I do not mean to be harsh but the reality is she was selfish and childish. She is still an immature girl. Immaturity breeds selfishness. If she had been older and more mature maybe things could have been different. Who can say? Your face alone did not bring about your rejection."

"It was my face she could not stomach. It has always been this curse of a face since the day I was born. If my own mother could not love me or touch me why would someone such as my beautiful Christine even want to suffer a glimpse of the horrific mess hidden behind the mask? Why did God not see his mistake and strike me dead when he heard my first pitiful cry as I left my mother's womb? Why did my mother who hated the very sight of me not throw me into the river and drown me like some unwanted kitten or pup?"

"Erik is was not your face that drove the final wedge between you and the diva. Your temper and threats of violence to her fiancée drove her away from you even if there had been a slight chance of her returning your love. I do not think she withheld her love because of any of these reasons however. The wealth of the Vicomte is what won the young woman’s allegiance in the end. She could not conceive of a life lived in the cellars in dark for the rest of her life. Of course she would choose a life with a young handsome and wealthy man. I warned you many times to keep your heart free of the entanglement you sought with such fervor. It was bound to end this way my friend as much as it pains me to say this to you. You are well rid of her."

"Do not say such harsh things about her. She was perfect. It is I who am flawed. I am the freak of nature. The mistake God did not correct. I should not have expected her to want to be with a monster like me. Why would someone of such beauty want someone so beastly? Why could my story not end as the love stories recanted in words and penned over the centuries? Why could not this lonely, ugly beast be loved despite his temper and his horrid countenance? Take back what you say of my beloved. Speak not of her in such untruths."

With and anguished cry Erik lunged at Nadir and wrapped his hands around his throat. The look of a madman was on Erik’s face. Nadir could feel the blackness overtaking him. He clawed at the hands gripping him so tightly. Erik was inhumanly strong even without anger fueling him. Add anger and Erik was an almost unstoppable man. Nadir knew if Darius did not return to the room within the next minute his life would cease to be. Another victim falling to the hands of the Angel of Death. In his right mind Erik would never think of laying a hand on Nadir in anger. The fever in his mind was clouding his judgment. His anguish stole his reason. Loss fueled a need to hold onto at least the belief that Christine could still return to him.

Mercifully Darius returned and dragged a half crazed Erik away from his master and friend. Erik was a strong man and few could win in a physical battle with him but Darius was the stronger of the two. He held tightly to the struggling man in his arms. Erik was growling like a wild animal. Cursing as he never would in normal circumstances. Erik was, if nothing else, a true gentleman normally. With impeccable manners.

He hardly seemed human in those moments when his anger and hurt of all the years rushed to take over his mind. The years of abuse and rejection all came to the forefront of his mind. Bringing death to someone he perceived as an abuser had been his one goal as his hands had tightened around Nadir’s face. All the faces of the Gypsy tormentors from his years in their captivity swirled and mixed with the pain he felt from Christine’s rejection. Raoul’s perfect face flashed into his mind. He could see the taunting in the nobleman’s face as he took Christine away with him. He imagined the young man sneering at him as he kissed Christine’s sweet lips. His mind tortured him with so many images. Some from his childhood others from many years ago and some from recent days. Those cut the deepest because they were fresh and inflicted by his beloved.

A few moments of struggling and Erik began to tire and reason returned. His shame of attacking his one true ally and friend for over ten years eating away at his diminished pride. God what had she driven him too? He had risked all for her. His home and his very life. The only home he had known since he was a young boy. His shoulders slumped in defeat. Now he attacked his dear friend in his own home because he spoke truths Erik did not wish to hear.

"You can release me Darius. The madness has left me. The Phantom is gone and only Erik remains. Only poor pathetic, heartbroken Erik is here." Darius slowly released Erik’s arms and stepped back. He stood directly behind him however in case this was a trick. Erik was well known for his trickery.

The man broke into uncontrolled sobbing again and fell to his knees rocking his body back and forth cradling his arms with his own hands calling for the devil woman Christine. Such anguish and despair could be heard in each word. Darius cursed the day that woman entered Erik’s life. Her presence in what had been a peaceful existence had been like a slow building storm on the ocean. You knew destruction was coming but you did not know how bad or how violent the final raging winds would be or when they would strike. You can prepare yourself for the eventual coming storm but not even precautions could prevent all of the eventual devastation.

Rubbing his neck Nadir could not bring himself to hold Erik accountable just yet for his actions. The man had suffered a severe blow. A blow to his heart and pride that Nadir was unsure Erik could make a recovery this time. Erik’s whole life was molded from old hurts and rejections. A more miserable soul Nadir had never known. Erik was truly a man who had been damned in the eyes of the world since his birth. If there was a hell on earth Erik held pride of place in that dark, evil realm. Proud on the outside but as insecure as a child on the inside, that was the Erik Nadir saw. His insecurities were buried deep beneath self protecting layers of uncaring indifference to man’s every day struggles. If you did not care for anything you had nothing to lose.

Nadir knew of the darker side of Erik but he had never been personally on the receiving end of his darker persona until tonight. Nadir spent so much time with Erik that he had caught glimpses of the weaker man hidden under the threatening Phantom persona. A weakness Erik worked hard to keep from the world.

Erik’s condition shocked Nadir greatly. Once a strong proud man behind his mask he was now a whimpering bundle of flesh and raw emotions. His bare face was mottled with tracks of tears raining down his cheeks. The lesions on his face were oozing with infection. The constant rubbing on his face of the leather combined with sweat irritated the skin that rarely went without cover.

Erik seemed not to notice or care he did not have his mask. That was an indication of how upset Erik was for he was a proud man who stood tall and regal when hiding behind his mask. He never went without it. He had even told Nadir that more often than not he slept with the mask firmly on his face. The sobs coming from this once fierce man broke Nadir’s heart. No one should suffer so.

Not knowing what to do he helped a passive Erik to the guest bedroom and helped him to lie down. He removed Erik’s shoes after gently laying him down. Nadir then pulled up a chair to sit in vigil until Erik was more himself. He did not trust Erik in this pain wracked state not to hurt himself. He had spoke of his demise often enough for Nadir to know it was possible he would attempt to rid himself of pain by taking his own life. The man slept in a coffin for the love of Allah. The reminder of death was with him every night as he closed his eyes to sleep. Nadir had often told him it was much too morbid and he should rid himself of it and sleep in a normal bed. Erik had replied that when he was normal he would sleep in a normal bed.

So the waiting began. Days came and went with Erik in a near catatonic state. Only crying out from nightmares and seeking his beloved Christine in dreams. Nadir began to fear for his friend. Something would have to be done soon or Erik would waste away from lack of food and water. It was not his broken heart that would kill Erik directly but the result would be the same.

One the third day there was a little change. Nothing earth shattering but a sign that there was still a will to live in Erik. He asked for a glass of water. Immediately Nadir sent Darius to bring a glass of cool water laced with some medicine meant to stimulate Erik’s body. Having downed the water Nadir and Darius watched and waited.

Late in the evening of the fourth day Erik asked for some food. Nadir and Darius gave thanks to a merciful Allah and all other deities for the return of Erik. Most would wonder why this simple request gave them such hope. The fact that he asked for food was proof of his will to come back to a living world. Erik rarely ate at all. He claimed the time he spent sitting eating was time taken away from more important matters. He rarely ate and never a big meal. A small ray of hope was given to them that day as they stood vigil over the desperate man in the bed fighting demons real and imagine

A week later the paper arrived with devastating news for Erik. Nadir and Darius had tried to keep it away from him but the sneaky devil went through Nadir’s trash receptacle in his room. After reading the headlines regaling all of Paris with the details of the marriage of Christine and Raoul Erik dosed himself with the dreaded morphine he took in times of deep depression. That was a set back. The drug ravaged his weakened body even further. It gave him no real peace. It only brought his demons into the light.

For such an intelligent man Erik was completely blinded to the devastation morphine created in his life. That was one issue they fought over consistently. Erik had given up the drug for years and then Christine entered his life. It was Nadir’s opinion the young woman was a walking curse. She would destroy all who came into her sphere of power. Erik and then Raoul had been two such unfortunate beings. Allah only knew what she would do to that innocent young man.

Erik had balked but Nadir had demanded all the morphine in Erik’s possession be handed over. Erik gave in knowing with Nadir’s skills as a policeman he had no chance to lie or hide anything from the nosy Nadir once his bloodhound of a nose was set on the trail. He had been informed if he snuck out again to purchase any more he would have Darius tie him to the bedpost. Eyeing Darius thoughtfully he made the decision not to push his luck as even when in his prime of good health he doubted he could best Darius. The man was not human in Erik’s opinion. He was a giant masquerading as a man.

Erik knew he could acquire more any time he wished. He could leave the apartment and neither of the other occupants would ever know he had left his room. He would need a supply until he could find a source in London to provide that elixir that sent him into heavenly oblivion for a short time. At times it also sent him to hell but those times were fewer than heavens open gate.

Two weeks spent recovering and Erik concluded as much as he had felt he would die he knew now it would not happen unless he aided the process. He was not such a coward as to take his own life at any rate not consciously. He flirted with letting another take it when the mob had infiltrated his home but could not face the further humiliation that would have fallen on him as the men were sure to put him on display for all of Paris to see. Later he thought his illness might claim his life and release him but so far fate had seen fit to keep him here in his pathetic life.

One evening as Nadir and Erik play one of their one of their weekly games of chess, Erik came to a momentous conclusion. He was to live after all. He had been in this bed so long but he had not taken notice of one day from another. He had no idea how long he had lain in this bed a pitiful mass of quivering and blubbering humanity.

Having beaten Nadir for the fifth time in a row Erik picked up a chess piece and fingered it thoughtfully. Reaching a conclusion he informed Nadir, "It would seem my heart will not give out just yet Nadir. Perhaps this is God’s punishment. I shall live with this pain until I die. Or perhaps God has seen fit to grant me immortality so I may live eternally with this pain."

"Erik you are special but I hardly think your God would grant you immortality. Erik it is good to see you are feeling better. Get up and bathe. Join me in the land of the living. I hesitated to mention it before but you are smelling less than fresh. When you are done we will eat and discuss what your immediate future will hold. Allah forbid an earth forever blessed with your wickedness my friend. A normal life span is quite sufficient. Darius and I can only stand so much drama in our lives and neither one of us will live forever."

"Nadir I know it may not seem as if I appreciate you but I do appreciate your friendship and caring. I consider you a dear friend even though I have never expressed the sentiment. Just for a point of reference should you ever repeat that statement to anyone I should have to end your life."

Nadir smiled although he was not quite sure Erik was joking. Just to be safe he made a vow to keep this to himself. With Erik it paid to err on the side of caution.

The next few weeks the three men spent in deep discussion of how best to proceed with Erik’s departure from France and choosing a destination. How to escape with body and fortune intact. The one option they all agreed on was bribery. They had to use great caution. Erik was a criminal. A reward had been posted for his capture. No doubt funded by the de Chagny family patriarch. Money could erase many sins and blind many eyes. Nadir and Darius made all the necessary arrangements. Erik would leave France an innocent man with no warrants or fear of arrest to haunt him. Files were lost and notes replaced with forged documents. Raoul de Changny and Christine Daae had left the city for parts unknown and when the family was asked to give their location for statements should a man be captured and a trial occur the authorities were told the couple had no information to give. They wished to put the whole incident behind them and drop the matter entirely. Nadir had spread a few rumors among the aristocracy to discourage the continued interest in Erik’s arrest. Fearing more scandal Raoul’s father let the matter drop, withdrawing his offer of a reward. Sometimes words whispered in the right ear were more powerful than the threat of violence or at least could bring about the same result.

It seems with all incriminating evidence “lost” and no willing witnesses, Erik was a free man. Free as man a could be when his heart was still held captive by a little chit of a girl. Now if he could remove that young woman from Erik’s heart long enough for him to give this second chance at life an honest try Nadir would be forever thankful to Allah.

The only arrangement left to complete were choosing a name as he only remembered his first name. Never once could he remember hearing his surname. He was lucky to have heard his first name as every vile name known to man had been hurled at him all during his youth. His mother for damn sure had a fine repertoire of names she blessed him with daily. Luckily he knew his name was Erik and not monster child or demon seed. The gypsies had billed him in their sideshow as The Human Corpse and The Devil’s Child. Privately he had been called the “fucking demon child”. The Gypsy who owned him had favored that moniker above all others. Imagine being stuck with such a name all ones life. No he did not fancy that at all. Erik suited him just fine.

Nadir forced him to go to a barber as he claimed a gentleman should not look as if he used a knife to saw his hair. Knowing he cut his own hair with scissors Erik felt this was an insulting remark. He was not able to waltz into a barbershop as some others were aloud to do. He made sure Nadir heard his complaint. He was not happy with an outing in the daytime so Nadir made the concession to speak to the barber and for ample compensation he agreed to see Erik after fours.

Sitting in the chair with his arms crossed Erik gave a fair imitation of a child pouting. Nadir was tempted to offer him a lollipop if he was a good boy and let the man cut his hair without all the fuss. He decided in this mood Erik could well let his temper get the better of him and Nadir surmised today was not the day he wished to join his ancestors in the great beyond.

"Stop being childish. It does not hurt to have your hair cut. You are not Samson and Charles is not Delilah. Your strength will not be diminished with the loss of a few strands of hair."

"Spoken like a man with a full head of hair and not one who has a sparse covering. I warn you if I am not pleased you will feel my displeasure in a most disagreeable way."

"So noted. Now quit being a child and let the man do his job. Honestly sometimes I feel as if I am dealing with a truculent five year old instead of a man of thirty years of age."

Saying no more Erik sat in the barber’s chair folding his arms across his chest. The pout of his lips and the obstinate look on his face did indeed look like a small child protesting something he found unpleasant.

"Monsieur is it alright now if I begin? I have an idea of how I can cut your hair to lay slightly differently than it does now. The hair can be cut in such a way that the sparse area will be hidden. Thankfully the hair on the left side is quite thick. The right side is not all that thin. There are only a few bare spots. I have many customers with balding heads. Luckily you have sufficient length for me to work with."

"God damn it I am not balding. I simply have a sparse covering of hair. It has always been like this sense birth so therefore I am not balding."

"Of course, of course Monsieur. I was obviously not speaking of you. With your permission I will begin." The man had begun to sweat profusely. He was wondering how he had gotten himself into such a mess. He had an idea who the man in the chair was and had no wish to be the next victim of the Opera Ghost. He stood waiting patiently. Erik made not one move to remove the wig. Charles was beginning to wish his greed had not overtaken the warning bells that had gone off when Monsieur Khan had asked if he could see a client privately after hours. He said the man was terribly shy around people he did not know.

"What the hell are you waiting for? I do not have all night to sit while you daydream. Get on with it."

"Erik your wig. Do you expect him to cut your hair through the wig?"

"Well why did he not say something? I do not bite. At least not on Wednesday’s and as I am sure this is Thursday he is perfectly safe." Without anything further being said he removed his wig and Charles began to cut his hair. It seemed to Erik that an abundance of his hair was raining down all too swiftly. Being bored he thought he might use the barber’s fear of him to entertain him while he was trapped in the chair.

"You know Nadir come to think of it I may have been wrong. I do believe today is Wednesday after all."

Charles stilled with the scissors poised to snip the next piece of hair. He glanced quickly at the calendar on the wall and to his consternation saw that it was indeed Wednesday. He swallowed noisily and snipped more than he should have. The gasps from the other three men alerted Erik to a problem. He looked into the mirror and saw the man’s face was as white as a sheet. His eyes were flooded with fear.

Nadir saw the look on Erik’s face and intervened on Charles’ behalf. It would not do to leave a dead barber when they were so close to departing France. He spoke to Erik in Persian informing him it was his fault if a mistake had been made. It was just a tiny bit of hair and would grow back quickly. No one would really notice as it was on the back of his head. When he was out he wore a hat most of the time anyway. Nothing was broken that could not be fixed with time.

Erik learned a valuable lesson. When a man is that close to your head with sharp instruments it was prudent to make him feel as comfortable as one could make him. Nervous people made mistakes.

Now Erik would never admit this openly to Nadir but he was quite surprisingly pleased with what the man was able to do with his hair. He had had a few qualms about removing his wig but he could see the logic of it’s removal so he had agreed although he let it be known he was far from pleased. Nadir’s only comment was to him was to tell him to stop being childish yet again. That remark ruffled him somewhat but due to his patience with him during his illness Erik let it pass. It crossed his mind that another time he may well have wrapped his lasso around Nadir’s neck for a remark such as that. Perhaps the Phantom died and only Erik lives. Time would tell.