Disclaimer I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or anything to do with it. That is probably a good thing.
One year. One year since that fateful night in which the Love of the Phantom was set free. One year since he had run blindly out into the streets of Paris, to escape the mob that swarmed his home and the pain of letting go of Christine.
Christine. A name that set off a tornado of emotions, including anger, fear, pain, and love. The haunting thoughts of what could have been had trailed the man beneath the opera house for what seemed like an eternity. They were not as bad as the memories of what had happened. The man had thrown himself into restoring his trashed home and his only solace, his music, to try to chase the thoughts away, but they continued on, until he was forced to find something else to occupy his time. The answer came as he walked the night.
Erik had taken to walking out into the world on occasion, typically it was to retrieve supplies, but tonight it was simply to walk. He walked along the streets as little as possible, mostly just to get to the dark alleyways. He walked behind a large bustling tavern, his ears hurting from the voices of so many, especially from the drunken singing floating out from within. He was just coming to the end of the alley and preparing to turn onto a much quieter one when the noise behind him increased. He turned to find the door open and a large woman in a dirty apron throwing a figure out, screeching at the person to stay out of her sight. The woman slammed the door behind her and the crumpled figure remained motionless.
Not knowing what possessed him, Erik strode forward. He glanced at the door to confirm that it was closed and then he knelt to look at the form. Erik carefully turned the person over and his stomach clenched. A girl in her late teens lay before him, her shadowed hair was matted with blood and cuts scarred her dirty face. A long gash ran from her right eyebrow into the hairline, the eye on that side was blackened and her bottom lip was split open and bleeding sluggishly. However that was nothing compared to left side of her face. Besides having cuts, the left side of her face was a mass of red, swollen, blistered and peeling skin from her temple to her jaw line. A lump was rising on the back of her head from connecting with the brick wall of the alley and blood stains showed cuts mapping her body.
Erik bit the inside of his lip, he knew he couldn't leave this girl in the streets, but he didn't want anything to do with the outside world either. In the end his conscience won and he carefully slid his arms under her and lifted. She was lighter than the last female he had lifted. Memory came rushing back to him like a tsunami, Christine. The man's heart sank deeper into his chest seemingly and he closed his eyes painfully. 'Why, why, why-'
The form in his arms groaned and his mind snapped back, no he had to keep his mind off of Her. This girl needed his help, and he better give it soon!
The Phantom stood and quickly took off, back to his home, back to his Hell.
Erik sat in a velvet shod chair beside his phoenix bed reading a book. The girl in his home had been asleep for two days, and Erik's back was beginning to ache from sleeping less than comfortably. He refused to go to his room and leave her in his home alone and would not sleep next to her in the phoenix bed as she would be frightened should she awaken. The man sighed; his eyes had been staring at the same page for five minutes, not comprehending a word. He had gone too long with out playing a note and his mind kept going back to Christine. He needed to do something; he had cleaned the strange girl's wounds as best he could and put ointment on them. As for her burn, he had raised her head and gently patted the area with damp cloths, he had browsed his medical books trying to find anything to help her, everything he could find had to be done by a professional, and she was not ready to be moved, nor was he ready to leave the Lair.
Besides her numerous lacerations, Erik had cleaned her hair slightly, he had combed out most of the tangles but had not washed her. He put his head back and closed his eyes, the book resting against his chest. He relaxed, trying to get some shut eye. A tune filled his head and he was just dozing off when he heard a small whimper.
The Phantom's eyes flew open and he looked at the young woman in front of him. The girl was wriggling, as though to get away from something and whimpering, gradually her noises got louder, until she was saying things, "No, please don't. No. NO!" She screeched the last and then started screaming as though in immense pain. Erik had been watching uneasily, but when she started speaking he was at her side in an instance.
"Mademoiselle awaken," he had said, then he grasped her wrist. The girl jerked away from his touch, but he held on. "Child it is a dream." He put his hand on her shoulder and gave a shake.
Green eyes flew open and the girl looked at the ceiling, then closed her eyes and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She shook with sobs then took a ragged breath, tears now streaming down her cheeks. She brought her hands to her face and started crying more, but stifled it all when she felt her left cheek. The girl's eyes grew large and her fingers shook as she caressed the place that used to be soft rosy skin. "No," she said with disbelief, "No, no, no, no," she repeated over and over again. Erik had stood back to observe this change.
In a rapid movement the girl threw off her blankets, stood, and grabbed a mirror that rested on a table near by. The girl looked at her reflection, her panicked eyes flicking at the image before her, taking it all in. Erik took a step towards her as she stood still, but lunged when she threw the mirror across the room and grabbed a hair brush. The masked man rushed to her and grabbed her hands to keep her from throwing his mother's things.
The girl spun and lashed out at him, "Let me go! Don't touch me, I'm a monster don't touch me!" The girl's head barely came even with his collar bone, but she jerked her hands out of his grasp and beat on his chest with wild blows, tears streaming down her face, "Don't touch me," she choked out. Finally, her eyes became too blurred to see and her sorrow too heavy to fight and she sunk to her knees. She folded over and wept bitterly, her hands held behind her neck, her arms hiding her disfigured face, she rocked back and forth as she cried.
Erik took a few steps backwards; he had not dealt with a crying girl in a long time, or with anyone who had a face similar to his own. He was unsure how to deal with this and so he went back to his chair and waited.
Erik's eyes were closed when he heard clothing rustling. He opened his eyes and saw the girl standing and walking to the bed.
"I am sorry monsieur, that is not my normal behavior," she said quietly. She sat on the edge of the bed, her head tipped down and her hair hiding her face.
"It is understandable mademoiselle."
"Understandable maybe, but not acceptable. I am ashamed that you saw that. I am ashamed that you have seen me at all. I am neither dressed appropriately nor acceptable for anyone to see. I am not what I once was. I am monster now," she said, her head hanging heavier if it was possible.
"Now?" He wondered how she had become as she was now.
"Of course now. I cannot imagine someone being born like this," she did not see Erik flinch or feel the coldness that emanated from him. "Although," she said quietly, almost to herself, "There are some who are obviously able to, stories are always circulating of the men who live underground with faces that are so gruesome that they can kill." She turned to Erik abruptly and looked up at him through her hair, her green eyes shining brightly from her red and puffy face, "Have you heard these stories? Do you think they are true?"
"Does it matter mademoiselle?" His voice was cold and hard, but she did not seem to pick up on his anger.
"Of course it matters. If I can find them… I might be safe. I can stay with them perhaps and not be afraid." She looked close to tears at the prospect of leaving all she had known. But her hands were clinched in determination.
"I am sure you will heal without too much scaring and will be able to live a normal life," his tones showed his emotions well, he thought her an overly dramatic little girl.
"I am not afraid of being ridiculed. I can handle that. What I fear is what could happen if I return home."
"And what will happen mademoiselle?"
She didn't respond her mind coming up with too many possibilities. Finally she tucked her legs under the blood red blankets and lay back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. "Horrible things will happen." She turned her head and looked at him, "My name is Helena Guichard, Monsieur…" She let the introduction hang for him to finish.
"Erik." They were still for a minute before Erik rose from his chair so abruptly that Helena jumped slightly. He glared down at her silently and then turned and strode to the door out of the room.
When he reached for the door knob Helena spoke, "Might I bathe? Or do you think it would harm me further?"
"I am sure your cleanliness would not harm you one bit. You will find all you will need."
Helena looked around the room. "Can I-" He was gone. Helena rose timidly to search for what she would need to bathe.