After the events at the opera house, Erik managed to disappear, as he had been obliged to do so many times before. He crept from town to town, traversed Europe. Eventually he settled in Milan, drawn by its music. There he had only two thoughts- to redeem his life if possible, and to conceal his past. To find God… and to escape men.

He felt reasonably safe. Few people outside of France had heard the tale of the opera ghost. Most who did believed it was nothing more than a tale circulated by superstitious stagehands. On the rare occasions when he'd overheard people speaking of it- something that happened less and less as the weeks went on- they'd invariably laughed at the French papers for circulating such a frivolous story.
Still, he had to be careful. If he was caught, he knew he could expect no mercy. Any jury would take one look at his face and convict him in an instant.

He almost never went out during the day, and it was his habit to vary his route home as much as possible on the occasions when he did venture outside.

It was thus that, one night, he turned down an alley he didn't know and stumbled upon a dreadful spectacle.
An emaciated woman, clothed in the sort of decolete dress that only a prostitute would wear, was being dragged down the street by a huge man in a loud striped jacket. Another man, fat and oily, was trailing after her with a leer.
"No!" the woman was wailing. "Don't make me! I've already done all manner of awful things to line your pockets. Have pity!"
The second man laughed. "And who do you think you are to decide?" He grabbed hold of her as though to strike her.
The woman's panicked eyes alighted on Erik. "Help me!" she wailed in desperation.
Erik froze, his heart beating a mad tattoo in his chest. Every fiber of his being cried out to him to intervene. He could overpower the two men, he was sure, even without resorting to violence. They were both out of condition. But if he did they would be sure to report him to the police. Go now, blend back into the darkness, and they might forget him. For the moment, they were too preoccupied with dealing with the woman to take much notice of him.
Besides, if he freed her from them, what good would it do? He would probably end up dead or in prison, and she would be thrown back to the mercy of the brothels. It would do no good.
And yet, he could not bring himself to leave the pitiful creature to her fate. Perhaps because there was something in her abject misery that reminded him of his own life.
As he watched, the fat man spit on the prostitute's face, as if to emphasize his right to do to her whatever he pleased, and then began to beat her savagely. Her spirit was not completely broken yet, however. A look of rage leapt onto her features; she tore free from her captor and leapt at the fat fellow, clawing him in the eyes.
Though his injuries were nothing compared to what he'd inflicted on her, he let out a cry of pain and rage. "You'll be sorry you ever drew breath, you worthless little whore!" He grabbed her by her scrawny arm, lifted his voice and screamed, "Police!" He turned to the woman with a triumphant, mocking smile. "They won't be impressed to hear that a prostitute has attacked a local magistrate who lost his way home."
"You liar! You won't get away with this!" the woman cried. "There's a witness! He saw that you struck me first- that you beat a defenseless woman." She turned back to Erik, who had, however, begun to back warily away. "You! Signor, you saw what happened!"
"Oh, yes, a witness in a mask- a very trustworthy source of information!" The fat man sneered.
"He's right," Erik pointed out. "I won't do you much good."
"What do you mean? Just take off that funny mask you're wearing!" the woman said pleadingly. "Show your face!"
"I can't," Erik said.
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
"I'd wager he's been in trouble with the police too." The huge man's eyes lit up and he advanced toward Erik. "Maybe there's a reward for you. It'd be worth hanging on to you until the police come, just to be sure, anyway."
Erik backed away, feeling like a cornered animal. If he was going to go, it had to be now. Adding to his terror, he could hear police whistles now, seemingly advancing towards them from all sides.
"I'm wretchedly sorry," he said to the woman. "It's abominable luck that you got stuck with me for a witness of all people."
"Take that thing off, you coward!" she screamed. "Do your moral duty and help me! I can't go to prison!"
"They'll only give you a few weeks at most," he said, though with the uncomfortable realization that that may not be true. He'd almost reached a side street and he began to edge down it, melding into the shadows. He was nearly safe.
"But I have a child!" he heard her wail.
Erik had a crisis of conscience in the space of five seconds. He had built an honest life, a life where he could be at peace and left alone with his music.
And who knew what kind of torment he would be subjected to in a prison?
Besides, he thought again, what could he do to help the woman? Even if he took off the mask- even if by some miracle the police didn't arrest him- no one would believe a witness with a face like his.
He turned away and ran as he'd never run before. He quickly outstripped the man who'd run after him. He was safe once again.
But he couldn't seem to escape the woman's cries.

By some horrific coincidence, he saw her again. He was pleased to see they hadn't given her more than a week or so. But the site of her did not encourage him. She was little more than a skeleton, standing on the pavement with the rags of her dress barely covering her. Her eyes were nearly vacant, and she trembled with hunger.
But when she saw him, her hatred lent her a sudden burst of strength.
"You!" she cried, lunging toward him. "You coward!"
He was too ashamed to move away.
"I should have let the police have you," she said, shoving him backward.
The effort had cost her. As she staggered toward him, she began a heaving cough that echoed in the alley and shook her whole body. The spasm ended in her spewing blood onto the cobblestones. She sank to her knees.
The fact that an infection that serious couldn't have developed in the brief time since he'd seen her didn't make Erik feel any less responsible.
"You need a hospital," he said.
She laughed, wiping the blood from her chin. "Can't afford a doctor!" she sneered. He saw that most of her teeth were missing. She must have sold them. "Thanks to you. They fined me. I lost all my money. Do you know what I think? I should let the police have you. I could call them right now."
"You may call them- in which case I shall escape, as I did last time. Or you may let me pay for you to go to a hospital."
She froze with her hand halfway to her blood-spattered mouth and stared at him.
"Will you allow me to help you?" he asked.
"Oh, you want to help me now?" she said. "Why?"
"I feel partly responsible for your situation."
"Indeed?" she said with brutal sarcasm.
"Yes, but also I know what it is to be owned by another. To be used by them for profit. That is why I wish to help you. Will you come with me?"
She of course thought from the start that it might be a trap. He might be just as much of a villain as the man who'd attacked her a few weeks before. But she had, as she'd already pointed out, nowhere else to go.
Besides, the state of affairs in her life was so bad that at that point she must have reasoned, 'What more can he do to me?'
The worst he could do was kill her, and that was no worse than going to jail, which she certainly would if she stayed here.
"I'll take help if you're offering it," she said.
"Good. Do you know where a hospital is?" he asked.
"There's one a few blocks north," she said, indicating the direction. "Via Ugo, I think."
"Very well." He started in that direction.
She followed him in silence, too exhausted to be terrified. Only a vague apprehension played at the edges of her conscience.
When they were a few yards away from the building, her knees buckled and she crashed onto the sidewalk, hard. To Erik's embarrassment, he was obliged to carry her the rest of the way. Her skeletal frame was disturbingly easy to lift, as though she were composed of nothing but the rags that clothed her.
When he arrived at the hospital, people turned and stared at them. He could understand that reaction to the sight- a man in a mask and cloak, carrying an unconscious woman spattered with blood.
"This woman needs a bed," he said, trying to maintain a nonchalant air. "I believe she has consumption. I can pay."
"Who are you?" said a nun who had come forward. "What do you want? We can't let masked strangers into our hospital."
"Does it matter who I am? You can see she needs help."
The Sister seemed to agree, and sent for a doctor.
When the sick woman had been settled, Erik eventually persuaded the sisters to let him see her.
"You said you had a child," he said.
"Yes." She almost smiled. "Her name's Euprasia- that's a very elegant name, don't you think, very grand? But I call her Costanza."
"Is she provided for?" he asked anxiously.
"She's safe for now, I believe. She lodges with a family in a village called Montefiore. The Tempestas. They haven't turned her out so far. But they're threatening to, because I owe them a fortune. She's been sick, you see. My poor little dear."
"It is my fault you were in prison and unable to pay your debt," he said. "I shall settle it for you."
She stared at him. "It can't be."
"I assure you, it shall be done."
"Signor!"
"As soon as you are well, I shall arrange for you to go to your child. I shall see that you are provided for. You will be honest and happy once more."
She looked almost delirious with happiness. "Can it be that I will see my Costanza soon? After not seeing her for so many years? Perhaps I was wrong where you were concerned. There are a few decent souls left in this world."
Having obtained the Tempesta family's address, Erik left feeling that he had done his duty by her. The rest of his promise to her- to provide her with money and arrange for her to go to Costanza- could be arranged through correspondence. He was quite sure the woman would never want to set eyes on him again. And if so, he was more than happy to keep it that way- the less she knew about him the better.
When he stopped by the hospital a few days later to inquire after all, however, he was told that she'd asked for him.
"You have done so much for me," she said. "But I have one more favor to ask. I desperately need to see my daughter. Please, would you bring her to me? It is only two days' journey."
The world had hardened Erik. His goodness, such as it was, had its limits. He had no intention of agreeing to this request. Milan was the only place he felt safe. He feared being caught by the police if he ventured out into the open.
"Wouldn't it make more sense to see her when you're better?" he pointed out. "Perhaps you could even go get her yourself. She'd like that better than being fetched away by some strange man in a mask. She might even refuse to come with me."
She swallowed. "I'm not going to get better," she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the sheet in front of her.
"What?"
"I didn't want to tell you this." Still not looking at him, she began to weep silently. "The doctor said I won't live for another week. Please."
"I am grievously sorry." At length Erik added, "I would be happy to send someone to fetch Costanza."
"No. I don't trust anyone else to look after a child who no one cares for." Her face grew even more pitiful. "Please do this for me. If you were dying, wouldn't you want one more chance to glimpse the one creature on earth you loved- the only spot of brightness and goodness in your life- especially if your existence had been as miserable as mine?"
It was as though the woman had seen into his very soul.

"You already ran away once," she said. "Don't run away again."
Without waiting for his reply, the woman called over a nurse and dictated a note to the Tempestas, saying how she was entrusting her little Costanza to this kind man named Erik, and signed unsteadily with her name, Epifania Toloni- the only thing she knew how to write.
Erik set off that evening- though he spent the first fifteen minutes of the journey cursing the pitiful woman under his breath.

End of Chapter 1.