The Man of the Shadows Chapter 1, a phantom of the opera fanfic

THE MAN OF THE SHADOWS --- NON PG-13

Prologue

He fascinated me from the start, the mystery and the sadness of the man, the beauty of his soul. His was a broken and tortured soul when he found me. He saved my life and more. He was my man of the shadows.

Chapter 1

May 1874

My father was a doctor and I often assisted him in his work. We were moving to Paris where there was promise of a large cliental among the aristocracy, sadly he had a massive heart attack just before we arrived and the first thing I had to do was bury him. I was alone in a strange city. I had no friends or family and no home. The funeral had almost exhausted my funds. I could not stay in the hotel much longer but I had no idea where I could go or how I would manage to support myself.

After I left the cemetery I was heading for the hotel, lost in my thoughts and not really paying attention to where I was and somehow I made a wrong turn. I found myself in front of the burned ruins of the opera house. Everything hit me at once and I sat down on the steps and starting sobbing. I was lost and I did not know what I was going to do in this strange city. It was getting dark and the street was empty. It seemed no one wanted to go near the deserted opera house. I gradually became aware of the feeling of eyes watching me. Nervously I got up intending to try to find my way back to the hotel. I had taken about ten steps when two figures emerged from their place of concealment.

"Here's a pretty piece of flesh." One of the men said with a nasty leer on his grimy face. I turned and fled. I didn't get far before I tripped on my skirts and almost fell. As I put my hand out to catch myself one of the men grabbed my arm, ripping my sleeve in the process.

"Release her NOW!" shouted a deep voice and a tall, hooded figure stepped from the shadows with a swirl of a dark cape.

"It's him!" one of the men screamed and ran. The other, pulling me roughly in front of him, put his arm across my throat and pulled a knife. The caped figure stepped back into the shadows and disappeared. I struggled trying futilely to escape his grasp. Suddenly the man holding me jerked backwards and I was abruptly released. I fell to the ground, gasping as air was forced from my lungs. I whirled around to see that the thug had a rope around his neck, my savior desperately trying to tighten it while the thug was fighting back as hard as he could, one hand trying to keep the rope from tightening. His knife flashed and I heard a grunt of pain before my assailant suddenly went limp, his knife dropping to the ground. My savior straightened, dropping the limp form from his grasp, and held a black gloved hand out to me.

"Come we must go before the other comes with help." I took his hand without hesitation and we fled. He led me to a grate in the wall, opened it and led me through closing it behind us. The first few steps were dark. My rescuer seemed to have the eyes of a cat as he led me through the darkness and then we turned a corner. There was a torch set in the wall, which he then took, and led me down a series of passageways. Cobwebs hung from the dark ceiling and the stone walls were damp. I was quickly lost but he seemed to know exactly where he was. I don't know why but I felt no fear of this tall, cloaked figure. His face was shadowed in the depths of a hood, his hand holding mine firmly yet gently as he led me deeper into the tunnels.

For a while, the only sound was of our footsteps splashing and my gasping for air. Finally, he slowed his steps. He still didn't speak but he began casting small glances back at me, his hood slipped back and I saw a stunningly handsome profile, his piercing eyes a beautiful green. There was a mask covering the other side of his face. I knew then who he was yet strangely, I still felt no fear. He had just saved my life after all.

"You were weeping. Why?" He asked his eyes meeting mine seemed filled with sorrow. So, he had been watching me. I slowly found myself stammering my whole sad story. Why it seemed so easy to talk to him, I could only attribute to the echoing sadness in his eyes. He seemed like a kindred spirit, we both had lost someone precious to us. His steps slowed more as he listened. Finally, I ran out of words and feeling rather embarrassed I looked down at the ground. He stopped and put his hand gently under my chin lifting my face up to meet his gaze.

"Don't be embarrassed, I understand what it is like to lose someone." He paused a moment, a frown furrowing his brow and then it seemed he came to a decision. "What you are about to see you must tell no one." His eyes met mine, demanding a promise.

"You saved my life, your secrets are safe." I promised solemnly. His eyes searched my face for a moment and finding what he sought he nodded slightly and continued our journey. As we turned another corner, he stumbled slightly but then recovered. There was a blank wall in front of us, until that is, he pushed a certain place on the wall. As if by magic part of the wall slid to one side revealing another passageway lit by torches. As we passed through, the wall closed behind us. There were several passages branching in different directions almost like a maze. Abruptly the passage ended, an ornate solid brass gate tarnished with green, stood before us. My stranger pushed another place on the wall, the gate opened upon a large chamber, and I gasped in amazement. There were candles everywhere. Old tapestries in red and gold lined the walls, bear and wolf skins as well as Persian rugs, lay scattered about the floor. In the center of the room was a grand piano. There were sheets of music scattered across it. To the left side of the room was the kitchen. There was a heavy oak dining table and chairs, a wood burning stove, and a fireplace against the wall, on the right side of the room was an ornate brass bed with rich green velvet coverlets, an oak nightstand and armoire, a red velvet settee, a couple of matching armchairs and a heavy oak desk and chair across from the foot of the bed. Tapestries in green and red festooned the walls of the bedroom area.

"Not quite up to the standard of my last home but it's coming along." He stated with a somewhat proud smile. He threw off his cape and nearly fell. I went to him and helped him to a chair. His white shirt was stained with blood. He tried to push me away, protesting that he needed no help but strength seemed to leave him. He had lost a great deal of blood.

"Please, let me help you. I used to assist my father with his patients. We need to stop the bleeding." Reluctantly he nodded his head once in assent. I tended his wound as gently as I could. His hands clenching tightly, his face set, making only the occasional gasp. By the time I finished his face was white. He staggered to the bed, collapsed, and soon lapsed into unconsciousness. I stood studying him. The opera house had burned three years ago and the story had spread even as far as where I came from. I could not reconcile the stories of the monster with this man who had saved my life. Shaking my head, I went and tugged his boots off and then I had to get him out of his clothes. By the time I had finished I was sweating from the effort. He was a big man being at least 6'2" while I was just over 5'. Carefully I took the mask from his face and lay it on the desk. Gazing at the deformity that the mask had hidden I tried to imagine what he had been through as a child and into adulthood. I knew how cruel people could be and I longed to show him that not all people were as heartless and unfeeling. How she could leave someone who so desperately needed her love I could not fathom. While he slept, I explored the chamber, familiarizing myself with my surroundings. Soon I found myself next to the piano. "Learn To Be Lonely" was the title of the score that he had apparently been working on and the words that followed spoke of a loveless life of solitude it pierced my heart.

In the night fever set in and in his delirium, he kept calling her name. The torment and anguish in his voice was like an open wound. I bathed his poor face with cool water trying desperately to bring his fever down. Finally, exhausted I made my bed on the settee so that I would be close if he needed me in the night.

In the days that followed, I feared for his life, but finally on the third day his fever broke. I was sitting in the chair that I had placed next to the bed. I had borrowed one of his shirts, and was wearing it while I mended the ripped sleeve on my blouse.

"Who are you?" I heard. His deep voice a near whisper. I looked up at the sound of his voice and went to his side, and putting my hand to his brow, felt the coolness there, I sighed in relief.

"I'm the woman you saved. Jenny Fletcher. Do you have a name?"

"Erik...but perhaps you should know I'm also called.…" He started weakly.

"Don't say it. Erik is fine, that other person died in the opera house fire three years ago."

"You know about that? I should have died then. It would have been better if you had just let me die." He said, despair in his voice. "Why is it you aren't afraid of me like everyone else?" he asked looking at me in puzzlement.

"Well what kind of repayment would that be to the man that saved my life? Besides how would I ever find my way back out of here? I'm hopelessly lost." I shrugged. He started to sit up gasping in pain for a moment. I placed another pillow behind his back and helped him sit. He glanced down at himself then back up at me startled.

"You…" he started to say.

"Somebody had to, I couldn't let you lie in dirty, bloodstained clothing. I told you I used to assist my father." He started to look away in embarrassment and that is when he noticed the mask sitting on the desk across the room. His hand flew to his face frantically turning away from me.

"Give it to me! How can you bear to look at me?" He shouted. I went to him and gently turned his face to me, pulling his resisting hand from his face.

"Look at me. You never need to hide your face me." I said gently. He studied my face intently, looking for any sign of revulsion or disgust and finding none.

"Please." He whispered finally. I sighed and retrieved the mask from the desk and handed it to him. "Thank you." he said, a world of meaning in those two simple words.