Intro

Life Without Erik is the story of a sixteen year old girl, Meaghan O'Riley, who lives in a newly settled city on the northeast coast of America. Her father, Ian, was a banker, supplying the simple needs of men and women trying desperately to eke out a living. His sudden, grotesque death during a family trip to Paris forced Meaghan and her mother, Angelique, to bow to the will of greedy tax collectors, and Meaghan is forced into a betrothal of convenience.With a wedding but weeks away, Meaghan finds herself falling prey to her natural sense of curiosity. Digging around, she slowly uncovers the foul truth of the man who she is to wed, and the sad reality behind the man she knew of as her father.

Years earlier, her mother had insisted upon a visit to the city of her childhood, the great Paris, France. Meaghan, a musician to the very soul, had insisted upon a visit to the then noble Opera Populaire. From that day onwards, claiming to be urged by a voice softer than dreams, harder than thunder, she drank deeply of the great chalice known to all as Music - to the great dismay of her mother.

Since then, the Opera house has been burned and restored, then sadly, abandoned, as everybody claimed that it was haunted by a powerful and evil opera ghost - the Phantom of the Opera, they called him.

Meaghan, however, will have none of it. With the money her mother is able to filch from under the cowardly nose of James, Meaghan's betrothed, they have made their way to Paris, once again. Now, living within mere blocks of the Opera Popluaire, Meaghan dreams of entering, once again, the exquisite building - not as a mere audience member, but as the leading soprano.

Ch. 1

Meaghan sighed, tossing violently through a fevered sleep. It had been about a week since she had first felt ill, alternately coughing and vomiting, until both became too much for her once-healthy body. Now, the slightest change, the slightest shift in temperature, in atmosphere, set her body aflame with ghostly convulsions. Every night was a battle to gain at least some form of rest, if only for her body.

For her mind, thought, there would be no rest... not with the dreams she had begun having since falling ill. She feared them - they were too real, to strange for her weakened self to accept. They took her through a building she had thought she had known well - the Opera Populaire, here in Paris - although why she wandered through mysterious tunnels instead of performing on that amazing stage, she did not know.

And the voice... this eerie voice, so soft, so demanding, so consuming... Each time she wandered those tunnels, she was not alone - a voice, somehow familiar, led her through every twist and turn. Yet somehow, in her heart, she knew there was nothing to fear.. knew that she knew those strange whispers.

Completely whole in her dream, Meaghan slowly wandered down the tunnels, first one way, then another, searching for the ghost-voice that usually led her round the damp, twisting corridors. That voice... it sang to her, told her this strange tale of love, redemption, and ultimately, betrayal, and always as if accusing her. She was not afraid, though... always, she knew the voice would never let her come to harm.

She passed by all the usual places, all the hidden places, where this voice had spoken to her soul, but there was nobody. Heart stuttering, she contemplated returning to one of the two places the voice had banned her from. Only one other time had she been alone in the tunnels, and only once had she dared enter that room. To her regret, she had been unable to return, as she was always under the spell of that voice.

This time, the only thing that had convinced her to enter was the empty feeling in the room. Last time, the room had felt charged, alive. She had since connected that sensation to the presence of the voice. Slowly, she had come to understand that the voice had taken to occupying the room. But why? It was designed for the tastes of a woman, and with every moment she dreamed in these tunnels, she became more certain that the ghostly voice was that of a man.

Entering the room now, she felt as if she knew that room, as if it were somehow hers. She passed the paintings and torn silk hangings with the air of somebody who had known of their presence beforehand, barely glancing at the exquisite detailing of the room.

Somehow, she had known that there was a trunk of elegant, costly clothing, if several years outdated. Somehow, she knew about the music box that rested on top of it.

Somehow, she had known that the mirror to her left was more than a mirror.

As if in a trance, she had stepped softly towards it, falling further and further into the memories of that room. Face upturned, she opened her mouth to the heavens. Before she knew what was happening, she was singing. But for who?

"For me, my Angel... You sing for me!"

With that, Meaghan awoke, drenched in sweat, screaming for her father. But why? He was dead.

I always knew there would be a time when Erik would make contact with my daughter... Meaghan showed the same promise that had first drawn Erik to me. I, myself, had not heard from Erik in years... we lost contact but a year after my Meaghan was born. Always was there the temptation to return, to find him...

Smiling to myself, I allowed myself to recall the time Meaghan and I had first returned to the Opera Populaire, together. We had been with darling Ian at the time... he had so loved to wander the streets of Paris with young Meaghan.

I had told him that I missed my family, that I wished to see them one last time before our life became cemented in America. In truth, I had no family. I was so certain we would find Erik, heal the wounds between us, that I refused to tell even Ian, my companion in every way, the real reason I wanted to see Paris once more.

God forgive me... he complied, as I knew he would. We had gone, with both him and my darling girl falling quite seasick. I, being accustomed to seafare, found myself quite at ease while travelling the rocking Atlantic. Once in Paris, we had fourteen days of bliss... except for the shadowy figure that was barely ten steps behind us.

Following us, following me, I believe, was a man. That mysterious figure was everywhere I was. I soon found myself drawing the curtains of the inn we stayed at for fear that the man would learn we were there. The last thing I wanted was to endanger my family.

I soon came to believe that it was Erik... Fearing his vengeance, I kept us constantly on the move. We barely stayed in secluded places... and never did we return to the Opera Populaire - never, until my Meaghan began to notice the impressive structure.

Like any interested child, she began to ask questions. I told her everything I could remember about it... everything, that is, except about the Opera Ghost. I feared she would show the same infatuation I had displayed. She was, after all, so much like me...

As fate would have it, she soon became determined to see the opera for herself. Following a public outburst, I came to realize that nothing short of experiencing the building, inside and out, would settle her nerves. So, to the opera we went.

She loved it. I was so wrapped up in all the memories... having experienced the music so many times myself, it was all I could do to hold back my tears. And Ian, dear Ian... he didn't even know.

That night, after returning to the inn, Meaghan was entirely aglow... when I asked her why she had so enjoyed the opera, her answer chilled me to the core.

"Because, Mommy... Erik promised he could make me do that too!" Within moments, she had drifted into a peaceful slumber.

The next morning, I awoke to find Ian and Meaghan missing. Frantic, I hurried to the only place I could think to find them - the Opera House. I caught the barest glimpse of them, stalked by that shadowy figure, entering the now empty building. I knew exactly what was happening, and I had every intention of stopping it.

Thinking to intercede, or at least take down that mysterious man myself, I rushed to catch them. I ran as fast as I could without being noticed by the bustling crowds just outside, but every time I was within earshot of them, they vanished around another corner in that massive building.

Somehow, though, I lost them. Panicking, I ran to the only place I could think of. At that moment, I was so glad that they had exactly followed the old blueprint in rebuilding. Within moments, I was in a dark tunnel. Doing my best to see past the murky darkness, I ran, praying that I wouldn't be too late.

I was. I managed to slip on a patch of slime, twisting my ankle. I tried to stand up, wincing as I did so, but, to no avail. Before I had the time to so much as remember the direction I was going in, I heard a single crystalline scream echo down the damp corridors. Forcing myself to my aching feet, I ran towards my daughter.

When I finally arrived to the small chamber preceding Erik's lair, I saw my daughter huddled in the corner, and my Ian, my beloved protector, gruesomely dangling from a nearby beam.