A new brainchild that simply demanded it's birth. This idea has been floating around in my head for weeks and is crowding the creative space! For those that are following Enigmatic Darkness, I do apologize for the delay. It's not exactly writer's block, as the story has already finished entirely in my mind. I just seem to be unable to capture their thoughts and actions appropriately on paper. Please be patient as I work toward that end. In the mean time, I'm not sure how quickly this will develop but I do hope you will enjoy.

As a side note, I decided to allow myself one very corny indulgence as an author. I gave my Erik the last name of... gaspshockhorror>... Mauer. Many of you will probably get the corny coincidence there, but since I think Mr. Mauer is the best Phantom ever, I will immortalize him forever in my pitiful story.

I've not decided which aspects of the story I will invert, but to state the obvious. Erik is perfectly handsome, and is mourning the loss of someone dear to him. Our dear Christine, who has not appeared in this chapter, is not so fortunate.

I welcome constructive criticism and reviews of all sorts!

Enjoy!

With the last of the boxes unpacked, and all of his things put away in a tidy manner, Erik allowed himself to fall at last into the bed that would be his. Quite depressing, really. The springs creaked beneath his weight and the mattress itself sunk in severely in the center. He was, obviously, receiving no special treatment. To imagine that just a year before he had owned his own home, a modest but beautiful estate, would probably seem far fetched to some. Even to Erik it seemed as though that were a dream, so long ago. And then he had lost it all, everything he loved. As a last resort he had come here. The Opera Populaire was always in need of another pair of muscles to heave about, moving the large set pieces or to aide in the construction that seemed never ending on the vast complex. Acquiring the job had been simple, really, but now as Erik reclined in the dusty, cramped quarters that belonged to him he began to doubt whether he could assimilate as easily as he had imagined.

"Oh, Emma.." he sighed heavily, lifting his hands to rub over his face. The hollowness that had threatened to consume him in the past twelve months returned, an aching void that pulled at his mind and heart. As if he could escape the lingering pain, he stood quickly and exited into the busy halls. It was nearly lunch time, and perhaps a meal would quiet his thoughts.

"Monsieur Mauer?"

Erik glanced over his shoulder toward the shorter, scruffy figure calling his name. The boy seemed young, barely eighteen, and had a crooked grin upon his face. Cheerfulness exuded from him, and Erik blanched in the face of it.

"Yes?" he replied in a detached tone, already moving to resume his walk.

"I am Michal, my mother acts as a sort of welcoming committee here within the staff quarters and it's my responsibility to see to it that you find your way about." Even his words were excited, and Erik relented a bit of the tension within his mind - allowing the seemingly abundant joy Michal possessed to wash a bit of his turmoil away. Perhaps he wasn't so bad..

"A pleasure, Michal. Call me Erik."

Together the two navigated the halls quickly. Michal proved to be an efficient tour guide. Within a matter of twenty minutes he had shown Erik the entire floor that housed all of the common workers. He explained that the floors above housed the performers, and soon led the way toward the dining facility. By the time they settled to eat, Erik was famished. It had been days since he had eaten a hot meal, and as much was obvious by the way he went through his food.

"Slow down there," Michal had commented, with mirth in his eyes. "There's more where that came from. Hungry, are we?"

Erik ignored the intrusion into his meal, and finished eating. Just before he could acquire a bit of dessert, the entire room went into an uproar. A little ballerina ran into the room, paused in the very center, and gave the most shrill shriek Erik had ever heard.

"It's her!"

Immediately the quiet clanking of china and soft hum of conversation died, chaos ensuing. Trying to make sense of it all, Erik could only ascertain that at least half those in attendance seemed annoyed and were calling for the frightened child to be silenced. They rolled their eyes and muttered snide remarks that were lost upon the ears in all of the din. The others, however, responded with an ashen face and wide eyes. The matronly woman who had first spoken with Erik rushed in behind the girl and squatted before her. Erik could only assume she was attempting to calm the little thing.

"It's the ghost! She was here!"

The older woman seemed to have no tolerance for this. She snapped upwards into a rigid posture and leveled her gaze upon all those making such remarks.

"Silence would befit you all," she stated in a tone that had quite the effect. The dark eyes seemed to dare the others to rebel against her word, and when no one did so, the lady glanced his direction. Erik felt uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny. After mere seconds, she glanced beyond him to his companion, Michal.

Michal groaned beneath his breath, careful not to allow his body language to betray his emotion.

"I must go for now, Erik. That, you see, is my mother."

With no further explanation, Michael had disappeared out the door just behind a frightened ballerina and a livid Madame Giry.

Hours later, Erik had found his way to his new work site. His job was the destruction of old and unneeded set pieces. As simple as it may sound, it proved to be quite a complicated duty. Before he carefully removed each nail or screw, he had to first determine what type of material it was and then compare that with the list the set department had created. Amongst the pages and pages of pieces needed, he must determine first if that particular material was necessary. If it were, then he was responsible for gathering the dimensions, and finally assuring the quality of the piece. More often than not it could simply be recycled into the next production. The few things he had gotten to destroy had been physically exhausting, nothing short of monumental for a single person to do.

With less than an hour until dinner would be served, Erik's muscles ached and he longed for rest. His mind was restless however, and he could not tolerate even the idea of retreating into his own thoughts. He wandered without escort about the opera house, until he stumbled upon the chapel.

The room was tiny and dimly lit, with only a single candle burning. The silence was welcoming, the darkness comforting. Erik had never been overly pious, but he felt drawn to light a candle for his beloved and perhaps allow himself to mourn a bit more.

The flame was easily lit, birthed from the burning of the other beside it. As the candle flickered and gave birth to light, Erik settled upon the cold stone of the floor. He wrapped his arms about his knees and lifted his head toward the dome shaped ceiling. Tiny though the room may be, the architecture was splendid and it was beautiful.

"Emma," he lamented again, the single name producing agony within his chest. "You left me! Why?"

Erik had shed no tears in months, and today would be no different. Though they did not fall against his cheeks, his eyes became glossy with unspent emotion and his features reflected the utter defeat he felt within his chest.

"Alone..." he sighed.

Erik was a young man, scarcely twenty six. The past three years of his life passed through his mind in a blur as he hovered there, in the cold and lonely chapel. The happiest moments in his life resided in those sacred years, and the most tragic. As he considered all that he had been given, and all that had been taken away from him, an anger began to stir within his chest.

"God," he spat derisively. "How could you take her? Why didn't you stop her? What cruel sin have I committed to be punished so unjustly?"

His words boomed off the walls, and the only response he found was the echo of his own voice.

The louder he spoke out, the more fierce the flame that had been fanned within him blazed. Erik felt blinded by his sorrow, his pain, his fury. He felt as though he watched from afar as his own hands topped the stand holding the sacred candles, the flames being snuffed out. Sent into darkness, the surge of emotion within him propelled him against the stone walls where his fists found purchase. Oblivious to his own pain, he pounded relentlessly. Instead of purging the vicious thoughts, it only seemed to add fuel to the fire. In a consecrated portion of his mind, Erik watched himself becoming consumed.

From afar a voice penetrated the fog. Words could not be heard through the chaos in his mind, but the sweet and delicate tone was unmistakable. It echoed peace. Peace that forced its way into the struggle within his mind, quieting the clamoring fibers until he felt only numbness. Erik slumped down against the cold stone wall, and lifted his bleeding hands to his face.

"Oh God," he finally wept. "Please God, I cannot be alone. I cannot endure it. Please help me."

His cry was little more than a choked out sob, completely unheard to the bustling world of the opera house above. The cry did not go unnoticed, however, and it would not go unanswered.