Don't Speak of the Night
(Ne Parlez Pas de la Nuit)
by
Lady Trueword

Chapter 1: The Healing

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Phantom of the Opera.

Deep in the quiet lair beneath the Paris opera house, the Phantom writhed on his swan bed. Every night he dreamt of Christine singing in her pure soprano voice, beckoning to him. He would reach out his hand to touch her, only to see her image vanish as echoes of her laughter taunted him – a cruel mirage to a man dying of thirst for love.

"God! How much longer must I endure this!" he cried out into the darkness. He wondered why he even bothered to speak to God, for he believed in no god. If there truly were a God, surely He would have put this loathsome carcass out of its misery long ago. In his despair he took the thick, wet rope which he had once used to bind Raoul. Perhaps he should use it on himself now.

Go on... Kill yourself... Put yourself out of your misery... A voice rang inside his head.

"No…" he groaned. "Help me…"

It became a nightly ritual for him to spend long hours feeling the rope in his hands until they were bloody and raw. At last he would fall asleep, exhausted. When morning came he was secretly glad that he would live another day, but all too soon a crushing despair would overwhelm him, and his soul would sink into the bottomless pit again. Even his music could not reach him when he was mired in those depths. Everyone had deserted him.

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" he moaned.

Day and night blended together, and soon he felt that death awaited him. Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn that he caught a glimpse of Christine, but he would not trust the image, for even now his eyes tricked him. Slowly the demons surrounded him, taunting him. He heard their hissing and felt their sharp claws attacking him. They had come for him like vultures that had spotted a meal, and they waited for the moment when they could swoop down and pluck out his eye. He would cry out, and no one would hear him. He felt cursed for eternity. Several times he begged God to let him die. Why could he not die?

One evening, when the tide of his despair was at its lowest, the Phantom pulled the noose around his neck a little tighter. Dear God, just this once, let me die... He tried to kick the chair out from underneath him, but he found himself unable to move a limb. It seemed as if an invisible presence held him still.

"Let me die!" he screamed.

"And die you shall," he heard a soft voice say.

Startled, he glanced about the lair.

"Who's there?" he replied, ashamed of sounding so weak. He let go of the rope and stepped down off the chair.

A light dawned from one end of the lair and gradually filled it with a blinding brightness. The Phantom quickly shielded his eyes.

"If you have come to arrest me, do so quickly," he said. For he assumed that the gendarmes had found him.

When he heard no reply, he slowly took his hand away from his eyes and dared to look into the light. What he saw made him stagger and fall to the ground, hardly able to breathe. Before him stood a man in shining white garments, with blazing hair and a stern face. The Phantom fell to his knees.

"I am dying…" he murmured, certain that he was seeing an angel.

The angel bent down and touched him.

"Peace, Erik. Do not be afraid."

Erik? How did the angel know his name? Erik had been the Phantom for so long, even he had almost forgotten his own name.

"Who are you?"

"I was sent by my father to help you."

"Your father?"

"My father in heaven."

Erik's heart pounded. Could this be an angel? A real angel?

"What do you want with me?" he asked breathlessly.

"Get up," the angel commanded.

Erik could not help but rise to his feet. The angel looked him over.

"Come closer," he beckoned.

Erik did so reluctantly. As he approached the angel, his mask fell off, but strangely, he felt no fear to show his deformity.

"Listen. Do what I say and it will go well with you. You are in need of much healing. Your heart, mind and soul all need healing. Do you want to get well?"

Erik looked up at the angel. Get well? What kind of question was this?

"I guess so. But my face…?"

"Your body also. But you must obey my instructions."

"What instructions?" Erik asked curiously.

"First, you must devote yourself to seeking and following the truth for the rest of your life," the angel replied. "You will learn how," he added, answering the other question that was on Erik's mind.

"If you will teach me… I will learn."

"Good. You must also live as if your past never existed. Can you do this?"

Erik paused. Could he forget all the pain… the anger… the darkness? All the people who had mistreated him?

"I will try," he said at last.

"You must forgive, or you will end up worse off than you were before. Do not speak a word about the past until it is time. If you meet someone you knew once, you must treat them as you would a stranger. They will not recognize you."

"I may not speak to Madame Giry?"

"You may speak to her, but only as a stranger would. You must reacquaint yourself with her, never revealing your past. If she finds out who you are, it cannot be your doing."

A wave of bitterness washed over Erik.

"How can I do this?"

"You must. Will you?"

The angel waited patiently as Erik deliberated his answer. When no answer was forthcoming, he spoke again.

"You will have a new life. A new family. Everything will be provided for you to begin anew. Is my request too difficult?"

"I guess not," Erik replied rather flippantly. He would not have believed the angel, except that the commanding presence compelled him to listen.

"Then you accept my conditions?"

"Yes."

"Come," the angel beckoned.

Erik slowly stepped forward, wondering what would happen next. He was used to inspiring fear and awe from others, not like he was now. He wondered if perhaps he was delirious or dreaming? The angel immediately placed his hands on Erik's face. Erik was surprised but he did not flinch. Soon he felt a light warmth course through his body. His whole being seemed to knit itself back together, with every lost piece restored until he was a whole man.

The angel removed his hands. Erik nearly fell again, but the angel steadied him. Erik cringed when he saw a pair of piercing eyes riveted upon him, but a celestial smile appeared on the angel's face. He pointed across the room to a mirror, formerly shattered, which was now mysteriously whole again.

"Your sins are forgiven," said the angel. "Go and see."

Erik could barely walk. What would the mirror hold for him now? When he finally had the courage to look, all his doubts were replaced with shock. A man with a normal face was staring back at him, wide-eyed.

"What have you done to me?" he cried in disbelief.

"What you have always wanted. Now you must go – your life awaits. Remember what I told you. Do not let anyone know about your past until it is time. Live your life well – it is precious."

"But…" before Erik could say another word, he found himself being escorted out of the lair.

"You tell me that I must not speak of the past. But what about my name? I cannot still be Erik."

"True. Your shall be Rene – Rene Bonhomme."

Rene? The former opera ghost contemplated whether he fancied the name. But his ruminations did not last long. The angel led the man now known as Rene outside, where the ruins of the opera house lay, visible to all. He pointed towards the south.

"There. Travel towards the horizon until you find your family. Do not look back."

"My… family? But how will I recognize them?"

"They will recognize you. Remember, you are never alone. God in heaven above cares for you."

Erik glanced back at the opera house. He thought it was madness to follow such instructions, but before he could ask another question, the angel vanished and he could find no trace of the mysterious being who had visited him. Ironic, he thought, that he, a master magician, was outdone by this… this angel. He had not been permitted to gather his belongings. What of his music? His clothes? His artwork? What about what was left of the 20,000 francs that he had? The thought crossed his mind that it might not be wise to go back for them, even though his heart longed for them. At last he faced forward and was proved right in his decision, for as soon as he had taken but a few steps, the rest of the opera house collapsed, sealing shut the entrances to his former home.

Make no mention of the past, the angel had said. That was fine with Erik. He was a new man with a new name, no longer an outcast. He now began his journey, eager to experience a world where he would not be rejected anymore because his face. He smiled and walked towards the south, having no knowledge or fear of what would await him.