A/N: I'm sad (sniff) because I have no reviews

A/N: I'm sad (sniff) because I have no reviews. But I will try to be a good authoress and keep going. Hopefully there is someone out there that might like this story. It's a modern retelling, yes, but…I've rather liked most of the modernized ones that I've read so far. Please review…it's the only thing that keeps my twisted mind turning.

Erik: I forgot just how clinically insane you are (clutches Punjab lasso nervously).

Me: Meh. I don't have any papers to prove it, hahahaha. Let's get on with the story.

Erik: Please tell me you didn't put any Phangirls in here!

Me: I didn't.

Erik: (breathes sigh of relief)

Me:…yet.

Chapter 2

After he'd examined every inch of his new home, Erik was exhausted. He'd lain down on the couch and fallen asleep. He didn't wake until late the next morning.

He was sure that yesterday's events had all been a bad dream. He would wake up in his swan bed safe and sound and nothing bad had yet transpired between he and Christine.

Opening his eyes and getting a look at the morning sun streaming in through the window told him different.

Not used to sleeping on couches, he stretched until he heard something pop. Then, he went into the kitchen. One of the drawers, he noticed, had different kinds of tea in them. He wasn't really hungry, so he just made himself a steaming mug of the tea.

It's real, he thought, I can't believe it's truly real.

Unable to deal with this evident truth, Erik went to his music room and began to play. As usual, he lost himself in the music. He closed his eyes, being transported to a world of fairy-tales where his face was normal and Christine's heart was his. When he emerged back into the real world, it was dark and Erik was shaking from hunger. He stuck to fruit, bread, and cheese, not recognizing most of the other stuff.

It was getting late and he knew that he needed to go to bed at a decent hour tonight. He was dreading tomorrow, but there was just no way around it. Looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, he sighed.

"This is your life," he told his reflection, "get used to it."

Surprisingly, it didn't take him long to drop off to sleep.

He woke up the next morning shortly before the sun came up. Deciding to go with simplicity, he chose a pair of plain black pants and a white button-down shirt. After he'd eaten and put his mask on, he walked down the sidewalk.

This time of morning felt like a clean, new day. The air was cool and there was a slight breeze blowing. Dew sparkled on the neatly manicured grass like magic. The sun was still rising in the east, a bright hot orange against the cool azure in the sky. Pink, purple, and gold clouds surrounded the sun. It was worthy of a painting.

All around Erik, the world was beginning to wake. Children were coming outside with small packs strapped to their shoulders. Backpacks, the Angel had called them. Large yellow vehicles that read "School Bus" on their sides would pause and open its door for the child. At first, Erik was wondering how they knew where to go. Then, when he looked closer, he could see the adult driver through the glass. Most of the younger children had plenty of energy and ran around and played while they waited for their ride. The older children and teens looked quite dead in the face and were yawning or sipping at steaming cups of coffee. They were all headed in the same direction that Erik was going.

Roan Academy was a large brick building that was about three stories high. The younger children went in one door, the older children and teens went in the other. Instinctively, Erik went in that door. He seemed to be guided by an internal compass. Then, he came to the principal's office.

The principal was a friendly, middle-aged woman who had a no-nonsense air about her. She gave Erik his class roster (list of his students' names), a grade-book, and a lesson planner.

"You had explained to me in your last interview that you weren't terribly fond of computers, so I'll give you these until you get used to working with one," she explained, "just make sure that you don't take too long to get familiar with them. Everything runs on computers now."

Erik nodded. They came to a room at the end of the hallway that was particularly noisy.

"Why don't you let me go in first? Just to get their attention?" she suggested. Before he could say anything, she opened the door and barged in. Erik peered into the door behind her.

Things were about as close to chaos as one could get. The chairs were either knocked over or sitting askew. Shelves had been upended and there were books scattered all over the floor. The piano looked as though it had definitely seen better days and almost sagged with the amount of stuff on top. The mirror in the back of the room had a large crack in it.

The principal blew on what sounded like a police whistle. The rowdy teens stopped their noise and looked up, annoyed.

"Class, this is Mr. Erik Beaumont. He will be your new teacher. Give him your full attention."

She came back to the door where Erik stepped in and removed the whistle from around her neck. Placing it into his hand, she whispered, "Good luck. Check your chair each time you sit down and take this. You'll need it more than I do. Also, there's a bottle of aspirin in the left top desk drawer."

With that, she left.

Erik slowly made it to the front of the class. He could feel their eyes boring into him, trying to pierce him. Most of these student were female, although about a third of the class was male.

Great. Girls. Giggling, whispering, gossiping girls. He was tempted to shout to the heavens and ask the Angel why he'd been stuck here.

But he didn't. Instead, he examined the class roster. Most of the students had their picture next to their name, so it wasn't hard to spot most of them. He had to suppress a shudder when he saw a girl with a ring piercing in her nose.

"Hey, uh, Mister Beaumont!" someone called. Erik looked up to see a blonde boy with shaggy hair leaning his chair back.

"We was all wondering, why you got that freaky mask on?"

A few snickers rippled through the classroom.

"That," Erik replied curtly, "is none of your business."

He silenced the class with a steely glance.

"Now that I have taken attendance, I want to know why this room is in such a disastrous state," Erik said, folding his arms over his chest.

"We're students, not maids," a thin blonde-haired girl piped up.

"Maybe not," Erik said, "but I want this room put back in order."

No one moved.

"Now," he growled.

There were irritated sighs and scraping sounds as everyone rearranged the chairs and put everything back. Within seconds, the room was acceptable, at least. There were mutterings about how "bogus" this was and how Erik was "psycho". His acute hearing picked up on it almost immediately.

They're probably going to think I'm worse than that by the time I'm through with them, Erik thought.

"Sir, you wouldn't happen to be French, would you? I would know that accent anywhere," a red-haired girl purred.

Oh, great. One of those.

"Paris," Erik mumbled. Her face glowed almost as brightly red as her hair. He ignored it and stared the class down again. When they finally stopped muttering, Erik stepped forward from behind the music stand that was holding his books and papers. He noticed a chalkboard a few feet behind him that was covered in doodles. He erased all the drawings and sketched a treble clef, a bass clef, a quarter note, a half note, and an eighth note.

"Does anyone recognize these?" he asked.

Not a single hand raised. Their expressions went blank.

He wasn't surprised.

"Has any of you had experience with music training at all?"

Two girls raised their hand. One of them was a blonde girl who was so thin that she looked like a living skeleton wrapped in brightly colored cloth. The other was a dark-haired girl with so much makeup on that Erik wondered if any real skin existed beneath it.

"How much?"

"Well, I took, like, voice lessons for two years," the blonde girl said, "but then my teacher moved."

"I've been tutored privately since I was seven," the dark-haired girl said, sounding like a rich snob's daughter, "and I'm the best there is in this school."

The other girls were looking daggers at her.

"We will see," Erik said, implying that she was in for a challenge.

"What was the last piece that you all worked on?"

Everyone started to sing as obnoxiously and loudly as they could. Most of them were horrifically out of key and a few were so high up in the rafters that it hurt Erik's ears.

"ENOUGH!"

Everyone's mouths clamped closed, surprised at the hardness that his voice could carry.

"Oh, and you think you could do better?" someone asked.

Without any further provocation, Erik sang a few bars of "Music of the Night". Numerous mouths fell open, especially when he sang the word "soar". When he was done, they were paying a little bit more attention. Some of the more cynical ones were still glaring at him.

"The first thing I am going to do is reassign all of your voice parts."

With that, he went through the students one by one and played scales on the piano. As soon as they sounded like they were straining or they squeaked, he would stop. The clump of chairs in the middle of the room was split into four different sections for soprano, alto, tenor, and bass.

"Why do we have to move?" one boy lamented, seeing his girlfriend clear on the other side of the room.

"You cannot stay consistent with your part if you are hearing someone else's," Erik explained, "you will stray."

"Stray? You talk like we're all a bunch of dogs!" a girl snapped.

Erik was ready for that one.

"Until you stop howling the way you are now, you will be treated like dogs on a leash," Erik retorted. A bunch of "ooohs" rose up from the room as the offended girl slumped back into her chair.

"Tomorrow, we will-"

Erik never got to finish his sentence. The students made a mad dash towards the door.

Oh, good God. He had five more hours of this, all with different students. Erik fished around in the drawer for the promised aspirin. Common sense was the only thing keeping him from swallowing an entire mouthful.

The second period was absolutely no better than the first. He got more questions about his mask, more insults, more protests, and more whining. Same thing with the third class and the fourth.

By the time he made it to lunchtime, Erik was definitely ready to pack it in and call it a day.

"Problems?"

Erik whipped around in his now empty classroom to see none other than the Angel itself.

"They know nothing," Erik lamented, "they whine like puppies every single time I tell them to do something."

The Angel laughed.

"They're teenagers, what do you expect? They'll get over it sooner or later."

"I'd rather take my chances with the mob," Erik spat.

The Angel chuckled again.

"By this time, I believe you," it said, grinning impishly, "but that's half the fun. Your first challenge is finding a way to get through to them. Ordering your way around will only get you so far in this world. You have to make them connect to you."

Erik sighed.

"How do I do that?"

"That, my friend, is up to you."

The Angel disappeared.

Erik retrieved the lunch he'd packed for himself and shoveled the food in mechanically. If the mob hadn't killed him, these ridiculous teenagers surely would.

The same abomination happened fifth and sixth period. By the time Erik got home, he was quite worn out.

As he stretched out in his bed that night, a nasty little voice in the back of his head said "This is only the beginning."

Erik had nightmares almost all night.