Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from the many adaptations of Phantom of the Opera. The only characters I own are the original characters found in this story.
Sorry about the delay. For some reason my computer would not upload the next chapter properly. My muse has decided before running off to chase the ice cream truck that Erik needs to first face his past before he can move on. This story is going to be heavily based on Kay's Novel with some elements from the 2004 movie.
Chapter 1: The First Step:
Erik's POV
"No Erik. Everything is not gone. You still have something."
"And what is that, Daroga."
"A chance to start over."
Nadir's words still echoed in my mind, leaving me with no peace and making sleep impossible. I lay in bed wondering what the next step is. How in the hell am I supposed to start over? It's not like I can go into the nearest opera house and ask for a job. Besides it would seem that the music that has filled my life is now silent. It has been six weeks since the fire. Not once in those six weeks has a melody been heard in my mind. My music has abandoned me. Not only did she take my heart with her but did she have to take my music as well and leave me but an empty shell.
Deciding that attempting sleep at this point is anything but fruitless, I make my way over to my window. I looked down at the nearly empty streets below the tiny apartment I am now sharing with Nadir on the outskirts of Paris. The streets are relatively quiet, with only a few vagrants no doubt wandering home from the local bars or brothels. Taking out my pocket watch, I notice it is not as late as I hoped. It was only half past midnight. Sighing, I run my hands through my hair. I turn to look at the room I am now forced to live in. It is as bleak and melancholy as its occupant. Nothing like the opulence and grandeur of the opera house of which I had become accostumed. Suddenly the air in the room becomes stuffy and hot, I feel like I am suffocating in this tiny room. I can't stand this any longer, I need to get out of here for awhile. I make my way to the nightstand to retrieve my mask when I realize that I no longer have it. I had left it behind when I had fled from the opera house. I growl in frustration. I really have to make myself a new one but have lacked the ambition to do so. The hood of my cloak will have to do for now. As long as I stay in the shadows I should be fine.
Not really knowing where I am going, I quietly leave the apartment hoping not to wake Nadir. The poor man still worries that the police are still looking for me despite the fact that the police already have declared me dead and are no longer scouring Paris for my whereabouts. Well at least they declared the body they found within my passageways as being dead. The body was that of a stagehand that died in the fire which I left within one of the many passages surrounding my old home, dressed in my costume and mask from Don Juan. I hoped that this would at least give Christine and the fop some peace of mind. If I couldn't have peace then maybe they could.
Not paying attention to where my feet where leading me, I shouldn't have been surprised to find myself a few blocks away from the now former Opera Populaire. My subconscious mind choosing to torment me still. How can I move forward when the ghosts of my past keep haunting me. Not wanting to continue down this path I turn to head back to my apartment when I happened to notice a light coming from a boarding house across the street. I can see the silhouette of a an older woman pacing in front of an open window. The figure seemed vaguely familiar to me, but deciding to linger no longer I start walking down the street only to be stopped in my tracks by the sounds of a very familiar voice. What twist of fate had placed me outside of Madame Giry's door. I look up at the figure in the window once again from the shadows and I can see her clearly now, her face lined with worry as she paces back and forth in front of the window. Part of me was still angry at her for betraying me and helping de Chagney find his way to my home that night. Another part of me however is relieved to discover that she had escaped the fire. Despite everything, I still looked upon her as a surrogate mother. I was too scared to think about what fate had befallen her that night. Many times in the past couple of weeks I had been tempted to ask Nadir to seek her out but had chickened out every time. Looking up at Madame Giry, I realized she was alone. Where was little Meg, the annoying ballet rat that I fondly looked upon as a younger sister. I had promised Madame Giry that I would look after and protect her. Had she too been spared or had I destroyed yet more lives with my carelessness.
There was only one way to find out. I had to take the first step. The first step towards laying my ghosts to rest. With a deep breath, I made my way across the street.