Thank you so much for the reviews! They do mean a lot, and I'm pleased with the positive reponse. Just so you know though, I probably will not be updating THIS often. I've got some of this pre-written, so that's why I updated tonight. :) As to newbornphanatic's question. I'll just say this; NO Christine's will get any love here. I vary from version to version as to who she should have chose, but THIS version in particular, though she was better than most I am NOT bringing her back when my- I mean this Erik... deserves so much more. **Sigh** Erik...

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN PHANTOM. However I do own the characters and plot.

Chapter 2

When I finally came to, I was in the hold of a ship. To where I was headed, why I was here, and under what circumstances, I was unsure. All I knew was that I was alive, and I never wished to see Paris again. In fact, if I never saw FRANCE again I'd be all the better.

But now the question was, what to do now? I had the necessary abilities to survive any attempts on my life, and I was sure if I was captured, once we reached the port escape would be simple enough. But was escaping the best option? After all I was unsure of my current state in the full, and for all I knew Carrier could be in this very vessel. At that point, any unnecessary action could draw unwanted attention on my part. So I decided to scout the ship and see what I could find.

With that resolve in hand, I attempted to rise from my resting place only to find myself tied down. From what I could tell I was on a simple trundle bed, and the ropes restraining me went under and around me and the bed, effectively binding me to it. For now.

I glanced around: the room was done in many hues of scarlet, purple, orange, green, and yellow. Woven scarves hung on the walls and ceiling, and pillows of similar design were heaped in the corners. Crystal and metal hangings - moons, suns, stars and symbols of the like - were in various positions around the vicinity. "Carrier! If you've sold me to gypsies I'll have your head!" I thought violently. Really if he'd sold me to anyone I'd be royally ticked off, but gypsies had a special place of distaste in my heart. After all, from what I'd gathered on my own after years of personal investigation (and forced confessions), my mother had been given an abortion potion by a gypsy shortly before my birth. From what I could tell, that potion had been the very thing to destroy my face. So who could blame me for disliking them? They were the reason my life was a living hell!

As these toxic thoughts rolled around in my head, suddenly the door flew open, and a persian man walked in to discover me, surprised to see me conscious. "Oh, I didn't expect you to be awake so soon. Well I guess I should have expected as much from 'The Phantom of the Opera'." As he started to walk towards me, I struggled to free myself from my bonds - as I had already loosened them to a great degree -, constricting and pushing against their rough hold.

"Peace! Peace! Calm yourself, friend. I am not here to harm you." The man slowed his steps, raising his empty hands to where I could see them. His voice dropped low and spoke with a reasoning manner; "Your Father was the one who entrusted you to my care, and the one who instructed me to bind you thus. - I see now why it was necessary - But that, of course, means nothing coming from me...he told me as much. Instead he requested I give you -this- when you had awakened."

He pulled a cream envelope from a fold in his coat, which when he had finished speaking, he presented it to me. By this time the dark man had speeded along my escape considerably by slashing the ropes during his little speech. After leaping up from the bed I considered murdering him for a moment. It would be too easy to do. Perhaps I could have drawn the sword at his side and stabbed him with it. Maybe I could have impaled him with the hanging ornaments that were immediately within my reach from anywhere in the room. If I'd wanted to, suffocating him with the ropes or just snapping his neck with my bare hands would have sufficed. But I considered the object in his hand.

I eyed it curiously. Could it be a trap? Would it be filled with poison, which I would inhale upon opening the letter? Could it be a notice stating the event of my father's demise? Or maybe it was a warrant for my arrest, whereupon I would be sent to some zoo, advertised as the beast of the century! Well, dwelling on such did me nothing, so without a second thought I received the envelope and removed it's contents, hoping for the best. (Though why I would deserve that heaven knows why.)

It read as follows:

Dear Son,

I'm so sorry I could not be there with you now, but if I'd gone with you it would only have served to put both of us in considerable danger. I know that up until now I've been there with you through it all; everything that made me great, was you. But now I realize that it's time you go on your own. Though it was you who made every decision, who shaped and molded from the ashes of one man's mistakes the glory of YOUR success, I still was the one to house you, care for you, guide you and protect you. I held you back Erik, I should have seen it sooner, that I only served in taking every good thing that should have been yours from you. But not anymore. Erik, I still love you as the son you are, but I fear that I will never see you again. You must truly carve you own destiny now, and after seeing what you can do with a total failure of a man and the basement of an opera house, I know you will go on to great things. The man who gave this letter to you is The Dardoga. He is an old friend of mine who is a brilliant and prospering merchant. I believe you will be in good company with him and that he will do a decent job of keeping you out of trouble in my absence (mostly). He is taking you with him and I expect you to listen to his instructions. Don't worry. I trust him with my life and so I trust him with yours. Yes, I did ask him to tie you down while you slept, and not only did I reveal your identity, but I told him what he did not know of your life's story. Farewell, My Son. May you find the life you truly deserve.

Always, Your Loving Father,

Gerrard Carrier

Review? It keeps angry plot bunnies from devouring my soul. Last time I checked, authors with devoured souls can't continue stories. :) Do Good, Keep The Story Going.