Disclaimer: "Did you write the book?" you ask. "Would I kill Erik?" I reply

Hi all. I can now say I am the proud owner of an MP3 player that has both the RENT and the Phantom of the Opera soundtracks. RENT is a Broadway recording, and PotO is the movie recording. Lots of fun. I think I have both of them completely memorized now. I can even do voices! (laughs like Maureen)

I am also deliriously happy about how the last two chapters went. I think they were some of my best writing! I still think the "masterpiece" of all my work has to be either The Smoothbeautiful Rebellion or Of Forests and Courage. They're both kinda weird, but I am very happy about them. Perhaps I shall post them on FictionPress one day?

And I finished Phantom the other day.

What can I say . . .?

DEFFINATLY ON MY FAVS LIST!

1 last thing: The opera I'm in premiered last night! My role? Chorus member #21! Oh yeah! I almost fainted from the heat of the stage lights, but I made in through and the whole thing was SUPERBLY AWESOME! Wish me luck for the other performances! (like, let's hope I don't collapse)

Chapter 6: Realization

Erik woke again to a sound he hadn't heard in over a week.

Someone was singing.

Life in the Boufard household had continued in its usual way since Erik had been thrown down the stairs two nights ago. The only difference was that Madeline had been sufficiently quieter than she had on the first day. In fact, Erik couldn't actually recall her saying anything at all. She cooked, cleaned, drew, read, and endured the pain in her leg without complaint. She barely ate, though, and Erik knew this was making Henri quite distressed.

"You have to eat, Maddi!" he had said at dinner. "You've been very out-of-character lately. Do you feel ill?" The girl shrugged. Henri shook his head. "I hate to nag you, but you haven't touched your food since you came home." He lowered his voice. "Does this have anything to do with Armand." No response from Madeline. She stared at her father, expressionless.

"I do not wish to intrude on family matters," Erik had said coolly "But I must remind you of the fact that you said yourself the night of the . . . "incident" . . . that you felt no feelings for the man. You must not dwell on his rejection, if that is the problem in question."

Madeline's face turned red. She got up and limped to her room, not looking at anyone at the table.

Now, the man's head was filling with the thing he loved the most. Music . . .

He slowly got out of bed and walked out of the room. Whoever's voice this was, he had to find the source. It was beautiful; the pitch, the annunciation, the control . . . it was all almost perfect.

Erik wandered down the hall in a trance. The music almost intoxicated him. He turned finally and looked into the room eager to see this unseen prima donna, this unknown talent, this living angel of music. His eyes darted hungrily around the room and settled on its only occupant.

Madeline was staring absently out the window and singing a sad little song.

He came up behind her. She heard his footsteps and turned around to stare at him with embarrassed shock. "Erik! Did you hear all of that? What are you –?"

She never finished her sentence. Before she knew it, Erik had lifted her off the floor, hugged her close, and was kissing her. Her eyes were wide open with surprise. She couldn't pull away; he was holding her too tightly. She looked around desperately to find some escape route from this awkward intimacy, but there was none. She looked at his face in scared hope, but he didn't notice. Erik's eyes were closed. For a moment, she fought, but then she felt strangely happy. She almost began to enjoy herself. Her eyelids were getting a bit heavy. Perhaps she should close them for a second, just to ease the discomfort . . .

Then their lips were separated and she was spinning around. He had picked her up and was swinging her in a circle. She let out a cry of surprise. "Erik! What the hell –"

"That was spectacular." his voice was shaking when he put her down again. "Oh, what you could be like with tutoring! You would be the talk of Paris! The opera would pay to have you in their cast. I could teach you, I could –"

"Erik!" Madeline interrupted him. "What the hell are you talking about? I was singing to myself. That's all. It was a song I learned in school. It was nothing. And suddenly you're here, being highly romantic and rambling off nonsense about my voice!"

A deep blush was crawling up the man's neck and into his cheeks. He turned his face and let go of her. "I'm sorry . . . I don't know what came over me. I just . . . I haven't heard anything like that since . . . "he gulped "since Christine . . ." he then fled the room as fast as his injured legs would allow.

Madeline blinked and turned back to the window. "He heard all of it."

---

Erik slammed the door behind him and stood in the middle of the guest room. He had kissed her . . . he had kissed her.

I promised myself I would never do that again. She's seen my face. She knows why I must hide. She hates me. But I kiss her anyway!

Erik turned quickly and slammed his head into the wall in anger. "Damn me! Damn it all!" he hit his head again. And again . . . and again . . .

After some time, he felt dizzy, and he stumbled and lay down on the bed. His head was throbbing, but he figured he deserved it. He deserved everything bad that had ever happened to him. But then he realized that wasn't true. Some things weren't his fault. Some things he had done simply for pure self-defense. But none of it would have happened if it weren't for his face . . .

Erik's hand rose up to the edge of the washcloth that covered his disfigurement. Slowly, he allowed himself to pull at the string around his head and pull the mask off his head completely. He let his figures wander over the left side of his face. The skin was smooth, flawless, and in truth, highly attractive. He closed his eyes as his fingers move to the left to touch all the abnormal ridges and dips that had ruined his life. Ever since birth people had hated him for something he could never have prevented. It was not his fault he was born looking like this. No one had meant for him to be born looking like part of his face had been turned inside-out. But it had still happened. And people hated him for it.

Sighing, he slid his hand away from his face and replaced his mask. He sat there thinking about Madeline's voice. It had been good, but not perfect. Erik could make it perfect. He could easily seduce the young woman, hypnotize he and make he obey him. It would be just like it used to be. She would be the pupil, and he would be the teacher.

But then he remembered how he had ended up at the Boufard's house in the first place. A kiss had ended it all between him and Christine. He had already kissed Madeline. True, at first they would be just like any other professor and their student. Things would progress from there, though. There would be something inside of him. It would be small in the beginning, but slowly it would blossom and consume all his thoughts and actions. Things would go beyond being friends. Then it would all come crashing down on his head again, and neither of them would ever be the same again. He would once again be alone. When was he going to accept the fact that no one was ever going to love him?

Erik knew in his mind what he had to do. He couldn't let any of that happen. It would hurt Madeline, and it would kill him.

---

The day continued as usual; Genevieve came home, Henri finished work and went upstairs to make dinner. They ate the meal as they normally did. Madeline began to talk and eat, which made Henri very pleased.

That evening, as they sat around the fire, Erik showed Genevieve a new magic trick. He produced from his sleeve a single square of paper. Carefully he folded it into the shape of a rather small spider. He placed in on the floor and wiggled his fingers above it. It moved like a tiny marinate across the rug and over Genevieve's foot. The child simply watched with frightened fascination. Henri and Madeline also watched. After a few seconds of scuttling around Genevieve's ankle, the paper spider jumped to the ground again and unfolded itself.

The family stared at the crinkled paper for a long time, until Genevieve regained movement of her vocal cords and looked up at Erik.

"H-h-how did you do that?"

Everyone looked at Erik hopefully. Henri got up and picked up the paper. There were no strings attached. It showed no signs of being modified in any way. It was as if it had been under a spell. The two girls also examined it, but no matter how hard they looked, it was still just a rather wrinkled piece of paper.

They such a long time trying to figure it out, no one saw Erik leave and disappear into the guest room.

---

The next morning, everyone gathered once again in the kitchen. But something was missing: Erik wasn't there.

Henri checked in the spare bedroom only the find that the bed had been made. The room was spotlessly clean, in fact, showing no signs of there ever being an occupant. The whole house was all like that, too. The dishes were washed and the floor had been scrubbed. But there was no Erik." Where is he?" Henri asked.

"Here, look at this!" Genevieve reached fir the middle of the table and grabbed an envelope that had been lying there. Her father took it. Madeline looked at the letter over his shoulder as Genevieve craned her neck to read the curly black writing.

To the Boufard family:

I must, first of all, thank you for the care you showed me over the past several days. I acknowledge your kindness and hospitality, though I feel now is the time we split our ways. It is in the best interest of your household that I leave you. I ask that, for the safety and overall well being of us all, you make no attempt to ever see me again. Though it gives me great sadness to write these words I feel it necessary for us to say our goodbyes. I am sure you all wish to return to your usual routine, as I would very much like to return to mine. Again, I cannot express to you my thankfulness for your family.

I remain in your unending debt,

Erik