Author's Notes: Here's the piece from Erik's point-of-view which I promised. And don't worry, the mystery with Christine's notes will be explained in a later chapter and all will be cleared up. I have a plan already outlined for this story so sit back and enjoy the ride. Please remember to review as well.

Chapter 10: Visions of a Phantom

"Erik, I'm afraid our piano lesson will have to be canceled for tonight," Meg said with her head slightly lowered. She had swept into the room dressed in a light blue silk gown and ribbons laced through her golden hair, obviously for a night out.

"Why?" he asked without looking up from the piano keys, "Do you propose to neglect music for more frivolous amusements?"

She cleared her throat and there hung a short, awkward pause between them as she struggled for a good answer to this paradox of a question. "I-I and Maman are going to a ball."

"By your current costume, I have already assumed as much. What ball?" he pressed in a low voice. A few notes floated into the air as Erik tested the keys and waited for Meg's answer.

"A dear friend's, I had promised to be there tonight," she answered and licked her lips nervously. She hated falsehoods and hiding secrets were never her strong points.

Erik shut the cover of the piano with a harsh bang and Meg, greatly startled, nearly jumped in surprise. "You don't have to lie to me. I already know," he said brokenly. Placing his hands over his face, he uttered a deep sigh which appeared doubly pathetic in Meg's eyes for his futile attempts to stifle it.

"You knew?" she needed to confirm. The topic of what exactly he did know hung unasked in the air but Meg dared not venture there. She didn't need to after all.

"I knew; it was in the morning paper."

Her face was pink with shame and for a moment, she struggled to recover herself and at the same time offer some words of comfort. "Erik, I'm sorry," Meg could only murmur foolishly in the end.

He tossed back his head and laughed at the girl before him but it was a mirthless, bitter laugh, a laugh only a tormented creature would utter. The sound sent cold shivers down her spine. "Do not apologize to me, Meg," he said dangerously, "Go to their celebration and be happy. Dance the night away, gossip over idle subjects, bask in the glory of family and friends, and leave me be."

"But will you be alright, Erik?" she ventured forward and placed a tentative hand on his trembling shoulder. "I can stay if you need me to," she surprised even herself by this voluntary bit of sacrifice.

His emerald green eyes clearly reflected his surprise as he turned to regard her intently, "You would stay?" for a rare instance Erik was at a loss for words and was almost tempted to accept her humble offer. But that feeling quickly evaporated and morphed into something entirely different. Obviously, she would stay because she pitied him and Erik was a proud, unyielding man who believed the last thing he needed at the moment was more pity. Christine had sympathized with him, had cried for him, had even consented to kiss him, but in the end she like everyone else in his life had abandoned him to a dark fate.

"No, I want you to go," he said gruffly and assumed a sneering façade. "Though tempted to, I promise not to follow you, kidnap another poor unsuspecting girl at the festivity, and drag her down into the dungeons with me if that is what you are concerned about."

Though Meg loathed admitting it, his caustic sarcasm deeply cut her. "Erik, that is not at all what worries me. I know that when you get into these moods, you might do something desperate to yourself."

"You know nothing about me!" he hissed and turning with a sharp motion, Erik seized Meg's hand in his own and applied pressure until she felt pain. He had intended to intimidate her, to see the mark of fear in her steady blue eyes, to make her hate him a little. There was always this lurking masochistic tendency about him.

Meg snatched her hand away and took a step back. True, she was fast losing her patience now as even a saint when confronted with this creature would and yet, was anything but afraid. Over the past four weeks that they had lived under the same roof, she had seen his fits of temper and understood them to be as transitory as a rainstorm.

"I know enough to realize you do nothing but wallow in self-pity!" she snapped back and instantly regretted her quick tongue. Here Meg had wanted to offer consolation and had ended up insulting Erik instead.

The words were too much for him and he bluntly refused to acknowledge their truthfulness. "Enough!" he cried, burying his face once more in his hands. He turned away from her as if the mere sight of Meg blinded him and slumped back onto the piano bench. "Please go."

"Erik, I…" she began.

"Go!" his voice echoed hollowly.

Without another word, Meg turned and left, the click of her slippers quickly fading towards the door. She knew instinctively that it was better not to interfere when he got into such moods; that it was better for the time being to just let him alone. And yet despite Meg's determination not to allow Erik's temper to spoil her evening, a cold, grey cloud had already dampened her pleasures and expectations.

"Well, did you tell him?" asked Madame Giry in the hallway. She was settling a cashmere shawl about her shoulders. Outside, the clip-clop of horses announced the arrival of their carriage.

"He already knew," answered Meg quietly and stared down intently at her gloves.

"That we're going to Raoul and Christine's engagement party?"

"Yes," and she continued to examine her gloves as if they were the most fascinating objects in the world.

Her mother simply nodded, "Then he has much to reflect over tonight. Come, Meg. Let us go." She opened the door and mother and daughter stepped into the clear dawning twilight of an early evening. It was surprisingly warm though a playful zephyr swept through the Parisian countryside. All was quiet and overhead only the stars gazed down as the two ascend into the little carriage and heard the light tap of Pierre's whip on the horses' back.

That is except for Erik who peered from the sitting room windows and saw the wagon slowly drive away. For the rest of the interminably long evening, he could hardly recollect what he did with the time. He tried composing some more at the piano but even music failed to soothe his nerves tonight and the notes sounded jarringly in his ears. He picked up a book and tried to read but the incessant ticking of the gold clock on the mantelpiece irritated him. The house was eerily still even for Erik who had lived much of his life in solitude; Madame Arlette having gone to bed early as usual and the servants dismissed for the day.

Tossing the book aside, he even considered taking a long moonlight stroll in the woods which he usually did in the early mornings. But that idea was too abandoned and instead Erik fell to pacing back and forth across the silent library. No matter what, everywhere he turned visions of chocolate brown eyes, chestnut curls, and a heart wrenchingly sweet voice haunted him. He could neither escape from it nor hide himself. There constantly floating about him were memories, visions of Christine. She was there by Madame Arlette's pianoforte, her innocent glance burning into his soul and her rosebud lips rising in song. She was standing in the middle of the room in a long white bridal dress, her hands stretched enticingly towards him. And once she was even right before him with seductive eyes, the burn of her kiss still fresh on his lips.

Slumping back into the chair and resting his mask less head on his hands, he uttered a gut-wrenching moan of agony, "Oh Christine! Christine! Christine…" as if the magical incantation of her name could somehow summon her to him at once and this time make her stay forever. He thus did not notice the clock chime twelve times behind him. Erik was too far gone, in a dream, a reverie, a reminiscence even for some parts of it were entirely true; his exhausted mind certainly could not say.

He was sprawled across the dank dungeon floor of the former Opera Populaire, alone and with tears streaming down his face. Choked with sobs, Erik did not at first hear the shouts of men pouring into his lair and if he did, what did it signify anymore…Christine was gone, she had left him to go with that damned Vicomte, and after all that he had sacrificed for her sake. He was alone in the pressing darkness again, his last hope for light and happiness having burnt out. Truly alone this time...

"Find the monster!"

"He must be down here somewhere! I can smell the stench of death!" came the angry shouts.

Yes, death. He wanted death. It was all that he had left, for the future was but a barren chasm of silence.

"We'll lynch him! String him up high on a tree and watch him kick!" the mob shrieked in unison.

He flinched as he imagined himself at their mercy, humiliated and tormented before being allowed to die. No longer could he bear such a thought, the jeering mob at his back, their spits and uncouth taunts, reminders of a cruel childhood. "Why won't they let me be?" he moaned, flipping himself onto his knees. Was it not enough that he had been reduced to a heartbroken man waiting for death? Must they strip away his dignity and mock him with it as well?

"Hang him! Hang the Opera Ghost!" They were closer, dangerously close to where he was now. He fancied he could even see the light from their torches reflecting off the stone walls.

"Damn them…damn them all to hell," Erik muttered before staggering shakily to his feet. They wanted to kill them but he would not give them the satisfaction. He would live and die as he had before on his own right. Today, the Phantom of the Opera would make his last great escape and the mob would be spared in shedding his blood.

There came a heavy crash at the heavy portcullis as the men outside stormed the barricade. However, it was reflected by the shatter of broken glass inside; Erik had broken through several gilded mirrors to reveal a secret tunnel. Stepping through the narrow opening, he could not help but smile bitterly. The only thing they would be uncovering that day would be his mask. After all, he did not need it anymore where he was going.

The week afterwards was fraught with resignation towards death as he drifted in and out of the disreputable parts of Paris, the bowels of the city as the middle class were fond of calling. Ironically what came first and which truly brought him over the edge was not a broken heart nor the discovery of his hideous deformity but hunger, a basic instinct of all man, Erik being no exception. He had not planned out in detail how he would end his life but nevertheless starvation seemed to be doing the trick. Forgoing nourishment for seven long days had nearly driven him insane; it was physical torment, a terrible grueling one which clawed painfully away at his insides. To let himself slowly waste away would be to Erik's longing eyes, a truly poetic death but the arduous process was simply too much for the man. But on the other hand, he had brought no money along and was unwilling to risk stealing from a vendor in the crowded marketplace.

Luckily on the eighth day, driven almost mad with hunger which overcame his fear of being discovered, he had noticed a man staggering drunkenly out of a saloon with a loaf of bread. And forsaking what pride he had left, Erik had in a desperate frenzy rushed at his prey. What he had not anticipated however was the arrival of the man's likewise drunken comrades.

Erik shifted slightly in his chair while above him the clock announced the hour past midnight. His eyes were closed to mark entrance into sleep and his breath visibly quickened as the scene in his mind shifts.

The shadowy men were slowly closing in around him; their kicks brought no pain but their loud jeers at his disfigurement did. He wrapped his hands about his head, closed his eyes, and pleaded for them to either kill him or leave him be. Yes, he even called out her name; Erik called out Christine's name. And almost instantaneously, a flash of white light had engulfed and swallowed his abusers and kneeling over him with her soft hand against his cheek was Christine herself.

"Christine…Christine," he murmured. One hand went instinctively to stroke her brown curls as Erik gazed adoringly at his angel.

"Erik, I'm here," she replied and beamed down at him.

"You will not leave me again?" he asked desperately and struggled to sit up.

"I cannot stay long," she said.

"Please don't go, Christine," he replied, seizing hold of her hand and drawing it to his lips, "I-I love you so much." Tears hung in his emerald eyes as Erik desperately confessed what was foremost in his heart.

She withdrew her hand and placed it behind her back, "I know and that is why I want us all to be happy again. There is no other option."

He was bewildered, "What do you mean? Christine?"

"Erik, Raoul and I simply can't be happy together until all memories of you are erased…and that can only be so by this way." Her benign smile shifted at once into a cruel smirk when with a swift motion, Christine pulled a dagger from behind and plunged it into Erik's heart.

Gasping in his dizziness, Erik observed the patch of crimson on his chest blossom like a rose; he watched with a sort of detached interest, half of fascination, half of horror. "W-w-why?" he had to know.

She smiled coquettishly though her brown eyes remained solemn. "For destroying so many lives."

Such words were another sharp dagger to his heart and Erik had to close his eyes and force himself to ignore the drops of blood quickly pooling around him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Christine. Please, forgive me for I did it all because of you," he pleaded. Somehow if only she would give him her pardon, the world would be whole again.

"Too late," she crowed, "too late." Her voice was fading away into the distance like a dying bell.

"No! Christine!" he called, reached out blindly to detain her, and felt his hand brush against a lady's arm. Opening his eyes, he felt madness overcome him as Meg Giry suddenly appeared in Christine's place.

"Come to mock me before I die?" Erik asked sardonically. So much red…all he could see now was red…surely he didn't have much time left…

"No, I've come to help you." Her focused, concerned glance never left him for a second as she took his hand.

"How can you ever begin to help me?" in a bitter tone; darkness was beginning to cloud his vision. Yet, he did not lose the soft touch of her hand.

"By waking you up, Erik. This is only a dream…"

His eyes fluttered open to a bright yellow haze and real hands shaking him. Instinctively, he seized and flung them violently aside. A little cry of surprise reached his ears and clearing the drowsiness from his mind, Erik saw Meg before him, still dressed in her evening attire. "Why did you wake me?" he asked irritably; the brightness of the oil lamp nearby made his eyes water slightly.

"I was putting away my things when I heard you yelling some nonsense in your sleep. It seemed like you were having a nightmare." Meg paused to shift the lamp a little to the side and soften its glow.

"Yes, I was having an unfortunate dream; but never mind that," he said hurriedly, wanting very much to forget it as quickly as possible. "Did you get back just now?" A quick glance at the clock on the mantelpiece informed him that it was a quarter past three in the morning, nearly dawn.

"Yes, yes I did." She obviously wasn't going to tell him anything unless he directly asked her.

"Well?" he wanted very much to know.

"Well what?" Meg feigned ignorance. They danced around the subject like a pair of duelers, each wanting the upper hand.

He was frustrated but would not allow himself to be taken in. "Good-night then," he said, making ready to rise from the couch and retire to his room.

Meg caved as he knew she would but inwardly she excused her weakness as being too mature to play such a childish game. "It was a lovely engagement party and Christine; she seemed very happy and well-recovered." Meg believed this was the first time; she had ever mentioned her friend's name to Erik and was a little nervous at his reaction…

…if there was a reaction at all; since they simply faced each other in silence, Erik sitting and Meg standing with a faint pink hue from dancing still radiant on her cheeks. Just as the long pause was starting to grow rather awkward and she was about to turn her back on him and excuse herself for bed, Erik finally spoke up in a vindictive manner.

"He doesn't deserve her."

She was always staunchly loyal of her friends and just as quick to defend. "Raoul is my friend and a fine, honorable gentleman who loves Christine very much." The dam had broken, the unmentionable subject mentioned, and Meg was aware of it but for the first time did not care. Perhaps it was the night air which fueled her boldness and prompted her to say, "And I believe on some level you've realized this or you would never have let them go."

"You think too highly of me then," he said very calmly. "I let them go because she loved him and I wanted Christine to be happy." He rose and went to sit again at the piano bench where shadows danced on the wall. "God, I would have given away my soul to see her happy," came the weary sigh which Meg could just barely catch.

With a light, graceful step of a ballerina, she went to him in her pity and placed her hands on his hunched shoulders. This time, Erik did not move away. "I know," Meg said very tenderly, "And I believe she must have loved you too if only as a teacher."

"But now she'll never even forgive me; she can no longer bear the sight of me" he turned around on the bench to look hopefully at the girl with the attitude of a thirsty man finding an oasis in the desert.

"That's not true. If someday you should ask her, Christine would forgive you." She added softly, "As I did."

He went on as if never hearing her at all and Meg soon realized that he was noiselessly crying. "It's this loathsome face of mine which she could not bear, which my own mother could not even look upon without disgust. Perhaps I am simply cursed to be alone forever." Bowing his head, Erik felt himself resigned to his fate though tears of bitterness continued to flow. For a creature starved of light will, after having tasted its sweetness and then put back into the darkness again, secretly learn to dream and to hope.

"Why do you always think so meanly of yourself, Erik?" whispered Meg, "Do you not realize that you have Maman and I who care deeply for you, that you were and are never alone when there exists such good friends?"

"Friends?" he breathed, unconsciously reaching for Meg and resting his head against her waist. His wet lashes brushed against the softness of her silk dress while a lazy thought glided serenely through his head: she smelt faintly of English roses.

"Friends," affirmed Meg, finding herself innocently stroking Erik's hair much as a mother would to comfort a small child.

Madame Giry who was just then walking by the door, peeked in, saw the little scene, and somberly shook her head before uttering a little sigh. Suddenly she was very worried for her daughter.

Thanks for Reading: I'm trying to squeeze out a couple more chapters before leaving for college. And wow was this one very angsty and longer than normal. Which reminds me: I'd like to dedicate this to Phantomphile, one of my wonderful reviewers. laughs Hopefully, I didn't make Erik seem too weak and pathetic…

The next chapter will detail the actual engagement party from Raoul and Christine's POV. Let's just say don't expect much fluff there…