He was bent low over the mare's neck as she flew up the street. They raced past the houses on either side of them, nothing but a monstrous indigo shadow standing out starkly against nightshades cast by a gibbous moon. His cloak streamed behind him in the wind from their passing as once again he tried to outrun his tortured thoughts.

He was to be a father for the second time, and he was just as troubled now as he was with the birth of their son. The darkness within his own mind was an old friend of his. It sent out tendrils of misery only to entrap him in its smothering folds far away from light and warmth. In the past he had often wallowed in it, wishing for nothing more than a colorless world. Color meant life and for much of his existence black suited him much better.

Then a miracle named Christine changed his thought processes to a very large degree. And he loved her with all of his being and had no wish to hurt her, but it seemed that he couldn't stop. In a month's time she would give birth once more and he would be unable to take away her pain. He would witness it again, and hope that by the end of it she would be fine and the child healthy and normal. Not that he didn't love his son. On the contrary, the boy meant everything to him, but in the small hours of morning he would sometimes wander the silent house sorrowing for him and the legacy he was dealt by his father.

He pulled himself out of his torment, finally becoming aware of the mare's snorts and immediately hauled back on the reins, slowing her down before she became winded. She fought him briefly, but their battles of will were rarely won by her, and she soon settled into a smooth trot, tossing her head to show her displeasure.

He couldn't stay away from his wife. His need for her outdistanced anything else. He required her warmth and willingness to hold him in her arms and inside her body. She gave him shelter from the hurtful memories and made him feel whole.

No, he couldn't leave her alone, and what's more, she didn't want him to; his seed after years of lying fallow, had at last found fertile ground. They were like soldiers storming the castle and would not stop until success was assured. And the fair maiden awaited him in the tower, waving her flag of surrender with eagerness. He snorted in disgust at his ridiculous fancy and sighed, but it was true and he still couldn't understand her willingness to lay with him. Not only willing, but judging by his wife's sighs, her pleasure.

He was always completely cognizant of his surroundings; after years of tracking the detritus of society, it was his second nature. He halted on the outskirts of town, the trees becoming thick as the woods began to either side of the road. He was eager now for home and decided to return, when raised voices ahead of him made him pause.

"...damn well go back there," a gruff voice proclaimed.

"I only wished for a place to practice medicine. Why should that bother you, sir?"

Erik heard the nervousness in the man's voice, but he wasn't backing down. He dismounted swiftly, and on silent feet glided much closer; so close in fact, he could almost touch one of them. He was familiar with the man in front of him; to be sure, he had grown quite a bit and filled out, now possessing a tall and powerful physique. He watched him and the other two men with narrowed eyes, anger as always beginning to build from the witless need bullies had to subjugate those weaker than themselves.

"You better go back where you came from, doc...much healthier for you in the long run. We don't want your kind around here."

"Oh? And what kind would that be? Those that can read and write?"

Gabe Rafferty gasped and spun around at the soft voice laced with deadly promise. A voice he still heard at times in his dreams. Eyes shone eerily from the darkness, and he backed away quickly.

"Y-You!" he stuttered in disbelief. Images and remembered agony flashed through his mind; bones on fire, the crushing grip of a merciless hand. Howls of pain, fear racing through his veins, ribbons of blood dripping from a shattered hand.

"You!" he repeated, and took another step backward, hate and dread warring against one another. He could feel the throb in his fingers all over again, though it had been years. Often on damp and chill nights, they would ache and he would be forced to recall that god-awful moment all too well.

Erik remained where he was, dividing his regard between Rafferty and his doughy faced companion. "Be on your way and let this gentleman alone or I assure you, you will have cause to regret it. Again." His lasso was near to hand, as well as his switchblade, should he need it.

He wouldn't.

Not this night.

Rafferty wanted no part of an argument with the creature.

For now.

Gabe didn't believe in the direct approach. Too many chances for things to go south. Much better to bide his time and await an opportunity for a little four on one confrontation. An ambuscade, as his drunken sot of a pappy used to say. That would be much more to his liking. This encounter had been a long time in coming, but it could wait a while longer. His friend started to speak and Gabe silenced him quickly while backing up.

"We're done here."

"But, Gabe..."

"I said we're done here, jackass!" and he grabbed the other man's arm and yanked him away.

"Who or what the hell is that?" Rafferty's friend was casting fearful glances over his shoulder at the inky shadow now behind them, where inhuman eyes tracked their every move.

Rafferty, with loathing and no small amount of fear, looked in Erik's direction one last time, then turned and started hiking back toward town. His one wish as he walked away, was to see that masked son of a bitch on his knees in front of him. Just before he shoved a knife between his bony ribs.

It was a nasty shock tonight to find himself facing the very real stuff of his nightmares. He had often wondered if some of the rumors were true he heard floating around town, or just the yakking of dried up old biddies with nothing better to do. About the masked man with eyes that were lit from within just like a Hallowe'en jack o' lantern. Eyes that once stared at him with icy contempt, just before his ears were assaulted by the sound of his own screams.

Over the years, work on the river kept him shuffling from the docks to the saloon to the bed of the nearest whore. But now he had found himself a new pastime. Digging the dirt on a walking dead man. He rubbed his hand, reliving again the flaring agony of his fingers being held and squeezed in a grip like a vice. And his once slumbering hatred reawakened...

...and grew.

Their footsteps could be heard as they moved away until the sound faded and disappeared altogether.

The doctor had been startled at the animalistic glow of eyes from the swallowing dark, but knew his savior was anything but an animal. The man's cold voice had the ring of culture to it, and the oddly lit eyes held the gleam of keen intelligence, as his next words confirmed.

"They won't bother you again tonight, doctor. They are cowards and do not care for even odds."

"Your timely intervention is most welcome, sir. It appears they were lying in wait for me and blocked the road with a tree limb. When I left the buggy to remove it, they wouldn't allow me to leave. The gentlemen took umbrage with my Jewish faith." He shrugged. "They must have overheard a conversation I was having with Mrs. Morrison at the dry goods store and decided to do something about it."

There was silence for a beat. "I have an abhorrence for that type of behavior. But...it was my pleasure. That one fellow who accosted you has not learned his lesson at all it seems, and is still a troublemaker. If you are returning to town, permit me to accompany you to your lodgings."

The young doctor observed that towering figure standing perfectly still in the surrounding gloom, visible only as a deeper black in the enfolding night.

Until he turned those remarkable eyes on him.

He felt an involuntary shiver travel the length of his spine."T-That's kind of you, sir. I accept." He got into his buggy and took the reins into his hands. "I was coming back from looking at a house for sale when those men stopped me. Ah, but permit me to introduce myself. I am Murray Abraham. Doctor, that is. I was inspecting a house on Broad Street, forgot the time and it was dark before I realized it."

Erik had silently called the mare to him, and Abraham was startled when he heard the sounds of a horse approaching, the powerful looking animal, black as pitch suddenly appearing riderless out of nowhere. The doctor blinked, watching this shadow play as his rescuer fluidly mounted the tall horse, revealing himself to be well used to the saddle. They started back to town, Erik riding at a walk beside the buggy, his eyes and ears watching and listening to the night sounds.

"Broad Street? The Drake property, I would imagine."

"Yes, that's right. I intend to buy it and start a practice there. If you don't mind, how do you know this? And your name, sir. May I have it?"

Erik, from years of keeping his identity close, hesitated. But he was now a member of this community and couldn't hide any longer. The glare of his new life was sometimes blinding to him; nevertheless, he calmly gave his name to the man.

"Erik Archer, doctor. We are to be neighbors."

"Of course. I've heard of you, Mr. Archer. You and your theatre. In fact, I attended the opera last week and was fortunate enough to see a presentation of Enfin l'amour. It is a wonderful piece of work. You should be very proud of your achievement. Sadly though, I missed your wife playing the lead. I've heard marvelous things about her though."

"My wife is expecting our second child in another month, or she would have been Clarice. She was the inspiration for the young girl; after all, the part was written for her voice. Someday she will perform the role; only then will I judge it a success."

"All the same, it is very good. Any plans to visit other cities with your opera? St. Louis perhaps, or even New York?"

"I have no such plans, nor do I seek a larger audience than the one which fills the St. Joseph every night. I do not yearn for fame...or notoriety," and Abraham heard a distinct note of amusement enter the other man's voice, "although if St. Louis or New York came to me, I would not turn them away."

Murray chuckled at this and shook his head. "I don't doubt that happening, Mr. Archer. Your music is worth the journey."

Erik regarded the younger man for a time, trying to gauge his character in the space of minutes. "Do you have a practice, doctor?"

Abraham shook his head. "I've only been in St. Joseph for two weeks. But I would like to start taking on patients as soon as possible."

"If you don't mind my asking, will this be your first or did you practice medicine in your last city?"

"I may as well tell you, sir. I'm so fresh out of medical school, the ink isn't quite dry on my license. And there's the rub. Getting a practice started could be difficult, especially with a populace so enamored of its current doctor."

"All of St. Joseph minus one. My wife," Erik said dryly, "but yes- so it would seem. She doesn't wish to have him attend her when labor begins. And I am not sure why, for she becomes very vague when I ask. He was present at my son's birth, but she is adamant that he not be for this one."

"Well, most women to my knowledge only require a midwife. Perhaps that is why."

"The doctor was my idea. I have no wish to upset her, but Dr. Pierce will be attending my wife when the time comes." His intense scrutiny dared him to argue the point.

Abraham declined.

"Christine means everything to me, doctor. As well as my son and the child soon to be born. That is the way things stand as of now. Unless another solution should present itself to me."

Abraham shifted uneasily beneath the scrutiny of those unnatural eyes. In the dim glow of a streetlight, he in return studied the man who had swept so fortuitously into his life and perhaps was about to become a major influence in it. He took a deep breath. "Tell me, sir. Could you find it in yourself to let me see to your wife when the time comes?" He hastened to add, "All of your family's health concerns, for that matter."

They were in front of the livery stable and Dr. Abraham stopped the buggy. Erik reined in beside him. "It is my opinion that a doctor just out of medical school can bring a fresh approach and perhaps more efficient methods of treatment. I hope so." He regarded him thoughtfully. "Will you come by the house tomorrow evening? Say... eight o'clock? You can meet my wife."

He gave Abraham the direction and prepared to leave. "Mr. Archer, I don't believe I thanked you properly for your intervention. They may have become physical if not for your presence."

"I have no doubt of that, Dr. Abraham," he replied softly, tipping his hat in farewell. "Until tomorrow then."

He watched as the doctor alighted from the buggy and went inside the stable, before turning for home. Erik had an ulterior motive in involving himself tonight. The fact that Abraham was a doctor, had interested him very much. His breakneck ride had produced satisfying results and he was pleased by it, but the image of Gabe Rafferty suddenly swam to the forefront of his mind, ruining his mood. Over the years, he had conveniently forgotten the young hooligan's existence while he enjoyed, what felt like at times, to be someone else's life. Someone much worthier than a mask-wearing freak of nature pretending to be an upstanding citizen of the town. One who provided entertainment and morality plays set to music on the opulent stage of an opera house, and wanted nothing more than to be an ordinary man with a normal face. As common and decent as Andrew Smith, the banker, or even Raoul de Chagny, the up and coming lawyer. There was only one thing wrong with this view.

Erik was a fraud.

None of the outpourings of love from his wife, none of the love for her he so amply returned, not one whit of heartfelt emotion he managed to wring from a demanding theatre audience- would ever make him normal. It never could. Aside from his corpse's face, he had blood on his hands. A lot of it. In most cases, it was at least legal, if not moral...men wanted dead or alive, a body flung over the back of a horse and delivered to the nearest town. He had always chosen the former method. For hadn't he enjoyed the hunt? Hadn't his excitement ratcheted up when he caught up with his quarry? No amount of begging on their part stayed his hand when the time came. They were merely a liability until they were turned over to the law in any number of towns and he was paid for his trouble. His bounties had no history, aside from their misdeeds. No loved ones, no wives or sweethearts. Mothers or fathers. No children.

He knew differently of course. But to give them personalities and families, to make them more human, made it difficult to shoot them in cold blood. Which was why, since his own deliverance from his personal hell, the bloody past now had a tendency to show up in disturbing dreams. The hunter had become the hunted. To be sure, bad dreams were not something new for him, but simply of a greater frequency. Every robber. Murderer. Renegade. It was a macabre parade of their accusing faces chasing him from slumber beside his wife, sending him out into the darkened rooms of his home, fleeing to the cellar and to the organ which allowed him to express thoughts he normally kept shuttered behind the iron barred doors of his mind.

Which brought him back to his latest confrontation. He had no wish to rake up the dead past. His past. It was not a pleasant place to visit, let alone linger in. Which was why he had filed Rafferty away in a securely locked drawer. Until now. In future, it might be in his best interests to keep an eye on the man.

He leaned forward in the saddle and touched heels to the mare's flanks. Always responsive to her master's whims, she broke into a gallop, taking him home- home to Christine.

Murray Abraham was surprised when he met Erik Archer's family. The next evening he presented himself at their home, and on entering the parlor, was introduced to a young and pretty woman nearing the end of her third trimester. Beside her chair, stood a young boy of perhaps three, and Abraham was startled to see the malformed right side of his face. An otherwise handsome child with black hair and pale, even features, severely juxtaposed against the deformity. As he went closer, he noticed that the boy also had heterochromia. One blue eye and the other a pale green.

"Doctor, my son, Erik Neilsson," Christine said fondly, "but we call him Neil." She indicated an elderly woman sitting quietly in a slipper chair, knitting. "Another member of our family, Anna Guthrie."

"This is Teeny. He won't bite you," the young boy said earnestly, a hand on the massive head of the mixed breed dog.

Abraham chuckled to see such a large animal with that particular moniker, and Christine laughed. "My fault, Dr. Abraham. My husband gave him to me as a puppy, and at the time I named him, he was tiny."

She studied the young doctor and was pleased with what she saw. He was of medium height with a body that leaned toward stockiness and rather plain features, but his eyes were kind and his manner easy.

Matilda brought them tea and set it on a side table. Anna poured the Earl Gray into delicate old china cups, then put her arm around Neil. "Time for bed, young man. Say goodnight to your mama and Dr. Abraham."

The boy went instantly to his mother and threw his arms around her neck. "Goodnight, my love," she whispered as she kissed his cheek.

Once they were gone, she turned to Abraham. "Erik told me that you're buying the Drake house and starting up a practice. That's wonderful! We can certainly use another doctor in St. Joe."

He set his cup down. "Your husband wants a physician attending you at the birth of this child. Forgive me for asking, but most women don't want a man in the birthing room whether he is a doctor or not. How do you feel about that?"

"Erik admits he is a little over-protective, Dr. Abraham." Christine gave an unladylike snort. "Do not let him fool you! He is exceptionally over-protective. He thinks I need a doctor for my labor, and therefore I will have one." She shrugged slender shoulders. "Most women around here are scandalized by his involvement in my approaching confinement. He only wants what is best for me, but sometimes he's a bit heavy-handed about it.

"I happen to know my husband fairly well by now. I'm aware of his plans for Dr. Pierce attending to me when the time comes, so I would much prefer another choice when it is presented," she said dryly. "I came to the conclusion a long time ago to choose my battles carefully, doctor, and decided this wasn't one of them. If it gives my husband some peace of mind, then it's worth it to me." She smiled tiredly, but with the light of deep affection in her blue eyes.

Murray leaned forward in his chair, hoping that this woman was the beginning of his practice in St. Joseph. He was anxious to put down roots. "Would you consent to be my very first patient, Mrs. Archer? And of course the rest of your family."

"I can't speak for Erik, doctor. And despite his...unique features, he is never sick, but as for the rest of us, I accept. Gladly."

With her permission, a relieved Dr. Abraham gave her a quick exam, and at the end of it, declared her to be healthy and the pregnancy normal. He sat back down. "Your son has inherited his father's facial deformity?"

"Yes," she said quietly. Dr. Pierce attended me at his birth, and was kind enough to pronounce my son defective."

He observed her closely, hearing the bitterness in her voice, and knew why she no longer wanted St. Joseph's long-time physician. "Your son is obviously bright, and in no way does his face reflect anything other than that. Much like your husband, Mrs. Archer."

"In some ways they are very similar. But Erik was badly mistreated as a boy and Neil has been loved and nurtured since his birth. My son trusts people- my husband does not."

"I think it's good that you don't feel the need to cover his face. It would only succeed in making him feel inferior to others."

Christine looked at him with what he could only suppose was contempt. "Inferior? No- not that. Never that. My husband is at this moment in his studio perfecting a mask that will protect my son from the cruelty of others. It's purpose is not to make him feel deficient." She paused and took a sip of her tea, watching him curiously. "Does Erik strike you as a man who feels inferior?"

He shook his head ruefully. "No. The opposite actually. As if we were the inferior ones."

She smiled then. "Yes. That is my husband, Dr. Abraham. He is a very proud man and was given some truly remarkable gifts, but he was also given a face that frightens most who see it. So much so, that many have physically abused him for it. I assure you, he will not allow that to happen to his son," she put hands over her middle, "or any of his children."

She looked at him with steady eyes. "I would like you to attend me when the time comes, and the way I feel now, I am more than ready for my baby to arrive." She grinned suddenly and Abraham was charmed. "Erik is more than ready as well."

The doctor stood. "Then I will return when I am summoned, ma'am. Or if any in your home require my services. I look forward to serving your family."

He would be back at Archer's before the end of the month.

Henry Daae Archer was born on a stormy evening at the tail end of July. It was just as hot as the August night when her first son was born, but as the storm moved into the area, it brought with it a cooling wind that felt good to the laboring mother. Hannah was with her, as well as Meg. Erik was once again stationed at the top of the stairs, but now the very person he had waited for three years ago to arrive, waited with him. Neil sat on the step, already dressed in nightshirt and slippers, leaning against his father's leg. Teeny was stretched out just above them.

It was Anna's turn to try and persuade the masked man to wait elsewhere, and failed just as Nadir had before her. "But, Erik! The boy shouldn't be sitting here like this. Heavens, it's nearly eleven o'clock! He should be asleep in his own room."

He looked down in surprise at his son pressed up against his leg, his head resting on his father's thigh. He only just remembered the boy was there. "Anna is right. It is late and you should be in bed."

Neil looked up at his father and shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "No, Papa. I want to stay."

He watched the boy a moment more. "A little longer then," and turned to the old lady. "I know how he feels."

"And I know what his mother would say to this." She looked with exasperated affection at the tousle headed boy and sighed. "He's already having trouble keeping his eyes open, Erik...but very well. You're his father."

He said nothing, merely hanging on as best he could while his wife struggled to deliver their child. A child he refused to think too much about. Anna left him, and he looked down at his boy who had indeed fallen asleep. Erik pulled him into his arms and got to his feet, carrying Neil to his room as Teeny trailed behind them. He settled his son on the bed, covering him carefully and listened briefly to the sound of the rain drumming on the roof and tapping at the windows.

He stood looking down at the little boy as the bright flashes of lightning lit the room, followed by the rumble of thunder. Erik leaned over and kissed the sleeping child's deformed cheek. "Pleasant dreams," he whispered, and went out into the hall, intent on going back to the stairs, when their bedchamber door opened and Meg stepped out. She looked around, and seeing Erik, walked over to him.

She was smiling when she reached him. "I've been sent to come and get you. You have a son, and he and Christine are fine. She's asking for..."

Meg snorted laughter, staring at the spot where Erik had just been standing. "...you."

When he entered the room, Dr. Abraham turned and looked at him. He was washing his hands in a basin of water and observed Archer as he slowly walked to the bed. "My congratulations to you, Erik. That's a fine boy you have there. He's a healthy, strong fellow and your wife did very well."

"Thank you, Murray for the excellent care you have given them. My faith in your skills wasn't misplaced," he said, never taking his eyes off of his wife.

Christine's eyes lit up as her husband came closer. He went to his knees beside the bed, looking her over carefully as he smoothed the hair away from her sweaty forehead, and laid his palm across the warm skin of one cheek. His cool hand felt good, and she leaned gratefully into it.

"How are you now, my darling?" he asked softly, still anxious as he stared at her exhausted face.

She put a hand to his jaw, and her thumb stroked the corner of his mouth.

"Happy. Now I have three men to love." She pulled the blanket away from the baby and for a moment, Erik was afraid to look. Steeling himself, he gazed on his newborn son for the first time.

He saw a tiny nose centered on the baby's face, and cheeks softly rounded below a gently sloped forehead. He noted the infant's fingers, which would be considered long for a newborn, but his heart felt lighter than it had in days. In his great relief, he was amused to see his black hair once more crowning their offspring's head, and his wife had again passed on her cleft chin.

Christine smiled sleepily. "What do you think of this family of ours?"

For an answer he kissed her mouth, then to her surprise and pleasure, leaned over and kissed their son. "I think I am learning to enjoy it."

"You don't have to sound so surprised. I always knew you would make a wonderful papa."

"Well, in that case, I'm glad one of us had faith in me." Erik kissed her again and caressed one smooth cheek. "And I hope you always will," he said quietly.

Her eyes were becoming heavier by the minute. "Of course I will," she slurred as her tired body gave up the fight and sank into a welcome slumber.

His gaze roved over her face, the lines of pain he found there melting away as she settled into sleep. Privately he hoped that this would be the last time she went through this, knowing it likely would not. "When does this end, Madame Jules?"

His sigh was mournful, and Hannah bit down on a laugh. Poor Erik. "What do you mean?"

His hand swept out encompassing the room and the signs of his wife's recent struggle to deliver his child. "This...this need to reproduce."

"Oh, I see. You want the pleasure without any of the attendin' results."

"In a manner of speaking, yes I do. I have no wish for Christine to go through this again and again because of my...my love for her."

Hannah nodded sagely. "Can't fault you for that, Erik, but I hate to disappoint you. Christine wants a daughter. She told me so not very long ago," gathering soiled towels together, before glancing up at him with a knowing smile, "and I reckon she'll get her wish."

"But must we go through an army of boys to have one?"

Hannah startled, hearing his voice clearly in her right ear, while his mouth remained closed. He had more tricks up his sleeve than Herb Marley the butcher, who always managed to leave a finger or two on the scale when he weighed her cuts of meat.

She chose to ignore his cleverness, and instead gruffly addressed his obvious reluctance for any more progeny. "They that dance must pay the fiddler. Ever hear that, Erik?"

"Yes," he replied, voice gloomy.

He sat stiffly, solemnly pondering his growing family. Another child? How could she possibly want another? His wife might hold up well under the pressures of childbirth, but he was fairly certain he did not. With a weary sigh of resignation, he settled into the chair beside the bed and watched his loved ones sleep.