The stage was empty when Monsieur Desruiseau and I walked through the doors. I showed him to a seat in the front row, and walked up on stage. "This is the story of The Phantom of the Opera," I said. "The Phantom of the Opera?" Alain said, "How terribly interesting! It is amazing I have been here two weeks and have not heard of it! Do you know why that would be so?" "Well Monsieur, the people around the Opera do not like to discuss him. All though he is a genius, he has done some very terrible things. He has supposedly killed two people. Were you not told that you are filling the vacancy of a dead man?" I asked with a smile. He was looking kind of nervous. "But this is all just a story, correct?" "Some say it is," I remarked. "Others, well others don't think so. Some say Piangi and Buquet killed themselves. No one really knows what caused the two men to die." I was lying so much I could hardly bear it, but honestly I had not decided whether Alain could handle the real truth about Erik. "Well? Get on with it!" he cried, teasing. "Well the trouble supposedly started around a year ago. I was here at this time, but never noticed anything too strange. At first it was just small things, like sandbags and scenery falling. No one thought much of it.until someone examined the rope of one of the sandbags and found it had been cut, and not worn away as a normal rope would. People then got a little worried. For awhile nothing happened. Then suddenly people began seeing things. Strange figures, like a man. The littlest ballet girls say it looked like a walking corpse, only skin stretched over bone, with death's head. Others said they only saw a ball of fire floating down dark and lonely corridors. Whatever it was, people began to be afraid, and no one ever walked anywhere alone. Soon, the activity began centering around one young woman. She was a friend of mine, and one night she told me the most fantastic tale. She said she had been taking music lessons from an angel. We were both ballet girls at the time. At one rehearsal, a backdrop fell, almost killing the Prima Donna, and she stormed off, refusing to sing. My friend took over her spot. Her heaven sent tutor had apparently been working with her quite a lot, for she was very good. Some said she was as good, if not better, than Carlotta." I paused here to see what Alain would say. "Go on, what are you waiting for? What happened with your friend?" Alain asked. He was leaning forward in the chair, and that small bit of hair had fallen on to his forehead. I motioned for him to join me on stage. We sat together on the edge, our legs hanging over the side. "That night, I snuck into her dressing room. She was not aware of my presence, and went on with her normal routine. Suddenly, the most beautiful male voice echoed through the room. My friend looked up. She had not been lying. Someone really had been teaching her to sing. After awhile, my friend begged to finally meet her Angel of Music. He obliged and to my surprise, her dressing room mirror swung open! There he was, the Phantom of the Opera himself, though I had not realized it at the time. She followed him, as though in a trance, through the mirror. She was not seen again for three days. When she returned, she told me that he indeed was the Phantom, though he had a name, Erik. He was writing an opera. 'What did he look like?' I asked. It was then she turned pale, and told me of the hideousness of him. How half of his face looked like a normal man, while the other looked like a living corpse, almost rotting away from his face. He hid it with a mask. My friend continued on with the Opera, with a fear that didn't leave her for quite some time." "What was your friend's name?" Alain asked. "Genevieve Rouen," I said almost instantly. I thought I saw something moving in the audience, up in the direction of Box Five, but I dismissed it as an overactive imagination. "She died recently. I believe you were here then." "Yes. Please continue." "Well, she was cast in a non speaking role in the opera Il Muto. Carlotta had the main role, and Erik wasn't happy. He wanted Genevieve to play the main role, and while Carlotta was singing he made her croak like a frog. She ran off stage and Genevieve took over her part. During the ballet that was performed while Genevieve was getting ready, the stage hand's body was swung from the rafters above stage. It was Joseph Buquet. He was hanged, and very dead. All pandemonium broke out, and when everything finally calmed down, Genevieve left the safety of her dressing room to go on stage. She had been in her dressing room the whole time." Now I was sure I saw something in Box Five. Erik was there and listening. I squared my shoulders and continued. "Erik suddenly got upset, probably went insane. It was said he was a terrible, awful person who had no respect for others and treated them horribly as if they had no feelings. He started laughing, and the giant chandelier which is above your head at this moment, swung down and would've killed Genevieve. Luckily I was standing there and saved her, or else she would've died a lot sooner than she did." "That's terrible! Is that where the story ends?" "Of course not. No one heard from Erik again for six months. It was New Year's, and there was a grand masquerade. During the party, Erik appeared dressed as the red death, and threw a thick manuscript to Monsieurs Andre and Firmin. It was his opera Don Juan Triumphant. He demanded it be performed, or terrible things would happen. Genevieve fainted at the sight of him. Everyone was worried. The Phantom had returned. Finally opening night at the opera came. The seats were packed, because everyone wanted to see the Phantom's Opera. During the performance, Genevieve was playing the main role and when she was about to start the love song, Erik took the place of Piangi, killing him. He was also hanged. It was a queer fancy of Erik's to strangle people. He finally revealed himself, and while he was declaring his love for her, she pulled off his mask, and they disappeared through a cloud of smoke through the trapdoor. Piangi was discovered, and we all formed a mob to go kill the phantom. Now we had no doubt he existed. We got down there, and there was no Genevieve. There was no one. We left the horrid place and went back to the surface. Genevieve showed up in a few days, but refused to talk about her time with the phantom. No one knows what happened to her down there. The Phantom ceased his activity. It was limited to a few notes sent to the managers. No one has actually seen him since that night. Some people say he killed himself that night Genevieve left him, and the new notes are fake. No one really knows. And an added note, Monsieur Desruiseau.Genevieve died at a ballet rehearsal. She fell through a trapdoor and broke her neck. When they went to go get the body, it was gone. No one knows what happened to it." "What if she didn't die, and is just prisoner of the phantom?" "I don't see how she could've lived. She didn't have time to brace herself, I doubt she knew how. The fall was through two sets of trap doors I believe, for a total of an eighteen feet. Perhaps Erik did take her body." "What is your opinion, Miss Daae on the phantom?" "Me? I believe in him. I believe he's still here, biding his time. For what? I don't know. You might say I was his biggest fan. But then again I have always been a hopeless romantic, and phantoms are very romantic." "Even phantoms that kill?" Alain asked, eyeing me curiously. I shrugged. His hand moved over mine. I looked over surprised. He suddenly kissed me. I pulled back and slapped him, standing up. I heard laughing and yelled. "Erik you be quiet!" I ran offstage and locked myself into my dressing room.

* * * * *

Erik hurried out of Box Five as he saw Christine run offstage. He had been quite amused with her retelling of their story, especially her omission of the Vicomte. The new tenor was still on stage trying to figure out what had just happened. The Vicomte was at his house, and he felt he should get back and tell him of Christine's story. The Vicomte had been staying with Erik to make sure that he made no contact with Christine. Erik had snuck out while the Vicomte was asleep. Erik had slipped a little something in his drink, but it was quite harmless, and if Erik made good time he would get back before Raoul came to. All though Erik had been greatly amused by Christine's story, he also had not missed the undertone of unhappiness in Christine's voice. He knew she was aware of his presence and she had been especially cruel. Erik could not blame her. If only he could explain. If only there was no Vicomte. That was an idea.Erik laughed to himself as he disappeared through the basements and thought of his plan.

* * * * *

My dressing room seemed to close in around me as I paced around and around. For the last two days I had been trying to get myself to believe I did not love Erik. Over and over the words had gone in my brain, but had not settled. I threw myself on the chaise in the corner and started crying. Crying uncontrollably, crying for the last two days worth of suffering and pain. There was only one thing left to do. If he became jealous of me, saw me with another man, then perhaps he would come back to his senses and realize exactly what he was missing. I put on one of my old ballet costumes-the one from Hannibal, and went out to the stage where Alain was still sitting. "Monsieur Desruiseau," I said. He jumped up and turned to face me. "I apologize for hitting you. You see, I just ended a relationship and I was just taken by surprise. Please accept my apology, it is troubling me greatly." "Of course Miss Daae, it was very forward and rude of me. It is I who should be begging for your forgiveness." "Think nothing of it Monsieur." "Why are you wearing that costume?" Alain asked, eyeing me curiously. "Oh, it's Genevieve's. She told me to take care of her costumes so I air them out every once in awhile." "Oh." There was an uncomfortable silence before he continued. "Miss Daae, would it be too much to ask if you would attend the Masquerade with me?" "Of course Monsieur Desruiseau, I thought you would never ask." "Excellent! I shall pick you up at half past seven." I gave him my address, and he said his goodbyes for the day. I glanced up to Box Five. Erik was not there. Everything I had just done had been pointless.