Chapter 5:

I went into the dressing room quietly. It was turning late and I did not want to get caught sneaking. The mirror was in front of me, and I walked toward my reflection. My hand touched the side of the mirror and I pulled it open as I had done before. I walked into the dark passageway and faint organ music filled my ears and mind. It was dark, sinister, and yet, lovely and wonderful. Walking further it became louder. My foot moved forward as I made for a turn and I feel straight down, screaming. In the midst of my falling and screaming I noticed that the organ music stopped. Suddenly I dropped into a wet mass, a lake. I stuck my head out of the water gasping. Blond, wet hair dangling in my face.

"That was LOVELY!" I screamed in a hoarse squeaky voice. He stood by the organ trying to stifle a grin. "Don't Smile! What were you trying to do, kill me?"

"Not exactly. You made a wrong turn." He walked toward me with a towel, some breaches, and a shirt. After ringing out my hair I snatched the clothing and stalked off.

"Don't look!" My hand graced a black tassel which loosened a semi-see-through cloth.

"I wouldn't dream of it Mademoiselle Giry." He sat back on the organ bench and closed the wooden lip over the ivory keys. "I do not believe you have the ability to sing without straining as of now. What with the screaming of earlier on today and your most graceful entrance."

"How…"

"I was coming from your room when Christine came in, so I listened in."

"You dolt! You spied on me?" I was changed, opened the curtain, and scowled at him.

"A dolt Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, a big, pig headed dolt!"

"Pig headed?"

"It was for emphasis." I sulked over to a red armchair and curled up on it, "Do you like living in an Icebox?"

"It, in actuality, is rather warm in hear. I have adjusted though." He walked toward me and in one elegant movement his cloak was off his shoulders and draping over my wet form. Amazing!

"Thank you," I smiled up at him, "How di you get here, imprisoned here?

"Have your mother tell you, Mademoiselle."

"I want you to tell me, and you can call me Meg."

He sighed and leaned up against the armchair I was resting on. "When I was young I remember, distinctly, that my mother feared me. Because of this fear she crafted a mask of cloth, my first clothing. She died, and left me with the gypsy acrobats and magicians. I watched them while I was young and useless to them. I found out how to do all sorts of magic and illusions. Making things disappear, and myself disappear in a cloud of smoke or fire. Soon I became a traveling showcase, 'The Devils Child.'" He unfastened the bottom of this shirt and his back was stained with pink scars, I wanted to keep him from going on, but he continued. "People laughed, spit and taunted. Jockon collected his money. Same thing happened when we came to this opera house, but I killed him, strangled him. They came after me and your mother hid me in this Opera house."

I was on the verge of tears. His freedom came through death. Somehow I had seen those memories through his eyes. Tormented eyes, those of a child. "How can people be so crewel?" I asked fighting back the tears. "I remember never knowing my father. He left before I was born. In a way I am glad my mother and I had this opera house for refuge." He placed his hand on my shoulder.

"We live in a crewel world but people can change. I changed and have become better for it. Although, am I not still a dolt?" he said with a hint of sarcasm.

"I knew you had a sense of humor. Those notes you send make everyone crazy."

"On that note, my salary has not been paid."

"Send the 20,000 francs care of the Ghost by return of post, P.T.O. No one likes a debtor so it's better if your orders are obeyed. Always the obedient servant, O.G."

"The one and the same." I laughed and he smiled. There was silence and I took in my surroundings. The architecture was beautiful. There was only one recognizable outlet. "How did all of this stuff get here? How do you live?"

"All of it I crafted with my own two hands. My salary pays for the tools, wood, fabric, and other supplies. The architecture is my artistry. I know more than one hundred ways to get anywhere in this Opera, My opera. The only other person who knows close to me is your mother, and even then her knowledge does not compare.

"You astonish me. My mother said 'the opera ghost must be genius' now I see that she really knew." I smiled up at him, how many times had I actually done that?

"There's one more thing I want to know. You have always been known as The Phantom of the Opera, The Angel of Music, and The Opera Ghost. Who are you really?"

"Erik, with a 'k' meant to be sinister looking, you can imagine why."

I smiled up at this man and saw his lean and smooth face. His dark misty eyes and tall, broad presence. My heart swept and I knew, I knew I loved him. I stood up and leaned forward to kiss him, but he pulled away and put his hand to my lips.

"Come you must return. Those who run my theater will be missing you."