Disclaimer: Don't sue me. It's not worth your time or money. Apart from the $7.50 I make an hour minus state taxes and such, a few books, cds, DVDs and movies you won't be able to squeeze much more out of me.

LostSchizophrenic: I'm so glad that you like it so far. Thank you so much for the review! hugs

Peppermintoreo: Thank you! As for the books, I'm actually going with Kay's version which is set 10 years later than the film in 1881. Thank you though for being so nice about liking it!

Now, I have a small request; I need a beta reader. I frankly suck at editing, so if anyone would be kind enough to beta my stories, I would be eternally grateful. Thank you much! If anyone is willing to do this, please e-mail me and peaches,

MayaJ

August 19, 1882

It would be a respectable assumption to say that in my life I've had my fair share of death, but this… nothing prepared me for this. Nothing! When I arrived at the opera house, a hastily made faux wedding invitation clutched in my left hand, I couldn't help but feel a substantial deal of uneasiness as I approached the stone steps that led to the foyer. As I climbed up the stairs, I saw a group of chorus girls coming down the opposite side toward me. The first girl in the group who took notice of me had to be Annette, a girl whose tongue couldn't hold still if you put a lock around it, and she fairly blanched at the sight of me. I had limited control over my annoyance as I saw her turn to the rest of the assembly of girls and whisper something hurriedly. Unexpectedly all of their eyes turned onto me and I all but stopped in my steps as a roar of giggles emerged from the pack. Turning my head to the ground, I could feel a heat rising to my cheeks , although not necessarily in embarrassment. Their snickers meant amusement to them, but to me it meant that they must be saying things such as "Oh, the Viscount must have tired of her," or "Her reputation was always in a great deal of danger and I suppose that she has finally lost it all together!" Never mind the truth in their eyes, but in its place I decided that my pride was all I had left at this time. I held my head up high and pretended that I didn't see them and made my way through the enormous arched doorways.

When I walked into the lobby the usual bustle was happening as they no doubt prepared for which ever next production was and no one paid me any attention. Looking around I felt a sting of regret and pain. I missed singing immensely and hadn't sung in what felt like an eternity. Shaking off the unpleasant feeling, I walked until I reached the large marble divided staircase in the main foyer. Walking up the first few steps, my heart skipped a beat, not positively to say the least, as both owners of the opera house appeared at the top of the stairs. They had just come from the auditorium and both men poured over some papers that Monsieur Andre had on his person and Monsieur Firmin started irritably complaining about. The former man looked up briefly and took in my presence. He paled and his jaw fairly hit the floor in a rather dramatic flourish. He grabbed the man standing next to him and started whispering something in a low voice. Sighing at the futility of my convincing them to let me in my old dressing room, I almost turned around but the words of my promise to Erik kept repeating themselves into my mind, taunting my lack of courage.

Taking a deep breath, I descended up the staircase clutching the letter tightly in my hands, absently willing myself not to harm the invitation and advanced on the two men. Monsieur Andre pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket and started winding it up, as if this small task would prevent the inevitable confrontation. I proceeded with caution as both men regarded me as if I were this centuries black plague. When I was reached the top of the staircase, both men bowed respectfully and muttered, "Mademoiselle" and I, in turn, bowed. Monsieur Andre was the first to speak and asked me, "May we be of service to you, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, if you'd be so kind," I responded. "I'm afraid that when I left the opera house I left a rather valuable necklace in my dressing room. I was wondering if it had been found?"

Monsieur Firmin, the least liked by myself, shook his head a bit too enthusiastically in my own opinion, and replied, "I'm afraid I haven't heard anything pertaining to a necklace. If you'll leave an address to which we may send it should we find it, we'd be honored to send it to you."

"Oh," I muttered, trying to gather as much sorrow as I could into my voice and nodded sadly. "Thank you." My resentment for the two men grew. It was very feasible that I wouldn't be able to go to the dressing room if those two had their way. The feeling only intensified if the managers knew of my recent financial improvement they would allow me to into any room that the opera house had. They might have very well have tried to sell me a season ticket! However, I really didn't want one. My main concern was if I did tell the managers about my inheritance that by tomorrow morning all of France would know. I did not know if either men were as gossip courting as the rest of the company but the thoughts of risking discovery worried me greatly. "Is there any possibility that I could go and look for myself? I would not take long and you may appoint an escort if you deem necessary."

Monsieur Andre looked skeptical and Monsieur Firmin was on the verge of telling me that I was being presumptuous and so deciding to put my developed acting abilities to good use. I quickly explained, "The necklace was my grandmother's you see and I can not imagine what I would do if something had happened to it."

Monsieur Andre regarded me, no longer with disgust or fear, but with sympathy. Guilt spread through my veins like a disease at the lie I was telling. I'm not naturally a liar, I swear, but it really was only a white lie. So much was dependent on getting to my dressing room and ultimately to Erik's home. Monsieur Andre looked at Monsieur Firmin, who seemed to be considering it. Finally Monsieur Andre said, "Very well, mademoiselle, but don't be long. "

Thanking both men profusely and assuring them I wouldn't be long, I hurried down to the grand staircase and fairly flew backstage. Once I was in the corridor that my dressing room resided I walked up to the white door and felt a wave of trepidation wash over me. Grabbing the bronze handle, cool to the touch, I turned it and pushed open the door. Darkness greeted me when I stepped inside the icy room. Making my way as best I could to the small dressing table in the corner, I opened one of the drawers and felt around blindly for the box of matches I had left. Once my fingers brushed across them I opened the box and grabbed a match. Striking it against the side numerous times it finally caught fire and gave off a small flame. Quickly I went over to the oil lamp and lit the wick. Once the oil soaked wick caught, I put the glass cover on it and looked around the room. Taking a few deep breaths I walked over to the mirror, not entirely certain how to open it. Pushing on the glass harshly to see if it would move, I groaned loudly when I knew inwardly it didn't. I felt around the frame of the mirror to see if I could find some sort of mechanism that would give away the secret passage.

After a few moments of deep thorough searching, frustration started building up inside of me. The mirror did not move in any way for all the pushing in the world. However, one echoing thought that kept running through my mind was to break the mirror. I turned on the mirror viscerally and gave it a savage kick. Waiting for the inevitable sound of shattering glass and the small chime as the glass shards hit the ground, I was surprised when neither happened. Looking at the mirror, I saw that it remained intact completely, looking as if nothing had occurred at all, but there was one difference; the corner of the mirror was pushed back slightly. Turning my head curiously, I put my hand between the wood frame and the cold smooth glass and pushed ever so slightly. The mirror swung open in a similar fashion as a door would and beyond it's casing laid the moist warm darkness of the catacombs which I had become so accustomed to all but a few months ago.

Taking a few deep breaths to give myself a small measure of much needed bravery, I grabbed the abandoned invitation and an oil lantern that I had put on my dressing table and stepped into the shadows. The small lantern gave off a small ray of light in the inky blackness and illuminated the stones covered in grime from years of dampness and dirt and the small fragments of dust clung in the air as my skirt carelessly forcibly pushed them off the ground where it had originally resided. Feeling my throat constricting a little at the dust that I was breathing into my lungs, I stopped and gave a good hard cough to get as much as of the offensive dankness out of my body as I could. Once my fit was over, I started my downward descent towards the man made lake. Within a matter of minutes I was standing near the wall that lead towards the lake. The water clapped against the stones ever so quietly and I lifted the lantern to see the sleek surface of the water and my eyes skimmed the glass like water to find the elaborately decorated boat that Erik had used so many time before.

For the next few moments I stood dumbly looking out on the wide lake and it occurred to me that the boat wasn't there, nor was it anywhere in sight of my eyes. I walked around the edge and felt an overwhelming sense of fear as I knew that there was a very good chance that I wouldn't find the boat. As I walked along the edge of the wall I sighed loudly and debated inwardly if my calling out to him would help in the least. I decided against it because I knew that with enough of a shock he could easily fall into another one of those horrible bouts of illness and I knew that by the way his last epileptic fit he couldn't physically afford to be ill again. He had always lead me to believe that he was immune to illnesses, perhaps even death, but if he were sick I'm not thoroughly convinced that he would be able to survive this time. When I reached the edge I looked down into the non ending darkness beyond and wondered exactly how cold it was and if it was very deep. Shaking my head at the mere contemplation of it, I turned back and walked the limited perimeter of the banks before swimming to the house seemed more and more a realistic mode of transportation than walking. Leaning down on my knees, I put my fingertips in the water and shivered. It felt absolutely glacial and I didn't relish the thought of getting wet. Shouldering off my heavy coat I looked at the water and couldn't help but frown. The water was so dark that I never knew how deep it was or at least I hadn't ever thought on the concept greatly.

Holding the invitation high above my head, I sat down on the edge of the water and put my left hand into the water. It was so cold it hurt my muscles, but I shook it off knowing that I had to complete my duty. Shutting my eyes at the inevitable chill that will cover my body, I slid my entire body into the water. Gasping loudly my breaths came into quick deep spurts as I came up after completely submerging my body. The water stopped just below my breasts, but I didn't know if it would get any deeper as I walked. My hair was damp and dripped down my neck. My body started slowly but surely growing numb and while the frozen sensations grew, the coldness grew less and less as my skin wasn't able to feel it anymore.

Taking a few steps, I felt a rise of fear as the water grew steeper and steeper as I continued to walk. It wasn't so much that I can't swim, as a matter of fact I can and rather well, but I wasn't certain if I would be able to swim and hold the invitation above my head without it getting moist. I managed to but once I reached the other side, I immediately threw the paper ahead of me by quite a few feet and then awkwardly clambered out of the water. My entire form dripped water…no, not dripped… it more or less poured. Grabbing as much of my hair as I could, I wrung the excess water out and then my dress followed suit. By the time I had squeezed out as much water as I was going to, I looked back down into the blackness of the water and something lurking off in the distance a few feet away from me in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Nodding up and down in the water was the black ornate boat. Shaking my head, I watched as a few drops of water fell onto the stone floor and sank into the grime. Reaching down to fetch the invitation while trying to avoid ruining it by getting it wet, I halted my task when something else caught my eye. The well hidden door that lead to the front room of Erik's home was opened ever so slightly. Carelessly taking up the invitation, I looked at the ajar door with a sense of dread. Never in my entire time with him had I ever known Erik to go somewhere without locking and closing every door in his home. Walking over to the entry I clinched my fist together and gave the door a few raps with my knuckles. After waiting at the very least two minutes and no answer came, I tried once more. Again there was no answer. Looking at the door and feeling all the lessons in manners my father had taught me leaving my mind completely I put my open palms against the wood and pushed. The door let out a loud creak and slowly opened as if it were un-greased and ill used. Instead of the inadequately lit room there was no light at all. The faint blue light from the lake gave off a small glow in the room, but it was still an insufficient amount of light for seeing, but it did give off enough light to show me a nearby candelabra.

After a few moments of searching I found a match and lit it, despite my damp skin and hair threatening to extinguish it before it even lit. Once I ignited the wick of the candle, I turned to the room and nearly dropped the candle altogether. The once richly decorated room in it's shades of black, blood red and cherry wood with it's beautiful relics from his travels around the world lay in ruins. Black candles, mere pools of wax or in shambles were strewn across the expensive Persian rugs destroying it beyond all recognition. The black couch had long gashes in it as if someone had taken a sword and attacked it, which was obviously the case. As I turned in a small circle, I saw that the grand piano that had once been a habitant of the corner of the room was a pile of kindling now. I looked at my feet and saw a few of the ivory keys scattered around the room. Putting a hand over my mouth, I felt as though I had stepped into some peculiar nightmare that was so realistic and yet so surreal, but the sounds of broken glass crunching under my heels as I took a few inelegant steps around the area of the room assured me that I was not dreaming. Once my shock had worn off, I walked over to the now demolished piano and leaned down to examine the damage more closely. The wood was splintered where pieces of it had been broken off and there were a few precariously placed keys that still clung to their original places. The strings on the inside had all snapped, looking like weeds growing out of a pile of wood.

Standing up, I looked over at the door where his room resided and took a deep breath. If he was to be found, I would more than likely find him there. It was his sanctuary. Whenever he was upset and, if my estimation was correct, and I have no reason to believe that it is not given the state of the room, he would most likely be found in there. Walking over to the door I tapped the door lightly and called out his name. As similar to the front door no answer was received. Taking it upon myself I grabbed the door handle and turned it. Tears pricked behind my eyes as I regarded the room. His one and only sanctuary, the place where he felt safe, had been destroyed. The large organ that lined the left side of the room had the same treatment as the piano did. He had a small cabinet next to it that he always stored away the music he had written away prior to locking it before I could have seen it. It was now laying negligently on it's side, it's contents spewed across the floor. I noticed that the fireplace in the room had quite a few of the compositions in it, the edge blackened and beyond saving or completely dissolved to ashes. The candle I had, which had been steadily dripping wax on my hand started melting away completely. A few inches away from me was the oil lamp he kept in it's room, the glass shattered and the oil was in a small puddle at the base. There were three oil lamps in the room he had provided for me and so I decided it would be best to go and fetch them before I had to stumble around in the dark.

I felt a certain amount of trepidation as I approached the door to my bedroom. I could never stand the sight of destruction and this would no doubt be in a worse state of obliteration than any of the other rooms I had encountered that far. I touched the chilly metal of the latch to the door and turned it slowly. Once it gave, I pushed the door open all the way and stared in silence at the dark room. Walking through the threshold of the door, I nearly dropped the candle at what I saw. The room was in the absolute pristine condition that I had left it in. Nothing had been touched! It was as if he hadn't even gone into the room at all. Turning around, I could still see the wreckage of the sitting room in comparison to my room and felt my cheeks flush as a wave of guilt engulfed me. He had destroyed every single room in the house except for mine. All of his music, his possessions were completely demolished beyond all hope of repair and yet my room was immaculate. Why would he do this? It was as if he knew I would come back and this was some morbid form of punishment for my deserting him. I couldn't help but shake my head at the absurdity of it all . Forsaking the oil lamps, I staggered out of my room and back into the main hallway. I felt deadened, as if the blood in my veins refused to move, completely frozen. My limbs were becoming numb as well. I felt as though I couldn't stand, but for some unexplainable reason could continue to stay fully erect.

My eyes inspected to room numbly, seeing but not fully comprehending what I was seeing. As I stood in the rubble of the room, I felt an overshadowing presence behind me. Turning on my heel, I looked at the dark form before me. Taking a few unsteady steps forward, I looked at the great black door before me. It was Erik's room. Walking over to the door, I pushed it open and gazed into the room apprehensively. The room was dim and slightly dusty from obvious disuse. Holding the light up to get a wider view of the room, I saw something that caught my attention with a fresh amount of dread and fear filling my senses: the coffin. If he was dead, he would be there. Looking down on the polished oak with the intricate design box that laid on the dais , I put my hands on the edges of the lid and pushed with all the force my body would allow. The heavy cover moved ever so slightly, but not enough to remove it entirely. The thought of seeing Erik lying dead in the crimson upholstered box made my stomach churn with fear, sadness and cowardice. If he was indeed within the confines of the coffin, I don't want to know. I couldn't bring myself to look. If I could leave Erik one thing, it would be his dignity. In my heart, I know he wouldn't want me gazing at him, or perhaps I should restate that by saying rudely staring. God knows he hated it so very much! My knees felt unsteady and weak, my eyes were heavy and I felt an oppressiveness in the air that threatened to choke me. There was room enough on the dais for me to sit and I took the space gratefully, willing myself to be stronger than the sorry sight that I was. Taking a few deep breaths, I turned and looked at the coffin nervously. Every emotion that I had been holding back for the better part of a year and a half came pouring forth and I found myself leaning against the wood, sobbing like a lost child. Perhaps that all I truly am, but whenever I was with Erik, I felt as though to some small extent I had part of my father back with me. He and Raoul were my last two living connections to him, yes it is true, but there were times when I was with Erik that I could almost feel as though my father was speaking through him. I knew at that minute that my father was gone forever. It was not a thought I had ever openly acknowledged until that moment.

I felt as if my eyes were permanently fixed on the heavy wooden box in front of me. The man that rested within… he was such a remarkable man. No man on this earth was ever his equal and to some extent he knew that. He had moments of pure arrogance that didn't go entirely unnoticed by me. He would often tell me of his architectural achievements, his knowledge of science and medicine, his travels around the world and his ability to write full scale operas as if they were mere novice play. I knew in that moment just what he meant to me. I loved him. Not in the romantic sense that he wished me to, but a love based on mutual respect, similar feelings, aesthetic appreciation for music and literature and most of all a strong sense of friendship. Laying my forehead against the wood, I felt tears on my cheeks, warm and unfeeling. I couldn't help myself and a short time later I was sobbing as I had when I was a child.

After I had cried myself into fatigue, I looked up at the box, no doubt red eyed and swollen cheeked, and laid my head against the smooth wood. I put my hand where his chest would have been and begged, "Please forgive me. It was never my intention to hurt you. I never meant to give you so much pain. This is all my fault. How could I have left you here by yourself, knowing that your health was deteriorating so rapidly? Please know that I had nothing but the utmost respect for you. You deserved the best life had to offer . I wish I could have given you more than I did. Please forgive me."

I know that, in my heart and soul, he forgave me. He is in Heaven, so much happier there than he ever dared hope to be on Earth. Slipping of the dais onto my knees, I turned my head to the ground and prayed more fervently than ever I have for my protector's soul and that God would grant him the mercy and release that he was so rightfully entitled to. When I had finished, I stood up on unsteady legs and continued to stumble around the underground home, taking in a full account of all the damage amounted. By the end of my inspection, I come to the conclusion that in all actuality the home wasn't in the horrible condition that I first perceived it to be in. Given enough work, the house could be brought back to it's former splendor quite easily.

Perhaps it is the madness of grief or a need for closure but I have resolved that starting tomorrow, I will start rearranging the life that Erik once held so dear by reconstructing and renovating his home.

t.b.c….