Demons of the Past

Ch. 5 Living in Hell

Author's note: Chapter starts in Erik's POV

Disclaimer: I have lawyertitis…an acute fear of being sued by a lawyer…therefore I do not own the Phantom of the Opera!

P.S.: The songs in here are rhythmically the same as 'Angel of Music' and 'Music of the Night', but the lyrics have been changed some what, courtesy of my genius brother Alan.

P.S. 2: Thanks to Son Kat and Lin for being the loyal reviewers that you are. I always smile when I see your reviews. Hope I don't disappoint!

And now, on with the story…

My first year with the gypsies was Hell. Pure, absolute Hell. You see, I wasn't broken in when they first brought me to their camp, to their world. I still struggled, still yelled, still tried to fight them, all in the vain belief that one day my mother would save me…but they beat all that out of you eventually. They drain all thoughts from your head. You just become a shell. And Faza was never a man to be crossed…and that was my new master. He was the brother of the leader of the gypsies, and the only one brave enough to handle me. The gypsy women believed me cursed; they believed that I would bring misfortune to their camp. Faza would laugh, and say that my existence was for one thing: making money. And I have to admit, the money alone that I brought in my first year with Faza was enough to allow him to live the rest of his life in comfort. But he, like the other gypsies, was never satisfied, so I was constantly 'performing' as they called it. I was in…a cage. I stayed in this cage unless we were moving to another village or town; I was chained and tied down in a wagon, surrounded by men who would not hesitate to beat me within an inch of my life if I so much as looked at them whenever we managed to travel. The gypsies were very superstitious; they truly believed I was the Devil's Child. I had no contact with anyone except Faza; and he only touched me to remove the crude mask that I wore. I hated them; more than I hated my mother. My life was lived not in years, but in how many times I was made to show crowds of people my face…I was truly a devil's child for the first few years I was there…

As time went by, Faza gave me a few freedoms; at night, as long as I stayed in the gypsy camp, I could walk around and beg food off of people. The other gypsies hated this idea; after all, what would happen if I tried to escape? Faza had that figured out too. Who would be foolish to take him in if he has no mask? That was Faza solution to everything: take away the monster's mask. And so my mask became an invisible chain that tied me to the camp…they would not let me wear it while I wandered free. I was, by that time, somewhat of the way that I am now…I found that if I listened to the gypsies read out loud from a paper, then I could figure out the meanings of the symbols on the pages; I taught myself to read. The more difficult task was teaching myself to write; I could not be found with any kind of ink or writing paper. But I managed. I knew that if I armed myself with knowledge that Faza didn't know I had, then maybe I could get the upper hand somehow. And I knew that Faza was starting to fear me. By that time I had grown much taller; I was almost as tall asmy captor. But Faza still thought that if I didn't have my mask that I wouldn't be able to leave my hellish haven within the camp. And he was right. I didn't dare try to escape; what person in their right mind would take in a boy in my condition? My face…was a problem in itself, but I was always filthy, and dressed in crude, unfitting clothing. I knew that for me to escape this place I would have to wait until the time was perfect. I waited, biding my time as I tried to become more knowledgeable in things that I thought might be important later in my life. At some point I discovered my voice; this was a joy and gift that helped me withstand the years…but I also knew that if my talents were discovered, then the gypsies would make me perform…not just as a monster, but as some sort of heavenly demon. I could just picture it: Faza making me sing, putting the audience at ease with my voice, and then ripping off my mask, revealing that the voice of Angels was coming from a demon child…I shudder to think of it, although it could not have been worse than what I was doing in the first place. But my voice was my only comfort; it was mine and mine alone, and I felt that as long as I kept it secret then it wouldn't become part of my horrible performance.

I hated the gypsies…everything about them was horrible. All of them had 'talents'; some billed themselves as women who had facial hair like a man, others had flexible skin that they could stretch and contort, still others were fortune tellers and sword eaters. But every crowd that came through the fair went through a large tent…which was my tent. My cage, my prison, was center stage. I often would hunch in a corner, trying to make the sounds of the crowd disappear. Somehow, my monkey, my one friend from my life before, had ended up in my possession. I treasured him, and kept him close at all times. But even my monkey couldn't help me as the crowds grew nearer to my prison…Faza would come in, making several clever comments of how I was born. He would come at me, and beat me with a long cane, even when I wasn't resisting him. And then…the moment that I dreaded the most would come…Faza would scream 'Behold the Devil's Child!' and he would rip my mask from my face…He would force me to look into the crowd, and see the screams of horror, the laughter of children, children, the look of fear. They would throw rotten food at me, rocks, most anything that would fit through the bars of my cage. Faza would drop my mask as he quickly gathered the money thrown down when the crowd filed out. I would run for the mask, putting it on as fast as I could. I just…can't tell you how humiliating it was…how degrading it feels to be treated as an animal…I thought that all the world was the same jeering crowd that came to see me every night, not knowing that there were good people…

Like James. James…I have not had his name on my tongue since…it happened. James was a son of an elderly gypsy woman; none know how she was able to conceive, but James was always a bit different than the other gypsies. For one, he actually wanted to befriend me, and I have to say that he was thenearest thing to a friend that I had. He would come and visit me when I was in my cage, bring me fresh food or wine when he could get it. When they would let my walk free, James and I would talk of plots to escape the gypsies; for he liked being there no more than I did. I never truly understood why he and I connected the way we did, but we shared a common goal: to leave the hell hole we found ourselves in. One day, Faza would not let me go free, and he told me the reason: for the first time since I had joined the camp, we would be going to Paris. We had mainly kept to the northern part of France, near Lille, and Paris was as far south as we had ever gone. I had, of course, heard of Paris through the newspapers that I had managed to procure and read. I immediately knew that this was the moment that I had waited for…Paris was a huge city; an old city with plenty of places to become lost and never found. When James came later that day, I told him the news. He and I formulated a plan; a plan for us both to leave and never return. The day that we arrived in Paris, James broke the lock on my cage. We both fled from the camp…as fast as our young legs could carry us. We had almost made it…when we were caught.

The man who caught up with us grabbed me by the ankles. And James, foolish James, could have run for freedom. It was there for him; there was but one gypsy, and he had me, and therefore was occupied. But James turned back and tried to help me. He tried to free me, instead of forgetting me and freeing himself. I remember the feeling of pity and gratitude that I had for James as the gypsy shoved him hard into the ground, knocking him unconscious. To this day, I still can't say that if faced with the same situation and the positions reversed that I would have stayed and helped my only friend. In my heart, I know that I would have left him, left him to the gypsies and I would have tried to find my way to freedom alone. It sickens me, to know this to be true, but I cannot change it. It lives on my soul, as does James' death.

The gypsy took us both back to camp. He took us to Faza, who ordered me chained and whipped. Faza took the cane himself, and started to beat James over and over again. He wouldn't stop. James at first tried to defend himself, tried to protect himself. I just sat there, watching. I couldn't yell, or scream, or help my friend in anyway. Faza beat him to death in front of my eyes, telling me that it was my fault that James had to die…and I knew that it was. If James hadn't stopped for me, if James hadn't gone along with my plan of escape, if James hadn't befriended me in the first place, he would still be alive. I knew that I could never escape the nightmare that I found myself in. From that point on, I had no will. I simply sat in my corner in my cage, and begged for death. I had no desire to escape anymore…all I had was the burning hatred and anger towards the gypsies, and in particular Faza. But I now deserved the Hell I lived in completely. It wasn't until we returned to Paris sometime later did an opportunity arise that I could not ignore, even in my despair and darkness…

I don't know what told me that this crowd was different, that this performance was different, but I trusted it. At first, it seemed as if I was wrong about the crowd. The mob looked the same, had the same jeering voices and faces. But when Faza unmasked me, and I stared at the crowd for the first time, I noticed a girl. She was clutching the bars between her hands, and she was not laughing. No, she was not. She wasn't looking at me in horror either…she looked…sad. So very sad. When Faza let go of me, I grabbed me mask and pretended to curl into my normal ball in the corner. But I saw a piece of rope tied to the outside of my cage. With light fingers I quickly untied the rope. Faza's back was to me, still counting the money he was collecting. I twisted the rope in my hands. It was so rough, so awkward in my hands. But it was simple. So very simple. I threw the length of rope around Faza's fat neck, and I pulled. I pulled until I could feel the anger in me swell. I saw in my mind Faza's hand raised to beat me; raised to take away my mask and expose me to a mob. I pulled as hard as I could on the rope, with every ounce of rage and pain I had in my body. I saw James being beaten by this man; saw the young boy scream and rage as Faza kicked him over and over. I pulled even after I heard the sickening crunch as Faza's neck broke. I saw James' face, covered in his own blood. I saw Faza's face, purple and bulging. Both deaths were on my soul. I dropped Faza. I dropped the rope. I rose, shaking, to my feet, only to discover that a girl was staring at me. It was the sad girl. She looked at me a moment.

"Where are his keys?" I reached over and took the large ring of keys from around his waist. I wasn't sure what to expect from this girl…but her reaction was so much different from that of the other people in the crowd. And, even at that point, I was an excellent judge of character. I felt that this young girl could help me; and I knew that I needed help more so than ever in my life.

"Hand me the keys. I'll unlock the door." The girl spoke with authority, almost as if she knew exactly what to do. I obediently handed over the keys. She turned them in the lock, and it snapped open. She grabbed my hand. I was shocked at first, to say the least. No one had touched me like that in my whole life. We started to leave when I remembered my monkey. I tugged out of the girl's hold and ran to retrieve it. The girl came swiftly to me, and grabbed my hand again.

"There's no time!" At that moment, another gypsy entered the tent. He saw Faza, dead, and then he saw me and the girl. He started yelling "Murderer!" Suddenly, shadows and footsteps were followingas the girl led us to a small grate on the side of a building.

"Go! Go quickly! I will meet you inside!"

I dove in, not thinking. I was acting on blind trust. If this was a trap, if this was some kind of cruel set up…I didn't think about that at the moment; I didn't really care. All I knew was that I had to escape from those people…The girl met me in the small chapel that I found myself in. She led my down a path…deep into the Opera House…my new home.

I had avenged my friend by killing my captor…I felt a strange sense of euphoria. I had killed; I had ended a life; I had taken revenge…and it was the most wonderful sensation to every spread across my body. I knew, at that moment, that I would never allow myself to be humiliated like that again. I would never again be the slave to someone else's whim. I would never reveal my face before a crowd again…and that is when I became something not quite human. I became a ghost of the man I should have grown up to be. I gave up the human emotions of fear and pain, and I replaced them with my hatred of the world, my indifference to the people around me.

That girl…she grew to be my only friend. She was older than me a great many years, I have guessed, and she cared for me as she would a younger brother. I owe her my life, my existence. Marie and I grew to respect one another, but we were never truly close. We teased and played, true, but when it came down to it, I realized that I could be putting her in danger just by associating with her. Like I did James…Marie gave me my name, she gave me my mask; I owe her everything. And my payment to her was to become a monster, the monster that I knew lived inside me all along. And then…you came. You came, and suddenly my meaningless existence had a purpose. Instead of the monster that I was, the loathsome gargoyle that I knew I saw when I looked in the mirror, I became the Angel of Music; a creature that was pure joy, love, beauty, and music. I had waited my whole life to find the love that you gave me as just a child. And now, the love you give me is enough to give me enough strength to relive my past…as long as I know that you're beside me, to hold me…

Erik finished his tale, completely drained of what little strength the alcohol had given him. He was locked in Christine's arms, and he reached up and traced the tears that were slowly going down her face.

"That's all I can tell you, truly. Most of my past is a blur…but what remains are powerful, anguished memories. My soul is weak, and I fear that it will never heal. But, perhaps, after tonight, things will be better."

Erik looked straight at Christine, his blue green eyes piercing into her brown ones. "Are you frightened of me now? Is my life too repulsive? Do you fear me?" Before Christine could open her mouth, Erik continued. "Of course you do! How could you not! I see it in your eyes. The nightmares I see are repulsive and frightening to me, so how can they not be to you? Please, don't lie. Don't tell me what you think I want to hear." Erik pulled away, and stood shakily. By now, Erik was clearly intoxicated. He walked to the door.

Passionate creature of darkness,
What kind of life have you known?
Of all things that I'm sure of,
You are not alone!
Angel of Music!
My protector,
Let my love
Surround you!
Angel of Music!
Don't deny me
Come to me, my Angel!

Erik turned, with tears in his eyes. He had never heard Christine sing as she did; she sang with passion and truth. Erik kneeled before her, the emotion apparent in his face. He choked out a reply.

I am your Angel of Music; Stay with me Angel of Music…
I'll open up my mind, let the fantasy unwind
In the light of the love I cannot fight…
The light of my Angel of the Night.
Your light filled my spirit with a strange sweet sound
In my night there was music in my mind
And through music my heart began to soar!
And I loved, as I'd never loved before…
And in your eyes
I find no horror for me now
Those crystal eyes
That hold nothing but your core

He looked as if he wanted to get up from the floor, but Christine stopped him. She kissed him, first on the top of his head, then down his scarred cheek. Erik stirred under her touch. He brought his hands to touch her silky hair, and Christine finally kissed him full on the lips. He brought her down to the floor, deepening the kiss at the same time. Her touch was so pure, and it made his skin turn to flame when she touched him. The brandy had given his mind a buzz, and Christine was igniting in him a passion that he knew must be quenched.

"Do I deserve this?" Erik murmured against Christine's lips.

"Erik…you need to sleep. You're drunk…" Christine wrinkled her nose. She could taste the brandy on his tongue: a bitter, unwelcomed taste in her mouth.

Christine rose from the floor, and grabbed Erik by the hand playfully. She led him to the balcony overlooking the small garden in their room.

"Dawn. It's morning…" Christine whispered to Erik.

"Not to me. It's still nighttime…because in the morning, I'm going to have a horrendous headache…" Erik turned away from the light. "I do not believe that I have felt this tired in years, my dear. We simply must stay up all night talking again sometime." Erik's sarcastic nature was coming back strong, and Christine smiled.

"You definitely deserve a full day's sleep, after all that you had to relive tonight. I think I'm going to go and find Madam Giry, and clear up the misunderstanding between you and her. She was just concerned, and you mortified her…she was so embarrassed; I fear she will never want to visit us again!."

Erik chuckled. "I just said the first thing to enter my mind. You can't blame me for my cunning intellect." He leaned down to kiss her, but Christine pulled away.

"You are most definitely drunk, Monsieur Massenet! Go to bed!"

Erik glared at her. "Since when do you tell me what to do, Madam? I am a grown man! I know when I'm inebriated or not." Erik turned to walk toward the bed, and stumbled, falling against the wall. He glanced at Christine sheepishly.

"All right, just a little bit. I'm going to bed!" And so, as if the idea had been his the whole time, Erik fell forward into the bed. Christine came towards Erik, and pulled the sheets over his body. Erik's eyes were already drooping, and Christine kissed his forehead.

"Sleep well, my Angel…"

Christine was at the door when she heard Erik sing softly to her:

"Christine, I love you."

I just wanted to add quickly that I apologize if you guys find typos in this fic. I'm trying to work out getting a beta. I have had a couple of comments about misuse of words and misspelled words, and I just wanted to say sorry! I'm working on trying to fix them. If you see any huge mistakes, and you would like to point them out, then please review and let me know. I'll change it as soon as I can! Thanks!