(A/N: to Charity: Thanks for the review. I'm sure there will be heated words between Madame Giry and Erik, as for Anika, well, you'll just have to wait and see!

VagrantCandy: Not what you were expecting? Perfect! That's just what I'd hoped. I do wish, however, that you aren't disappointed with it. However much I like to surprise, I like to please just as much, if not better.

LovinRKO: Thank you for the review! The plot is what I'm working really hard on. I'm not quite sure what all is going to happen, but I have a vauge idea. I hope it's not too unbelievable, that's what I was trying to avoid. And that's great to hear you are thinking about writing a phic! Just take the story down a path it hasn't been before, and I think you'll do great. I'll watch for it and R&R. squeal! I just saw this is one of your favorite stroies! I'm so flattered.

By the way, if anyone has any good plot ideas, please e-mail them to me. It's musingmynah at yahoo. Com. No spaces of coarse. Also, you will get full credit if I decide to use them.)

Chapter seven: Try to Forget

What Madame Giry had now was an intense mental struggle. The Phantom of the Opera was lying quite helpless on the bottom of the grand staircase, and she had a frantic manager prowling and pacing behind her. She had rushed to Erik's side and checked his pulse, pulling back her hand as he groaned in agony. Was this what the infamous opera ghost had been reduced to? He had looked even better when he was held captive by the damn gypsies!

"What have you done to yourself?"

She cried out in disbelief, her gaze centered on his horribly mangled leg and then his battered arm. Truthfully, she already knew. Madame Giry had seen cases of this before with the stagehands. Erik was addicted to some drug or another. Really it was pitiful. She had always thought Erik to be strong of mind, however warps his senses of right and wrong had been. Christine must have meant so much more to him that she had suspected. Shaking her head sadly and gesturing for Monsieur Jezime to come closer, she whispered to the fallen angel sadly.

"Why would you do such a thing?"

The manager stopped in his pacing, his eyebrows pulled down low as he scowled at the man. Another accident! Just what this hell house needed. He had never known Antoinette's history, or where her little daughter had come from, so of coarse he was suspicious. Casting a stare deep into the voids the made up Madame Giry's eyes, he watched the shadows cast from her strong brow.

"Who is this man? I presume you know him? Let me tell you right now we have no time to waste on relationship problems! If you want to be a part of this opera-"

Madame Giry scowled -her eyes icy cold. It stopped Jezime in his rant, and he looked at her suspiciously. Before he could continue she quietly and evenly scolded him for such brash thoughts.

"Monsieur, I of all people would not be endangering this opera house. It is my life. He is just an old friend, and I need you to help me convey him to my quarters."

Her calm voice echoed slightly on the marble floors, reverberating onto the domed ceiling in a mass of undistinguishable gibberish. She was greatly offended he would think such irrational nonsense of her and her past, but she realized it was partly her fault. If she wasn't so privet about it, there would be no room for speculation.

"I see."

Was all he said in reply, taking off his coat and hat. Placing them carefully on the stairs, he approached Erik and hoisted him into his arms. It was not difficult in the least bit. Erik had been so concerned with his precious morphine, that food was no longer a priority. On the sporadic moments hen he was not high, he would take in whatever he could find ferociously; eating a diet made up of various small things he could manage to steal unnoticed.

To say the least, he was emaciated. Every bone in his body showed through his skin, his ribs easily countable. If one could see his face, they would cringe in disgust. His cheekbones threatened to burst through his taut leathery skin, his deformity infected and covered in grime and dirt. His eyes seemed to have sunken into his skull, and his eyelids were almost transparent. Thankfully, his hood covered the entire affair satisfactorily; however, the infamous opera ghost was in a sorry state.

Monsieur Jezime picked him up as he would a child, a tall thin sickly child. Erik had lost no height in his desperation to escape reality, so he was almost skeletal in appearance. Jezime gagged at the man's horrid stench, but followed Madame Giry to her room without protest. Only once did he try and peer under the hood, but he felt so horribly guilty that he did not repeat the action. He had seen nothing, and little did he know he was carrying the man who had haunted the walls of this theater for too many manager generations to count.

xXx

The trip to Madame Giry's chambers was a horrible awkward silence, the creaking of the large building the only break in the deathly stillness. As they reached her room, she dug in her robe for the key. Quietly unlocking the door, she motioned for Jezime to hand her Erik's limp form. He cocked an eyebrow, whispering as to not disturb her sleeping daughter.

"Are you sure you can take him?"

He asked cautiously. Erik was not heavy, but slightly awkward to carry because of his long limbs. Antoinette nodded solemnly, holding out her arms as Monsieur Jezime settled the unconscious man in her grip.

"I think it would be best if no one else knew of this Jezime. I shall see that he improves in health, and it will not take any time away from my ballet teachings. Now I believe you have a carriage to catch. Good night."

Monsieur Jezime nodded and his eyes narrowed into slits. Something was being hidden from him. However suspicious he was, bad publicity was the absolutely worst thing that could happen to this opera house right now. Madame Giry had full advantage in this situation, and she had wielded it effectively. Turning around deep in thought, he walked back towards the opera lobby.

Upon reaching the cavernous entryway, he almost shrieked in surprise. There was another man standing in the foyer of his theater! Since when was this a popular midnight party spot on off nights! Clasping his hand to his heart, and sighed in relief realizing it was only his carriage driver. Philipe turned around at the muffled gasp that had come from his employer, Monsieur Jezime's coat and hat in his hand.

"Are you alright Sir? I saw your things and was sure something terrible had happened!"

He spoke with a concern only large sums of money and precious relationships could attain. This of coarse was the former, but why get hung up on petty details? Jezime shook his head hurriedly, grabbing for his coat and stuffing his arms into it. Normally he would be happy with the questions, but this was just not the night for it. Philipe handed him his hat with a look of distrust clouding his features, but it was gone before Jezime would notice.

"I'm fine. Just get me home quickly."

Jezime said without emotion, pulling at the inside of his coat pocket anxiously. Thank the Lord Philipe was not a talkative man during the driving part of the voyage. The manager was sure he would've ended up spilling the entire story if he had been. Walking briskly out the large over-decorated doors to the theater; Monsieur Jezime tried to forget all that had happened. It would only cause un-necessary worry, and he already had a mediocre Spanish diva to do that. Flipping up his collar as the frosty night air nipped at his unprotected flesh, he sighed deeply.

What a night what a night.

(A/N: I think I'll stop here and save the Giry-scoldings for the next few chapters. I love reviews! Yey! I really wasn't expecting to get any! Thanks guys! Keep them coming, and please don't be afraid to be critical. That's how someone gets better as a writer. )