VagrantCandy: Thanks for the suggestion! I think I did put in separators in there, but for some reason they didn't show up... Hopefully you can see them now. I must admit that I was uncomfortable with how I chose Erik's responses. But this story is supposed to be about Erik trying to learn how he can trust society again. Like my mom says, "Well, he's obviously socially retarded!"

Christy Day: I'm glad you like it! I'll try to update as often as I can!

Lady Kathrin: Merci! Thank you so much!

I also forgot to put in a disclaimer for my first chapter, I didn't know if these were mandatory or something, well, here it is (I'll probably put it in chapter 1, one of these days but oh well…).


Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Phantom of the Opera. The book, the movie, or the stage production. All I own are my characters which are the makings of my imagination. The credit for The Phantom of the Opera goes entirely to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Weber, along with many, many others that brought out the magic in it.

Chapter Three: True Identity

Erik's exclamation echoed through the darkened room. He was covered in cold sweat that had soaked through his shirt, his mask unpleasantly covering condensation that was dripping between it and his misshapen skin. As he sat up to wipe the underside of the article, a sweet, heavenly sound drifted into his room from below. A voice. His mind foolishly thought that it was the only person who could possess such a talent, Christine. But the only inhabitants of the home were he and Michelle.

Slowly, the man crept downstairs like a thief and peered into the small living area, decorated with dozens of photos and portraits, a couch in one corner, and a forgotten piano in another. There she was. Painting on a vivid canvas with swirls of vibrant colored oils. The song was about love and loss, something Michelle would have no trouble relating to. Erik's eyes closed with pleasure, his ears taking in every note. A deep humming from his throat surfaced, with a beauty that mismatched his face. Caressing each word, tenderly.

At last, he emerged from his hiding spot and said to her, "You have a lovely voice."

Michelle jumped slightly, flushing a bright red. Her voice becoming very high-pitched with shock. "Oh, Erik! I didn't hear you come down! I could've sworn you were still sound-asleep! My, how you frightened me! You're like a phantom of sorts!"

Erik cringed at her last exclamation, and then frowned as an apology, but Michelle quickly waved it off and said in her normal tone, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rude. I've gotten so used to this empty house I forgot I had a guest." She resumed her painting, but not singing, for Erik had thoroughly embarrassed her. Rain pelted at the windows outside without mercy. When had the storm started? Erik wondered. It wouldn't impact his plans for the day, anyway.

The couch was calling him to sit down and rest, and he obeyed. Having been bedridden for only a day, Erik still felt very weak. Michelle's painting could easily be viewed from where he sat, so this suited him just fine. The canvas was filled from side to side with colors, forming the outline of a man. Luc, of course. Erik felt sympathetic towards the young lady; he knew what it was like to lose someone so close to the heart. His eyes traveled down the portrait, and also down Michelle. But this was out of mere curiosity. All he'd seen was her face. She wore a simple, emerald green dress that went nicely with her skin that happened to have a touch of an olive tone in it. Perhaps she had a Mediterranean ancestor? Her feet looked larger than most of the women's in Paris, but Erik took note that she was fairly tall, probably only an inch or so below him. She had braided her long hair to keep it out of her dazzling eyes as she worked.

When she was pleased with the portrait, Michelle turned to her guest and said, "It's almost time for our luncheon, are you hungry at all?"

Erik shook his head no and tried to again express his regret for scaring her, "I didn't mean to frighten you, mademoiselle. I do not wish to keep you from singing."

Michelle blushed a second time and replied, "Luc and I would always sing together, he had the most beautiful voice. When I was ill, he would stay by my bedside and sing lullabies to me…" She looked off into space with a dreamy expression.

He nodded with understanding, remembering his own duet with Christine that seemed like it had taken place many years ago.

"May I join you in a song?" He asked, hoping her answer would be yes. The piano was in desperate need of playing, so Erik sat down on the bench and cracked open the lid. The keys, dusty from years of neglect. His hands floated over them as he began to sing. Michelle listened intently, awestruck by how he managed to sing so sweetly and so sadly at the same time. Remembering that this was meant to be a short duet, she raised her own voice and the two combined quite harmoniously. After a short time, Erik concluded the piece and turned to see Michelle's response. Her eyes were closed, lips parted into a gentle smile. She was just… standing, almost trying to retrieve the sound once more. The young lady looked rather radiant in the sunbeams that were creeping into the room, too bad she wasn't fond of daytime.

"You sing very well," Erik said. It was uncommon for him to hand out compliments. The unfortunate managers who ran his opera house knew this all too well.

"Oh Erik, thank you. But you're voice is so… so beautiful!" Her eyes were wide open now, probing Erik's, trying to discover his secrets.

Instantly, their minds began to thrash. Erik knew what he was doing. He was making the same mistake he'd made with Christine all over again. No, he would never be denied again. Running a hand through his hair piece, Erik made his way back upstairs. Michelle went to the garden; neither said a word to each other for the rest of the day.

The next few days passed in a uniform manner. Erik only tried to leave once, but couldn't bring himself to use force on Michelle. He agreed to stay on three conditions. One was that the rooms were kept dark, like his former abode. Two was for Michelle to try and not disturb him if he was reading. He also asked for access to the piano. Secretly, Erik knew he could easily escape when Michelle went to bed, but the lady needed a companion, he thought. Three years and little contact with the outside world made one rather lonely, as Erik knew. He also thought that the Opera Populaire was not yet safe to return to, so why risk his neck again when someone was so willing to offer him living quarters?

That was what worried him the most. Michelle was obviously not aware of who, or what, he was. One night though, she finally gained the courage to ask him that dreadful question. She sat in the chair next to his bed, where he was reading the paper.

"Erik, I must know…" Her voice was quivering, "I feel as though I've seen you somewhere before… Well, not seen, but heard you, possibly. This must sound silly, but, who are you?"
He sighed, a long, sad sigh that filled the room. He hadn't wanted it to come to this, but after all of her hospitality, he knew that it was time. Rubbing his temples, he began, "Have you ever been to the opera, Michelle? More specifically, the one here in Paris?"

She was confused, but nodded and replied, "I've only been once. To see Il Muto, it was horrid. I don't think I could bear to return to that place after what happened…"

Erik's look was downcast, "So you heard a voice, I presume? A voice from the ceiling, it seemed as if it were whispering in your ear? But you had no idea what it meant, am I right?"

Michelle brushed a strand of hair from her face and pulled the shawl around her tighter; the room had grown icy cold. Trying to remember that night wasn't difficult…

xXx

"Michelle, hurry dear or we're going to be late!" Cried Camille, a slender blonde with large green eyes, one of Michelle's few remaining friends. She was dressed in an elegant white gown, her hair dripping with crystals.

"I'm coming, please just one more moment!" Michelle answered back, her voice sounding giddier than usual. How long had it been since she'd had a fun outing like this with her friend? The two had known each other since their childhood, before the death of Michelle's mother. At long last, she came down the stairs.

"Oh Michelle," Camille murmured in wonderment to her friend. She was wearing a soft blue dress that she hadn't worn in years. The layers of shiny, beautiful blue fabric and gauze made her look splendidly gorgeous.

They hugged when they saw each other and made their way to the carriage that was awaiting outside Michelle's quiet little villa. Camille took her almost-sister's hand in her own, and said, "You know Luc is proud of you. How you've stayed strong even when he wasn't by your side. He is smiling down on you from heaven, I just know it."

A single tear rolled down Michelle's cheek as she smiled, "Thank you Cami, I know it too." They rode in silence until they had at last arrived at the Opera Populaire. It was peculiar to see so many wealthy people, and those who pretended to be wealthy, in one place.

Camille insisted that if they were to go to the opera, then they must at least buy tickets to sit in one of the boxes overlooking the stage. This was no trouble at all, Luc's uncle, M. Gilles Andre, was always offering Michelle tickets. He, unlike some, had been happy for their marriage and Michelle was always grateful.

Once in their seats, the two young ladies talked until at last the curtain rose. The audience clapped politely as the production began. Having never seen an opera before, Michelle listened intently to the actors' singing.

All was going smoothly, until a voice from nowhere was heard, questioning, "Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?"

Camille started panicking, thinking that they had purchased Box Five for the evening; Michelle had to reassure her that Box Five had been sold to the Viscount de Chagny, as M. Andre had informed her. They happened to be seated in Box Three.

The voice said nothing more, and the play began again, audience and performers both uneasy. La Carlotta, the nasty Prima Donna of the stage, started to sing once more, but all that escaped her throat was a large, "Co-ack!"

Spectators roared with laughter as Carlotta ran off the stage. Michelle recognized Luc's uncle on the stage, along with his co-manager, M. Firmin.

"Ladies and gentlemen," M. Firmin began, "We apologize. The performance will continue in ten minutes time, when the role of the countess will be played by Miss Daae!" He brought forth a young girl with curly brown hair, looking quite confused about what was going on, "Thank you!" He finished.

"Meanwhile," Stuttered Andre, "We'd like to give you the ballet from Act Three of tonight's opera." And with that, the curtain rose again to reveal a cluster of ballerinas trying to make their way to center stage as the stagehands struggled to change the set. Once again things seemed to settle down and go as planned. Michelle and Camille looked at one another and smiled uncomfortably. Of all the nights they chose to go to the opera!

Then, it happened. The image was still crisp in Michelle's mind. A body came swinging down from the rafters, with noose secured tightly around its neck. The entire theatre was filled with screaming as the corpse of Joseph Buquet fell to the ground. A swish of capes could be heard, and that's all Michelle remembered. She and Camille had run as fast as they could from that place, never looking back, the people's cries of horror and outrage ringing in their ears.

xXx

She couldn't help but laugh, "Why does that matter, Erik? I don't understand."

His eyes were cold, "Because… I am the monster, the phantom, the ghost that haunted the halls of the opera." His words trailed off into space and sank into Michelle's mind. The man she had been caring for, who'd she'd opened her home to was a murderer. She couldn't believe her own thoughts. Never before had she felt more naïve. Camille often gossiped about strange happenings at the opera.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a knock on the front door. Well, it was more of a loud banging upon the door.

Her voice trembling, she whispered, "I'll get it."

Michelle hurried down the stairs and proceeded to open the door. A large, Spanish woman barged in followed by an equally large, French man. Her father and step-mother had decided to pay a visit.

xXx

Poor Michelle! Things aren't looking too good, eh? Well, chapter four shall be up soon. Sorry, this chapter was a little longer than the others. Thanks for all the reviews you guys!