A/N: Thank you to all the readers and reviewers for bearing with me! Sorry for the really, really slow update! I've just moved to a new city so I've been adjusting and trying to make new friends and I only recently got the internet to work in my room! Argh… but I digress! Here is at long last a new chapter!

Warning: There are a lot of expletives in this chapter, so bear in mind the rating!

Another A/N: I haven't taken bio for 8 long years, so I'm just guessing about the whole blood test thing in the chapter. Shrugs You'll see…

Chapter Seven: Blood and Tears

The screaming contest had only just begun as Erik and Rosalyn stared across the dining table at one another, their knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table. Rosalyn's eyes were already bloodshot as tears continued to fall from her eyes despite her mind telling her to stay strong.

"What do you mean how do I know? I saw the freakin' musical in San Francisco with my mom the day before she died!"

"What musical?" Erik's voice boomed from his throat, betraying his attempts to also keep his wits about him.

"What musical, my ass! You're the one claiming to be the 'Phantom of the Opera!'" She raised the index and middle finger of each hand like bunnies and "quoted" him.

"I AM the Phantom of the Opera!" Erik spread his arms out, as if presenting himself alone would convince her of the truth.

"Yeah? And I'm Batman! Why the hell should I believe you? The damn musical has been around forever and a day!"

"Are you telling me there's a musical about me?"

"Are you telling me you haven't seen it? Aren't obsessed with it to the point that you believe yourself to BE the actual Phantom of the Opera?"

"I can't even comprehend WHY there would be a musical about my life or how other people would know about it? OF COURSE I've never seen it! Merde! Je deviens fou vraiment avec cette fille ici!" Erik's eyes burned into Rosalyn's, turning a golden amber that flashed with anger. It took breath away slightly, but her anger overtook her.

"You've never heard DUUUN, DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN?" mimicking the first few chords of the song "Phantom of the Opera."

Erik cocked his head to the side and stared at her disbelievingly. His throat aching from the yelling, he almost whispered his next few words. "And what, pray tell, was that?"

"The Phantom of the Opera! THE trademark song! Everybody knows the song even if they've never seen the musical. They even play a techno version of it at raves!" Obviously, Rosalyn was not tired of screaming and, if anything, her voice sounded more exasperated.

"What is a rave?" For a second, Rosalyn could've sworn he sounded like a curious child. He was no child and she would have no sympathy for him.

"For fuck's sake! Will you stop pretending to be from 18-fucking-71!"

"Don't use those words with me!" Again his eyes flashed like fire, showing how offended he was that she cursed.

"What word? FUCK? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, damn, ass, turd, fuck! Fuck you, fuck the Phantom, and get the fuck out of my house!" she cried at the top of her lungs, pointing to the front door.

The silence that followed was more deafening than the shrieking that came out of their mouths. Rosalyn stood, her arm still outstretched, pointing at the door, her chest heaving with the anger that boiled in her voice. Her tear-streaked face was red with exertion and the waterworks in her eyes threatened to begin again.

Erik was stunned speechless. For the second time in his life, he felt the pain of guilt for his actions just as he had felt guilty of hurting Christine emotionally, for making her choose. Though he had been given a second chance, he realized he was committing the same mistakes. The damage had already been done and he had no choice but to continue with the argument.

"If you knew who I was, you would never dare speak to me in that manner," he hissed, his voice barely audible.

"Well why don't you just help me out and tell me who you are!" she said softly and slowly, trying to regain her bearings.

"I've told you already, and yet you refuse to believe me," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"If you were me, you wouldn't believe you either and…"

"I know how it sounds," he interrupted. "It sounds preposterous to tell you that somehow I've jumped 134 years into the future. But I assure you, mademoiselle, that it is every bit the truth."

"Prove it," she dared, crossing her arms in a defiant manner.

Erik threw his arms up, dejected, and searched the room as if the answer lay somewhere inside. "Bloody hell!" he sighed, having learned the charming term in a venture to London while the Paris Opera House was being built. He turned his back to her and took a few steps, his right hand under his chin and left arm across his torso in a thinking pose.

That's it.

"My blood," he said so quietly that Rosalyn barely heard it.

"You're not bleeding, are you?" she said puzzled, suddenly the concerned nurse once more. Why should I care if he's bleeding or not? HE was the one that lost his temper and scared her shitless!

"No, but my blood is proof!" he exclaimed excitedly, turning to face her once more, still in a contemplative pose. He ambled toward the table again and placed his hands on the back of the chair.

"Although I lived in a lair under the Opera House…" he paused, glancing to Rosalyn, who raised an eyebrow at the beginning of his statement. "I was not completely cut off from the rest of the world. With help from a colleague of mine, I was able to receive scientific journals from all over the world. Now we may not have all the technological advances that your time has, but we certainly were on the verge of many breakthroughs."

Unconvinced, Rosalyn cut in. "But what does that have to do with your blood?"

"I knew from the medical journals I read that scientists were close to finding vaccines for different diseases that plagued my time, such as consumption and malaria. I do not claim to be a medical doctor, nor do I claim to know much about these diseases, but I do know that diseases tend to mutate and change over time. If you were to analyze a blood sample from me, you would find that I have a vastly different immune system than people of your time."

Rosalyn took a step back to lean against the island counter, placing a hand on her hip and biting the index finger of her other hand. She contemplated his suggestion. Was it plausible? She had no idea but she knew someone that would know the answer.

"Just because your idea might be legit, doesn't mean I believe your story. But seeing as how I haven't taken bio for four years, we'll just sit and wait for my brother, who happens to be a doctor."

As if the fates answered her call, a knock came to the door. "Okay, we'll keep your 'story' under wraps until I find out whether the blood analysis tells us anything. Not a word to my brother about 1871." Turning away from Erik, she composed herself before opening the door.

"Hey, kiddo!" Jacob greeted, embracing Rosalyn with a bear hug. He pulled back from her, suddenly aware of the sick stranger from last night staring at them. "I can see the sleep has done you well, sir. My name is Jacob Evans. I trust Rosalyn has taken care of you well."

"Yes, thank you for your kindness. Your generosity is greatly appreciated. While I do feel much better, I am afraid that I remember little other than the name Erik, so that is the name I give you." He inhaled deeply, wondering if he would accept the lie.

Jacob opened his mouth to answer, only to close it, lost in thought. "Hmm… well short-term amnesia is not uncommon for those who go through a traumatic experience. Falling into the ocean would definitely count as a traumatic experience."

Rosalyn breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that while Jacob was not gullible, he had no reason to doubt Erik, at least not yet. It was time to test her acting skills, though she hated lying to him.

"I was speaking to him while he slept and he muttered that his name is Erik. Then, he must have fallen into a deeper sleep because he didn't say anything after that until he awoke."

"I see. Well, I'm not a neurologist so I have no experience dealing with amnesia patients. The mind holds so many secrets still. When your mind comes to terms with the trauma, your memory should return," continued Jacob.

"I was wondering, Jacob, is there some kind of blood test we could do on Erik? I mean, since we have no idea what his medical history is, it might help, in case we have to give him any medication. Or… um… something like that…" she stuttered, silently berating herself for not being smooth with the situation.

"A blood test usually isn't run unless absolutely necessary," Jacob said, contemplating the suggestion.

Looking up at him, she tried not to look defeated. "Oh…"

"But considering the circumstances, and the fact that I have a friend that works at a lab, I guess we could run a blood test. That is, if Erik doesn't mind." They both turned to Erik to find his reaction. All he did was nod in agreement.

"Well I have my medical bag with me, including a clean syringe. I can also check your leg and make sure everything is in order." Again, Erik just nodded. Jacob gestured for Erik to go into the guest room, noticing for the first time what Erik was wearing. "Ah, I have some extra clothes that should fit you better than those…"

Rosalyn began to follow the two men into the guestroom, looking down at her feet and pondering the thought that Erik could possibly be telling the truth. She ran into an object as Jacob's hands grasped her arms to stop her from falling.

"Sorry, sis. I may not be a general practitioner, but this is still a medical examination and it is still a private manner," he said gently, searching her eyes for understanding.

It took a second for her to process what he had just said. "Of course… I'll just wait here and watch some television." He turned to enter the room when her voice made him stop. "Thanks for doing this, Jacob. I know you probably think I'm silly for letting him stay here, a complete stranger…" Only half his face was visible to her as he stood in profile to her, one hand on the door handle.

Smiling in the way only a brother can love to a sister, he answered, "Think nothing of it," before closing the door behind him.

Rosalyn turned toward the television but pivoted and walked into her room, crawling onto her knees to search for something under the bed. Finally finding the box she wanted, she pulled out an old Jimmy Choo shoe box that once held knee-high brown suede boots. She sat in silence, staring the box before gently lifting the lid, her eyes misting slightly as she thought of the contents of the box.

The first thing she saw was a smiling picture of her mother staring back at her. Rummaging through the box, she saw little tokens that reminded her of her mother: an old locket with miniature pictures of her mother and father on their wedding day; a long, black silk ribbon that her mother used to wear in her hair; old birthday and Mother's Day cards she had made in school. It pained her to see these things again, but she found courage from the task at hand.

Near the bottom of the box, lay what she had been searching for: a yellowing playbill and accompanying program for "Phantom of the Opera."

Translation (thank you, Babelfish!): Shit! I am truly going crazy with this girl here!