Disclaimer: i own...nthinog...not the sexy Erik...nor New York...nor the Opera Populaire...but i own the thugs...Hans...and random people you don't recognize so hah
"OWWW!" the redhead fell to the ground, the hair still in Erik's hand. "What the hell is that for?" sparkling green eyes glared at him. Erik instantly released the woman's hair and stepped back with a stunned look on his face.
"Wh….what are you doing here?" he stammered staring at the redheaded woman, his pale skin turning sheet white.
"Oww!" she repeated and glared at him. "That hurt!"
"I asked why you are here."
"I was sent."
"By who?"
The woman sighed. "I don't know. I was offered money to come here. I don't know the person's name."
Erik looked at her questioningly. "Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?"
"Don't you remember? That night in Paris. Over a century ago now."
"I wasn't born yet."
"Are you telling me you don't remember?" he stopped forward.
"There's nothing to remember. I wasn't alive back then." she backed away slightly.
Erik growled in frustration then walked forward forcing the woman into a corner. He placed his hand over her face and closed his eyes.
"W…what are you doing?" she trembled beneath his cold hand.
Erik raced through the winding corridors like mouse in a maze. The mob was chasing him through them and in his panic to escape, to live, he had forgotten all sense of direction or reason. After letting Christine leave with the Vicomte, he had run knowing the mob's thirst for blood, his blood, would not be sated with just the knowing that the captives were safe once more. No, that fact had only incited more unruliness into the mob. Armed with anything that was light enough to run with, the mob chased Erik through the labyrinth that had once been his domain.
"Murderer!" "Kill him kill him!"
He ran and ran striving to find an exit but to no avail. At almost every turn someone stood to ambush him, and several times he had not been quick enough to escape injury. He was growing weaker from the loss of blood and ceaseless running but he dared not stop. When, at last, the mob seemed to have him cornered, reason returned to him and he used it to outwit the mob and continue running.
"Which way?" "Over here!" "I've got him!" "He's on the street! Get him!"
Finally reaching an exit, he stumbled out into the Parisian streets. Without his mask, he was vulnerable to all so he ran more, clinging to the shadows now, hoping that luck would be with him. He knew not where to go for he knew no one save Madame Giry and she had helped bring this upon him. His blood boiled at the thought but he pushed it aside, knowing the anger would do him no good this night. Entering a dark and cramped alleyway, he collapsed in the farthest reaches of it and rested. He was breathing heavily, so it is no wonder he didn't hear the light footsteps, not unlike his own. He did not see until the person had him cornered. Erik tried to push them aside and run again but, whether from the loss of blood, his breathlessness or both, his strength seemed to have left him entirely, for he could not even budge the person.
"Calm yourself monsieur, I am not one of your assailants." Erik unwittingly calmed at the stranger's deep soothing voice. "I am here merely to offer you an escape."
Erik looked up at the stranger and was taken aback to see a woman standing over him. She had vibrant red hair and sparkling green eyes. After staring at her for a moment, he finally spoke. "Who are you?"
"Who I am makes no difference. All that matters is your choice. You are a brilliant man. Talented in many of the aspects of the arts. What I offer you I offer very, very few of my prey. You see I hunt men. I hunt their blood. I need it to survive." She laughed at the dubious look on Erik's face. "Yes I am one of the Nosferatu. You, too, can escape to our realm, our life. Either way you choose your life ends tonight. But be warned, once you become a nightwalker, you must completely turn away from the light. Never again will you see the sun. So, my dear Erik, what is it you desire? Rest? Or the Night? Choose now."
Erik leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, his mind reeling from all the woman had just told him. He groaned from the pain of the many wounds he suffered and from the choice he had to make.
The woman smiled down at him. "Yes it is not a decision to be rushed but I am afraid I must. You have bled a great deal already and the scent raises my hunger." Her eyes gained a slightly crazed look to them. "Hurry hurry hurry!"
Sighing, Erik opened his eyes and looked up at her. "The light rejected me long ago. It seems only fit I should now return the courtesy." He turned his head to the side, offering the woman a view of his jugular.
The woman smiled again and slowly lowered her mouth to his now exposed neck.
"Oh my god!" the woman fell to the ground, startled by what she had just witnessed. "If that man…was you…then you're…" she trailed off and paled.
Erik laughed. "Yes the Phantom of the Opera. Long thought dead by the world. Yes that night, while the opera house burned and many Parisians sought the life of the Phantom, he died but not in the way they had planned." he smiled thinly and turned away. "So, my friend, do you remember me now?"
"No." Erik swiftly turned back. "I don't remember you. I was telling the truth about not being alive back then. That woman…was my mother."
"Your…mother!" Erik stepped back. "But how?"
"How did one of the dead give life? I don't know. But here I am." the woman sighed and stood up. "My name is Kanya. Kanya Lancaster." she held her hand out to Erik. "And since you are the Opera Ghost that would make you…Erik right?"
Erik looked into her eyes. "Yes." He shook her hand then started pacing the room. "Do you know where your mother is?" he looked back at her hopefully.
"Yes. Spread across the Seine River of her homeland. She was burned twenty years ago." a shadow crossed Kanya's eyes as she spoke but she quickly cleared them.