Chapter II

A/N: Yeah…I know I put this chapter up already, but I just got finished reading the Susan Kay version, and I know I could make this chapter so much better. It's basically the same thing, just a teeny bit different. Enjoy! (I'll explain why I didn't update in a long time later)

Erik could hardly believe it. His old friend and savior, Nadir Khan, once the daroga of Persia, now stood before him as the chief of police in Paris. He had a dead girl in his clutches. A girl he had killed to satisfy his greed, after that promise he made Nadir many years ago. "No more wanton deaths." Nadir didn't know Erik was a vampire in those days. No one did. He had kept the secret to himself the entire time he was in Persia. Butconsidering where Erik stood in the situation now, this surely would not end well.

"Nadir, I-"

The Persian held up his hand to silence him.

"Before you say anything Erik, let me take a good look at you!" Erik was nonplussed and in a moment's notice, Nadir had him in a rib-cracking embrace, making the dead girl slip from his arms.

"Daroga," he gasped out as he wormed his way free of the Persian's grasp and straightened out his cloak, "What is the matter with you, man? You know I detest physical contact!"

At this Nadir burst out laughing thoroughly irritating Erik, "Still as cynical as ever, eh, you old dog?"

"Yes," he replied roling his eyes and arching an unseen eyebrow at his companion. Nadir let out a sigh of contentment and seemed to regain his air of seriousness. He bent down and studied the corpse at his feet. He saw the holes in her neck where Erik had bitten her. He felt a pang of guilt as he saw the horror dawning in his face.

"I think you better explain this, Erik."

Surprisingly, he tripped over his own words, "I…well, she…er…uh…um…you see, Daroga, I…hmm." Nadir let out fresh peals of laughter as Erik stood appalled by his frivolity. "Damn it, Daroga! What the hell is so hilarious?"

The Persian wiped at his eyes, "Allah! I wish I could've seen your face! I'd never though I'd see the day that you of all people would stammer like a common imbecile!"

Imbecile, was he? As Nadir chuckled on, Erik felt that familiar murderous rage creep up inside him, "Daroga, do not make me break out my lasso."

Nadir instantly stopped laughing and gave him a look that dared him to do so, but he shrugged and said, "Don't waste that precious energy of yours, Erik. You couldn't kill me if you tried."

He stared apprehensively at the Persian, "What do you mean by that?"

Nadir laughed again, revealing every single one of his teeth. Erik could clearly see a pair of bloodstained fangs.

"Nadir...when...?"

"Ages ago," he said simply, "In fact the very night I helped you escape. You were pretty right about the shah punishing me...but the khanum wanted to see to it herself."

Erik blanched, "The khanum!"

"The very same. Why else do you think she was interested in you?"

Erik grimaced, remembering just how interested the khanum was in him. He was a fool to think that no one would know about him for three years in Persia, especially someone as powerful as the khanum.

Nadir continued, "She bit me, but didn't drink enough to kill me," Nadir's eyes suddenly filled with the terrible memory of that night, "I had to suffer the pain…the agony, for hours." Erik briefly imagined Nadir lying in a heap on the ground, pitching a fit and screaming like hell was after him as he passed into the world of the living dead. Knowing her perverse sense of humor, the khanum would've enjoyed watching this unearthly means of torture. God, how many people had she converted into vampires before Erik's time? And she still wasn't satisfied! He was sent to come up with more inhuman tortures to delight her like the disgusting child she was! Erik balled his shaking hands into fists of rage. The Persian sighed, "When the khanum grew bored of watching me, she left and as soon as I thought it was over I fled the country and came here to hopefully find you," he spread his hands in an obvious gesture.

Erik's gut was burning with anger and guilt. He placed a hand on Nadir's shoulder, "I am so sorry, Daroga. This happened to you because of me."

Nadir shrugged his hand off, "No need for apology Erik. If it makes you feel any better, before I left Persia, I met with the shah…and had a drink." He grinned proudly.

Erik laughed outright, "Left with a bang, didn't you Nadir?"

"I couldn't exactly resist the opportunity, my friend."

"Tell me, what happened when you came here?"

"Turns out I was dealt the same fate as you."

"Fate?" Erik asked, unsure of what he was talking about.

Nadir held out an abandoned edition of "Le Époque " from May 23, "I can only think of one person who can deal out such a grisly death. I cam to Paris to try to find some work. I was weary of poverty. It was hard, however, to come by a night job, so I decided to the two things I do best. I became daroga through…influence, let's say, and I took the night shift for myself. Anyone lawbreakers I find, well…" he gave an uncharacteristically evil smile, which took Erik aback.

"Well, you've certainly changed," Erik said, smirking, "so no one suspects you?"

"As far as I've been able to see, no," Nadir said, "I sleep in police headquarters during the day and take my shift at dusk."

"Speaking of sleep, Daroga, where, pray tell, can I find a cemetery? I haven't slept in ages."

"Nadir stared aghast at Erik, "A cemetery? You've been reduced to sleeping in graveyards? By the Prophet, I won't have any of that." He set off in a quick pace, "Leave the body, Erik, and follow me. I know a place you might enjoy staying in."

Erik walked briskly beside him, "Where are you taking me, Daroga?"

"Trust me, Erik. It's someplace very nice. It's where I sometimes dump bodies I've drank from."

"Sounds charming," Erik said dryly.

Nadir smirked, "Yes, it is, in fact. Ah, here we are!" He lead Erik to the front of a large and exquisite building with large letters over its marble columns that read, "Le Opera Populaire."

Erik thought this strange, "The Paris Opera? You dump bodies in the opera house, Nadir?"

He gave an appreciative chuckle, "No, no, old friend. Come, it's just back here." Nadir lead Erik around the back of the luxuriant building. His patience was now waning, but he was curious. The Persian stopped in front of a wrought iron gate. He wrapped his fists round the metal bars, pulled with all his might, and the gate came clean off.

"After you," Nadir said, gesturing towards the entranceway. Erik stepped through into the darkness, with Nadir coming in behind him, replacing the gate like he was closing a door. They walked through the pitch-black darkness as though they were walking though a lighted hallway. They were going down a seemingly never ending staircase; twisting and turning through labyrinthine tunnels, the Persian occasionally saying, "No, no, Erik, this way," or "Make sure you sure you skip every other step." He was unbearably confused and his patience was at its peak when Nadir suddenly stopped and Erik walked straight into him.

"Daroga, where the hell are we?"

"You new home, Erik. Welcome to the fifth cellar of the Paris Opera." Erik stared at his surroundings and saw that it was similar to a cavern with many separate rooms. A sort of morbid apartment.

"Nothing against you, of course Erik," Nadir said, "but this Opera is to rival the palace you built in Mazanderan."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yes, this place is teeming with trapdoors and secret passageways. No one comes down here anyway," he grinned, "Superstitious theatre folk, the lot of them." Nadir pressed his hand against the wall behind him and the portcullis lifted, "You can take the boat down there to cross the lake. I usually take the corpses to the old Commune dungeons. Beyond that I shouldn't have to explain further. You've always had an impeccable sense of direction." Nadir smiled as he saw Erik's eyes fill with ideas and plans for his new home, "I must leave you no, but if you need anything, you should really have no trouble finding me. Au revior, mon ami."

Nadir turned to leave through the same passageway they came, when Erik called out after him, "Hold it, Nadir. Before you leave, I do need something."

"What is it?"

A grim smile played on Erik's lips, "A coffin…"

Erik remembered when he was young, very shortly before he became a vampire, the gypsy carnival. He was called "The Living Corpse." Night after night, he would perform inside a coffin and attract throngs of people with his voice. At the end, he was forced to remove his mask to meet the screams and taunting of dozens of people.

He had the face of a dead man and now his mortal soul was gone too. He had literally become the Living Corpse. Shouldn't corpses rest in coffins. He and Nadir managed to steal a stone one from the cemetery and bring it back to Erik's new home. It was the only thing that furnished it thus far, and it wasn't suited at all to Erik's taste, but it would have to do-- for now anyway.

Nadir stared at the coffin before he left and laughed, "The only thing this place needs now is a ghost. Maybe a witch, perhaps?" Erik laughed with him, but something he said made him think.

A ghost, huh?

Ghosts were rather interesting subjects. Mysterious specters of those thought long gone, usually haunting large buildings. They bring chaos, fear…and power wherever they go. It was a truly mad idea, but Erik decided this was an opportunity he could not miss. It grew dreadfully boring having to steal clothes from the homes of wealthy men. It wouldn't hurt to apply a salary. Nadir had said himself that these people were superstitious. They'd eat this up.

Erik awoke to the sound of screams coming from God knows where. Nadir had warned him this would happen. He climbed out of his coffin and followed the ungodly shrieks, after nearly a quarter of an hour, he found himself walking the rafters above the stage where the sceneshifters took their posts. Erik cringed as the screaming cut through the air again. He looked down below and saw a burlesque looking man chasing a group of girls (dancers by the look of them) with a hangman's noose.
"He haunts this place, I tell you! A wretched ghost so ugly, he hides his face with a mask. A DEVIL'S FACE, I SAY!" He brandished the tied catgut at the young women and they all gasped and giggled, "Careful how you tread, my dears. For the Opera Ghost has a frightful temper and just might catch you with his magical lasso."

Erik stood rooted to the spot, to amazed to move. He had never met the man in his life and somehow he had described nearly every aspect about him. Only he had referred to him as the "Opera Ghost." This was perfect! The foundation was already set for his new comfortable existence at the Opera Populaire. His thoughts were then disturbed by a screeching voice.

"JOSEPH BUQUET!"

Erik's jaw dropped in utter disbelief. Madeline Giry marched furiously towards the man who was no doubt Buquet and slapped him hard across the face. The ballet girls gasped and Erik took a sharp intake of breath through his teeth.

Stop frightening the girls, Joseph," she said menacingly, "They have rehearsal tomorrow and they don't need a ridiculous 'Opera Ghost' in their heads." She snatched the noose from his hands and brought her face up to his. Her eyes flashed dangerously, "You should take care of who you speak of, Joseph." She whispered, "It brings bad karma."

As she screeched for the other girls to get to their beds, Erik felt truly grateful for the woman. He knew why she had reacted so strongly to Buquet's story. She knew that Erik had the odd ability of overhearing any conversation that mentioned him. And if it was bad enough to evoke his wrath, the offensive person would usually be found the following day with blood streaming from his neck. But from what Erik could see, it wasn't so much that Madame Giry feared for Buquet's life, but it was simply her protective way. Erik smiled; he now had an ally within the walls of the building. All he head to do was let her know he was there.

Madame Giry was making her rounds of all the boxes, making sure everything is as it should be for tomorrow's final performance for the season. She reached box five and entered to see if the velvet curtains were in place. They were shut and she put down the lantern she carried with her to open them. A curious draft entered the box, slamming the door shut and knocking the lamp over, extinguishing it.

Madame Giry cursed under her breath and slowly made her way towards the door. She tried to pull the door open, but it wouldn't budge. In her futile attempts to open the door, she could've sworn she heard a dark chuckle in her ear and a voice whisper, "Madeline Giry…It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Who are you? Let me out of here at once!"

"My dear, Madame Giry, I'm crushed! Don't even remember good old friends?"

"Friend? Who-" The gas lights in the box flicked on and an unusually tall and skinny man seemed to appear out of thin air. The white mask on his face screamed memories at Madeline. She sank into one of the armchairs, "Oh Lord…Erik?"

"Actually, Madeline," he said, "for the time being, I'd rather be known as the Phantom of the Opera."

"I have a message for you, monsieurs," Madame Giry said to the new managers of the Opera Populaire, Richard Firmin and Gilles Andre. Firmin took the letter she held out to him and stared at it curiously. It was addressed in red ink "To the Managers of the Opera" and sealed with a wax skull.

"Madame Giry, who is this letter from?" asked Andre.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, monsieur." She said, "I simply have my orders to deliver it to you."

Firmin opened the mysterious envelope, took out the single sheet of paper and read:

Dear Mr. Managers:

Welcome to the Opera Populaire. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Opera Ghost. Whether you believe in me or not, that is your problem, but I have certain demands that must be followed and I do not have the time or patience to deal with your beliefs.

Box five on the grand tier should be lift for my personal use. It should be available to me at every performance, whether I'm in attendance or not.

Be advised if there are any unwanted dancers, musicians, chorus members, etc., they should be promptly sacked. I will be observing many performances and shall inform you who the unlucky individuals are. If you do not deal with them, I will do so personally

Finally, the most difficult of my demands, but that does not mean I will be lenient. I require a salary of twenty thousand francs a month.

As absurd as these demands might be, I assure you, gentlemen, serious action will be taken if I am disobeyed. If you have any doubts, be sure to ask you predecessor, Monsieur Lefevre, about me. I will inform you when your salary is due.

O.G

"Andre, take a look at this!" Firmin said passing the letter to his colleague. He read it quickly, his face growing more contorted with anger.

"TWENTY THOUSAND FRANCS!" he yelled, his eyes bulging, "Who does he think he is ordering us around like he owns the damn place!" Andre tore the letter in pieces and threw it into the burning hearth.

Firmin, however, was superstitious and was feeling rather nervous, "But…Andre, what if there really is a ghost?"

"Firmin, have you gone completely MAD? There is no ghost! Someone is trying to make idiots out of us! Ghost, indeed."

"But Andre, think about it." Firmin interjected, "Lefevre was the manager here for less than a year. He retired far too soon. Perhaps we should ask him."

"How in God's name do you expect to ask him?" Andre yelled, "He's in Frankfurt!"

"Excuse me, monsieurs," Madame Giry said, "If I were you, I would take heed to the letter. Things do tend to happen in this Opera."

"You see!" Firmin said, his fears confirmed, "Let's just leave box five empty for tonight's performance. No harm in that, is there?"

Andre passed his fingers through his graying hair, "Fine. We'll see what this ridiculous… 'ghost' has to say." He left the office and Firmin went behind him, giving a sigh of relief.

Madame Giry smiled to herself. This was extortion at its fullest, but that was Erik for you. Always planning and scheming. She had filled him in on everything about the Opera and the managers. As she walked into her dormitory, a letter fluttered out of nowhere above her head to her feet. She opened it carefully and chuckled it as she read it:

Thank you, Madeline. When my salary comes along, I must remember to buy you a new shawl.