Sorry for taking forever to post another chapter. This was a tough one, but extra long so I hope it was worth the wait. Once again, I thrive on reviews! Special thanks to those who have taken the time to do so already.

Chapter 13 Listen to Your Heart

Erik knowingly walked through his domain and went straight for the bathroom. It had been hard to miss the slam of the door as Christine barricaded herself inside. He mused at how easily it would be to pick the lock and confront her right there, but his blind rage was diminishing and he realized this was his beloved Christine he was so evilly pursuing. Instead, he stood outside the door and mused out loud to himself. His musings soon gained a chanting tempo and he slid down the wall. The events of the past few minutes had started to finally catch up to him. His rage was all but gone and all that was left was an emotional wreck. Tears streamed down his face as he continued his sobbing chant.

"Stranger than you dreamt it, can you even dare to look or bear to think of me: this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly... secretly..."

Christine stopped quivering and tip-toed over to the door to listen to her Angel of Music pour his heart out in despair. Her head was telling her that this could be a horrid trap to lure her out of hiding, but her heart told her otherwise.

"Fear can turn to love. You'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster: this repulsive carcass, who seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly...secretly..."

"Oh, Christine," he sighed. He heard a faint click of the lock and Christine very slowly opened the door. She half expected to see Erik standing right there ready to pounce upon her, but she certainly didn't expect the heap of a man in front of her.

He was on the floor with his back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. His face was buried in his hands resting on his knees and his hair was completely disheveled. She looked down at him for a few moments, not sure if he even knew she had come out of the bathroom, and then cautiously inched closer to him. She crouched down closer to his level, but remained an arm's length away and carefully held out the mask to him. Without looking up, Erik gently reached out and took the mask and then turned away to put it back in place. He heard the scuffle of feet and turned back around, now masked, to find himself alone. Christine had hurried back to her room for the night.

Erik just sat there in shock, his mind replaying the evening's events. What happened? What have I done? I hit Christine! He pounded the floor in anger at himself and wept. He wept for his hideous face. He wept for his awful temper that made him become the very monster his face depicted- the one he despised with an indescribable fury. Mostly, though, he wept for Christine and the fact that he had ruined any chance at her loving him like he did her. She was just beginning to see past his flaws and now, he had given her every right to fear and loathe him.

Sighing, he lifted himself into a standing position and returned to his room to survey the damage and attempt to repair the train wreck he felt inside.

Christine awakened suddenly from her uneasy slumber. The events of the previous night had shaken her to her very core. It wasn't the sight of Erik's hideously deformed face, though that was an image that will be permanently etched in her mind. No, it was the way he lashed out at her with such fury that frightened her. Her hand flew to her slightly swollen cheek and she winced at the ache the movement created. She knew that Erik had not meant to strike her, but fact remained that he had hurt her both physically and verbally. She thought back to the way he reacted when she finally gave in to her urge to uncover the secret behind the mask. He was like a wounded animal, hurt and dangerous. A shudder coursed through her body.

"Christine?" came a soft voice from the doorway. She involuntarily pulled the blanket tighter around her body as if to protect herself. She kept her eyes glued to the floor for fear of the reaction that looking Erik in the eye might cause. He slowly crossed the room and placed a hand lightly upon her shoulder. She recoiled at his touch and he quickly moved to the foot of the couch, gazing at her with glistening eyes.

"Christine, I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." She continued her downward stare. "I swore that I would never hurt you and I already have. Please, Christine. You have to understand..."

The tone he was using made her feel like the frightened animal that was being quietly calmed. She wanted to hang on to her fear and anger, but there was something disarming about Erik that made those feelings melt away until she felt totally empty. She finally tore her focus away from the maroon carpeting and looked at his face. His eyes, so full of hurt and pain, were glossy with unshed tears. There was no hint of the demon now buried deeply inside of him.

"...no words can express the regret and shame I feel right now," he continued. "But you have to understand what this mask means to me. You have to understand what my life has been like..." He choked back a sob. He willed himself not to cry in front of his beloved. He did not care if showing his true emotions made him appear weak, Erik was proud of his sensitivity; the true meaning for holding back his emotions was for Christine's sake. He did not want her to realize just how much her simple act of curiosity had affected him.

"Then tell me," she whispered. His eyes widened in surprise.

"What?"

"Tell me what your life has been like. Tell me what you have gone through. Please?" Christine thought that maybe, just maybe if Erik opened up to her, she would be able help him somehow.

"God, Christine. I don't even know where to begin."

"Start at the beginning."

"You do realize that this could take days, don't you?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'm not going anywhere any time soon, so all I have is time. Stop making excuses."

Erik suddenly got a determined look on his face and smiled softly.

"There may be a way to show you. I can show you everything, but you have to trust me. Do you trust me, Christine?" He held out his hands. She stared at them and contemplated his request. If he had asked the same question less than twenty-fours earlier, there would have been no doubt in her mind. Of course she trusted him. After the recent turn of events, she had to think twice.

"Please?" His pleading expression disarmed her reservations and she placed her shaking hands in his.

"I do, Erik."

"Ok," he said sounding very relieved and choking back a sob. She never ceased to amaze him. After everything that he had done, Christine still trusted him. He wished he could be as trusting as she was. "Close your eyes and try to relax. Think of nothing except blackness."

Christine cocked an eyebrow and gave a curious look before complying. "I am going to try to take you into my past through telepathy -- another hidden talent of mine -- and let you see it for yourself. This is the only way I can make you truly understand," he explained.

Christine felt a nervous chill run up her spine and it took all of her willpower to hide the shudder.

"Now, clear your mind of all thoughts and focus only on the sound of my voice."

Erik began talking in a smooth, monotone voice, but try as she might, Christine could not relax enough to stop the flurry of confusion she had whirling around in her head. After a few minutes, she finally opened her eyes and sighed.

"Erik, it's not working. I just have so many questions..." Erik nodded in response.

"Let's try another way, shall we?" A worried expression played on Christine's features and reservations started playing in her head until Erik opened his mouth.

"Night-time sharpens, heightens each sensation
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination
Silently the senses abandon their defenses..."

Christine gazed at him in wonder as his voice quietly surrounded her like a warm blanket, chasing away all of her fears and worries. This was the Erik she knew and loved.

"Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor
Grasp it, sense it tremulous and tender
Turn your face away from the garish light of day,
Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light
And listen to the music of the night..."

He reached up a hand and caressed her swollen cheek, sending shivers up her spine. He delighted in the way she leaned into his cool touch and began to sing with a touch more of conviction.

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams!
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before!
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar!
And you'll live as you've never lived before..."

Christine had long since closed her eyes and felt her hands melting into Erik's. She felt a shift as he stood up from the couch, still keeping her hands in his and walked around to sit behind her. He wrapped his arms around her as her arms crossed in her lap.

"Softly, deftly, music shall surround you
Feel it, hear it, closing in around you
Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind,
In this darkness which you know you cannot fight
The darkness of the music of the night
Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world!
Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before!
Let your soul take you where you long to be!
Only then can you belong to me..."

Christine was only barely aware of her surroundings. Her mind had begun to calm and thoughts began to fade into blackness. She was now totally focused only on Erik's voice and the warmth she felt as she sat wrapped in his strong arms.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication!
Touch me, trust me savor each sensation!
Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in
To the power of the music that I write
The power of the music of the night..."

She felt herself completely relaxing and sank back into his muscular chest. Sighing, she wished she could stay just like this forever...

"Christine, we're here. You can open your eyes," he whispered in her ear. Damnit. She reluctantly opened her eyes expecting to see the familiar sight of the music room. To her amazement, she was standing in the interior of a small rundown house. A woman sat smoking in a faded armchair watching a soap opera and flicked some ashes onto the burned and worn out carpet which covered the floor, while a small child played in a playpen on the other side of the room.

"Hello?" Christine said out loud. The woman did not respond, so Christine walked closer. "Excuse me..." She placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, but it went right through it as if she was a ghost. You are a ghost, Christine. This must be Erik's past, which means... She walked over to the playpen expecting to see a younger version of Erik and his sadly deformed face. Instead, a cute baby boy seemed to stare up at her with familiar blue-green eyes.

He wasn't born that way! Suddenly, baby Erik began to cry. His crying soon became a heartbreaking wail and Christine glanced over to the woman – his mother – wondering if she could hear that she was needed. Her only response was to reach for the remote to turn up the volume of the television. Christine stared at her, amazed at the lack of concern. Upon closer inspection, the woman appeared to drift in and out of consciousness and stared blankly into space with bloodshot eyes.

She's on drugs?! The cries began to fade as did the room around her and then she found herself standing in the same room, but obviously a few years later. Christine spotted a newspaper which lay forgotten on the coffee table with a date of November 22, 1990. Calculating in her head, Christine guessed that Erik was probably about eight years old. No one was in the room, so she decided to explore the house. She heard voices coming from a back porch and found Erik sitting in a rusting folding chair holding a sketchbook and drawing a picture of a beautiful mountain vista. Evidently his artistic talent had come to him early, as the pencil drawing was breathtaking.

"ERIK!" a male voice boomed from the house and Christine could see young Erik cringe as he closed his book and headed inside. Christine followed him into a small kitchen which had obviously been decorated in the 1950s and had not been remodeled since.

"Yes, Father," he mumbled, head down.

"Where have you been!" Erik's father was tall, and Christine marveled at how much of a resemblance there was between this man and the Erik she knew. The major differences were in the way they kept themselves. Older Erik was always neat and well dressed. This man appeared scruffy and unkempt.

"On the porch, drawing."

"DRAWING! There are plenty of more important things to do around here than drawing," he yelled. "Now get to work and set the table for supper."

"Yes, Father."

"And hand over that notebook. You're grandmother spoils you rotten: giving you things to occupy time that's better spent helping your mother around the house."

Erik clutched his sketchbook tightly to his chest and shook his head. No, this man could not take this book; it meant the world to him.

"Hand it over, Son."

"No," Erik said in defiance, eyes wide with fear yet determined.

His father let out a growl and ripped the sketchbook from his son's grasp. Erik desperately attempted to steal it back, but his father held it just out of reach and smirked down at his son. Erik almost achieved his goal on one attempt, but the man waved his arm which sent little Erik to the floor, and then kicked the small figure with the toe of his boot. Turning his back, Erik's father turned toward another door, the basement, and descended into the darkness. Erik rose shakily to his feet and stumbled over to the door, holding his bruised side.

"No, Daddy, no! PLEASE! I promise to be good. I promise to help. I will never draw again, but please don't burn it!" The boy pleaded from the top of the stairs, tears streaming down his face.

Christine could feel tears of her own coming to her eyes. The expression of young Erik broke her heart.

After a few minutes, footstep came up from the basement and she saw Erik quickly wipe his tears away and an angry expression crossed his young features. The smell of smoke hit her nostrils and she realized he must have thrown the sketchbook into a furnace.

"You going to cry now, boy?" He sneered down at his son. Erik met his stare with one of his defiant glares.

"No, I never cry," he lied.

"Go get ready for dinner." Erik turned to go back into the kitchen, face full of fury and whispered in a tone that made Christine shudder.

"You'll pay for that one day."

Once again, the image faded into darkness and Christine soon found herself back in the living room. A calendar on the wall read 1992, two years later than the previous events. Once again, Erik's mother was near catatonic a chair by the television. She heard a loud bang as Erik's father, looking even worse than he had before, came stumbling through the door with such drunken fury that Christine cowered behind a chair. She knew full well that she didn't even exist in this world, but his rage and the strong smell of liquor on his breath frightened her.

"YOU TRAMPSLUTWHOREBITCH! GET YOUR CHEATING ASS OVER HERE NOW!" He thundered. Erik came running into the room just in time to see his father storm over to his mother and rip her from the chair.

"So, you thought that you could go around banging every man in town behind my back and that I wouldn't find out?" The woman shook her head in her drugged state and began to cry.

"Some piece of trash you turned out to be!" He threw her into the wall and grabbed her by the throat as she slid down. "I should have known that I had a filthy whore for a wife. Not anymore!"

Christine tore her eyes form the violent scene and saw Erik staring motionless. His father continued to rant and repeatedly struck his wife with each phrase, as if to reinforce some major point.

Without warning, Erik jumped into action rushing over to tackle his father. The momentum he carried knocked his father away from the now unconscious woman. Curse-filled voices from both man and boy filled the room as the scuffle carried on. For being so young, Erik seemed to be holding his own against the fury of his father.

In a flash, Erik's father threw his head against his son's before standing up to glare at the nearly-unconscious boy. Wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand, he reached down and began to drag Erik by his shirt collar toward the basement door.

A feeling of dread came over Christine and she moved to block his way, but the man walked right through her and descended the dark stairs, son in tow. Christine was not about to follow them down the stairs when an omniscient voice resounded gently in her head.

"Go, you need to see this..."

She hesitantly followed the pair down into darkness. Her eyes soon adjusted and could make out the man's figure in front of a large object. She crept closer to try to make out the drunken mumbling of the man.

"...I demand respect around here but I don't get any..."

Christine squinted as the room was filled with glowing orange light after Erik's father opened a door. She could feel the heat blasting from the furnace.

No, she thought. No, please God, no.

"Until now only I have seen the monster you are. Now EVERYONE WILL SEE!" With that, he shoved Erik face first into the inferno.

Christine screamed and desperately tried to pull him out, but her hands went through thin air. The smell of burning hair and flesh left her sick to her stomach. She heard an excruciating scream as she dropped to her knees and began to sob uncontrollably. She looked up after a few eternal seconds to see the man finally pull his son out of the fire and splash his head with a bucket of water before turning and walking back upstairs.

Erik lay unconscious on the floor of the basement, groaning in pain. She carefully inched over and saw that the left side of his face was scorched, but fairly untouched. Swallowing back the lump that had formed in her throat, Christine slowly reached out to turn the boy's head so she could see the other half of his face. To her surprise, she found that she could touch him and carefully turned his head. The light from the still open furnace chased away the shadows. The whole right side of his face looked as if he had been skinned. His hair was burned and she thought she could actually see a small portion of his skull showing through a deep burn wound. The remaining pieces of flesh were tinged in black and blood red.

Christine quickly withdrew her hand and turned away. She fell against a wall, shaking, crying, and covering her mouth with her hand. It was worse than any nightmare she had ever imagined.

"Horrific, isn't it?" a distant voice said sadly. Christine could not respond. She remained in her state of shock as scenes changed yet again.

Erik was sitting on the couch in a different home reading a novel. His face was bandaged and he glared as an elderly woman entered carrying a tray of milk and cookies. She gently set the tray on the coffee table and seated herself next to the boy.

"Would you like a snack, dear?"

"No," came a cold reply.

"No what?" she gently prompted him to remember his manners.

"No, thank you. Satisfied?" he sneered and tossed the book on the couch in frustration. Christine followed him as he stormed out of the room and into the den where he proceeded over to a large cloth-covered object. Soon, angry music filled the room as Erik furiously pounded the keys. It was obvious that he knew nothing of notes or sheet music, but the strange yet captivating chords he produced were like nothing Christine had ever heard before. The woman stood in the doorway and waited for him to finish. As the last notes rang in the air, she finally spoke.

"Erik, I will teach you to play the piano properly if you let me..."

"I can do it myself!"

"There are exercise books in the bench if you choose to use them."

"Fine."

The woman sighed at his cold angry tone. This poor boy had been through hell already, but she knew the worst was yet to come. He had been horribly disfigured by his father only a few short months ago, and both his physical and his emotional scars would haunt him the rest of his life. Even as a grandmother, there was only so much she could do, but her heart went out to this poor troubled boy. The least she could do was try to give her grandson a gift, a gift that could be with him forever, a gift in which he could take comfort when life was to the point of being unbearable. She had already cultivated his artistic talents, but she knew that he needed more.

"She chose something that was unlimited and always changing...the gift of music. It was her, Christine, who introduced me to music."

Christine smiled as she watched the boy take out several instructional piano books and determinedly repeated every exercise until they were all perfect. The world suddenly began to spin again and Erik's past flashed quickly before her eyes. She saw him in school being picked on for being the smart kid. She saw him playing difficult pieces on the piano with ease. She saw him at school again being picked on because of the mask her wore, including an incident where another boy ripped the mask off in front of his buddies who shrieked and began attacking Erik, who fought back valiantly. Everything finally settled on a quiet scene in the cemetery. Margaret Ann VanHoren, the tombstone read. She saw Erik, now a young teenager, standing closest to the grave as the priest gave his final blessing.

"Goodbye, Grandma," he whispered and placed a single red rose with a black ribbon bow on the casket as it was lowered into the ground. Tears began running down his visible cheek and he stood at the fresh grave until he was the only one left.

"You were the only one who ever understood me, the only one how truly cared. I know I didn't make it easy. I figured I could just shut you out because you were bound to abandon me like everyone else. I was wrong, Grandma. I was wrong. Please forgive me. I miss you terribly already and now I will life alone forever because only you could see past my face. Only you knew that there was no monster inside me," Erik sobbed and rambled on, unable to stop. Suddenly, his sobs ended and a cold, heartless expression graced his features. Christine was stunned at the transformation and once again felt the familiar nervous tingle.

"You lied to me! You told me you loved me and you would never abandon me, but you have! You really are just like everyone else. I hate you!" He glared at the marble tombstone and turned away.

"Erik..." a soft voice whispered. Both teenage Erik and Christine looked to find its source, but no one was around.

"Erik, I have not left you alone."

"Grandma? Is that you?" he asked in amazement.

"When the right time comes, you will find an angel to guide you...an Angel of Music."

"Angel of Music?"

"She will show you the way."

"You're not making any sense. I will I find her?"

"You will know it is her in your heart...listen to your heart..." The voice faded off and all was silent.