A/N - A little shorter than usual, but here ya go. More later, I hope :)

Thanks for the great reviews.

And the promise of brownies..

Erik stumbled through the darkness until the images flashing so fervently in his mind forced him to his knees. He literally could not see through the faces and memories that now haunted him. In an odd moment of clarity, he muttered.

"I am going mad."

When he could progress no further safely, he simply slumped against the damp wall and huddled into himself. The great and mysterious opera ghost was reduced to a fetal position, as the past began to torture him.

It was as though he was dreaming, and yet he was wide awake. He could see with his own eyes the wall in his home, and the broken mirror. The heavy sash moved aside, and she stepped through. A beautiful and wild creature with the skin of a gypsy. She smiled at him, and muttered some nonsense about a pastry. Erik reached for her, but in the darkness only found air.

"Emina," he choked, the sound echoing about him. The mirage continued, and she smiled at him. A startling and purposeful smile, a sincere smile. No one else had ever smiled at him that way. He could feel her fingers upon his face as she removed his mask. Expecting horror and revulsion, the beautiful figure reached for him instead. Drawing his horrid face downwards, she spread a million soft kisses upon him. Erik wept then, at her tenderness.

"Oh, Emina.."

They had made love. He remembered it now with painful clarity. Every touch, every embrace. She had given herself to him, and all of her love. It was then that Erik realized he could not influence the actions of the man in his odd daydream. It was him, to be certain, but he could see and feel his emotions with a detached sort of air. As if he were a wraith indeed. He seen himself take the woman, and delight in it of course. But he could also feel the cool detachment. Why, oh why had he not allowed himself to love her? To return her precious love?

There, within the mind of the male lover, he found his answer.

Christine.

The vision shifted dramatically. Suddenly Erik found himself in a tiny room, and Christine lay weakly upon the bed. She was pale and her eyes were distant as she stared upwards at the ceiling. Erik rushed to her, cupping her tiny face in his hands.

"Mon ange," she had spoken, and then fallen asleep. Erik had carried her from that place, muttering peaceful words into her ear.

Again the image shifted, to his lair. There were two women with two distinctly different holds upon him staring at him.

Christine was making a demand, an offer. What was it? Erik struggled to hear the words.

"Send her... I will... him. I will be..." and in a painful moment, the point became clear. Erik thrashed against himself as he realized the error in his decision.

"Send her away, and I will leave him. I will be yours, Angel."

And he had obeyed. The only woman to truly love him, he had driven away. The pain in Emina's eyes as she turned to glance at him just before disappearing from his life forever, was an expression that had haunted Erik every moment since.

His dream stopped there, allowing the beast within it's clutches to calm in his labored breathing. It did not continue for some time, and Erik could nearly make out his surroundings again before it did. This time, however, the faces before him were unfamiliar.

An older woman was doting upon a pregnant lady. Oddly, from the back, it looked like Emina. In his dream-like state, Erik stepped forward to touch her shoulder. She turned to smile upwards at him.

"A child, Erik.." she had exuded, happiness etched in her features. She was glowing in pregnancy. "Our child."

In a flash of light the scene had yet again changed. Erik was in a birthing room. Emina was calling out for him, but she could not see him as he attempted to comfort her. Another cry was heard, an infant. Erik could only watch helplessly as the light in her eyes faded. Despite all of his attempts, he could only catch a fleeting glimpse of the tiny child before they ushered him off. His face was marred, much like his father's.

"A boy," he heard the midwives say.

As if rushing through a tunnel, a myriad of memories crashed down about Erik all at once. The years of solitude, plunking away desperately at his piano while above a small boy had been beaten and tortured for his face.

The fit of madness passed in a blink, as simply as it had come. Erik found himself splayed about the floor of the tunnel, his clothing soaked with sweat. He pushed himself upwards, still panting.

What did all of this mean? His rational mind demanded to understand. Could he really have a son? A child? He had always known the mistake he had made. He had always regretted his choice. He did not know the consequences of those actions, though. He should have known! He could have protected the child. He had allowed a child to endure the tortures he had. He had failed yet again, this time as a father.

Erik groaned. It all seemed to stretch his ability to reason and think, and he could feel the madness creeping in again. He struggled for composure against it, and stood. He was not sure how long he had been gone, but he needed to see Nicholas. To decide for himself if this was true.

As he wound his way easily back towards his labyrinth he found the cool and calculating part of himself retracing the events of all those years ago. Suddenly, he found a point to shift the blame to. Or rather, a person. A deep and dangerous anger began to burn in him, speeding him in his pursuit. He would deal with his..son, oh how his mind thrilled and cringed to think it! Then, however, he would deal with her.