The reviews are doing my heart good! Thank you.

I need to clarify a couple of things – again – my Erik has no need of a wig. He has a full, thick, wavy head of raven black hair (picture Gerry in Dracula 2000 or Timeline). His deformity is much like it is in the movie, except his eye is not affected. He is 6'3" tall with a quick, volatile temper, but an equally quick wit.

Christine is 5'8" tall, shapely but slender, with sable brown hair and chocolate eyes.

That said…enjoy.

THE DAWN THROUGH THE NIGHT

CHAPTER 3

Erik's prison cell

They had come in every two hours or so and administered more beatings; once, they had even whipped him with a leather whip – 30 lashes…and now, once again, the skin on his back was broken and bleeding…he did not bother to put his shirt back on.

Well, so much for looking the best he could for the show tomorrow. He had hoped to make a decent looking corpse, but they had even taken that from him. No plea for mercy or cry for help had escaped his lips, and his punishers gained reluctant respect for his resolve.

Thankfully, death would end the pain…then eternity would loom out in front of him, and he would have to face his Maker, and face the consequences for being what he was; an abomination; as the priest he was named after and his mother, used to call him.

He was to be hung in the courtyard of the prison at noon; and as the time grew closer and closer, Erik began to ponder the hereafter. Would he be immediately ushered into hell, or is there something that comes before; was there any mercy for one such as he?

He had made sure that the three people he had dared to care about would be taken care of. The boy would take good care of Christine, he felt sure of that; Brigitte and his mother both had accounts at the bank in their names. He had been putting money aside for years; they were both wealthy women.

The priest came to his cell about 7:45. Father Dupree was an elder kindly man, with friendly eyes and a fatherly smile. When he sat down in front of Erik, his hands were shaking.

Erik sighed and dropped his head, "You need not fear me, Father…I will not hurt you." He turned weary eyes to the man's face, "I do not need your services Father, I turned my back on God years ago." Erik stated with bitterness.

The priest raised his pale grey eyes to Erik's face and smiled, "You are Catholic…my child, I do not fear you…I shake continuously…a nervous condition…had it for years." He assured with another smile. His tone turned serious, but his eyes remained open and friendly, "God never turned His back on you…my son…remember that."

Erik was surprised by his answer and that surprise obviously showed in his eyes. The priest looked deep into Erik's eyes for what seemed like hours, scrutinizing him as if he were under a microscope.

"Why is it that you wish to die for crimes you did not commit?" Father Dupree asked, after a few minutes of complete silence.

Erik was shocked by the priest's observance. No one had ever taken the time to examine his soul as this man had just done.

"How do you know I'm not guilty?" Erik questioned, still hearing the hostility in his voice.

Father Dupree smiled knowingly, "Ah, but you are guilty of many things, I'm sure…we all are," he chided, "but you are not guilty of rape or murder." He lifted his eyes to heaven, "I have seen many men pass through this prison; I have examined many souls…but yours is blameless…not innocent, you understand - blameless; I sense in you a great deal of pain, resentment, and anger…but not violence and murder."

"I have no need of your God or His mercy…" Erik stated, dismissing the hole in his soul that only God could fill.

"Those who claim they do not need God are the very ones who need Him most." The priest said, unmoved by Erik's lack of respect.

Father Dupree stayed with Erik until about 10:25 am, just talking. It was a moment in time that, if Erik were allowed to live his life out to its natural end, he would never forget.

"Thank you for coming to see me Father, it meant a great deal." Erik stated, not knowing what else to say. He had not thanked many in his lifetime, but he felt this man deserved it. The church and everything it stood for had been a sore spot with him since he had a run in with an overzealous priest when he was younger.

His temper had always been volatile; from as far back as he could remember. It had gotten considerably worse as a young adult and in his early twenties; but at twenty-six, he was more mellow; the effort just didn't seem worth it any longer.

Now, he found that his temper was waning and he had no fight left in him for the things that were coming. His life had served no purpose; accept perhaps, to give amusement to those allowed to shape him into what he was.

"Go with God, my son." Father Dupree replied and started for the cell door.

Erik spoke softly and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, "Father, will you see to it that Madam Brigitte Giry gets this letter, you will find her at the Opera Populaire, she resides there."

"Of course, my son..." Father Dupree promised and, after giving one last sorrowful look at Erik, he left.

Not five minutes went by before Erik heard voices headed down the stone hallway towards his cell. He recognized the voices as that of the warden and the magistrate, as well as several others.

They halted in front of his cell door, and Erik wondered why they had come so early to retrieve him for a noon hanging. 'They must have had a cancellation.' Erik thought wryly, a rare smile gracing his face as he enjoyed his own sense of humor.

They opened his cell door and stepped inside, positioning themselves in a straight line. The magistrate unrolled a piece of parchment paper and read the message contained within…

"Monsieur Phantom…" the magistrate looked at the shrouded figure, "…do you have a given, baptized name?"

Erik knew his name; he had always known his name. He had carried it through the years like a well-kept secret, only giving Brigitte his first name…and nothing more. He had left that identity behind, hoping to create a new one…but now, it haunted him in his last hours.

"Destler; my full name is Erik Christoph Destler." Erik stated, after a few moments of silent contemplation. When he had fled the home of his mother at the age of nine, he had hoped to never hear that name again.

"Erik Christoph Destler, by order of the magistrate of the City of Paris, you are hereby… released from custody." The magistrate stood in front of the cell door reading the announcement. He finished and then looked into the shadow covering Erik's form.

Erik's head had jerked up at the announcement. Released from custody? What was going on here? This had to be some sort of trick. They must have made a huge mistake.

"You are free to go." The man said again, more loudly. The magistrate, once again, looked into the dark corner of the cell where Erik stood, slumped against the wall.

"I spent the greater part of the morning listening to the testimonies of five ballet girls, a stage hand, and the head maid." The man stated, trying to make Erik understand that he was a free man.

"The girls were all raped over a period of three years." The man began, "They did not remember all the details at first; but as time passes, the memory often opens up and allows details to be remembered that had been locked away."

Erik knew all of this. What did it have to do with him?

"They gave us a description of the man who attacked them, the same description they had given the former patron of the Opera Populaire; and, six months ago, they gave the same description to the new patron, hoping he would do what the first one had not." The man shook his head at the dishonesty he found in many people, it was a shame…especially when the innocent suffered because of their cowardice.

"I also heard the testimony of a stage hand who witnessed the events surrounding the death of Monsieur Bouquet," the magistrate squinted his eyes, trying to see Erik more clearly, "he said he witnessed Monsieur Bouquet draw a gun and try to shoot you…that was when you put the noose around his neck and hung him."

Erik did not flinch as the man described perfectly the events of that night. He was stunned that the truth had been told and he was being released. Why would anyone go to the trouble of saving him?

"The head maid came forward with the disguise the rapist wore. The clothes and mask were designed to fool the inexperienced eye into thinking he was you…but the man was far shorter, far more portly and far less refined than you are." The quietness coming from the shadows indicated to the magistrate that Erik had no idea of whom he spoke.

"Monsieur Destler, Joseph Bouquet was the rapist and he had been framing you for his crimes; threatening the women, and everyone else, into thinking he was you." The man laughed, humorlessly, "I suppose he did not think the women would pay any attention to details, just the obvious…the mask and clothing."

Erik had known something was up, but he had not known the depths to which the Bouquet man had gone. The man had tried to eliminate Erik on several occasions, but had been unsuccessful in his attempts; Erik was a genius, after all.

Erik bent down painfully, and retrieved his shirt, still not putting it over his torn flesh. He would have to move into the light and these men would see him in all his glory; but he supposed it was too late for all that.

The form of a tall, lithe man moved out of the shadows and into the dim light of the cell. Although he had been beaten unmercifully, he still held his body in a regal stance. The warden was shocked at the amount of blood that covered his head and body and his clothing was saturated in it.

"Get this man a doctor, and I want the names of all who participated in his beating…it was uncalled for." The warden demanded. "And get those shackles off him."

Erik shook his head, "I don't want or need a doctor…I will be fine." The warden furrowed his brow and Erik continued, "Trust me, I have recovered from worse."

The magistrate handed an object to the warden and the warden brought it to Erik…it was his mask. Erik took it from the hand of the warden and placed it securely and protectively over his scarred and bleeding face as the guard unlocked his shackles and released him.

Erik diligently moved forward, ignoring the pain that coursed through his body. His breathing was labored and strained, but he managed to stand up straight, walk out of the cell door, down the long corridor, and out the front doors of the prison.

The men stood aghast at the raw flesh that hung from his back because of the whipping; and the amount of blood that he had lost. They could not believe the agony he must have endured; and yet, he had never made a sound.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Three hours later, the warden and executioner stood in front of the large crowd and the warden read the following;

"Due to the testimonies of several individuals, the charges against Erik Christoph Destler, otherwise known as The Phantom of the Opera, have been rescinded."

The warden paused, allowing the crowd to whisper amongst themselves.

"The true criminal involved in these crimes has already been punished for his crimes at the hand of Monsieur Destler; the man who killed him in self defense, as witnessed by three stage hands, one of whom came forward with a testimony."

The crowd, once again, mulled around and chatted.

"Let it be forever noted and sealed, that Monsieur Joseph Pierre Bouquet committed five counts of rape with intent to do bodily harm over the course of three years, the duration of his employment with the Opera Populaire."

By the time noon had rolled around and the crowd had gathered for the public execution; and before the warden read the announcement…a lair had been straightened and cleaned, the money gathered in a leather satchel; Nemesis, the black stallion was taken, and a lone rider rode into the unforgiving scorch of the sun…Erik was gone.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Gone?" The voice demanded, "What do you mean…gone?" Brigitte was beside herself with grief and despair. What had she done? She was such a fool!

She had heard of his release and the testimonies of those whose words had set him free. She buried her head in her hands and wept as the truth revealed itself in painful strains. She had condemned him and left him to die, for crimes he never committed…and he hadn't said a word in his defense.

The magistrate noted her distress and tried to calm her down, "He was a free man; we let him go after he refused medical attention." Brigitte felt the world closing in on her; she had to find him. "He had cracked ribs and deep wounds on his head and arms; he needed serious attention."

She cried, "Did he say where he was going?

"No, madam, he did not." He retorted. "He had also received 30 lashes from a guard who has since been reprimanded and relieved of duty." The magistrate relayed to Brigitte, "His back was raw and bleeding when he left." His eyes spoke volumes, "I fear that infection may have set in."

Brigitte tried to rid her mind of the image of Erik trying to treat his own wounds and recover from this incident; he would not succeed.

"How long ago was this?" She asked, not wanting to leave until she found out more information.

The magistrate sighed and hung his head, "It was about 3 ½ hours ago." Was all he said; then he walked away.

Brigitte knew, that in 3 ½ hours, Erik had done exactly what she had told him to do…disappeared. She hung her head and cried bitter tears of regret. For the past three years, she had shunned him and pushed him away; never once asking him what was really happening.

He had no doubt thought she had despised his features and decided he was too repulsive to bother with. The same thing his mother had done for the first nine years of his life; just as the gypsies had done for the next two years after that; and just as Christine had done.

What a fool she was.

TBC