Chapter 2
Erik lay, unmoving and refusing to open his eyes. He felt warm and could hear the crackling of a fire near by. I must be in hell. Erik thought, scrunching his eyes tighter, I died, and now I am here to face my fate. You'll have to get up sooner or later. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
To his amazement, Erik found that he was not chained in a dark circle of hell, but was lying on a cot in a small, dark room. A merry fire was burning in a stone fireplace across the room, shedding a dim light that filled the room. His wrists were bandaged and a wet cloth lay across his forehead. Where was he? Who had bought him here?
Suddenly, a shrill whistle came form the fireplace. Erik turned his attention toward the hearth and saw a thick kettle emitting a stream of steam from its spout. A figure stood up from a large armchair in front of the fire. He sat up and saw that the figure was that of a young girl. She had long, curly brown hair and was average height. In fact, Erik thought to himself, from behind, this mystery child looked a lot like Christine.
Christine. Erik's heart gave a painful pang. She had left the opera house only two days ago with Rauol. He had tried to cope, but those few hours had been too much. As he had stumbled through the streets, half blinded by his grief and the night, he came across a broken wine bottle. He stooped to pick up a piece, and admired how smooth and sharp it was. He sat, staring at the glass in his hand for what seemed like hours. The pain he felt was over powering him. In his mind, he had given up his right to life. He recalled tears coming to his eyes as he pressed the shard to his wrist.
Rage flared up as Erik watched the girl place a tea cup on a small table and turn back to the hearth. He had wanted to die, needed to die, and this mystery child had stopped him. Quietly, he stood up from his cot and crept up slowly behind the girl.
Erin looked up at the clock over the mantle. It was a quarter after three in the morning, and she had not gotten an ounce of sleep all night. The man had not woken up at all, but had been muttering in his feverish sleep for the last hour or so. The events of the past day had been a lot to bear and she had decided about ten minutes age that what she needed was a strong cup of tea. The kettle had just started to whistle and she had gotten up to retrieve the boiling water. Erin was just about to lift the kettle from over the blaze when she heard a rustle behind her. She straightened up and spun around. A hand shot out from the darkness and closed around her neck.
Erin gasped as her supply of air was reduced to little more than a trickle. The man holding her, the same man she had bandaged and cared for, stepped in to the fire light, his disfigured face looking even more menacing then before.
"Why?" the man croaked quietly, "Why?" his grip tightened and she reached and tried to pry his fingers loose. "Please…" Erin gasped hoarsely, "Please, let me…" but her vision started to swim and she could barely muster the words. She tried in vain to draw a breath, but the man's grip was to strong.
Erik watched the girl struggling in his hands. He really didn't care any more. He had killed before, hadn't he? What was this girl to him? Nothing. The child was trying to say something, but he refused to listen. She was trying in vain to free her neck, but Erik did not let up. But suddenly, he felt light headed. He swayed a little and his grip unintentionally faltered. That was all the girl needed. She took deep breath and finally wrenched his hand from her throat. Erik staggered backwards and fell onto the arm chair behind him. The room seemed to be spinning and the girl's pathetic coughing filled his head.
Erin gradually gained her breath back and everything returned to normal. She turned to the man, now collapsed in her grandfather's old chair, and said gently "Please, let me explain. My name is Erin. I found you out in the street and acted on impulse, I didn't mean to upset you in any way." The man did not respond but he looked up at her, his eyes filled with an unknown emotion. The kettle still whistled behind Erin and she warily turned her attention back to it. As she reached out to lift the it again, she said "Now, I think we should talk." Kettle in hand, she turned back to face the man and poured some steaming water into the cup she had placed out earlier. "But I think you should decide what we will talk about."
A/N: I know these are meant to be put in the beginning, but I forgot. I don't own anything from the Phantom of the Opera, just the characters I make up.
Also, I would just like to mention that I have seen the play and the movie (actually, I'm watching it again now ), but have not read the book. This ficlet is based primarily on the play's version, as it seems to leave more room for a sequel. I am also open to any suggestions anyone feels compiled to make. I think that's all for now.