AN: Thanks to everyone who's sticking by me on the story. I hope to give you a small reward with this chapter- the story of Erik. I posted this even though I've been having a run of terrible luck lately, in the hopes of casting off whatever bad vibes I had. Wish me luck on that :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but am interested in acquiring the rights to PotO and re-writing it my way...


Mrs. Giry opened the door slowly, alerting Christine to her presence. She walked in and set the small tray on the bed. "I assumed you would not eat breakfast with us this morning, so I took the liberty of fixing you something." She sat by the bed and took the cup of chamomile tea from the tray and held it out to Christine.

"I'm not very hungry," Christine murmured. Her eyes were red from crying all night, and her voice was tired. She wanted to sleep, and only sleep. Maybe, if she slept forever, the pain she felt would finally die.

The pain the young girl was in was obvious. The fact that the girl was looking straight at her and yet was completely unaware of Mrs. Giry worried her. Whatever Nadir had said to Christine when she'd awoken, it had worked. Now she was bearing the weight of what she thought was the truth. "What has my husband told you about Erik?"

Finally, she received a real response from Christine. Her bottom lip trembled, and she had to look away.

"It's all right to tell me. I've known Erik for a very long time."

"I can't go back." Her admission was quiet, and Christine was not looking at her visitor. Mrs. Giry sat silently for a moment, waiting for the girl to continue, but she had retreated into herself.

"I think, in his own way, he cared," Mrs. Giry commented quietly. She had no idea how to approach the subject of her young friend, especially with the girl on the verge of a breakdown. But if it was this bad for Christine, how was Erik faring? Even though she'd tried to call him, he hadn't picked up...

Christine's arms wrapped around herself, desperate for even a slight sense of comfort. The older woman's words were no comfort to her now. I...I don't want to know what love is. I don't want any tenderness, either. If it's all betrayal and pain, in the end, it's pointless. Erik...he's done terrible things. And I thought, if I never asked...if I never brought it up...it would never bother our happiness. But it did, because...he might have harmed me. I never knew the danger I was in, not at all.

"Christine...," Mrs. Giry began, but was interrupted by the door opening. She turned and saw Nadir enter, Madeleine in his arms.

"Antoinette, Mado's a bit cranky and I've no idea what to do with her." He ambled over to where his wife sat with the child, giving Mrs. Giry no chance to continue her conversation with her guest. With a little smile towards Christine, Mrs. Giry took the baby from her father.

"Please, eat something. It might do you good." With that, she left the two of them alone. Inwardly she pondered at Nadir's sense of timing, especially when Madeleine didn't look particularly upset. She smiled warmly at her child. "Mado, shall Mama pull out some pieces of the puzzle for Miss Daae to ponder over?"


"Christine, my wife is right," he sighed as he looked at the untouched meal, "you should eat something."

She shook her head, bringing her knees up to her chest. "I'm just not very hungry."

"I understand, after all you've been through, that you feel unwell." He slowly covered her hand with his own in an attempt to comfort her. "But you must try to live normally again."

"Normally?" Could she even do that now?

"You can go back to school again," he offered. "I'll even find an apartment closer to campus for you."

"Can I...really forget everything?" She looked up, with a little hope in her eyes. "Can I go back to what my life was like?"

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "He isn't going to hurt you anymore. I promise." He squeezed her hand lightly. "From now on, your life is your own again." He saw her tears begin to form and knew the cruelty lying beneath his assurances. Forget him. Don't ever believe you loved him. He fooled you into his fantasies.

She knew that he was reaffirming her new understanding of the situation, what he was reaffirming, and it hurt her to admit it. Dumbly she nodded her head, and Nadir stood to leave.

"You have time to make plans, perhaps even decide to leave the city altogether. I will do everything in my power to help you settle into your life again." He gave her a slight look of encouragement. "Your life is your own now, Miss Daae." This earned another grateful, pained nod before he closed the door behind him. He sighed, but felt hopeful for her. She was reacting, coming around to reason...Antoinette would soon see how much better off the girl would be out of Erik's grasp.

He dusted off his hat before putting it on. He looked at his watch and realized how late it had become. "Antoinette, I'm leaving for the office." He called out to her, but he did not quite catch her response from the kitchen. She was irked with him, he knew, but Nadir understood his wife would keep Christine guarded, and would not betray his trust. Her fierce loyalty, after all, was what had made her so charming the first time he'd met her.


The morning had not fared any better than the previous night. Sleep did not claim him, food did not entice him, but worst of all, music -- his one companion -- failed to inspire him. Time passed so slowly in the room that it was becoming more his coffin than his sanctuary. Erik laid on his bed, looking at nothing in particular, but remembering everything. She had been here not so long ago, her head pressed to his chest, lips curled into a smile. For that moment, they'd been happy, and Erik was able to hand her off to the Daroga without regrets. Then why, seconds later, had he begun to die?

And music...where was his music, to save him? In his head there had always been glorious music, even before he could play. He'd never been left in complete desolation. So long as that muse remained at his side, he could survive anything, so long as the song did not die.

But no more, he reminded himself. The music was gone, suddenly wiped from his mind the instant he lost sight of Christine. Nothing, then...I'm left with nothing. He smiled ruefully. What fitting punishment you exact, God. I took everything I could from her, and now everything's been taken from me... He shuddered at his complete loss. Is this how he would spend the rest of his days? In this tomb of complete silence, pining for a dream long since lost?

He stood slowly, and headed towards the door. He was determined now...he would not rot away slowly in this hiding place...he would go to where it all began...


Thelma quietly knocked on inspector Kahn's door before entering with a hot cup of coffee and her notebook. "Good morning, Nadir. I see you're a little late today." She smiled cheerfully as she set the coffee down on his desk.

Nadir took off his coat and hat, giving her a small smile in return. "Yes, I had a little family situation, but it's clearing up nicely." He took the cup of coffee gratefully and took a sip.

"You have one message, so far."

"Already?" He sighed. It seemed it would be a busy day. "Well, let me have it." He was handed a slip of paper.

"The caller said he didn't have to mention his name..."

"It's all right, Thelma, I know who it is." Nadir sat down at his desk and heard Thelma leave. His eyes, however, were on the note.

Christine's violin is still in her room. Let yourself in and pick it up. It's very precious to her.

Nadir knew what he'd done was right. He knew that Erik had no right to imprison her. Then why did he feel like the villain, just by reading this simple note?


"Are you quite sure?" asked the young voice over the phone. "Are you sure that Erik Destler, spelled E-R-"

"I'm positive, sir," sighed Margaret. "Your...cousin, Erik Destler, no longer attends our institution. It says he dropped out earlier this semester."

"But the music department still has him listed!" he groaned at the registrar worker.

"That should be changed soon," she corrected.

"So, you can't even give me an address? Even though I'm only in town for a few days?" He rubbed his brow. "I've been meaning to look up my cousin for some time now."

"I'm afraid those records can't be accessed."

"Oh, well, thank you for your assistance." Joseph quickly hung up, then flung the phone across the room. He was so close! So close! But no matter, he'd finally seen Erik turn up...he could be patient a while longer...


By the time Mrs. Giry had returned for the tray, Christine had fallen fast asleep again. She wondered how long the girl would have to sleep before the shock finally wore off. When she picked up the breakfast tray, however, the dishes clattered and Christine opened her eyes.

"Mrs. Kahn?" she murmured, struggling to sit up.

"Please, go back to sleep. I only came to pick up the tray." She felt Christine's hand resting lightly on her arm, and stayed where she was. "What is it, child?"

"You knew him, didn't you?" There was no question as to whom she referred to. Mrs. Giry set the tray aside, and sat by the bed.

"Yes, I've known Erik since he was very young."

"Then, please," her eyes looked up into the older woman's, "tell me why he's done this."

"Why do you need to know, child?"

"Because he'll always haunt me, unless I know." One of her hands smoothed a stray curl from her face. "If I leave now and try to put him behind me, I know I won't be able to. Not until I know."

"So, you've already decided to leave." She knew she shouldn't have been surprised at this, and yet was somehow.

"I have to. I think there's nothing left for me to do, but I can't leave feeling this deceived and hurt by him." She tucked her knees to her chest, cradling her head on them. "It might be best if I leave the city completely. I'm sure, if I ask soon, that Raoul..."

"Can you so easily trade one man's protection for another's?"

Christine's head shot up at those blunt words. Gone was the mothering look of sympathy from Mrs. Giry's face, replaced with a stern one. "Can you really replace Erik so easily?"

"I --"

"I will not lie to you, Christine. For Erik, I doubt there will ever be another love, someone he could exchange you for." Mrs. Giry looked away finally. "No, that's not how Erik is at all."

"Then why all of his death and destruction? His own father?" She spoke incredulously. "How can someone like that love? And I...how do I love him?"

Mrs. Giry nodded her head and sighed. "I think you need to know everything about him, before you leave. Erik," she smiled sadly, "deserves that much, because this is a man who was born for death."


Erik stopped before large wrought-iron gates. He noticed the rust that had begun to form as he removed the large key from his pocket. Slowly he unlocked the gate, and it swung open before him. As if hypnotized, he took steps forward.

"What are you playing, boy?"

"A requiem," Erik recalled, as if he were a child again.

"Not a very mournful sound, is it?"

"I'm not mourning," he replied, swinging the door off its hinges.


"Born...for death?" Christine repeated.

"I'll start from the beginning." She clasped her hands together. "Many years ago, there was a wealthy man named Andre Destler, who lived on the outskirts of the city. He was a very respected businessman, appreciated by the whole city, but what he wanted more than anything was the love of a young, beautiful ballerina." She sighed at the memory of the dancer's lovely face. "Her name was Madeleine, and eventually he won her over with his grand gestures and presents. They were married only a month after they'd met and went away to live in his mansion."

"But what about --"

"I'm getting to that," she snapped. Christine had to know the whole story, otherwise there would be no chance of making her see the truth. "Soon after she'd moved in with him, she became pregnant with his child. He was very proud, but worried because of her age. She was only eighteen, you see, and her small build might make birth difficult. As such, he made sure she'd give birth at their home. Everything was set to greet the new arrival into its home...," Mrs. Giry's face fell slightly at her memory. "But things were not to be as happy as they'd hoped."

"You were there, weren't you?" Christine came closer to the older woman. Mrs. Giry nodded her head slowly.

"The night he was born, it was only my husband's presence that let him live. His father, I'm afraid to say, would have smothered the child immediately...because he destroyed their happiness."

"But it was just a child!"

"Christine, he has never been 'just' anything," Mrs. Giry answered with a sardonic smile that disappeared as suddenly as it had come. "My first husband, God rest his soul, brought a child into this world with the voice of an angel...and the face of a devil."

Christine thought a moment on Mrs. Giry's words as the older woman paused. The voice of an angel? She'd only heard one voice like that, but he was not ugly. But then, who else could sing like that? "E-Erik?" She spoke slowly. "Is he-?"

"When he was shown to his parents, that was when that home lost all joy. As ugly as the child's face was, Andre's hatred was far worse. It extended beyond the child, to its mother as well. From that moment on the room he was born in became the child's nursery and prison. Andre would not allow the child to set foot outside of that room."

"And...the mother?"

"Well, she was not so bad a woman as to let the child die. Although she could not find it in herself to love him, she fed him and changed him and spoke softly to the child, as a dutiful mother should...but only in the dark. Madeleine could not stand to look at the face that had destroyed her marriage." A hand raised itself to her brow, and Mrs. Giry rubbed it softly. "Andre -- he believed she'd been false, perhaps had a lover, and that this child was proof of that sin. Even when Madeleine apologized every day for their child, reassured him that she'd been true, he did not wish to recognize the creature she'd born."

Christine felt her heart beat heavily, painfully, then nearly stop at the story. Was this Erik? A child raised in the dark? Oh, God, what a cruel man had fathered him if it was!

"When Andre could finally no longer stand the presence in that locked room, he turned to surgery. My husband pleaded for the boy, said he was too young for such painful reconstructive surgery, but Andre would not listen. He believed that if he fixed the anomaly in the child, that some shred of normalcy might return to their lives." She sighed as if she were about to cry, and looked up to see Christine's tears were already falling. It somehow gave her the strength to keep her voice steady. "Tell me, Christine, do you know how a doctor fixes an malformed arm or leg?"

"N-no."

"In most cases, he usually has to break it, then reset it while the bones heal in the correct shape." She watched Christine's eyes grow wide, and nodded sadly. "This is what had to be done to the right side of Erik's face. And as bone was broken, skin was cut and stretched, leaving him in extreme pain when the anesthetics wore off. Even the pain medication I administered was not enough."

"You administered?"

"Yes," Mrs. Giry admitted, "you see, I became my husband's nurse when I left the ballet. And, after Erik was born, I became his governess." She noted the horror in Christine's eyes. "I could do little to help him, Christine. If I had opposed it, Andre would have brought in other doctors. I wanted Erik to be healed, and so I remained by his side."

"Why weren't you afraid?"

"I was. The powerful rage locked in those crystal eyes was never directed at me, but it was frightening all the same. But my husband was his doctor, and I didn't hate the child at all." She gave another breathless sigh. "He had many operations like this, and each one brought him closer to the son Andre wanted. But still, he was not handsome when..."

"What?" Christine prodded. Now that this door had been opened, she wanted everything to come flooding out. Nothing could be kept from her.

"The heavy burden of that miserable life finally took its toll shortly after the third operation, when Madeleine took her own life, in that dark room with her child."

"Oh, God," Christine whimpered. How could his father --! And his mother... She suddenly remembered Erik's deep sorrow as he'd said that one, simple word...

'Mother...'

"The same night Madeleine died, a part of Erik went with her. As did the housekeeper, the maid, and Andre." Her head now rested on her hands. It was painful to recount the happenings of that night, but she had no choice. "It was finally too much for him- no kind word from anyone, no compassion anywhere- Erik snapped that night, his sanity was replaced with the hatred he felt for the servants who'd gossiped about his deformity and made light of his dark existence, and the father who'd subjected him to this kind of life. Clever Erik had learned to pick locks by then, and he used everything he'd learned to kill that night. When the terrified maid called me in the middle of the night, all I could think to do was call Andre's friend Nadir Kahn and rush over."

Christine saw the strong woman turning pale. "What did you see?" she whispered. Her stomach churned, and she felt as though her heart could not bear this truth, but knew she had to.

"A boy in bloodied clothes, taut wire in his hands, looking at me with horror and anger in turns. His face was still so deformed in the moonlight." She shook her head. "He studied me without remorse and asked what he should do in such a faint voice, as if he were fighting himself. He was so willing to put the wire at his own neck, I knew, and I did not want him to." She wiped quickly at her cheek to keep her exterior calm. "Instead I told him to pray for the souls of these sinful people and his own. But, this child only shook his head and said he would never pray again. He put down the wire, and picked up a violin and played until Nadir arrived. He managed to cover it up, in exchange for Erik's promise to live out of the public eye...and to undergo the last surgery." She turned her eyes to Christine now. "The rest you know. The rest is your Erik." Her hands trembled, but found their way into her pocket. She pulled out the scrap of paper she'd held on to for so long, and gave it to Christine. "You're free to leave all of this behind now, as you wished. I only ask that you not stay out of pity. That is the last thing he needs from you."

Quietly she left the room as Christine gasped at the photograph she'd been given. It was the only photograph left of Erik before the surgeries.


In the darkness he sat, looking at nothing with his vacant eyes. However his mind wandered time and again to thoughts of Christine, to the music she inspired in him. Slowly, he knew, it would kill him.

In this world full of songs, there's no way I can forget her...I can't help but go mad if I go on living like this...or is it a sin to hold something more important than your life? Should I be condemned for that? It was horrible to him, that he should want to end things so much like his own mother.

"Christine..."


AN: Yes, things are certainly becoming darker for my characters...and it pains me to do it. But there you have it, the story of Erik's face. So, what shall Christine do? Will Erik do the unthinkable? Will I ever find my lost keys so I don't get fined by my building? Stay tuned to find out!