It was during this "research" that Erik overheard two of the older girls from the ballet corps whispering with one another. At first, he assumed it was typical girlish drabble, but the frightened tones in their voices gave him pause. They were talking about something that had happened to one of their fellow dancers.

"He even gave her a necklace that he said was real pearl! But he told her that if she told anyone about 'them' he'd strangle her with it" said the dark haired one he identified as Lise.

"Well, she told you," the red haired girl, Cara, pointed out. "And she's not dead yet. She should tell Mme Giry."

"I don't think Mme Giry could do anything about it. The managers never believe anyone about things like this. They think everything is a made-up story. He's the best of the stage crew; he never misses a performance. Besides, you're the only person I've told. I don't want his attention! You should hear the things she says he makes her do." Lise shivered and wrinkled her delicate nose. "She wants to go home to her mother, but she thinks he's taking all her letters before they go out."

"Annette wants to go home? But she's the best of us, next to Meg, and Meg's still too young to dance on stage. Her mother won't let her." Cara's voice was full of disbelief.

"I'd want to go home, too, if he put his hands on me like that. It's disgusting. He's so old." Lise paused to consider something. "And you know who else she says he likes? The little one with the voice. Christine. The one whose father went away to the sanitarium."

Both girls stopped dead when the wall to their right suddenly issued several loud thumps. The echoing sound of running feet slowly faded and fell silent before they dared move.

"It was the Opera ghost," whispered Cara. "He was listening."

Normally timid Lise crossed her arms over her chest and defiantly lifted her chin. "Good. I hope it was the Opera Ghost, and I hope he haunts Thomas and scares him to death." With that damning statement, she linked her hand through Cara's and the two walked off to rehearsal together.

Erik ran down the passageway aimlessly until his mind cleared. This was outrageous. Thomas was one of the newer members of the stage crew. Cara was right; he never missed a performance, and his work was of excellent caliber. But he was putting his hands on members of Erik's ballet corps, and was apparently a threat to Christine!

The thought of anyone laying a finger on his perfect instrument caused his stomach to roil. Was there time to use his usual tricks and frighten this poor excuse for pond slime out of the Opera? If he did frighten him away, wouldn't Thomas just pick some other little girl? Another girl like Christine, or like Leslie. And how dare anyone threaten one of his dancers with strangulation!

As he grew angrier, Erik's thoughts turned darker. What did Thomas know of strangling? He'd probably never even killed his own chicken for dinner. Erik allowed his thoughts to wander back to that last birthday at the fair. Herroux' unseeing eyes stared back at him from the depths of memory. If Thomas wanted strangling done, then Erik could oblige him.

Just let me catch him doing anything he ought not, Erik decided. He wouldn't kill a man on the gossip of two dancing girls. For his sake, and mine, I hope it's all idle chatter…

It did not take extensive investigation to find evidence to corroborate Lise's story. Three days later, Erik crouched in the catwalks, watching the ballet corps practice their blocking on the main stage, while the stagehands built the elaborate set for Le Nozze di Figarro. As the girls trouped offstage, a hand reached out and snatched the wrist of a particularly pretty fifteen year old dancer. She protested only a little, and was pulled behind a large piece of scenery depicting most of a building's wall. The rest would be painted on by the end of the day.

From his vantage point, Erik watched Thomas pull the girl close to him and kiss her obscenely. She was wearing a pearl necklace, further confirming the veracity of the girls' conversation. Thomas' free hand began to wander from her face down the bodice of her dress. Nauseated by the spectacle, Erik found he could watch no longer. A moment's work sent a sandbag crashing down dangerously close to the two, causing Thomas to let go of his prey and look up. The moment her tormentor's hand loosened its bruising grip on her wrist, Annette bolted from the stage.

Thomas leapt to follow her, but drew up short when a loop of rope dropped over his head, then pulled tightly around his neck. Tension on the rope drew the choking man up to his tiptoes, his hands gripped the rope in a futile effort to pull it away from his windpipe. As he struggled to gain his footing and win back his breath, a white-masked specter dropped from the catwalks, the tail of the rope in his hands. The Opera Ghost calmly bent to tie the rope end to a nearby anchor.

Erik impassively watched the man twist at the end of the rope for a moment. Thomas' face was deep red, quickly turning scarlet. Erik noted this, then stalked over to his dangling victim.

"You have violated a boundary no man should cross. Worse yet, you did it in my Opera House where i am judge and executioner. I declare you guilty, and your punishment - obviously- is death. But before you die, look upon the face of the demons who will scourge you in the hereafter…" Erik ripped the mask from his face and grinned maniacally as Thomas' eyes bulged in abject horror.

Erik waited until Thomas' body hung limp before replacing his mask. He wrapped his cloak tightly around himself as he shuffled towards the hidden doorway that would take him home. Silence accompanied him down the long, sloping hallways and into the dark chill of his sanctuary. He knelt on the hard stone flagging and retched. His dispassionate veneer was dissolved, leaving a very frightened seventeen year old boy to face the reality of murder. This had not been self-defense.

The voices of his past, buried for so long in his music, swirled up around him, taunting him. "You oughtn't keep him at all…Devil's Child..." He didn't want to be that creature. He was Hannah's Erik, who sang like there was an angel stuck in his throat.

"I'm a killer, a true monster." He whispered, his voice hoarse from vomiting. "How can a demon play Angel to Christine?"

Erik's eyes widened as he remembered a Catholic tradition. Penance. He would find some way to atone for the evil he had done. What could possibly atone for a murder, no matter how foul the victim? Now his own voice echoed in his ears, "look upon the face of the demons…" he finished the rest aloud, a sick smile curling his lips, "who will scourge you in the hereafter." Candle in hand, he crawled to the edge of the lake. In the soft glow of candlelight he removed his mask and, for the first time in his life, looked himself in the face.