A/N: The lyrics in this chapter are from Mozart's "Lacrymosa" and Cradle of Filth's "Haunted Shores." Thanks to Erik, my wonderful beta.

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Lacrymosa dies illa...

The poignant music floated around the room, caressing anything in its way with the soft, tender notes. As the music swelled, Erik closed his eyes and lost himself in the graceful tune.

Qua resurget ex favilla judicandus homo reus...

His back faced the door to his music room, unaware of the person standing in the door listening and watching. Aref crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, not saying a word; he knew Erik needed him but would never admit to that fact.

Huic ergo parce Deus...

As the music went on, Aref watched the muscles in the lean man's back move along with the playing...with each swell in the piano, the harder the playing became. A relatively simple piece for someone of Erik's talent, it was causing him considerable effort just to play it. Erik was visibly struggling through the song. Aref had only seen this happen one other time...a time Erik buried in the darkness, never to speak of it again.

Pie Jesu Domine...

Erik knew Aref stood there watching him. He always knew, even if he acted as though he did not. He supposed that the middle-aged man of Arab descent would eventually figure this out, if he hadn't already. Aref had always been there for him; even when they were young men at the university, Aref took Erik under his wing to protect him from those who sought to hurt him, physically and emotionally.

Dona eis requiem! Amen!

Aref still said nothing, but quietly put his hands together in a muted applause. Whirling around to face him, Erik snarled, "Why are you here?" With a quiet regard, Aref noticed that the musician was not wearing his mask. Instead, it was resting on the piano, heavy and lifeless.

"Have you come to throw this," Erik pointed an angry finger at his face, "back at me! Don't you people fucking realize I know I'm deformed!"

Aref allowed him to yell, knowing that none of it was directed at him. Continuing to berate him verbally, Erik stood and crossed the room to where Aref stood. He narrowed his eyes, focusing in on his prey, fully intent on making a physical impact. Tucking a strand of dark hair behind his ear, Aref stepped from inside the doorway and into the actual room; he watched Erik move towards him, slowly and deftly. He began walking, attempting to meet Erik in the middle of the room, preparing himself for the attack he knew was to come.

Like a bull charging a matador, Erik came at Aref with everything he had. Aref knew that Erik could make a serious impact upon contact - as this had happened before - and just before Erik collided with his mid-section, Aref stepped aside and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back. Slamming him into the wall, Aref pushed his face into the dark paint. Growling low, Erik tried to get out of the hold, but Aref held tight and kept pushing him against the wall, as if trying to make the taller man submit.

In a fierce but soft whisper, Erik growled, "Let me go, you damnable bastard."

"Not until you've calmed yourself, my friend," he replied calmly.

After a few moments had passed, Aref gradually let him go, leaving the man to flick tiny pieces of black paint off his face. Staring at his friend, Erik quickly crossed back over to the piano and picked up the mask that had been laying there for some time. With movements faster than light, the face was once again covered from the world that threatened to kill it.

These are the shores whereto my soul
Blood drenched and unredeemed
Shalt seek solace in secrets told
Through the whispers of a dream...

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She imagined his eyes...clear, blue, with the sweetness of heaven radiating from their core. She had seen them in her mind's eye many times before, wanting to ask what they looked like. Of course, that was out of the question...he would never grant such a thing. Why do you need to see me, Christine? I am an angel...your angel of music. If he ever spoke in that tone, she knew better than to press the question; her curiosity would get the better of her one day, that she knew. She couldn't allow that to happen.

As she sat at her vanity table awaiting his arrival, Christine thought back to the events of just a few hours before. Erik had assaulted her. No. He tried to fucking kill her.

"Why?" She voiced aloud, even though she knew the answer.

She shouldn't have brought his deformity into it. She knew how sensitive he was about it, but she had said it anyway; had she really desired to hurt him so deeply? Even though he had said that bit about the screwing, which she thought was totally inappropriate, he did not deserve hearing that he was a freak of nature.

He did, after all, have enough confidence to do the shows without his mask. She supposed that because of the lighting and all, no one would see it clearly anyway, or perhaps they'd think it a mask. If they ever did, though...she shuddered at the thought of what might happen.

As obnoxious and self-centered as Erik was, he had feelings, too...Christine knew she had to do something, especially since they were to perform tonight. She couldn't allow their big chance to be washed away because of some idiotic argument over nothing.

Sighing, she knew what she had to do...and hoped that he would listen to her.

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The loud, boisterous voice began going up and down the scales in a repetitive manner. With every "do re mi," the noise became louder and more noticeable.

Down in his music room, Erik had been sitting in the dark, playing a soft melody on his violin, when he first began to hear the scales. Peering up at the ceiling - as if that would do any good - he stood and began to pace the room, like a caged tiger. With every repetition, it grew worse and more horrid to the ears. Holding a hand up to his ear, Erik decided to find out where it was coming from.

Climbing up a ladder that led directly from his music room to the auditorium, he stepped off into the fly and looked down onto the stage. He moved around the ropes to see who was down on the stage, attempting to sing.

Her hair hung down to her shoulders in a fall of fiery-red tendrils. Willowy, yet curvy, she stood on the stage and sang the scales out to the rows of empty seats; by her body language, Erik noticed that she seemed to think that she was good. She sounded more like nails across a chalkboard than fine bells.

Grimacing, Erik knew something had to be done about this new...person. Was she going to be competition for Christine? He couldn't allow that to happen, no matter what had happened earlier. He began to look around for something that would spook her, perhaps; not hurt her or anything like that, just send a message that she was not welcome here.

As he began looking around, Erik glanced down at the stage again and noticed a second person approaching the red haired wonder that almost resembled a...rat. A thin man, his face was long and pointed, along with shiny black hair, coated with enough grease to solve the world's oil problems; a pencil-thin mustache across his upper lip resembled a rat's whiskers. Erik paused to listen to the ensuing conversation:

"Cheryl, darling, you're simply divine! Before you realize it, you will have that contract with Malabranca!" The rat faced man wheezed, through his pointed mouth. "I know you are soooo much better than that blonde singer they're trying to promote so heartily!"

Pausing to look at him, Cheryl lowered her arms and took his hand. "Oh, Pietro...do you really think so?"

"Oh, signora, I know so!" With a flourish, he bowed low and kissed her hand.

Up in the flies, Erik was doing his best not to gag. He had to do something about these two, just to shut them up. This could actually be fun...tormenting the red haired wench and her rat. As he mused over this, he found an unused sandbag from years before lying in waste, having been put aside for more modern technology. Grinning, he hoisted it upon his shoulder and walked to the end of the platform, where he began to climb up into the ropes to a high point that was closer to the two on stage.

With one arm, he pulled himself onto another platform about one hundred feet above the unsuspecting pair down below; positioning his aim just so, he let the sandbag go...

Down it fell, twisting and turning...until it flew a mere six inches to the left of Cheryl's head and slammed into the wood, making a noise similar to the firing of a canon. Cheryl let loose a scream that would deafen any unsuspecting person, but Erik was used to noise such as that.

Grabbing his ears, Pietro gasped. "My god, woman! I think you broke my eardrums!"

Whirling around to him, she left an imprint of her lean hand across his cheek and stormed off the stage in a huff. Pietro gazed up into the darkened world of the ropes and flies, as if to see what invisible force might have tried to kill the singer, then followed her offstage.

Had he stayed around for another moment, he would have heard an amused cackle coming from the darkness.