A/N:Thank you so much for the reviews, I honestly don't know how many readers I have who do not review, I know there are lots of people out there who read and leave, not that that is a bad thing, hehe. So I think I mentioned in one of the previous chapters that I will be out of town for the next two weeks, so I hope that I've provided you with enough story to keep you interested until then, I promise to return with lots of awesome story line, and I'll try not to torture anyone with those annoying cliffhangers (I hate those!)

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera or any of it's characters, Oh but if I did!... (presses fingers together like Mr. Burns and says ... "Excellent")

You alone, can make my song take flight. It's over now the music of the night.This was the end. Erik knew they were going to find him, and he would be sentenced to death for what he had committed. Crimes of murder, theft, threat, assault, the list was an endless scroll of sin. How could she have returned to him that one last time just to give him the ring, which in all honesty should have remained hers. It was from that bloody Raoul! Was it fun for her to give him one last taste of false hope, then shatter it upon leaving? But he could not kill the man. Not when Christine loved him that much.

Could this have had an outcome any worse? Tears trickled down his face unmasked, the one chance he had at real love, the one chance he had to finally be happy, gone forever. There would be no one there to hold, no one there to be with, it was a cold acceptance. So greatly he just wished to know what it was like to be normal, to walk in broad daylight... hand in hand with his beautiful Christine... but not with his curse. There wasn't a woman in the world who could love him.

His heart was damaged in a way that it could never be repaired. He thought about letting them find him, because his life was over. The very source of his musical inspiration was gone, gone with that perfect man. He was as good as dead anyway. The Populaire was burning to the ground. He was safe where he was, five cellars down, no fire would reach that far, it would stop upon touching the levels of stone. But he heard them coming. It occurred to him what would happen when they discovered him there. They would take him to the surface and have him thrown in some filthy jail cell, or hung, or shot that very night, once more a public display to all who wished to see the devil's child show his horrid face once more to the uncaring world. He would rather rot within the walls, at least he would be somewhat comforted in knowing that he died within the very place he first met Christine, in the Opera Populaire.

Upon smashing the last mirror, he dropped the large candle holder, and simply walked through the frame where the glass had beforehand existed. The thick red curtain fell down to conceal his path of escape, and he disappeared into an eternity of winding hallways, and endless passages.

Where am I? Were the first words that ran through Kristen's head as she slowly regained consciousness. It was evident that she was no longer lying on a stone cold floor, in a pool of her own blood. She felt what lay beneath her and it was far from hard. She felt cushioned, as if lying on a heap of pillows. It must have been a bed, the sheets were silk, the pillows were the same. She was saved. It must have been Madame Giry who rescued her. Who else knew to go back to look for the blind girl? The ballet mistress had kept her residence there a total secret. All was not completely silent. She heard trickling, or dripping. It must have been water. Wherever she was, it was still cold. "Hello?" she asked quietly, her shy and trembling voice gently echoing against the stone walls.

When Erik had attempted his escape from the angry mob of stage hands who pursued to hunt him down, he had taken an unusual route. He rarely ever went through that mirror, and the only reason he smashed it was because he knew he would never reenter his lair. It was the site of too many bad memories. But when he heard that blood curdling scream coming from the very direction he was headed in, it hit him that he was not alone in that god forsaken theater. He stumbled upon her unconscious body then. He immediately recognized her as that blind little rat he had once warned to leave. She didn't listen, she was still here. She was drenched in her own blood, her ankle was severely mangled, her hair was a mess and her forehead seemed bruised beyond mending. He looked up. She had fallen from the stage. She must have been in the audience.

He snarled, anger now mixed with the sadness and despair within him. Now what? she was his problem? No, he would not help her. It was her fault, she had not heeded his warning. She didn't mean a thing to him, and it would not hurt him in the least if she died right there, like that. But,

He had a choice. He could continue on his way, or he could check to see if she was alive. A fall like that would have killed most, but apparently not her. Why was she still alive? Why was she fighting? She had lost everything apparently, shouldn't she want to die? He knelt to this severely injured and wounded girl, he realized that her chest moved up and down slowly. She was not dead, but soon would be. Normally he would have left a victim of tragedy for dead, but he was not himself this night. He had already done the unthinkable by letting Christine go with her perfect little Raoul, it was probably the only gracious course of action he had ever taken. His lips still burned from that kiss she had granted him. The kiss that had turned him from a fierce monster, into, if only a fraction of, a man.

He carefully picked up this marred bundle of flesh and blood, and found himself turned into the other direction, bringing her back with him, into the prison of his past. Why am I doing this? A voice in the back of his head asked him.

Because she does not deserve to die The hypothetical angel on his right shoulder answered.

And what do you care? He asked his thoughts, those little voices he always made a point of ignoring

Because Madame Giry made you promise never to harm her. She asked you to watch over her...

He brought her back through that shattered mirror. It had been a few hours at least since the mob had packed themselves out of the dungeons, and up into the streets, to hunt down this murderer. The place was left in a mess. A thoughtless mess of scattered papers and turned over furniture. As if they would find him under a chair, or a table, he thought sarcastically as he looked at the remains of an angry pursuit.

He laid her down onto the lovely swan shaped bed that he had once dreamed Christine would someday sleep in. He hated this. Christine was still the only thing he could think of, how was he supposed to take care of this foolish young woman? this girl who could not see. He would have to be there when she awoke, he would have to make sure that she did not try to escape, for fear she would fall into the waters and to her death. Then there was the thought of her awaking and hearing the voice that had angered her so before.

Christine. He tried to force her from his mind, but he could not. He had to, but he could not. She would be there with him forever, even though he would never see her again.

He gently turned Kristen over and onto her back, and realized then just how injurious her wounds were. All up and down her back, glass had cut her, from when she had dragged herself from the painful penitentiary that was the chandelier. There had been a lot of blood, but she would not need stitches. She was a mess of cloth, blood, and marred skin. She could not stay in those clothes. He was faced with a challenge now... he had never seen a real woman without clothes, and he never made sport of spying on the women in the change rooms, like disgusting little fellows such as Joseph Bouquet did. The female body, Erik thought, was a beautiful thing, not to be made a joke of, and look at the way this fateful night had treated Kristen... it was all his fault. What would she think upon waking to find that she was wearing something entirely different than she'd... fallen unconscious in?

Now, as Kristen observed her surroundings with what was left of her senses, she found that it was far from a normal household. The possibility of being in a doctor's office was just not there, she remembered the cold heartless surface of the hospitals beds, they were far from this delicate mass of comfort. She had called out, but received no answer.

"HELLO?" She repeated, and realized her voice had echoed far beyond what she thought possible. It was apparent to her that her accommodations, however permanent or temporary, were large, and roomy.

"Keep your mouth shut!" Came a voice, with a dark nature, almost hissing. Kristen heard his footsteps creep in through the doorway with haste. "Do you want them to come and take us both? Do you want to be found and taken to jail?" Kristen moved backwards, as if somewhat frightened, despite the agonizing pain she felt at her back, her ankle, and her head, she tried with amazing personal will to show no pain. This man spoke angrily, sadly, menacingly. Who was this? And why did the voice sound so familiar to her?

"Where am I?" Kristen asked. She opened her nonfunctioning eyes and looked towards the voice, though she could not see him. Erik watched the girl curiously. When she had still been unconscious, and after he had dressed her wounds, and changed her clothes, he had taken the time to look at her. He was surprised that she was scarred. When he watched her from the ceiling he had not noticed such marks on her upper face, but they were there when he turned her over, and they were not fresh. She had once been through something, and he realized that Madame Giry was right, she was a curious girl.

He didn't know if he should answer, if she found out, she would not be happy. She had little faith in the Phantom of the Opera, as he had heard. No, he would not tell her. He would not tell her that she was already surrounded by darkness and that her eyes wouldn't be of much use if she could use them. He had little strength left to deal with an angry woman, and it had taken so much strength to stay awake until she awoke, so that he could warn her of the dangers of where she was. He almost wished he had not rescued this little brat, it was because of her that he was back here, it was because of her that he could not leave for quite some time now... and what if Christine came back to him? and found that he had another woman in his home? She would leave for sure and never return. He silently growled, but restrained his anger.

"That is not important" He answered. His tone now authoritative, the shout that existed before had left. It would not do her good to remain afraid, and he could not risk raising his voice, being cautious to the threat that perhaps he still had hunters lurking about in hopes of finding him.
"All you need to know is that you are safe unless you move from this bed. You must never move from this bed unless permitted, there are many dangers that a blind woman should not be faced with.

"How do you know I am blind?" Kristen asked, and immediately after broke out into a fit of coughing. She was feverish. Her voice inquisitive, and somewhat offended. How much could he possibly know about her? Erik fell into a chair, somewhat distanced from the bed in which she lay, unable to hold himself any longer. He was now both annoyed, and exhausted. This night had taken a toll greater than anything else he had been through, on him, and he was losing strength rapidly.

"You are far too nosy for my taste" he said, in an exhausted whisper. Kristen, in contrast to his weary state, grew to feel a wrath of rage towards this... voice.

"YOU! I recognize that whisper, you were the one hovering over my bedroom the other night, telling me to leave this place! You! You m..." She was cut short, she had moved her injured leg and found she had to hold her mouth shut of prevent from screaming, her shriek forced into a simple "MMMMM" with the closing of her lips. "Why did you spy on me? Why did you try to send me away?"

"You do not belong here" he said simply, as he had told Madame Giry, "And now look where you are. If you would have heeded my warnings, I would not be stuck with you, I would not be back in this prison forever awaiting a death that will never come!" He hissed, his voice of dark anger. Kristen frowned. What could he possibly be talking about? What on earth had happened to him that made him so sullen and unhappy. She laid back in her bed, helplessly. Even if she wanted to find her way out, for starters she couldn't see and now her ankle hurt her beyond reason to move it.

"I'm sorry" she said, slightly annoyed. Whatever had happened to him, he was taking it out on her, but obviously he had saved her from death, she owed him the victory in this fight, whoever he was. "Did Madame Giry tell you to come for me?" she asked in a hateful tone. That woman who had left her there for dead made her cringe, why had she left her there? why?

"No" Erik answered wearily. His eyes now closed, his elbow on the hand rest and his head in his hand. He was too tired to be angry with this irritating girl, too sad to be hateful, he was just thankful she could not see his face to question the mask, God only knows how thankful he was. She chuckled bitterly,

"So she was just going to leave me to die..."

"She has a habit of deceiving those closest to her" Erik said malignantly, standing, "Listen carefully. You are not to leave this bed, there are many places where you might fall and several where you may drown." He was so commanding that Kristen now feared to question this. He had left, she heard his footsteps echo off, and was left there alone.

"Like I can walk on this foot to escape anyway" She said sarcastically, and remained laying, within the confines of her soft silky prison.

He still didn't answer my questions, she thought, quite annoyed. She didn't know where she was, who he was... and, what was this? She felt her stomach. She had been wrapped in bandages, she could feel more on her back as she lay. How many cuts had she obtained from the sharp objects that fell to her from what seemed like no where? She felt these bandages beneath the most soft fabric she had ever felt in her life. It must have been silk, expensive silk. She was dressed in a soft, soft gown, made of... silk. He must have changed her, he must have bandaged her wounds, this man who spoke with such a pained voice. There was sadness there that she could detect like a second nature. His voice was different from other voices, his voice was of a permanent state of... sadness. He had a beautiful voice, though he chose to ruin it's sound with such angry hisses and shouts, and whispers. She thought she should thank him, the next time this voice chose to walk in.

Erik stumbled about the main area of his house. This was a mess, everything was a mess! His belongings were scattered everywhere, disorganized and ruined. His music, scattered, thoughtlessly, carelessly thrown aside without the slightest sign that any regard had been taken in it's favor. Such stupid fools, such idiotic menacing fools!

"WHY?" he shouted into the blackness, calling out to anyone... to God, to Christine, to the very hell he was living in. Why had everything turned out this way. A huge chapter of his life had been devoted to Christine, since she was a child to the moment he knew he loved her, and look at him now, here, alone... no, not alone. God must be laughing now, sending her to him like a burden, like a purpose to whatever life he possessed here after his death, after his Angel had left him.

He fell to his knees and tried to pick up the mass of scattered pages, but there were so many, so many unfinished scores, so many unperfected masterpieces, and they all reminded him of a bitter past. Most of the pages closer to the organ were written for Christine. All of them, as he picked them up, page by page, brought him closer and closer to tears.

"Christine" he said, in a weak and sad voice. "Why did you leave, Christine?" he asked, as if she could hear him through the pages as he spoke while looking at. He gave up. He could not clean the area in his state and he knew it. Putting the delicate sheets of paper on the stone floor once more, so carefully, compared to the way they had been recklessly thrown around before, he stood, just barely making it to his feet, and once into his room, that pit of everything sad, he fell into his bed, which was a coffin, and drifted roughly into an uneasy sleep.

Kristen shut her broken eyes and tried to rest, tried to dream, or at least daydream. It was maddening for her, trying to put a face to his voice. She was surprised to hear him yell "WHY!" and even more surprised to hear him weeping. Christine, he had been whispering. Did he mean Christine Daae? the woman he was singing with... the woman who had disappeared just before the theater was consumed by chaos. Had he kidnapped her? Had he taken her from the stage? and from what she heard of his grievous woeings, the singer had left him. He must have loved her. Kristen, who had never known love herself, had gone through a similar dilemma once herself, with a teenage crush that did not return her feelings, but obviously she had arrived near the very end of this man's tragedy. He sounded heartbroken, and Kristen couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of pity upon this. She was devastated the day she was turned down by the boy she loved with all her heart, Nicholas, who had loved another named Amanda. That little tramp! she mentally cursed. She was the prettiest girl in town, she could have had any boy she wanted, but she had to have her Nicholas. A boy who was quite interested in Kristen until Amanda came around. The two were probably married now.
"And where am I?" she asked herself out loud, though quietly, "Blind, in darkness, never to look upon beauty again." Tears came to her eyes. It surprised her that thinking of this voice who had saved her directed her to thinking of a boy who had broken her heart. It was quite a clean break, by now she was over it, but the feeling of being in love and then not having that love returned was, deadly, it was soul shattering. She could feel them streaming down her cheeks, these tears of memory to her Nicholas. Does he even think of me? She asked herself, taking one of the soft pillows from the bed and hugging it to herself closely. She had not felt the need to be loved since Nick's rejection. She swore on that day, even if she was only 13, that she would never love again. But she craved it so, every now and then she wished there was somewhere here to hold. But she swore she would never make herself so exposed to heartache ever again.

Several hours later, Erik awoke. After the first few moments of trying to recall what it was that had so turned his world into a fiercer hell than it already was, he stood from the coffin with weak steps. Erik rarely slept long, if at all. Christine's kiss was the only thing on his mind as he moved into the main living quarters and began to straighten the damage and disarray caused by those angry hunters. He would never feel lips to his again, this memory was going to have to last him forever. His Christine, who was kind enough to bestow upon him his first and last kiss, was gone, and now he fully felt pain and torment. As he straightened the sheets, he could, in his mind, see her leaving him that ring, and rowing off with Raoul... and that reminded him. The two had taken the boat, as he ordered them to, and it was on the other side of the lake still. He would need that boat if he was to ever get out the way he usually did, but that would mean going through the passages, and the risk of meeting someone could be great, depending upon how much of the theater had survived the fire, and how many people could still be possibly lurking around in search of their ominous Opera Ghost.

Look what happened the last time I walked through passages, he thought with great levels of sarcasm and irritability.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally managed to restore his home to what it had once been, somewhat tidy and not so hard to look at. At least he knew where things were. Several of his belongings had been broken, and he found himself taking out what was left of his broken mirrors. Then, he stood on the shore and contemplated whether or not he should go around and retain his boat, when he was startled beyond his capacity to be afraid. The noise he heard had sent him almost into the water in which he stood before. He had just then forgotten about the young, injured and scarred woman who slept in Christine's room, and now she was screaming her bloody head off! He ran towards the bedroom and lifted the beautiful black curtain immediately. She was asleep, but so deep in raging nightmares that he feared he would not be able to wake her, and it was still too risky to make such noises.

"Kristen! Kristen you must stop this! Wake up!" he called to her, standing over her, but she did not awake. She was sweating heavily, and, crying? She was crying... Erik thought, as he looked upon her with wonder.

"Nicholas" the girl had whispered, before letting out another shriek of either pain or fear in her dreams. He knelt down,

"Kristen, you must awake!" he ordered, lightly shaking her, as if afraid to touch her for fear she would scream more, or break.

"I CAN'T SEE!" She screamed louder, jerking back and forth, making a mess of the sheets and nearly rolling out of the bed. If he had not been there to stop her, she would have fallen out and injured herself worse. "MOTHER!"

"KRISTEN! WAKE UP!" Erik shouted, his voice booming from the walls. Kristen awoke then suddenly, his hands now forcefully grasping her shoulders. She sat up, the action very painful to her back and mid section, but it was over as soon as it came. And she cried. Those hands on her shoulders were confident, and aware. She held silent, a few moments more, then fell into a fit of sad sobs. She was crying. Her dreams must have been horrible, and who was this "Nicholas" she had whispered about? Why did he care? She was sweating a frightful amount, and as Erik noticed this, he felt her forehead,

"Jesus Kristen, you're burning hot" Erik said quietly. He was glad he awoke her before she made her voice heard to someone above. Anyone could be close by, the next few days would require crucial silence. Really, he still asked himself why he cared. On some level, perhaps this girl reminded him of Christine, so helpless, lost and innocent, perhaps that was why he cared, despite Giry's orders for him to watch over her, that had reminded him of Christine from that day. This girl did not deserve to be visited by the angel of music, but he found himself hovering over her from the ceiling any way. And why? to prevent her from getting caught up in his plans! and why? these thoughts scared him. He was incapable of caring for any other than Christine in the least bit, he would not become too fond of this little rat, Kristen.

Still she cried silently, wrapping her arms around herself and... crying. Erik stood and watched her. She had only felt hands on her shoulders and he knew it. She had not seen the look in his eyes upon letting her go. Guilt. She was hurt because of him, and she was in the dark because he would not tell her anything. He could not, she would be too upset. He left her momentarily, and returned with a wet cloth,

"Lay back, Kristen" Erik said softly, placing the cloth to her forehead, while slowly guiding her to lay on her back once more. Her face was still red with tears and fear, but she felt herself calming and slightly comforted upon his gentle touch.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked between sobs, perhaps still somewhere between sleep and wake, she thought he had told her that she was a burden to him, and yet, he was caring for her.

"Because you are ill... because if you have another dream like that you could very well bring the entire French police academy to these hidden quarters, and the both of us could be sent to jail, I could be killed and you would have no where else to go." she closed her nonfunctioning eyes as he placed his hand to the cloth on her forehead. She continued to sob, though trying extensively to stop, what she had just dreamed had been a collection of lows in her life, and these memories were terrifying to relive. Eventually she calmed down completely, soothed by this mysterious stranger and reminding herself that they were only dreams, and that their contents were in the past, and would never revisit her again.

"Who are you?" Kristen asked quietly, as he remained seated at the side of her bed, occasionally dipping the cloth in fresh water that he had obtained from the lake. He froze a little. He did not expect her to talk to him while he did this, it was surprising to him that any one could feel the need to talk to him, but she could not see him, it was understandable. If she could see his face she would scream and run just like everyone else... save for his Christine, had done in the past.

"You do not want to know" He said bitterly. Kristen reached out to touch his face, she had heard that the blind could make out how someone looked with their hands. Erik moved back quickly,

"You must never touch the..." he realized she did not know he wore a mask, up until now, he wished beyond all reason that he had never said those words. He could have kept his disfigurement a secret from her until she was strong enough to leave this place on her own, but now it was quite possible all hope for that was lost.

"The what?" Kristen asked, laying down her hand, giving up the attempt of touching his face. She then figured he did not want to be touched. "Tell me who you are, or should I call you the Phantom, forever?" she asked. He snorted,

"Forever? I highly doubt you will be with me forever, Kristen, for never has anyone willingly stayed with me. You are here only because you are injured, and because you are blind. When you have recovered, I will help you leave as you will wish it." But these words did little to help her increasing anger. She soon grew frustrated, despite her illness,

"For heaven sakes, Phantom, Who are you? What is your name?" She said in ire. His eyes opened to her,

"You dare yell at me in such a way... I admire your courage." he hissed sarcastically.

"Well, I have hardly a reason to be afraid if I do not know who to be afraid of, because I have not a name to match the voice, and I can see not a face to match these hands which show me such care!" she argued.

Erik sighed. Her voice was trembling. She was on some level aghast and he could detect it. What surprised him was that she spoke through fear, walked through walls of fright and cursed down her sadness when he had known nothing in life than running and hiding from fears and concealing himself from almost everything that posed a threat. They were two people who dealt with situations quite differently.

"Fine" he said, bitterly losing yet another battle with this roach. His jaw pushing tightly against his upper teeth, in attempt to mask dissatisfaction that would have come out in his voice. "You may call me Erik" he said dryly, and replaced the cloth to her heated brow once more, in attempt to calm her fever. She seemed to lift her head ever so gently each time he placed the cloth to her skin. Was she inviting his therapy?

"Erik?" she whispered, "I suppose I should thank you then... Erik." And upon these words, he was disbelieving. She was being kind? to a monster?

Before he was able to even think about returning with the tradition "you're welcome", she was once again, asleep. It was only when he rose from his position over her, that he noticed the tears threatening to release themselves from his eyes. Her kindness, such simple kindness, had brought tears to his eyes. Kristen, this poor little creature, was making him cry. He looked upon this troubled young woman, and gently traced her burn scars with his thumb, feeling every inch of distorted tissue that besieged her lovely face. As the doctor had told her himself, she was still beautiful, these marks hardly deterred her appearance.

Why had fate been kinder to her? she was scarred, as was he, but his disfigurement was far beyond what anyone would consider beautiful, and hers was almost enhancing. How was it possible? He wondered what she had been through, wondered where she got these scars. He shed tears as he touched her soft features. Her skin so warm under his touch, never again had he ever imagined a woman would be this close to touch. Nothing had ever felt more tenderhearted. It was then that he realized the anger he felt, that Madame Giry had left Kristen to lead Raoul to his lair! Madame Giry had left her, betrayed both of these haunted victims of cruel fate, to lead Raoul to Erik's possible death, putting both Erik and Kristen in grave danger. Strange that Giry's crossing actions had taken away from him love, but bestowed upon him, a friend...

Ok, I hope that wasn't too terribly long, although sometimes you need a really long chapter, (Please review, I need reviews, lol)