Author's Note: Time for Part One of the history lesson! I took a different approach with explaining Erik's history than with the rest of the story; I hope I made the right decision! Thank you all for your kind reviews. I look forward to your thoughts! Enjoy!

Finding Darkness

Christine had been waiting for this moment from the first time she encountered Erik. For 10 years, her mind reeled with questions. Now, when she finally had a chance to find out everything, not one of those million questions came to mind. She stared at him in stupid silence while he regarded her intently, a smile playing in his eyes.

"No questions for me?" he teased.

"A million," she laughed, "just none that can find their way out of my mind."

"Then I guess I will just begin. I was-"

"How did you get here? What happened? How long have you lived here? Why are you-"

He rolled his eyes and raised a hand to stop her endless stream of questions. "All in good time. Now, as I was saying…"

XOX

Most children, when they are first born, are received into the world with loving coos and the gift of a name. The first thing Erik heard as a child was a scream. Or rather, multiple screams. The doctor, the nurses, his father, then, the loudest of all, his mother. The few minutes after his birth, the screams, the fear…all would remain a trend while Erik abided in Paris, the City of Lights.

The first three years of his life, when human contact was most important, he was held as little as possible. Erik was left to play on his own, not allowed out of the house, not allowed to be seen by his parent's friends at dinner parties or even by his parents.

He never understood why, though. Erik did not comprehend why his parents were loathe to touch him or why they locked him away in his room. He could not quite grasp why he saw other children playing outside in the sunshine while he was never allowed to experience the sun's soft touch. When he attempted to ask his mother, all he received for his insolence was a smack across his cheek and boarded windows. He did know, from the short scenes he viewed from his window, that the behavior of his parents was not normal. But he did not know why.

It was not until his fifth birthday that Erik gleaned his first bit of understanding. He received two gifts, the first and only one he would ever recieve from his parents. The first was a mask. The black piece of cloth confused the young boy. He looked at his parents, ignoring their grimaces, questioning their motives, and trying not to seem ungrateful. He did not want to go another three days without food. His puzzlement disappeared as he looked into his second gift: a mirror.

Erik did not think it was himself in the mirror. He screamed and threw it away, frightened by the monster captured within the silver frame. His mother fetched it and shoved it into his hands, forcing him to look into it again. Erik started to cry. Everything started to click into place: his parents' distance, his lack of a playmate, his absence of social connections. Now, he understood. He was the monster in the mirror. Erik was a monster.

Stiffly, robotically, he put on the mask. His despair was somewhat brightened, oddly enough. Erik now had the slightest bit of hope. He thought that maybe now, now that he had a mask, his parents would love him. Or if not love, at least be able to look at him without shuddering. Now that they could not see him, maybe they would accept him.

Nothing changed.

The advances Erik tried to make, hugs to his father, kisses to his mother, were all coldly shut down. Soon, Erik just gave up. His mind became his only friend, his books his only playmates.

His breaking point arrived at around Erik's seventh birthday. His parent's hosted parties once a month, mainly to offer a façade of normality within their dysfunctional household. Per usual, Erik was locked up in his room. Ear to the floor and mask cast away into the corner of the room, Erik listened to the festivities below. If he tried hard enough, he could see the scenes three floors below him. The ladies were in one room comparing the prices of their cocktail dresses and gossiping about the ladies that were not in attendance. The men were in another room, smoking the finest cigars, drinking only the best brandy, and talking of sports and politics.

Erik decided that listening was not enough anymore. He had listened for nearly seven years. It was time to see the reds and the blues of the dresses, to smell the pungent aroma of cigar smoke, to feel as if he belonged, as if he was human. It was time to experience.

He snuck downstairs slowly, pausing at every creak he inadvertently made. He stayed close to the wall, edging near to the smoking room. One of Erik's objectives was completed: he smelled cigar smoke. Different kinds mingled in the air, some were pungent and sharp, others earthy. He swore he smelled cherries as well.

More confident now in his stealth tactics, Erik backtracked to the lounge where he crouched near the swinging doors. He tried to peer through the cracks and saw glimpses of ankles ending in brightly colored shoes.

He was engrossed in what little he saw. So engrossed that he did not notice one pair of feet separate from the rest. So engrossed that he did not see them approach the swinging door. So engrossed that he made no move to hide as the door swung open.

What ensued next was chaos. The woman who was walking through the door screamed. She dropped the glass plate she was holding onto the cold marble floor. It shattered immediately, pieces embedding themselves into Erik's face – Erik's uncovered face. His mask, his shield, was abandoned on the floor of his room. Now, he was practically naked in front of 20 strangers, deformed, crying, and even more horrifying because he was bleeding heavily. The ladies were screaming and the men were shouting with outrage. But all Erik could hear were his parents.

Get out – monster – now – no son – out – disgusting – so sorry, he never does this – grotesque – such a mess! Call the maids – hideous – beast – monster – monster – out – out – OUT!

These snippets of dialogue were all Erik needed. In a flash he was up and out the door. He ran into the night without knowing, without caring, where he was headed. He ran until he reached downtown Paris. Exhausted, he collapsed on a doorway, one of many that he would call home until he was 16.

Erik could in no way compare his life at home and his new life on the streets. Both were equally horrible, but at the same time so immeasurably different as to warrant the task impossible. Both places he was feared. Mothers hurried their children along at the sight of him. Grown men flinched. But at least their hatred was generalized. They feared what they saw on the surface, not the monster that Erik believed was hidden underneath. What else could have caused his disfigurement, and thus, the hate and rejection of his parents, but a monster?

He did have more freedom on the streets. That was probably the only benefit. Erik was unfettered by the shackles his parents put on him. He was allowed to wander outside and enjoy nature. He was allowed to see the sun. He usually never did, but at least he had the option. Erik slept where he wanted, ate what he could filch, and did as he pleased.

Freedom, though, came at a price for the young boy. Erik's self-made mask and his new proficiency at slight-of-hand had attracted the attention of older, stronger urchins. By the time he turned 10, not a day passed that Erik did not fear for his very life. He was suspicious of everyone, looking over his shoulder, never getting a full night's sleep. He was constantly moving, trying to avoid the various gangs that had taken an interest in him.

More often than not, the gangs that pursued Erik caught him. A group of four or five would corner him in a dark alley. They would advance, cracking their knuckles and slinging hate-filled insults at him. Erik always fought back. Always. Sometimes, it would work. He would have a weapon and the gang would back off. When he was unarmed, the damage done was scarring.

The young boy, eyes wide and back against the wall, would flail and kick like a rabid animal. The gang, dodging and pinning Erik's thrashing limbs, would hold him back. They ripped off his mask, taking chunks of Erik's flesh with it. Blood would blind the defenseless boy. Touch and sound were his only indications of what was happening. Fists beating his face, a shoulder to his stomach, a knee to his groin. Doubling over in agony, well-placed kicks would batter his body. When a kick to the head came, and it would without fail, Erik descended into a merciful blackness that was his haven. In the dark, he escaped the pain and evil of humanity.

In the darkness, he was safe.