The Persian man strolled quietly behind the empty stage, eyes trained on the rafters and flies, not bothering to look at where he was stepping. Even without seeing it, he carefully sidestepped so as to avoid stepping on the trapdoor built into the wooden floor. The stagehands took great care to make certain each trapdoor was locked to avoid accidents, but the Persian man knew better than most just how haunted the opera house was. He had walked these same paths enough times to know where each trapdoor was, enough that he could have walked it safely in his sleep.

Even with all the care he took to walk as quietly as he could, his footfalls still echoed off the walls, the whisper of them all the louder for the oppressive silence that permeated the auditorium.

It was in the midst of that thick silence that he finally heard The Voice.

"Daroga."

The man stopped in his tracks, sweat forming on his brow. The voice had sounded right next to his ear, but he strained his eyes to look into the blackness of the unlit flies, knowing that the keeper of the Voice was surely up there somewhere.

"Meet me in Box Five."

The Daroga's hand instinctively went up to his throat and rubbed, as though he could already feel that Punjab lasso around his neck. Still, it had been so long since he had heard directly from the man-turned-ghost, and his curiosity got the better of him. He left the stage and found the stairwell that led to the box seats, pausing outside of the one marked number five.

He took a deep breath before he turned the doorknob, his other hand hovering up near his face. The box seemed empty, so he stepped inside. He glanced back for just a moment to look at the door as he pulled it closed, and when he looked up again, the Ghost was in front of him. He stifled a small gasp.

Those yellow eyes glanced at the hand the Daroga was holding up before looking back at the face of his erstwhile companion. It stung him that the man so clearly didn't trust him - was his promise of no more killing not enough? - but once again Erik supposed he couldn't blame him. He didn't remark on it, didn't tell him to put his fool hand down and that he looked like a ninny standing there like that, instead jumping right in to why he had called him there.

"Daroga, I have done something terrible," he said flatly, his face betraying no emotion.

The Daroga tensed.

"When?" his mind flashed all the awful things he had read about in the news lately, things he had read and wondered about.

"Recently."

"What did you do?"

For the first time his facade cracked, and the Daroga saw remorse and anguish flash across the uncovered half of his face.

"There was a girl..." his voice wavered.

The Daroga closed his eyes and sighed.

"Oh, Erik - what did you do to her?"

Erik flinched at the utter disappointment in his voice.

"I-" he hesitated. "For two years I led her to believe that I- I was an angel sent by her departed father."

The Daroga gasped at him. He didn't respond at first, choosing to sit down in one of the chairs before thinking of a reply.

"That's... quite a lie you've found yourself in," he shook his head. "You should stop, obviously, but you need to be delicate in how you go about it. If you slip up and she finds out, she'll probably be crushed. You should-"

"She already knows," he cut in miserably. "I told her the truth."

The Daroga paused.

"It did not go well, I presume."

Erik groaned. He sat heavily in one of the chairs, covering his face with his hands.

"She ran out the door crying, saying she hated me," his voice broke at the memory of it.

"How old is she?"

Erik shrugged and tried to regain his composure.

"Young, I suppose. She's not yet even twenty."

The Daroga watched him for a moment. Regret was never an emotion he had seen from him before.

"What exactly was the nature of your, er, relationship with this girl?" he asked suddenly.

Erik's brow furrowed. There was something about the way the man had said it that bothered him.

"I was her angel," he said simply. "I gave her voice lessons and helped her improve her singing. Her father had told her before he died that he'd send her the Angel of Music, and I supposed I just... stepped into that role."

"Do you love her?"

Erik stilled. He was silent a long moment.

"I think, Daroga, that you and I both know that love was not meant for one such as me."

The Daroga sighed.

"Why did you do it, Erik? Why'd you lie to her like that?"

Erik glanced about helplessly. He was hesitant to fully divulge his reasons to him, not because he was ashamed of them, but because he hated the thought of being so vulnerable, so open. Still, the Daroga already knew him better than anyone else likely ever would. What was one more one little piece of his exposed soul?

"I suppose I thought that if I could be an angel for her, I would be contributing something good to the world... She would be happy because her father had sent her the angel, and she would become prima donna on the stage and untold numbers of people would be happy because of her beautiful voice... And then maybe my legacy wouldn't just be one of torture and death... Maybe it would have proved that my life was not an utter waste. That I am not merely a monster masquerading as a person. That I, too, was capable of good."

The implication of what his failure meant hung in the air. Instead of a legacy of beauty and music, he now had one more wrecked life to add his already lengthy list.

"I don't know what to say," the Daroga said with a sigh. "What you did was... pretty awful."

Erik's temper flared through his sorrow. He slammed his fists down on the armrests of the seat.

"Erik already knows it was awful!" he grit out. "He does not need to be reminded!"

This was exactly why he hated talking to the Daroga, precisely why he avoided having to have contact with him. He was too quick to point out all the myriad sins of which Erik was already vastly aware. In many ways Erik felt the man still thought of him as he had known him all those years ago in that land so far away. Even Erik would admit that the person he was back then was atrocious - but decades had passed and he was different now. Why couldn't the Daroga see that?He had changed. Hadn't he? The briefest thought flashed through his mind, a mere fraction of a second long, but it filled him terror - what would Christine say if she knew about those years in Persia? His hands gripped the ornate carved wood of the armrests with such intensity that he was certain either the wood or his own bones would have to give. He shot up out of his chair and began to pace the room.

The Daroga didn't flinch at the little outburst, instead breathing a silent sigh of relief. It had been jarring to see the man so broken, so different from how he normally was. Let him fume and rage - that the Daroga could deal with. This pervasive sadness that seemed to settle on him like a shadow - that was uncharted territory.

"Erik doesn't need the Daroga to tell him how wicked he is," he seethed.

Suddenly he stopped his pacing and turned to face the other man. The burst of anger has fizzled out, replaced by the return of heavy sadness. His shoulders slumped and he fixed his gaze on the Daroga with all the sorrow in the world held in his eyes, and once again the Daroga was lanced with pity for this man who could have done so much better with his life had circumstances been different, and once again he was moved to help him as he had done so many years ago.

"What Erik needs to know is what to do next. He- I... I don't know what to do," his voice had grown to a whisper by the end, and he shook his head a little.

The Daroga thought over his words for a while. Erik sighed deeply and sat back down.

"I think you should just leave her be, Erik," he finally told him. "I don't think there's anything you can do to make it better."

He glanced sidelong at him.

"You'll be able to do that, won't you? You can let her alone, right?"

He knew all too well how easily his old companion could fall into obsession over something, and heaven help them all if this girl was his latest obsession.

But Erik merely nodded.

"I don't want to hurt her any more than I already have," he said, staring down at his feet.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"If you wanted to be her angel so badly, why did you tell her the truth?"

Erik flinched at the words.

"I thought- I thought that she could handle it... I didn't realize just how much the story about the Angel Of Music meant to her. And I thought maybe if I weren't just an angel, I could be a better teacher for her," he stared off at nothing, pausing before continuing. "But I see now that I was wrong. About a lot of things."

The Daroga pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You'll be lucky if she doesn't go to the gendarmes over this, honestly."

The thought pierced him like an arrow. Why wouldn't she go to the gendarmes? She already hated him. There was nothing to stop her. Legally, he was trespassing in the opera house, not to mention blackmailing and extorting the managers. Christine had figured out that he was the opera ghost - all she'd have to do is bring the gendarmes to her dressing room and show them the tunnel behind her mirror. Did she hate him enough to do that to him? Time would tell.

Even if she didn't go to the gendarmes, surely she would tell one of her friends about him. How would he be able to live once word got out that the opera ghost was just an unscrupulous man hiding in the walls? Someone would call the gendarmes, that was almost certain - and even if they didn't, they certainly wouldn't keep paying him the twenty thousand francs a month, nor would they continue to follow his wishes in regards to how the theater was run.

Was there anything he hadn't managed to ruin with his foolish choices? It didn't seem so.

The Daroga shifted nervously in his seat. He thought back to the unanswered question he had posed to Erik, and then he wondered if the man would even be able to recognize whether or not he was in love with someone. It would make sense, he supposed, with how mournful Erik was over the situation. But even if that was not the case, he supposed there was still plenty to mourn regardless - when they had parted ways all those years ago, Erik had promised to not actively or passively commit acts of evil. But he hadn't promised to be good. He had promised, at most, to be neutral. And for so long, he had been neutral - although the Daroga might disagree with him about all the Ghost antics he got up to, at least it wasn't anywhere near what had happened in Persia. This angel business, however - he imaging it must have been quite crushing for him to try to actively do good for what was likely the first time in his life, only for the girl to tell him she hated him because of it. The only thing that kept him from feeling too sorry for him was how glaringly and spectacularly little thought Erik had put into his actions from the very beginning. Still, it hurt just a little to see him sitting there so silent, resigned to his fate of being hated by the girl he had tried to help.

The girl. She must be heartbroken. The Daroga sighed again. He hated how much he sighed when he was around Erik - he seemed to have endless reasons to do so when he was near.

"Who was this girl, by the way?"

"Christine," he muttered.

The Daroga frowned, trying to place the name.

"Daaé? The chorus girl?"

Erik gave a single nod.

"How do you know her?" Erik asked after a few moments, sounding rather peeved.

The Daroga shrugged.

"I'm here quite often. I know many of the performers, but not personally, you know."

"Ah. Well," Erik looked away. "If you see her... If you see Christine... Tell her I'm sorry. For everything."

"I'll tell her, Erik. If I see her."

"That will be all, then," he turned a pointed look at him, and the cold sweat returned to the Daroga's brow.

He stood up, not wanting to be on the receiving end of that look any longer, realizing he had, perhaps, outstayed his welcome. Erik was enveloped in sadness at the moment, yes, but the Daroga did not want to be there should that sadness suddenly give way to anger.

He quickly made his way to the door but paused just a second before opening it. He turned back to face Erik one last time.

"Should you need me-" but Erik was already gone.

The box was empty, so the Daroga opened the door and left.