A/N: Hi! I hope that many of you are enjoying this story. I appreciate any constructive feedback that you may have. Just wanted to warn you that this chapter is a longer one, but the next one will be short. I tried to fix that, but I just couldn't find a better way to do it. So, I hope you enjoy:)

Chapter Five

Erik was pleased, surprisingly. The priest had followed his instructions to the letter. He had even been discreet about getting supplies for Erik to make more masks for himself. He had chosen many fine pieces of clothing for Erik (most of them in black) by the upscale designers to which Erik was accustomed. New cravats, wigs, waistcoats, trousers, socks, undergarments, lawn shirts and other articles were lined neatly on the bed, with several pairs of shoes laid out on the floor. Now Erik's only problem was where to keep all of his clothing in the tiny closet of a room.

A knock came upon the door and Erik was slightly startled by it. "Come in."

Father Michel entered, carrying a black fedora in his hands. "I'm sorry, Monsieur Erik…this item was left downstairs." He handed the hat to Erik, and Erik scrutinized it. He nodded his approval.

The priest nodded in return. "If you should need anything, I will be in my study."

"Very well," Erik answered. "Father…I…" he trailed off.

"Yes?" the priest questioned, raising his eyebrows.

"Nothing. Just…thank you." Erik lowered his gaze. The priest smiled and spoke softly, "You are very welcome, mon ami." He left, closing the door behind him.

Erik marveled at all that had happened to him that day. He had discovered the truth about his deformity's origins, and he hadn't had to deal with it alone. For this man, this old priest, to take him in--a stranger with a dark heritage…it was nothing that Erik had ever experienced before. He honestly did not know quite how to feel about that. The only emotion that he was absolutely certain that he did feel was anger--toward his mother. Seething rage...and deep pain. Oh, he knew about methods to end the lives of the preborn. But to realize that he had endured a lifetime of pain because of one such method…it was all too disgusting and personal. He hated his mother for what she had done to him…as if he hadn't enough reason to hate her already for her abandonment.

Erik changed into some fresh clothes and felt more like himself as he donned a dark wig and smoothed it securely into place. He lifted the black mask and placed it on his face. Now, to create a less cumbersome mask, he thought. He gathered his supplies and left the room to begin his work. Perhaps focusing on the task at hand would help to settle his mind a bit.

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Erik was nearly finished with several masks when the priest pulled back the curtain to the small kitchen alcove. "Erik, I am sorry…I was not aware that you were in here."

Erik turned to him and smirked. "Just trying to busy myself," he said wryly. "I much prefer the look of these masks." He motioned toward a counter top where he had laid the completed white masks. They seemed to glare at the priest, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Yes…well, they certainly are…different than the black one, aren't they?"

"More ghostlike, wouldn't you say, Father?" Erik nearly chuckled at the priest. He noticed that the old man looked ill at ease. "Something wrong?"

"No, no, not at all," the priest stammered. "I just came in to get something to eat. Can I get you something?"

"No, thank you." Where had all of these appropriate manners come from all of a sudden? Erik wondered. He stiffened his back. "I told you that I rarely eat."

"That you did. Well, then…" Father Michel reached into the large pantry and pulled out some bread and fruit. "I'm sorry…I don't really have much to eat around here, anyway, I suppose. The choices are probably not to your liking. I'm sure you are accustomed to…richer foods, yes?"

"Why would you assume such a thing?" Erik questioned.

"Well, I have just purchased some rather expensive clothing for you today, Monsieur, from reputable designers. I suppose I just assumed that your taste in foods would be similar," the priest stated matter-of-factly.

Erik nearly snorted. "I lived under the opera house, Father…in a very cold and damp place. Alone. It would be a grave mistake to assume that I have lived any sort of privileged life."

"Of course, Erik. I apologize for jumping to such conclusions." He paused for a moment. "You say you lived…under the opera house?"

"In the fifth cellar." Erik couldn't believe his own words. Why am I telling this man so much about myself? He could expose me to the world! As soon as Erik thought these things, however, he knew that the priest would never do such a thing. There was just something different about this man. He seemed…trustworthy.

"My goodness! That is very far below the opera, yes? How did you even survive in such a place?" Father Michel asked incredulously.

Erik sighed. "Well, since you already know that I am a murderer…I am also an extortionist, Father. I obtained a 'salary' from the opera managers through coercion and blackmail. I was paid this exorbitant sum every month so that no 'unfortunate incidents' would occur. However, you might guess that I did not always uphold my end of the bargain. I instructed them on how to run my opera house, and if they ignored my commands, I brought disaster upon them as I had warned them I would. With this 'salary' I was able to procure everything that I needed to survive in that dank hole." Erik exhaled slowly, awaiting the priest's reaction. He feared that he had revealed too much.

"Well, my boy," Father Michel chuckled, "you certainly are a resourceful one, aren't you?"

Erik was shocked at the old man's amused reaction, but he refused to show it. "Finished," Erik stated, holding the last mask in the air to examine it. He set it down and picked up one of the other masks from the counter top. He turned away from the priest and removed the black mask he had been wearing. He placed the white mask upon his right cheek and pressed it lightly. It was a perfect fit. "There," he said. He turned again to face the priest.

Father Michel's mouth gaped. He couldn't believe his eyes. This man is actually…handsome, he noted. One perfect cheek and one marred cheek, covered by an ominous looking white mask. Such contrast was frightening, he thought, but almost…beautiful. Pity that more people haven't been allowed to see it in this man.

"So, Father," Erik noticed the priest's stunned countenance, "do I frighten you now?"

The priest shook his head. "No, Erik. You still do not frighten me," he said with a grin.

"Hmmm," Erik shrugged.

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Erik wondered exactly what he should do now. He had been thinking of the immediate…of his escape from the Populaire, of his evasion of the gendarmes, of his need for clothes to wear…but he felt as though his life were somehow…ending. Perhaps the Opera Ghost is dead, he thought. But Erik still lives. He was seated in the priest's study, reading a book that the priest had loaned him about the history of sacred music in the church. It made Erik feel a bit more like himself to even be reading about music. He felt a familiar twinge of loss inside, however. He thought of the small pipe organ upstairs and decided to give it a try this time. After all, it was nearly the hour for the evening meal (for the average citizen, that is) and Father Michel was wide awake, so there was no reason to delay.

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Erik thoroughly examined the organ this time. Everything seemed to be as it should. He glanced down to the first floor. Where has Father Michel gone? He hadn't seen him for at least half an hour.

He sat down on the bench and touched the keys lightly, but did not press down. He took a deep breath and tried to think of something to play. Ah, yes…Mozart, perhaps? He began softly, and then his fingers raced across the keys deftly. He began to lose himself in the minor tones of Mozart's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. He played for what seemed an eternity, and he felt as if he and the organ were of one flesh. She is playing as she was always meant to play, Erik thought. He knew that the sound could in no way compare to the large organs of the great cathedrals, but he was sure that he was coaxing every drop of passion from this graceful lady beneath his touch.

When Erik finished, an uncomfortable silence engulfed the room. His head was bowed, and he felt tears begin to well up inside him. His breath seemed to catch in his chest, as a soft sob escaped his lips. "My dear boy," came a voice from below, "I have never heard such skill in all my life." Father Michel stood below Erik, supporting his weight against a pew. He looked up at Erik, and as their eyes met, Erik could see that the priest was visibly moved by his performance. Erik simply nodded at him to acknowledge his comment and then turned away from him, back to the organ.

"Is there a piece that you would like to hear?" Erik asked the priest. He was beginning to trust the old man, and even perhaps respect him a little. After all, very few people had willingly accepted Erik. Father Michel had treated him as if he were like any other man…and even welcomed him with open arms, acting as though he were the father that Erik never had. "Perhaps a sacred piece by J.S. Bach?" Erik suggested.

"Whatever you would like to play," Father Michel replied. Erik began to play a tune that was much more lighthearted than the Mozart piece, and when he had finished, the priest applauded. "Erik, perhaps you would consider playing for Mass sometime?" He asked hopefully.

Erik grimaced. "I…do not know if that would be possible, Father. I would feel quite uncomfortable playing for your parish. The people would likely see who was playing and might choose to never return!" Erik chuckled aloud, and the priest was surprised to hear the sound coming from this dark and tormented man. He is so gifted, he thought. Oh, Lord God, bring Erik peace and joy, for once in his life!

"Very well, my boy. I understand what you are saying. However, I should have you know that I can run my parish off without your help!" He laughed loudly and Erik lifted one corner of his mouth in a slight smile at the old man.

"Oh, I'm certain of that," Erik replied sarcastically.

"Now, now, let's not be insulting!" the priest chuckled. "It seems that it is time for supper. Are you hungry? I think I have a few things in the pantry. Perhaps some bread and cheese? A bit of wine?"

Erik thought for a moment. "Yes, I believe I could eat."

"Wonderful! You feel free to continue playing while I get everything ready, then." The priest disappeared behind the heavy curtain of the kitchen alcove and Erik sighed. I hate to insult this man's kindness, but I cannot continue staying here. I must find a place of my own soon, Erik thought to himself.

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A phantom and a priest sat together in the small study, sipping wine in silence. Quite the strange companions we have become, Erik thought, slightly amused. He did not know how to breach the subject of his leaving with Father Michel…after all that this man had done for him, he felt slightly indebted to him. He also felt that by remaining at the church, however, that he was risking the priest's safety. Strange. Why should I feel anything for this man? I have only known him for two days! Erik shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He cleared his throat slightly, but the priest spoke first.

"So…I would like to speak to you about what happened to you yesterday," Father Michel began.

"Yesterday?" Erik had been hoping to avoid the subject altogether. "Father, there is nothing to--"

"Erik," the old man interrupted, "please do not pretend that you have not just been through quite an ordeal. You've escaped a burning opera house, eluded the gendarmes, and discovered a horrible truth about your past all in the span of mere hours, my boy! There are some things that I believe we need to discuss."

Erik raised a questioning eyebrow, but was silent as the priest continued.

"You must no doubt feel a great deal of anger at this moment, am I correct?" Father Michel questioned.

Erik hesitated but then nodded. He tried to avoid looking the old man in the eyes. It didn't really seem to help, though, for the priest was reading him like a book.

"You are very angry with your mother for what she did to you. And I can't say that I blame you. You have every right to be angry, Erik. She harmed you and then later abandoned you. But I do have one thing to say about this…" he trailed off momentarily, studying Erik's demeanor. When the priest paused, Erik finally met his eyes and waited for him to continue. "You must eventually come to the point where you can forgive her for her actions."

Erik looked as though the man had just slapped him across the face. He was genuinely shocked—and growing increasingly angry as the seconds ticked by. His back and shoulders stiffened and he leaned back slightly in his chair. "I can never forgive that filthy whore for what she did to me!" He was seething and practically spat the words at the priest.

Father Michel leaned forward in his chair and attempted to lay a hand on Erik's shoulder. Erik instinctively jerked away. "Don't TOUCH me! How dare you say such things to me! You have not lived my life! You have not encountered the inhuman abuse that I have! It is all because of HER!"

The priest looked at Erik sympathetically. "I understand that, Erik, I truly do. And I am so very, very sorry for all the things you must have suffered in your short life…I am simply trying to--"

"NO! Damn it all, you will NOT try to convince me of anything, Father!" Erik sneered at the priest and stood abruptly from his chair, nearly knocking over his wine glass. "I will leave this place at ONCE!" He turned to head for the door, but before he could go any further, he felt a firm grip on his shoulders and before he could react, he was forcefully spun around.

"Not before we have talked about this, Monsieur!" the priest nearly shouted at him.

Erik was thrown a bit off balance by the priest's action, and he stumbled slightly to catch himself. "Now sit down!" The priest glared at Erik with such ferocity that he was too stunned to do anything but comply. He never took his eyes off of Father Michel as he seated himself slowly in the chair, as though he were in a daze. "You will be silent while I say what I have to say, young man! I have shown you nothing but respect and kindness since you arrived, and I have even lied to the authorities to protect you! You shall hold your peace and in turn show me respect!"

Erik stared at the priest. His mouth was gaping slightly as the old man seated himself again and took a deep breath. "Now," the priest began in a calmer tone, "as I said, you have every right to be angry with your mother. But you have allowed your anger to corrupt you for too long in your life. I can see it wrapped around you like the cloak that you wear. And if you continue to allow unforgiveness to seethe and boil inside you, you will surely destroy yourself!"

"Why do you care," Erik dared to respond, "if I destroy myself? You are not my father—you are no relation to me at all. You only met me two days ago, and yet you act as if you know my innermost thoughts!"

"Do you still not understand?" Father Michel responded. "I told you about my past also, Erik. And I have had much anger to deal with as well. Granted, I surely have not suffered as greatly as you have, but I have suffered at the hands of others…and I have suffered at my own hand as well. If I hadn't walked into a church that day, I would likely be rotting in the grave right now. I do understand many of your thoughts! And I care about what happens to you, though God only knows why, as you've been so very difficult since you arrived! I know that you will not be able to forgive any of those who have wronged you 'overnight,' so to speak, but I pray that in time, you will come to that point."

"It would take an eternity, Father. I do not believe that I have it in me to forgive." Erik replied darkly.

The priest nodded. "I know, I know. But you must make a conscious choice to forgive those who have abused you, even though they do not deserve your forgiveness. My boy, forgiveness is not for them…it is for you. If you do not forgive, you will never become the man you were always meant to be. And if you do not forgive others for their wrongs, then God cannot forgive you for yours. Erik, you are incredibly gifted, as I have heard with my own two ears today...and I am certain that this is not the only great talent you possess. But you will waste all that you have been given if you cannot come to terms with your past."

Erik sat silently, trying to fully absorb what Father Michel had said. He wanted to lash out in anger, but it seemed as though there were an invisible force restraining him. He believed that the priest was only speaking out of concern for him…and that was something that had rarely--if ever--happened in Erik's entire life.

"Now. I have a question for you, as well, my boy," the priest smiled slightly. "You told me that you had loved a woman, but that she had somehow betrayed you, yes? I should like for you to tell me about her."

Erik could not believe his ears. Does this man have no shame? Will he never cease with his lecturing and questioning? "Father, I do not wish to discuss this…at ALL," he said forcefully. He glared at the priest to further emphasize his statement.

Father Michel ignored him. "Erik, I believe that it would do you some good. I know that you do not believe that, but I have been a priest for many years, and I am aware that bottling things inside of oneself is never healthy. You must speak to someone about her eventually…and I can think of no one better than your friendly neighborhood priest," he smiled, clearly amused with himself.

Erik sighed. He knew that the old man would never give up until he talked about it. He chose his words carefully as he spoke. "Alright. The woman was…someone I knew…from the Populaire."

Father Michel leaned forward, interested. "Really?"

Erik smirked in amusement. The man acts as if he thrives on gossip, Erik chuckled to himself. "She was a singer…she came to the opera house when she was a very young girl, and her father had died. I took her under my wing and comforted her as best I could. As she grew up, my feelings for her became more…complicated. I thought that she would return those feelings, but…" his voice softened, "…but she chose another."

"Go on," the priest urged. He knew that there had to be more to the story, though he could see that it saddened Erik to tell it.

"It is really that simple, Father. Must you know every detail? Really, you are as bad as a woman!" Erik chided him.

"Am I?" the priest replied. "And apparently you would be the resident expert on women and their feminine ways?"

"Well, I should assume that I know more about women than a priest!" Erik goaded the old man.

"Yes. Well, think what you want, then. And please, do continue. I know that there are many details that you are not telling me, my boy."

"The details do not matter. She is out of my life now, Father, and I know that she will never return. I would rather just put her out of my mind." Erik sighed.

"Oh, mon ami, you wish for the impossible then, I'm afraid."

A/N: Mlle. Fox: So glad you like the story! You'll just have to wait and see what happens, though...and besides, it's only been about four days since the Opera fire here, so I don't think that Erik would be OC just yet! I hope you'll keep reading, and that you will like it. Thanks for reviewing!
ladyerik: Don't worry, I'll continue! Erik won't let me off the hook THAT easily! Thanks for your comments!