A/N: Well, here is my disclaimer, finally. Don't own Phantom or the characters...and I don't own Mozart or any other composer/musician listed anywhere in this entire story. I DO own Father Michel (that wonderful priest we all know and love), and several other characters yet to come. I wish I owned Erik...but my pocket's not big enough to carry him in...sadly enough. Please review my story! Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

Chapter Six

Erik had finally breached the subject of finding a proper home for himself with the priest. He thought that the old man had been slightly disappointed, but seemed to genuinely understand Erik's point of view on the matter. Father Michel insisted on helping him find a place, however, and had called on a few of his trusted parish members to ask for their help, as well. Erik thought that had those people known about his past, they would never have been so willing to help. But it shouldn't matter now anyway, should it? The Phantom is dead. And yet, there is no body to be found.

It had been three days since the opera fire, and Erik was curious to know how everyone had fared. He wanted so badly to go back there and see the damage for himself, but he could not bring himself to face the destruction that he had caused. He had tried to busy himself with reading and with playing the church organ, but his thoughts continually drifted back to the subject which he dreaded most…Christine. In his mind's eye, he could see her: long, flowing auburn waves falling down her back and over her shoulders, eyes like warm amber…lips like…well, like nothing he had ever tasted or felt before. He shivered unconsciously as he closed his eyes and remembered her kisses…sweeter than the sweetest wine, and warmer than anything he had ever known. He wanted her in his arms…he ached for her to be in his arms forever. But she did not love him. He had frightened her with his seduction and his darkness…in his arms, she was not a woman—she was a frightened little girl under the control of a madman. At least, that is what people thought him to be…a madman. Now without her, he truly felt as if he were going mad. Why, God? Why? Why could she not return my love? After I gave her my very soul, how could she choose someone else? But then…after she had seen what was in my soul…how could she not? Erik sighed. He thought back upon what Father Michel had said about becoming the man that he was meant to be. Have I truly wasted the past ten years on Christine? What was I supposed to have gleaned from the experience other than pain and rejection? His whole life had been about pain and rejection, after all—or did God just intend to torture him until his dying day…and even after? All these thoughts became a jumbled mess in Erik's mind. But then, he realized, that Father Michel did have a point…why had God given Erik so many talents if he was truly only meant to be a miserable wretch of a man living in a dank cellar all his life? No, it just simply does not make sense. Surely, even God must be logical, he thought. Is it logical to waste all of my brilliance in music, architecture, art and other genres? After all, I suppose God could have given all of my talents to others…but no, He chose to bestow them upon me. So now what am I to do?

Erik had been sitting on the rickety old bed in his room, exhausted and finally ready to succumb to sleep after having gone days without it. But before he did, he sorted through his thoughts and came to a point where he never dreamed he would be. He stood and securely closed the door of his little room. He then turned and sat down on the bed again, head in his hands. "God," he prayed softly, "if all that Father Michel has said is true, then show Yourself to me. I do not know where to go, and I feel like a fool for even sitting here now speaking into the air like this…but…if you are there, I need You to tell me what I am supposed to do now." He waited in the silence. Nothing happened. No voices from the sky. No loud claps of thunder or lightning bolts. Just…silence. Erik sighed disgustedly and lay back on his bed. Within minutes, he was sleeping soundly.

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Erik awoke to the sound of a continual knocking on his door. He groggily tried to open his eyes, but they would simply not cooperate. However, he found that his voice was working. "What?" he barked.

"Erik, it is nearly noon…I was getting concerned about you. Are you all right, my boy?" the priest's concerned voice traveled through the closed door.

"I am fine, Father." Erik sighed. "Just very tired. I haven't slept in days, you know." He paused. "Did you say it is almost noon?"

"Yes, indeed. You have slept half of the day away. But I suppose you needed it, then. Well, whenever you feel up to it, come downstairs and I shall discuss all of the information I have gathered for you about possible housing." The priest continued, "You are still interested in finding your own place, are you not?"

"I am." Erik answered. "I will be down shortly."

"Very well, then." Erik heard Father Michel's footsteps head away from his door and down the stairs.

Erik sat up and rubbed his eyes. They finally opened, but wouldn't focus well. He sighed and swung his legs off of the bed. He sat for a few moments, just trying to wake up, when he remembered his "prayer" from the night before. Well, no answer…I suppose God is very busy wreaking havoc with someone else's life somewhere, he thought wryly. He slowly got dressed, smoothed on his wig and mask, and went downstairs to see Father Michel.

"Ah, Erik, please have a seat," Father Michel motioned to the empty armchair as Erik entered his study. "Would you like anything to eat?"

"No. Please tell me what information you have, Father. As you said, the day is half over and time is wasting." Erik said impatiently.

"Well, it seems that someone awoke in a fouler mood than usual today," Father Michel chuckled. Erik glared at him. The priest simply grinned back. "There are two different places available to you, my boy. One is an apartment here in town and the other is located slightly outside the city…" he trailed off.

"I wish to know more about this place outside the city," Erik replied.

"Yes, I thought you might," the priest replied. "Well, you see, it isn't exactly a private apartment, Erik…"

"Would you kindly just tell me?" Erik blurted. "Is there some problem with it? Out with it, now!"

"Alright. It is a small house located on a family estate. There is no one living in the house, but…there is a family, members of my parish, who own it and live on the property. You would not be completely alone."

Erik shook his head. "I do not wish to share my life with a family of strangers, Father."

"I am aware that you do not feel comfortable around people, Erik. But this family lives a mile away from the house, so you would have plenty of privacy. And they are very special."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Erik squinted at the old man.

Father Michel sighed. "It means that they will understand someone such as yourself more than most. You see, they have a child, a daughter, who was born with a defect."

Erik raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What kind of defect?"

"She was born crippled. She has never been able to walk on her own, and must be carried wherever she goes. Oh, but she is a very bright girl, very bright. Smart as a whip, that one is. And oh, that voice of hers…" the priest trailed off.

Erik leaned forward in his chair. "Her voice? What about it?"

"It is heavenly, I tell you. A few years ago I called upon the family at their home due to the death of a close relative of theirs…and I heard her singing. Oh, I have never heard a voice so pure and sweet. Just like heaven, Erik. Absolutely lovely." The priest smiled. "Perhaps you and she would get along, as you also have a love of music."

"Perhaps." Erik thought a moment. "Alright. I will go and see this property. But again, I make no promises. If I do not like the arrangement, then something else will have to be found."

Father Michel nodded. "That sounds fair."

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The dark carriage neared a large estate surrounded by mature trees and white fencing that seemed to go on for miles. A large mansion sat on the property, yet Erik thought it looked more friendly than imposing. It had been updated with wrought iron on many parts of the roofing, and Erik was not certain how long the house itself had actually been standing. As the carriage proceeded toward the large, black, wrought iron gates, Father Michel leaned toward Erik. "The Laurent family is a very well-to-do family, Erik. They have inherited this estate from several generations before them. But they are really very kind and God-fearing people. I'm sure that you will like them."

Erik smirked. He rarely "liked" anyone…especially not "well-to-do" persons. What in the world am I doing here? They are not likely to welcome me…my appearance could frighten them...and I refuse to again become a sideshow attraction for the wealthy. "Father, exactly what have you told these people about me?"

Father Michel cleared his throat and averted his eyes from Erik's. "I told them that you are an eccentric man who likes to keep to himself, but who is very talented in many areas. I also told them that you had lost your home to a fire recently. They were more than willing to allow you to use the smaller home on the property…it has not been used for quite some time, and they have always intended to use it for anyone who was in need."

Erik thought for a moment. "Well, it seems as though you were somewhat truthful with them." He paused, and then his expression hardened. "They will be afraid of me."

"My boy, why would they be afraid of you?" Father Michel answered, knowing full well that any normal person would be at the least…intimidated…by Erik's presence.

"Because of this," Erik answered, motioning to his mask. "And if they aren't afraid, then they will at the very least be incessantly curious and suspicious of me!"

"No, they will not." The priest answered simply, looking at Erik directly and confidently.

"And why will they not be suspicious, Father?" Erik was eyeing the old man warily.

"Because they already know what lies beneath your mask."