Chapter Fifty-Eight

Erik and Christine stood outside the Laurent house, having been invited to an early supper, waiting patiently for Guillaume to answer the door. After a long pause, they heard the sound of a lock being turned, and the door creaked open slowly, revealing a rosy-cheeked, much healthier Amêlie.

"Good evening, Monsieur Erik...Madame Christine!" the lovely young brunette greeted them from her homemade wheelchair, grinning from ear to ear.

Erik laughed, the musical sound filling both young women's senses. "Young songbird! You're up and about! And you look like you were hardly ill at all!" He smiled, reaching out both of his hands to take her small ones gently.

"That horrid stuff you gave me apparently worked wonders!" Amêlie giggled. "I didn't get sick after that...not once! And I was able to eat some broth this afternoon. It was heavenly," she said, closing her eyes in mock rapture.

"I'm glad that I could help," Erik grinned.

Christine placed a hand on his back. "That's my husband...always full of surprises," she chuckled amusedly.

Erik turned his head to cock an eyebrow at her. "Now, now, Madame Durand...watch yourself."

Christine grinned devilishly at him before turning her attention to Amêlie. "I'm so glad you're feeling better, Mademoiselle. It is good to see you again."

"Thank you," Amêlie smiled. "Won't you both please come in?"

They approached the dining room, following behind Amêlie's wheelchair at a short distance. As they neared the doors, Monsieur Gregoire stepped from the dining room, smiling in greeting. "Well, here comes our new physician!" he quipped.

Erik greeted him with a handshake. "Are you saying I missed my calling, Monsieur?"

"On the contrary...I am saying that you seem to have many callings, Erik." Monsieur Gregoire raised his chin a little and looked him in the eyes. "By the way, let's dispense with the formalities, shall we? We have known each other for long enough. Please call me Gregoire."

"Very well...Gregoire it is," Erik replied, unable to disguise the shock in his eyes. He suddenly felt a wave of gratefulness sweeping over his soul as he recalled how the man before him had, from the very beginning of their relationship, treated him no differently than any other man. He paused briefly before adding, "Thank you."

Monsieur Gregoire smiled at him, turning as Madame Suzette made her way down the large staircase. "Ah, there you are, ma cherie. I was beginning to wonder about you."

"Hello, there," she said, regarding everyone cheerily. "How is everyone this evening? Christine, you look lovely, as always."

"Thank you, Madame. If I may, I'd like to return the compliment. That frock is lovely. Is it new?"

"This? Oh, heavens, no. I refuse to buy new frocks unless I absolutely need to. I simply despise fittings. Such a bore, don't you think?" she laughed. "Well, shall we?" she motioned to the dining room.

After the meal had been consumed and everyone was satisfied, Madame Suzette cleverly made an excuse for the ladies to retire to the parlor, giving Monsieur Gregoire an opportunity to speak to Erik about a few matters.

Closing the study door behind him, Monsieur Gregoire turned and strode to the other end of the room, lifting a decanter full of amber-colored liquid. "Brandy?"

"No, thank you. I don't think I'd have room for anything after such a large meal."

Monsieur Gregoire nodded. "Very well. Mind if I do?"

Erik shook his head. "So...now that you have me cornered, it appears that there is something on your mind. Am I correct?" He gave him a wry smile.

"You are most observant, Erik," he said, taking a sip of his brandy. "I suppose that I should just come out with it, then." He shifted his weight uneasily. "There is a reason why you avoid the Viscomte de Chagny...and I don't believe it is solely because of Christine. You have met him, haven't you? There is more to the story...more to your story."

Erik sighed deeply and turned his face away, staring at the wall. "Perhaps it is you who is the observant one among us."

Monsieur Gregoire set his glass on the desk and approached Erik. "Sit down, please," he said, motioning to one of two armchairs nearby. Erik complied, casually crossing his legs as he did so. "Now," Monsieur Laurent continued, "would you care to fill me in on things...or am I to be left to my own imagination?"

"Your imagination could never compare with the actual truth, I'm afraid," Erik replied darkly. "If you knew the truth, you would not want me in your house...nor on your property."

"What makes you say that?"

Erik leaned forward, placing his elbows on the arms of the chair. "I know how men are, Monsieur. They do not easily forgive. And neither do I...though I am trying."

"Erik, I have asked you to call me by my Christian name. And please know that I do not think of you as anything more than a man who likely had a troubled past...one that is now making his own life extraordinary."

Erik hesitated before speaking, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "My life is only extraordinary, as you say, because God has made it so...and I would prefer that you continue to see me only as you do now. I am not the man that I was before, and I will never go back to what I was...Lord willing."

Monsieur Laurent smiled at him sympathetically. "We all have ghosts in our past, Erik...myself included."

This made Erik laugh, though not at all lightheartedly. "Oh, Mon—uh, Gregoire...you have no idea what 'ghost' lies in my past. You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, narrowing his eyes in challenge.

"Wouldn't I?"

Erik stood and walked across the room to the large picture window overlooking the garden. He kept his back to Monsieur Gregoire and released a long, pensive sigh. I cannot tell this man the truth, can I? Surely he would never allow us to remain here...nor would he ever wish me to be in his daughter's presence again. Lord, why have you allowed me to be placed in such a predicament? He shook his head. I cannot go on running and hiding from the people who claim to care for me. Oh, Father, please help him to understand. He pushed his shoulders back and stood to his full height, refusing to allow the shame to put any more burdens upon him. This was all forgiven by God...and that is what mattered. He took a deep breath. "When I was very young, my mother abandoned me," he began slowly, still unable to meet Monsieur Gregoire's gaze.

"Yes? Go on."

Another long sigh. "She sold me to gypsies, and they mistreated me, because of my...deformity. They used my face as a sideshow attraction, among other things. Eventually, I escaped with the help of a young girl, not much older than myself, who hid me in the deep cellars of the Opera."

"The Populaire?"

"Yes. I grew and became more curious about the world...I wanted to know everything there was to know. So, eventually, I left to see the things that I had only learned of in books. I acquired many...skills...along the way, some helpful and some harmful. Most of them harmful, actually. After many years abroad, I made my way back to Paris and took up residence in my old home. I found that I could make quite a living through means of extortion--" He turned and faced Monsieur Gregoire with a regretful countenance. "Not my proudest moment, I assure you. But because of my skills as a magician...among other things...I was able to convince the managers there that they had a ghost in the Opera. They feared me, and paid me whatever I demanded, and they also did what I asked of them, no matter how strange it seemed. Rumors spread when one or two of the ballet rats saw me in a dark hallway...or whenever they saw a shadow which they thought was me...and eventually, they took to calling me 'le Fantôme de l'Opera.' And that is how it all began." He was slightly startled when Monsieur Gregoire laughed suddenly, in disbelief.

"You? The Phantom of the Opera? Surely not!"

"I said that you wouldn't believe me, and it appears that I was correct."

Monsieur Gregoire ceased his laughter, noticing the serious and wounded expression on Erik's face. "I...I'm sorry, I suppose I just have difficulty picturing you terrorizing children and extorting money. After all, you've done just the opposite since you came here. You've befriended my daughter, and you've even offered to pay rent, which I still refuse to take, by the way," he said, cutting Erik off before he could object again. "It just doesn't seem to be in your character to do such things."

Erik lowered his eyes to the floor. "I have done many things far worse than that." He glanced up and saw Monsieur Gregoire's quizzical, yet fearful, look. "Oh yes, you can probably imagine." He took a deep breath. "Try and think of the most gruesome things that human beings are capable of...and then you will come close to the truth." His voice grew quiet then, almost timid, as he stepped to the large desk and placed his hands on the edge, as if to brace himself for something. "Do you wish me to leave now?"

The silence was palpable. A creaking sound...then a rustling of material. He's gotten up to leave the room, Erik thought. He can't bear to stay here in this room with someone who has done such things. He jumped as he felt a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He looked up and spun around. Monsieur Gregoire stood before him, his face reflecting the compassion that Erik had so rarely seen in his life. "You haven't finished your story, Erik."

Dumbfounded. When would he ever cease to be amazed by such kindness? Likely never. Erik nearly cried with relief as thoughts of how close he actually had come to losing everything--his new life with Christine--suddenly hit him like a freight train. His limbs were shaking, and Monsieur Gregoire guided him back to his armchair. "Sit. I believe that you had said something about being the Phantom of the Opera before I so rudely interrupted you. I apologize. Please...continue."

Erik closed his eyes. "Yes. Well, I...had been living that life for a few years, not really caring whether I lived or died, when one day I heard a voice...singing. It was the most angelic female voice that I'd ever heard, and I knew that I had to see the face of this angel who had called to me in the bowels of the Opera house. She was...a very sad creature, and very lonely. She had lost her father, you see, and had come to train as a chorus girl not long after. I...I heard many of the things that she said aloud—prayers spoken to a God whom I believed did not exist. Or if He did, He was nothing but a perverse magistrate who enjoyed watching people wallow in pain. Regardless, I heard her speak of an "angel of music" and I seized upon the opportunity--being the kind of man that I was--and I trained her voice to become an instrument which surpassed all others in its purity and clarity."

Erik paused, wondering if he should continue. Monsieur Gregoire nodded in encouragement, and Erik felt as if a heaviness was lifting from him. He hadn't spoken of his past to anyone but Father Michel...and at last, confessing the truth to this man felt...freeing.

"I...I fell...in love with her, much to my dismay," he went on. "She had never seen me, and she was a naïve girl who truly believed that I was an angel from above. She begged me to show myself to her...and I continued to refuse until one night. I went to her at last, wooing her with my voice as I always had, and she came to me. I don't know what she must have thought...but she had to realize then that I was nothing more than a man. I'm sure I frightened her...I frightened myself. But...she stayed with me for a while, until...until she removed my mask...out of sheer curiosity, I suppose. I exploded in rage...and after, I sent her back--away from me. From that day on, I believe she feared me, but not only for my face." Erik smirked. "The Viscomte had come back into her life not long before I revealed myself to her, and he acted as though he were entitled to her...though they had not seen each other or spoken since they were children. It angered me that he held a part of her heart that I believed I could not touch, and I was murderously envious. When I discovered their engagement, I suppose you could say I declared a sort of "war." I believed that I had to fight the Viscomte for her love. I had poured so much of myself into her...I couldn't just let her go. And yet, somewhere, deep inside myself, I knew that letting her go was the only right thing to do."

Erik shook his head. "My darkness would have blotted out her light. Eventually, things came to a head, and I threatened the Viscomte's life. She did what she felt she had to do to save him...but then it seemed that she realized something as well that night...that she also had feelings for me...feelings that went far beyond our teacher and student relationship. But I sent her away with him, though I could see in her eyes that she would have chosen at that moment to stay with me. I believed that it was best for her, and what she truly wanted most." He paused, his lower lip trembling. "I...I thank God that I was wrong."

Monsieur Gregoire waited for several seconds to make certain that Erik was finished speaking. He leaned in, and Erik looked up to see tears threatening to spill from the man's eyes. This is one reaction I never expected! Erik marveled.

"Erik...I don't know what to say. Thank you for trusting me enough to share the truth with me. I want you to know that I will never divulge this information to any living soul. It will go with me to my grave. And you, my friend," he smiled, "are an amazing man of strength."

Erik could feel his mouth drop open slightly. He could barely speak, except to rasp out a feeble "thank you," before resting his forehead in his hands.

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A/N: And the truth comes out! Confession truly is good for the soul, yes? Thank you to my reviewers once again! I think there must be several of you around here who are new and aren't leaving me any reviews, because my stat numbers have gone up considerably. Okay, here it is: REVIEWS equal ENCOURAGEMENT FOR THE AUTHOR. (lol, and no, I'm not yelling at you!) Every little bit helps! I love to hear what you think, even if it's just a brief comment, you newbies and lurkers! And to those of you who thought I'd kill off poor Amêlie...shame on you! I'd never do that! -smiles-