Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: And now every Phantom-fan's dream: waking up in Erik's home! For most, it's a fantasy come true; for our heroine, not so much. I hope that everyone enjoys reading the chapter and will leave a review! I live for your reviews!

Chapter 7: Caverns of Despair:

A deep darkness was all around me, and I did everything I could to escape it. A light was shining though my closed eyes, and as soon as I was ready, I drifted towards it. When I woke, I could feel cool, damp air on my face, though the rest of me was quite warm and comfortable. My eyelids were too heavy to open, so I kept them closed and tried to find out where I was by using the rest of my senses, much like in one of the games my father and I had played together when I was a child.

Sniffing, I could smell damp, cool, clean air drifting by me, as well as the scent of burning wax candles. The candles must have been fragranced, for I could detect the slightest hint of sandalwood and flowers in the room. I continued to think that, if the candles weren't scented, then perhaps I was in someone's home, as sandalwood was quite expensive and only used in the homes of wealthy people, such as my Grandmother's sitting room or Grandfather's study.

Beneath my hands, I could feel silk and velvet materials, which furthered my theory that I was in the home of a wealthy personage. My fingers drifted and stretched as far to the left and right as I could reach, trying to feel how large the bed I was occupying was. All I could feel was silk and velvet, which meant a very luxurious bed, and since I didn't encounter any open air, it was a very large bed as well. A lavish, oversized bed almost secured my idea of being in a rich person's home, but I decided against settling on the idea until I knew more.

Tilting my head to the side, I could hear water dripping somewhere. Was it raining outside? The weather had been perfectly sunny for the past several days, but had a storm come up unexpectedly? Listening closer, I realized that it wasn't rain falling from a windowsill; growing up in England, I knew what all sorts of falling rain sounded like, and this was not it. So if it wasn't rain, what was it? Where else could have dripping water?

'A cave,' I thought, freezing in place. 'I must be in a cave!' It would certainly explain the cool air, the dampness and the water. But where in Paris were there caves?

Thinking it over, I tried not to berate myself for not researching the French city. Of course, what were the chances that someone had written some sort of book about underground caves in Paris? It did not seem very likely, which meant I would have to rethink what I already knew about where I was.

'Wait.' My thoughts came to an abrupt halt. 'Meg said that the Opera Ghost lived beneath the Populaire. What if that is where I am now?'

During our time alone together, Meg had related to me all of the events that had occurred five years ago. Apparently the soprano that had been the Ghost's obsession had also been Meg's closest friend, so Meg had been able to see and hear about everything that had occurred during that time. The little blonde ballerina had also informed me of her mother's attempts to shield her from what was going on, but her friendship with Miss Christine Daae had put her in the center of everything.

'So a slightly deformed madman, one who lives underneath the Opera House, has kidnapped me and brought me to his underground lair,' I thought to myself. 'Wonderful.'

It was bad enough that he wanted more money in one month than most families make in ten years, but to kidnap the daughter and niece of the Populaire's managers? What could he possibly want with me? Papa would surely pay him off with the money he was selling my jewelry for, so why take me now?

By now my eyes felt as though they could open, and open them I did. The first thing I saw was a black, lacy curtain sheltering me from the rest of the world. Looking around, I spotted a black cord dangling nearby, which I immediately tried to get up and reached for. My head spun for a moment, but quickly settled, allowing me to sit up and regain my bearings. After I felt well enough, I reached for the black cord and gave it a gentle pull, which raised the curtain slightly. Feeling more certain of myself, I raised it the rest of the way and looked around the room I was in.

As I suspected, I was in a cave of some sort. Gray stone walls lined with flickering lamps told me of my prison, and since the stone was obviously uncut, I was certainly within a cave. Since I was no longer behind a cloth veil, the air around me became cooler and damper, making me shiver. Looking down, I saw that I was still in my nightdress.

'He kidnapped me while I was getting ready for bed,' I thought, remembering what had happened. 'I turned around and he was standing right there!'

But how did he get into my room? I always locked the door while I was changing and before I went to bed, so there was no possible way for him to get in that way. Did he have a key to my rooms? No, I would have heard him unlock the door and enter, if he had. The idea of him hiding somewhere within the suite was possible, but unlikely; after all, he would have no way of knowing when I would be in my room or when I would be going to bed if he hid there all day.

'Could he have been watching me somehow?' I thought, nibbling my lower lip in thought.

Now there was a frightening idea. However, Meg had said that the Ghost had watched Miss Daae for nearly ten years before she realized who he was, and before he had revealed himself to her. Also, the man obviously needed ways to see if the managers of the Opera House were obeying him or not, so secret passageways or eyeholes in the walls had to exist in some parts of the Populaire.

'And if he used one of these secret passageways to take me, then there is no possible way for Papa and Uncle to know what has happened,' I realized as my hands began to shake.

I felt myself begin to panic. I could instantly imagine what my father would do once he found out I was missing from the Opera House. Of course, he would be spending the morning saying 'farewell' to my aunts and cousins, but afterwards, when he came to check on me and found the bed empty and not slept in…

'He'll summon the authorities, send letters to all of the family, and tear all of Paris or France apart in order to find me. Oh, poor Papa!'

However, all matters would have to wait until I found my abductor and begged him to let me go. I sincerely hoped that he would see reason. However, I couldn't help thinking that, if he were, in fact, a reasonable man, then he wouldn't have taken me from my bedroom during the night, and he certainly wouldn't fancy himself a ghost who could embezzle money from my family!

Taking a deep breath to calm myself down, I carefully edged closer to the right side of the bed and looked over. There on the floor were my slippers, both of which had good solid leather soles and were made up of thick materials to keep my feet warm in the coldest of winter weather. I had been wearing them upstairs in my room, so the Ghost must have removed them while I was unconscious.

After swinging my legs over the side and slipping my feet into their coverings, I stretched out my muscles, checking for any sort of injuries I may have sustained during my transport here or while I was resting in the bed (though given the lush comfort of the mattress, the sheets and the pillows, there was probably very little chance of that). Once I was ready, I stood up and quietly shuffled to the opening of the room/cave.

To my surprise and awe, there was a lake spread out before me, not even ten feet down and away from where the tips of my shoes were. Never in my dreams could I have imagined there being a lake underneath the Opera House! How could the builders have missed this being here? Even if the Ghost had his home down here, it was unlikely that anyone would miss its existence…

Looking to my right, I saw dozens of gilded candelabras, each one holding a dozen lit candles. The numerous candles held the darkness of the caves at bay, the flickering lights reflecting off of the water and sending it back into the cavern. Along the walls were velvet drapes or hangings, probably meant to add a bit of color to the bleak gray stone. To my amazement, there was a perfectly polished organ in the room, though how it had been brought here was a mystery to me. From behind the large instrument beamed a mysterious source of light, one that was steady and bright, much like sunlight or moonlight. It was incredible that the Ghost could get such an enormous amount of light down here, and despite my situation, I was quite impressed with the man who lived here.

Scanning the room with my eyes, I noticed that there were dozens of sheets of paper all over the floor, the organ, and on the numerous tables and desks that were set here-and-there in the cave. A lovely red couch sat perpendicular to the organ and its bench, and there was a mahogany table before it, also covered in paper. I spotted a few dirty tea cups and dishes, which made me smile; there was only one sort of person who could live like this and get away with it.

'Bachelor,' I instantly thought to myself with a small giggle. How odd it felt to laugh at such a time, but it still felt good. Besides, I needed a good laugh.

Walking down the three steps it took to get to the main floor of the cave, I began picking up random pages and looking at them. Some were drawings of sculptures, possibly future creations the Ghost would work on, since they were unlike anything I had ever seen before. Most of the papers, though, were of compositions for operas, which astounded me. Was the Ghost a composer? It shouldn't have surprised me, since he lived beneath an opera house, but I was still quite astonished at the discovery.

Setting the papers down, I turned around…and bumped straight into the chest of my captor.

He had been watching her for quite some time, ever since she had stepped out of the Phoenix Room. From his perch behind one of the velvet drapes, Erik had watched his pretty hostage stare out over the lake before moving on to explore his house. When she picked up one of his compositions or artistic sketches, however, it took all of his restraint not to rush up and snatch the precious parchments out of her hands. Instead, he let her examine them and studied her expression as he did so.

As he had expected, Mademoiselle Craven's face showed how impressed she was with his music, as well as his plans for future art pieces. Her brown eyes twinkled as she looked at the papers in her hands, almost as though she could hardly wait for some of them to be completed. For some reason, this warmed his heart, and he found himself eager to reveal himself to her. Stepping out from behind the drape, he slipped up behind her and waited for her to turn around. When she did so, she bumped right into his chest, just as she had last night.

"Good morning, mademoiselle," he greeted her politely. "I trust you had a good rest?"

To his surprise, she stiffened and glared up at him. "Considering it was a drugged rest, I suppose the answer would be 'yes,' monsieur," she snapped before turning away with a slightly indignant huff.

In spite of himself, Erik felt an amused smile spread across his face at her little burst of temper. "Excellent," he said, bringing her attention back to him. "Would you care for some breakfast?"

She turned and looked at him, suspicion gleaming in her eyes. "You want to offer me breakfast?" she asked. "Why would you want to do such a thing?"

Amused, his smile got wider and just a little bit arrogant. "Well, it would be rude of me not to feed you," he said. "After all, you are my guest, and will continue to be so until I decide to release you."

Hope suddenly gleamed in her dark brown eyes. "You're going to let me go?" she asked.

"No, I'm afraid not," Erik replied. When her hopeful expression wilted, he quickly added, "Not for quite some time, at least."

As she sat down on the couch, Erik felt an unusual sensation in his chest. It was an emotion that he had not experienced very often in his life, and when he had, it had mostly concerned his former Angel. He knew that what he felt was guilt, and he did not like it. Guilt had forced him to let his Christine go, her beautiful voice drifting into the darkness as she and her beloved Raoul left him in his misery. He would not let that emotion win this time; he would keep a firm grip on it and destroy it so that he would not be weak in this matter.

Standing taller, he said to her, "I will fetch your meal." Turning quickly, he vanished into his kitchen.

I watched as the Ghost disappeared into another section of the cavern. Since he apparently lived down here, there obviously had to be enough room to store all of his belongings, as well as space to eat, sleep, cook, and bathe.

'Or, at least, I hope he bathes…preferably someplace other than the lake,' I thought, glancing at the water. It looked terribly cold, and I knew that I would never bathe there for fear of becoming ill.

Thinking back to our recent talk, I went over the Ghost's appearance in my head. He was very tall, at least six feet in height, and had broad shoulders that tapered to a slim waist. He wore a white shirt that was unbuttoned to the top of his chest, and the black pants that clung to his legs were tucked into equally black boots. A black sash was wrapped around his waist, and of course, there was a white mask on the right side of his face.

'Either he wears it to intimidate people or because he has some sort of facial deformity.' I chewed my lower lip as I tried to think.

With or without the mask, this Ghost was quite a handsome man. With his physical height and build, his green-gold eyes and chiseled featured were enough to make any woman swoon. His hair was lush and dark, elegantly smoothed back from his face, and there was an adorable clef right in the center of his chin. For some reason, my thumb wanted to run itself over that clef. Even if he was deformed, it was certainly not taking away from his looks!

The sound of approaching footsteps shook me from my thoughts, and my eyes drifted towards the man who now had me at his mercy. There was a silver tray in his hands, a plain white tea pot, cup, saucer, and a platter of eggs, sausage and toast. Silver eating utensils were perfectly placed on a red napkin, and to my surprise, the food steamed as though it had just been made. After the tray was set on the table before me, the Ghost stepped back and watched me as I inspected the meal.

"It is not poisoned, mademoiselle," he said with amusement. "I would have nothing to gain from harming you. Believe me when I say that you are more valuable to me alive than dead."

Technically, that was true, so I picked up the napkin, spread it across my lap and reached for the plate of food. Realizing that it would be difficult to cut the sausages with the plate on my lap, I picked up the knife and fork and cut everything into small bites. By the time I was done, the food was no longer steaming, but I didn't mind. Instead, I picked up the plate and began to slowly and politely eat everything that had been provided.

As I ate, the Ghost moved forward and poured a cup of what appeared to be hot chocolate for me. I was shocked at the kind gesture, but managed to hide it. When the food was gone, I sipped the still-warm chocolate and was able to finish half of it before my stomach protested against any additional helpings. Setting down the cup, I watched as he picked up the tray and carried it off, leaving me alone once more. With the food and chocolate warming my body, I lost myself in thought.

'There has to be a way for me to get out of here,' I reasoned. 'If we got down here by using secret passages, there must be a way back up!'

Taking hold of that idea, I tried to weigh the possibilities in my mind. I could try and escape, but whether I succeeded or not depended on the number of caves there were down here. If there were only one or two underground corridors leading up to the Opera House, then it would be simple; should there be a dozen passages or more, then I would probably spend days wandering around down here before finding my way back.

'No. As much as it pains me to consider it, I believe it would probably be best to remain down here.'

But perhaps I would be able to persuade the Ghost to release me? If he was only holding me for the money that Papa and Uncle Gregory owed him, I could probably convince him to trade me for the amount owed to him. If the Ghost wanted more money, all he had to do was send word to my father and his demands would easily be met. Why did he feel the need to keep me here for longer than was necessary?

'I highly doubt that he wants me here,' I thought to myself with a small smile. 'In all likelihood, he probably has never had people in his home. Well, except for that soprano he abducted, and I heard that she was a beauty. I am not a singer, nor am I pretty enough to want to keep as a prisoner, so perhaps the art of persuasion is one that I can work on him.'

Behind me came the sound of breathing, which I hadn't heard until that moment. Whirling around, I saw that the Ghost had lived up to his name; he had snuck up on me unheard, which was difficult to do, considering the sound that his boots should make on a stone floor.

"Oh!" I gasped, placing a hand over my chest. "You startled me!"

He smirked. "It is what I do," he commented. "Now, what troubles you so, Mademoiselle Craven?"

"Aria," I said. "My name is Aria. May I ask what yours is? I can hardly call you Opera Ghost when it is obvious you are a man."

Why I felt the need to give my name and to ask for his was beyond me. He also seemed surprised about my request for his name, but his expression soon became blank as he stared at me with those eyes of his…those fascinating green-gold eyes that seemed to stare right into my mind and read what was hidden there. His eyebrows seemed to rise and come together as he thought of a reply to my question.

"I am Erik, but you will never tell another soul my name," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is that understood? To the rest of the world I will remain the Opera Ghost or the Phantom of the Opera, nothing else."

I could almost see the air darken around him as he attempted to intimidate me. My body went cold as I felt the power of his eyes going right down into my heart, and I shivered. I wanted to tell him what a nice name he had, but did not dare, fearing that he would believe me to be humoring him. Instead, I kept my mouth shut tight and nodded.

He nodded in turn and went over to a desk that was positioned right beside the organ. Erik (for I refused to call him Opera Ghost unless I had to) then pulled open one of the drawers and picked up a small portable writing desk. Closing the drawer and walking back towards me, he stopped an arms length away from me and held out the desk with his hand. Looking up into his eyes, I swallowed hard at the cold look that was being directed at me.

"You will write a letter to your father and uncle, telling them about the new situation that they have placed themselves in," he ordered as I accepted the desk. "Tell them that I mean to keep you here with me until I am certain about their following my demands."

I stared at him in shock. "But they are going to pay you!" I cried out in panic. "They will pay! I'm sure they will have the money by the end of today, if only you will give them time!"

A glare from Erik's eyes halted my protests. "Yes, they will pay, but you will be useful in assuring that my future demands are met," he coldly stated. "You will remain here with me, Aria Craven, until I am sure of your father and uncle." One of his fingers tapped the top of the desk. "Now, write out the message. I will read it once you are finished and will deliver it to upstairs on my next trip to the Opera House."

I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I opened the desk and pulled out a piece of paper.

Looking over the letter that Aria had written, Erik felt a chaotic mixture of emotions churn inside him. He was impressed that she had managed to write such a convincing note, one that seemed genuinely convince the reader that she was well even though she was presently being held as a captive. In her letter, Aria assured her father that she was well, but that it would be best if, in the future, he did as the Ghost asked him. A quick note of the need to pay his salary followed, and was signed in an elegant hand. Impressed, Erik had nodded his approval before preparing for a small trip to Mademoiselle Aria's former quarters.

As he carried the message upstairs, a pang of guilt once again shot through his chest. He had seen the tears that Aria had wept while writing the note, and he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at the notion of separating her from her family. However, at the same time, he felt angry that he had never in his life had a family to miss or to miss him in return, which ruined all sympathy in his heart.

It was with those cold feelings that he placed Aria's message on the vanity in her room and returned to his home…and to his prisoner.

AN: Aw, Erik feels bad…well, sort of. It's going to be a long story, so please review! Thanks!