Disclaimer: Even if I had the entire cast chained up in my basement, I still wouldn't officially own The Phantom of the Opera.

Title: Peccata Mundi

Summary: The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

Assignment 1: The Nightingale

Summary: With his night terrors growing steadily worse, Erik must find the strength to locate a kidnapped woman. Will he be able to discover and protect her before it's too late, and will he be able to correctly distinguish between the past and the present?

Author's Note: Sorry if this chapter seems kinda short, too. I don't know what is going on with me. Oh well, enjoy! I rather liked some aspects about this part. See if you can catch the reference. ;)

Section 9

- Shimmering Crimson

He was dead. He knew it. He finally succumbed to defeat. He had to be dead. There was no other perceivable explanation. He was bathed in darkness with no distinguishable shadow present. His body felt suspended, making every muscle lax and unmovable. There was no energy within his vessel. Every appendage weighed a ton. All he wanted to do was drift off into the surrounding void. But his mind pounded like someone was beating it like a drum. It was devoid of all thought, of all reason. There was nothing present except that pounding. If it wasn't for that, he could have…he would have…

Erik opened his eyes, but remained motionless. His gaze was awash in the intricate pattern of his bedroom ceiling. There was a harsh ticking echoing from some unknown location. Even though it was soft in reality, to Erik it was the loudest and most annoying sound ever to reach his ears. Still, he didn't move. He endured its impending tune, counting down to the end of something, to the end of nothing. He took a deep breath and let his eyes flutter shut.

The door handle jiggled noisily and then the door swung open. The footsteps that entered were muffled by the carpet that padded the floor. They reached the side of his bed, and he heard a clink of china on the nightstand. It must have been obvious that he had woken up; otherwise he was unsure whether his guest would be making such a ruckus. However, he remained how he was, not chancing a glance or making an address. A soft squeak followed by a thud confused him. He wondered what else was going on in the world outside of his eyelids.

"You have awakened finally," a soft, feminine voice uttered.

There was a small clink and the gentle flow of some sort of liquid. Erik continued in his fake state. He knew that he wasn't fooling the woman, but it was beyond that now. Relief washed over him as he lay in the darkened expanse of his mind. He was alone here. No one could reach him. Yet he knew that it was only temporary. He would have to emerge eventually.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried about you, but I know that this is just a minute bump in the road for you," she continued.

Erik opened his eyes again. It seemed to take a great amount of strength to simply turn his head and identify Madame Giry. She had just finished pouring a cup of tea and was setting the teapot down. She had pulled up a chair next to his bed, and had basically made herself comfortable in order to properly care for him. Sensing his stare, she looked down at him semi-peripherally for just a moment before returning to the tea preparation.

"How long?" he asked.

"I found you just about dawn on the street outside. I had grown concerned when you didn't arrive home. If I wasn't out looking for you already, you would probably still be unconscious on the pavement," she informed lightly. "It is now early afternoon."

Erik sighed. "That's too long. I have to get up." He tried to sit up on his elbows, but he felt too weak to even lift himself. A small grunt emanated from his throat at the simple task.

Madame Giry immediately stretched toward him, restraining him by the shoulders, even though he couldn't get farther even if he tried. She gently pushed him back down. She was so strong compared to his aching frame. He couldn't believe the power she now had over him.

"You will not leave this bed for any occasion. Your body is exhausted from lack of sleep and proper nutrition." She paused, sitting against the backrest. "I warned you of what would happen." Here it came. "I hate to say I told you so…"

"Then don't," Erik grumbled.

Madame Giry nodded and turned to the tea set. Erik let his head fall sideways again, pressing it into the pleasurable pillow. The weight pressed the outline of the mask lightly into his skin. He was relieved it was still on, but had to admit that he had forgotten all about it.

"I fixed your normal dose of tea," Madame Giry said as if there had not just been an awkward exchange. "But I also brought a vial of your stronger…medicine."

She held up a tube of red liquid. Erik's eyes became transfixed on the contents. From where he was positioned, he could see a glint within the bottle causing it to become noticeably translucent. However, it was still noticeably thick and sticky. He couldn't tear his gaze away. His mouth went dry longing for a taste. His pulse quickened at just the sight. He wanted to reach out and snatch it, and probably would despite his lack of strength. But he restrained himself. If he fulfilled his desire, he might become dependent. That was the last thing he wanted. Instead, he allowed himself to be satisfied with the mere sight of the liquid—the shimmering crimson.

He nodded as best as he could, and Madame Giry twisted the little black top off and poured the contents over the filled teacup. Erik turned his head in the opposite direction as she completed this task. He closed his eyes and tried to reduce his rapid breathing back to normal. Those vials barely ever surfaced from the basement, where they were locked up in a large freezer. They were meant only for emergencies. Apparently, this was one of them.

"Do you know of anything that occurred last night?" he asked, trying to get his mind off of the medicine.

"I know nothing. As I told you already, I only found you just outside the residence." A spoon tinkled against the china as she stirred the mixture together.

"I'm sure something happened. I can feel it. Damn this wretched…" he trailed off. The possibilities of what he might have done already weighed heavily on his soul. He couldn't take being physically, spiritually, and mentally out of control. "Is it ready yet?" His voice had turned into a whisper. His throat was dry and cracking. He hurt, and he just wanted to drift away from the ache.

"Yes, here."

Madame Giry turned Erik's face toward her and lowered the teacup to his lips. He sat up as much as possible, while she poured some of the liquid into his mouth. He let the warm concoction sit in his mouth for a moment before dripping down his throat. It felt good coating his throat. It relaxed him and calmed him. He rested back against the propped pillows in a slight state of euphoria. The medicine was already taking affect. He could feel new life coursing through his veins. His body warmed; his spirits soared.

"I also brought some food if you are capable of eating solid foods a bit later," Madame Giry said quietly. "Otherwise, I will not be content until you finish off this cup of tea."

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes, it is very good."

Madame Giry felt her heart skip a beat as she looked down at his thin frame. His skin was so pale and sunken. He appeared weak and frail and defenseless amongst the array of pillows and blankets. His hair stood out as a black mass in contrast to everything else. She reached a shaky hand toward his head to wipe a thick lock matted to his forehead. She stopped, hesitating, and went no further with just a few inches remaining between their skin. She pulled her hand back fast. Her nerves were completely shot. For some reason, just by viewing his sad state, she was forlorn and scared. She didn't know what exactly to think.

"What's the matter?" he whispered, supposedly unaware of what she had just tried to do.

"Nothing," she replied quickly, grabbing up the teacup. "Take another sip."

She again poured the liquid into his throat. Erik allowed it to run down the back of his throat, relishing in it once again. The sensation remained strong. The taste lingered on his taste buds. Drunks had their liquor; Erik had his medication. Unlike the drunks, though, he would not allow himself to become dependent or hooked. He would not let the liquid run his life and invade his senses. He was capable of anything when that happened. From previous experience, he was never going back to that stage.

"I will let you rest now." Madame Giry pushed the chair back and stood up. Erik nodded slightly, not really paying attention. "Please do not fret about anything the rest of today. Let your mind be at peace for once." Again with the nod of disinterest. Madame Giry curtsied. "Sleep soundly."

She moved to the door and stopped within its frame. She took a glance over her shoulder at her poor employer. She didn't know what to do. Don't fret, she had told him. She should have been repeating that to herself. Again he was causing her to worry. She shook her head, grabbed the doorknob, and closed it carefully behind her.

'Damn you,' she thought, while parting. 'Damn you.'

The ceaseless ticking no longer caused mental anguish for Erik. He allowed his imagination to soar with it into a comforting lullaby. He felt a warmth encompass and hold him in place. His mind fell into a peaceful state with nothing drifting in or out. If he could remain within the confines of the friendly darkness, he would be content the rest of his life. It coaxed to him, bade him to stay. He obeyed.

The case that had dominated his life for the last few days was now a distant memory. There was no longer a girl in trouble. There was no longer a need for urgency. The promise to a dying man no longer existed. Time itself had disappeared from his unconscious world. There was nothing except Erik and the shimmering crimson.