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"I fell for the one dressed in sweet roses

It made me feel at home and loved…

A false sense of happiness, no doubt

You were an angel disguised as a woman

And I the devil in man's clothing…" - Excerption from the diary of Erik

Erik's POV

Ever since I could remember, my life has been filled with abuse and anything but love. My mother loathed me since the moment I emerged from her womb. What mother hates their own flesh and blood? Yes, I might have been hideous, but that did not mean that I couldn't love. All I have ever done was love. I loved my mother even though she couldn't love me back. Then there was my second love; animals. I loved animals because they didn't care what I looked like. They loved me back. My love for animals started when my mother screamed one afternoon because a black spider had crawled into her lap. She was going to squash it, but I stopped her and set it free outside in the garden. No matter how hideous a spider might be, even spiders have the right to mate. After I set the spider free, I began bringing all sorts of animals home. A rabbit with a broken leg, a bird with an injured wing, even a stray dog I named Sasha.

I never knew my real father. When ever I asked about him, my mother would tell me that he left us when he saw my face as an infant. For years I blamed myself for my father's disappearance, but soon found out that he died many months before I was born. As long as I could remember, my mother made me wear a mask. She never let me take it off, even to eat, and if I did, I received a horrible lashing. I wore the same felt mask from birth all the way up until the day I left home. The mask fit fine when I was a baby, but as I grew, the mask outgrew me, leaving my flesh with sores and a horrible rash. When I would bleed, my mother would beat me, and when I complained….well, one could only imagine the torture I would receive.

One night, the town's children came to my house, and threw stones at my attic window. I ignored them until my Sasha ran outside. Like monsters, they slaughtered my dog. I tried to stop them, but they beat me too. I was stabbed in the stomach five times, before the priest I was named after chased them off. I was carried inside, and placed on the sofa, my mother not even seeming to care that I was clinging onto life.

For a few months, my mother would leave me locked in the attic so she could go out. It didn't take long for me to find out that she was seeing a man….a doctor. She was so embarrassed by me that she locked me away when ever he came over. I would sit there in the attic, alone and crying, my ear placed to the door as I listened to the both of them. Some nights they would just talk. My mother was happy, she laughed….she never laughed around me. She was finally happy, and that's all that mattered. Other nights, they would make love.

It was like music to my ears. Sweet music that I could only wonder how to make. I was a musician, one who could master any instrument he got his hands on. One day, I asked my mother how such music was made, only to have her slap me across the face for hearing it, and told me that I will never ever make such music because no woman would ever want me. I was upset, but I knew she was right. At least she had her happiness.

But on the night I lay dying on the sofa, my mother's lover came over and stitched me up. He helped me, and I didn't know why; my mother didn't want me to live. That night as I lay there resting from my surgery, I heard my mother and her lover arguing. They were arguing about me, and how he wouldn't marry her unless I was put into a asylum. I wouldn't! I wouldn't be put into an asylum! I wasn't crazy, and I refused to be housed with them.

After digging a grave for my Sasha, I ran away. I ran for miles, my stomach aching in agony from the stitches. For weeks I camped out in the woods, living in a stick and grass made shelter, living off roots and insects. But one evening, a band of gypsies arrived and captured me. For years I was their main attraction, my face being shown to paying customers by day, and being raped and whipped by my master at night. It stayed like this all the way until I was sixteen years old. The show came to Paris, and Madame Giry saw me being whipped. She came back and saved me, pulling my scarred and bruised body to the opera house where I, for the first time had a bath, a warm bed to sleep in and food in my stomach. I made the opera house my home. I gave myself the education I never had, I played on an old organ that I had repaired and brought down to my lair. For the first time in years, I was happy. But one thing was missing; I was alone. I grew from boy to man, in a playground that had become my own home.

I became known as the "Phantom of the Opera," requiring twenty thousand francs a month in order to keep the peace. That's when I came across the love of my life, my first and only love. She was a little girl crying in the chapel, wishing her angel of music would come. She was beautiful, an angel without wigs, glistening in candle light. I loved her, right from first sight. I answered her prayers, and taught her to sing within the shadows. Some nights I would sing her to sleep, and other nights she would sing me to sleep. She grew from a little angel into a beautiful woman, and my love for her only grew. With my help, and a little rule breaking, I had her become the rising diva Paris cherished. On the night of her opera debut, I revealed myself to her as the man I truly was. I brought her to my home, she slept in my bed! Oh, what a dream! But all dreams must come to an end, especially for me. She awoke, and like the curious vixen she was, tore away my mask. God! Her face, her beautiful face was full of fear. It broke my heart to see the one person I thought could be my savior, full of fear…I knew she could never love me, not now and not ever. But that didn't mean I wasn't going to make her try.

But then there was her lover! Her precious little Viscount! That insolent boy who dared to steal what wasn't his! They kissed in the shadows, frolicked like little love stricken children! It hurt me! She tore out my heart and stomped on it! I wouldn't have this! I wouldn't let this happen! I wrote an opera and placed her as my main diva. I appeared on stage right in front of the audience and kidnapped her. This was my final plea! I took her down below to my lair, and forced her into the wedding gown I had made for her. My angel stood there crying in front of me, upset that I had tried to force her to love me. Soon, her lover came down to save her, and I threw a noose around his precious little neck. I stood before the only girl I ever loved, and forced her to make a choice. It was either to marry me or have her lover die.

"The love of an angel is all poor Erik asks for!" I sobbed and dropped to my knees, and kissed the hem of Christine's white dress, my tears soaking the lacy fabric.

"I cannot love you, Erik." She pulled her skirts away from my lips. "For I love another."

What could I do to make her love me? I sobbed and poured my heart and soul out to her.

"But Erik could show you what love really is." I pulled her skirts back to me, and placed my malformed lips over her bare feet. They were so soft, so beautiful. I was touching Christine; never had I ever touched a single part of her bare flesh. But my bliss soon ended when she pulled away from me.

"Erik is sorry! Erik does not know how to kiss anything. Even his own mother didn't want to kiss him." I cried into my boney hands, as she stood over me.

"I can't love you." My tears poured harder upon hearing this. "I love Raoul. I love him, Erik. Are you listening to me? I love him, and always loved him."

"But Erik loves you more! Erik can show Christine the love she never knew existed. I could compose, and you sing. Our marriage would be beautiful and filled with music. Our life…." I grabbed her hand with my tear soaked one, but didn't dare kiss it. "Our life would be beautiful…"

And just like that, she looked down at me and said the most hurtful words I have ever heard.

"Our life together would be as beautiful as your face."

What ever life I had left in me was knocked from my chest right then and there. Those words, those hurtful words. How was it possible for my angel to even say such a thing?

My heart hurt with such agony. My angel, my love was rejecting me! I clenched my chest and looked up at her, no fight left within me.

"G…go."

Instantly, my angel ran from me. She didn't even care that I was letting her go. She left with her boy, without even a goodbye. I cried, oh, how I cried for her. I dropped to my knees and clenched the veil that had fallen from Christine's head. The mob was coming, and I had to escape. I wanted to die, but I knew if I gave myself to the mob, my body would be tortured and put on display. For hours I stumbled around the streets only to fall into the care of Madame Giry. She took me into her home, caring for me as she once did when I was young. For days I laid there in a bed, suffering from my weak heart, and missing Christine. I couldn't stay here any longer. Christine plagued my mind like a disease. I dreamed about her, I dreamed of marrying her, I dreamed of holding her in my arms as I slept. I knew by staying in Paris it would only kill me. So, once I was back on my feet, Madame Giry and her young daughter, Meg snuck me to Calais to sneak me on a vessel headed to America.

The ship ride was hell; a month of vomiting into a chamber pot and pure boredom. As if the ride wasn't hard enough for me, when our ship docked in Ellis Island, I was sent into quarantine over night to be sure my hideous face wasn't contagious. I was forced to stand in a long line of people for hours in the humid sweaty smelling room. I was then forced behind a curtain and told to strip. I stood there naked as a strange doctor looked over my scars and most of all, my face. When my face was revealed, the doctor immediately sent me into quarantine.

For one hot humid night, I laid there, my cloak being the only bedding from the floor. The next morning, I was given a pass to leave, and made my way into the crowded streets of Manhattan. With some of the cash I had saved over the years, I was able to rent a room on the top floor of a Coney Island flat. It wasn't much, the walls were cracked, there was a rusty bed frame set in the corner, a decaying grandfather clock, a fire place and a desk.

The first few nights on Coney Island were the loneliest of my life. I laid there in my makeshift bed dreaming continuously about Christine, only to wake holding nothing but the empty air. To get my mind off of Christine, I decided to keep myself occupied with finding a job. In Coney Island, oddities off all kinds fled here to make money showing themselves to the public. I refused to let myself become one. I had to make money and fast, but the question was how? After numerous attempts, I finally landed myself a job working as a magician in a sideshow. Everything was going perfect, until one evening. I had worked a double shift because some of the other acts were out sick. It was very late and Coney Island had long since closed, leaving the streets deserted. I walked alone like I usually did, carrying my box of props. I was just about home, when all of a sudden, I was grabbed and pulled into an alley. Four middle aged men threw me down on the cold ground, my box of props being overturned, and my knees scraped.

"What money do ya have on ye?" one asked in a thick Irish accent.

I didn't answer him, and laid there on my back, thinking about what to do. What could I do? I didn't have any thing on me to protect myself with, not even my lasso. I thought Coney Island would have been different. I thought people were kinder, but I soon found out that it was just as dangerous and cruel as Paris.

One was holding a baseball bat, and thrashed it down over my weak knees. I screamed, and heard a loud crack. My leg felt as though it was dismembered from my body.

"I asked you a question." the man snarled again.

I handed over my wallet that was carrying the amount of five dollars, only to have my legs beaten again. For an hour this abuse went on, until they decided to leave me. Broken and bleeding profusely, I crawled the remaining distance to my flat, and pulled myself up the stairs. My legs, my poor emaciated legs, broken. For weeks I lay there in my uncomfortable bed, unable to work, unable to pay rent and the bills from the doctor I had sent for. He bound my legs in two metal braces, and stitched me up. I was told I'd be lucky if I ever walked again let alone work. My career was over before it even started, and I was headed for the streets. For weeks, my landlord pounded on my door, demanding my rent, the rent that I couldn't pay. I couldn't get up to go to the bathroom or cook myself something to eat…my life was coming to an end.

I refused to let the doctor tell me I would never walk again. I, the Phantom of the Opera refused to hear it! I didn't want to be taken care of, but I needed someone I could trust to run errands for me, and frankly, the only one I could trust was living a million miles away. I wrote to Madame Giry, explaining my situation to her, and begged for her to come out and help me…Yes, for the second time in my hideous existence, I begged. I explained that once she arrived in Ellis Island, there would be an address given to her at the customs department telling her where to go. Some weeks passed, and I found myself still laying there in bed without any help. Had she even gotten the letter? But then one morning, nearly two months after my beating, a knock occurred at the door, and when it opened it was not Madame Giry, it was her daughter, Meg. Damn her! I asked for the cow and instead I got the calf!

How badly I wanted to deny her, but I was in desperate need of help. For weeks she cooked me meals, ran errands and took care of me. Though, having the temper I was famous for, I did go off on her more than once. I told her if I wanted her help I would ask for it, and that she wasn't to touch me unless I wanted her to. She took my advice and stayed away from me until I asked for her assistance. For a while, I took on some work, composing carousel music for Coney Island. It was easy enough, and the best part was I could do it right from my bed and when it was finished, Meg delivered it. I found it quite boring ,but it paid the rent, and kept the landlords off my back. Each night that I laid there in bed, I thought about Christine. I thought about her hair, her beautiful eyes, her wonderful smile….So much joy was brought to my heart by such thoughts. But I always remembered that horrible sentence that she last said to me.

"Our life would be as beautiful as your face."

That sentence was like a million shards of glass taken to my heart. She didn't love me, so why did I love her back? I didn't care, it was the thought of her loving me that kept me alive. When I was almost back to my old self, I began devising a plan on how to make loads of money without having to walk. One long and endless night, I sat there in bed drawing, drawing a kingdom that would create money and the best attraction Coney Island had ever seen. Plus, it would get Meg out of my flat for good. It was beginning to become a nuisance to not only my privacy, but my way of living as well. She always wanted to straighten up my music sheets that were piled sky high on my desk, or mop the floor….She was too clean! There was nothing wrong with the little mess that was scattered about my flat, it was just me after all! But no, Meg wanted to keep it spick and span! Damn her! I couldn't even dress myself without having so much as a glance thrown my way, let alone getting the privacy to pleasure myself to the image of Christine playing out my fantasy inside my head. No, I never had any time alone. Sometimes I just sent her out on a pointless errand just to be able to piss in peace. No, Meg had to go, and I knew the only way she was going to be able to do it was if I built my empire and gave her a job.

When my realm was finally completed on paper, I sent Meg out to find me a few honest men to build it, god knew I couldn't. And with that search came Mr. Squelch; a strong man who had spent his life lifting heavy things in a freak show, and Dr. Gangle; a strange lanky man who needed the money but had an eye for perfection. With the two of them in charge, they brought together many other workers and began building my kingdom, and in return I promised I would give them all permanent jobs once it opened. And that's exactly what I did. I named it "Phantasma," and it became the number one attraction in all of Coney Island. People came from miles and miles to sit through one of my freak shows, walk through my maze of mirrors, or gaze upon the Phantasma Olalla girl; Meg Giry! Yes, Meg became the Olalla girl, five shows daily and making enough money to move into her own place with the exception of checking in on me one time every afternoon.

Years passed, and I was able to make money without even leaving my flat. I became one of the richest men in New York, but one thing was missing; Christine. How badly I wanted her with me, but I knew she didn't want me. I was a rich and lonely soul, only aching for one woman in the world, a woman I knew I would never have. After years of being confined to my bed, I was able to get around with the braces being on my legs and a walking stick in my hand. I was soon able to walk around Phantasma to check on things, mail my own letters, cook my own meals. Everything was getting back to normal. I even made a name for myself. I soon became "Miser E." And that name soared to greatness. When ever my name was talked about, everyone immediately associated it with Phantasma. It became a household name, and I enjoyed every moment of it. I was able to walk among freaks without being teased and taunted, I was able to walk among men without getting beaten.

Life was almost perfect…..Each night I would return to my flat, completely exhausted from my walk, and lay down. I had come to the ritual of removing my braces from under my trousers, and lay them beside my bed. I would massage my legs, and think about Christine, wondering what she was doing at this exact moment. Then came the evening everything snapped. I could no longer take the thought of thinking about her any longer, and wanted her here with me in my arms. I promised myself that I would never contact her, but what could I do? I wanted to see her so badly. And so I took out a piece of parchment and began writing.

"My dearest Christine,

So many nights I have waken to feel nothing but my pillow laying beside me. My heart is torn open and bleeding out from such pain you have left it in. After ten years of living on my own, I can finally say you were right. Our life would have been as hideous as my face. That phrase burns and burns within me each and every day. Since birth I had been alone, and unloved, and still, ten years later I am unloved. Never feeling a single kiss, the warm embrace of a hug, or the wonderful bliss of making love. Ten years ago, I left Paris, too heartbroken to stay. I moved on to the world's new playground, and built myself an empire. But even an empire couldn't keep my thoughts about you away. I promised myself I would never write you a single letter, and let you live your life, but this, this Christine is my breaking point. At least you can know that I am in pain, and I still love you and only you. Are you happy? Have you given birth to any of the DeChagney's children? I wish you nothing but the best my dear. Perhaps you were right after all, our life would have been as hideous as my face…

Forever yours

Erik."

When I was finished, I sealed the letter in a envelope, and mailed it the following day. It was only after I mailed it that I realized what such a horrible mistake I had made. How could I do such a thing? "Our life would be as beautiful as your face." Those words came back to haunt me, and made me think about how writing her was such a horrible thing. She was happy, and my letter would do nothing more than make her sad. Why! Why had I done such a thing! I only thanked god that I hadn't written a return address on the envelope. God knows another rejection would kill me. In my dreams, Christine always comes back to me when she receives my letter, and when I wake, I know that she is never coming. But is it a sin for a lonely, crippled man to dream about the only thing that would make him happy? Oh, and what a beautiful dream it was….

Ok everyone, end of chapter two. Let me know what you think.