Erik's POV

All through the night, I tossed and turned at the thought of Christine being here in Coney Island. My privacy would soon be at an end. No! I wouldn't allow it…I couldn't. I refused! If Christine spotted me, there was no telling what she would be capable of. No, I needed to keep her out of sight. Just the mere thought of her seeing me sent my body into a panic. I had spent the last five years bettering myself and hardening my shell. Paris believed me to be dead, and it needed to stay that way, for if Christine spoke a single word to anyone, I would be hanging in the gallows by midnight. And so, after spending another hot and humid day at my podium, I decided that I would reprise my role as the Phantom and track her down. If I knew where she liked to dwell and where she was staying, I could avoid those places at all cost.

When my shift was over, I walked the streets of Luna Park, searching for any signs of the child or Christine. I stayed hidden and out of everyone's way as I walked past each attraction, my eyes constantly searching for the little boy who went by "Gustave."

"Oh, mama, let me get chocolate tonight! Pretty please, please!"

I knew that voice and spun around to see Christine and the child standing beside Feltman's ice cream stand. I never would have believed Christine to grow up and have a family, but here she was, five years later and raising a child. But where was the father? Where was that bastard Fop who I had set free in my lair? I didn't come across the bastard last night, nor was he here now.

"Calm down, Gustave," Christine giggled. "You can have anything you wish. But right after, it's home and to bed with you."

I waited until Christine purchased the ice cream for the small boy and walked towards the gates of Luna Park. Only then, did I sneak from building to building, hiding behind every wall as I followed them. I had hoped for them to be headed towards one of Luna Park's many hotels, but instead, they were headed in the direction of the flats and homes. I was just thankful that where ever she was staying was away from the streets and blocks I lived near.

"Oh, Gustave, look at you," Christine said, kneeling down to wipe away the chocolate stains that were smeared all over the boy's mouth. "You're a complete mess."

It fascinated me when Christine licked a napkin and ran it across the child's mouth. It actually hurt my heart, for even my own mother would have never dreamed of doing such a thing for me. No, her gift to me was life, and oh, what a gift it was…Hell, would have been better. I was never treated kindly around my mother, for she beat me every chance she got. God was smiling down upon that little boy the day he was given to Christine, for she had grown up to be a wonderful woman and mother. I could sense it…

"But mama, I don't want to go to bed," the boy whined. "I want to stay up."

"And we will, but another night. We're going to the beach in the morning."

Christine and the boy approached a nearby fire escape and began to climb the numerous stairs to reach the top floor of the building. Once there, I stepped beneath it and watched the two of them enter through a door. I waited several moments, before silently slinking up the same set of stairs until I was at the same door they had entered through. This was no hotel…This was a home, a perminate home. But why of all places would Christine chose to live here? This was America's playground… Curious, I peeked in through the window to find the small flat alive with light and laughter. And yet, there was still no signs of the fop. At least I knew where Christine lived and what streets she traveled on…I would stay away from these blocks and streets, for I couldn't risk running into her. The past hurt, especially when I peeked in through her window and saw her smiling.

"Oh, how I hate you, Christine," I cringed as I made my way down the fire escape. Though, just as my feet were planted on the ground, I was grabbed from behind and thrown onto the cement.

"There you are…"

I looked up to spot the same man who had wanted to take a picture of me standing before my body. But he was not alone…No, he was with all three of his guy friends.

"I've been looking all over for you, friend," he growled. "You owe me something…"

From out of nowhere, one of his friends produced a camera.

"I had wanted to take a picture of you on that podium, but since you refused, I'll make this a whole photo album."

"There will be no photos taken of me tonight," I growled. "I'm warning you…"

The man laughed. "Oh, he's warning me, guys…"

His friends laughed, but I wasn't going to take this.

"Pull off your hood, and I'll make this easy for you. Refuse to do so, and I'll make these next few moments hell for you. I get whatever I want, and I want a picture of your ugly mug…"

When I refused once more, the man charged at me and grabbed me by my throat. But I was quicker and tossed the man aside. From behind me, another one of his friends jumped me, pulling the hood from off of my head. I spun around in endless circles, attempting to get the man off of me, but it never seemed to work.

"This one is wild!" one of the men shouted.

When I was finally able to buck the man off of my back, I charged at the one held responsible for the whole ordeal, but I was blinded by the camera's flash.

"Get him!"

While I was trying to regain my sight, I felt hard objects hitting me in the head and back. I was being attacked now…Attacked and beaten. Flash after flash, the camera blinded me while these monsters had their fun. Blood was seeping out of my face from their blunt objects, my body was bruising from each blow….And when they had their final picture, the man I had attempted to choke pulled out a knife and stabbed it into my belly, dragging the blade across my thin perimeter…

"Not so tough now, are you…"

"Hey! What's going on down there?"

Oh no…Christine! I was still blinded, but I gripped my gushing stomach and moved myself on my knees. I needed to get away before she saw me…I pulled the cloak's hood back over my head and dragged my body towards the nearest wall.

"Oh my god…" I heard Christine gasp, but I didn't stop crawling. All I needed to do was get to the nearest wall and from there, I would be able to hoist myself up to my feet. My body was screaming with agony, oh, so much agony. Blood was seeping from every part of me.

"Sir, stay where you are…just stay."

I heard footsteps running towards me now, causing my pace to quicken. No, I would not stay put. I needed to hurry, I needed to get away before it was too late. But the moment I felt hands upon my cloaked shoulders, I knew my world was already over.

"Oh, you poor man, you need help. What did they do to you? Oh, you're bleeding…"

"I'm fine," I crooned. "I…I…Just need to rest."

"You need a doctor…You need help. Oh, let me call you some help."

"No!" I pleaded, stretching my only free hand out towards the wall. "No…"

I was making my way to my feet, when I felt Christine's hand touch my hood.

"Oh my god…" she gasped. "You're the man who helped my son last night."

"No, I'm…I'm not. You…you…have the wrong person."

"It's you…God, who did this to you?"

And before I could answer, she pulled off my hood, revealing my identity. Her face hurt me, for it was as if she had spotted a ghost. She looked just like she did the first night she saw my face all those years ago. But I knew she wasn't terrified at my appearance…No, she was terrified that I was still alive and breathing. It was over now…And frankly, I didn't care, for I knew I was going to die from my wounds. Both of her hands shot to her mouth as she backed away in pure fright. This was my chance to escape, and so, I gathered up my bloody cloak and quickly hobbled away. I tripped and fell on the street nearly ten times before I made it back home. It was late now, so, extremely late…I was glad she and Meg were fast asleep, otherwise, Madame Giry would have made this out to be nothing more than another attempt at suicide. Blood dripped on every stair as I climbed and crawled to my attic bedroom. When I was there, I plopped down into my desk chair and removed my hand away from my stomach and concentrated on breathing. Layer by layer, I struggled to strip out of my cloak, dropping the bloody garment on the floor.

For the first time tonight, I allowed my eyes to move to my wound, and what I saw took my breath away. The gash was large and the blood seeping out of it was substantial. For someone like me, medical options were limited. In Coney Island, medical treatment wasn't given kindly to people like me. To go to the hospital would be not only a waste of my time, but a waste of time I didn't have. Instead, I turned to plan B and went rummaging through my drawers, coming across a bottle of brandy, a sewing needle and a strand of tough string. This was going to have to do. My bloody hands rummaged around my desk, shaking and trembling until they came across a small mirror. Everything lying out across my desk was ruined and blood stained. My body was sweating and cold as I relaxed my head against the chair of my desk and threaded the needle with hands that continued to shake. I cursed beneath my breath as I missed each time, knowing that if I didn't stop my bleeding soon, I was most likely going to die.

I had stitched myself up before on older wounds, but nothing compared to this. After pouring some brandy onto my bleeding wound, I bit my hand to cut off the scream that wanted to emerge from my lips. I couldn't wake Madame Giry, for if I did, she would most likely do unspeakable things to me. She would certainly see this as a suicide attempt, which was why I was on my own with this. I had been alone my entire life, which was why it didn't make a difference now. The liquid sizzled and brought agonizing pain to my body, but I held in every ounce of pain, reaching for a rag to bite down upon. I knew what stitching my flesh felt like, and it wasn't anything comfortable. It would be grueling, but it had to be done.

I stitched my wound as if stitching a piece of torn clothing, weaving the needle in and out of my flesh. Sweat poured down my cold flesh, running along my stitches and side, settling on my sore wound.

"Dear God…" I muttered, pulling the string tight at the end of my gash. When the bleeding finally came to an end, I tore an old shirt up and used the white strips of fabric to wrap around my waist. My room was a mess and I was covered in filth, but I didn't care…I was exhausted. It took every ounce of energy within me to crawl into bed, and when I did, I closed my eyes as my wound burned and pain shot up my spine.

"Oh…" I pressed my head into my pillow as I rested my hand over my makeshift bandage. I laid there wide awake until the sun came up, and by that time, I was so weak, that I was sure my life was slipping away from me.

"Erik," a knock occurred at my door, that knock being from Madame Giry. "Erik, what is going on in there? There is blood all over the flat…And look at this door!"

All hope in keeping my wounds private had slipped away, for Madame Giry came barging in, and when she did, she dropped her cup of tea.

"Dear God…" she muttered. "What have you done?"

"I…I…have done no…nothing."

Madame Giry rushed over to my bedside and pulled away the blankets, revealing my blood soaked bandages.

"What have you done to yourself…I can't believe you, Erik. Another suicide attempt…"

I pressed my eyes closed and opened my mouth.

"G…Go away…"

"Erik, you're pale…" She stopped right then and there when she noticed the bruises on my face. I guess she realized that I had been beaten. And as I laid there with my eyes closed, I felt her hand press itself against my forehead. "And you're burning up."

Indeed, I was…I was cold, and yet, I was feverish. Madame Giry placed another blanket over me and began to rummage around my room. I didn't like it when other people touched my things, but everything was covered in blood.

"You need a doctor…"

"No…N…no…" I pleaded. "You…you can't…"

"Perhaps doctors hate freaks, Erik, but you're in need of help. I can't believe you stitched yourself up like you did. My God, Erik…Look at you, you're on death's door."

"No doctors…" I gasped. "Rest…rest is all...I…I need."

"You need more than that, Erik," she assured, pressing a cool compress against my head. Oh, it made me shiver, but I didn't complain.

"I'm going to go downstairs and make you some tea. And while I'm doing that, I'm sending Meg to the drugstore. You need ointment for your wound."

"Brandy…"

Madame Giry picked up my bottle of alcohol and rolled her eyes.

"Erik, brandy is not going to take away an infection. You're lucky you didn't die over night with a stunt like that. I'm having Meg purchase some ointment and I'm bringing up some real bandages. Your wound is going to turn septic if you continue using brandy."

And with that, Madame Giry left me alone…There had been many times that I have attempted suicide and failed, but now, I wanted nothing more than to die.

"Please, God," I begged. "Let me go…"

But God was not a fair man, for instead of dying, I laid there suffering in the worst agony I had ever felt. Oh, they would pay….they would all pay.

Who wants to see Erik take his revenge? Anyway, for some odd reason, I can't stay away from updating this story. I believe it is my favorite one i had ever written. Not only becuase of the plot, but I'm doing something I neve done before...I'm making my Erik like the book Erik. Hateful and dangerous...Please review! I'll try not to keep the next chapter waiting too long.