Disclaimer: Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

Chapter 13 - Reasonable doubts

Arriving to the Opera one winter morning, Daroga changed into his guard uniform and checked the clock. It was barely a quarter past seven a.m. Having almost an hour to spare before his shift started, he headed for the roof to have a smoke. He did that often, preferring the vast expanse of the rooftop to the grim parking lot by the back entrance. Inhaling the tobacco, he liked to watch the city below wake up, the squares of lit up windows shining like jewels on a blueish canvas of another ending night.

Getting out into the open, the guard lit up a cigarette and taking a mouthful of smoke, he leaned against the wall. A moment later his little ritual was interrupted by a shuffling noise coming from somewhere above. He looked up just in time to see a dark figure slide down the edge of the highest portion of the roof.

"Erik!"

"Daroga!"

The ghost was as surprised to see the guard there, as he was to see him.

"What are doing here?" he asked.

In reply, Daroga pointed at the cigarette. "Want one too?"

With a small nod, Erik accepted the Marlboros. Taking one, he lit it up and inhaled deeply. He wasn't too fond of cigarettes but considering his current state of mind he'd take whatever he was offered.

"I'd expect you to be lurking somewhere in the cellars but certainly not up here," Daroga commented, watching him intently.

"It's my Opera. I go wherever I please."

"To the roof of all places?" He gave Erik a baffled look. "It certainly can't bring any good memories."

The ghost just shrugged his shoulders.

"Come on," Daroga insisted. "Spill the beans."

He could tell something was off. Ever since he and Carlotta came back from Italy, Erik had been acting strangely. He'd gotten used to him being quite sociable but now the ghost seemed to be regressing to his past reclusive self. Was he depressed? If so, then why?

"I'm in love Daroga," Erik announced out of the blue.

The guard choked on the smoke. When he finally quit coughing, he jeered, "Good God, Erik, should we have the chandelier hangers reinforced?"

The joke actually made the ghost smile. "No worries Daroga," he chuckled. "Dropping it on some random Parisian wouldn't help my cause."

"So, you're in love again," Daroga went back to the subject matter. "This time I'm guessing with Mademoiselle Giudicelli?"

Erik nodded. It had taken three months, a journey abroad, and the involvement of a third party for him to finally understand that he was madly and inexplicably in love with her.

Daroga gave him a friendly pat on the back. "Let me tell you this: you two will make one helluva power couple!"

"We won't make anything Daroga. She loves someone else."

"Who?!"

"An Italian fop. Young. Handsome. Possibly even rich," Erik summed Antonio up.

"Okay, there's another guy. So what?" Daroga didn't seem to see the problem. "It didn't stop you before, why should it now?"

Erik dropped his eyes to the floor and muttered, "I guess I learned my lesson."

When he saw Carlotta with Antonio that night, his memory instantly flashed back to the moment he had snuck in on Christine and Raoul. A young couple in love. A kiss underneath a statue. A whispered promise. It was all the same. Suddenly he was certain of two things: that he wanted her and that he'd never have her.

"I could easily kidnap her, lock her in my house, threaten her into submission but what would I gain with that? Only hate! You can force someone to physically stay with you but you can't make them love you."

"Erik, you don't have to make Carlotta love you. Do you wanna know why? Because she loves you already!"

Erik thought about it for a moment. Carlotta did indeed demonstrate some sort of attachment to him, perhaps even a kind of sick attraction but so did Christine until the moment she tore his mask off.

"She never saw my face Daroga," he pointed out. "If she ever did…"

That was a possibility he couldn't ignore. As long as Carlotta didn't know his true form, he might have a chance at her but if she ever found out, it would've been the end of it. Beauty, he knew for sure, was one category in which he couldn't compete.

"Come on man!" Daroga rolled his eyes. "How ugly can you possibly be?"

"I look like a corpse."

"No, you don't. Not anymore," the guard argued, scanning Erik from head to toe.

In the past few months, the ghost had clearly gained a little bit of weight. He was still slim but in a more aesthetically pleasing kind of way.

"My face Daroga, it looks like a death's head."

"You mean like a skull?"

"Yes, sort of like a skull."

"You know, I can see all of your chin and mouth popping from under your mask and it doesn't look like the chin and mouth of a skull. I know you likely have a fucked up nose but I don't see how that could make yo- Holy Fuck!

"Exactly Daroga."

Erik had once sworn he'd never take his mask off in front of another human being, but he had enough of Daroga's incredulous blabber and there appeared to be no way of convincing him other than showing him.

"Yours is probably the most peculiar face I've seen in my life," Daroga said, staring at Erik not with fear or disgust but rather a kind of morbid fascination.

The ghost's face was unlike any other: slim and angled, with high cheekbones and a nonexistent nose settled between a pair of deep-set eyes surrounded by dark shadows and blazing bright yellow in the eerie light of breaking dawn.

When he imagined that face sickly discolored and dessicated with age he finally understood Christine's horror. In the darkness of the undergrounds, the twisted shapes matched up with the glowing effect might have created a macabre illusion of two tiny fires burning in the empty sockets of a death skull. Even now, if he squinted his eyes blurring his vision, he could see it, but as soon as he adjusted his focus, the image dissolved and he only saw a strange but definitely human face. A face that looked like it was meant to be handsome but something went awfully wrong in the process and it ended up distorted yet still retaining a slight trace of its intended beauty.

"Honestly Erik, I don't think it's that bad. There are people out there that look far worse than you."

The ghost was skeptical. "I bet you ten euros you couldn't name one," he dared.

"I could name dozens!" Daroga laughed. "If you pay me ten per head by the end of the day I'm gonna be rich."

"I'm listening."

Throwing the cigarette bud away, the guard took his phone out and checked the connection.

"There's free wifi up here!" he exclaimed surprised.

He opened the google app and typed in 'plastic surgery gone wrong'. Switching to images, he clicked on the first photo.

"Look at this lady here. She's ugly as hell. Now, how about this one? She tried a DIY lifting or something. Now this one used to be quite pretty but she went overboard with the botox. So did this guy. This two look like ducks. This one looks like a horse. This one… I can't even find the words to describe this one."

He scrolled ahead, showing Erik countless pictures of women and even some men that in their attempt to keep young or just improve their looks ended up transforming into monsters. Bloated faces, misshapen lips and noses, skin falling off the bones. The web was full of it.

"Okay, I admit, " Erik said, "these people look really messed up but it's nothing like what I-."

Daroga lifted a hand asking Erik to hold it, then he typed in 'extreme body modification'. The search engine spat out a series of photos of people, mostly men, with extreme tattoos and piercings, horn-like bumps on their foreheads, split tongues and other unusual and rather grotesque features.

"Look at this guy," Daroga pointed out to a photo. "He had his nose tip cut off so his face would look like a skull."

"It didn't really work out. He just looks like an idiot."

"This one had his face tattooed so it would look like a skull. He now is a model. Who knows, perhaps you could make a career in that department? Fashion industry loves the bizarre."

"There is one substantial difference between those people and me: they did this to themselves. It's their own fault if now they look like freak shows. I was born like this."

Daroga wasn't discouraged one bit by Erik's counter. He ran another search, this time for 'people born disfigured'. Some of the images Google came up with were so shocking that it was hard to look and not wince.

"Look at these poor people Erik and tell me again how you are the ugliest person in the world," he hissed angrily. "Pity poor disfigured Erik? Hell no! It's you who should pity these people because you still have a pair of arms and legs and a face that is mostly integral. The nose such a big deal? You know what? It's nothing a good surgeon couldn't fix!"

In reply to Daroga's rant, Erik just slid his mask back on his face. Its waxed surface shone white in the first rays of the rising sun.

Cursing under his nose, the guard checked his watch. He got so absorbed in the conversation with the Opera Ghost that he didn't realize he's officially been on shift for almost an hour.

"Gotta go now," he huffed, heading for the door. "Think about what I said. That poor girl is head over heels for you and if you let her go because of your insecurities then you're a moron!"

After the guard left, Erik muttered under his breath, "Daroga is right. Erik must have been blind not to have noticed Carlotta has feelings for him. The way she kisses him and touches him leaves no doubt about that."

"Erik should stop it right there," a voice inside his head spoke up. "That girl has some serious issues but Erik has no right to use that to his advantage like he did with Christine back in the day."

"Erik knows that if he truly loves her then he must let her go. On the other hand, what if she doesn't want to go?"

"Erik cannot expect her to want to stay with a monster like him."

"Erik must tell her and let her decide."

"He will only make a fool of himself."

"That is a risk he is willing to take."

"She will laugh in his face."

"Enough!" Erik shushed the voice.

He'd already made his decision. He would tell Carlotta everything and right away.

With a strong resolve in his mind, he ran downstairs. After a while he found Carlotta backstage, talking with some friends, and taking her hand he dragged her away from the rest of the party.

"Hey, what's going on?" she asked, following him down the hall.

"I just need to tell you something."

"Me too!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Do you know the masquerade ball? I just found out hey still hold it every year on the last Saturday of Carnival!"

"That's next weekend if I'm not mistaken."

"I know! I'm so excited! I always wanted to go to a masquerade! I already ordered a dress and a super cute mask to go with it. You have your mask so you can just wear that but we totally have to go and get you a tux. Would you prefer a total black look or white top and black bottoms? I'm not sure which one I like best, but thinking about it, I'd go for the black."

"Carlotta!" someone shouted from the stage. "Rehearsal starts in five minutes!"

"Coming!" she called back. Then she addressed Erik again, "What did you want to tell me?"

"Nothing important," he dismissed her. "Go now. They're waiting for you. We'll talk another time."

"Okay! See you later!" she cheered and ran back on stage.

So they still held the masquerades, Erik thought, and the next one was less than two weeks away. Now that was one hell of a favorable coincidence.

Next chapter: We meet a few more extras and get another cameo from Jerome. Meanwhile, the Masquerade approaches. Stay tuned!

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