The incessant noise of the street surrounded him, yet Erik was happily enveloped with its darkness. The fetid stench of the drains encircled him and although he walked among other darkened figures in varied states of sobriety and dress, he was undoubtedly alone. It was a cold night, the heat from smokestacks and horses breath and waters in the street gutters emanated brief mists into the heavy night. He strolled among the passersby at a time in the evening when all were rushing to home, to the pub, all to somewhere. Each with their own purpose, so intent they were that they did not see him. Self-absorbed, they strolled on their own missions. An easy place to hide in plain sight, he mused, as he began his own undertaking.

Ah, Paris.

So much had changed, yet so much was still the same as he had left it not so long ago. His pale green eyes, steely and all capturing, surveyed his proximity from beneath a newly acquired fedora as he leaned against a stone wall draped with moisture. The damp cold was held at bay by his long cape and high collar, a thick wool scarf to warm the chest, leather gloves to cover the hands. The pub across the street was effusing gentlemen and their concubines onto the street to add to the crowd. His long hair hung thick against his face, something to hide what the people surrounding him would consider grotesque and unacceptable in this part of town. Or anywhere for that matter. Once hidden he was secreted, a burning spirit, a dangerous force cloaked stood among the innocent.

He was invisible.

As the months went by, there was more time away from Capellan in this cauldron of a city, filled with both beauty and misery, people and loneliness, affluence and poverty. He realized it was a place that reached into him and pulled at the darker elements of his being. Feelings of pain, anger, and wretchedness once could overwhelm him, yet now he had the power to control it. He now saw his past tendencies as tools he could use, intricate powerful and nefarious skills to be called upon when needed. Those tendencies needed to be controlled, yet freed on occasion.

Whatever the cause for passion, dark or light he accepted as part of his refrain. He presumed the fact that he felt satisfaction sometimes while doing these deeds was just a result of his life; as infrequent as now they occurred. Not all could accept this complication. It could be because of his shadowy history with this town, or just the town itself, but in the overcast skies of late autumn and the oncoming winter there was foreboding. At times he reveled in it, it fed his black vitality, a malevolent compulsion and part of his being.

His underground quarters, kept safe from onlookers and those creeping in the bowels of the opera house by hidden entrances, had survived the fire and remained hidden through the reconstruction. He was warm and cozy there, where he still enjoyed his treasures yet, since his wanderings had led him to such lightness, on occasion he missed the sun and the trees and the open fields.

Ah, but he had a job to do, and this environment, this darkness was just the setting he needed.

He had brought Nadir back to the Opera house lair one day, for some tea and deep drafts of the hookah. Once the blindfold was removed Nadir scowled, hands on his wide waist.

"So…they did not destroy this decrepit place. I do not know why you like to live in the earth like the vermin," he complained "Man needs light and air to survive! We were not made to be among the moles in rock." He sank himself unceremoniously into the seat nearby the hookah, and started to tug furiously on the lit, fragrant tobacco. "At least I have this to settle my soul." he quarreled, looking around.

"So glad to see your tastes have not changed, Nadir." Erik said, sitting across from him in a leisurely position. Nadir hated to be below ground, that he knew. But this is where Erik felt safest.

"Why have you brought me here, old friend." Nadir said, the spice working into his mind.

"It is, temporarily, home once again." Erik mused. With sharp eyes Nadir looked over at Erik.

"And you leave me to wonder why. You are more yourself than last I saw you. Certain mannerisms have returned. You still look in good health yet darkness has fallen. It becomes you however." Nadir said, a curious expression on his face. One eyebrow rose on Erik as if asking a question.

"Always astute. That could get you killed one day." Said Erik, who then flashed his green eyes sharply.

In a combination of swiftness and grace, both men brandished their weapons. Erik, with his blade adorned with a skull scabbard, Nadir with his curved short blade from his country of origin.

They parried around, knocking over chairs with avarice and familiarity. Erik was commanding and elegant; Nadir brutish yet effective. They went on for some time, several blows landing and skin slicing. In the end, it was Nadir who called the show.

"Mercy, old man. I am not practiced; this city had softened me." Nadir dropped his sword and held up his arms fists balled. "But we can fight without metal." He said, large smile on his dark face. Erik shook his head with a smirk.

"Do I look like a fool?" Erik remarked, putting away his weapon. Nadir was never much of a challenge to his sword, but he was a force to be reckoned with in fisticuffs. They bowed to each other and again retired to the couches, sharing some drink well deserved.

"Is it all back?" Nadir ventured to ask, as he composed himself again.

"My memories, yes they all did return. With as much fire and destruction as was expected." Erik said, after emptying a crystal glass of its potent contents.

"And the Angel? Did she flee?" Nadir asked.

"Not in the end." Erik said, licking a drop of blood from his lip. "At least, not yet." Nadir's brows knitted.

Erik's heart softened a little as he strolled. He remembered his trips to see Elaine at her apartment. He saw how hard she worked, and what satisfaction she gained at helping others. Regardless of what she said, he still felt she was an angel in his life.

His angel was in a horrible state one night; she had seen one of her attackers, alive and well, fattened like a pig and working at another clinic in an upscale part of town. It shook her to the core, yet she drew enough of her strength to walk past with impunity. She would not let him see her and managed to hold herself together long enough to be out of his sight. He did not recognize her, she thinks.

As Erik held her close that night, she slept fitfully and awoke a few times. He felt badly that he could not wipe the thoughts from her mind. He did what he could that night; distracted her and comforted her, declared his love and protection. She eventually calmed down. Anger and darkness filled his soul again.

There was something more that he could do.

Nadir looked at Erik. "Very good. But I hope the angel does not ruin ALL of you."

"What do you mean, ruin?" Erik asked, bristling.

"A man like you has…skills. Rare skills. Skills people are willing to pay for." Nadir said, placing a wide arm on the armchair. Erik moved around his jaw.

"Hmm, true. Skills that could be made available. For the right reason…" Erik said, tilting his head back. "Settling scores for those with jeweled brows no longer interests me, Daroga. Nor does being someone's weapon." He said, subtly reminding Nadir of his place. Nadir nodded.

"Understood. I would not bother you with such details if the wheels of justice turn and deliver as they should. But sometimes, alas, they do not, and there are those that remain, for whatever ridiculous reason, just outside of our reach." He continued. Erik leaned forward.

"Continue." Erik said, in a low voice, the spark of murderous interest in his eye. Nadir leaned forward. Nadir knew just how to bring out the best and the worst in Erik.

"There is this Count…"

Thus it began again...

The cloaked man smiled to himself and strolled casually, head down, walking stick in hand nearer his destination. Erik had evaluated this relatively tall building. The edifice was ornate, and overgrown with ivy. Climbing those walls was child's play to him. He had spied on his intended subject; saw the schedule he kept and the routes he took while leading his life; to and from his house to the clinic, to the pub, to a questionable abode some nights. He worked some and played often. He was loud and rich and rude. That alone was justification. But he had more justification than that. Revenge.

Erik looked out to the street. Just down the road was the Opera House. He had traveled this path, some time ago. On a horse, escaping the burning building and the ruin of his life and others, he rode away from all he knew to a fate he could not even imagine.

He glanced sidelong at a disheveled young chap venturing to close for comfort, and practically snarled. The young boy took heed and scurried along. His lips pursed, he continued walking, a brisker pace. He did not want or need to confront anyone just yet. Soon, but not yet. But wait…

He remembered what it was like being that street rat, stealing for survival in the place he called home, until he was given, sold, he knew not which, to the circus who abused him. In the depths of his darkness somewhere compassion now grew. That which never had a chance to exist now did exist right alongside murderous rage. He whom he would have cast aside, almost to spite himself, give no quarter to, he now felt a little sorry for. Foolish boy.

He walked over to the child and lifted him by the scruff; he manhandled the little imp into an alley, grappled the boy to the ground and held his face. The child struggled and cursed and then stared at him with wild eyes, frightened for his life.

"Listen to me, sewer rat. Why do you try to steal?"

"I did nothing…let me go!" he tried to bite Erik's hand. Erik pulled it back and struck the child in his face.

"You stay here and you will have nothing, ever. You are smart enough to figure how to steal, but not well enough to keep you alive. Figure out how to work then you may have a chance. Otherwise you will die on these stones." The boy stared at him with wide eyes. Erik released him slowly after he yanked him vertically until he was upright. The boy shrunk back, against the wall. Erik threw him a small purse of change that scattered about. The boy scurried about, collecting it, looking at Erik all the while, with a puzzled expression.

"What do you want?" he said at last.

"I want you to go away from the shadows. Find real work. Stay off these streets. Or I will kill you the next time I see you." Erik said. The boy shuddered visibly, looked at the money and pushed it into his pocket.

"Ok. I will try". He muttered softly.

"Try your best. Or else…" lifting his walking stick as if to strike. The boy squeezed past and ran off, tripping over pails and refuse.

There. Good deed done.

Erik now turned away, a little smirk on his face, and mused upon his complicated being. He had learned how to manage himself, the wicked and the strong. The good man and the scoundrel within. Part of it was just excepting this dichotomy. In Capellan, he was an upstanding manor worker, a composer extraordinaire, known and respected by all. In Paris he was a businessman in dark pursuits; someone who loved trickery and mal intent, and had all the freedom to indulge in those endeavors in the dark dreary streets of Paris where people disappeared in many sectors of society and bodies were easy to hide. And he had his befactors; he was essentially on retainer for both Nadir and Angelique. He was on retainer also for Dr. Dyson, for that matter but that was for gratis, a more lighthearted, respectable pursuit, most days; being his daughter's protector.

But tonight was not lighthearted. Or respectable. But definitely necessary. Angelique had been kind enough to provide him with the address of his present target, to settle a very personal vendetta for his sweet...

It seemed eons ago, when he lay in the little room at Capellan, healing from the gypsy wound, wasting time feeling sorry for himself. Barely a week after Nate's funeral, Dr. Dyson paid him a peculiar visit, early one morning. He remembered it well; the window was open, the gentle breeze blowing the gauze-like curtains…

"Erik, may I enter?" he heard. Erik pulled himself up to sitting.

"Of course…" he replied. Dr. Dyson entered, looking a bit frazzled. As to be expected, Erik thought. "How are you keeping?" he asked, in a concerned tone. Dr. Dyson looked at him with a small smile, tired eyes.

"It is I who should be asking that of you, Erik."

"I will be well. Thanks to you. Yet again." Erik said, matter of factly. Dr. Dyson smiled. He looked to the window.

"Erik, I want to discuss something with you. But it will not be easy for me…" he started. Erik raised his brow and shifted around in his bed. Erik nodded, but Dr. Dyson remained quiet.

"Alright." Erik said. "It is best to just…begin." He urged, not necessarily wanting to start the conversation, but he felt that Dr. Dyson needed to.

"It is about Elaine." Dr. Dyson blurted out, with a clearing of the throat. "And yourself." Erik's lips pursed and he looked, unblinking into the patriarch's eyes.

"Yes?" He said.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, there is an 'us'. Even though I have tried to deter her." Erik continued, trying to drag it out of Dr. Dyson.

"I have known that for some time, yet…" he said, rubbing his chin.

"What about me having a relationship with your daughter bothers you? Other than everything about that fact?" Erik asked, knowingly. He might as well hear her father's fears now. Dr. Dyson scowled and stood up, to release the tension.

"Yes…well...No…that is not really it."

"Oh? The fact that your daughter prefers to be with the likes of me does not bother you?"

"I know what you are capable of, Erik. Both good and bad. Do not remind me." He said, rubbing his brow.

"Then what is it?" Erik asked, crossing his arms.

"Do you intend to marry my daughter and live till your dying day to love, defend, and make her happy in every way possible?" he blurted out, rapidly. Erik, without skipping a beat, answered.

"Yes. If she will let me, I promise all those things, and more. Even though I know I don't deserve her." Erik was a little surprised at how fast that came from his lips; he shouldn't have been. It came directly from his heart. Dr. Dyson stared at him. "I do mean it." Erik insisted.

"I know, I know." He said, wearily. He sat back down heavily.

"Then why did you ask?" Erik questioned.

"I wanted to hear it from you." He sighed. "I am growing old and weary, Erik. I know I cannot protect her from the world. It is difficult for a parent to accept that. This I have learned in many painful ways." He rubbed his eyes. "We have a situation brewing…"

"What is the 'situation'?" Erik asked, growing more concerned. Dr. Dyson lifted his eyes up to him.

"Elaine has done well on her entry tests to the medical college in Paris. She passed everything, flying colors." He started…

"She must be thrilled." Erik said, a small smile on his face. "She did not tell me…"

"She is not thrilled." He answered, crossing his arms. "And I doubt she would tell you."

"Why not?" Erik said, incredulous…

"It means she must go to Paris shortly, in order to finish her clinical praticum over the next few years, to become a certified physician. That has been her dream, her goal for so long…" He said, hand on his chin. "This she does not want to do now. Because she does not want to leave you, I think." Erik pursed his lips.

"That is absurd. Of course I would want her to go…I insist." Erik said.

"I know. But she won't go, and she won't tell me why. She, I, and several others have worked so hard for this opportunity." He lamented, and then he rested his elbows on his knees. "And to tell you the truth, I am sick with worry about what would happen if she does go."

"Because of what happened before?" Erik asked. Dr. Dyson nodded. Erik sighed.

"Yes. Therefore, in my heart, I cannot be more insistent and forceful." Dr. Dyson sighed "There. Now do you see my dilemma?" he said.

"Yes, I see." Erik said, his brows furrowing. He was upset that Elaine had not told him something so important, and even worse, that she was refusing because of him. "Hmm." Erik's mind began working. Dr. Dyson's eyes met his.

"What?" the doctor asked, almost fearful.

"I think I have a solution, but you may not like it." Erik warned…

Later that day, Erik confronted Elaine and told her he would leave Capellan if she did not go to Paris. They compromised. Erik agreed, much to Dr. Dyson's relief, that he would follow her there when he was well enough to, live in Paris temporarily, until she was done. Not in the same abode, of course. She would stay in a convent, with other women going to university, and he would stay…elsewhere. But he would visit often and watch over her.

It was a good plan; except that Dr. Dyson desperately needed help with taking care of the manor; everyone else was content in their positions, and no one save Nate and Erik knew how to run the business aspects of the manor. Erik solved that problem as well. He had just the people in mind to train for the job…Sedrick and Annabelle.

It did take him some time to convince Sedrick and family that they were not dreaming. Erik left for Paris several months after Elaine, fully healed, the business aspects of running Capellen left in capable and trained hands, to live in the caverns beneath the opera house once again.

And that led to certain old pursuits.

Erik made sure none had seen him slip through the break in the bushes. He hid in the shadows below the skeleton of a dead tree, gazing up to the window, waiting for the light to come on. Erik knew man would be loud, and done quickly; and then the woman would leave, as he had seen happen many a night before. He looked around and smiled. This night, his intended victim he followed with his lady of the night, and, as expected, he took her here, to his office after stopping at the shop to pick up a bottle of something strong and cheap. He would take pity on the working woman and wait to proceed with his machinations until after she vacated the premises.

Erik walked around the building, silently, like a specter. The fat, loud man proclaimed himself a great physician, or so he said to the harlot in his arms as the entered sloppily through the front doors. Great physicians do not lead gang rape on a young woman and then taunt her about that fact until she leaves town.

Good people do not ruin the lives of others. But, Erik was not burdened with such labels.

Drink up and hoar up this night, scoundrel, Erik thought darkly, hand winding his favorite catgut garrote.

It will be your last.