Disclaimer: I do not own Erik, or Meg, or Madame Giry, or any other characters from the ingenious mind of Gaston Leroux! Anne just currently resides in my head until she's done telling her story. She's getting alone quite well with all of the other voices that reside up there. :) Part of Erik's story comes from Kay's novel "Phantom" which I will confess I have yet to read. Facts are taken from online, so...hopefully they match the novel. Rest of Erik's story comes from the movie...well...until we dig a little deeper. ~evil laugh~

AN: Getting a little closer!

Chapter 32

This had to be more than just insanity. There was no way that he could actually sit Anne down and that she would listen to his story. He hadn't ever really told anyone anything about his past, but then, who would believe it? No one and he was sure that Anne wouldn't either. But she had put faith in him by telling him some of the things he wanted and felt like he needed to know. He had to put forth the faith to trust in her and hope that she wouldn't turn away. But, just like the darkest part of her life that remained hidden from him, the darkest part of himself would forever remain out of her reach.

He touched the white porcelain of his mask as he brought her to his home and showed her inside. She was already making herself comfortable in his home because he had found that she slowly tidied up as she went through the house. His music room was the first to receive her magical touch and he found that he was able to find what he needed a lot easier now. Quills, ink, and blank paper were all more readily accessible.

"Please, take a seat, Anne."

"Erik, this isn't necessary. You don't have…"

"I know," he interrupted. "But I want to. Maybe, it'll make you understand me a bit more."

"I understand you as you are, and that's enough for me. I once thought that I needed to know your past before I understood you but I find now that I don't. What you once were has made you into what are today, but I found after telling my story that going over and over our past doesn't change anything about us."

"You're too kind to me, Anne. Either way, I've held the truth from you for long enough. Please, let me do this."

Anne nodded and he watched her sit on the divan. He paced back and forth, entirely unsure of how to begin.

"Erik…come sit down. Please, you're making me nervous."

He sat next to her and put his head in his hands. "I'm sorry…it's just that I've never done this before."

"No one's ever given you a reason to."

He felt her cool hands grab his own and set them in her laps. He slowly looked at her and found that there was no expression on her face. All he saw was an openness that waited patiently on him. There would be no pressure, no curiosity from her. He smiled. It was no wonder he felt for her the way he did.

"Since you seem to have a hard time trying to find a starting point, so…let's begin with where you were born."

"Boscherville," was his immediate reply. He would never forget place. "It's a small town not far from Rouen."

"And what were your parents like? Your father, your mother."

He smiled wryly. "I was told my father died in a construction accident just a few months before I was born. He was a stonemason. My mother, was a spoiled and vain woman who held the greatest disdain for me from what seemed like the moment I entered the world. In the beginning of my child, I spent it all indoors. I never knew why I had to wear a cloth mask over my face, or why I suffered so much verbal and physical abuse from my Mother until I turned five. I came to the dinner table and refused to wear my mask. I remember how she dragged me to the only mirror in the house, which was located in her room. She forced me to look into the mirror and that was when I saw it. I saw my mother and standing next to her was this grotesque hideous monster. I was so instantly afraid of what I saw that I shattered the mirror, lacerating my hands and wrists in the process."

He stopped as Anne immediately pulled up the cuffs of his sleeves. He heard her soft gasp when he saw the scars. His hands, fortunately, did not receive much damage, but his wrists were another story entirely.

"A family friend took care of me and practically saved my life. Since then, I've had a little bit of an obsession with mirrors and devoted a lot of my time to become a master with illusion since it always appeared to me that mirrors held some sort of magical quality. I can make anything disappear if I really want to. The only thing I cannot make disappear is my face. Since I had so much time on my hands I spent most of my time developing my interest in architecture, however my strongest abilities lied in the subject of music and I was a proficient composer and performer. Mother forbid me to do anything to draw attention to myself as she thought that my gifts were surely not gifts from God.

"When I was nine, my mother received attentions from the town physician. Not long after she began seeing him, a mob of superstitious villagers left our family dog dead and me…seriously injured. The doctor kindly saved my life but he begged my mother to marry him and to send me to an institution. I never have known what she said because I ran away hoping to free her from whatever obligations he had on me and to let her live whatever happy life she could.

"I came upon a gypsy camp in the woods a week or so later. I was discovered and immediately unmasked. My fate was then given over to a man known as Javert who was the showman for a freak show. I spent the next several weeks locked in a cage known only as the 'Living Corpse,' or 'The Devi's Child.' I lived in that cage, being nothing more than an exhibit and spectacle and I was beaten on a regular basis. When I was alone, I kept working on my abilities as an illusionist and a ventriloquist. For the next three years, I traveled around Europe with the Gypsies, mastering their languages and their herbal remedies. I was a very quick learner, and they were too stupid to pay attention.

"Something changed when we came to Paris. Everything went as usual, but then a bunch of ballerinas came in. There was one that stood out and that was your Aunt. I'd seen many things at the people who always came to the cage's bars. Pity was never one of them. In that glance, I knew that there was a life outside my prison, and I felt a sudden violent anger towards my captor. I had hid rope in the straw that laid on the bottom of my cage and killed Javert. Your Aunt, unfortunately saw me, but instead of turning me into the authorities, that were immediately on our heels, she brought me to the Opera House, where I've been ever since. I've known nothing except this place and I find it's as close to living in the world as I dare to do.

"As far as the Vicomtesse is concerned…you already know most of that story. She was a young girl when she arrived here. I overheard her in her prayers one night saying something about an Angel of Music. She had a beautiful voice, even at such a young age, and so I trained her. Taught her how to sing with more than just her voice but with her entire being. Since I am quite an adequate ventriloquist, she never actually saw me. I only saw her, and watched her, and I guess some how along the way I fell in love with her. A dark obsessive love and so, after her debut performance, I brought her, here to my lair, hoping to keep her here with me forever. When she regained consciousness, however, she tore my mask away, thinking me some great handsome man to lie underneath.

"I returned her to the Populaire, but she was never truly mine. She lived in constant fear of me while I made sure she could sing on the stage and have all of Paris at her feet. One winter's night, on top of the Populaire, she and her Vicomte exchanged vows of love which I, inevitably, heard. I had never been filled with a more deadly emotion known as jealousy and I swore to make them pay. I labored for almost three months, finishing an operatic work called Don Juan Triumphant. The night of the masque, I appeared giving them the score, demanding they follow my instructions.

"Christine was forced to play the lead and I think for a short period of time she went mad. She fled the Opera House and went to visit her father's grave, where I was determined to make her mine and mine alone. Again, I failed, but because her beloved Vicomte showed up. I left them alone, for the most part, and on the night of the debut performance, I took Piangi's part as Don Juan, and kidnapped Christine again, but not before she ripped away my mask a second time. Only this time, it happened in front of an auditorium full of people. In order to give me a heads start in bringing her back here, I had rigged the chandelier to fall, and fall it did. It set the Populaire on fire, and I dragged her down here. Your Aunt however, led the way for the Vicomte to come and find us. While Meg, seemed to lead the way down here for a vicious mob that was determined to have my head. I nearly killed the Vicomte, making Christine chose between the both of us. She begged for his life, and whatever sort of moment you want to call it, she kissed me.

"Back then, I thought it was because she did love me, in some sort of way. Now, I think it was just a ploy to make me try to let them both live, because that's what I ended up doing. I let both of them leave, but she came back, only for a moment, to return a ring that I had given her. I told her that I loved her, but she turned and left a second time. I could hear the mob coming, and I fled as quickly as I could to a flat that I had prepared for when Christine would be mine. There, I stayed, and I only left once. And that was when she and that Vicomte got married. I stole away to watch the ceremony, and cried more bitter tears.

"My Opera House was ruined and for three years I moved between my flat and my underground prison. The Populaire was soon rebuilt and then two years later, it reopened. There rest, as they say, is history. You know everything else."

There, it was finished. He had born his soul as well as any many could do in any sort of confessional, though he knew that Anne was gifted with some touches of the Angel, she was not any priest. Yet, she held as much power of forgiveness and kindness than any man of cloth. He did not dare look at her, fearing what he might see. Anger? Disgust? He had enough experience with those, but he was sure he wouldn't be able to take it, coming from her. It was only when he heard a short gasp from her that he looked at her. Her shoulders were shaking and her head was bent with her one hand on her face. The other hand still grasped his hand, since she had not let go during his entire narrative.

"Anne?" He put his fingers underneath her chin and raised her face to his. "You're…you're crying?"

"I…I'm sorry. I can't help it." She pulled out a handkerchief from her sleeve and started wiping at her face.

"Tears…for me? You're crying for me?" Would she ever cease to amaze him? No one had ever cried for him…many had cried because of him. Even Christine never cried for him…only for her Vicomte.

She wrapped her arms around him and held on for what seemed like dear life. "You've known such a sorrow that I will never be able to understand, and you've had to endure it all alone. But I promise you…you will not have to endure anything like, all by yourself, ever again. I promise that no matter what happens…I'll protect you…just as you've promised to protect me."

"But…why?"

She smiled and his heart raced…a heart he long since thought head. "Do you really need a reason?"

"No…I guess I don't."

AN: Alright! A ball chapter, and then we should be getting to the root of Anne's problems. ~looks into the other room~ "You hear that Anne?! You've got a day maybe two at best before you're coming clean!" ~looks back~ Yeah...Anne's going to be really reluctant to do this...