This fic came about when I was struggling to come up with a decent plot for a Phantom fic I was thinking of doing. I had read several from fanfiction.net and quite frankly, the standard terrified me. I'd gone through several ideas that were either too unrealistic, or needed more work and were to be left alone until I could develop them properly during the summer, when my exams were over. And then, this came. I was listening to the musical soundtrack (yet again) and when it came to the ending, I found myself wondering what the Phantom would do after that. Would he stay in the Opera House or would he leave? Would he ever be able to trust anyone again? And somehow, this thing ended up in my head. I didn't want to do this at first --- I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it, and thought I'd probably get flamed at or something for the plot I'd chosen. I knew this was not going to be Erik falling in love again --- in my opinion the last thing he'd want to do would be to fall in love again, but I had to work out exactly what I was going to do. And then I realised Erik was probably going to have some major trust problems after everything that had happened to him. And then and there, I got my whole plot point. I was very happy! This doesn't exactly follow everything as it is supposed, as I have a tendency to switch things around and add things in here and there, but I do hope it isn't too bad. So, to those of you who are reading this , I hope you enjoy it. Any comments or criticisms you might have I invite you to share, but please be gentle --- this is my first ever attempt at doing a Phantom phic. And naturally, I had to do it from Erik's point of view... ::sighs:: Anyway, enjoy, hate, love it and everything else! ^_^
--- Helen (Ria) 13/5/2001

It occurred to me, as I walked to my destroyed organ, how foolish I had been. I touched the shattered keys with fluttering motions, my fingers trembling, as I stared in disbelief and horror at what had once been one of my most prized possessions, now destroyed. How fleeting happiness was, how quickly it soared away to give way to miserable existence once more. I had thought after Christine had left me, that the worst had been over. But I had realised, disappearing into the shadows as the mob burst into my lair, that the worst had yet to come.

I had watched, unable to do anything for fear of getting myself killed, as they deliberately destroyed the place I had made my unlikely home for so many years. Watched helplessly, knowing that everything I now saw would be relived in my memory with crystal-clear clarity for years to come. I had an impeccable memory. For the first time I loathed it deeply. I had given a silent cry in my mind as my beloved organ was smashed, winced at the despairing sounds it made as its keys had been broken. Thank God I had hidden all of my music and compositions earlier. I had hidden it in a place I knew they would never discover.

My eyes had narrowed as I watched little Meg Giry --- whom I had promised her mother would be Empress one day --- reach down and gently lift up my mask. How dare she?! My eyes blazed, as I had momentarily contemplated whether I should step from my shadows and retrieve my mask, before fleeing. There was nothing left for me here. So why bother staying? Then I had heard her whisper, so faint that not even my hearing could nearly pick it up, "I shall keep this for you. It shall be in Christine's dressing room if you want to retrieve it." With that said, she had stood up, my mask held tightly in her grasp. Before any of the enraged mob had seen her, she had disappeared upwards towards the opera house above.

I had watched her go with a confused feeling inside me. Unlike her mother, Meg had never shown any particular liking to me. In fact, it had been her who had helped rise the cries of, "It's the Phantom! He's here!", when anything went wrong. As much as the publicity might have helped, it hadn't been very enjoyable.

So why had she helped me now? Out of pity? Anger momentarily surged inside me as I continued to mourn over my organ. If she was, then I would take no acts of charity from her. Even her mother had never openly shown pity for me, even though I imagined she must have felt some. Mme. Giry is simply like that.

I sighed, biting the inside of my cheek. I had to go up sooner or later, to retrieve my mask. They might begin cleaning out Christine's dressing room soon, and I could only imagine their reaction to the sight of my mask there. That would probably lead to another mad riot, which I really didn't need. Or worse, what if Christine herself came in and found it? My eyes widened at the horror of it. She'd throw it out or worse. In my current state of mind, logical thinking had disappeared.

That decided, I smoothened out my disarrayed cloak and made my way towards the boat. I had to retrieve my mask. And then... and then I would decide what to do. I had no other choice, had I?

Her dressing room was exactly as I remembered it. Although admittedly in more of a mess than usual, due to the fact it had been Open Night a few hours earlier. My mouth twisted in a rueful, bitter smile. How long ago that felt, when they had been about to put on my own opera! It felt like it had been years ago! In some ways it was.

I knew better than to waste time, dawdling on memories that were worth nothing now, not even space in my memory. With that in mind, I went swiftly to her dressing table, scanning the surface impatiently. Ah, there it was! I picked the white half-mask up carefully, and placed it on my face, using the mirror as a guide only when I was sure I would not have to look upon the horror that was that part of my face. Securing it tightly, I relaxed, safe in the knowledge that if someone did happen to burst in uninvited (and with this place, no one could be sure), at least my face would be covered.

I dawdled then, because I did not want this chapter of my life to be finished. I did not know when or where the next chapter of my life would begin, or if it even would. There was nothing left for me now. Christine was gone, presumably to marry that irritating childhood love of hers in a few months time. The Opera House would take months, even years to recover from what had happened, what I had helped cause. It would be the biggest scandal to occur in months, with two deaths that were only explainable alongside a myth! And even my home was gone now. Music or darkness held no appeal for me either.

For the first time in many years, I felt a haunting fear curl up inside my stomach. What had happened to me? Had Christine changed me that much? But I was alone now once more, but this time I had nothing and no one to turn to. I was in very serious trouble.

So deep were my thoughts, that I did not hear the warnings signs that someone was opening the door. I only heard too late, as the door was pushed open. Feeling like a trapped deer, waiting for the final kill, I stayed rooted to the spot, quivering with fear and fright.

It was Christine and Mme. Giry, I recognised them before they turned to face into the room. I saw their expressions change as their eyes met mine. Mme. Giry's became startled, while Christine's was simply one of fear. That hurt me more than anything else had that night. She was afraid of me. After I had even told her I loved her, after everything she had said and yet she was still afraid of me. I had the distinct impression she did not believe me, nor those words I had spoken to her.

For one extraordinary moment, time froze. None of us moved, both standing still, not bearing to tear our gazes away, lest something should happen. I remained suspended, ready to move in a shapeless blur to the mirror and go down to my destroyed lair again, if one of them even opened her mouth to call for someone.

Surprisingly, it was Christine who spoke first, or should I say moved first. "Erik," she whispered quietly, saying my name slowly, as if she could hardly believe I was really there and that this and everything else was happening and had happened. She stepped forward, her arm outstretched, reaching for me.

For one horrifying moment, I received a flashback. She was reaching for me again, only this time her nimble fingers caught my mask and tore it away from my face. Even as I was raising my hand to shield the terrifying sight of my face, I knew she had seen it already. I could hardly watch as she flung herself away from me, dropping the mask. Her eyes had widened and she was beginning to succumb to the frightening reaches of panic. I thought she was going to scream. And then I lost my temper...

I had had enough. "No!" I gasped, leaping away from her. "No, not again!" I veered to the side, flinging myself towards the mirror. Somehow I had left it still open, so all I had to do was trigger the change and I was being swallowed, my images racing around me. Then there was only the sweet, merciful darkness and I was running. Running away from the light, from Mme. Giry, from her, from everyone and everything. At last, I was home.

But in another way, I wasn't.

Two days after that fateful night, I discovered a note for me in Box Five. It was safe to wander around the Opera House now --- everyone had taken a well-deserved break and there was no danger of anyone seeing me. Somehow, I knew the break would be a long one, and I was glad. I had no desire for human company, after what had happened with Christine, but in some strange way, I still missed it. In some way Mme. Giry had been a friend to me of sorts, one of the few who hadn't judged me. I missed her and the talks she had with me. And I had not forgotten the favour I was keeping to thank Meg for saving my mask.

I had decided to visit the box for old times sake, and had been quite startled to see the note there, addressed to me in a plain white envelope. It took me many times not to glance around to make sure no one was looking - it was extremely hard to remember there was no one there - and carefully opened it. This was a good a time as any. I made my way to a seat and sat down, dropping the envelope to the seat beside me as I slipped the folded paper out. The note was not long by any means, and was concise and meaningful. It did not blather on, and for that I was glad. It had been written by Mme. Giry.

Erik, [it read]
Many greetings to you, although I am near certain it is not greetings you particularly want at this present time, is it? I am sure that you are aware that Christine and I were most distressed after the incident that occurred in her dressing room. But, to be truthful, we were more concerned about you, than we were ourselves. That was not like you Erik, to flee as you did. I know you are probably hurt and extremely angry over Christine's decision and choice, and what the rioters did to your home did not help the situation, but you are not acting like yourself.

While our managers have given all of the staff this week off, I will try and come to see you if you wish me to. If you do not want me to, place a piece of red cloth near the Opera entrance and I will not come inside. Leave things as they are if you wish me to. I am prepared to talk if you would like to sort out your thoughts.

You probably want to know what has happened these past few days. Christine has taken the next few months off, claiming to stress and exhaustion. In truth, we all encouraged her to do this, not just the managers. We do not know if she will renew her contract with them or not. The Vicomte went with her, and apparently they are still engaged. It is known that he is eager to wed, but Christine is unsure. I believe she is still afraid to let you go entirely.

You will be glad to hear that Carlotta is planning on leaving Paris and possibly France, but now with the uncertainty that surrounds Christine, we are not sure whether to be fearful or overjoyed. Without a Prima Donna, what have we? We are also short a Main Tenor, thanks to your quick work with Piangi. Be assured I am not berating you, only stating a mere fact.

I promised myself I would not go on, and I shall keep to this. I shall hopefully meet you in a few days time, or if not, I am sure our paths will cross again someday. Fondest goodbyes to you my friend.

Amities,
Mme. Giry

I closed the paper with a troubled look. For one of the first times ever I was annoyed with her. There was such a thing as mothering someone too much, and I was afraid Mme. Giry was falling into that trap with me. She always had been too concerned about me. I sighed and looked at the opposite wall with troubled and yet unseeing eyes. The doubts which had surfaced after the mob had destroyed my home had never left, and I was still contemplating whether or not to leave the Opera.

In some ways it made perfect sense to leave, seeing all that had happened to me here. But in another sense it seemed foolish of me to leave. This was my home. It had been more like a home to me than the place of my birth had been. How could I leave it?

It was a very troubling decision, and if I was honest with myself I wasn't looking forward to having to make it. With the air of someone defeated in almost every way, I turned and hurried out of Box Five, with no clear idea where I was going, or what I was going to do.

Another two days later, I looked up from my seat behind the piano on the stage, to see Mme. Giry standing at the edge, watching me with an odd expression on her face. I quickly slammed the cover of my Don Juan Triumphant closed, unwilling to let her see what I had been playing, knowing full well she would have recognised it anyway. After all, she had been a part of the production of it during those past few weeks and would have heard those pieces countless times. But I was still shy about playing them in front of anyone else, even her. My opera was still so personal, such a secret part of me. It had been my life's work. It had never been fully played out on a stage. It had gone to the final scene and it hadn't been played fully. This was partly my fault, due to the fact I had kidnapped Christine myself during that scene. But it had been necessary, and at the time getting Christine had been more important than my opera being played to an audience. Now however... I wasn't so sure.

"I recognised those pieces," she said to me, walking forward. She didn't seem surprised when I didn't answer, instead focusing on the piano keys in front of me as if they had become the most fascinating things in the world. "Somehow I did not expect you to reply to that." Again, I didn't answer. "You played them marvellously." This time I granted her the privilege of a nod. She didn't get frustrated, much to my own surprise. The silence stretched, and I began to regret not putting out a piece of red material after all. The last thing I wanted to do was talk.

At last she spoke again. "So what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?" The very question I had been dreading. Charming. At least I felt I owed her an honest answer.

"At the time when I received your letter, I thought I wanted to talk to someone. Now I realise that talking is not one of my more important priorities. I'm sorry," I added, not wishing to start an argument.

But she was very understanding. Nodding, she went onto more impersonal news, just general rumours concerning the Opera House itself. "They're saying now that the managers are going to be bringing in a new girl to be Reyer's assistant. She is supposed to be quite talented at composing and playing. Although why we need someone else with Reyer I don't know."

"He must be thrilled," I said dryly, raising an eyebrow. I could imagine the man's reaction well.

Mme. Giry nodded, her eyes twinkling. "He's ecstatic. He's been storming around the place in a foul mood ever since he was told, rude and angry to everyone. He says they'll be firing him soon and putting that girl in his place." She laughed slightly. "I pity the poor girl already!"

I smiled. "Reyer will not be the most kindest to her."

She nodded. "They don't want to start looking for a new soprano yet, as they want to wait for Christine to give them her answer. But they cannot find a new tenor." That odd look returned to her eyes. "It's a pity you could not volunteer."

"More's the pity," I answered dryly. "You know well why not."

She nodded regretfully. "Alas, yes I do! But one cannot help dreaming, can they not? You should at least try and get that published." She nodded toward my closed copy of Don Juan.

I felt my eyebrow shoot up, as I regarded her suspiciously. "I do not want it published Madame," I said at last, fighting to keep my voice calm. "Those who knew of it then would cause mayhem trying to get it off the market again."

She agreed reluctantly. "I should think you're right. Still, it is a pity. It was a vast achievement."

"It shall continue to be an unseen one." My voice was stern now. I did not want her to start playing tricks on me and planning secretly behind my back.

Perhaps she sensed my growing annoyance, for she quickly changed topic. "What are you planning to do now?" I guessed she meant my life in general, and thought about it before I answered. Then I felt like I had to tell her at least part of the truth. I was still unsure whether to leave or not.

"I'm wondering if I should still remain here," I explained. "There is nothing really left for me here. My own home is destroyed. My life is. My heart. What is the point of staying, when all that remains with me is bitter memories and experiences?" I knew she would not like this, but I nevertheless waited for her reaction. It was as I expected it to be.

"Are you mad?!" she cried, looking at me with wide eyes. "You cannot possibly go! The Opera Populaire is your home Erik! No matter what anyone says or does it is still your home! And you are not completely alone; you have myself and Meg. We will stick by you! Please, I beg of you to think through this carefully!" Her eyes were wide, her gaze imploring. I had known she would act this way, but the sight of her made me want to reconsider. I sighed.

"Very well. I will continue to think about it. You'd best leave now." She nodded, standing up. Quickly saying a goodbye to me, she turned and left the Opera House.

The first thing I did when she left, was place a piece of red cloth near the entrance to the Opera.