Author Note: I just wanted to thank you for your reviews, it was more than appreciated. VampPhan, thank you for your advice; I will try to change the setting as soon as possible.

P.S: I appreciate constructive criticism and I will always respect your opinion. If there is something you like or dislike, tell me, but be respectful.

Enjoy and thank you for reading.

Chapter I: The moon

If you had met Mr. Lefevre that morning you would never have been able to believe that that enraged man was usually a happy-go-lucky person. In fact, with all the charisma he had, he looked so young and carefree that you could easily forget his gray hair and the stick that helped him keep his body straight and strong as a young man. However, today, he looked much older than he truly was... Try to add twenty years to someone who already had half a century behind him and you would be able to imagine how Lefevre looked. Some would have said he looked angry; well that would certainly be the understatement of the year! He was not angry, no, he was furious and having to drive in the morning traffic was definitely not going to bring his good old temper back!

The poor man, he had every right to be mad. After all, he usually woke up peacefully, but at 6:00 sharp that morning his sleep had been savagely broken by the ringing phone. At first, Lefevre had been in a panicked state, no good news could come at this hour of the day... He immediately thought of his good friend Andre. Maybe something had happened to him: only a month ago he had suffered from a serious heart attack and Andre wasn't a very healthy man, he could be sick again. Or worse!

Calming down a bit, Lefevre put all of his worries aside and answered sharply, trying to steady himself enough to hear what he thought was going to be said. Yet, when he heard Mrs John's voice, one of the tenants of his oldest building, he immediately relaxed. That old woman had such an unbearable character that he was convinced she was calling to say there was some trouble with the color of her walls or any other stupidity for that matter. Once, she had called to tell him that she didn't like the key of her apartment door, it was in her own words too shiny; let's just say that Lefevre didn't take her seriously anymore.

Astonishingly, the crazy old vixen had actually something meaningful to complain about and even if Lefevre would have rather gone back to the comfort of his bed, he knew he had to do his duty as the owner and take care of Mrs John's issue. What had surprised him the most though was not the fact that for once the lady had called for a real problem, but the problem itself.

"It's the neighbour Mr Lefevre, the one on the second floor. He's gone completely mad, you should hear him! If you don't hurry up I'm sure the old building will be destroyed before you ever have the time to get out of your house."

As usual, Mrs John had made everything grow out of proportions, but still, Lefevre knew perfectly well who lived on the second floor and he was indeed not the kind of person that would show such behaviour. There were only two apartments rented on that floor and both tenants were the quiet type. One of them was a young woman with her seven month old baby and the other well, he was kind of peculiar, a very discreet man but still, neither of them matched the profile of someone that would make a racket in the early hours of the day, or at any hours of the day!

Lefevre was so deep in thought that he barely reacted when the driver of the car beside him used his horn to gently remind him that green lights meant you had to drive.

Fifteen minutes later, he reached his final destination. As he got out of his car, he looked at his property with a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. Once upon a time that place had been so beautiful. There had been flowers everywhere: white roses, everlastings, blue hortensias and many others had brought color and magic all around them. The cobble-stones had been made of natural gray and old pink rocks that had on each side an invigorating lawn on which nature had constantly bloomed.

The building itself had looked pretty good back then. With only 12 floors, its petite size made it looked unique in comparison with the 20 and 30 floors' buildings that were numerous on this street. In fact, when 25 years old Lefevre had decided to build it, he wanted to make something different. He was tired of the never-ending black or gray building; he wanted a colourful place, full of life and joy. At the beginning, he had succeeded. The walls of burgundy bricks, the mahogany bay windows and the French entrance door were a perfect complement to the sumptuous scenery in the background.

Unfortunately, as the years passed, the wonderful place he had created slowly began to look lifeless and decrepit. It was still clean of course, but the magnificent cobble-stone was full of broken rocks and the flowers had completely vanished, letting the grass replace the asphalt. Lefevre often thought of destroying it, but to his bewilderment, the tenants didn't want to leave the old building. The last time he had approached the subject with Mrs John she... Oh god, Mrs John! He had to stop having those damned reveries or it would be the end of him.

He walked quickly inside the building, hoping that Mrs John would not complain about how irresponsible he was for being so late in that terrible situation. He followed the cement stairs straight to the second floor; avoiding the old lady was the best idea he had had all day.

This floor had never been in a really good state and usually the people that lived there were the ones that had cash issues or didn't want to pay for something expensive. This could probably explain the fact that only two apartments were rented there.

He first knocked on Mrs Rivera's door. The young woman looked as if she was ready to collapse and the crying baby in her arms was certainly not helping her deathly tired state. When he asked the lady about the noises incident she laughed drily and pointed her free hand in the direction of the door next to hers, apparently with no desire of making any other comments.

Lefevre thanked her and made a few steps toward the auburn door on his left. Now, he was getting worried. A crazy woman was something he could handle, but a madman, well let just say he was not as high-spirited as he used to be. He then raised his hand a bit, ready to knock.

On the other side of the door you were in an entirely different universe and the only thing you could have seen was devastation... That depressing view wasn't only due to the appalling state of the apartment –which looked as if a tornado had passed at least two times-, but because of the current state of the man that was living there.

His name was Erik Destler and he was in an indescribable state of anger. He had never seen God as anything else other than a persecutor and now, if it was even possible, he hated him more than he had ever hated anyone else. The king of heaven had taken away the person that mattered the most to him and the day of forgiveness –Erik was sure of it-would never come.

By doing that act, God had given him the last proof he needed to stop believing in his kindness. More, if the all mighty had been able to restrain himself with his cruelty, Erik would be getting married in front of him in a few hours! But no, of course, God as the heartless master that he was didn't do anything and had let her died! She had been everything to Erik and barely ten months ago, they had been together; laughing and smiling in their own world, away from mischief and grief. Her name had been Jane and she was now gone, forever.

The worse thing of all wasn't only the fact that he had lost the love of his life, but the fact that even if he enjoyed blaming God for everything, he was the guilty one; he had killed her. He hadn't meant to of course, God had planned everything! That holy spirit had hated him from the day he was created and even before; making him with a face that only one woman could love and no, it was definitely not his mother. Jane had been that woman and to aggravate the curse he had placed on Erik, God chose to take her back and in the most unimaginable way.

Erik often thought of joining her, but he knew that God would never permit it; to hell he would be sent. He was now alone in a world where he truly didn't belong. The only person that was still there for him was far away, on another continent and Erik was a very independent man; he didn't need him nor did he need Jane... No, of course he needed her! But what could he do? Even in death they would be apart. He was probably one of those mistakes made by God, not supposed to be more than a regret.

During the past night, the only thing that was on his mind was the smile of Jane when he had proposed to her. He was seeing it, again and again, as a woken nightmare that didn't want to end. At 4:00 that morning, he had gone mad. He had let all the fury he had kept locked those past few months flood away and let's just say that the result had not been beautiful.

He had begun his havoc by destroying every single mirror that was in his apartment. He punched them with such violence that the majority of them were now left in fragments on the Prussian blue carpet floor. He was so numbed by fury that he didn't feel anything, it was like his anger was protecting him from suffering; however, it didn't stop his skin from bleeding. After that, he had thrown everything he could against the white walls of his apartment. Chairs, tables and many other kinds of furniture were now in a pretty bad state. Well, so was he.

His entire body was shaking furiously and his bloody hands were in a despicable state. He looked as if he had run non-stop during two hours or more: his black and short hair was incredibly wet and his breath was irregular. He was a mess. All he wanted to do after that was to play piano; for music was the only haven that could never be taken away from him since he was its master.

In the tempest of emotions in which he was prisoner, Erik had completely forgotten about his bleeding hands and he had began to play a fast and repetitive rhythm on his keyboard. It was a scary sound to hear and a scarier scene to watch.

The Devil himself couldn't have produced such a thing.

It seemed as if Erik's madness was flooding around the room in such a strange harmony that it was frightening and wonderful at the same time. That song was full of rage, of sins and still, no soul could have resisted its temptation. More, his deep and mesmerizing voice made him look like the most powerful man in the world. Words were flying away from his mouth with such an inhuman strength that they seemed to create the same kind of wave that an explosion would have provoked.

Erik was so engulfed in the magic of music that he played for practically an entire hour without realising that the usually white keys of his piano had been darkened by a deep scarlet color. Disgusted with himself for tarnishing such a beautiful thing, he took a serviette and began to rub the keys frantically. Before he began the cleaning, he even took the time to slip on black gloves; he didn't care about the burning sensation on his skin, he just wanted the piano to be majestic again.

This is how he had spent the early hours of this distressing day of May. A day that could have been the most beautiful of his life.

Now, he was stretched on his queen size bed, his body and mind empty of any energy. He didn't know if he had been there for a long time and honestly he didn't care. Actually, he just wanted to sleep so deeply that this awful day could finally pass without him having to notice it. His eyes were closed and his whole body seemed less tense. He wasn't in peace nor in harmony with himself, but he was at least beginning to feel less keen; it was probably due to the exhaustion.

Knock! Knock!

Erik sighed loudly. Nobody ever knocked on his door, so why today? He was definitely not in the mood to talk to some dull-witted character.

Knock! Knock!

That person was probably more stupid than he thought. If he wasn't there the first time, there was no way he could have appeared the second.

Knock! Knock!

Well, apparently stupid was a euphemism.

Lefevre was getting more and more impatient by the minute. He knew that he could use his spare key, but he was still a bit afraid. He didn't know what kind of surprise was waiting for him in apartment 202 and if he was honest with himself he didn't want to know.

As he raised his hand to knock again, the door opened.

The man that appeared looked like a very sophisticated man to Lefevre. Except for the strange white mask that adorned his face, his appearance was impeccable: he was wearing a dark tuxedo with a carnelian silk shirt and his hands were hidden under gloves that fitted with his outfit. All of these little pieces of clothing gave him a look full of mystery.

More, for someone that had provoked such a huge crisis in the building, Mr Destler looked rather calm; maybe too calm.

"Now that I'm here I hope you have a good explanation for bothering me at this hour of the day, monsieur."

Lefevre was stunned. Not only had that man caused him a lot of disagreements, but he had the nerve to ask him why he was there! That was completely ridiculous.

"If you're here for the rent, I'm sorry to tell you that I've sent it two days ago. You should receive your money soon and next time, please, be more patient so neither of us will have to lose precious minutes of our time."

"You know as well as I do that this is not the reason why I'm here!" , said Lefevre in a strained voice while his hands were intensely fidgeting.

"Really?"

Erik's tone of voice was beginning to anger the old man. He was speaking with such arrogance! Lefevre breathed deeply and closed his eyes; he was here to have a peaceful dialogue with his strange tenant, not to start an argument.

"I am here because I've been informed that you've disturbed some of my other tenants this morning. You wouldn't happen to know why by any chance?"

Even if Lefevre was surprised by his own audacity what surprised him the most was, with no doubt, the answer given by Mr Destler.

"Indeed, I do."

"Well, explain yourself!" , Lefevre practically yelled as he began to lose his dispassionate attitude.

"I was simply doing a few modifications to my apartment."

"Modifications! What kind of modifications? Because from what I've been told, it would seem to me that you've destroyed your habitation."

Erik started to chuckle slowly. "I have read the rental lease my good monsieur and as it is written in point 3.10, every tenant can make modifications to his apartment as long as he assumes the responsibilities if any problem was to come out of it. I intend to respect that rule and if I recall, there is no mention of what is or what is not acceptable modification."

For a few seconds Lefevre stayed silent, unable to find anything to say back. That man seemed to be very educated but still, there was something in his attitude that appeared rather childish to the poor man; as if he was being manipulated by a kid that didn't want to get punished. Yes, that was it: his tenant was trying to use him as a brainless puppet. He had to react and fast.

"Well monsieur, spat Lefevre with a growing rage, "That is not the point. You may have the right to do as you wish in this apartment; however, it is not a right to disturb people's peace of mind."

"In that case, I think you should go. You are quite a disturbing character and as you said, it is not a right to bother people, is it?"

Once again, Lefevre was left dumbfounded. What could he have answered to that anyway? His own words were thrown back at him and Mr Destler didn't seem like the kind of man that would give up on anything; there was no way he could win that argument. As the door closed in front of him, Lefevre wondered if he was getting too old for this job. He drove back home with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew he should have been more firm, more prepared and should have used his authority, but he was a coward. It was so much easier to be the good owner than to punish his tenants! Anyway, it was the first time that something like that had happened and it was going to be the last; at least that's what he hoped.

For what was left of the day, no more disagreements happened to Lefevre; he even had the time to enjoy a well deserved black coffee.

However, around 8:00 that evening the phone rang, again, and it was with a desperate voice that he answered.

"Hi?"

"Hi, am I talking to Mr Lefevre?"

That was Lefevre's second surprise of the day. Even before answering the phone, he could hear Mrs John scream in his head but the person with whom he was talking was definitely not her. Her feminine voice was soft, angelic indeed.

"Are you still there?" asked the young woman with a hint of anxiety.

"Oh! Yes, my apologies Madame. How can I help you?"

"Well I've seen your little advertisement in the newspaper and I wondered if the apartment was still available."

That was a tough question. Yes, it was still available, but it was also on the second floor. Should he tell her that by living there she'd have a strange and potentially dangerous neighbour? Well, this morning incident only happened once after all, he could lower the rent a bit and everything would be alright.

"Yes, of course it is! When do you think you'll be ready to move in?"

This was probably the reason why Lefevre always found himself with special phenomenons as tenants; he accepted everyone with closed eyes.

"If it is not a problem, I'd like it to be done before the end of the week. Wednesday, perhaps?"

"It will be perfect, miss?"

"Daae, Christine Daae."