I just wanted to kill someone, I was always an unstable person, everyone always expected me to go over the edge. And I did not disappoint. My mother, one smack across my face was all that it took, I gave her a fight she'll never forget. And I left, leaving my mother a sobbing, bloody mess on the floor. Taking the keys to my Mustang I pealed out of the drive way, never coming back, not caring if my mom dies. See you in Hell, Bitch.

I sped down the old country road, not giving a damn if I lost control and died, better off dead anyways. Taking a sharp turn, I heard the tires screech in protest. Glowering out of the windshield, I sneered at my transparent reflection, hating myself with a true burning passion. Hating myself more than anyone. I was shaking by then, rage building up inside me. I felt like screaming.

Stomping down on the brakes, they squealed and the car slid violently to a stop, sending me lurching forward. Nearly throwing me out the windshield, yeah, I wish. I was in front of a building. It was old and abandoned, most likely a safety hazard, but as you can tell from my driving, I really didn't give a damn. I took the keys out of the ignition and kicked the door open, slamming it shut so hard, the glass in the window rattled, threatening to break. I shoved the keys deep down in my pocket and approached the old building.

As I got closer, I could barely make out a sign. It was old and faded from years of unforgiving weather and brutal sunlight.

Thom son O era* I had to squint to read the sign in the dull, silvery moonlight. I gave a careless shrug and went to the door. The door was sunken on its hinges, so I had to put real effort into opening the damned thing. I eventually got in. Sticking my head in, I saw; a perhaps once grand entry hall. It didn't matter anymore, the old place was covered in cobwebs and dust. I entered, putting my shoulder into the door so I could open it enough to get my entire body through.

I stopped on the inside, it was like entering another world, alien and ancient. Like a horror movie, and the killer was about to pop out and get me in this moment of pure silence. I expected it, wanted it, my life was nothing.

"Maybe there's some sort of toxic something here that I breathe it in, I'd die." I thought, smiling a bit at the fact. A tear went down my cheek, my anger subsiding to hurt and depression. I hadn't taken my pills, so I'd most likely feel like nothing. Not that the medicine helped with that. Stupid doctors. I kept walking, exploring. Hoping the ceiling crashed down on me, crushing me to death. I didn't deserve a quick, painless death. I didn't want one either. Maybe the floor would give way and I'd plummet to my demise. That would be nice, plenty of broken bones. Plenty of pain. More time to think about how worthless I was. That no one would come searching. I'd see my dad. He was the only one that ever really loved me.

More tears rained down upon my cheeks, eventually soaking my face. I took a shaky breath. I realized I was in a huge room, there were raggedy old seats and a big dusty stage in front of it all. I walked down into the room. I didn't falter at the sound of bats. Maybe they'd attack me and I'd die of rabies. I heard that was a painful death. I wanted a painful death because my father died a painful death. He didn't deserve to die. I did. I deserved to die. I just stopped, and I sat down in a dusty old chair. I could see rays of moonlight plunging down through holes in the walls and one hole miraculously made its way down through several floors from the top and meet the bottom.

I wished I had brought a weapon of some sort, something to end my miserable life if Fate wouldn't do me a favor and end me. Then I realized, any suicide would be too quick, not painful enough.

"I can tell by the look on your face you just want to die." I jumped at the sudden vocalization from the shadows on the stage. I looked up, not seeing the source of the voice. Probably just my mind, I had really lost it.

"Not that hard to tell." I replied. Whoever it was didn't reply. They gave a bit of a tsk of disappointment. Even the voices hated me… I hated me, not saying much about the voices. I rolled my eyes and scoffed.

"And you thought coming here would help?" The voice said after a while. I rolled my eyes again. Shaking my head.

"No. I was hoping I'd die in a car crash, but… something about this place made me stop. I don't know what. Perhaps it was this place is uglier than me. Less fortunate than me. Left with no one to care about it. Like me." I said.

"I care about this place." The voice replied. I almost smiled.

"Yet you didn't say anything but that you care about this place. Just goes to show how much of a bitch this is." I muttered. The voice didn't say anything. I shook my head, not caring about anything anymore. Only my death. I ran scenarios though my mind, trying to decide which self inflicted death would last the longest, be the most painful. I got up and walked down the isle as I got closer to the stage, I could make out a figure. The voice was a real person? I stopped.

"Who's there?" I asked. They laughed, a marvelous, handsome laugh. From a voice so beautiful. The person stepped forth into the light of the full moon, revealing a devilishly handsome man, with dark hair and, weirdly, a mask, on a side of his face.

"Most people ask that when they hear me, not after." I rolled my eyes. I really was crazy. The dude looked like he belonged in some fairy tale or something, that was just how beautiful he was. He was just a figment of my imagination.

"Well I originally thought you were a voice." I muttered, looking away.

"A voice? Funny, a woman, decades ago, thought the same thing. Irony. Why, if I may ask, do you want to die?" He asked, moving so he'd be in my line of vision.

"My life's a bitch, that's why." I hissed, moving away from him. He didn't have to try to keep up with me. It was too easy for him.

"How might that be?" He asked, getting in my way of the door. I glared at him, now he was getting annoying.

"My father died, leaving me with an abusive evil bitch of a mother, everyone around me hates me. No one wants me around. So I'm just better off dead." I told him. He raised his only visible eyebrow.

"I know the pain." He told me. I laughed.

"Whatever. Get out of my way so I can go run my Mustang into a tree." I hissed at him. He shook his head.

"Hear me out." He replied simply. I shook my head.

"No, now get out of my way." I spat at him. He laughed.

"If you can make me, I will." He told me challengingly.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I hissed at him. He laughed again, a calm, psycho laugh. I raised an eyebrow, maybe he'd kill me. No, I wanted that too much, Fate was too cruel to deliver me what I wanted.

"My name is Erik. I terrorized the Opera Populaire in Paris in the 19th century. There's a book about me. The Phantom of the Opera, perhaps you've heard of it, hmm?" He asked, raising his eyebrow again. I glared at him.

"You're crazy." I said bluntly, taking a step forth. 'Erik' didn't move a muscle.

"So are you, mademoiselle." He replied sinisterly, an almost evil. I laughed.

"What do you want?" I asked him, finally getting the fact he wanted something from me. He smiled, showing perfect white teeth.

"Ah and she catches on," He purred with a pleased air. "Allow me to play host to you for a few days, and we'll see how your outlook on life is when I release you. You still want to die, I'll let you go so you can ram your 'Mustang' into a tree. You leave with a positive outlook, I will ask nothing of you in return. How does that sound?" He said. I looked at him like he was crazy, then brought my eyebrows down in an angry V.

"I just want to help you. You don't even have to tell me your name. Just stay with me for a while. Please?" He said, him begging wasn't convincing me.

"I don't want help." I returned. He cocked a side smile.

"Yes you do, you just don't know it. I was in the same crisis, I can help you. Just let me try. I know what you're going through. I can help, just let me try. Come on, child, you don't really want to die. You just want to start over, that's all. And inside, you know I'm right." His strong powerful voice became soft and lulling. Tears came to my eyes, he was right, he was so right. It scared me. That's when the tears just fell, and so did I. I just fell to the ground. Erik stepped forth, his arms wrapped around me. He pulled me close to him. He was warm.

For the first time in years, I felt wanted. This crazy maniac guy who thought he was another crazy maniac guy from hundreds of years ago, wanted to make me feel wanted. He knew I just wanted a redo, just a fresh start.

"What's your name?" He asked. I looked up at him. His white half mask glowed in the moonlight. He wasn't smiling, though, his eyes were warm and inviting, if I didn't know better, loving.

"Chr-Christine." I muttered. He looked like he just got stabbed in the gut. Like he really was that guy from that book.

"You do look like her, you know." He whispered. I only whimpered somewhat, ignoring his comment. He was crazy, and I was trusting him. Hell, we both were, both maniacs in our world of pain.

"Come on, lets get out of here before the place collapses." He said, helping me up gently. He didn't let go of my hand, his own covered in a leather glove. He led me out of the building and around the massive structure, to a small warm cottage in nestled in the woods behind the old building. We stopped at the foot of the stairs, he left me and climbed the steps, pulling out a rather ancient looking key and opened the house up. A wave of warmth escaped through the opened door. He turned around, offering his hand to me. I looked up to him. His image was beautiful, breathe taking and god-like.

I took his hand and he led me inside. There was small nagging in the back of my mind, telling me to run, this guy's a bigger psycho than me, my small amount of sanity. I ignored it, and threw caution to the wind. I let him lead me into the darkened house.

A/N: The opera house was called Thompson Opera. I was SUPER PISSED when I wrote this, like pissed on steroids pissed. That's why the opening is so angry and un-Celtic Authoress like. I think I'm back at Phantom of the Opera, certainly hope so. Hope ya'll liked the first chapter of "Angel's of the Dark." R&R? Please?