Disclaimer

I do not own the rights to the Phantom of the Opera. This is a work of fiction based on the works of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Llyod Webber, and Susan Kay. I in no way intend to infringe upon the copyrights of above said artists and am making no profit from this work. This story may contain adult situations, language, and romantic scenes which may not be suitable for minors. Read at your own discretion.

A New Beginning

Prologue

Erik surveyed the destruction of his lair. The mob had ruined everything, looting anything they thought of value and tearing apart anything that wasn't. The magnificent organ he had lovingly composed upon was now beyond repair.

Several of the ivory and ebony keys were ripped from the frame and the metal parts were twisted and distorted beyond recognition or use. He depressed one of the remaining keys and cringed when the once beautiful note came out sour. He sighed heavily as the destruction weighed in his mind.

The beautiful room he had once prepared for Christine was robbed of its beauty. 'Christine… even my beautiful, sweet Christine has forsaken me to this cold, unfeeling hell.' He crossed through what was once an ingenious torture chamber, the metal tree was the only thing left whole as each and every mirror was broken or cracked into thousands of pieces. The scattered remnants were strewn across the floor, shattering into smaller fragments under his boot as he crossed.

Making his way to his bedchamber he noticed that his coffin had been left undisturbed. 'Stupid, superstitious lot,' Erik thought to himself as he shook his head and sighed. He moved to the far wall and using a sharp piece of debris managed to pry loose a piece of stone in the wall. Mortar chipped away slowly as he worked it free. His tall, lanky frame easily allowed him to remove the stone near the joint of the ceiling.

Reaching into the crevice he retrieved a heavy bag, and looked inside. The gold, gem-encrusted cat collar from Persia and other valuables lay undisturbed. Ayesha, the longhaired Persian he had stolen from the Shah, had long ago passed away from old age. This was the only thing that remained of her. The cat had been spiteful and rude, but she had never left his side.

The heavy weight of gold and gems reassured him that forethought is everything and he would recover from this mess, as he did every time disaster struck. It was time to pay the daroga a visit; it was time to leave France. Where to go, however, was the question.

One Month Later

To say that Nadir Khan was surprised to see Erik in his apartment when he returned from the apothecary would have been an understatement. "Erik, must you always attempt to make my old heart stop with you ghostly appearances and disappearances? What is it you want of me now?" he asked.

Erik relaxed into the leather wingback chair by the fireplace and quietly studied the Persian man before him. Locking the door behind him and crossing to the opposite chair Nadir deposited his packages on the side table and sank into the comfortable leather. Erik solemnly regarded his companion a moment before he replied, "I am leaving France. It no longer holds my interest. I have several tasks that require your assistance."

Erik thought a moment, as if considering how much to say. "I require money, and as you can guess it has become difficult for me to procure it. You will withdraw 50,000 franks from the bank account I entrusted to your care seven years ago. Of that sum you will purchase a complete wardrobe for me, one that befits mildly cold winters and hot summers, with the remainder of the money you will buy bars of silver and gold. Afterwards, you will place an advertisement in the Saturday paper composed of three words, 'Erik is dead'." Erik looked at Nadir as if he might object.

Nadir pondered this, and nodded slowly,"these tasks are simple enough Erik. What would you have me do with the rest of your funds?"

Erik stroked the arm of the chair and replied "consider it payment for your silence and cooperation; I will no longer have a need of French notes." The daroga regarded the man before him silently, taking note of the slight wearing of linen with faintly torn stitching at the shoulders.

He wondered what had transpired in the past month for his meticulous friend to become so exhausted looking since Christine had fled. "Why do you wish me to print your obituary, Erik?"

Erik smiled grimly, "When she left, that night, I told her to return to the lair and bury the engagement ring along with my body."

Nadir seemed slightly puzzled by this, "what trickery do you mean for her?"

Erik raised his hand to his heart in mock-grief, "you wound me daroga. I mean her no harm. You will bury my coffin, nailed shut, after she leaves her ring. She could never be happy if she thought me alive and suffering…" he answered softly, almost to himself. His head snapped up as if he had forgotten the man sitting in the seat before him. "I believe I have been more than generous tonight in answering you infinite questions.

I leave in One week's time, I expect you can accomplish everything in that time?" Erik asked with a sneer. The daroga nodded solemnly as Erik excused himself from the room. Nadir thought a moment before silently shaking his head.

One Month Later

Erik looked out the window at the faint, hazy line of land amidst the deep blue waves of the Atlantic. After weeks on endless sea the ship headed to America was finally at its destination. The faint shadow of buildings seemed to arise out of nothingness, as if the angry sea had merely spat it out of its depths one day.

The statue of a woman clothed in draping robes beckoned the weary travelers forward with her light of liberty and book of promises, a calm and just expression upon her face as she stood on her lonely island. It was perhaps a bit ironic that he was fleeing France only to later be welcomed into the land of freedom by a French statue.

The ship slowed and rocked as it berthed at the New York docks, the foul, cloudy waters churning. A waft of brine and urine filled the air as young boys and men worked to tie the boat to the wooden posts. They shouted and scampered and Erik thought that they looked a bit like rats scurrying between the ropes.

After weeks at sea he had finally landed in America, the land of freedom and opportunity; his salvation.

Author's Notes

I originally wrote this story in 2006 and never completed it. I've decided to finish what I started and to revise the story and correct any errors. If any of my original fans are reading this: thank you. I'm sorry it's so late.