A/N: I own nothing in this story but Emma and her life. Everything else belongs to Andrew Lloyd Weber and Gaston Leroux. Also, I had to do this for a writing assignment in English class, so it's really long and detailed. I don't know if I'm going to do anything with it, but I wanted some opinions on it. Please review!!!

Chapter 1

It was raining. No, it was pouring.

When he had set the opera house on fire, Erik wasn't sure what he would do. He considered that the opera house would burn down and he would just find another place to live. He never thought it would start raining. Actually, he didn't realize it was raining until he was thoroughly soaked. He was so lost in what had just happened with Christine that he was unaware of anything that was happening.

Becoming aware of the fact it was pouring down rain, Erik stepped inside. Without thinking, he slowly walked over every inch of the opera house. In some places, the fire had eaten through the roof, but the rain had come down so hard that there was never a large gap in the roof. The rain was still coming down, but Erik paid not attention to it. Instead, he looked at what the fire had done to the building.

Out of the entire building, the stage had been the most affected because it was the beginning point of the fire. Little fo the curtains were left, only the top few inches of velvet had survived. The orchestra pit had been coated in rubble, but it did not have much damage. The stage itself had been charred and damaged beyond simple repair, but it was possible to clean it. Most of the backdrops had been reduced to rubble, but Erik figured it was for the best. New backdrops could be made.

Even though he knew no one would be coming to the opera house, Erik was careful to make sure no one would know he was there. He avoided most places covered in dust, and he tried to leave the piles of rubble alone. Sometimes he would be forced to move them, but that wasn't too often.

Off in the back corner of the stage, Erik found a rope. He walked over to it, careful about stepping on pieces of glass. He didn't want to spend the next morning picking shards of glass from his shoes. He had been forced to do that once before, and he had found it less that exciting.

Erik looked up to check on the rope's condition. It seemed that it would hold his weight, and he couldn't find any weak spots, so he grabbed onto it. Hoping the rope would hold, be began to climb up, trying to reach the upper levels of the stage. The rope continued to hold, so Erik continued to climb. His eyes were finally level with the flooring when he heard something snap. Looking up, he noticed a weak spot he hadn't seen before. It was slowly unraveling. Hearing another snap, he began to climb again. The rope gave a low-pitched whine while he climbed, and Erik knew he didn't have much time left before it gave completely.

At the exact moment the rope snapped, Erik jumped onto the platform. It took a minute for him to regain his balance, but he managed not to fall over the edge. He had made quite a loud noise, and stood waiting to be sure that no one had entered the building. When no response came, Erik walked forward towards a pile of rubble with a few large chunks of wood poking out.

He reached the pile and started to dig. He didn't care about disturbing this pile, he was determined to retrieve something. At the very bottom of the pile, there was a piece of wood that still had paint on it. It was only about as big as his hand, and it wasn't special in any way. It was just a sort of midnight blue with some white blob on it. Erik grabbed it and cursed. Splinters, he had forgotten about splinters.

Erik walked over to a place where he could see his hand better. Examining it, the splinters had not punctured deep into his skin, so it wouldn't be too hard to extract them. Ripping a piece of cloth from his shirt, Erik wrapped it around his other hand and grabbed the splinters one by one. They came out easily. Then, he wrapped the piece of wood in the fabric so as to not get any more splinters.

Erik surveyed the rest of the upstairs level of the stage. Finding nothing else important or worth looking at, he walked to one of his secret passageways. Pleased to find that it had not been damaged in the slightest, Erik quickly stepped through the door and closed it behind him. It gave a small creak, and then was silent.

Trying to stand up, Erik hit his head on the ceiling. He vaguely remembered never using the passageway if he could. He crouched over and began to walk. It was fairly dark, so Erik was careful to feel his was through the tunnel. Near the end, his foot found stairs. A few minutes later, he reached the other door, and stepped out of the tunnel.

He immediately wanted to go back the way he had come. The passageway had lead him to the roof. He hadn't been on the roof since that night months ago when he was betrayed. The memories were painful. Painful enough to last a lifetime, even without needing to stand on the roof.

Going against his better judgment, Erik walked over to the angel in the far corner, ignoring the slight rain. He climbed up behind the wings of the angel, and looked out over the city. He could see a few people walking around, but no one paid attention to the statues. He stood there for some time, still and quiet. After some time, he slowly stepped off the angel and walked back to the door. This time, he used the actual door since he detested the other way to return to the opera house.

Taking his time, Erik walked down the stairs. He passed through many storage places, not paying attention to anything around him. After walking down more and more steps, taking turns occasionally, Erik found himself in the main hall of the opera house. He looked to see the giant staircase that took up the majority of the entrance. Walking over to the stairs, Erik sat down with a sigh.

The sky had turned very dark by that time, but most of the rain had ceased. Now, there was only the quiet sound of a few drops hitting the ground. It would have been calming to most people. But Erik paid no attention to it. He figured it was around eleven o' clock. He glanced at the wrapped piece of wood he was carrying, and decided it was time to return to his home. He slowly stood up and began to walk.

He walked past the stage, and back through the hallway with the dressing rooms. He reached the end of the hallway and stopped. The door in front of him was no regular door.

Go on, it's just a room, said a little voice in his head.

But it's her room. I just can't do it. Not yet, Erik replied.

Oh no, it was her room. She doesn't live here anymore. Now it's just a room.

You only say that. You never liked her anyway. You always said she wasn't worth my attention.

And I was right, wasn't I? Now she's gone forever with the wonde—

"Stop!" Erik roared. He hadn't moved during the conversation, but he was breathing hard. He had gotten so lost in his anger; he had forgotten that the voice wasn't real.

Slowly, he closed his eyes and thought of her voice. Only her voice. He remembered it as it was before it was stolen from him. He calmed down as he thought about it. Erik opened his eyes, and turned around. He would take the long way to his cave. All in all, this was probably the best choice. He would get a chance to think with fresh air.

He reached a side entrance to the opera house and stopped. He listened for any noise that would force him to use the passageway through Christine's room. Nothing came. Erik gladly stepped out onto the street, and rounded the first corner. Turning left onto his somewhat hidden road, he walked briskly to the water. Reaching the small gondola, Erik climbed in and began his journey across the water. Going to the cave brought back more painful memories, but at the same time, they made him glad. He thought of how Christine had sung for him. He had been so sure that she was in love with him. He was so very sure…

No, he thought. I won't let this torture me forever.

He started to think of anything and everything to distract his mind. It wasn't easy. Somehow he could always tie the past events into most things he thought of. Only every so often would his mind focus on something other than his life, but always for only a brief moment. The task was becoming impossible.

With a cry of frustration, Erik realized he had reached his cave. He didn't move for a while. He just stood there, leaning on the giant paddle. He was facing the velvet curtain that covered one of the mirrors in his cave. There was something odd about that curtain. Everything else in his cave had remained untouched, except for that curtain. It had been pushed aside. Erik knew his cave had been searched through, but he didn't understand why nothing had been touched.

Moving again, Erik stepped out of the boat. He leaned the paddle against the closest wall of the cave. As he walked past the curtain, he pulled it back into place, hiding what was behind it. He didn't stop, he just kept walking. He walked over to his organ and paused. He didn't know what to do. Setting the piece of wood on the table beside the instrument, Erik sat down on the bench. He ran one hand over the instrument. The keys felt cold under his hand. Gingerly, he placed both hands on the organ, and began to play.

At first, a soft, discordant sound filled the air. As his fingers continued to glide over the keys skillfully, a sweet melody began to rise above the other notes. As the song progressed, the melody became louder and louder. It filled the air, and seemed to give light to the gloomy cave. When a phrase repeated, Erik began to sing. He didn't know what he was singing, he just sang his heart.

For a long time, Erik sat there, playing the organ and occasionally singing. Sometimes the music would swell and overwhelm his voice, but he never stopped. The music was a sort of refuge for him. It was a way to escape from the world. He could do whatever he wanted to with his music, and no one would stop him.

When Erik finally stopped playing, he had no clue as to how much time had passed. All he knew was that there seemed to be something missing in him. He knew exactly what it was, but he couldn't admit it to himself.