A/N: So, I got an idea for a story after watching The Phantom of the Opera, and, seeing how I was previously in love with Gerard Butler, this is the lovechild of my brain and my favorite musical. Hopefully, it's not too terrible.

Chapter 1: The Beginning

It began as just a normal day, with normal sunshine and normal oxygen.

As usual, I couldn't go out in public without signing a dozen autographs for star-struck teenage girls (and some boys, which kind of freaked me out), so I made absolutely sure to bring my Sharpie. Being a major Hollywood movie star-as I'd once quoted to my mum-is tough work.

I think all the un-normal stuff (is that even a word?) happened about the time I saw what I thought was a Phantom of the Opera freak lounging in the food court of the mall. I, of course, was too busy to notice him, signing a photo for a twelve-year-old P.S.: I Love You fan, who squealed uncontrollably when I hugged her, being the good sport I am. I remember being normal once, and I also remember wishing I could have hugged my favorite actress "way back when."

When he approached me later was when I got more than a bit creeped out.

The guy must have had money, because he had the entire costume, exactly-exactly!-the way I had worn it in Phantom. Everything about him seemed familiar from my days filming that movie. Even the mask was exactly like the one in the movie. He looked just like the Phantom of the Opera-like me, really.

"Gerard Butler?" he finally said, his voice foreign yet familiar at the same time. It sent chills up and down my spine to hear a voice that sounded so haunting and beautiful. He must've been a great singer. Little did I know . . .

I smiled and nodded. "The one and only," I said, taking out my Sharpie pen. "What do you want me to sign?"

He shook his head, glaring at me. I knew that glare-though at the time, I didn't know how well. "Is there somewhere we could talk-privately?" he asked, looking around. He wasn't familiar with this mall, apparently. I really had no idea.

I shrugged. "The men's room, I suppose," I said.

What the hell was I thinking? This guy was about my height and weight, and though he wore the same damn coat from the "Music of the Night" scene, you could tell he was muscular.

I might have been able to take him-if I had the Viking hat from that barfight that seemed so long ago.

We walked into the men's room, and I prepared myself for a gay love confession-or maybe a confession of stalking. I wouldn't have been surprised, but I was-because what he said was far from it.

"Do you know who I am, Mr. Butler?" His English accent masked something else-thicker and rougher. Scottish, maybe?

I shook my head, shrugging. "Er, no, not really," I said, getting creeped out.

He glared at me from behind that half mask-exactly like the one I had worn in the filming of that movie. "I am Erik, the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera."

No, I thought, you're a psychopath. I didn't voice my opinion of course, instead chuckling and shaking my head, and stopped in my tracks.

Because, at that moment, he had chosen to reach a gloved hand toward his face-lifting the mask away from it, revealing the horrifying truth.

The same damn deformity that had been faked onto my own face with rubber and prosthetics and special glue was glaring at me now, those gray green eyes that mirrored my own meeting my own, in height exactly like mine. because, as unbelievable as it sounds . . . he was me.

He was the Phantom of the Opera.