Phantom of the Opera 1. Chapter 1

To Fall to Pieces...

Sequel to Face your Fate

**Summary:** Christine and Erik have the perfect life. They're secretly married, has a loving son, and Christine still is able to work at the Opera. But when a mistake is made and Erik must run, their perfect life is shattered. Will they be able to fix everything when so much has gone wrong over the years? SEQUEL TO FACE YOUR FATE.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own POTO

**Chapter 1**

Christine walked down the steps slowly, trying to be as silent as she could as she descended in to the basement. The scene before her never failed to take her breath away, despite the fact that it hardly ever changed. A small fire was in the fireplace, candles lain around at leisure. A large organ was in the middle of the room with a persian carpet underneath it's bench. And on the bench, sat Erik, deep in thought as he focused on his work.

She tip toed over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders and sliding them down until she was at his level, then kissed his cheek.

"Erik...I need you to listen for Charles. I have to leave. Erik?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes. He hadn't finished his piece yet, and wouldn't be able to register a word she said until he had. So she waited until the last notes ended, then grabbed his hands.

"Erik...I have to go. Charles is upstairs sleeping. He needs to eat when he wakes, so please warm up the food I have already made. And if you're not too busy, would you help him in some of his subjects? Some of those things...I just don't know. I didn't have very much schooling, but you, my genius husband, has."

He grinned and kissed her lips gently. "You're brilliant. I'll take care of Charles, you go. And please tell the managers that my next score will be finished very soon."

"I will. Just don't drive yourself mad with it. They don't need it this soon - they're still working on the last two! You'll drive me to my death soon enough!"

He chuckled lightly, closing his eyes and slipping his hands out of hers and on to the ivory keys.

She kissed his forehead quickly, then left his side to go to the opera house.

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It had been seven years since the secret marriage of Erik and Christine.

They had went far away from the prejudice of Paris to marry. It was something neither Madame Giry nor Nadir would miss, therefore they, along with Meg, were the only attendances.

Erik bought them a house by the sea, far enough away from town to be away from prying eyes, but close enough that Christine could go to the Opera House. She still worked there, providing the main income, though Erik hated the idea, and therefore helped in every way possible. He wrote Operas, full of his passion and sold them to the Opera Populair under one condition - Christine was to be the diva in every one. After all, they were written about her. She was his constant muse.

While Christine was in her late pregnancy with their son Charles, it was enough to get by. But now Charles was six years old, a touselled dark haired boy with bright green eyes and a sturdy jaw. It was what Erik should have looked like when he was young, and he rejoiced that this image had finally surfaced in to the world.

And the basement of this house...the cold room, it was his serene place of absolute calm. He could get lost here, never to come back. He would to, if it wasn't Christine who held him tight or kissed his cheek to break him out of his spell.

She was his Heaven and the closest he'd ever get to the real thing. Therefore, he wanted to be with her always. She reciprocated this feeling, to which he would look up to the stars and thank each one of them for his great fortune.

They had no servants, just an old chaffeur who lived in a small building a few hundred yards away, who'd only surface with the carriage according to the schedule.

But now, there was noise on the steps, but these feet were much smaller than the ones that previously used this entrance way.

Charles said nothing, listening to his father play the glorious music. He grabbed his wooden toy horse and sat a foot or two away from the fire to played.

It wasn't until two hours had passed that Erik's mind halted in producing notes to echo the words of Christine.

_Charles is upstairs sleeping. He needs to eat when he wakes._

Erik groaned as he stretched. He looked around the room until his gaze fell on his tiny boy.

"Are you hungry, Charles?" Erik asked, carefully putting his sheets of music away.

When his son nodded, Erik felt the guilt fill him. "You must stop me from playing if I don't remember to give you food. I don't eat as you do, therefore I don't think like that. Please stop me next time."

"I don't want to stop you, Father." Charles's innocent voice replied. Erik smiled, his heart lifting. There was that magical word. The word that he never tired of hearing. _Father_. "I like when you play your music. It sounds pretty."

Erik patted an empty space on the bench invitingly. Charles quickly clampered up, eager for the occasion.

"Who taught you how to play, Father?"

"My mother. And years of practicing only got me better."

"You had a mother too?"

"I did. Everyone has a mother, Charles."

"Was she like my mother?"

Erik grinned at the thought of Christine being a mother. How did it still shock him, even after these six years? Somehow, it did.

"No, not quite. You're mother is the best mother in the world. No one can compare."

"When did you learn how to play?"

"When I was very young."

"Younger than me?"

"Yes, even younger."

"Well...can...can I learn?"

It was something Erik had been struggling with for a while. Should he teach his son? It was obvious that he had the gift, for that Erik was grateful for. He had been just four when he had started to really pick it up. But Charles was no a freak like he. Nor was he sure he wanted to give Charles something to run to, an excuse to occupy his thoughts when things went wrong. He didn't want it's strong music to distract him or become the main focus in his life as it had for himself. To be his night and day, his curse and his blessing, his love and his drug.

"Perhaps soon, Charles. But right now I know a certain young boy who is hungry. I can hear his stomach growls from here."

His son giggled as Erik swept him up in his arms and headed up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

"I want to go to the opera house. Why can I never go with Maman, Father?" Charles asked. It was a question that never ceased to tire from the young boy's lips. He surely was Christine and Erik's son, no doubt about it. Not with all of his interests that would be quite strange for such a young boy as he. Boys his age care more about toys and mud, not the beauty of music or stuffy old opera houses. But Charles had always been different.

"Perhaps one day, Charles." Erik answered, his body stiffening. Why did his son have to persist so? They had tried to keep Christine's job a secret, but that failed too quickly. Charles's curiosity about where his mother was for part of the day only grew by the passing of them. It had been six years since the tragic fire that they had to build back up from, but still the rumors about the Phantom of the Opera or the Opera Ghost were ripe, as Christine reported whenever she had to.

"Why not now? Maman goes each day. Can't she take me along? I'd be real good, I promise!" Along with his interests, he also had inherited his father's great persistance and persuasion.

Erik tiredly picked at his own food. Christine never failed to make him a plate at every meal, though he requested many times for her not to. She wanted to keep him healthy, and therefore kept producing food for him. Feeling too guilty when he didn't eat what she worked hard on making him, he always tried to force it down in to his small stomach.

"I know you'd be a good boy." Erik said in dismay. "You're always a good boy. That's not the problem."

"Then what is?" Charles begged.

'_Me!' _He shouted in his mind. He had to limit places where his son could go because of himself. Because of his past. Because of all the horrid things he did. If his son found out...he'd never forgive himself. His son wouldn't be innocent anymore. He'd be angry and confused, rebellious and untrusting. Christine would hate the monster she married for ruining her perfect family. Her perfect son. She's grow untrusting and rebellious to him as well. He'd be left alone, once again, in the cold, despairing dark that knew no mercy or love.

No longer even able to fake being hungry, he got up and headed back down to the basement, Charles picking up his food and his father's, and followed the masked man down the winding steps.

"Are you working on a new opera for Maman to sing?" The boy asked, settling down by the warm fire.

"I am." Erik replied, picking at papers in a thick folder.

"May I hear some of it?"

Erik played with a sigh, but not music from his opera. Instead, he played a soft lullaby that he had written when Charles was still in his mother's womb. Christine would sit in a rocking chair right where Charles sat now, and Erik would play it for her on those restless nights until she could relax enough to sleep peacefully.

Now he played as he watched Charles from the corner of his eye. His son ate heartily and quickly, not French like at all. He didnt have patience to sit and enjoy the flavors and savor each bite. There were more important things to do. Once he had finished, Erik stopped playing and stood up.

"Come." Erik said by the steps, holding out his black gloved hand. Intrigued, Charles jumped up and ran to his father.

"Where are we going?" He asked eagerly, jumping up each step.

But Erik remained quiet until he had led Charles to the back door. Pushing the door open and grabbing a basket, he explained, "We're going to give Maman a surprise. She deserves it after such a long week those pesty managers put her through."

Erik did his best to remain calm. He really did detest those managers, and wished he could do more than pick flowers to help out Christine. But he had promised to stay far away from the Opera House, and intended to keep such a promise.

Besides, the look of Charles's face as he skipped out to the wild garden was beautiful enough to cheer both of his parents hearts.

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When Christine came home, she saw little Charles sitting on the front steps, tapping the heel of his foot against the ground impatiently.

"Charles! Why are you out here? Where is your father?" She asked, rushing to him. But he just offered her a wry grin.

"Go on inside, Maman!" He finally exclaimed giddily, giving her little pushes with his small hands.

Letting out a laugh, she opened the door, and walked right in to Erik's already opened arms. So he had been waiting right inside after all.

"What is this all about?" She asked as he hugged her tight before backing off and taking her hand, leading her in to the other room that was filled with fall's last blooms of roses in different vases.

"We missed you." Erik said with a grin.

"But I've only been gone a few hours!" She exclaimed, looking around the room with doe eyes.

"It seemed longer. You've been so weary lately. You look tired all the time. I wanted to cheer you up."

"Father!" Charles yelled in dismay.

"_We_ wanted to surprise you." He corrected, then pulled a single red rose from the inside of his vest, a black ribbon hanging neatly from it.

S he took it in her own hands, gaping at it until she realized what she had missed. "No thorns." She said in puzzlement, looking up in to his eyes.

"No."

"But all the others used to have them."

"That's when I thought that every love had thorns in them. Love...full of disappointments, regrets, being let down...but you have proved my theory wrong."

She grinned, hugging him close again. "You never used to speak with such..."

"Passion? I've always had passion to show you. Do you not remember Don Juan Triumphant? That was passion. For you and only you."

She blushed. "I meant more on the romantic side." She said lightly.

"I suppose living with a woman with such idealistics can change any man. Do you not agree?"

"I suppose I must - the result is standing before me."

Just as he went in for the kiss, Charles tugged at her skirt and his pants.

"Maman, I still have a surprise for you!" He whinned impatiently. Erik sighed and released his wife so Charles could take her by the hand and hurry them to his room, Erik trailing behind. But when Christine looked at him from over her shoulder, her expression said it all.

They had the perfect life now. The perfect family. The perfect spouse. Surely nothing could go wrong now that their life was so flawless.

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**A/N: I will only say this once, before you find out on your own soon enough - I am NOT a Mary-Sue fluff writer. I am a dramatic angst writer. So enjoy the perfect little life of Erik and Christine while you can! You know...just a warning. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Here we go:**

"Please Maman? Please? Just once so I can see it and then I'll be good forever! Just once?" Charles pleaded as Christine was readying to leave the house.

"Charles, you can't." Erik replied, helping Christine with her coat. 

"Actually...perhaps he could." Christine said, biting her bottom lip, a habit that seemed to never fade.

"Christine..." Erik said with eyes wide.

"We're doing a show tonight. Everyone will be busy, and if I take Charles, I'll be there just in time to get dressed and run on stage." Then, lowing her voice, she whispered, "He wont have a chance to hear about the rumors. I'll be right by his side."

Charles had already taken that as a yes, so he started to grab his coat and put it on.

"You sure about this?" Erik asked again, trying to decide.

"Don't you agree? If you don't, then...I just thought that if he went once..."

Erik nodded. "I suppose you're right."

"If you're nervous that the rumors..."

But now Erik felt like he couldn't disappoint his son. "No, take him. I could use an uninterrupted day to get my opera completed."

And so it was settled. Christine led Charles out in to the chilly fall weather. It was heavily foggy, making the sea look even grayer than the sky. Charles delighted in this strange beauty before hopping in to the carriage and eagerly anticipating arriving at the long awaited Opera House.

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"I have a secret to tell you." Christine said excitedly to Meg when they were alone, practicing the ballerina's dancing.

"You do? What is it?"

The elder girl offered a smile, her eyes aglow. She put her hand over her abdomen. "I'm with child."

Meg's jaw went slack. "You are? Oh Christine, I'm so happy for you!" She said, hugging her tight.

"But remember, this is a secret. I didn't tell anyone else. Not a single soul! Not even Erik, so please keep it quiet!"

"Not a word shall pass these lips of such a secret, my dear friend!"

"Christine, your dress is ripped!" Madame Giry exclaimed. It was just twenty minutes before the show, and a diaster had arisen. Christine looked in the back of her dress and saw a deep gash in it.

"It must have happened when I was practicing ballet with Meg." Christine said in dismay.

"You're not supposed to be practicing with the dancers, let alone in your dress!" The older woman exclaimed, ushering her away to the seamstress's.

But Christine quickly turned back. "Meg, could you watch Charles for me?"

Meg's eyes were bright as she smiled. "Of course. But Christine, please hurry! I have so much to do!"

Christine nodded and let Madame Giry lead her away. But it wasn't long before the young ballet tarts were on stage, fiddling with their laces of their slippers and trying to tie on their skirts. With her mother gone, it was Meg's job to help.

"Charles, stay right here." Meg told the small boy, seated at the side of the stage as he watched all the chaoticness around him.

He nodded, and she rushed off, confident that he was far enough away from the older ballet dancers' children that spread many rumors to remain innocent.

"What's your name?" A boy around eight asked.

"Never seen you around here before." Another asked.

"Charles. Christine Daae is my mother." He explained.

"She's your mother?" A little girl said in shock. "How lucky! Can you sing as good as she?"

"Course he cant, he's a boy!"

Soon there was quite the crowd around him, all wanting to see the child that Christine had never brought before. He became quite popular, quite quickly.

"Who's your father?" Came up the question.

"My father? His name is Erik Destler. But he's at home. He don't like the opera house much." Charles answered, standing up to walk off the stage, curiosity to match his mother's leading him.

"Oh, don't wander far!" The girl shrieked. "You'll get caught!"

"Caught? By who?" He asked, his curiosity peeked in another direction.

"Oh, the Phantom of the Opera!"

"The Opera Ghost!"

"O.G. himself!" The children all said at once.

"I dont...who?" Charles stuttered, walking back to them.

"He plagues here. Been around forever. Set the place on fire once too!"

"I heard that he was in love with your mother once!"

"But she broke his heart to love another."

"Then she disappeared!"

"Didnt come back for a long time. And then no one talked about what had happened. But it was the Phantom for sure!"

They all gushed.

"What does he look like if he's a ghost?" Confusion washed over the small boy.

"Oh, he don't look like a ghost, no how! He looked like a regular man."

"Then..."

"But he's not! He dresses in black, with a long cape and a sword with a skull head on it."

"But..." Another boy finished for the other, "The main way to know it's him is a white mask over half of his face."

This got Charles worried. "What?"

"It's a mask. Out of porcline. Kinda thick...goes from his forehead to his jaw."

"His clothes are evening wear."

"Plays the organ. He's really good. Writes operas too for here."

Charles started to tremble, his breathing shallow. Then suddenly, he started to scream! Loud and hard, his pitch terribly high.

Christine ran from the dormitories where their seamstress was located all the way to Charles, who was in hysterics, screaming about how the Phantom was his father.

"Oh God." Meg said, looking stricken with shock as Christine knelt by her son, trying to get him to stop screaming.

"Please honey, stop. Stop screaming, you're alright."

"My father's the opera ghost!" he shouted at her in pure fright.

"No, no he's not. He's not, Charles! Calm down, please calm down!" She said, her own tears falling.

He screamed until his cheeks were bright red and he felt both dizzy and weary, his small body collapsing in to his mother's arms.

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	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Short and not-so-sweet, but I'll update again real soon!**

"Erik! Erik, hurry!" Christine called, Madame Giry opening the door for her to come through with Charles in her arms.

Erik bounded up the stairs, his chest already filled with dread.

"What happened?"

"Charles...he..."

Erik didnt need to hear the rest. Charles started screaming again when he saw his father, making Christine's eyes water in sorrow. "I'm so sorry!" She said, her chest starting to heave in sobs. Madame Giry put her hand on Christine's shoulder.

"Why don't Meg and I take care of Charles?" She asked, Meg already waiting to take the boy in her arms. He willingly went to her, and Erik hurried down to the basement with Christine.

"Tell me." He spoke, worried.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it to happen! Please, oh God Erik, don't hate me for turning your child against you! If I had known-" She was full on crying now, her stomach aching from it. Erik quickly took her in his arms.

"Come now, this is not the time to cry. No one blames you. Now tell me what happened so I know how to react to this situation. How bad is it?"

Christine took a deep breath, trying to follow his advice. "There...there was a rip in my dress. Madame Giry hurried me to the seamstress. Meg was on watch, but I should never have left him with her. She's so busy! She has all the younger ballet tarts to tend for-"

"Christine..." Erik reminded her to get to the point.

"Forgive me. But she lost sight of him for a moment, and he met with some of the children there of the girls who work at the Populaire. They must have told him about what the Phantom looked like, because Charles matched you and he, most likely because of your mask. He started to scream that the Phantom was his father. Erik, I'm so scared! What if someone believes him? It's not only you that they rumor about! It's me too! Everyone knows about how you loved me back then. There's suspicion... after all, no one knows who the father of Charles is! What if they believe him? What if they connect it all together? What if they come after you?" With a cry, she grabbed on to him tight, burying her face in to his chest. "I'm so scared, Erik. I'm so scared! They cant take you away from me! Not now! Not after all this!" She sobbed heavily, wetting his shirt.

He held on to her, trying to figure out what to do. "Don't you worry, angel. We'll think of something."

Next he yelled for Madame Giry. "Go back in to town. See what is happening, and do your best to hurry back to inform us."

She turned and started to hurry up the stairs without a word.

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	5. Chapter 5

Meg walked slowly down the stairs as she bit her bottom lip, a habit she picked up from her dear friend. She had hesitated enough, she had to go and face the music. But when she was almost off the steps, she saw a sight that still startled her. Christine was sitting on Erik's lap, his arms wrapped around her, kissing her forehead and whispering soothing words to his secret wife.

Meg's mouth opened in surprise, the words taken out of her mouth completely. Finally, she cleared her throat.

Christine blushed when she saw her friend and rose from Erik's embrace. "Meg?"

"I'm...I'm sorry. To both of you, I beg of your forgiveness!" Meg said, tears instantly streaming down her cheeks. "I should have watched him better. I promised that I would and I didnt...I'm sorry! This is all my fault! Now your lives and your...your happiness could be in danger from my mistake."

Christine quickly slipped out of Erik's light grasp on her hand and ran to Meg, wrapping her arms around her best friend.

"Oh Meg, no! No, you're not to blame. It was bound to happen sooner or later. I grieve so because I knew this and still brought him. Do not blame yourself. Just don't leave us either."

Meg nodded, smiling through her sorrow to encourage her friend.

Just then, the door slammed upstairs.

"Antionette." Erik said in surprise, jumping up and running up the stairs, the two women following him.

"What news?" Erik asked.

Madame Giry looked sadly upon the three. "I...I am sorry."

Christine quickly went in to Erik's embrace, as if it would ward off further bad news.

"There is great suspicion. They have mapped out the areas where you are most likely to be. I regret to say that your house is in their territory. They are starting a search, just in case. Great history have you created, Erik, and much has your son stirred up. They want to make sure you are dead, not just believe it until the next diaster occurs."

"I have left them alone! Seven years I have left them alone!" Erik roared suddenly, his fist meeting with the wall close to him, creating splinters in the paint that covers up the old wallpaper.

Christine wrapped her arms around him in her fear. "What are we going to do, Erik? What's going to happen? We'll...we'll have to leave-"

"No!" He exclaimed, looking down upon her. "No, I will not have my family on the run!"

"But you cant be caught! You know what horrid things would happen!"

Erik stared at her as he thought, knowing what he had to do but afraid to say it. "Christine...it is I who must go."

She looked in shock until she found her voice again. "No! I wont let you go without me! If they caught you...they would never listen to you!"

But Erik wouldn't hear it. He told his plan that he refused to waver upon - he'd leave, and he wouldn't come back until it was all over. Not just the search, not just the nasty words, but until the last rumor is wiped from the Parisians lips.

Christine packed him clothes and food, but even with her slight stalling, he was gone within minutes. And just like that, their perfect family had vanished, now shattered and broken and torn apart for Paris only knew how long.

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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Just remember - you're not supposed to quite understand everything that is happening right away here, so be patient and enjoy this tidbit until I can finish the next chapter. :) **

**Thirteen Long Years Later**

"Maman! Maman, Father's here! Look, his carriage just arrived!"

Christine wiped her wet hands and smiled at her boy. "Alright Gus, you can go greet him. Just come right back in - the storm is coming."

The twelve year old boy let out a joyous yell and ran out the door.

"Charles, your father's home." She called, but Charles stayed in his room.

He wasn't very fond of such meetings. Sighing, she was just about to go back washing the dishes when the door flew open, Gustave running back in.

"He's here! He's here!" He exclaimed happily. "And he got presents!"

As customed, he ran to 'his' chair in the family room, awaiting his gifts.

"Father!" Gustave exclaimed happily as he walked in the door.

Christine mustered up a smile, but her heart sank, as it was accusomed to at these times.

"Charles wont come out, Raoul." She stated.

The Vicomte nodded. "Of course. Well, he'll have to come out sometime to get this." He said, holding up a box.

"Who cares about Charlie? I want my gifts, Papa! I'm here! Gifts!"

Raoul flashed a wide, dazzling smile at him, giving him two boxes. "Enjoy." He said, then walked over to Christine, offering an arm that she refused. "Walk with me?"

She nodded, and he led her outside on the porch.

"It's good to see you again. It's been a few weeks." Christine said softly.

"I've been very busy, my dear. Yet you don't seem that excited to see me now."

She looked away.

"Charles is never happy to see me."

"Because he knows that truth."

Raoul's eyes grew wide. "He...he knows?"

"Not about us. But he knows you're not his real father. He says he remembers his father's voice, and it's not yours. He's very smart."

"That he is." Raoul agreed sadly. "But if he knows that...what does he think of you and I?"

"I don't know. I doubt that he has been able to put that together yet. I think he believes me to not lie to him. So when I say about our secret marriage..."

"He believes that but not me."

"I know he treats you with only anger and disrespect, but you must understand. He knows there was another. He and Erik were very close when Charles was little. I suppose you must count your blessings with Gustave."

"Papa! Papa, I love it!" Gustave shouted, running out the door as he held a detailed metal train.

Raoul winked at Christine and walked over to the boy.

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**A/N: Just to make this clear, Christine is NOT married to Raoul. They just say they are for the sake of Christine's reputation and for the children's. **


	7. Chapter 7

"Shall we take a walk to the sea ledge?" Christine called her sons who were in their bedrooms the next day.

The clouds were still gray and full of unfallen rain, but they had spent enough time cooped up in the house waiting for the water to pour down upon them.

Madame Giry, who had nearly just arrived to help in anything, made a worried, alarmed glance.

"What is it, Madame?" Christine asked.

"Nothing." She assured with shaking her head.

"No, it's something. And I wish you to tell me! Every time I offer such, that look comes upon your face. What is it?"

Madame Giry took her cup of tea and walked over to a chair to drink it. "I don't wish to do so."

"But I do. Please? Is there not enough secrets in this family?"

The elder sighed. "I suppose. But it's nothing, it really isn't. It's just...the last thing Erik said to me before he fled was to keep you away from lakes and deep bodies of water. I believe he was only teasing, but even still..."

A shiver ran down Christine's spine. "How's Meg?" She asked, quickly changing the subject.

"She's fine."

"And her children?"

"All five are quite well and good. As is her husband. They'd like to come visit you soon."

"I'd like that. But the journey for all of them in a little carriage... I know it's difficult for my dear friend."

"It is not she whom you must worry about with family affairs."

"What could I say? If I was to give Meg a report...how strange it would be! My two sons are so vastly different - one rebellious and angry at the world, so much like his father, and my other son acts like an angel, yet is so utterly confused! He doesn't even know true from false any longer. He's so trusting...it breaks my heart. And then my husband! He is believed to be dead, though no one will let his legency rest. And then...oh, then there is Raoul! Raoul, my husband's enemy...raising my children. Erik's children! And I? I am lost, doing my best that is just not enough!"

"Calm down, child. You are doing your best, and it is indeed enough. Your sons both love you very much. Charles is bitter about the Vicomte, but that is to be expected. Yet he still has a smile to offer you. And Gustave is the happiest boy I have ever seen! You are doing a fine job. And Raoul is as well. Things will work out in the end, I promise you." She was offering all the reassurance she could, holding Christine's hands between her own.

"I want to go for a walk by the sea, Maman!" Gustave said, finally appearing.

"What took you so long?" Christine asked, putting on a smile.

"I was busy hiding my train so Charlie wouldn't get it."

"Why would he want it?"

Gustave looked upset suddenly. "He...he don't like anything that Father gives me. Even the things he gets he usually hurts them."

"Hurts them?"

"Takes them apart. Changes them. It ruins the toy! And now he is eyeing up my toy train."

Christine sighed, standing up. "Well come on. I'll have to deal with that later. Is your brother coming?"

"No, he's busy. Says he's di...disect...ing?"

She groaned. "Alright, we'll let him be for now. Come, we best get going before the storm comes."

But before the two left, Christine looked back at Madame Giry.

"Look in on Charles, would you?"

"Of course." She assured.

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	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! I hope you're all with me still!**

"Charles?" Madame Giry said quietly, slowly opening his door. But Charles didn't move from his hunched position over his desk, busy at work.

"Charles, what are you up to?"

Then she saw. He was putting together different pieces of metal and moving parts that meant nothing to her mind but everything to his. She grinned, wishing she could tell him just how much he was like his father that did the same thing.

"What are you making?" She asked now.

Charles gave a small shrug to let her know that he had heard her but nothing more. A little screw that was hardly big enough to hold with more than a thumb and index finger was busy screwing pieces together.

Then suddenly, he said, "Will you tell me about my father when he was my age?"

Madame's eyes grew large for a moment before her look was composed again. "I believe he has told you it all already. About how he and Phillip-"

"No!" Charles finally roared, throwing whatever it was the was working on against the wall.

"No! He is not my father! You lie! Mother lies! That Vicomte lies! I want to know about my real father! I remember him! I do, no one believes it but I do! But I was so young...I need help! I need help remembering..." By the end, he was no longer shouting, but near whimpering, his hands covering his face. "I just...I don't understand. One day he was there, taking care of me...teaching me things...and then the next...he had vanished and we haven't seen him since. Why did he go, Madame? Why?"

Madame Giry ran her hand gently through his hair in comfort. "Shh, Charles. You're all worked up. Come, would you like to take a walk with me?"

But instead, he pushed away her hand and ran out of the room as fast as he could so she wouldn't follow, yet she knew where she'd find him. It's where she always found him when he was upset - in the basement, sitting at the organ.

"Like father like son." She whispered sorrowfully as she heard the door at the steps slam closed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	9. Author Note

Author's Note:

Hello Everyone!

Those of you who have me on author alert may get this message quite a few times over. For that, I apologize! But I want everyone who should see this to see it.

As I've said before, I don't abandon my stories. When I start them, I have full intention to finish them. But recent events prove that I'll have to take off of writing for at least quite a few months. I hate to do that, because I know it's unfair to all my readers, but I really have no choice.

Therefore, I decided to offer up my stories to my readers. Any writer who likes my stories and wants to take a swing at them to finish them up, here's your chance. I'm sure if you're a reader, you have your ideas of what you'd like to see happen in the story. For those stories that I still have all the plans for ( I lost my notebook full of story plans a while back) , if you'd like, I'll send them to you and offer up any help I can.

If you'd like to make one of my Phantom stories as one of your own, send me a PM with which story you'd like to take over. First come, first serve for all.

Lastly, I'd just like to really say I'm sorry I couldn't finish all of these myself. Here's hoping that someone(s) out there will be willing to take my place!

-G.A.


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Angst, Drama