Phantom of the Opera 1. Chapter 1

A dusty gust of wind flipped the pages of a journal, dropped in the woods and forgotten, pages damp and words blurred from the dew. A young mysterious man walked through forest, solemn and searching, deep into the middle of the night. Having not slept in days, he collapsed to the ground, thick with decomposed leaves. He could feel the wet sod soak through his thinning dress pants. There was a searing pain piercing his head. Against all his will to continue moving, he smelled the sweet smell of plant life- cycles rising above his head.

A woman walked through the streets, her skin multicolored with burns that slashed deep into the eyes of all who saw her, and all of France had seen her, for she was the Traveling Spirit, who appeared in a new village each night. She was said to be delirious of love, for she spoke to the small bundle she held in her arms. She was also said to have lost a love, a love most dear to her, and for that was she searching. In reality that was only partially true. She was looking for a forgotten love because she had lost another.

A knock came at the door as a tall, wiry man spun anxiously in his bed. The woman was banging against the door, fists becoming red and splintered. The noise awoke the man with a start. He threw a cape over his square shoulders and tossed the hood over his thin face. For a moment the noise stopped, and then there was a final crash against the door, wooden and tall, face engraved with twisting vines. He attempted to push the door open, but feeling the resistance, recoiled and tried the other door. Looking over her shoulder, she tried to toss her hair, but was quickly brought back to the reality that she had none; it had all been burnt in the fire.

"Erik" She whispered, bundle being held close to her body.

"No, miss," He said "Nadir."

"O-oh, I need to speak to Master Erik, now please." She replied, shaking violently and sounding desperate.

"Come, my good miss, we shall see if he can arrange time to speak to you." He spoke in a gentle tone.

"I thank you, Messieurs." Still whispering, but even softer now, and gripping the door like it was the last thing she would ever touch.

Through deathly dark corridors, lined with dust, thick and making the air musty. Out of the blackness she felt the fatal cold of familiar fingers coil around her wrist. Before the pain even came, she cried out, but the cold delicacy actually felt good against the fierce pain the burns had caused her. They walked into a well-lit room where she could get a good look at exactly who this Nadir was. Was the Opera House still in business? But it had burned and the grime was incredible. But why would he stay? It couldn't be. The man had said he wasn't Erik.

"Erik, why did you lie to me?" Voice wavering between whispers and speaking softly, she spoke.

"Have I not already told you I am Nadir?" He screamed, striking the woman's already sore skin. On a perfect cue, the bundle in her arms fell to the ground and began to wail relentlessly out of pain.

"Erik!" She screamed.

"I told you I'm not . . . " His eyes widened at the woman kneeling on the floor, face covered in a storm of glistening tears, holding the crying bundle close to her chest.

"Oh, Erik, I'm terribly sorry, are you hurt. She sniffled through her words as she closely examined the child's arm.

"Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory." She sang with a flawless clarity that would wake the thunder, simply to calm the baby down.

"Angle of Music, I deceived you, why should you come back to me?" He sung with perfectly formed words.

"Erik," She whispered into the dark air, unsure of where he was "Before I say any more, you need to know something. I love you, true, but that is not the reason I returned to you. I returned because I have something to ask of you."

"I will do anything for you, my dear Christine."

"I wouldn't say that yet..."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She could see the deep gold yellow of his eyes intensify. That unnatural color and unmoving stare captured her no differently than it had almost two years ago. Painfully, she recalled aroma relentlessly he put hell upon others, and suddenly regretted even living.

"Tell me, my angel, I do not wish to harm you." The voice encompassed the stare, and saw through her bones.

"Erik, I want to see you in full light. I fear my child's life!"

"Then come. We could not have somebody die now, could we?"

The smell of death, strong and painful, swarmed her head as the unmoving child hung limp in her arms. The dense air began to twist and mold, ever so slowly, with the scents of clean linens, into an odor even more disgusting than the first. It was the soft gentle air that challenged her to keep moving, to keep the last child of hers alive.

A flame sparked and sputtered at the other end of the hallway. She could see just the small shimmer against metal piping. She knew that his was Erik's home. The woman had not seen it in too long, and if she never saw it again it would be all too soon. As she passed the flame, she could feel it's dull heat against her cheek.

"Christine," The man whispered "Hand me your child."

A tear ran down her face, stinging against the burns, blue and sore. With what seemed like a great struggle, she looked away from his face and pushed the child toward him. Why did it come to this? Why must he be the only chance at her happiness restored? She bit her lip to refrain from saying anything nasty to him. She could see the hesitation in his eyes.

"Just take him!" She moaned.

"I will care for him. All the while, you need rest. Go and lie in bed, I have not ridded myself of it, although I really should have."

"Yes, Angel."

She had been her far more times than she had wanted to, and knew precisely where he meant for her to lie. Christine had her own room in this small home. It may have very well been the most vibrant room in all of this house. Pale pink walls and a cherry-wood bed, tall posts nearly reaching the low ceiling, overwhelmed her with memories she would rather forget. She felt the pain wash over her again. Falling to her knees, she pulled on her own hair, inflicting pain upon herself. All she could think of was how he had tortured her, and how he was bound to torture the child. She remembered nothing else. She remembered nothing of is compassion nor his tremendous heart that, despite what everyone believed really could contain enormous amounts of love. The world seemed to go black around her, and all her skinned tightened around her already very frail bones, and all at once. In one dramatic second, the whole world fell.


	3. Chapter 3

A cold, dry hand chilled her skin as it brushed across her chin. Her depleted body refused to respond, as much as her mind wanted to.

"Oh, Christine, how can I ever accept that you simply are not mine any longer?" Erik whispered at the still motionless woman on the bed, arms sprawled lazily about the bed, head at a disturbing tilt, unaware of Christine's thoughts.

Last he had seen her, she was a girl, with a thick mop of brownish red hair that sprang to life as it lay on her shoulders. Porcelain skin with a few deep brown freckles scattered laxly just any which way across her arms and face. He looked at the woman on the bed. It seemed so unreal to him that her curly locks of hair were gone, leaving a bald scalded surface. Her porcelain skin, left looking more like a half-roasted turkey than actual skin, was no longer lying like a silken blanket across her bones, but tightened like pulled taffy in a child's small hands. This was by no means the first time Erik had seen Christine sleep, but the first time her facial expression had been such dreadful pain.

A soft moan echoed through the room, seemingly coming from outside the door. In response, Erik turned his head sharply toward Christine, silent and still. She had not moved in even the slightest increment. His heart began to race wildly at the mere thought of somebody finding him in this state, or worse, that it was Raoul, coming to take his beloved Christine away. That he could not handle. Besides, he did not know where Raoul was, where the child had come from, or what had happened that she would return to the man who nigh ruined her life, so it could very well happen.

The quiet moan rang continuously through the room, along with a commotion and rustling of fabrics. Short sharp squeals began to come, and finally a full-fledged cry. Erik began to laugh hysterically at the thoughts that had been going through his head, about a break in and such, when it had only been the child, Erik, he remembered.

"What am I supposed to do, I have never cared for a child before?" He thought aloud to himself, though seemingly speaking to the once lively body on the bed.

"Bring him her, he wants his mother, as all children want in early hours of morning." A whisper came from her unmoving lips. She had clearly awoken now, but most certainly did not have the energy to cope with an upset young one. Her eyes opened, but she was more than obviously using more strength than she had simply to do that.

"You do not have the strength." He stared at her eyes as the opened and closed in convulsive motions, and was disgusted.

"If you ever have a child, you will understand that they are worth so much more than life itself to you." Her eyes shut for another moment, so it appeared to her, and opened to her former lover and the current love of her life.

Christine moved her arms toward the child as far as she could, and touched the small nose, a tiny cherry atop a mound of vanilla ice cream in which the deep black brown eyes played the flowing chocolate, and pale skin played the ice cream. Thinking of this, Christine began to think of how real this metaphor really was, with how cold his face felt and how warm those eyes made her feel, the candied chocolate running down your throat in the ice cream parlor. Those eyes, the same as her Raoul's.

"I apologize sincerely for any doting upon this child, for he is my only child of my own flesh and blood. A child is a compassion that you could never begin to comprehend."


	4. Chapter 4

She had not meant ill, she was not trying to set his delicate temperament off, but in a single stretch of words, she did just that.

"You think that I have no compassion! Christine, I have compassion so far beyond what you see. If your shallow mind would only look far enough, you would see it. Do you truly believe that I would let you in after you broke my heart, with a child no less, if I had no compassion?" The words shot out of his mouth before he could see her eyes, no wide open in shock. The reason he followed love, a road he had sworn since the beginning never to take, was staring back at him, and replaying all he had said. He became numb in a slow wave, starting at his heart and spreading like a fever through every nerve in his body.

"Please, Erik, may we discuss this later, I need to be left alone, now!" Despite all her shock and rage, she closed her bloodshot eyes once more.

"But..."

"NOW!" She screamed, not using any voice, but only air. She reached out to take the child, feeling blindly with her hands.

"I will go, but do allow me to listen at the door, I need to make sure that you do not fall ill."

"You may, but do leave me alone with Erik for now."

She watched as Erik ambled out of the room, looking back every other step to see that she was fine. She lay with her head resting against the top of the headboard, eyes shut and whimpering child nestling his infant nose into the curve of Christine's slender, pale neck. If he was to be discreet, he could watch the conversation between the mother and child. But no, spying was most certainly below his standards of living, though brutal murder was too, it came necessary sometimes.

A man of the forest he had become. He awoke to a slowly arising sun, and saw a hint of shiny blue amongst the dead ocean of leaves. As he crawled closer on his knees, he could see gleaming metal rings. He dug his hand under the leaves and pulled a dripping journal from beneath it all.

His thin hands brushed through the pages written in a childish black ink, but entirely unreadable considering the amount of dew that had washed over it in the past weeks. Only a few words could he read.

June,...,1...

Daddy led...and now...I do not know what ...Sometimes...to love poor...but God only to trust...maybe find...we live alone... missing my mum terribly...I have learned...I must believe ...All things happen for a reason.

Adenaline

The deathly dark night haunted him, but in no comparison to the way the words did. Guilt washed over him worse than it had since his treacherous, unsuccessful search had begun. Was this a sign from Adenaline's beloved God, or some odd coincidence.

"Adenaline," He whispered at seemingly nobody "My lovely Adenaline."


	5. Chapter 5

"What is the problem?" Erik rushed in at top speed and looked over Christine in a special tenderness that contained more love than most people see in a lifetime.

"Might I ask why you think there is a problem to begin with?" Christine whispered, holding one finger to her lips in a signal to keep silent.

The child's wail softened into a gentle whimper in his mother's arms.

"The child was crying, Christine," His tone now less urgent, but rather more accusing. "I though that possibly you needed my help."

"First off, the child's name is Erik, the same as you, so it would be much appreciated if you called him by his name. Possibly you think that because his name is Erik, he is just like you. I can assure that he would never kidnap a young woman and compromise her dignity for his own sake. I can also assure you he will never abuse a woman because of her natural curiosity in the one she has fallen in love with. All things that you did to me, Erik, and yet I thought of you every day. No, this child has your namesake, no doubt, but it has nothing to do with the hell you put me through for most of a year. It was the journey to find you again that led me to name him that, for he was born not a week after the fire, not a week before I lost her." Christine obviously didn't have all her thoughts together yet, but just as obviously, she knew what she was talking about.

"What fire?" Erik suddenly realized he had been gripping the pale pink bed sheet to keep from hurting the young woman.

"In short, I was cooking with my adopted daughter, Adenaline, who was one of sixteen adopted children, and she sat a small pile of Raoul's documents on the stove, not realizing that it was lit. The fire spread quickly. I tried to get all the children out, who could all walk and run sufficiently except for one. Jacob was only two years old and blind. He wouldn't know what was going on. I tried to get to him, but couldn't find him amongst the smoke. I heard a cry through an enormous flame. Whether it was Jacob or not, I couldn't begin to care. One of my children was about to die, and their mother had to save them! I leapt through the fire and saw the tattered figure of a red-haired girl in the fire. She was screaming a prayer for help.

'God' she cried 'I'm going to die. Please save the rest of my family if I do! I'm scared God, I don't want to die at only eight!" It was Adenaline. She had no doubts of that. Adenaline was the only person who would even try to pray when she was being swallowed up by a ball of flames. I cried out to her, but she must not have heard me through her frantic screaming for a miracle. She wasn't the only one who was frantic. I pulled her close to my body, trying to block the heat and flames from her. If she was going to die, I would have to die first." Christine noticed how tense Erik looked. It was as if he couldn't handle any pain befalling his precious little angel.

Christine's eyes closed as she spoke, "I hate to leave you in suspense, but I am very tired, so I will be resting now." It was an order, no doubt about it.


	6. Chapter 6

The over whelming silence pulsed through the room. Erik leaned against the wall, his deathly black holes staring calmly in wonderment at the wise woman and her helpless child laying still on the bed.

"Christine?" Erik knew there knew there would be no answer, which was all the more reason to speak his thoughts to her now. "Do you believe in miracles?" Like a child talking to a stuffed bear or doll, he answered his own question. "You do? I suspected so, because at one time, I was stupid enough to believe you were one." Tears streamed down his skull like face and disappeared into his black dress coat. He could not stand his own guilt anymore, and he stepped out the door. Shutting the door silently behind him, he pressed his thin back against it and held himself tightly in his arms.

At one point I was your all capable angel, as you were mine. I though, no, I knew, that you were in love with Erik. Not the angel, the ghost, nor the genius, but Erik. He spoke to Christine, though she could not hear him. "I thought you understood."

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The man of the forest stood up straight and tossed the journal aside. Holding back his tears, he tried his best to convince himself that he had done the right thing.

"Jean, don't be ridiculous. Alice said it was right, and she is their caretaker. She is their mother, she must know. If Alice says they are devil children, she must be right."

Inside, he could not have been more weak, but outside, he was strong and all ruling. That was how he had convinced Adenaline and Jacob to run away.

"It is all going to be okay, Jean. You can find them and reconcile what has already been done."

With that being said, the man, Jean, set off with a new found slim hope of once again earning his two children's trust.

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Erik was up to his knees in water, staring at an individual spot on the ceiling. As he had been sitting against the door to Christine's room, he had heard an occasional dripping noise. In less than a minute it had grown from the drip, to a nice sized steady pouring from the street into their underground palace. Even though it was pouring into the lake, the lake could all too easily, overflow into the house, that is when everyone would be in trouble, particularly Christine and her tiny Erik.

Balancing carefully on his toes, he reached his bony hand, covered in a white sticky, pulp-like substance he had made to fill cracks such as these, into the crack and smeared it throughout.

"Not exactly the most attractive thing around, but I am not usually said to be a beautiful creature either. It should hold up for at least a week. By then the rain water should be gone."

A young woman in a pale blue dress gown holding a similarly clothed baby, stumbled casually into the small glass paneled room that looked out over the dark, murky lake. She coughed slightly under her breath, which gave a tremendous echo throughout that ever so tiny house on the lake.


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Romance, Tragedy