A little, morbid oneshot, not what you would expect from me at all. This stared out as a "what if..." idea that spiraled into a story. It's a little weird. Not like anything I have written before. Review an express you feelings, okay?
Leroux-based. Depressing. Have fun!
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During Christine's pregnancy, the medicine she took proved to be too strong; it nearly killed her. The physician stayed long enough to keep her alive, but then quickly rushed to England on affairs. He wrote a letter to the Vicomte de Chagny a few weeks later and mailed it to France.
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Christine struggled until the midwife said, "There! I can see its head. One more push, dearest."
As the last of the pressure emptied from her body, she fell back on her pillows, listening for the cry. Sure enough, it came—but it was from the midwife.
"Oh no, oh no—somebody get the Vicomte!"
Christine leaned forward, desperate to see her little child. The midwife drew away from her, throwing a cloth over the baby's head. Other people in the room were leaning in, looking for the child.
"My poor girl," the midwife murmured, looking at Christine. "You must remember that everything happens for a reason—"
"Is my baby dead?" Christine sobbed, and she reached out her arm. "Why do you cover his face?"
She nearly tumbled out of the bed, but the midwife held her back with one hand. Her eyes darting around, she crossed herself, and handed the strange bundle to Christine.
Christine knew instantly that it was alive; she could feel them squirming in her grasp. Tenderly, she adjusted the child so his face would be pointing upwards, and she pulled back the ugly, tattered cloth.
The baby opened its misshapen mouth and screamed.
It's face…
She felt a strange sensation rising up in here, a terrible shock that she didn't understand…
Erik's face…
No, it couldn't be… it wasn't possible. They had never… she had never…
"Christine?"
She saw Raoul come towards her, concern written in his eyes as he hurried over to her. The midwife was trying to take the bundle back and Raoul peered anxiously, trying to see…
But all Christine could see was blackness.
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The midwife told the young couple that the child would most likely die in the night. Christine fed it carefully, repulsed by the child, and repulsed by herself for feeling this way towards her child. Raoul watched, the terrible sadness on his face being replaced with one of anger.
When her son was placed into the beautiful bassinet by their bed, Christine went to Raoul and wept.
"I do not understand." she cried. "It's not possible. It's not possible! I never, ever… it can't be? How did this happen?'
Raoul rocked her back and forth. "Hush." he said soothingly, his fingers rubbing a circle into her back. "This is not your fault. You did nothing wrong. But that thing, Christine… think of all the time you said you were unconscious around him…"
Christine burst into fresh tears as her stomach plunged. She couldn't believe it… all that time, all of his words had been lies… Erik had indeed been a monster, and she had been foolish to show him one ounce of pity. To think that she had gone back and buried him, gave him the ring! Honored him, when he has dishonored her! The bastard…!
"How could he?" she moaned. "Raoul, I'm sorry!"
"Not your fault." Raoul repeated again, and tears were in his eyes as well. "Oh, my love, you did not deserve this!"
"What of the baby?" she asked hopelessly. "It is my child, but… but I can't…"
"The midwife said it was not likely to survive the night." he said thoughtfully. "It does not look very healthy."
"Oh!" Christine gulped. "I must be a horrible mother, not to care for my child!"
"Nonsense." Raoul said sharply. "It was not your fault."
Christine took a few deep breaths. She rose from her seat and went over to the crib, where the baby stared up at her. She noticed that his eyes were round and blue, with a little curve at the edges, just like Raoul's… but her mind must be playing tricks on her, for the child was not Raoul's.
"I am sorry." she whispered to her baby. "I am sorry for everything. I did not mean to bring you into this cruel world. I never would have, had I known…"
And she collapsed to the floor, struck once again with the pain that Erik had only given her lies… and she had fallen for every single one of them.
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Raoul put on a brave face. When friends and such asked to see the baby, he would tell them it was sleeping. When family came, Raoul explained that the baby was sick and needed utter silence and darkness, and therefore could not be disturbed. But word got out. Those present at the birth began to tell the others what was truly wrong with the baby, and Raoul found his position changed. He could feel, rather than see as people sneered at him. Friends declined their customary visits. His family ignored his letters. And slowly, because of the damned baby, Raoul was losing his reputation.
Raoul put on a brave face. He was above reputations. He had his Christine, and she was the only thing that mattered to him.
But the baby...
It was now over a month old, and he hated it. It was bad enough, having to look into his face, for the child couldn't wear a mask yet, and it was a horrible child. All it ever did was cry and scream. Christine had named it Claude, and he wanted nothing to do with it. In his mind, the thing represented Erik. Erik, who had defiled his Christine while pretending to be noble.
And Raoul couldn't even do anything about it, as the monster was already dead.
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Christine cared for the baby as well as she could. He cried so much! She spent time with him endlessly, singing to him for hours on end, but he would not be calmed by music. Nothing, it seemed could calm him.
She knew what a strain this had put on her marriage. For nine months, they had been happily awaiting a little one of their own, a perfect child made in their love. Instead, it was a sign letting Christine know that she had been used and betrayed.
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The thing stared at him. In Raoul's mind, the baby was Erik—Erik had done this, and now he was probably laughing at them all, looking out through the eyes of that baby.
"Listen, you." Raoul muttered to the child. "Why did you do this? Did it satisfy you? Did you ever stop to think of the consequences? Listen to me, Erik. Were you thinking about Christine at all?"
The child had burst into tears at that point, as Christine came scurrying into the room.
"He must be tired," Christine said distractedly. "I must put him down." And she shooed Raoul out of the room.
Raoul discovered quickly that he hated the child, because the child was Erik.
Just like Erik, it took his wife away from him; just like Erik, it always got its way; Just like Erik, it was an ugly, mindless creature.
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He couldn't stand watching Christine with it. She would hold it in a motherly fashion, feeing it, singing to it, loving it.
He lay beside her one night as he attempted to drift off to sleep. She continuously rolled back and forth, until Raoul couldn't take it, and he said, "What's the matter?"
"Nothing." she said, but it was in her little voice that Raoul knew she used when she lied.
"What's the matter?"
"I heard you talk to Claude today." she said hesitatingly.
He stared at her shoulder. "And?"
"You called him Erik."
He looked at her blankly. "So?" In his mind, the thing was Erik. It looked just like him, for God's sakes! It was his child! It was his fault!
"That child is not Erik!" Christine hissed, turning over at last to look at her husband. "You and I are raising him. You are his father."
Raoul laughed once. "I am not." he said.
Christine put her head down. "I would give anything in the world for you to be." she whispered.
Raoul was silent for a long moment. He knew he should not be taking out his anger on his wife, who had wanted none of this, but it hurt him more than she would ever be able to imagine. The monster had destroyed everything he had ever dreamed…
"We could have our own child." Raoul said. "You and I. Our child."
"Yes." Christine answered quickly. "We will, I promise you. Just ours."
"Christine," he said, reaching towards her for a kiss. A shrieking cry sounded from the room down the hall.
"The baby." Christine stated quietly, leaning up and throwing off the covers.
"Leave it."
She looked scandalized. "Leave my son to cry? I cannot do that. He needs me." And she crept up lightly and vanished out into the hallway. A minute later, the baby's cries were reduced to a pitiful whimper, and Christine's voice could be heard very softly.
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One day, he'd had enough. He had watched Christine play with it—yes, play with it in a fond manner, as if she cared for the child!—and she yelled at him when he made a remark about his face, and the baby had started crying.
"Raoul!" Christine scolded, picking up the thing and holding it close to her. "Why would you say such a thing?"
"It's true." Raoul replied, unrepentant. He was a little ashamed, but it's not as though the thing had understood him…
"There, there." Christine said sweetly to her baby. "Papa didn't mean it… he's tired, that's all. We all get cranky when we're tired."
Later, he had a very important guest over and Christine stood dutifully by his side, greeting him politely. She had looked so lovely, in a cream colored gown that brought out the blush in her cheeks and the highlights in her hair.
Then the baby had screamed, and Christine had rushed away, into the hallway. Raoul apologized again and again, and the man brushed it off, saying he had five children at home. But then his face had changed—it turned drastically white and his eyes widened—Raoul turned to see Christine walking by the room, the baby on her shoulder, its face clearly in view.
The man had left rather hastily, and Raoul knew that he would never see him again.
He had argued with Christine, and she had defended the baby. "He can't help being ugly!" she had cried, pulling him into her arms. "It wasn't his fault!"
"Why did you bring him out?"
"I was heading to the kitchen! That's the only way there!"
Raoul struggled to remain in control. She didn't understand... he loved her, but not her child. He hated the child because it was a constant reminder of Erik; didn't she realize this?
He stormed into his study, and had brainstormed. He felt ill—this was quite unlike him, to be plotting something like this, but he had no choice. Erik had driven him to this. Raoul was a youthful, charming youth with the woman of his dreams, and Erik had shattered everything.
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"It was supposed to die."
Christine stared at her husband, and she could see all the pain and suffering in there. She had caused all of this, with her little baby. It killed her. Poor Raoul…
"He seems healthy." she said slowly. "He's eating solid food now. He can sit by himself. "
Raoul seemed adamant. "The midwife said he would die."
Christine turned fearfully to him. "I think it was—it was just his face, darling."
He looked at her. "I cannot go on much longer like this. He'll never belong anywhere. All we can do is shield him, hide him—and then what?"
She sighed. "What am I supposed to do? He is my son. I love him, as a mother would."
Raoul viewed her listlessly. "You could… give him something." he offered. "In his food. It would be very quick. Or you could wait until he was sleeping, and he would wake up somewhere else."
Christine sat straight up. "Poison him?"
"It would be merciful. Only God could love a face like that."
Christine's hand flew out and smacked him. There was a moment of chilled silence, and then Raoul rolled over and leaned out of bed. Christine could see the unshed tears in his eyes. He dropped his head in his hands and began to cry.
"Raoul, Raoul!" Christine sobbed. "I'm sorry!"
She reached for him, wanting to comfort him in any way she could, but he stood quickly and slammed the door.
Raoul cried because he loved his Christine more than anything in the world, and because all he wanted was everything to be perfect for her. And Erik had ruined everything!
He went to his desk, where someone had brought the mail in. To distract himself, he looked through it impatiently. There was a letter from the doctor who had treated Christine during her pregnancy. He set it on top, not caring to open it. He did not want to read any pleasantries from the doctor, asking about the baby. There was a bang from the other room,
He hurried in to find Christine pulling things into a small bag. "I've made my decision." she announced, and he could see tear streaks on her perfect cheeks. "Claude cannot stay like this forever, you are right. I am going to find a doctor that will help him. I will pay whatever. Then I will return home."
Raoul looked at her confusedly. "Now? In the middle of the night?"
She nodded, and it dawned on him that she was packing. And leaving.
Raoul felt a corrosive hatred towards Erik like he'd never had before. If Erik hadn't raped her in the first place, none of this would have happened!
"You are not." he said, his voice low and furious. Christine looked up. "I will not have you running off in the middle of the night to help that thing! So help me, at least wait until tomorrow!"
Christine looked at him sadly, and shook her head. She pressed a kiss to his lips.
"I love you, Raoul." she said. "Please believe me. But if we are going to retain any of our sanity, I must do this. And I cannot stand to watch you suffer another moment."
"I cannot watch you suffer, either," he began, but she gave him a weak smile and vanished.
He stood there for a full minute, listening to her gathering the baby. She passed him one more time, and she had thrown a blanket over the child's head.
Erik! You are lucky you are dead, or I would have killed you for the way you hurt Christine!
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After three days, Raoul panicked.
She was not coming back.
It struck him as so obvious when he saw what she had taken. Everything that mattered to her.
He obviously did not.
He sat in his room and sobbed hysterically for quite some time, ignoring all knocks at his door. He prayed for her safety and he return, and then he cried some more. All he wanted was his love back—and if the child had to come too, then so be it! He would suffer through it for Christine, because Christine was everything to him…
There was a violent snowfall later that night. It lasted for days. They say it was the coldest winter Paris had experienced in decades. And Raoul sat in front of his fire and panicked.
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Christine lay on the cold ground, crying. Too many doctors had thrown her out, too many people had slammed the door in her face. It had begun to snow very lightly, and Christine all but lay on top of her baby to keep him warm.
He cried, and she cried with him. She didn't even know where she was anymore, and she knew how foolish she'd been. She wanted Raoul to come and tell her everything was going to be alright. She just couldn't bear seeing the torture in her husband's eyes whenever he looked at her. Their lives were ruined forever, and Christine knew she could be a burden no longer. But now she was selfish again, and she wanted him back.
The child whined beside her and she picked him up and clutched him to her chest. When walking, at least she was warmer.
Finally, she began to recognize things again, looking around into the mist.
The Opera House.
She all but ran to it, crying with relief and joy. The main doors were locked, but she knew another way in…
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Raoul paced back and forth. Over a week… it had been over a week. He had sent men out searching for her, to no avail. She was still gone. If he had not let her leave, she would be safe with him.
.
The baby had not cried for a day now. He simply lay there in the little crib Christine had made in Erik's home and did not move. His eyes were closed.
Christine chatted happily. "And in the morning, my child, Papa will come and read a story to you! Papa and I used to tell stories to each other when we were children. Did you know that, my precious? Now, you've been sleeping for such a long time now, and I really don't think—"
She suddenly shuddered and broke off, dropping onto the couch. When was the last time she had eaten? She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe… what would Raoul do? Raoul would ignore the child, and grow angry at her… tears filled her eyes. Her dear, sweet Raoul deserved better than what she could give.
"Erik?" she called sleepily. "Will you sing to me?"
And out of nowhere, she saw her Angel looking down upon her, reaching out his hands. "Come with me," he said beautifully, and she took his hands and never looked back. She felt no anger towards him, and she had the oddest sensation in her, as if she couldn't remember why she hated him. She slumped forward on the couch, as if in a slumber.
She would never wake up.
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Raoul sat in his study. His tears were all gone. A month ago, he had so many tears in him that he couldn't cry enough. But now… he felt empty.
On his desk lay the stack of letters that had accumulated. He had not read a single one of them. Mouth set in a grim line, he began reading them slowly, distracting himself. He found one that was on top: a letter from London. He tore it open, wondering what the doctor had to say:
Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny-
I must inform you how very lucky you are that your wife is still with you after the poisoning. It would have been deadly in most. Although it seems that she has escaped any damage, I regretfully inform you that the child she carried may be affected. I know the child still lives, for I felt the movement, but we are looking at other side effects of the drugging. I believe that the child will be born with some deformity—common effects of this drug are yellowy skin, little or no hair, or even missing body parts—I have seen babies born without noses or ears. I am terribly sorry to break this news to you, and hope that the damage in minimal. Hopefully, you will continue to love your child as much as a father could. Being a good man, I have faith in you. Send my regards to your wife, and tell her I am sorry.
Raoul could not move.
His wife…his son…
It had been his son… Erik had never… and now…
Raoul went forward, laughing like a maniac.
He had killed them.
He had killed them both. He had let them get away, and he would never see them again. He had sent his wife and child to their death.
It was all his fault.
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