Title: Return to the SurfaceAuthor: Jayora of JerusainEast Wing character: Kopit!ErikRating: T for TeenGenre: Drama/Possible Romance...Warnings: Possible violence in later : Erik's father finds his son's journal after he buries him in the cellars. I don't know why I did it. He just...looked at me with this unbearably sad expression. The gendarmes were on every side, and I knew one of them would shoot eventually. My son...My son, I'm sorry. Sorry it had to be this way. If only I had taken the time to tell you things about the outside world. About your mother. Christine and Phillipe...Perhaps it would not have come to this. But it has. And you are lying in my arms...silent and cold. I...There are no words. Your singer has left with Phillipe, as we knew it must be. Christine could not have satisfied you, my son. She was to innocent and naive. Phillipe will ruin her...But at least you will not have to see it, my dear Erik. I will miss you, my son. In your eyes I saw myself. In your smile and voice...Your mother was with me again. The world will never know such a voice as yours, son. YOu would have had a fine career, if only the world was not so blind. Sleep my son. I promise, no one will ever find you. I swear that now, again. You will never be on display. Gerard picked up his son's body gingerly. Erik might have been dead, but to Gerard, the knowing came hard. There was nothing to do now but to bury his son, and go on with his life as best he could. Perhaps he would go to Perros. The little town had always held some appeal for him. He sighed as he made his way down the stairs to his son's lair. Erik would be buried in his beloved forest. Gerard had no idea what had awakened him...perhaps the stillness of the Opera House, perhaps something else. But it was there. And he woke. His son's house was as still and silent as it had always been, but the memory of Erik's clear, strong voice still seemed to hang in the musty air of the cellar. Gerard wandered the little house, his hands lightly brushing his son's belongings. Something would have to be done with them...His eyes lighted on a small, brown leather book. One of his son's scores? he picked it up gingerly, the slightly yellowed pages were crinkled at the edges, as if it had been thumbed through a good many times."Dear Father, I know you will find this journal. How, I cannot say, but I know. Father, there is much I have not told you. But there is time now. Read this, my last words on earth, and know that I have always loved you. Have known for many years. My eyes, when I can stand to see them in the mirror, are yours. I have told you this."Gerard wiped his eyes."Father, bury me deep, and then take this journal with you. I want you to know what I was thinking this past year, when everything seemed to glow with Christine's presence. And beyond that into the past. Read and remember me, father. I am not in pain anymore. You may tell Christine that, if she will hear it. ~Erik"The journal seemed larger then. The weight of the tale it had to tell pressed in on Gerard's mind, begging him to read about his son. Gerard lit a candle, and opened the book, mindful of its important story.