A Life Denied

Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux. This is a pure work of fiction, done completely for fun. This story takes place 20 years after the end of the original story and is a mix of different renditions.

Chapter One: Help Me Say Goodbye

He stuffed his gloved hands into the pockets of his coat as he stepped from the carriage. The wind blew snow into his face, chilling his cheeks and making his yellow eyes sting without mercy. He frowned up at the enormous Chagny mansion. He hadn't stepped foot on these grounds since last Christmas. In the window of the master bedroom stood the reason why. The Viscount peered down at him, his once handsome face withered and battered by time and bitterness. A displeased growl reverberated in the young man's chest as the old Viscount turned coldly away from the window.

The front door flew open and a smile instantly appeared on his face. Angeline, his dear little sister, ran out to him and nearly knocked him to the ground. "Brother!" She cried as they held each other. She sobbed into his collar. "Oh Victor! I'm so happy you're here! I was afraid you wouldn't make it in time!"

Victor pulled her away from him and they rushed, arm in arm, into the house. "How is she?" He asked, a lump forming in his throat.

"Not well. The doctors say she may not make it through the night." Angeline sighed sadly. She wiped a tear from her cheek with a pale hand. Angeline, a girl of mere fifteen, was indeed pale and weathered herself, despite her youth. Dark circles ringed her brown eyes and Victor could tell that she had lost a bit of weight.

Victor wound his fingers through his sister's. "It'll be alright, Angeline." He reassured her, though he couldn't be sure of that.

She smiled brightly at him and squeezed his hand tighter. "I know it will, now that you're home. I've missed you, big brother."

"And I you, my dear. I only wish that our reunion were under better circumstances." He frowned deeply and his brows furrowed as he remembered the beauty and joyous spirit his mother once possessed. To think that she could soon be gone from the world. The light of the world was certainly about to dim.

"Mother's been asking for you." Whispered Angeline. She tilted her head and rested it on Victor's broad shoulder. "She says that there's something she must tell you, before the Angel of Music comes to take her to heaven. She was afraid that he would come before you got here." Angeline opened the master bedroom door and she and Victor entered the large, extravagant room.

Their mother, Christine, laid in bed, the covers pulled up to her breasts, her graying brown hair hidden beneath her night cap. Her natural beauty had wasted away along with her body, her great illness robbing it from her. Each breath was hard to take. Victor could see the difficulty of each intake as her chest shuttered with each inhale.

"I'm here." Said Victor, his voice deep and thick with concern.

Christine's brown eyes shot open and she nearly jolted out of bed at the sound of his voice. Her arms reached towards him. "Angel? My angel? You've come for me at last?" She wailed, tears falling from her eyes.

"For God's sake, Christine! Don't be a fool!" Raoul grumbled, irritably. He jumped up and tried to forcibly push her back down on the bed. "You know that devil isn't here. It's only Victor."

Angeline left Victor's side and went to her mother. She stroked a loose coil of hair away from her face, cooing softly. "It's Victor, mother. Only Victor."

Christine stared at Angeline with a puzzled expression. "My angel…he hasn't arrived yet?" She asked, a bit of disappointment evident in her tone.

"Not yet." Angeline sighed, holding back tears. She eased her mother back down and fluffed the pillows beneath her head.

"Thank you, my dear, Angeline." Christine sighed, warmly smiling at her daughter, their same brown eyes beaming into each others.

"I've had enough of this." Raoul hissed. "I'm going out for a walk. I need air." He stalked towards the door.

Victor stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Mother's on her death bed, Father. Don't you think you should stay?"

Raoul's blue eyes became like icy water as he glared at Victor's face, never meeting his eyes. "You haven't a clue what it's been like, boy. After everything that man did, it's still his name she calls out in her last moments."

"It's the fever, Father. She's confused." Angeline reassured him. "Please stay. We should all be together at this difficult time."

"Right." Victor agreed. "Mother needs to be surrounded by the people who love her. Please, stay, Father."

Reluctantly, Raoul retreated back to the chair at Christine's bedside.

"Victor." Christine called out weakly.

Victor hugged her and kissed her forehead. Her skin was clammy and cool beneath his bow shaped lips. "It's good to see you, Mother." He whispered to her soothingly. He took a seat at the edge of the bed and took her hand.

"Ah, my boy. My little boy. You're here. I'm so glad." She smiled, her chocolate eyes peeking at him under heavy lids. "I was thrilled by your last letter. Are you really going to go to the Paris Opera House for vocal lessons?"

Raoul's eyes widened and all the color drained from his face. "H-He's doing what? No! I absolutely forbid it!"

"What's wrong, dear? I think it's wonderful. He has a God given talent. It would be a shame for him to waste it."

"Yes, Father, the Paris Opera has the best vocal teachers around. He could be a star with the right maestro as his teacher." Said Angeline.

"Christine." Raoul's voice lowered from his peak of anger. He clasped her hand and stroked her knuckles with his fingertips. "That place holds such awful memories for me. For us. Do you really think it wise, allowing him to go there…to that dark pit."

"Raoul, I understand your concern, but I think that this will be good for him."

"Christine." Raoul pleaded, pressing his forehead against hers.

Christine reached up with a trembling hand and stroked his cheek lovingly. "My love, you cannot possibly understand. Music doesn't hold the same value to you as it does for Victor and I. Music…" She paused and her eyes gleamed mysteriously. "Courses through Victor's veins just as assuredly as his own blood. It's apart of his soul. You mustn't keep him from pursuing it. To do so, would be nothing less than torture for him."

"I will never bless it, this horrible decision. Letting him go there will bring nothing but disaster." Raoul grumbled against his wife's hair.

"With all due respect, Father, you forfeited your right to control me long ago." Victor snapped, his yellow eyes sharp and glaring. "Whether you bless it or not makes little difference to me."

"Now, now, stop that. I don't want you two to fight." Said Christine, glaring at both of them. She frowned at Raoul. "What on earth are you afraid of?" She asked, her eyes dimming with sadness. "The Opera Ghost…is dead. He' can't hurt Victor. You needn't worry."

Victor watched as a strange madness seemed to cloud his father's eyes. His pupils became as small as pinpoints. His breathing became raspy, thick with fear. "The Opera. It sits among the streets of Paris, an open wound. It's infected with the ghost's evil. I…I don't want it to corrupt the boy as well." He blinked away the strange look and shook his head. "But perhaps you're right. I'm just being paranoid again." He smiled at Victor, but again their eyes never met. Since childhood it had been much the same. Not once, in his entire twenty years had Raoul ever looked Victor in the eyes. He couldn't for the life of him understand why. "Do what you wish, but I won't step foot in that place."

"Thank you, Father." Victor relented. He'd take the small victory gladly.

"Raoul, will you get me the letter I had you write this morning?" Christine asked, her voice quivering a bit.

Raoul went over to a small box that sat on a dresser and retrieved a folded piece of parchment, sealed in golden wax. He practically shoved it into Victor's hand. Victor shrugged off the rude gesture, but glowered at his Father as he returned to his chair.

"Don't open it." Christine warned. "I want you to give it to my old friend, Meg Giry. She's the ballet instructor for the opera now. Will you do that for me?"

"Of course." Victor smiled warmly, taking her hand once more.

Christine's eyelids were growing increasingly heavy. She peered out at her husband and children through a small crack beneath her lashes. She was so tired. So very tired. "Victor. My dear, boy." She breathed. "Will you sing for me? I want to hear you sing…one last time."

"Yes, Mother." Victor whispered, trying in vain to hold back the tears. Watching his sister sobbing into his Mother's nightgown proved too much and the tears fell freely down his cheeks. He began to sing. Though he cried, he willed his voice to stay steady. He wanted this to be the best song he'd ever sung. He wanted that just for her. He sang with all his heart, all his soul, his voice soft and low.

"Wishing you were somehow here again. Wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed. Somehow you would be here. Wishing I could hear your voice again. Knowing that I never would. Dreaming of you helped me to do. All that you dreamed I could."

"When my father lay dieing, he promised me that he would send me an angel of music to comfort me. I had thought that I had found him in my old teacher, but…now…I've come to realize… that it was you that my father meant to send all along." Christine smiled weakly and tears rolled down her cheeks.

Victor continued his song, even as his mother's eyes fluttered closed and her chest rose with breath for the final time.

"Wishing you were here again. Knowing we must say goodbye. Try to forgive. Teach me to live. Give me the strength to try!" His voice shook with the strong, earth shaking note, all his emotions wreaking havoc on his vocal cords. "No more memories. No more silent tears. No more gazing across the wasted years. Help me say goodbye." The song fell apart with him then, his song slipping into heavy sobbing. "Help me say goodbye!" He chocked out, before finally falling into silence.