Rated: PG-13 or T

Genre: Angst/Horror

Summary: Leroux based. Christine dies in childbirth leaving Erik a normal son.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters no matter how much I would like to.

A/N: Wow… I found this in my hard drive and I forgot I had written this. This is six-years-old so kind of a nice treasure to find. I spruced it up and here it is! I hope you like and don't forget to review!

I'll Make You Proud

By: Erik'sTrueAngel

"One day men will look back and say that I gave birth to the twentieth century." ~Jack the Ripper

"Push m'dear! PUSH!"

Her agonizing screams rang through the musty room of odors as life poured from her womb in a sea of blood and bodily fluids. A pitiful, shrill wail penetrated the still dark room.

A boy. We had a boy as the midwife placed him in my arms.

But "we" soon became I as the angelic woman I called wife deteriorated, her soul leaving her frail and delicate body…

Bolting up, my breathing was ragged as her death once more plagued me in my sleep. Christine… Oh my Christine!

I bitterly wept into my pillow, my tears staining the place where she should have been occupying had it not been for the little demon who took her from me. Every night I was forced to relive what should have been a joyous occasion—the birth of our child, which was only a mockery to my pathetic state.

The midwife had been sympathetic, but her accusing eyes scorned me. It was my fault. I had killed my beloved dove with the dark seed of my being. I had destroyed a beautiful creature, and now, must be punished for my sin. My sin of love! If only He could have taken the child instead of my sweet, innocent songbird. Then I would be holding her in my arms, soothing her while mourning our babe. The pain of losing a child wouldn't last long, but the loss of a love was indefinite. And all I have left of my Angel was Oryan.

That is what I decided to call him. He did not deserve the honor of being named after Christine's father. Not when he killed her.

Oh! The wretched thing wails!

I closed my eyes, burying my face into the pillow, hoping the screams stop or one of the servants would take care of it. Yet, the monster was relentless. Cursing, I removed myself from the covers, slipped on my mask, and stalked down the hall to the room where the midwife insisted I keep him. I much rather have him removed from my presence altogether, but that will never happen.

Bursting through the door, I angrily stomped over to the cradle, only for the beast to cease its crying. Curiously, he stared up with those huge blue eyes that my stomach churned with disgust and longing. He had Christine's eyes… curse the Father above! Why did you bestow him with my dead wife's eyes?

The top of his head was a mass of light fuzz that I know he will have her hair as well. Not a single trace of me was seen. I wished he had my scarring for surely he would be smothered before drawing his first breath. Then my life wouldn't be quite depressing and I wouldn't see Christine in him. Yet, the Fates haven't finished their cruelty with me and this was my punishment. How ironic after I found redemption long last.

A tiny pink tongue stuck out as he gurgled and stretched his chubby fingers towards me. I growled and moved away. No way would I ever touch that vile being. Turning my back on him, I closed and locked the door, and then retreated to my bedroom. I ignored the screams that started to return and fell into a restless slumber.

xxXXxx

"P-p-papa!" exclaimed It.

I cringed at the shrill sound, turning my head in time to see the toddler crawling to me. I frowned at the interruption and noticed the absence of his nurse. I paid good money for the frivolous girl to keep him away and he still manages to find me.

"Looksy, Papa!" The blonde, curly tot grabbed hold of a nearby chaise and while wobbling, pulled himself up. Letting go, he stuck out a foot and then the other. It had a lopsided grin as he tested out his newfound achievement.

Unimpressed, I shifted so I could look at the incomplete composition. I returned to music as my escape again and drowned myself in my work as well as my new companion of brandy. At least, I had reasons not to look after the boy.

"Papa! Looksy!" It whined. "Looksy me!"

There was a gasp and a scurry, alerting me to the nurse. I faced her with a glare as she scooped up It, who was about to cry any second.

"I-I'm s-sorry Monsieur," she stammered. "I-I…"

"I don't want to hear it," I interjected. "When I hired you, I told you I was never to be disturbed while I'm working. And you failed to follow a simple instruction. Now, take him away or I'll dismiss you. I cannot tolerate disobedience in my help."

"Yes, Monsieur. It won't happen again, I promise," she assured me. "It's just… Oryan wanted to show you what he could do—"

"And he has. Shall I nominate him for a medal then?" I coldly replied. "Leave!"

She ran off in a fright, allowing me the peace I had earlier. Next time I will fire her as I reached for my decanter.

xxXXxx

I finally let go of It's nurse when he was around six. Before that, I was dismissing all of my servants one by one. They were too curious and nosy for their own good since his birth. I found the solitude to be assuring and comforting after Christine, although in the nights I mourned for my Angel. She haunted me in her grave and in her son (I couldn't even recognize him as my blood), but around this time I noticed my genes were surfacing.

It was intelligent; like myself when I was his age. He possessed a lust for knowledge and often books from my collection would be found in his room. Though, the boy had found a very fond interest of the anatomy. My medical books were constantly disappearing and I never pressed the matter.

I had no use of them so let the child be amused. At least it kept him busy and left me on my own to wallow and compose.

I often drove myself to a drunken state every night, recollecting the past. I would talk to my Angel and beg her to come back to me. But the charming vixen would giggle and smile, leaving me to cry out in despair. I turned to music afterwards from my episodes and realize the compositions were the makings of another Don Juan. This realization would infuriate me and I would lash out at anything near me.

One incident, I took my temper out on It.

Drunk as a sailor, I blacked out into madness when he entered the music room. He was so much like his mother that he even had her smile and laugh. The soft, musical laugh that enchanted my ears on more than one occasion and the loving smile that had taunted and drove me to obsession. I remembered the Vicomte and her betrayal and later her leaving me. I was furious that she left me after she promised she would never. She lied! The conniving wench lied to me!

I held him by the throat, shouting and cursing, and shook him terribly. I screamed out how I hated him, hated her, no I loved her! But he, It, I hate. He took her from me! He killed my innocent angel.

It did not cry nor did he cower at my ravings. And he did not try escaping my hold. He stood and allowed me to take my anger out, and after I passed out, he retired to his room and I did not see him for two days in the large estate. I felt no remorse for my actions and I did not look for him. Instead, he came to me.

It only had one request and that was for a pet—a frog.

I acquiesced and bought him the animal. This was the first gift I ever given him and I suppose I only did this as a subconscious guilt. Whatever the reason, It was pleased and was gone.

A week later he came to me again, this time asking for a cat. When I interrogated him about the frog I already bought him, he told me the frog had died. Sighing, I went out and returned with a calico kitten.

His white face illuminated with a fresh giddiness upon the presenting of his new pet. It scurried off into his room and late that very night I heard the most unpleasant wails through the walls. I figured he was only playing with the cat and I let it be.

The following morning, he greeted me with a sordid countenance. The kitten had past last night.

Suspicion struck me and I asked what had happened.

"Kitty was weak and our playing hurt him." Then he asked for a dog. A young, strong one if I could find.

I didn't like the implications so I questioned him about his intentions if I were to buy him a dog.

Surprised and confused, he replied candidly, "Why, to study him, Papa. A dog is a mammal like humans."

A flood of memories came rushing through me, specifically my twisted interest of dissecting creatures for study. It was then I knew he was performing the same experiments as I did when I was a younger man.

I dragged him into his room and whipped him good. I may be a monster, but if Christine were alive she would be extremely disappointed that her son carried my sadistic behaviors. The punishment was directed to hurt myself and after finishing It, I drowned myself in whiskey and bourbon.

The ghosts of Persia came swarming at me. All the blood that covered my hands from the deaths of my perverse pleasure of human curiosity and the hellish Sultana; tormented me as I relived through each torture, each scream, each suffering until the body could no longer take anymore. And out of my hazy night terrors, I saw Christine. Pure, sweet Christine in white.

She reached out to me and kissed my malformed lips. I responded, drawing her closer…

Her little nails gripped my arms, breaking the skin, and the kiss grew harsh and rough, that I was beginning to taste blood in my mouth. I tried to break free, yet Christine clung to me, her tiny mouth gnashing my lips and tongue. I screamed into her mouth as the sticky crimson dribbled down my chin. I heard her voice in my head; you will burn for the pain you caused.

I knew that I was doomed.

xxXXxx

It never asked for another pet from me, but that didn't put an end to his research. He would go out into the decaying gardens, surrounding the house, for hours. Quietly, he would sneak back inside to run into the attic, which became his lab. I knew he carried an unfortunate animal he found outside and I knew the fate that would await, but at least it wasn't I supplying his guinea pigs.

If it were a cat or dog, their wretched screams echoed the empty manor. Any other animal was quiet, except for an occasional owl or bird's squawking.

It was not in my place to stop him again. Let him learn from his mistakes like I had to. I couldn't have anymore blood on my hands, even if it was an animal.

Years past, and my temperament had worsened. The more It seemed to cut open and prod, the more my nightmares frightened me. No matter how much I beat him, It's fancy with life and death never ceased. It only seemed to grow as he took it upon himself to go into the city and steal not just household pets, but pigs, calves, and a foal.

All the dying wails of those poor creatures increased the recollections of the men I killed. I couldn't handle the sight of blood or death anymore that during one of It's treks, I destroyed his makeshift lab and tools. When he came home, I strictly told him these ventures of his must stop or he will find himself on the road. I was starting to break under the weight of my ghosts and the yearning for the drink consumed me.

The next night I woke from my previous stupor, I found a note from It. In my black heart, I knew he was gone. All the evidence was present:

I'll make you proud.

He was only ten-years-old.

xxXXxx

Twenty Years Later…

I didn't believe it was possible, but I lived to the start of the twentieth century. My hair had grown gray and I sprouted many a wrinkle on my withered skin. Yet, I was in the best of health. I never saw It since his ran away, and ironically, a part of Christine that left, had cured me.

I never had a reason to drink and my temper had become passive. I even hired new servants in my home to erase the loneliness. Never had I been in such higher spirits than the time Christine became my wife. Now… I was living for the present with no more nightmares but pleasant memories of my dove. Everything was perfect.

Until…

Three More Prostitutes found Slaughtered

The copycat of White Chapel, England's Jack the Ripper strikes again with now a total of seven victims. Police are still investigating and no leads have been determined, except the murderer's trademark—the precise removal of the heart.

I had no further use of finishing the article. I knew who France's Jack the Ripper was—It.

The first pictures revealed to the public, I immediately recognized the handiwork of the little beast, though little no more. He would be almost thirty soon and a man. I often wondered if I were to ever see It again, as the creature always returned to its Creator.

The picture of innocence from my beloved Christine was now a wanted psychotic criminal. Already there were talks of hanging being whispered.

Yet, I resigned to indifference. Let the boy be caught and dealt with the law. It was his decision, not mine.

I returned home, ignoring the passing comments of the latest crime. I affirmed myself that I would not be caught up in this scandal by any means. No matter what.

I left the car and walked into the dark manor. Today was the day off for my servants and I was alone.

My feet echoed down the empty corridor to my haven—music. Securely closing the door, I threw my cloak over the settee and proceeded to my piano.

"Hello Father," a cool, husky voice greeted.

I didn't start. I knew the moment I entered he was here.

"Oryan," I replied stiffly, turning around to face the boy.

He was nearly as tall as me, his hair, golden spools and cut in a gentleman's fashion. Impassive blue eyes stared hard at me and no trace of any wrinkle of happiness was on his countenance. I could almost love him then, but it was decided at the time of his birth, I was to loathe him.

"Have you seen the papers?" he asked, a hopeful eagerness slipping through, returning him back to the stage of a once youthful child.

"I have," I answered and said no more.

He waited, probably for me to continue, and sighed. "Do you have anything else to say Papa?"

I declined. "I hope you know the people want you dead."

"Yes," he murmured. "You are displeased then."

At once, the boy's eyes grew with fire, his lips snarling. "Why aren't you pleased? I did it for you Papa! I told you I would make you proud and why aren't you? Why?"

My cold demeanor only angered him. Even as his rants and desperate "whys" echoed all around, I did not speak nor did I attempt to pacify him.

I felt nothing as I fell into a dark oblivion, the wild screams of Oryan's scorching my ears as a sudden intense feel of flames leaping at my toes. My soul was empty and black; all emotions were resigned. I didn't even cry at the sight of my mother being tortured.

I was where I belonged.

The End