Tears in a Bottle

Well, to celebrate/commemorate (mourn) the end of Love Never Dies in Australia this weekend, I present my newest phic.

To my wonderful Beta, thank you for all your advice, support, loving all my Phantom/LND/Les Mis/Paris references and for missing the deadline so we had an excuse to eat cake!

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.


PROLOGUE – TWO YEARS AGO

The moonlight glistened in through the open curtains, lighting up a path across the expanse of the study. It only illuminated the painting that hung above the fireplace; the rest of the room was lost in shadows. Nothing could be distinguished in the gloom. The music box, books, desk and chairs were all eerie black shapes in the darkness.

Alone in the massive chateau, forced to face the loneliness and darkness that seemed to stretch out before him, Erik Lechmere sat in the shadowed room, a glass of gin in his hand. For the past fifteen years he had been pretending to live a life like anyone else. He had bought himself a house and filled it with furniture and beautiful things, hoping that would make him happy. But it never did.

Erik sighed sadly as he took a sip from the crystal glass before setting it down on the desk. Suddenly restless, as if he could outwalk the loneliness that threatened to overwhelm him, he surged to his feet and paced the floor. Stopping in front of the fireplace, he gazed up at the only thing that was visible in the room: Degas's Singer with a Glove.

He would occasionally suffer from negative dispositions where he felt so painfully alone that he could not bear to sleep. These nights he would pace the garden or, in winter, sit in the study. Aware of the dreams that would haunt him, he tried to avoid falling asleep on these nights. He could not bear to imagine his painting coming to life and wrapping her arms around him only to wake and find it was a dream.

No matter how much money he spent, how much he gave away to charities or how many schemes he created, Erik knew he would always feel as if there were a gaping hole that could never be filled.

What was the point to life if he could never rid himself of this ache that filled him with the most insufferable pain?


Erik paused in front of the building in Paris and drew in a shaky breath. He tucked his hands in his pockets so no one could see the way they were shaking almost uncontrollably with anxiety. Pulling his hand from his pocket, Erik checked that the white mask that covered the right side of his face was in place. Feeling slightly more comfortable knowing that the mask hid his face, he quickly returned his hand to his pocket.

He did not know how this had happened. Only a few days ago, his life had been normal. He had been working on another business plan – his sister would have called it a harebrained scheme – but Erik knew it was brilliant. Victoire did not understand the first thing about investments. As with all business investments, he knew he would upset some people. He tried to avoid that as much as possible, but knew with investments like these, it was impossible. He had found the crazier the scheme, the faster it seemed to earn money. And unfortunately, the more people it seemed to trouble.

That was what he wanted for people: to help them make money so that their lives would be easier. It was through his investments that he was able to afford his lavish lifestyle and the small brigade of servants who kept his multi-million Euro chateau just outside of Paris in order. His three-storey eighteenth century chateau sat in the middle of almost a hundred acres of land, complete with an oak-lined driveway and swimming pool. It looked like something out of a novel.

Erik's company, Lechmere Enterprises, was one of the most respected organisations in France. Not only was he respected because of the money he was able to make for others, but he also donated more than a million Euros every year to various charities; his personal favourite being for young burns victims.

He had not seen his sister in almost a decade. The last time he had seen Victoire was the day of her wedding. He knew he wouldn't be welcomed at the reception and so had hidden at the back of the church and watched as she exchanged vows with Linsey. Erik had left the church before Victoire and Linsey had turned to start their walk down the aisle. That was the last time he had heard from her.

Even when their father had died, Erik had decided not to attend the funeral, leaving it to Victoire to represent the family. He did not know his father – he left not long after his mother fell pregnant – so Erik saw no reason to go to the funeral. It was probably because he didn't attend that no one in the family saw fit to inform him of the deaths of his sister and brother-in-law. The first he knew of it was when his solicitor had contacted him with details of Victoire's will.

For reasons that Erik would never know, he was now the guardian of the eight-year-old niece he had never met. Erik had been given one day to adjust to the idea of being an uncle and a father, and still it wasn't enough. He did not even know about Arabella's existence until a few days ago. Now he was her guardian.

He would have thought – hoped – that the guardianship would have gone to Linsey's parents but he was clearly wrong. Suddenly annoyed at his sister, Erik wondered if Victoire was pressing her daughter on him because she worried about her younger brother being alone for the rest of his life. Maybe she hoped that if he raised his niece he would learn to love. Shrugging, Erik decided he was probably better off not knowing what went on in Victoire's mind. Distracted by his thoughts, Erik paid no attention to the wild wind that whipped up, causing his coat to flap and his black hair to blow about carelessly.

His hands shaking with nervousness, Erik stepped forward to meet his niece.


With Arabella sleeping thanks to his housekeeper, Mrs Dalmau, Erik closed himself away in his study with a glass of gin and breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a very long day. Arabella had cried nearly the entire way home to Angers, leaving him frazzled and headachy. Forgetting that he had his business plan laid out in front of him, Erik's thoughts drifted back to his first conversation with his niece.

"You're my Uncle Erik?" Arabella asked as she looked at Erik as he drove home. She cuddled her doll against her chest.

"Yes," Erik repeated his same answer to the same question he had heard at least a dozen times. "Your mother was my sister."

"You don't look like Mama," she said before bursting into noisy tears.

Erik sighed. What did one do with a blubbering child? He had not had any experience with children and found himself completely lost. At least she had the good sense not to comment on his mask. He knew the moment she had noticed it. Her pale blue eyes, which were so like his sisters, widened with horror and her little body began to tremble. While Erik was talking to her protection officer, Arabella screwed her eyes shut and shook her head, sending her blonde hair tossing around her shoulders.

"Don't cry, Arabella," he ordered wearily as he glanced at her briefly as he drove along the highway. The little girl only began to cry harder. Apparently instructing the little girl not to cry was not the smartest thing. He cast about for something to say. "You'll like your new home. It's a castle and it's waiting for you!"

Arabella's tears stopped long enough to glance at Erik.

Taking that to be a good sign, Erik continued to tell her about the chateau with its swimming pool, stables and seventeen bedrooms. "I'll show you all the rooms and you can pick one you like best. Then if you like, we can employ someone to decorate your room for you. You can have any colour you want."

"I don't want a new room! I want my old room! Papa decorated it for me." She started to cry heart wrenching sobs that broke Erik's heart.

Erik sighed again and tried to change the subject. "I've already enrolled you in the best school in Angers. You'll have the best teachers and the best education. You can make new friends. I'm sure lots of girls will want to be friends with you. It will be perfect."

Arabella shook her head. "I don't want a new school or a new room or new friends. I just want my mama and papa back! I want to go home to Paris!"

Glancing down at the papers in front of him and blinking back tears, Erik could already see how much of an impact his niece was going to have on his house and well-ordered life. The chaos that had ensued after he had brought her home was unlike anything he had ever seen. He needed to find a way to set his life back to the way it was. Somehow, he thought philosophically, he doubted that would ever happen.