Seventeen-year-old Christine Daae sighed as she put her hand on the side of her bedroom door as, she felt tears burning in her throat. How could this have happened? Her father, her poor father had been shot in a thug incident and had been pronounced dead on scene. Her mother Annabel stood beside her. Her slender arms wrapped around herself as she rocked herself in a fruitless attempt to comfort herself. Christine came to her side and wrapped her arms around her, holding Mrs. Daae as she let her cry, hot tears spilling over her chocolate eyes, normally so big and bright now dull and misted with sorrow.
Christine felt her mother's tears fall on her forehead as one of the large white buttons of her dress cut painfully into her forehead. She didn't dare look up however, knowing if she did she would see her mother cry. Her mother hardly ever cried, but now she was completely breaking down. Not that Christine could blame her, she would cry too if the love of her life died. Annabel Daae began to collapse under the immense emotional pressure of her loss, and was very thankful to have her daughter and only child by her side.
Christine took her mother by the arm and helped her into a large armchair, kneeling down at her feet to take her hand gently. As Annabel felt the soothing touch of her child's hand on hers she felt more tears welling up. Christine began to sing soothingly smoothing her mother's raven curls. Annabel was becoming drained of all energy, her grief taking its toll on both her mind. Looking at her daughter with heavy, half-lidded eyes. She made an attempt at a wane smile, as she looked into her daughter's mid-night blue eyes the same color as her father's eyes.
Christine walked to the wooden and yet well-cushioned rocker, and removed the faded patchwork quilt and laid it gently on her mother's lap tucking it around the poor woman snugly. She smoothed her mother's curls away from her forehead and kissed her brow that was creased with grief and unshed tears tenderly. "Close your eyes and get some rest mama, you are going to need it." She murmured and stroked her small hand gently. Mrs. Daae mumbled incoherently as she laid her head in the fold of the winged armchair exhaustedly and closed her eyes, breathing very deeply only once before she began nodding off to the land of sleep.
Christine went to her father's piano and began to play Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's piano concerto #8 in D minor. Her mother smiled in her sleep, and Christine smiled to herself as she kissed her mother's forehead. Christine then went into the kitchen; she knew it was going to be a long night. Her mother would need comfort, and she would no doubt be sick with nightmares, so Christine knew she would not sleep a wink.
Christine shook her head as she at last let her own grief for her father to take control and she sat down in one of the dinning chairs and cried softly for several moments. When she had at last collected herself she got up and began to make a nice dinner of Crêpes, with honey, chicken fettuccini with Alfredo sauce and a green salad, to drink she fixed two hot and steaming mugs of hot chocolate with sweet spices and ginger powder, for dessert she fixed warm peach cobbler, topped with vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce and some fresh baked ginger bread cookies.
She smiled when she was done, glad for the six years of cooking classes since her first year of middle school, and all the practice had really paid off. She set the table and went back into the living room where her mother snored softly in an exhausted and grief induced slumber, her gentle features pale and knitted together, her middle-aged but still beautiful form was trembling with the force of her unshed tears, Christine sighed and kissed her mother awake and as soon she opened her eyes the tears trickled down her rosy cheeks once more.
"Shh, mama." Christine soothed and smiled a she helped her mother to her feet, and guided her to the kitchen and set her down in the chair next to her own. Annabel smiled appreciatively at her daughter as the child filled her plate, with a little bit of everything she had made. But became apologetic, when she found herself struggling to choke down the food as she swallowed it, delicious though it may have been. After taking just three bites of the pasta however, she found that she had lost her appetite and pushed her plate away.
Christine sighed and cleared the plates after putting the rest if the three-course meal in the fridge and helping Annabel back into her chair. Annabel took the TV remote and turned on the news just in time to hear the story of her husband's death.
"Good evening Newcastle, this is Paul Yohenstria with your seven o'clock news weather broadcast, we are in for another showery night this evening and everything is wet, wet, wet, with temperatures in the low and middle fifties so bundle up so stay inside, stay dry, and bundle up folks! And now hear Julia Karen with our latest story on the FYI news network coming to you live, from St. Parkman's street Newcastle. Julia."
A woman with shaggy, brown hair and a boney face appeared on screen, standing in the downpour with a red microphone:
"Thank you Paul. Earlier tonight a man by the name of Gaston Daae was shot during a thug incident just in front of Newberry Park. By the looks of things he was protecting a young boy by the name of Erik Emerson after just getting mugged himself, we have the boy's family with us now.
A woman with tri-colored eyes came forward with tears, streaming down her face as the reporter asked, "What is your relationship with the boy?"
The woman sobbed aloud, before answering, "I'm his mother, and this is my husband Ayden, and his little sister Michelle and older brother Curtis. We would like to thank Mr. Daae for his sacrifice tonight, and to let his family know, (sob) that we will pray for them always, and to thank them, for sending us this angel in disguise."
'How sad.' Christine thought kneeling beside the armchair in which her mother sat in as she wrapped her arms around her she saw the reporter showing a picture if the injured boy in the separate column to the left where the woman with the shaggy brown hair still stood.
Christine felt her eyes begin to water, such a handsome boy and holding a little girl, most likely his sister. He was tall, with the same oddly shaded tri-colored eyes that his mother had, and a smile men and women alike would kill for, he was strong of that she was certain and his had a certain softness to them, but a hard ruthlessness to them at the same time.
Christine did not get a chance to listen to the rest of the report due to the harsh sobs of her mother crying, "Oh Gaston…Gaston."
She turned off the Television and helped her mother into bed sitting beside her the entire night.
- With Erik Emerson-
He awoke groggily to the sobs of someone and the constant annoyance of the beeping of monitors, and IV machines, the task of opening his eyes was or seemed to be too great at first for his eyelids were far too heavy, he waited a few moments before trying again and this time his eyes opened a crack. "Mmmmmm." He moaned and tried to roll onto his side, stopping when his body screamed in protest, "mother?" he mumbled recognizing her as the one who was crying.
Mrs. Emerson turned her head slowly, and when she saw Erik went to him. She wanted to run to his side and hug him, but she figured that now was probably not the best time. So she settled for taking his hand, he winced upon turning his head, good lord he hurt! Everything and everywhere on his body ached and burned sharply, and even when his mother stroked his thick hair, which had no feeling at all, his forehead burned badly.
This nurse, Elvira Morrison came in and asked cheerily… well in the most cheerful voice she could master, "How ya doin' great one?" and then started to cry.
"I haven't looked at myself yet, I figured I could tell by your reaction to me every time you come in the room." He said dryly and smiled as Curtis came in, "Well hello my brother, come to bid your respects to me, after all it's been what five years?"
"In that order, Hi. Yes and no. And it's only been three since I went off to college not five also I talked to he doctor and… OH… MY… GOD!!" Curtis became slightly green as the nurse removed the bandage on the right side of his face in order to change it.
"Mother do you have a hand-mirror that I could borrow?" he asked and Mrs. Emerson shook her head as he reached for the mirror in her hand, he took it from her easily, and muttered, "Time to face the music." And as he raised it to his face he let out a great cry and sobbed repeatedly, "no… no… how could this have happened to me… no… not me… why me?"
"It's not that bad." Curtis lied making an effort to sound reassuring, oh whom was he trying to fool? It was horrible, the entire right side of his face now looked like it had been burned off by acid, and even if the wound did heal it would still leave an awfully large and in his mind rather hideous scar. Still he reassured his brother, soothing him with gentle words, while their mother sang him a soft lullaby in a fruitless attempt to comfort him and keep him calm, although keeping Erik calm was like getting a lion to not mate in the spring… practically impossible!
"You should consider yourself lucky in any case, you know the man that protected you… well he's dead." Curtis told him but Erik did not hear him for his mother had sung him to sleep, and that was how he stayed for the rest of the day and night.