"- La brise et l'eau chantent au loin
Leur chanson de sanglots heurtée
Pour bercer cette enfant gâtée."

Charles Baudelaire. (Bien loin d'ici)

Christine did not loved Erik, but she remained with him after that fatal night, years ago.

She did not leave the lake house because she was a devout Christian and the religion not allowed her to quit her husband. And also because she had nowhere else to go, no money, and... There was their son. Her only good reason for not leaving was Charles, she loved him dearly and did not wish to remove his father of his childhood. He deserved to have his two parents and Christine knew that.

So she raised the dark haired boy with Erik.

"Maman, could you tell me a story?" asked the six years old, surprising his mother in her thoughts. She turns down her light blue eyes and smiles tenderly at him.

"Alright, mon coeur, but just one. What kind of tale do you want?"

He seems to search during two seconds before giving her an answer. His golden irises – that he had inherited of the infamous phantom – flashed instantly when he found what he would request. It was a thing which tickled his curiosity recently but he never had the courage to ask aloud... until now.

"How do you met Papa ?"

Her throat was suddenly tightened. This story was not magical, neither happy like any else story that a child would demand at this young age. But Charles was his father's son and he had already shows curiosity and precocious intelligence... He was the perfect clone of his progenitor, beside one thing that change everything: his face was not deformed. On the contrary, his features were delicate, like his mother's ones, and it was sure that he would be handsome later.

But for the moment, he was just an innocent angel who looks with expectation at Christine. She breathed deeply and began :

"Hum.. You see, my father narrated me a wonderful tale when I was a little girl... He told me that there was an Angel of Music in heaven, and wh-"

"Christine. I have to talk to you, right now." interrupted a low, powerful voice which can only belong to one person..

"Oh, Erik..! I've not heard you coming." her hands clenched discreetly but her husband saw it. He always saw all she was tried to hide from him."Very well, let me just say goodnight to Charles." She focused her attention on her son and never left his curious eyes.

"Of course, my dear. Join me in our bedroom when you have finish." said the tall man with a full black mask on his ugly face."It's quite important so don't be long." He went back outside of the room and stopped his movement at the last time, as if he had forgotten something. "Ah, and goodnight, Son."

"Thank you, Father." replied the child, still looking peculiarly at his mother. He noticed her stress and wonder why she always act with angst when his father was around her. She loved him, does not she ?

Christine and Charles were then both alone once again. She remains motionless sitting on her son's bed a few moment before lowered toward him. She kissed gently his forehead and caressed his cheek fondly.

"I think this story is for a next time, mon amour. You've heard you father, you have to sleep now." she rose reticently and slowly, almost heavily, she walked across the chamber.

"Maman, wait !" called the little boy, his black curls bouncing on his head.

She turned to him and looked at him with astonishment. "Yes?"

"Do.. Do you love Papa ?"

Christine gasped. She absolutely ignored what she could tell him. No, she had loved him as her Angel, a long time ago, but it was over after he showed himself to her. But she did not hated him, because he was, after all, just Erik. And no one could hate a so poor man..

"Well, yes, certainly! Why do you ask such silly question, Charles?" she giggles and looked at anything but him. Her discomfort was obvious and she knew it.

"Forget it, goodnight, Maman." was his quiet reply.

And she was gone.

~ O ~

The grand shadow of Erik was trembling under the glow of the candles. Standing in front of the imposing organ, the dark creature had gone beyond annoyance. The silence was unbearable to him.

He had never liked to wait her, hated the feeling of helplessness that came from her absence. Even after seven years of marriage, he was still afraid she would goes away. His wife and Charles were his reasons of living, he could not allowed them to leave him... No... They belonged to him.. only to him...

His paranoia was taking possession of him when he heard the soft footsteps of someone coming. Then he saw the most beautiful woman on Earth enter in the bedroom. His yellow eyes sparkles and his heart leapt furiously at the sight of the blond beauty. She was twenty-three now, not anymore the child he protected long times ago, but now a true lady. A true living wife.

But the Opera Ghost was strayed himself. He straightened his back and resumed his rigid posture. He looked very worthy, even with his mask which covers practically all his face.

"Ah, here you are, my Christine. I want to speak with you ab.. Come closer, wife, I will not bite you." he said, his gaze almost burning the young woman. She squirmed in discomfort, fearing her frightening husband, and lowered her blue eyes toward the rich carpet on the floor. "Don't be afraid, my dear, I will never harm you.."

Tears threatened to roll down her cheekbones as she thinks at the awkward nights they spent in their marriage bed. All begins after the terrible event which sealed her fate: Erik had insisted for consumating the wedding.. and she was naive, weak and defenseless.

She would have preferred if the memories has disappeared, but the man was incredibly selfish and demanding. She did not had the choice, neither the permission, to refused his advances, every night where he came to her.

Then, fatally, after a few months of this torture, she was given birth to Charles. It was really painful and she would prefer to die than to have again such a terrible pain.

Once again, she loved her son but she knew that he was somehow a chain which bound her irretrievably to Erik. What she could do? A woman living alone with a child would be banish by everybody... The two should better remain down there.

"... Do you hear me, Christine ?" almost shouted the masked man, his glare furiously pointed on the former dancing girl of the Opera's ballet.

"I'm sorry, Erik, I was..."

"Not listening to me." he coldly concluded, his voice firm and dangerous. He approached her and rose his skeleton right hand to her perfect face. He wrapped one soft curl around his forefinger while she took her breath carefully and tried to control her sobs.

"Pardon me." she begged miserably.

He slowly pushed her to the bed, her legs quickly striking the mattress. She fell in the sheets and began to cry loudly. "No.. no!...please, no !..."

"Hush, mon amour, hush.." he purred lovingly, his free hand flying above her trembling hips. His wife was clearly not exited by his actions but he did not care, his mind already fulled by lust.

Erik was beginning to undo her corset when he suddenly felt an another human presence in the room. He turned around to see who dared to interrupt him, only to find his son at the door.

There was an awkward silence during a few seconds, and then Christine, her eyes still wet, moved discretely away from her husband. The latter was already proudly draw up on his feet.

"Charles ?" she asked with her shaky soprano.

"I heard you screams, Maman." A pause. "Are you crying?"

The impressing man approached the little boy with determination, a gloomy aura wrapped around him. The mother was scared to death for her only child.

L'homme, now immobile, was ostensibly quiet even if he was inwardly fuming. "Why did you come? Do you think that Erik will harm your Maman? Well... well, let me tell you that I would never hurt her ! Understand, little one? NEVER ! Erik loves her too much..she's his..." His stare was full of madness, his crazy minds were taking control over him.

"Erik! Calm yourself!.. Charles was only worried about -"

"ABOUT WHAT ?" he yelled, violently grabbing his son's wrist before fiercely shaking him." TELL ME, BOY !"

And then, the blonde was taking by a sudden rush of protection for her flesh and blood. She armed herself with the first things she found – a massive book – and struck strongly the hideous hidden face of the Phantom.

Her husband fell slowly, as if the time was stopped, before finally collapsed on the floor. He seemed to be asleep... but only seemed.

"You will never hurt my son! ... I-" she swallowed her saliva. "I hate you... Yes, I... I hate you, Erik, and I despite you with all my heart." she spated viciously, her body vacillating. She could not realized what she had done yet.

The body lying was completely immobile, and the mask exploded into thousand pieces. The heart normally beating in the thin rib cage was also deadly calm.

Yes, Erik was dead and a red puddle slowly began to appear under his head.

Without a second thought, Christine lifted the black haired boy in her arms and ran for leaving 'la maison du lac'. Charles was silent, his strange yellow eyes fixed on his mother. They do not speak to each other, the woman searching the boat and the boy lost in his reflections.

The murderous lady, believing that her husband was only unconscious, moved the old bark as fast as possible. She posed her child on it and boarded with him.

And all of this happened in only one hour...

...One hour for the Liberty.

(to be continued ...?)

Well, don't forget it's a two-shot. You will know what Erik wanted to say at Christine... Indice ? RDC !

And I'm SO SORRY for my grammar ! I'm not english, i'm just a french girl...

(review svp)