Author's Note: The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux.
So this is definitely old! I think this was the first thing I posted when I joined FFNet - 2005, maybe?
The boy was sleeping soundly in his bed, one palm resting beneath his perfect cheek and the quilt drawn tightly below his chin. He was almost too beautiful to be male, with his wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes that were now closed in slumber, and it was no wonder that women flocked to him. He could entrance anyone with his boyish charm and shy smiles–anyone except the quiet figure who stood in the shadows by the doorway, only a pair of glowing yellow eyes marking its presence.
Ordinarily Erik would have paid little attention to the boy, for there was nothing particularly displeasing about him. It was only after it had become apparent that he was intent upon becoming Erik's rival for Christine's affections that Erik began to hate him. Everyone who met him loved him – Erik could not bear to mention the boy's name, even in his personal thoughts – but it was Christine who adored him the most, and it was for that reason alone that Erik despised him. It had become painfully clear to Erik that as long as the boy lived he would never have Christine's devotion.
The simplest answer was for him to clear the field of competition. Erik carefully picked up a spare pillow and clutched it against his thin frame, watching the boy's chest rise and fall rhythmically as he dozed. He did not want to move too quickly; he would not give the boy the opportunity to awake and rouse the household. Erik's hands trembled as he continued to grip the pillow, his skeletal fingers twisting the material. He longed for the familiar feel of the catgut lasso, but it would be impossible for him to use it – there must be no evidence of foul play. Christine must never suspect that anything other than natural causes were at play in the boy's death.
Erik swiftly pressed the pillow against his rival's face, maintaining a constant pressure even as the boy struggled against him. His pitiful blows were no match for Erik's rage-induced strength, and only a minute, maybe two, passed before the boy's body grew completely limp and he fought no more. Erik removed the pillow, disappointed that it had not been more of a challenge to eliminate his opponent, and carefully positioned the body. When he was discovered he had to look peaceful, as if his soul had slipped away without the least bit of difficulty…or assistance.
Pleased with his work, Erik smiled to himself before retreating from his son's room and returning to the bed he shared with his wife. Christine mumbled something but did not open her eyes as he slid beneath the sheets, and Erik held her tightly, confident in the knowledge that once again she belonged only to him.