I must admit I didn't expect such a loud cry for continuation. However, I thank you all for your encouragement. On another note, I'm afraid I may have confused you. Nicolas (Ni-cola pronunciation wise) is Raoul and Christine's child. In short, Erik had nothing to do with his coming into the world. Sorry for any confusion I may have caused.
Furthermore, I warn you all in advance that I am drawing from a variety of sources including the recent movie, the original novel by Gaston Leroux, and Phantom by Susan Kay. Needless to say, I have no rights to any characters other than those I come up with, like Nicolas.
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"He is deformed." she whispered.
Over and over the words ran through Erik's mind as he walked home, his night shift now over and the sun beginning to rise.
"Erik, there is no one else I can turn to!"
Surely her husband's money was enough to make any teacher oblivious to whatever deformity the child had! Why did she come to him? What made her believe he would take part in her child's education? What made her think he would care?
A heavy weight settled in his stomach and he continued onward.
She knew.
She knew he would have done and would still do anything for her. She'd seen the extent of his love. No! She'd seen the extent of his obsession! She knew she held power over him. She knew he would do anything she asked of him…
Absentmindedly, he wondered if this was how a dog felt towards a cruel master; an undying devotion towards someone who would only hurt it in the end. What would happen once the child decided he no longer wanted to learn the violin? No doubt he would be turned away once again.
Anger flooded through him, anger at himself. Why had he agreed? Why was he subjecting himself to such torture? To be so close, but so very far away…
His mind wrapped around the idea, studying it from all angles.
He would see Christine again, once a week. He would be visiting their home against Raoul's wishes as Monsieur de Chagny was not to know of Nicolas' music teacher. There was the money, but Erik hardly needed it. Although his funds from the Opera House grew smaller, he hardly used currency any longer other than to buy clothing. Food hardly interested him, but the thought of roaming about in the nude or in tatters was even less interesting. He was no pauper.
As his thoughts swayed, his eyes swept across his aging form. At forty-five, he had already outlived many. His hair still had its black coloring and his body still moved as it should, though it protested at times. He was not yet on death's doorstep, but he grew closer as the years passed.
It still surprised him that he'd made it past infancy considering his mother's undying devotion to him.
Mother.He wondered, feeling a sharp pain in his heart at the word. Christine was a mother now, soon to be a mother of two. Nicolas, she said, was nearly six while the next was due to arrive soon from the look of her swollen abdomen.
Perhaps it would be a blessing that Raoul and he would never meet again as he would surely kill the man on sight.
Forcing such thoughts from his mind, Erik returned to the problem at hand. Already, he decided to distance himself from Christine as well as any of her offspring. If he maintained a formal relationship, that of tutor to student, then perhaps his heart would not ache on seeing Christine or on leaving her household once Nicolas decided he had no more interest in the violin. In fact, Erik sincerely doubted the boy would hold any interest for long.
Regardless, he could not allow any emotion fester. Madame de Chagny and Nicolas were nothing more than a source of income; a source of unneeded income that he could do away with at a moment's notice. He had no obligation to them and could leave whenever he saw fit.
Erik's hand found its way to the nape of his neck where his thin fingers idly toyed with stray strands of his hair.
Nicolas was not Reza, nor would he ever be. Erik would treat him as Father Mansart and his architecture tutor had; he would teach him and have nothing else to do with him. He wanted no further connections to the de Chagny family.
Finally reaching his small home, Erik silently passed through the doorway. His solitude was assured as the home rested on the edge of the cemetery grounds. After all, he was the caretaker.
Once inside, he settled himself upon his bed. No longer did he rest in his coffin, as the only objects he'd managed to take from the Opera were those he could carry as he fled from the encroaching mob nearly seven years ago.
Soon, sleep overtook him and Erik was thrown into oblivion.
---
Nearly a week passed before Erik received further word from Christine about their new arrangement.
Erik had only just sunk into sleep when the bell woke him. Knowing it could be no one else, he reluctantly rose to let Nadir Khan, the Persian, enter.
On opening the front door, Erik's dark eyes panned across the older man, noting his white hair and wrinkles. "You're still alive?" he murmured, standing aside to allow him entrance.
Nadir glanced at him as he passed. "And in better condition than you." he finally responded.
Both sat down, appraising one another a moment longer before Erik broke the silence.
"What is it that you want?"
Nadir searched his coat, drawing out a sealed envelope. "Madame de Chagny asked me to send this to you."
"No more midnight encounters?" Erik prompted, taking the envelope and savagely breaking the de Chagny seal. His eyes swept across the paper, following Christine's flowing hand. Once he'd finished, his gaze returned to his guest.
"Tell me, Nadir, what possessed you to tell Christine of my whereabouts?"
Nadir settled back into his chair and regarded Erik with his hands clasped upon his chest. "Her son."
Erik sent him a dark look. "I have no interest in her family matters."
"Then why accept?"
Erik shot to his feet, his eyes smoldering and anger coursing through his veins. "You knew I would accept!" he accused.
"The boy reminds me of you." Nadir replied.
"Yes, from what I've been told, we look somewhat similar from the front." Reigning in his temper, Erik retook his seat.
"That is not what I meant."
"What did you mean?"
"He insists on being alone when he isn't."
"Don't patronize me, Khan."
"Don't act foolishly." Nadir retorted. "Paris is still recovering from the Phantom and now you would have another come?"
"What are you talking about, old fool?"
"Nicolas needs to know he is not alone. Just as you do."
Erik stood again, trailing towards another room. "You are wasting your time."
"You are wasting away."
The former Phantom sent him an annoyed look. "I am none of your concern, Nadir. You've delivered your message," he motioned towards the door, "you may leave now."
Nadir moved only to grow comfortable. "Not yet." he replied, his mouth sagging downward. "Perhaps I should tell Anne-Marie where you are staying."
"Are you trying to threaten me? I assure you Nadir, Madame Giry has no interest in my welfare. Perhaps you should do likewise."
"She is more interested than you realize, Erik. If you would only open your eyes, you would see it. Since you left the Opera House, she has done nothing but hound me about you and curse your name."
"Curse my name?" Erik echoed, seeming slightly amused now. "Are we speaking of the same woman?"
Nadir scowled. "You find it funny? He slowly pulled himself to his feet. "Perhaps I will inform her."
"And she will do what?"
"She will come here and put sense in you." he replied confidently.
"You seem quite confident in her capabilities."
"I am. And now, I will leave."
"Please, do." Erik replied, now moving towards his bedroom.
Nadir glanced back and slowly shook his head. "When will you realize?" he murmured, before he left him to sleep.
Meanwhile, Christine's letter lay open upon a small table, the words for all to see.
Erik,
I cannot thank you enough for accepting. If it is convenient for you, perhaps Nicolas' lessons could begin very soon? I await your response and thank you again.
Christine
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Here's another chapter. A bit of filler, but things have to move along, don't they? For the record, Nadir Khan is the Persian in both ThePhantom of the Opera and Phantom. Reza is Nadir's son in Phantom who Erik takes a liking to.
How do you like it? Still worth continuing? I'm not going to continue unless I feel people want me to and I only know that through your wonderful reviews!
Please, tell me if you find any inconsistencies or errors at all. I'm by no means perfect and will eagerly accept any constructive criticism.
