i decided to add another chapter, although it's not going to be a very long story. It's just to give you an insight into what Erik is thinking at key moments. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter - I really appreciate it.
They say a fool and his money are soon parted and here on Coney Island, never was a truer word spoken.
Day after day they come, all summer long, by train and steamship, moving like ants around the crowded streets, all headed for the big amusement parks. Lured by noise and spectacle, some of these hordes descend upon my park, all eager to spend their hard earned money on rides that last for a few minutes, on shoddily produced miniature replicas of the Statue of Liberty, on Coney Island Candy, which they will doubtless bring home to their friends as proof they were here.
Who are they? What do they do for entertainment the rest of the year? Are their lives so empty that they crave such garish entertainment and escapism? Occasionally I find myself thinking over these questions as I look down from my tower over my kingdom. Watching, always watching.
It hardly matters any more. The only visitor I care about is here.
Yes, she is here. I can see the carriage moving in the distance, bringing my Christine to Phantasma. It would be harder not to see it, after all. My heart is racing, but I must control myself. When I have placed my cloak around my shoulders with trembling hands, I hurry down the staircase and make my way to the hotel by one of my secret underground passageways. As I emerge at the side of the building, I see the carriage stop outside the hotel and hide quickly within earshot as the Trio climb out. I can hardly resist smirking as I overhear the vicomte complaining to Mr Squelch about how he is handling his family's luggage. Ungrateful boy! I saved him money, did I not? After all, without my friendly gesture, he would have had to pay for a cab…
I have just enough time to sneak in through my secret entrance around the back and make my way to my hiding place behind the mirror in their suite.
After a short while which seems to last an eternity, the door opens and my heart almost stops... but it's just the porter, carrying the bags. And behind him comes that upper class idiot, still complaining. There is a small brown haired boy behind him, carrying his parcel. Good. My assistants have done exactly as I requested. And then…
She enters. Eleven years since I have seen her… What would I have given to see her disembark from the ship! But here she is, as beautiful as ever, with her chestnut curls and her blue eyes. And that sad smile…
No, she is not a child any more, that is for sure. She has known much sorrow recently and that innocence I loved is surely long gone. But she is still my Christine, my angel, and it is as if the last decade never existed as I stand there, unseen, my heart fit to burst within my chest. She is here... She is here… Yes, at last…
My reverie is interrupted by that husband of hers, complaining about Coney Island this time. Well, he makes a few good points, I'll give him that much… My goodness, is he always this cynical? He was so youthful and full of life in those far off days at the Opera House. The years have not been kind to him, that's for certain. Christine is trying to calm him down; no doubt she does that a lot these days. The flowers that were left for her in the room have cheered her up briefly but I know she is putting on a brave face. And the vicomte is so engrossed in his own self pity that he hardly notices that his son has unwrapped my present. A monkey playing the piano. Just something to amuse the child, although it has another purpose as well. The little vicomte quickly figures out how it works and seems fascinated by the simple toy. It plays two tunes and it's not playing the one I want at the moment, but perhaps later? Only Christine will recognise the second one... A little piece of foreshadowing for her, before I make my entrance.
The child is begging his father to come and play with the toy, but that idiot is refusing, hardly noticing how much he is upsetting his son. He walks out, with Christine begging him not to drink any more. How dare he? Married to Christine and he heads straight to the bar? He's only just set foot in America and he's drinking already! The way he spoke to her…Even in those few minutes I felt angry enough to make an early entrance and give him a piece of my mind. And ignoring his son! No doubt the child is used to that kind of treatment, poor thing; I can tell by his resigned sadness, as he sits on the floor with his new monkey toy. The vicomte is actually making me feel sorry for a child I've never officially met.
It is Christine who comforts him, despite her own sadness, as he asks if his father loves him. My Christine... Yes, of course she would be a good, loving mother, how could she not? She even looks at the toy with him, although she probably has no interest in mechanical things. He seems like a bright, curious boy. Surely his father should be explaining these things to him? How can he neglect his own child like this, when he's fortunate enough to have a child in the first place? His mother sings to him, to try and soothe him... and he is not the only person moved by her song. After all these years… Just a simple melody but it is enough for now, enough until she finally sings my music for me again in a few days time. Her gentle, slightly saccharine piece is about looking with your heart, not with your eyes, and I know from her wistful tone that the words have a deeper meaning for her. Her son leans against her as they sing together and my heart feels strangely warm as Christine puts her arm around him. My own mother would never have dreamt of holding me like that, never…
I watch them together, the mother and son who clearly have a close bond. There seems to be no nanny with them, although if they had one in their employment they probably can no longer afford to pay her. But somehow I can just imagine Christine wanting to raise her own child, and it seems very likely from this scene that this is the case. At least they have each other, regardless of what that fool has done to them. That child... as well as his mother's talent for singing, he has inherited her gentleness, and her smile, indeed his lower face, particularly around his mouth, is much like hers. But his eyes, his nose, his hair... they are not the vicomte's... How interesting. His appearance may come from a previous generation; such genetic leaps can happen occasionally, or so I've read. I became interested in this area of science to try and discover how such a beautiful woman as my mother could have given birth to someone like me.
The boy's name is Gustave. Of course. After his grandfather. Just before he goes to get ready for bed, he winds up the toy again. Yes... let her hear the tune... The other one, the one from long ago, fills the room, just as I hoped. And it has worked. A few seconds of confusion and then the moment of recognition… Yes, you know that tune, do you not, my Christine? But you never thought you would hear it again, did you? Listen to it… The tune ends, and only now does she dare to even move. She examines the toy, turning it around, confusion written on her face... but does she know? Does she realise yet? Placing it on a table, she manages to compose herself but looks around the room warily. Yes, it is me, Christine, if only you would allow yourself to believe it…
Shortly afterwards, she joins her son in his bedroom and as there is no two-way mirror there, I cannot watch them. But no doubt she is talking to her little boy, perhaps singing to him again... all the things my mother never did. I cannot lie. I have been deeply affected by what I have seen here tonight. But it has not changed my mind; if anything, it has made me more determined to win back my angel once and for all. And the child – Gustave – shall live here with his mother and be raised as my own, away from his drunken father.
She will be mine soon, come what may. No doubt she will be angry, hurt, perhaps a little frightened when I reveal myself to her. But I believe that she already knows who Mister Y is, deep down. Oh vicomte, when you stormed out and left your wife alone did you realise that you were handing me a perfect opportunity? Such irony… And now it is time to finally claim her as my own.
Time to end this charade, my love, and fulfil your destiny by my side…
I've always thought that Erik would be watching this scene and wondered what he would think. Please review!