Chapter 3
Forever an Angel
In a rented room of a tavern located in a small town just outside Paris, a man sat in a chair in the shadowed corner as a pretty girl quickly worked on covering up her bare, smooth skin. When she was only half finished, a knock came at the door and the mood in to room shifted satanically. In a brisk movement, the man threw a heavy purse as the girl. "Get out!" he hissed at her throatily.
She gave a small shriek as she fumbled with the purse and bolted from the room. The pair of men on at the door watched the girl scurry off with slackened jaw. "Nice legs," one commented to no one in particularly.
"In the near future, gentleman," the man said coldly from his chair.
"Right." they said in unison was they entered, closing the door behind them.
"I want a progress report. I told you no witnesses and I only see Raoul and Christine de Chagny in the obituary, not the boy with them. Why is that?"
The two men regarded each other nervously. The first of the pair, a tall brute, large in build with meaty hands and a scruffy face slowly started to explain, "Well you see… The Comtess and her son somehow managed to escape."
"And?"
"We know that she went to the house of Madame Antoinette Giry," the second, a short muscular Spaniard remarked. "We also know that the Madame posted the listing in the paper. There is a history between them from the Palais Opera…"
"Why aren't she and the boy dead then?" the shadowed man demanded.
"Because there was a man there," said the brute.
"Was?"
"A few hours after the Comtess and the boy escaped, at the estate, Bertrand headed back as we were leavin' and we heard a shot and two more of the boys went back. When they didn't show, we went to check it out and found nothing. Look around the woods and we find them, all dead. Throat slashed, hanged, and a broken neck," said the Spaniard.
"How is this to concern me?"
"We believe the man was behind it. Something about him screams killer, and I know from experience. Last we heard, this man took the boy and vanished into the country side."
"Why didn't you kill him then, Señor?"
"I would prefer to watch him and get a better idea what this man is capable of," seeing the employers expression darken considerably at comment, he absently added, "It was not I who let them leave the estate alive. That isn't exactly a trait of mine."
The brute gave a startled look to the Spaniard and back to the employer, fumbling over his words to muster a desperate sentence that could be his saving grace.
"Quite so, Señor," the employer commented as a bullet pierced the brute in-between the eyes.
"I want you to locate this man, bring me back reports, or it will be your head next."
Charles landed on the ground when Erik pulled him off Duchess's by the arm and released him when he felt that the boy was close enough to the ground that he would not hurt anything else.
The boy rolled into a fetal position on the ground, holding himself as he issued a whimper of pain.
Erik felt the corners of his mouth tug upward a little in a expression crossed between amusement and sympathy. For him, that was a hard choice, because, on the rare occasion he got a bad jolt on a horse, it hurt, badly. Although, he knew the feeling, the boy's reaction was just simply amusing to say the least.
"You think it's funny," Charles groaned as he rolled onto his other side while Erik slipped off Duchess and led her to her stall for the night.
"I did not say a word," Erik said simply, sliding the stall door shut. Heading over towards Ebony, he begun taking off the tack and supplies he had strapped to her. "You did that to yourself, if you didn't decide to get daring, that would have never happened in the first place."
"Yes, yes, blame me. I'm the stupid kid."
Erik looked at him sharply. "Stupid? No. Naïve? Yes, yes, very much." he turned back to Ebony, taking a brush to her coat now. "I am not blaming you, and I am not going to feel at all guilty. You, dear boy, need to learn to take responsibility for what you do, because I most assuredly will not."
Charles stared at the older man, utterly confused.
Erik sent to the mare to her stall where he closed her in before he strode across the simple stable to the large opening that they had entered through, and closed them. Sliding the lock into place from the inside, he turned and headed back to the other end of the stable and began to open one of the two doors. "I suggest you roll yourself out of the main aisle before you get yourself trampled by hungry beasts."
Quickly doing so, Charles watched as three horses rushed in when there was enough clearance before Erik closed it most of the way.
All five of the equines nickered and neighed happily, as Erik shuffled them in to their stalls and proceeded to provide them food and water for the night. Charles paid them no mind when he saw the last in the line was a familiar chestnut. "Chanté!" he exclaimed, leaping up and attached himself to the chestnut's stall, feet planted on an over turned bucket to stand tall enough to reach out to pet the white stripe running down the gelding's face. This very horse he and his mother escaped—
Charles refused to finish that thought and ruin his moment. Instead he turned to the older man, swallowing back the lump in his throat and tickling heat swell in his lower eyelids. "You kept him?"
As he finished settling in the gentle creatures, Erik took hold of the lantern and turned to him. "Yes, why would I do otherwise?"
Charles shook his head when no reply came to bare.
"Come," Erik spoke after a moment. "You two can bond later."
He stepped down from the bucket prudently when Erik gracefully gestured him to come along as he moved to leave the stable. Charles quickly trotted after him, or at least, as quickly as his little injury would allow.
He was led to the cottage where the size of it could probably only ever house a small family with no more than one or two children comfortably. It was a simple layout, at least in what was visible in darkness, but it was very beautiful in its own simplicity. The external walls were stone with minor examples of masonry work that went into the design.
They entered through the back door where they stood in the small kitchen with only a few cabinets, a stove, a table in the center lightly cluttered with papers and manuscripts.
After lighting a few kerosene lamps, Erik proceeded to give Charles a brief orientation of the residence. The down stairs consisted of three rooms, the kitchen, the music room, and the first of two libraries.
The walls of the music room consisted of creamy off white color with little art aside from the gothic figurines that sat atop of the mantel of the hearth located on the outer wall of the room. A piano sat the corner with a violin and a few other instruments out on display. Sheet music and compositions neatly arranged on the bookcase, which was against the wall where the stairs were located on the other side that led to the second floor.
The library was dark red in color with mahogany bookshelves lining the walls and framing the two windows. The exposed selves were lovingly carved and a plush dark red carpet covered the floor.
The texts themselves were on a wide range of subjects: art, architecture, medical, science, history, geography, and astronomy. The languages of the books were not restricted to French, but to any language that Erik could read and speak with fluency.
The upstairs consisted of four rooms, much smaller in size.
The second library, located to the right of the stairs, was like the first in decorum but perhaps a bit more spacious in certain regards since there were not as many books. The books were stories and poems from various parts of the world that Erik found most appealing, especially from the American author, Edger Allan Poe.
There was a bathroom complete with plumbing and hot water for a bath, if so desired, to the left of the stairs. Across the hall was two bedrooms, one of which door was locked shut and the other was open to a bedroom that was set up in haste, but had a bed with a chest for any keepsakes at the foot. A dresser was just to the right of the door and a closet to the left corner.
Later, after orientating Charles with the house and a rather light dinner, Erik sent Charles to bed without the assistance of a tranquilizer. It was not an easy task, but it was strictly necessary to prevent dependency and addiction. That was subject much better left avoided.
Erik sat at a desk in his room with a dozen pages of charcoal sketches and half-written documents before him. A candle on the far corner illuminated his various little projects, none of which could grasp his attention. His colorless eyes that glowed amber in shadow, could only focus on a painting he created of Christine so many years ago, not far along into her lessons.
"Oh Christine…" he whispered to no one as his long slender finger traced the outline of her angelic face framed by wavy golden locks of hair. "It should not have ended like that for you. You deserved better."
He should not have let her go after that night, which bound them together for a lifetime with a precious child. If he had not placed that obituary in the newspaper...would she have come back with their son? Would she have stayed till their days ended together—her death would have been avoided.
Charles's first moments, spent in his arms. Lost were his first steps, the first words, laughs, smiles, wide-eyed wonder—gone because both parents were irrevocable fools.
If only Christine stayed...
If only he were a better man.
He should have been there from the start. But he wasn't, and Charles called another man father.
Words he'd never hear in reference to him.
An agonized cry escaped Erik's throat at the thought. He is my child! My son! No one else should have been called father!
He didn't earn it... No, he did not even deserve it. He wasn't there from that first minute onward. Raoul was and he earned that title.
Removing the white leather mask that only revealed his eyes and tucked under his jaw, Erik brought a shaking hand to his sunken eyes to wipe away his tears. His shoulders sagged as a sob whacked through him in his grief at the thought of lost time, his lost love, and how fate cruelly turned against him once more. It was not until several minutes later that he was able to compose himself, and reassume the mask again.
His eyes fell upon the ring he recovered at the de Chagny estate, before he took it up into his hand. The thick golden band was marked substantially in engravings. It was maze. Difficult to decipher. It was an unfortunate fact what made it worse for him. The markings were familiar, but for the life of him, he could not place it.
After focusing on it so heavily and thoughtfully, Erik came to realize the object in his hand became hard to focus on with his eyes. He hated this part of aging; the few things he liked about himself were in the early stages of abandoning him.
With a resigned sigh, Erik donned the pair of glasses he started routinely keeping near him. However, seeing better did not grant him the chance to place the engraved designs, because a frantic cry from the next room caused Erik to jump with a start in his chair.
He froze out of habit, holding his breath to listen to the sounds coming through his wall. When the cries and moans from the next room continued, growing worse by the moment, Erik took up his candle and donned his mask as he stood.
Heading straight to Charles's room, he entered without announcement, setting the candle on the top of the dresser. Erik went over to the boy's bedside, calling to him as he approached. "Charles," he called softly.
The boy was writhing in his bed, tangled in the sheets and his body in a fierce sweat. Hoarsely, he cried in his nightmare, "No, no! Please no! Let us go!" He flinched and cried out as if struck.
"Charles, Charles," Erik said grasping his shoulder and shaking him. "Wake up." But it was to no avail. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Erik firmly grasped the boys flaring arms and gave him a strong shake. "Charles!" Erik called firmly.
The boy jumped, his eyes flying wide open in fear as his breath caught in his throat. He was stiff, frozen in shock and fear.
"You had a nightmare," Erik told him softly. "You're safe."
Nodding slowly, Charles continued to remain tense and frozen in spot.
"Breathe," Erik instructed hypnotically, loosening his hold on the boy. He drew away slightly, in belief that it would help the child relax with the distance. In spite of the gesture, Charles flung himself into Erik's arms and wept.
Stiffening when Charles wrapped his arms around him, Erik felt something spark in him that he never thought he would be able to possess. An instinct that long thought impossible to consider having, or capable of having. Slowly and hesitantly, he let his arms encircle the boy, his boy, and rock him gently. It was all he did, or could think to do.
Eventually, Charles came to find his voice. Though muffled, he easily heard, "I want the tea." The tea was what always held the tranquilizer, and Charles came to associate peace of mind with tea.
"You cannot have tea," Erik said simply. "It is not good under prolonged use."
"Please," he pleaded.
"No," Erik said firmly with no room for argument. He added after a thought, "What did your mother do when you had a bad dream?"
Of course, Erik knew that it was not merely a dream. It was a memory, and it set a raging fire through his veins. He knew the child suffered a strike of the hand or a weapon in it; there was no mistaking from that flinch. He silently vowed to find the one responsible for Christine and Charles's suffering, and inflict a painfully slow death upon them.
Charles shivered in his arms from the nightmarish memories, but when on to reply, "Sing. She would always sing to me until I fell asleep… I miss hearing her voice…"
Erik smiled briefly. Yes, Christine would have done just that. Music was as much a part of her as it was a part of him. "What would she sing?"
"An old lullaby and one she said an Angel sang to her."
"Which do you wish to hear?"
When Charles didn't say, Erik chose for him. He began to sing softly in a hypnotic voice. "Hush, Little Angel, dry your tears
I will protect you, from the darkness you fear
Hear my voice, fear not of darkness…"
Charles eyes widened slightly at the selection, but relaxed considerably from Erik's soothing voice lulled him into sound slumber throughout the remaining three verses.
By the time Erik finished the lullaby, Charles was limp in his arms, sound asleep with a look of peace on playing across his features. Gently, Erik laid the boy back down in bed and covered him with the blankets, after he untangled them, before he left him for the night.
Author's Note: The lullaby is of my own creation, I only posted the first verse as reading lyrics can be strenuous when you have no music to go with it. Usually I like putting how exactly things are sung, especially in roleplays, but here, it seemed to take away from the moment between Charles and Erik. We all know Erik can sing, and we each have the ideal 'Erik Voice' in our head. I debated putting Ramin Karimloo's version of Lullaby(can be found on Youtube and my ideal Phantom Voice) as the song here, but it just wasn't fitting. I do hope you all are enjoying this so far.
Oh! If you see silly spelling/wrong word mistakes-let me know? I know some have escaped my notice. Thanks!