A/N: Sorry for the semi-long wait for this chapter! But thank you to all my faithful reviewers! I appreciate it so much! Reading your reviews brightens my day. Sorry this chapter is short... but I didn't want to go on in the story just yet, for the nextchapter after thisneeded to be it's own chapter... so please forgive me! I'll try to have the next chapter up soon! Until then, please review and enjoy the (short)chapter!

Chapter 4

Downstairs, Erik and Christine were left alone. Erik didn't know what he should do, or say, to comfort Christine. He always hated to see her cry like she was doing now. He never knew how to treat her, if he should put an arm around her to comfort her or just speak some reassuring words. But at this moment, Erik held no reassuring words.

He wasn't sure exactly what was going on. All he knew was that Christine had killed Raoul, and Emma was very upset about it. But what child wouldn't be? As much as Erik hated to admit it, Emma had loved Raoul. Even thinking that made Erik shudder. He would always try not to think of it, for he didn't want Emma to like Raoul, he wanted her to look at him as a father figure. Perhaps now that could happen, since Raoul was no longer around… but Erik knew deep down that no one could take Raoul's place. He learned that way back when he was the "Opera Ghost." As much as he wanted Christine to love him and get rid of Raoul, it never happened. Christine chose Raoul and left him.

But maybe that could be different now, Erik thought hopefully. Perhaps now that Raoul is out of the picture, Emma could like me as a father, maybe even love me as one.

Erik's thoughts of being loved were joyful. He had never known the luxury of having someone love him. He would sometimes dream what it would be like, but when he awoke, he could never fully grasp what had happened. Love seemed so unreal to him, like it was truly only a dream. But that night, when he saw the Vicomte and Christine on the rooftop, he was a witness to love. Seeing that scene tore his heart to pieces. How could my Christine love another? he thought that night. He never fully understood it and he still didn't. When he thought about, all it did was torment him. Erik always hated to think about something he couldn't understand. For he was the Phantom of the Opera! He understood everything. Everything except love.

Christine sat on the chair, her heart broken. Some of the things that Emma had said were true, or at least she thought so now. She wondered if maybe she was really selfish, like her daughter had said. After all, she had not thought of Emma when she killed Raoul, only to get herself safely out of his way. She never wanted to be hurt again, so she plunged the knife into her husband's back. Not once, during that whole time, had she thought about the consequences. She never thought about how Emma would feel, or that she could go to jail for this.

Oh god, she thought helplessly. I am selfish. I'm a terrible mother. I should've thought about the consequences before I killed him. But oh, he was attacking me and saying horrible things. How can I make Emma understand?

She still sat on the chair, rigid as a rock, not moving. Allover she felt numb, like she would never move again. Slowly she moved her hand just a little, and found that it was shaking terribly. Perhaps my whole body is like this. Am I still shaking? She moved her head and looked at her body, and to her dislike, her whole body was shaking uncontrollably. Funny I don't feel it. She sighed heavily, hoping that there was something that she could do to help Emma. But her mind thought of nothing. There was nothing for her to do to help her little girl now. Nothing except to give her space.

I sat there on a bed, unfeeling to everything around me. I did not know whose bedroom I was in, all I saw was a bed, so I came in, locking the door behind me. Since I didn't wish to speak to anyone, I thought this wise to lock them out. My mind was racing about what my mother had said, yet my body was still. Staring unblinkingly at the wall, I wondered about what could have happened to make my mother behave in such an atrocious way. Perhaps Raoul wouldn't let her eat anymore fat, for she was gaining too much weight. This made me laugh, but the laugh was not my own. It was bitter and shaky, not at all like my own laugh was. But I knew that it came from my mouth, so no matter how much it sounded different and strange to me, I had to except that I was changing.

It took an awful laugh to make me realize that I am changing, and not for the good, I thought relentlessly. But what can I do? My mother murdered my father. How am I supposed to stay the same?

But it wasn't just the laugh that made me first realize I was not the same girl anymore. To me, it was when I was yelling at my mother and calling her selfish and horrible. I never would have done that before, if she had not killed him. But she did! She deserves worse than just being selfish. I thought on all the things that I could do to make her regret the very day she attacked my father. My mind wandered from all the little things I could to make her feel sorry, to the big ones.

To be honest, I liked the big problems I could cause. But I didn't see them as problems, but as revenge, and to me at the time, revenge sounded so sweet.

I knew that I could do nothing now. I would have to wait until the opportune moment to let my plan unfold. And what a marvelous plan it was. It held everything that made revenge sweet. It wasn't missing a thing.

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