It came to her as a shock as well, but now there was no denying it. Morning sickness, tenderness everywhere on her body: she was pregnant. There was also no denying who the father was, not now. Although there was no choice, she hated to tell Raoul. Although he had been quiet since Erik's death, she wasn't sure how he would react. Could he accept a child that was not his? Then it struck her: this was Erik's child. Fear and joy overcame her all at once: would this child be disfigured like its father, perhaps a musical genius, or designer? Or might it not be born at all, miscarried like the last poor child she had carried. Immediately she launched herself into a newfound will to live. She began to eat again, not that she could help it- her body was screaming for food. She began wearing colors again and going outside. Raoul took the news better than she thought, sweeping her up in his arms, then catching himself and setting her gently down. "Do you mind?" she asked. He frowned at her. "Mind? Mind what?" he asked. "That it's not your child?" she asked. He stepped back a little, obviously he hadn't thought of that. He sighed and looked at her. "Christine, it's your child. Being that the father has...passed away, I will think of it as mine." he said quietly. The joy was overwhelming and she fell weeping into his arms. Erik was not lost to her!

The birth was terrible. After 9 months of waiting, the red haze of pain clouded Christine's eyes against all else. She clung madly to the pillow, twisting her fingers into her own hair. Even the midwife was getting concerned.

"I say! It shouldn't be taking this long!" the old woman clucked. Christine's mouth filled with several curses that only the strangling pain quieted. Raoul had long since been sent from the room and now she was alone, alone with this horrible old cow and the tearing agony. The midwife reached between her legs once more. Oh God, how long have I been like this? Christine thought deliriously. The clock said 11, but that meant nothing to her. The pain had become timeless and she feared she would never be free of it again.

"Hmmm...I think I finally see the problem!" the old woman said, almost cheerily. Christine could have killed her. Without warning, the midwife's hands acted quickly and Christine was flung into a deeper whirlpool of agony. Spots flashed in her eyes, but she seemed unable to faint away. She could barely sense the midwife working furiously, felt something move between her legs.

"Oh no! No, no!" she heard the midwife cry. It seemed so far away now, even the pain was easing. She didn't care what was happening to her anymore. She felt as if she was floating, floating far away...

Suddenly it was there, Erik's voice singing in her head. Singing for the child inside her and reminding her that she had to live, singing the song he had written for her, to let her know he loved her. Erik's sweet voice spinning in her head, bringing her back to herself.

The pain washed over her like a relentless wave. The smell of blood and the sea-water smell of afterbirth assaulted her senses.

"Push, damn you! Push!" the midwife was shouting at her. Almost without thinking, she pushed, pushed against the life within her- a life she would not give up on, ever! There was a sudden odd feeling of her lower body coming loose, but then the pain renewed.

"Come on! Again, now girl! Keep going!" the midwife was yelling at her. Determined to have this entire bloody affair over with now, Christine pushed with all her strength and there was a strange tearing feeling and...Everything was quiet. She collapsed back, shivering from the effort. Oh God! There was no cry, just silence! Was it dead? Tears of fear sprang into Christine's eyes.

"Was it a boy or girl?" she asked. The midwife didn't answer. Panic struck Christine like a bucket of water. No cry, no soft sound of life. Oh God no!

"Ma'am? Please?" she begged, her voice rising. First the unborn child, then Erik- Oh, God if this child...Suddenly there was a tiny squalling, a bleat of indignant shock. Then another...a different cry...

"Twins, mum! You've had twins! A boy and a girl! Fancy that! Both breathing, they're both alive!" the midwife announced.

"Twins? Two?" Christine gasped in shock.

"Well, 'twins' normally means two. Why, did you want three?" the old woman asked teasingly.

"Good Lord, no..." Christine answered as her daughter was placed in her arms. The midwife sat next to her, cradling her son.

"Lovely little devils, aren't they? Daresay they'll be adorable children!" the midwife chuckled. Christine was still reeling with the shock of two at once. But yes, they were beautiful. Erik would have been proud. Twins! Now that would have appealed to his curiosity!

"Hope you like these two, I'd suggest no more after this birth." said the midwife.

"No, no, I'm happy now. With just these two." Christine told her, allowing the baby to find her breast. Two of Erik's children- two perfect children! Raoul was never going to believe this, and somehow she felt that Erik, wherever he was, was overjoyed.

"You know, the little prince here almost didn't make it- blue as a jay he was when he came out. But, funny, it's like I heard music and he suddenly took his breath. Odd, isn't it?" the old woman said.

"No, ma'am. I think I heard it too." Christine said, smiling. As the midwife went to get Raoul, under a promise that she would let it be a full surprise, Christine gazed down at her two children.

"Erik, meet your children. Erik and Meg. Aren't they beautiful?" she asked the night. As a cool, comforting breeze drifted through the room, she thought she heard it whisper her name...and laugh with joy.

5 years had passed. Erik was pounding the piano with fervor...just no tune. The dissonance crashed through the music room. "Mama! Sing with me!" he yelled as loud as he could. Christine looked up from her own music in time to see Erik's sister give him a shove- nearly straight off the piano bench. "Mama's busy! Stop yelling!" the little girl scolded indignantly. Erik pushed back and his smaller sister did fly off the bench. A sharp chorus of "Mama!"'s arose. "Children, please stop!" Christine scolded, lifting Meg from the floor, then having to restrain the girl when she tried to get revenge. Lord in heaven, zookeepers probably have it easier with the monkeys! she thought. She wondered if Erik had been difficult when he was young.

Things had a habit of vanishing when little Erik was around and being rediscovered -usually dismantled- sometime later. Books far beyond a five year old constantly appeared in Meg's room. Meg also had a vast collection of music boxes in her room. The sight of a music box was nearly the only thing besides her brother that could get her to throw a typical childish tantrum. If she saw one, she had to have it, to the point that the family was beginning to avoid a certain street because it contained a shop that sold music boxes. Currently, her brother's dearest ambition was to build one for her...at five years old! The failed attempts were strewn across the workbench in a small shed out in the yard. Failure brought on his tantrums- if he failed to understand something immediately, he would actually pound on the floor and scream to make the very heavens shake. They could both be very serious children- serious and focused. They had just begun a primer school and had already shocked all their teachers. Their capacity to learn was amazing, as was their patience. Just not with each other. "Mama! He BIT me!" Meg shrieked. "I did not! You're lying!" Erik shouted indignantly. Christine sighed. She wondered how Erik would have fared with these two. "Children, please stop fighting! Let me tell you about the Angel of Music." she sputtered desperately. That caught their attention. She never got over Erik's eyes; when he was a baby and his eye color had finally settled, they settled unevenly. One eye was bright, icy blue and the other was an odd hazel color. A passing resemblance to his father, she supposed. The mismatched eyes focused her with the utmost concentration. "Yes, tell us about Erik!" Meg exclaimed, climbing into Christine's lap. Although Erik scowled at his sister getting the coveted spot on Christine's lap, the promise of a tale of the Angel was too precious to jeopardize with an argument. "When my father went to Heaven," she began, "he told me he would send me the Angel of Music. He kept his promise, but not in quite the way I thought he would..." "And that's how you met Erik, Mama! Who I am named for!" little Erik finished. They both knew the tale by heart. "Yes, love. That's how I met Erik." Christine finished. No, Erik would never be forgotten- she knew that as she gazed into her son's off-color eyes.

"Erik, do you ever get tired of playing that same thing?" Meg asked her brother. Her brother chuckled and stretched his spindly legs out under the piano. "Not anymore than you get tired of that boring but, -oh, how did you put it?-'dreamy' snoot what's-his-name you've been making puppy-eyes at." he answered. Meg blushed and turned her head. Her brother playfully slapped the keyboard, releasing an ugly discord and winked at her. "You're seventeen, not seven! Stop!" she scolded. She never really was angry at him, though. She watched him, thinking. While she looked almost like a copy of her mother, he did not look like either of their parents. Not to mention his eyes. One blue, one hazel, they were an absolutely fascination to everyone who encountered him.

Erik had grown to be very tall, now taller by far than even their father. He was thin, almost to the point of looking malnourished (although Meg herself could testify against that; she'd had to protect her plate from him at many a dinner) with long thin fingers that seemed perfectly at home on the piano. Although he was incredibly popular at school and many of the girls in their class were quite enamored with him, he didn't seem to care, so long as he had his music. Meg herself was tall for a woman, almost as tall as their father. While she looked very much like their mother, her hair did not have the thick curl Christine's did- hers fell straight and fine down her back and she had really no proficiency for voice. She was a born dancer, ballet coming to her as easily as walking. She would be leaving for the ballet academy in the fall and Erik would be going to a music conservatory. She wondered how she would fare without her brother, born mere minutes before she. She also wondered how her mother would fare, as Christine was so distraught whenever her children were out of her sight, almost smothering them with her need to always have them nearby. Erik hit another discord on the piano to snap her away from her thoughts.

"Erik, I am begging you to play something else!" she protested. Her brother shrugged at her frown and began playing something different, playing that odd song, the one he had been playing for almost a week, since their birthday. Their mother rushed into the room, looking pale. "Erik, where did you hear that? Did you find it somewhere?" she demanded, her eyes twitching to the little box on the mantle. She didn't seem angry, just distraught. "I don't know. I thought I just made it up. Why?" her son asked, staring up at her. Meg stared curiously at her mother. "What's the matter?" she asked. Their mother's eyes filled with tears and she slowly lowered herself into a chair. Meg sprang to her feet, concerned. "Mother, what's the matter?" she repeated. Her mother shuddered for a moment, and then looked up at her. "Erik used to play that. He wrote it for me. I put it away before you were born. How could you ever hear it?" she whispered. Erik's head tilted to the side, looking very much like their pet spaniel when it was confused. "Erik? The man you used to tell us about? Wasn't he just a story you and Aunt Meg made up? You made it sound like just an adventure to keep us entertained when we were little." he said. Their father edged into the room, looking very sad. "No. Erik was a real man. You're old enough for me to tell you the real story now, and I think you should hear it. I think you should hear about your father." he said. Meg stared at her father and Erik turned pale. "Mother?" she whispered. "There is a lot to tell, darlings. I promised myself that your father would never be lost. That he would never be forgotten. Sit down, dears, there is a lot to tell." As she spoke, she slowly removed the small wooden box she kept on the mantle, one she had always kept locked. Inside was a piece of sheet music and a mask. As she touched it, she swore she heard Erik's voice again. As she started into the tale, Christine's son could also swear he heard the distant sound of a soft man's voice singing in the wind, whispering his mother's name.

The End