Long time no update, eh? I'm so sorry! My other POTO fic is only 1 chapter away from completion, so I wanted to let anyone still following this story to know that I do plan on continuing. As I've said before, my interest for this fic fades in and out- only reviews let me know if anyone wants to see its completion. I have everything planned out, but frequently lack the will to actually write it out.
Again, really sorry and a huge thank you to everyone who hasn't given up on this yet.
Disclaimer: I don't own POTO
Raoul smiled in spite of himself. Oh, the memories of his Christine were enough to lift his spirits. "You see, Lotte cared little for material things. All she needed was her papa's love and her free heart. What an imagination she had! But if there was anything at all she cared for, it was the red silk scarf her father had given her. It showed his love for her and her for his."
He glanced at Erik, the boy having curled himself into a ball of sorts.
"Are you listening?"
There seemed to be a nod. "If not, then I shall have to stop this tale, Erik."
"I am listening! I am-"
"Very well. Now, Lotte and her father were strolling by the sea. He was telling stories and playing his violin. He was a wonderful musician and music was like the food of Lotte's soul. But as she roamed on the beach, a strong gust of wind blew and-"
"Was she blown into the sky?"
Raoul froze, holding back a sudden laugh. That was the most preposterous conclusion he had ever heard in regards to this tale. But Erik's told him the boy was quite serious. He shook his head.
"No. Her scarf came undone and flew into the sea."
"Oh."
"It gets more exciting. At the same time, a little boy was walking with his governess. He was a silly thing and the moment he saw that crying girl, he knew something was wrong. The woman yelled at him but he cared not! This boy threw off his shoes and dove into the sea. He swam until he found the scarf and when Lotte thought all was lost, the little boy walked up to her, wet and funny. 'Do not cry' he said. She smiled such a smile and it was then that the silly boy fell in love."
His chest tightened. If only he could return to that time. "They became friends after that and they spent many many summers together."
"And then?"
"Like many things in life, tragedy touched them." Raoul remembered the nightmare at the Opera; if it wasn't for the fact that Erik was staring up at him with childlike wonder, he would liken this to a drunken dream. He was years in the past, telling his most precious memory to his worst enemy. And yet there was nothing about the boy save his face that resembled the Erik of his memory. "But the two did find their way together and they were married in a small church to the north. All would be happy if the silly boy was not sitting here right now."
The child sat up, wincing as he propped himself on his elbows. "Then the boy... was you?"
"Yes, and I miss my wife more than words can say. She's all I have left, really, but I don't know how to return to my time."
Erik said nothing. Raoul suspected he must have thought him mad.
"Monsieur, I hope you find a way soon."
"We shall have to see."
"Thank you for the story. It was very enjoyable."
Raoul didn't quite know how to respond to that so he settled for a gentle nod. His stomach rumbled. "Come, boy, let's have some bread."
Still remembering the irritated gypsy, Raoul was careful to approach Anuaka when she was relatively alone. It was near noon and she was fiddling with an assortment of tambourines. "Hello."
Startled, she turned around, a blush tinging her face upon seeing the young man. "Monsieur-"
"Raoul. I wanted to thank you again for the bread."
"Oh, it- it was nothing."
"I don't mean to trouble you more, but- do you know where I can find clean clothes? It wouldn't be decent if these rubbed away and I had to run around in the nude." He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth!
Anuaka laughed, a bell-like sound that almost reminded him of Christine. "My father has some old shirts lying around, yellow and wearing away. It'd be a shame to throw them away."
And now he was asking for the old clothes of a gypsy? The humiliation! Raoul nodded gratefully.
"After the fair closes tonight, Raoul. I'll bring them to you- but I can't let my father know."
"I cannot thank you enough." He kissed her hand again, feeling very guilty for taking advantage of the young girl in this fashion. After bidding her farewell, he made his way back to Javert's tent, ignoring the stares of the busy gypsies. He had forgotten that they were still performing and something about it troubled him.
Erik was lying in his coffin when Raoul found him in the tent, Javert's harsh voice rousing the spectators that had come. Raoul was expected to faint again at the sight of Erik's face, though the young man considered laughing instead just to spite Javert. It was an impractical idea.
"Erik, I'm going to close the lid now."
There was no reply. Sighing, Raoul placed his hands on the lid and prepared to close it when the sound of the crowd's yelling shook his concentration. There would be no more stalling if Javert wanted to make half as much money as the night before. As if by accident, his eyes chanced to fall on Erik's form. He really did look like a corpse, the eyes shut and shadowed behind the mask, and the rise and fall of his chest was barely noticeable. Raoul frowned. Was Erik sleeping on the job?
"Erik, are you awake?"
He was answered with the same frustrating silence. Something was wrong- yes, he had earned enough of the boy's trust to receive something other than this cold treatment. He ventured to touch the boy's neck- a pulse was there. Untying the mask ever so slightly, he pulled it down enough to touch the forehead. So it hadn't been a trick. He was warm, uncharacteristically warm.
Erik had been cold to the touch in his arms the other night and this sudden development led Raoul to one conclusion. Fever! Panicking, he grabbed the boy by the shoulders and shook, calling his name. The only response was a shudder. Damn it! Setting Erik back in his place, Raoul proceeded to leave the tent himself.
Javert's face contorted among seeing him. Raoul pulled the man aside, to the hisses and cries of fraud from the audience. "Raoul, what is it!?"
"He's fainted."
Javert's mouth visibly tightened, his face freezing, an anger steadily building up through his reddening face.
"I think his wounds are infected, Javert."
And you should know what was the cause, villain! Raoul knew he had all but spat the name out but the brute seemed not to acknowledge the comte's discontent.
"I'll drag the damn thing out! You keep the crowd!"
Raoul was shoved aside, the crowd yelling for their act, and Javert muttering curses under his breath. Having steadied himself, Raoul watched Javert stomp toward the tent. He turned toward the spectators, suddenly feeling very minuscule. There would be no stopping Javert unless he wanted to warrant a beating for Erik and himself. Raoul would simply force himself to follow the man's orders.
Cliffhanger! Thanks for reading and reviews are more than welcome! Interested in seeing the rest of this? Like the way I'm writing Raoul? Hate the way I'm writing anyone? Let me know.
