Thanks to all those who review. :) I see I got some new people too.

So I've been having a rough few days, so here's a new chapter. Maybe it will make you lovely readers happier than I am now.

Chapter 10

Raoul ground his teeth. "I think it has been more than enough time!" he shouted at the obstinate police officer. "Why aren't your men searching for my wife and son?"

The police man said brusquely, "Even if it has been, sir, that does not mean we will go looking. Plenty of people disappear for a day or so in Coney Island, and they eventually show up, safe and sound."

"You said you needed only a day! And it has been two!"

"My men are quite busy." In contrast to Raoul's rising tone, the police man was quite calm. "That is standard procedure, Coney Island is anything but that. A week, sir, is actually closer to what we do. And there is much worse crime on this island than a missing boy and wife."

Raoul swept out of the office in a rage. Part of this was because he had never been treated in so cavalier a manner back in France, where as part of the wealthy nobility, the authorities had jumped to fulfill his orders. But most of it was because he knew exactly where Christine and Gustave were, and the police were making no effort to help him.

Christine and Gustave were missing. In the hands of that foul monster, no less, one whom he had thought was gone forever – one Raoul had fervently hoped had rotted in his gloomy caverns. But this Phantom had been playing with them, apparently knowing enough about his situation to play at his weakest points – and that, combined with his own internal misery at having his family go missing, was driving Raoul mad with grief.

Christine, Christine…what could he be doing to her? Did you think that I would harm her? No, but he had wanted to marry her – marry, as if Christine would have him, as if there were any more of a mismatched couple in the world… as if this might somehow condone any further actions with Christine…

And Gustave…his brilliant young son, was there too. And there Raoul didn't want to think, for if this Phantom didn't want to harm Christine, he certainly did not think that protection would extend to her son…Raoul's son… the son of a hated rival…

Phantasma was once again filled with people, but this time the chattering crowds, the bright young couples, the little clusters of husbands and wives and children, made Raoul ache with longing for his own family. He plunged his way through, shoving through some more than disgruntled walkers, until he had reached a bar.

"Give me one," he commanded roughly.

The bartender set down some foul looking brew, which he swallowed down immediately, gasping at the strength of the liquor and the foul taste. Even as it burned in his throat, he ordered, "Another."

Glancing him over discreetly, the bartender set down another. Raoul took this at a more leisurely pace, taking some time to survey his surroundings. Dank, gloomy, the other customers barely shadows, and with the horrible reek of sweat and alcohol and vomit in the air.

The door opened, letting in a bright shaft of sunlight that disappeared swiftly as it shut. Plopping down beside Raoul was a young woman, her beauty noticeable even in the darkness. Raoul blinked; she looked familiar, but the potent alcohol was making his head whirl and he could not concentrate enough to make his memory work.

"One please," the girl said, in a high, sweet voice completely out of place in her setting.

Her voice brought the memory back. Raoul almost shouted, "You're the girl! The one on the beach with the – the suit – and – and the towel! The one in the show! That beauty – bathing beauty!"

Only after did he realize he was on a ramble, but the girl (possibly used to reactions of this kind) giggled piercingly and nodded. "I am! How did you recognize me?"

He shook his head, a bad idea as the bar began to swirl. "I – your voice. You had a lovely voice."

She blushed. "Thank you. I took lessons with a very good teacher before. But I'm going to be upstaged by Miss Daaé, I think." This was said in a most contented tone; she was apparently not afraid of losing any prestige. This theory of Raoul's was confirmed when she shrugged her delicate shoulders and continued, "But she will be only here for a day – and it will be so much fun to see the Soprano of the Century on stage again!"

Raoul groaned. Her voice was lovely, but it grated on his aching head, woozy head. "You have heard my – Miss Daae sing before?"

"No," she murmured, pouting, "but I've heard so much of her. They say she has the loveliest voice in France – that she can hit the highest notes and make it look easy. 'As clear as a bell', they said!" She laughed. "She was my hero, you know, even if I've never heard her sing. But in two days, I think I can!"

He blinked. "Two days?"

"Of course! Mr. Y is opening the concert hall just for the occasion. They're putting up posters as we speak!"

"Mr. Y?" Raoul's head cleared; he stood and grabbed the girl's pale arms. "Listen – you know Mr. Y, right?"

She stared at him, his intense manner disturbing her. "I – yes – we all do," she said hesitantly.

"Could you take me to him?" demanded Raoul. "Please, I need to – to see him!"

"Well – no, I – Mr. Y said specifically that he doesn't want to be disturbed-"

"Please!" Raoul shouted, now shaking her, starting to attract stares from the others. "Please, my wife and son are missing! I need his help!"

This touched something in the girl; she bit her lip but finally acquiesced. "All right. This way."

The two left the bar, she chattering nervously. "We'll only go to the entrance, all right? Mr. Y told us that he alone for the next few days – not until after the performance – you can get there once we're out of Phantasma, though, right? I – I don't want to get him angry – he is so frightening when angry-"

"Yes, I've heard" said Raoul vaguely, rushing so fast he was almost overtaking her, though only she knew the way.

They were nearing the back entrance, the girl's fear growing more palpable with every step. "Just to the back, all right? You can go the rest on your own, right? I can't be seen-"

"Yes, yes, of course," Raoul soothed her.

"Oh dear – it's just, Mr. Y is so terribly – I mustn't let him – and I don't even know – your name – what is your name?" She gasped and quickly ran on. "Never mind, sir! Its better I don't know!"

"Miss!" Raoul caught her arm once more, feeling a keen sense of vindication at her distress. This respected Mr. Y could surely not be as great as everyone said he was if he could inspire this fear. "Miss, it will be fine! Listen, just give me directions…and I'll come back to you later, if you wish."

"Oh!" She sagged in relief. "Thank you, sir! You mustn't think Mr. Y is a fiend!" Too late, Raoul thought wryly. "He is so very kind to us, the freaks especially – not at all like those down in the other parks! But he was so terribly angry when one of the girls went up his tower once…"

Raoul replied hastily, "Yes, of course. But you needn't worry, I can help you…I am the Vicomte de Chagny, Miss, and if you get into trouble, I can find you a suitable job elsewhere."

She put a hand to her mouth. "The…the Vicomte?" Her skin went chalk white; she backed away, eyes completely frightened. "I – I can't! I'm sorry – I can't!" She ran.

Raoul was in shock, giving her a few seconds to disappear into the crowd. Realizing his only lifeline was escaping, he pursued her, shouting, "Miss! Come back!" He spurred himself, dashing back even as her slim frame winked out of sight. Then he was running, seeing a peek of her gaudy costume, a flash of her dress, but always blocked by people. Forcing aside a couple he saw a glimpse of her reddish hair and turned sharply, shoving the crowd aside in his hurry.

"Miss! Wait! Stop!"

His voice only made her run faster. She suddenly ducked into a crowd, Raoul fast on her heels – but when he was through she was nowhere in sight. Frantic, she spun around, hoping for some lucky sighting of her.

"Miss! Come back! Please!"

But she was gone.

Gustave crept back to Erik, watching him as he put the finishing touches on a small little man at a piano. Erik looked up and offered a tentative smile. Gustave grinned back.

Finishing, Erik stood back, then told Gustave, "Press here." He indicated the automaton's back.

Gustave glanced at him with some puzzlement, then pushed the figure. It leaned forward – almost as if it were about to play – then started jerking its arms up and down. A tinkling melody emerged.

Gustave laughed out loud. "It's wonderful!"

Erik inclined his head, though looking a little puzzled at such mood whiplash.

"What does this do?" Gustave had wandered to the skeleton butler. Erik stepped by him and touched his shoulder, tugging him back with the gentlest of pulls.

The skeleton sprang to life with startling quickness; it hopped out of its cage and bowed, then swiped out the tray Gustave had seen it holding. With mechanical twitchiness it filled a glass with wine and handed it to Gustave.

"I knew it! It's a butler!" Gustave exclaimed. He reached for the wine and was surprised when Erik swiped it out of reach.

"No wine for you," Erik said.

"But Mother and Father let me-"

"No." Erik put it aside. But he softened at Gustave's little pout. "Come. Let me show you my mechanical organ."

"The one with the gorilla?" asked Gustave, trotting behind in an effort to keep up with Erik's long strides.

"Yes. That one." He moved around it, beckoned Gustave over, and started explaining everything about it – how to adjust the tempo and volume of playing, how to make it play the music he wanted or how to configure it to create its own music…

"Mother, how did you meet Mr. Y?"

Christine smoothed out the bed sheets, buying time for herself. "When I was a child," she said. "He taught me how to sing."

"He can sing, too?" Gustave whispered. "Is he better than you?"

"Oh, much better," she answered, a strange smile playing over her lips. "And he was so many other things besides… a composer, an architect, a musician…and he was so learned…he knew everything there was to know, it seemed…"

"And he taught you everything?"

"Yes…and he was a very good teacher." Once again, that mysterious smile. It was starting to puzzle Gustave.

He asked, "How did you meet?"

She wondered how much to tell him. Her son was a curious boy; moreover, he could make connections and see things others did not. Inevitably her answers would lead to more questions, more queries, until she had to tell the entire, terrible tale – and that was not something her son needed to hear.

So she only said, "At the opera house, when I was a little girl. He found me in the chapel and taught me for many years…and eventually he helped me to get the lead role in an opera."

Gustave's eyes were wide. "He did all that? Why?"

That queer smile again. "I suppose…because he loved me."

Her son's eyes ran over her face. "But you loved Father."

She dipped her head. "Yes. And Erik found out. He was…not happy. But eventually, he let me go."

"Why?"

"Because…he wanted me to be happy." She had twisted the covers between her fingers until they were tight little knots. She laughed, feeling a cry starting to come up. "Because he loved me, even though I didn't love him." Good God, why was she telling all this to her son? Because, her mind said, nobody, not Meg, not Raoul, not even she herself, had been able to see this…not for a long time.

Gustave curled up next to her. "Mother?"

"Hmm?"

"Where did he get the…" He indicated the right half of his face.

There was a very long pause. Christine was no longer smiling.

"I don't know," she said at last. "I've never known." Not until today, at least. "I think…I think he was born with it. It has not given him a happy life, Gustave."

"Does it hurt him?"

"I don't know." After thinking a moment, she said, "Perhaps not physically. But in his mind, in his heart…yes. I think it has hurt him."

Gustave seemed to have no more questions. She turned off the light and joined her son under the covers. Within moments his breathing had softened into the slow, heavy sighs of sleep. Christine lay in the dark for a long time, stroking his hair gently and thinking about tomorrow.

A normal day with Erik.

No, it was not pity that had compelled her to do this, though goodness knows she did not blame Erik for this. Perhaps…it was more a wondering, a morbid curiosity at what could have been…at what might have happened should she have actually married Erik…perhaps if she had chosen to stay with him, instead of leaving only his plaintive plea of love…if he had chosen to stay with her in that cabin, too…

She felt as nervous as the girl she had once been. Something had died within her…she had quietly dubbed it Little Lotte. Little Lotte could no longer afford to think of nothing.

But as she curled up in bed, contemplating what was to come, she wanted nothing more than to go back to being that naïve, innocent girl…before she had to learn to keep secrets, to tear away at them…before her father had died and the Angel of Music descended on her.

Coney Island came alive at night, but one point remained shrouded from the light, at least to Raoul. At the very far end of Phantasma, accessible only on foot through a hidden back entrance from the park, was a point the freaks had nicknamed the Aerie.

Ironic, thought Raoul. The Phantom of the Opera had inhabited the point closest to Hell. Now he was trying to reach Heaven instead.

It took half an hour of careful searching to find the door; it was so dark, and so well-camouflaged he doubted he would have found it in the light. There were no cracks or lines or any other tell-tale signs, not so much as a doorway or a handle or even a lock. Which meant there was no way to open it.

Raoul had found the door through pure luck – he had pounded on the walls in frustration and heard suddenly not the hard, dull thud of his fist against stone, but a hollow one. He had stood, puzzled, for a moment, then pounded at the structure again, carefully, experimenting all around with the walls. Then, and only then, had he realized he had been standing in front of the door, so expertly crafted as to look like part of the tower. It was located where one would not expect a door to be – not facing Phantasma, nor near the sea, but in a corner without a view of either.

But he could not get in. He had been fearful of hitting it further – would the Phantom not hear him? To hell with the Phantom, the irrational part of his mind shouted, and after a fruitless search for a knob, a key hole, even a crack to put his fingers in, he had resorted to trying to batter the door down, first with his hands, then with nearby stones. But nothing could shake it.

Finally he leaned against it, an utter hopelessness entering his soul. The deformed monster was holding his family captive – and here he was, at the entrance to his lair, yet unable to enter it. A deep, consuming anger formed within his mind. Damn him, damn the man for haunting him for so many years. Damn him to hell for the torment he was putting him through.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears welling out. He thought of pure, beautiful Christine, a captive in the tower; of Gustave, his spirit crushed in his prison…and Raoul knew then, that he would do anything to get them back. If he could still get them back…but no, he could not think of life without them. It was not possible.

He would find them. Somehow he would. And if they should be dead, wounded, destroyed in mind or spirit… he would do what he should have done ten years ago, his own life be damned.

Old habits, Erik's mind hissed at him. Ten years of normality, and you revert back to form in a day.

He snapped at that part of his mind and let himself watch Christine and Gustave in peace.

Erik had only once sat by Christine's side when she slept. When she was quite young, she had still suffered nightmares, and could sleep only with a candle lit. Sometimes they were so bad not even the comforting sound of his voice could soothe her. Then, and only then (and only for a few moments at the most), he had dared to venture out from the tunnels to sit by her side. Somehow she had sensed his physical presence, and in her sleepy state had associated with her father. She had muttered as much when he slept.

That had been before he had been overtaken by the fierce, desperate desire to possess her, a feeling only the most romantic fool could claim as love.

Obsession seemed more appropriate. Certainly, his frantic actions during his last days at the opera house could be termed as such. It had not been until the very last moment that he had experienced the exquisitely painful emotion he had finally acknowledged as love. Then, his need to possess Christine had warred with the hopeless acknowledgement that her heart belonged elsewhere and that she could only be happy with this person, who was not him. And love had won. But the battle, the final surrendering, had driven a bone-deep weariness in him that had taken ten years of furious work to dispel.

Just watching her brought back an old ache. He had lived for ten years, trying to reignite his old compulsions. He had tried to write music, had failed – every note seemed to echo one he had taught Christine, seemed to lead to a song that could only be for her, performed by her. He had thrown himself into his business, into his books, into his automatons, into anything that might distract him. He had realized the futility of this action when he started to sculpt, with increasing fervor, the automaton of Christine now carefully hidden away. And finally, he had tried to convince himself that he could love someone else – he had seen many others, as lovelorn as he, pick themselves up and find happiness in another. Yet all he saw, with any woman, was Christine.

Just a normal day, Erik.

How did this girl – this woman – possess the ability to drive him to bouts of rage, to reduce him to a pitiful child, with just a few words? His famed self-control had been nothing when confronted with her; from the moment he had heard her sobbing in the chapel, he found he would do whatever she asked of him.

He moved across the bed to where Gustave lay sleeping. Here his thoughts grew confused. Lying before him was a son. His son. Christine's son.

He would have expected any child of his to be as hideous as he. But this boy was perfectly formed, both halves of his round face matching one another. He kneeled down, examining him more closely. He had Christine's gentle, forgiving nature – but the hair, the nose, the mouth…all his. And his musical ability, too, and possibly his genius… but where Erik was a creature of darkness, this precious boy was meant for the light. He seemed to glow with a spirit that Erik knew could not have come from his father.

Did the Vicomte know? His mouth curled upward in a sneer. Raoul de Chagny had kept Christine for ten years, but he, Erik, had triumphed over him in so many more ways. And Erik knew that in the end, he would hold Christine's heart.

A normal day…

Damn her. Trying to tempt him with dreams of the impossible. How had he been driven in so deep? The plan had been to hear her sing once more, to let the music ignite the flames of love he knew she still possessed – for him, not for the Vicomte. Yet here Christine was, sleeping under his roof while the Vicomte searched desperately – and a victory even he had not expected, a son.

She would sing his song…and then…Erik dared not think of what would happen then. It could only work…there was no chance of failure. He did not know what he would do if he should fail.

Gustave rolled closer to his mother, the movement causing Erik to freeze in place. He could not forget the boy's scream of horror as he beheld Erik's face. Not even for Christine had he held such hope for acceptance. But, he thought, lip curling, he should have expected such a reaction. If not even his own mother could love him, why should he expect any better from his son?

Disgusted with himself, with this boy, with the whole of humanity, he turned away, finding it was becoming easier to brush off Gustave's rejection of him…but not so much the gleam in the boy's eyes when he had shown him the little mechanical piano player.

It's just ANOTHER DAAAAAAYYYYY!

Yeah, I'm a Next to Normal fan. Heh. If you don't know what that is, check it out. What RENT did for AIDS, I think Next to Normal will do the same for mental illness. Awesome musical, there.

And I am aware I just spoiled the entire mood there. No need to tell me. XD