Thank you, thank you, thank you, you two.

I really hate to say this, but this will be the last chapter I can post for about three and a half weeks. I'm going away and I'll have no internet. But I'll write when I'm away so there'll be a new chapter as soon as I return around the 16th of July.

Chapter Eight.

Pain slashed through Erik as the fire poker caught his arm. He could feel blood dripping underneath the material of his coat and shirtsleeve after a moment, and he hissed in pain. Yes, hiding behind a curtain was not the most brilliant of plans. Over the years he had become the master of stealth and secrecy, haunting the Opera Populaire like it was his domain. And now, here he was, hiding behind a mere curtain and finding it difficult and awkward. The windowsill poked uncomfortably in the back of his legs and he had limited space to move without it being obvious. It felt like a bloody cage. What a stupid plan, he swore to himself, and gritting his teeth had to try and remain still when he heard Miriam enter the room.

The goddamn Phantom of the goddamn Opera was finding hiding behind a curtain of all things, difficult? Goddamnit!

He had heard her taking Bethany out of the room, had heard the slow clunk (which he had found out was the fire poker being pulled from its stand) and her footsteps approaching…And before he could defend himself, the curtain was ripped aside and she made her attack.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she stared at him in complete shock, the fire poker dropping to the carpet.

He moved forward grimacing, "I…Was…" he quickly tried to think of an explanation.

Miriam put her hands on her hips, answering her own question, "Spying," and then rolled her eyes, "Well, sit down. Lord knows with how hard I hit you, I probably gave you some sort of injury," she led him to a chair and sat him down.

He eased his coat off and she rolled up his left sleeve, till a slight gash was revealed just below his elbow. She tut tutted and then murmured, "Why were you spying on me Monsieur Morreaux, do you not trust me yet?" she paused, "You have every right I suppose, but if I had caught you in a more restricted and personal area in this house, I would not have stopped bludgeoning you with the poker…Wait here, I'll go get some ointment so that doesn't become infected."

She moved over to the door and opened it, and immediately Bethany came crawling through, affronted that she had been forced to remain alone in the hallway. She moved over to Erik and tugging his pant leg pulled herself up, staring up at him. He bent forward and collected her in his arms, his gloved hand caressing her face gently. She giggled, and he wondered if she recognised him…If her little world included him, even if he just caught a small memory in her thoughts.

He almost cried when she patted his mask familiarly, with a smile that showed some of her new teeth. He would have to stop these visits soon or he would feature in her long-term memories. She was so beautiful…She had thick hair the colour of ebony, that Gabriel and he himself had, only it was straight like her Mother's, unlike Gabriel who had curls. Bethany had hazel eyes like her Mother's…While Gabriel inherited his appearance, it was interesting to look upon a child that inherited characteristics from both he and Chara.

Every time he visited, dread tainted the joy. She was so small, so innocent. She had no idea how cruel the world would become. To hide her away was the only gift he could give her.

He remembered the panic that had torn through him as he ran through the house the day she was born, with her in his arms. He had locked the door and had paced the room, not hearing the hysterical cries of his wife or the desperate pleas of the midwife as they banged on the door. He was in a completely different world, remembering his drunken Mother all those years ago, abusing him because she was tired of the local children who pelted her house with stones, the men who leered at her and the women who shunned her. She had moved, desperate to be accepted…

He remembered the boiling water she had thrown at him when he was seven, the heat causing him to writhe and scream in agony. She had taken him to a Doctor and in spite of the pain he had enjoyed having a loving, concerned and frightened Mother. He did not understand the sudden change as she stroked his hair and wept, didn't realise that it was all a ploy for her to feel accepted in the new village. The mother of a child who was burned would be pitied and welcomed more so than a mother who had given birth to a freak. It had not worked though, the Doctor had realised after the wounds began to heal that underneath the burns were marks that were from birth – and then guessed what she had done to her own child. She had had to run before she was arrested. That was the last time he saw her…Seven years of her cursing him, hitting him, crying because of him, screaming at him and causing even more disfigurement and unbelievable pain yet he had still mourned the loss of her.

When he had been lying in hospital, she had read to him stories from the One Thousand and One Arabian Nights series which had opened up a world of excitement and bright colours that he had never experienced before, except through his music that he had taught himself. He had sworn then he would travel to those exotic nations one day, the land that his Mother had opened up for him. It always pained him remembering those weeks with her because it was as if she could have loved him, that she had wanted to, that she had enjoyed reading to him, telling him about his Father who had long since died and singing to him – she had such a beautiful voice.

He had vaguely remembered throughout his younger years, a child, younger than he – or to be precise he remembered a pair of brown eyes…Had he had a sibling? He remembered their lives had continued in separate rooms (he hidden and locked away) and he remembered hearing weeping that joined his own when his Mother yelled, but that was all he recalled from that part of his life that concerned anybody else in that home besides his Mother. Once he had tapped a tune on a wall in the house they had lived in before they had moved, and on the other side a soft and fragile voice joined with the rhythm. Immediately he became obsessed with trying to connect to this other being that united with him and whenever his Mother was in some sort of drunk stupor, even though they were separated in different rooms, they would join in a wordless medley. The child had certainly not been with him in the hospital, but he supposed his Mother had taken him or her when she had vanished.

After that he had been sent to an orphanage which was a whole other chapter in his life of being miserable and an outcast. He had run away, to search for his Mother after two years but had only been successful in being captured by gypsies…He thought of his whole life, where there was more pain, more fear, more chapters of misery. All because of other people. All because of his deformity.

He was running the water and crying the day he had locked himself in the bathroom, the child stirring in his arms. He had no choice, she couldn't live. He would never curse anybody with the same kind of life he had had to live.

He was sitting in the bath himself, his hands trembling as he held her over the water. All he had to do was lower her…Lower her under the water and hold her there for just a few minutes. She wouldn't even fight much, she would squirm a bit, but wouldn't be strong enough to escape his grip. He would hear her muffled cries as her mouth opened and water would gush through her, down her throat, where she would choke. He could envision the bubbles that would spew forth, envision her body stiffening, envision her small little life diminishing.

And he felt horribly sick.

He couldn't do it. He willed it with his mind, but his body wouldn't co-operate. You fool! He screamed to himself, do you want her to grow up and be as disgustingly pitiful and unhappy as you? But he couldn't do it.

He held her out to look at her and he rested his cheek on her small belly. She was alive with so much potential, as much potential as Gabriel had, yet she would never be able to show it. It would be concealed, veiled, a shadow. All because of her damned face. What could you become if you had been born with an unblemished face? He thought. What could I have become?

The water was still pouring and he moved forward and with one hand cupped filled it with water and gently drizzled it over her body to clean her. She squirmed from the cold and cried helplessly. His eyes widened and he held her close to him, her face resting on his shoulder. Later he would realise the horrible irony of it all - that he had planned on murdering her without emotion, drowning her in the water where she would have been completely immersed, yet now he comforted her, feeling complete guilt that he had let his little newborn daughter get cold.

The moment he realised he was unable to take her life, he knew he could not keep her. She could not stay with them in this small village. She would have to be sent away, far from towns or cities or people. The only respite he had ever had in his life from the cruelty of people was when he had lived underneath an opera house for those years before travelling around the world – most importantly Persia.

The ideal situation would be to move with her, of course. To raise her himself…He held Bethany tighter. Lord he wished he could do that. He would give anything to guide her, to be there for her. But there was Gabriel his son. It wouldn't be fair to him to have him live in such a remote area which would be perfect for Bethany. Gabriel needed to be near Paris – he was so intelligent already, he needed to go to a proper school, and he had the right to grow up with lots of friends and people around him. Erik had kept money intentionally so his son could go to the most prestigious school. Of course Erik could teach him himself, but prestigious schools meant he would have the right papers to pursue his academia further at university. If they lived far away it would be Gabriel who would be sent away, Gabriel who would be cut off from them. If they stayed and Bethany lived with them, she would grow up taunted and in fear. Word would get around that there was a freak who had been born in the village. The fool doctor or the midwife would talk, word would spread. It would be just like what his Mother had had to endure. Gabriel would also have to suffer, being set apart from the other children for having both a Father and a sister who were different. His life would be as miserable as Bethany's and they would resent each other, he for the torment he received and she for the fact that he was perfect and she was lacking in what the world deemed important.

She would have to be sent away. It was the only way. He could not lock her in the house where lack of sunlight would make her pale and sickly with poor circulation, like what he had to endure. A house, out in the country where she could roam the land and explore and grow happy without knowing what cruelness was. She would stay a couple hours away from him till before she became a certain age where she would start remembering him, then he would sell that house and buy another, further away from people. It was a double edged sword, she would be hurt either way, but if she did not know about the family, then she could not envy the family who was living without her, thinking they discarded her without a thought.

He would interview countless women till he found the right one and the little girl would be treated well. She would grow up and Erik would hire a tutor to teach her how to be an accomplished young woman. Erik had enough money from the 20,000 francs a month he had accumulated over the decades from the Opera Populaire so that both his children could live out their lives more than comfortably.

She would have to go.

He rested his cheek against hers, murmuring, "I tainted your birth precious one, but I will give you the gift of a happy life. A life without fear or persecution."

He would do anything to protect her. It would ruin what he had of his marriage, his wife would never forgive him…But his little girl having a life of normalcy was far more important. Was of the most importance.

"Spying indeed," Miriam was back, pulling Erik away from his thoughts as she dabbed some ointment onto his cut and tied a bandage around it, "How preposterous."

He hissed from the pain, and remembered his resolve on protecting Bethany with his life.

He grabbed Miriam's hand, and looked at her, his golden eyes flashing dangerously, "You listen to me woman. If you ever believe there is an intruder in your home again, even if you are uncertain, you grab Bethany and you get the Hell out of the house, is that clear? There is no room for stupid heroics, not when it concerns my daughter. You're as delicate as a twig that I could easily snap. You take the horse and you go for help."

Miriam looked at him frightened, especially when his grip around her delicate wrist tightened considerably, "Yes! Yes, of course. Please let go, I promise, I will never do anything like that again!"

He let her hand go and she moved back, rubbing it soothingly in alarm.

"I am sorry Monsieur Morreaux, you are right. How foolish of me," she was apologising quietly.

Erik closed his eyes wearily, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand.

His daughter was safe and happy, but his home life…He had never realised how incredibly hard it would be to live with a woman who loathed the very core of his being, who obeyed him only because he was her husband but who would never look at him again with the slightest hint of affection, like she had when she had first kissed him.