~Phantom~

Love Never Dies

"Beneath A Moonless Sky"

Erik:"Revealed"

Parting from her, after so many hours of having her near, was almost too much to bear. And though I could not tell you why, the presence of the child only made me want to linger longer. She seemed complete when he was near.

It eased me considerably that I could genuinely say I liked the boy. It made matters less complicated; he was not going anywhere, and I found that I would not want him to even if such a thing were possible.

I was looking forward to spending more time with him so I could truly observe him in. While I saw small traces of Christine in him, I had a hard time locating the Comte, something for which I was grateful. I had feared I would dislike the boy because he resembled his father, but that was not so.

His hair was flaxen, though not the same as that of his father's; the child's was suffused with gold, while de Chagny's was not. And his eyes – they were neither his father's, nor his mother's. Their color was unique and yet, somehow familiar, but in what way I could not say. Their mystery was forgotten by my racing heart as my mind wandered elsewhere.

It was a real possibility that in a day's time my whole life could change. I could have what I had secretly yearned for from the start. And yet, it was just as possible, even more likely, that it would change for the worse – that I would once and for all be denied that which I coveted. And when that happened – the opera that was my life would close its curtain for the final time.

To distract my mind from the torture of the unknown, I instructed Fleck, Squelch and Gangle to fetch the boy for me. I went to my workspace and there, upon the color shifting piano, I poured myself into music. The last note rang in the air when I felt the presence of someone in the room with me. I turned and saw standing in the shadows, Megan Giry.

"You might have made your presence known, Megan." I was annoyed she was there – she knew I loathed being disturbed while I worked.

"I couldn't have possibly interrupted you. That was beautiful – what you just played." For a moment she seemed elsewhere, her mind far off, but the spell faded and she was back, her gray eyes resting on mine.

"What do you want, Megan?" I turned back to the piano wanting to complete the finishing touches to the piece before the child arrived.

"I want to know what Christine's doing here."

So the two old friends had met; I was not surprised. I knew it had been bound to happen.

"That's really none of your concern." I had to explain myself to no one, least of all to Megan Giry.

"It is when she's performing in my show!" She had lost her control, was steaming with anger, otherwise she would never have dared speak to me in such a way.

I ignored her. "It is not your concern, Megan."

"How dare you!" She shrieked, as she ran towards me with her hands balled into fists.

I caught hold of her before she could strike. She had lost her mind. If I had known she would behave in such a way, I would have sent her off with her mother, as well.

"Stop this, Megan!" I yelled as I tried, quite literally, to shake some sense into her.

"You promised me that I was the star! You promised me!" She screamed as tears of fury fell from her storm filled eyes.

I had never seen her act like this, and I was at a loss as to what to do, or what to say to calm her. But before I could act, all the fight went from her body; she slumped in my arms and wept heartily.

I had not taken into account Megan or her feelings when I planned for Christine to sing. That was wretched of me, for it was her and her mother who had helped me, and neither deserved to be lightly discarded. But it had been the only way I knew of bringing Christine to me; in the end that was all that mattered.

I let her cry in my arms, her tears staining my shirt as I gently stroked the back of her head in comfort. How she could have taken its meaning as anything other than consolatory, I did not know – but she did. She raised her head, urgently placing her mouth to mine. I was so stunned, that I did not pull back as fast as I should have, and she began kissing me with increased force.

"No, Megan. I'm sorry but this cannot happen." I pulled from her and wiped my lips with the back of my hand.

Instantly her smile faded. "Why not? Maybe if I screw you then I'll get an aria written for me, too!" Her statement concluded with a resounding slap, my face the sounding board.

The shock of her blow left me as I saw the arrival of Christine's son.

As always, my three trusted employees accomplished their given task and delivered the boy.

Turning to see what had caught my attention, Megan pulled herself together enough to smile at the child, and utter, "Hello."

"Hello, Ms. Giry. Mr. Whye, sir – thank you!" He had seen none of what had just taken place.

Grateful for the disruption this time, I walked from Megan to the boy. "There is no need to thank me – I have not yet shown you anything," I laughed.

"Is Ms. Giry coming to see the park with us?" He asked, smiling at Megan.

"Unfortunately, not. Ms. Giry was just leaving, were you not?" I dared her with the heat of my glare to say otherwise.

"Yes, I was just leaving. I have some things I would like to discuss with my mother."

It was a threat; one I paid no heed to.

"Well, when you see her – tell her 'hello' for me." I knew that Madeline Giry was halfway to Boston by now and would not be back until my plans had been accomplished.

She seemed to sense what I was thinking; outwardly she smiled, yet burned within. "Oh, I'll tell her – that you can take to the bank!" She threw me one last fury filled smile and left.

"You three may leave as well. I shall call for you when your presence is required." Bowing, they quickly departed.

I turned my full attention to the child. "What would the young Comte like to see first?"

Blushing, the golden child asked, "Would it be all right– I mean – may I?" His awe filled eyes motioned towards the glass piano which had so fascinated his mother. It was clear that he was asking permission to play it.

"Of course, please." I gestured for him to go ahead. I had no idea if he could play or not, but it did make me curious.

Curiosity was instantly quelled as he began to stroke the ever changing colored keys. The sweet melody he produced struck something deep within, something that only stirred when I, myself played. And that was when I realized that the tune his delicate hands played could have been mine. No one I had ever heard composed in the same way as I. Where could he have heard it?

"What is this?"

He did not take his eyes from the piano and the colors that had him mesmerized. "Just a song in my head."

My knees felt weak. I sat down on the stool beside him.

"Go on."

He did, and as he created such glorious sounds with his small fingers, my heart seemed to cease its rhythm.

"I think it's beautiful." He said as he continued to break my heart with the beauty of his composition. "It sounds so beautiful."

This music . . . the way he plays . . . it's just like me. . . .

It seemed I was hearing a younger version of myself. I tried to wrap my mind around what I was hearing, what I was seeing, but all that filled me was his music.

"Who taught you to play like this?"

"No one, sir. I would love to receive instruction some day, but father says it's a frivolous activity to spend money upon. So, it's really only something I like to do in my spare time."

I did not know whether to laugh or cry. The boy had not been trained, and yet he played as well as I, or so it appeared. A prodigy. And he was not receiving instruction! A gift such as his was meant to be cherished, and given all that it needs so that it may flourish. Damn de Chagny for trying to stifle such talent!

I was brought back to the child, and his breathtaking music. He had changed the melody now, ever so slightly and the tune played softer, gentler. It was beyond anything I would have ever thought a ten year old capable of playing, much less composing – and with no knowledge of how to correctly do so!

Amazing.

It was then I realized I was witnessing something that would be imprinted upon me forever.

He was ten.

Just ten years old!

That night, when I had tasted of paradise . . . it was over ten years ago.

It couldn't be though – Could it?

My heart and mind raced at staggering speeds, trying desperately to catch up and come to the same conclusion as my instincts, who had known all along.

"When were you born, child?" All the moisture had left me and the words barely escaped.

This did not warrant a look away from the glass keys, or a pause in the mystical like melody he played; he was still too captured by the music and the colors it produced.

"September 23rd, sir."

"What year?"

"1897, sir."

Quickly, I added the dates together in my head. The opera house had perished in January of 1897. I had lain with Christine at the end of that month. I knew it was possible, but I also knew that Christine and de Chagny were married the following day and just as likely that child was his.

Only, he was not.

He's mine.

If I had any remaining doubts, they vanished as I took an intense notice of the boy's unique eyes. Eyes, which before could not be placed, though they had possessed a familiarity, were now instantly recognized. It was no wonder they were not realized to me earlier, for it was not often that I looked at myself in a mirror.

They were mine; this glorious creature – so prefect, so beautiful in every way – was of my flesh and my blood. The certainty overwhelmed me. Never before in all my life had I been so sure of something, as I was of the fact that he was mine.

How could she not have told me!

"Why do you ask, sir?"

He pulled me from my growing fury. "Ask?"

"My date of birth, sir."

"I ask young Comte–" I stopped. No, it was not right to call him by such a title when I knew it did not belong to him. So, I restated my answer. "I ask Gustave, because you play remarkably well for one so young in years."

The cherub before me smiled, blushing at my compliment, and then completed his playing.

"Thank you, sir. I love to–"

"You may cease calling me 'sir', Gustave and may instead refer to me as 'Erik'."

"All right. Thank you – Erik."

"You were saying?" I could not help my anger.

How could she not have told me!

"I was saying?" He puzzled for a moment until his eyes sparked with remembrance. "Oh, yes! I was saying that I love to play so very much. It seems as though music is perpetually on my mind. It never leaves me." At this, his smile faded and the joy seemed to leave him.

"You speak as though that is a problem?"

He was silent, deliberating whether or not he should speak.

"It is something of a problem. You see . . . my father . . . well, he believes the pursuit of music to be a frivolous one, but that is not only pertaining to studying it. He feels that it is a sinful waste of time, so I only play when he is not at home."

I was silent some time, before the child – my child – attempted to excuse de Chagny's behavior.

"He works long hours–" It was more like gambled long hours – days – or so I had heard. "and when he is at home he enjoys quiet, so it is only fair that I abide his wishes and give that to him."

"No, Gustave. It is neither right nor fair!" I spoke harshly because the boy's unacceptable excuses infuriated me. How dare he make excuses for him!

Seeing that he had brought on my displeasure, he apologized. "I am sorry if I have upset you, it was not my intention to do so. I shall leave presently if that is what you wish."

I could not believe that with how eloquently he spoke, his years numbered a mere ten. And while I was angry, it was not at the innocent before me, but de Chagny.

"No, Gustave. I do not wish for you to leave. I apologize for my bad temper. I have been attempting to control it as of late, but I am afraid that you must have patience with me, for as they say – old habits die hard." I smiled in apology.

He smiled back – the most glorious thing I had ever seen. So beautiful in fact, that though my heart and soul told me otherwise, still I doubted. It was hard to fathom that someone so striking, so handsome, could come from some thing like me.

"That's all right, Erik. I have something of a nasty temper on occasion, too." He laughed,the sound decibels of bliss to my ears.

"Do you?" That made me smile. I could not help but wonder what other traits of mine he unknowingly possessed.

"Tell me, Gustave – what else interests you?" I found a sudden,raw need to know all there was about the child before me.

"Besides music, you mean? Well, I enjoy building things."

"Building?" I wondered just what a ten year old could be capable of building, and then I caught myself, remembering that he was anything but a normal ten year old. What he said next, proved as much.

"Yes. Well, you see I'm quite fond of animals – our chickens, in particular; I find that they're more intelligent than they are thought to be. I spent quite a lot of time with them last year, and soon noticed that their coop was extremely inferior. So, I redesigned it by drawing up a new design. Then I built it – it took a few days since I did it alone; Mother wanted to help but I wouldn't let her. Once it was built and the chickens were acclimated to their new home, egg production increased by fifty percent! You see, they weren't provided with adequate space to lay in, and the shed which housed them before, was far too drafty for them to want to lay at all. You have to make it comfortable for them if you want them to produce. As you can tell, from what I said earlier of them increasing their productivity by half, that they were quite pleased with their new home." He smiled, brimming with pride.

"That's quite an accomplishment."

"Thank you. I think of it only as a small achievement, since there are so many other, more complex things I wish to build."

"You have cause to be proud of yourself. But what else is there?"

"What else, sir?"

"Surely you have more but two hobbies with which to occupy your time?"

He laughed. "Do I ever! I have so many thoughts and ideas that run through my mind at all hours of the day, every day, that there are many days when I feel as though there is not enough time for me to do it all."

"I know just how you feel." There were occasions my brain nearly exploded, so filled was it with the ever steady flow of creativity.

"You do?" He seemed astonished, the gold of his eyes burned brighter by the second. Their color was off-putting to anyone not used to it, and I suddenly knew why I was able to accomplish so much with just a glare.

"Yes, I do. And I am beginning to find that you and I, Gustave – have an eerie amount in common with each other."

"We do?" He smiled, seemingly thrilled by the prospect."I don't have many friends because they find the things that I like to do are strange. What's something you enjoy?"

Well, it used to be killing people, I thought dramatically. In truth, I had never enjoyed killing. I had only done so when forced, when left with no choice.

"I enjoy creating, imagining things not yet in existence and then, with my own two hands, making them a reality. I take pleasure in allowing my mind to travel down its darker recesses and see where it leads."

"I understand completely! I've thought up amazing stories and things – some that I would give anything to make real – some I would not wish on my worst enemy – and some that are said to be wicked, forbidden, but bring me a kind of pleasure." His eyes were fully ablaze now – the flames almost visible within the boiling gold. He appeared as excited to share this with me, as I was to share it with him.

Perhaps, I could show him. His mind did seem to travel the same path as my own. Maybe – just maybe he of all people – could look upon me and see me for what I was – that he could look beyond. . . .

After all, it was deceitful for him not to know, was it not? Yes, it was true that he did not yet realize that the creature before him was his father – a fact which I wanted remedied as soon as possible – but I thought it only fair he should see the monster which he seemed to revere so, right away.

"Would you like to see something?"

"Oh, yes! Very much!"

It was now or never. No, it was not the right time, but no time would ever be right.

"But you must tell me something first. Are you squeamish? Do foul appearing things make you ill?"

He was up and away from the piano in a moment's time. The question had obviously unnerved him; his body posture changed completely, and for the first time I took note of fear in his eyes. I did not want him to fear me, but I felt it only fair that I should pay him some small warning. What he would see was not meant for the faint of heart.

He was silent for some time before answering. "Not very." That was honest. "I have not yet encountered anything which has caused me to become ill."

That was all well and good, but how did I know how much he had seen in his short years? I was assuming not much, sheltered as he was as the future Comte de Chagny.

"Never-the-less, if what you are about to see makes you feel in any way uncomfortable, or frightened, I apologize for it now. It is only because I feel that we have become such fast friends that I am willing to show this to you at all."

Interest extinguished fear. "Have others seen it?"

"By choice? Less than a handful."

"Then I should like to see, please."

Rising from my seat at the dormant piano, I made my way to him. Once before him I stood still, trying to keep the courage coursing through me.

Please, dear God . . . if you have ever cared for me in the least, please do not let him flee from me. Not him. Not my child. . . .

Since I had not moved or spoken, he asked timidly, "Where is it?" I was making him nervous again, damn! I was doing this all wrong.

Slowly I placed my hand upon the mask. "It is here. This, Gustave is what I want to show you." In one swift, fluid motion I tore the mask from my face and threw it to the ground.

Instantly, my prayers were rejected.

A scream.

One so loud, so filled with sheer horror, that immediately I fell to the floor in search of the mask before the sound shattered my ear drums. The poor boy looked as though he might pass out, so unnaturally white was his pallor. If I could locate my mask before that, I could go to him, calm him and perhaps explain that I meant no–

"Gustave!"

Christine.

Her appearance was just wonderful – the icing on the cake, really. The only time I had spent with our child and I had nearly frightened him to death! What was I thinking? Fool! At last I spied the white burden, grabbed for it and hastily tried placing it back on my face.

"It's all right! Gustave, it's me!"

She snatched the boy protectively into her arms, while all the while searching for signs of injury. When she could find none, she asked, "Are you all right! What happened?" She was worried, to say the least, and on the verge of panic.

I stood, still putting the mask into place. Immediately her frightened, anxious gaze met mine. But it didn't linger on me for long. She looked at her son, then her knowing gaze returned and settled back on me, on the mask. She knew, had put it all together and suddenly she went ashen.

"Oh, God, Erik – I'm so sorry! He is very curious and I assure you that he meant no harm."

"He did me no harm. If anyone has done harm, it is I."

She didn't understand.

I walked to the desk, located in the opposite corner of the room, picked up the telephone and dialed.

"I need you three here, now."

"Erik, what has happened here!" She shrilled. "I want to know what's been done to my son! What do you mean that it is you who caused har–" Before she could go on further, my trusted trio arrived.

"You called, sir?" asked the avian-like Fletch. `

"Yes, please return the child to his suite at once."

"Right away, sir."

"No, thank you, but I shall take him myself." Christine made move to leave, but quickly I crushed that prospect.

"No, you will not. I have something I must discuss with you, Madame." She looked at me in a mixture between disbelief and anger, but I did not care – there was not an icicle's chance in Hell that she was going anywhere before I was given some answers.

If it was not the tone of my voice, then it was the fury in my glare that let it be known that the topic was no longer open for discussion.

Relenting, she held the boy out before her, and kissed his forehead; he no longer cried, but was still visibly shaken.

"I will follow behind you. When you are back at our suite I want you to go straight to your bedroom, lie down and as soon as I am finished here I will come to you and we shall talk, all right?"

"But Mother, the dream–"

Quickly she cut him off. "Gustave, I promise I will talk to you as soon as I am through speaking with Mr. Whye. I promise. Now please, do as I have asked." She smiled and kissed his cheek, releasing him into the custody of Fletch, Squelch and Gangle.

She watched as they disappeared from the room through one of the many exits, and then spun on me.

"So help me, God, Erik – if you do not tell me what is going on here. . ." She let the threat hang in the air as though its conclusion was one too heinous to speak aloud.

"Me? Tell you? What's going on here?" I laughed cynically.

"Yes! My son was hysterical when I came in here and you say that you are in some way to blame for that – so you better explain yourself, Erik!" She was quite angry; the purplish color that was a tell-tale sign she was boiling, had begun to creep into her neck and face.

"No. No, my love. If there is anyone who has explaining to do it is you! You say he is your son, do you?"

"Yes, of course he is my son!" She was too wrapped in her rage to read between the lines. "And as far as explaining, I am sure I have no idea what you are talking about!"

I would have to spell it out for her.

"How could you think I wouldn't guess?" I began circling her like a panther.

"I do not know what you are speaking about!"

It was the truth; she didn't know what cause I had to be infuriated over when it had been her son who was in tears.

She would remain blissfully ignorant, no longer.

"How could you think I wouldn't know?"

It was there! In her chocolate eyes – at last she understood.

"Oh, no." The purple had vanished and she was now whiter in color than I had ever seen her. She backed away from me in fear, and while half of me wanted to spare her further anguish, the other half wanted her punished for her secrecy.

"Do you have something to confess, Christine?" I bellowed, unable to control myself any longer.

She tried to shy from me as I lunged for her, but I was too fast; I had her by the shoulders and was shaking her before she could have made a move.

"I want the truth right now!"

I shook her one last time then stopped. I did not let her go. She went limp in my hands,defeat washing over her.

She looked up at me, her wide eyes filled to the brim with crystal tears, and admitted simply, "You already know it." The tears spilled overand she quickly brushed them away. I let my hold on her go, but she did not back away.

"I have wanted to tell you so many times, Erik – so many times that I could not begin to count them if I tried! Then, coming here and seeing you – it made the possibility of telling you a reality. You know me – I am a coward. When face to face, I could not bring myself to tell you what I would have told you ten years ago, if only you had not vanished. It was you, Erik, who decided to change the course of our journey, not I. You decided that when you left us."

Why did she have to word it so?

Us, she had said. If I had only known – had any idea! But I had never thought of such an outcome. I never imagined I could live a normal life, and certainly never dreamt of fathering a child. If I had only known then, what I know now.

I found the anger, so potent only a moment before, dissipate and its vapors turn to sorrow. Like a balloon slowly deflating, I felt myself wilt. I moved from her to the chair near the desk, put my head in my hands and silently wept.

A son. . . .

I had a son and he wanted nothing to do with me.

Fatherhood was the one thing that I had unfailingly believed would not be mine; I had never deluded myself into even considering it a possibility. I did not think something like me would be able to create. And yet, I was. I had been a father for a decade and had not even known. Once again, my own personal insecurities had prevented me from enjoying what was mine. I knew that I did not deserve him or her, but by God, they were mine!

A silken touch made me aware she was there. She lowered my hands, and with a quiet gentleness, kissed the unmasked side of my face.

"Forgive me – I beg you. I know I have caused you nothing but pain. I swear – I promise – none of it was intentional." She hesitated, waiting to see if I would speak.

I could not. I was unable.

Acknowledging that, she went on. "I will sing for you, Erik. While it is not in any way going to make up for all the wrong I have done to you, it is all I can do. Tomorrow night I shall sing with all that I have – for you. As it has always been for you." The despair in her eyes mirrored that of my own. Silent tears began to flow from her grief filled eyes.

"You must understand that when you left, I had no one to turn to but Raoul. I loved him, Erik. I loved him enough that I did not want to marry him out of necessity. So much so, that I very nearly didn't. However, when you are alone in the world and frightened of it – and a coward – you tend to take the easy way out.

"I did not sleep with him – not at first. I was too lost in my mourning for you to have been much good for anything. Raoul took notice of my melancholy, but when he asked what was wrong, I could never say. Eventually he stopped asking." I could see how much that saddened her; she really did feel to blame for what he had become.

Inhaling deeply, steadying herself, she went on. "Three weeks into our marriage I knew that I was with child. I know that it is said that you cannot tell at such an early stage, but I could. I swear to you I just knew. I awoke one night with a start, my hand upon my womb. I dreamt of a baby boy, who grew into a youth, and then a young man. A young man who so resembled you in manner, in his genius that my heart, though only dreaming, broke with want for you."

She paused; her eyes before were filled with pain, but now over flowed with intensity. "The child's eyes, Erik – they were a golden amber . . . they were yours. However, I did not linger on them long, for the scene before me changed drastically. I saw this beautiful young man accomplish things I never could have imagined. His contributions to the world were altering, for everyone. Each new project that he tackled, in some way, was a help to the world, to society. Erik, the young man I saw was going to change the world. And it was Gustave." Again she paused, her eyes holding mine in full attention. "What finally awoke me though was you."

"Me?" I hadn't spoken for some time and the question came out as an abrasive whisper.

"You. I saw you there beside him, beside Gustave as a grown man, smiling, laughing, congratulating him and I could bear it no more."

I looked at her in confusion.

"Do you not see? I knew you would never be there. You had left, I had no way to find you and you made it quite clear that you did not wish to find me. My son was never going to know his father. I awoke with the knowledge that the child within me was a boy – one impossibly important boy. And while I was sure that you would most likely never return, I was positive that what I had dreamt was no dream at all. It had been a premonition, Erik – I know it. After experiencing that, I was deeply aware I was carrying precious cargo."

She was silent, allowing me a moment to comprehend it all. I could not.

"He's going to be important – special, Erik – our son, and I knew at once that it was my responsibility to keep him safe. Safe meant that he would have to become Raoul's child, and be raised as the future Comte de Chagny. After I had come to that conclusion – the only conclusion – I at last shared a bed with my husband. All the while, I wept. Raoul believed it was due to discomfort and blissfully did not see the truth: that I was crying for you."

She was through speaking, and while I would have to ponder what she had said about Gustave and her dream some other time when I could make sense of it all, I could at least answer for my desertion.

"Christine, I do not know what to say. Except that I was fool, an idiot! I believed I was doing the right thing. I never thought that my life would lead to where it has. I am sorry. I realize that there is nothing I could ever say or do to change the past, but there is something I can do to change the future."

She was kneeling before me, her hands on my thighs; her touch was electric. Upon hearing my last words, she rose.

"Erik." Taking a deep, steadying breath, and rising to her full height – 5'4 if lucky – she spoke. "I will sing for you tomorrow night and then we will leave."

"Leave! But you cannot! Not now – not when you are – when he is – Oh, God, Christine you can't leave!"

I had her in my arms, my mouth interlocked with hers before she could have thought of protesting. She was warm and soft in my hands. I needed to feel her, to commit to memory every curve, every feature. Running my tongue along her lips, she willingly opened her mouth and met it with her own. The heat, the moisture of our mouths as one was something I would also store in memory and cherished till I died. She moaned; the action causing a lovely vibration to occur in our mouths as I placed my hands on the firm roundness of her uncorsetted breasts. I feared for a moment that she might pull away, but she did the opposite; pulling me by the hair on the rear of my head back to her open mouth.

She wanted me, wanted me almost as desperately as I wanted her. So full of need that I could feel it seep from her into me,adding to my own paramount desire. She pulled her mouth from mine and wasted no time in bringing her lips down upon the thin skin of my throat and neck. I wrapped my hands in her voluminous curls and I never wanted her to stop.

Hungrily, she returned her swollen lips to mine, and that pleasant tingling sensation as she moaned, met me again, and I thought that surely I would go mad if I could not take her then and there.

Together we fell to the floor in a heap of heated bodies. I did not know if it was she or I who removed the shirt from my body, but I cared not. My focus was on removing her dress, which was mercifully made of a light material, chiffon, perhaps – and simple to eliminate. As I undid the buttons on the back of her dress, my lips never left hers.

"Erik! Oh, Erik!"

It was the first words she had uttered in some time. Her mouth was wanted – needed – for more basic acts than conversing. I made again to merge my lips with hers, when she tried to pull back from me.

"Erik, I – we should not–" She panted in heat.

"I don't care to hear anything it is that you have to say. No matter what comes from your mouth, it would be a lie." I panted in equal heat. "You know that this needs to happen, that you need me as much as I need you. So please, my love, silence your exquisite mouth and kiss me."

She did not try to deny, nor did she hesitate an instant; the passion which flowed through me, as her lips found mine with a staggering hunger, was overwhelming.

She began removing my mask.

"Christine, do not–"

"Hush, I want to kiss you without it."

I was powerless to stop her. She could have cut out my heart and I would have agreed to it. But kiss me she did, and I relished in the almost unknown sensation of her satin lips as they lovingly kissed the deformity that once ruled me.

It was not I who finally succumbed to the inevitable, but she.

I nearly tore the shift from her body as she ran her hands down the length of me, only to make her way back up again to remove my pants. She pulled them off in one swift movement and immediately as she did so, the uncomfortable feeling of constriction caused to my genitals, was gone.

She stared at me in all my nakedness. Her hand came back to that hardened swell of flesh, which she began to stroke, to caress. She seemed fascinated by it in some way, but I did not have to think more of it. She lowered her warm mouth upon what she was so intrigued byand gave me such pleasure that just as it begun, it had nearly ended.

I had not lain with anyone in over a decade and that woman had been Christine, beautiful, perfect Christine whom had given herself to me in body, mind and soul. She had given me, I had thought, more happiness then than was possible. But that was not so. For now I knew that a child – a glorious, wonderfully brilliant child – had been created from the beauty we had sharedand I found it highly arousing. It proved that I was as much a man as any other.

I pulled her wet mouth from its ministrations and this time could not stop myself as I ripped the satin shift from her body. Her white breasts called to me, each rose-hued nipple hard as a marble. I laid her down upon the gleaming black floor; the ivory of her skin a beautiful contrast to the ebony floor. As she had taken me in, I now did the same.

We had never seen one another in such a way in the light. She was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen and age had only proved to increase that; she was too perfect for this world.

I felt her leg, urgent against my own. I went where she wanted. I took the nipple of her right breast in my mouth where I nipped, nibbled and suckled it until she cried out in pleasure. She writhed beneath me like an anxious snake.

Placing her hands on each buttock, she took me inside her. It was fast, hard and again, almost too much for me to bear. The warmth, the moisture, the texture, the pressure – it was too much. I pulled free, fearing I would end what I never wanted stopped, and lowered myself back down to her rising, swollen breasts and sucked. My hand traveled down the plains of her chest, her flat stomach, until I reached the pink mound between her open thighs. I didn't have to question if it was the correct spot, for instantly she cried out and arched upward to press that engorged nub with more force into my fingers.

"Oh, God!" Her whole body quivered beneath me on the floor in explosive waves of pleasure.

When I entered her again, I found her transformed into a sopping mess of moisture and raw heat. I measured my pace for some time, not moving too fast,deep and slow. With each one movement, I felt her stir with me, rising toward the precipice of ecstasy we would soon fall from together.

"I love you! Do you hear me, Christine? I said, I love you!"

Her murmuring, her rapid breathing and the responsiveness of her body, had me taking her with an animalistic need. I could not endure much longer; especially not as she clung to me, her legs wrapped fiercely around my waist, her pelvis arched high, allowing me to penetrate the deepest reaches of her. I imagined myself far enough inside to reach her womb.

"You're mine! Say it! Say that you will always be mine!"

"I'm yours! Oh, God, Erik – yes I am yours and will always be! Please, don't stop – I need to feel more of you. I want you deeper, I want all of you!"

She arched her pelvis higher, and with one last furious plunging thrust, I felt her tighten around me, her muscles pulling, throbbing against me, begging for my release, which I gave. I poured myself into her until I ceased to flow. We had cried out together and lay heart to heart on the ground, our pounding hearts beating in unison.

I did not rise right away, for I never wanted to leave from within her. However, as our hearts returned their usual tempos, we stood and dressed. I saw Christine eye her torn shift, a small smile played upon her lips and then she tossed it for trash. We were silent, each lost in thoughts, until I could bear it no longer.

"Don'tgo – please, do not leave me and take away my child."

She was futilely attempting to brush the creases from her rumpled dress, and straighten her unruly curls, and froze when I had broken the thick silence.

We stood some ten feet apart, which she crossed in a breath's time, so that she could wrap her arms around me. She turned her head and lowered it to rest on my chest, right above my bruised heart.

"Erik, I don't want to leave – I love you. But I swore an oath before God that I would not abandoned Raoul that I would take care of him in sickness and in health. I have told you that he is sick now – inside, and needs me–"

"I need you!"

"Erik, please I –"

"It is I who is pleading with you now. Please, my angel – at least say that you will not decide anything before tomorrow night. Promise me."

Sighing heavily, and shrugging her frail shoulders, she replied, "Allright. I promise. But please, I must go – I should have gone to Gustave a long time ago, I mustn't tarry longer."

"Will you tell him?"

"No. Not now – I cannot. I'm sorry." She lowered her shame filled eyes.

"Christine, he's my child – mine – not de Chagny's! I will have nothing if you take him from me!"

"I will tell him, but not now and not tonight." She picked her hat from the floor, brushed it off and put it on.

"When?" I wanted him to know. It was not fair for him, de Chagny or me to continue on with such a pointless charade.

"When the time is right; that is all that I am going to say of it." Bending down, she placed her discarded shoes upon her feet. Collecting herself with a deep breath and resounding sigh, she made for the secret exit within the stone walls we had used early; she had a good memory and I had no doubt would easily find her way back to her rooms.

At the entrance to the passage, I called out to her.

"Give him a kiss from his father, would you?"

She turned, and even from a distance I could see the tears in her eyes. "I will. I do you love you, you know. I always have and I always will." With that she was off, and I watched her vanish from sight.

A child.

My child.

And even he turned from me in disgust.

It was all right though. I had confidence that given enough time, he would grow accustomed to the bizarre necessity of the mask. And then, when my time on this earth was up – all that I create – all that I have – would be his. It would not matter if he forever shied from me, it would still belong to him – to my son.

When it was my time to leave this world and face the ultimate judgment, I would have hope that perhaps through him – through the good of my son – I might find forgiveness for my sins.

An enormous truth had been revealed to me, one which unveiled another.

I could not lose them.

I was going to place a wager with Christine's gambling husband, one which he would not refuse. I needed de Chagny out of the picture, and since I was no longer in the business of killing, I was going to have to find another way. And that way had just been revealed to me.

I would get what I wanted – what belonged to me – and if that meant playing unfairly . . . so be it!

*Author's Note: I know it's been forever since I've updated, but I promise it was for good reason. I had a ton of crazy stuff going on in my personal life from July of last year to January of this year. So, with that being said – I'M SORRY!

I will finish this story 100% - without a doubt. THAT you can take to the bank. However, how long it's going to take me to do it, is another matter entirely, lol!

I hope you've all been well :)

As always, this story wouldn't be what it is without my amazing beta GraySkies29 (she writes some pretty kick ass fan-fiction, too – go check her out!). Thank you for being such an awesome editor ;)

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I swear I had no intention of those two getting it on at the end – it totally just happened, lol ;p I changed the rating to an M because it was pretty graphic. Let me know what you think of the chapter as a whole. What did you love, what did you hate?

Thank you so much for being so amazingly supportive. If I didn't have your awesome feedback, I never would have gotten this far :)

xo

-Shannon*