Long chapter. I spoil you guys.

Chapter 11

Gustave was shaken awake by his mother.

"Gustave, come," she whispered, smiling. "Erik is taking us outside."

He almost leaped into his clothing, so excited was he by this piece of news. He was going out! He was going to feel the warmth of the sunlight, hear the seagulls overhead, and maybe his mother might buy him one of those delicious potato slices they had eaten a few days before…

It felt so long ago. Like another lifetime ago. Being stuck in this tower for so long was…disorienting. He didn't know what was going on outside – he could neither see nor hear Phantasma, or for that matter the rest of the world, from this tower. There were no windows. With a brief shock he realized he had not thought of his father for all these days.

"Mother!" he exclaimed. "What do you think has happened to Father?"

She turned swiftly. "Your father?" Then her face cleared. "Raoul…I don't know, Gustave…I don't know…" She sat on the bed, holding her head. "I hope he is well…"

"Do you…do you think he is searching for us?" asked Gustave.

She looked off into the distance, eyes clouded. "Yes…of course he would be…" She wiped at her face.

Gustave took out his handkerchief and gave it to her. She smiled and pushed it back. "I'm all right, Gustave," she assured him. Taking his hand, she said, "Just enjoy the day, all right? Just pretend we're outside with Father. Can you do that? With Erik?"

He questioned it, but his little boy trustfulness in his mother didn't bother looking into it too deeply. And besides, he was growing to like Erik. "Yes, Mother." Erik had been kinder to him later, after his mother had scolded him. He had watched them from his place, pretending to read but really listening to them. And then…he had seen Erik cry. He had never seen any men cry. Women cried; men didn't. But Erik had sobbed and clutched at his mother like she was his mother. And Gustave did not know how he felt about that.

And so he had tried to ask this of his mother, but that had only confused him more. Because his mother had said that Erik had loved her. But that was impossible, because Father loved Mother, and no one else could love her.

Or could they?

Erik stared at his mother a lot. He had noticed this. He had stared at her during breakfast, and stared at her when she was reading. And when he didn't stare at her, Gustave felt that Erik wanted to but couldn't. Or wouldn't. Or shouldn't. He wasn't sure which. Maybe the last one. Sometimes, when other people stared at his mother too much, his father would become angry and knock them away. His mother would always scold Father the way she did Gustave, but she also looked secretly happy at the same time.

But did staring a lot mean love? In school he had seen a girl who had been very pretty. He had looked at her a lot then, wondering if it would be nice to take her hand, maybe, or to show her some of his music. His mother and father had not been helpful. They had looked at each other and shared that little smile which meant they were keeping something from him, and told him he would understand when he was older.

"Gustave?" called his mother from her table. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Good." She pinned up her long hair and got up. She was wearing a simple, light gown of palest pink, unadorned with any jewelry, hair uncovered by hat or veil. She held out her hand, which Gustave took. "Come along then, Gustave."

They met Erik outside, dressed not in his usual formal suit, but in a white shirt and black silk pants. He shot Christine a gaze then hurried it away to look at Gustave, then seemed to decide that none of them was safe to look at and settled with staring at the wall. After a tense silence, he cleared his throat and asked them, "What would you like to do?"

Christine went up to him and took his arm, holding it in hers. As he stared at their entwined limbs, she said, "I would like to go to the beach – an empty part, preferably. Gustave wants to learn how to swim."

He was still looking at her, holding him. Taking a shuddering breath, he nodded.

The beaches were always crowded, particularly at this time of year, but Erik found them a secluded spot that was quite empty of tourists.

"Your own part of the beach, Erik? Entirely to yourself? Rather selfish of you, isn't it?" she teased gently.

He looked at her in surprise, but decided to take her fun in stride. "I am the owner of one of the only parks on the island," he said. "I can afford to-"

"-kick everyone off your own private stretch?" she finished with mock seriousness.

"Of course."

She nodded, then added, as if it were a mere throwaway thought, "You know, I saw another park being built… an up-and-coming one, I heard…I forget the name…Mountain…Slope…something…"

"Steeplechase," Erik said. He waved the name aside as if it were of no concern. "It won't last."

A sly smile from her. "Of course it won't." To her son, she called, "Not too far, Gustave!"

The boy had long since let go of her restraining hand and run on ahead. Christine let him go, but continued to hold Erik's arm.

Yet Gustave stopped at the waves, looking at the vast sea before them. It looked so endless, so strange and deep. He backed away as little waves foamed at his feet, then ran back to his mother.

"Go on, Gustave," she said, pushing him back. "You wanted to swim, right?"

"But Father was going to teach me," he protested as he was led back. "What if I get pulled under? What if I can't get back to the surface? What if something grabs me and I can't get back up? What if-"

She silenced him. "Hush now. We'll teach you. Won't we, Erik?"

He shot her a stare that clearly said, 'Are you insane?' Gustave's look bore a similar look, though his was less disbelief and more sheer fright.

"You know how to swim, don't you, Erik?" Christine asked sweetly.

He bit back his retort – 'Of course I know how, I spent half my life living on a lake' – and settled with not answering at all. Christine held back a smile and told Gustave, "Yes, he'll teach you. Go on Gustave."

Gustave grabbed onto his mother, dragging her ear down to his mouth.

"Mother! No!"

"Gustave," she said sternly, "you wanted someone to teach you…"

"He'll hurt me!" her son whispered fiercely. "I had a dream…"

"He will not hurt you," she scolded, aware that Erik could likely hear every word. "I promise you, Gustave, he will do nothing to you. Now go into the water."

Gustave's face was one of absolute terror, but his mother was immovable. He released her sleeve and walked hesitantly into the waves, looking back constantly at them.

Christine now gave Erik a look. He matched her stare and didn't budge.

So she sighed and promptly shoved him into the water.

He, caught off guard, fell into the rather shallow water with a tremendous splash.

For a moment Erik was in shock due to the cold, the wetness, and the fact that meek little Christine would never have dared to do that back at the opera house. Then he heard Gustave, and Christine, laughing at him.

"How dare you-!" he sputtered. Then he grabbed Christine's still-outstretched arm and flung her into the water.

She shrieked. "Erik!" Another great splash. Her dress soaked, her hair in disarray, she struggled for a moment before realizing the water was only calf-high.

Rushing up with great difficulty, and with an entire lack of dignity, she grabbed the highly amused Erik's arm and dragged him down with her.

"There, now!" she cried. "See how you like it! Getting my dress all wet!" She stood, laughing hysterically, trying to wring the water from, well, everywhere.

Erik spat out some water and said, with entirely too much haughtiness, "You, madam, are the one who threw me in here in the first place." He adjusted his mask and flung the water from his sleeves.

"I? You were the stubborn one who refused to get into the water!" She wobbled, her dress weighing her down.

"Um, Mother?"

Both turned to look at Gustave, who had fastidiously stood away from their water fight.

"Could I learn how to swim now?"

She laughed, feeling like a child being reprimanded by her parent. "Of course, Gustave! Come here."

He drew closer and yelped as she pulled the same trick on him as she had Erik. "Mother!" he sputtered, realizing the water was only a few inches deep. "Mother – take that!" He scooped a handful of water and splashed her. She screamed once more as the salty water got in her eyes; vision bleary, she started flinging water back at her son, then noticing Erik surreptitiously trying to escape, tackled him from behind and knocking him into the water.

"Erik!" Gustave came running up and, when the man managed to regain his sense of balance, threw a shirtful of water over his head.

Erik growled, stood up and pulled the boy into the water as well.

Afterwards, drying themselves off in the sun (swimming lessons had been given up, due to sheer tiredness), Christine laughed, "That was wonderful, wasn't it?" She raised herself up to look at him and cut off her laughs, for he was gazing at her with nothing less than adoration. Very gently, he flicked a bit of wet hair from her face. And then he kept his hand on her cheek for a moment longer, not moving, just feeling her.

She drew nearer, lips parted, feeling an ache rise in her chest.

He jerked back suddenly, sat up, not looking at her anymore, then stood and walked away quickly. She remained in that position, feeling a tingling under her skin that did not come from the sunlight.

"It's too deep!" Gustave cried, trying to back into shallower water and only hitting Erik's legs. "And it's cold!"

"All water is cold," replied Erik patiently, pushing him back in. "Now look…let's start with putting your head under water."

Christine smiled, still trying to wring the water – and smell – from her hair. The sun was quite warm on her, and she basked in the rays, heedless of sunburn or of losing her usual (and much coveted) paleness.

"Close your eyes and don't breathe in," continued Erik. "Now, just put your head under…more than that…come now, your whole head…fine, at least your nose and mouth under water…good…I said not to breath in!"

Gustave snorted sea water out, then pulled free of Erik's grasp. "Wait, I want to do it again!"

"Fine…but when you're finished-" Erik stopped, as Gustave had plunged into much deeper water. After a few seconds, an obviously worried Erik hauled a spluttering Gustave back up.

"I opened my eyes! Underwater!" Gustave cried happily.

"Good, good. Now let's focus on swimming…have you seen how a dog swims?"

"No."

"Well, neither have I, but you will probably get the technique. You must keep your head above water…"

Patiently, Erik taught him, ignoring Christine's giggles on the shores. She knew he was always at his most calm when teaching another, criticizing only when needed, and quite gently too, never rushing the student ahead until he felt they were ready, but not keeping them learning the same things over and over again either.

Presently, the two very sodden males came trotting up the beach. Gustave ran the last few feet to join his mother, exclaiming, "Mother, I learned how to swim!"

"I know," she smiled, "I was watching." From behind her back she pulled out a basket; opening it, she unfolded a large, checkered sheet and spread it over the sand, smoothing out the bumps.

"What is this?" questioned Erik, now coming up as well.

She explained, "A picnic." She opened the basket and started to spread the food. "I was preparing this last night," she continued, now putting out napkins and utensils. "Have you never been on a picnic before, Erik?"

He shook his head, and was staring at her as if she were the abnormal one.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," she commented. With a lighthearted whack, she exclaimed, "Gustave! Wait until I'm done!" Like all boys, he had snatched up some piece of food as soon as he was aware it existed. To Erik, she chuckled, "Sit down, Erik! Have something to eat!" She handed him and Gustave a plate, on which were a fork, spoon, knife, and napkin. Then she pulled out the food – small sandwiches, apples, a green salad, and a pitcher of lemonade.

"So, where to next?" she asked Erik (arm hooked in his in a painfully tight grip).

He tilted his head, glancing at Phantasma, glowing beautifully in the setting sun. "I was thinking," he said slowly, but with a certain mischief concealed in his tone, "of perhaps shutting my park down early…and emptying out all the happy families…"

Christine smothered a laugh, matching his serious tone. "Why, Monsieur Erik, how cruel that would be, to cast out all your customers so early in the day…"

"Not all of them," he answered, eyes gleaming. "We might have one or two of them who get to go on all the rides, free of charge and without the long wait in line…"

Christine pretended to think. "A great temptation, I will admit…" Her eyes twinkled suddenly. "Since we are at an impasse, what say we let a third party decide?"

"Of course. There is no one more unbiased than a ten year old boy."

The park was emptied in little more than half an hour, amidst much disgruntlement. Not that Erik cared; for once, it seemed his park, which had merely been a diversion to keep his mind off Christine, was about to come in handy.

"What is this?" asked Christine, referring to a ride Erik had pointed out to them.

"I forget the name," shrugged Erik, "but it makes you feel like you are flying."

Christine did not feel like questioning how Erik could have forgotten the name to his own creation. Besides, the ride was too interesting not to stare at. It was essentially a large wheel turned horizontally and stuck on a tower; from each of the spokes hung a chair with a restraining bar from a string.

"It looks dangerous," Christine observed, hand to her chest.

"Surprisingly, it has the least casualties attributed to it," commented Erik, pushing open the gate. He held out his hand. "Come. It is…fun."

Christine repeated, "Casualties?"

"As I have said, a very low number."

He buckled a reluctant Christine in, hand drifting uncomfortably close to her body, and then Gustave in front, then proceeded to start the ride from a small box to the side.

"Whoa," Gustave whispered as the chair lifted from the ground. Then the huge spoke to which all the chairs were tied to began to spin, and though Gustave feared he might be nauseous, he was not. The chairs, dangling from their wires, swung out in a huge arc so that he was tilted to his left – and flying over the park.

"Mother!"

"I know!" she cried from behind. "It's – it's-"

"Incredible!"

The world seemed to go by in a whirl, yet slowly enough that they could see, if they focused enough – a ride in the distance, completely still – the carnival area packed with games – food booths still smoking – and finally, on the ground and watching them, barely discernible, Erik, who had left the box and was staring up at the swirling wheel.

It had to end, though Christine and Gustave begged for another ride. ("Maybe later," was Erik's reply.) Having been on several of the rides before on their first trip through Phantasma, the three opted to go to the carnival area glimpsed before, where they played throwing games, trying to toss balls into baskets, through hoops, into holes; trying to knock down bottles; trying to throw darts at balloons, which popped open to reveal small prizes, too cheap to be of any value, but incredibly fulfilling anyway.

As Erik, Christine, and Gustave made their way to the food stands, they glimpsed other parts under construction – a large glass pavilion which Erik said would hold some of his more incredible inventions for display, an area designed as a sort of 'petting zoo' for farm animals and the like (Christine could not see the point, but Erik assured her that many Americans lived their entire lives in a city without access to rural animals), and a large structure he said would become a 'haunted house'.

"This cannot be healthy," Christine laughed, eating her second hot dog in three days. "I might lose my figure."

"Impossible," Erik scoffed; he was not eating, but seemed to like watching her and her son dine. "If anyone is likely to ruin their figure, it is your son there."

They both looked at Gustave, stuffing himself with enough food for three.

Christine frowned, tapping her son's arm. "Gustave, do not eat so fast, it's not good for you." The boy mumbled something close to "Yes, Mother" and slowed down, though not too much.

"This place is amazing, Erik," Christine continued, as if there had been no interruption. "Did you really create this in ten years?"

"Yes." A hesitant pause. "It was only something to occupy my time."

She wiped the grease from her fingers, brow crinkling at his last words. "What happened to your music?"

He looked her straight in the eye. "I have not written a piece of music – apart from your aria – in the last ten years."

She felt her heart tear, and broke the gaze, staring at the wooden surface of the table. "You spent ten years building a park, instead," she reiterated, then leaped wildly on that topic. "How long did it take? How did you do it?"

He answered quickly, as relieved as she to get to another subject. "Only a few years, at the most."

"How did you start?" She remembered rumors of the Phantom of the Opera blackmailing the managers for money, and wondered if he had taken some of the funds over to Coney Island.

"I displayed myself," he said brusquely.

She repeated, aghast, "Displayed yourself?"

"In a sideshow."

"But – you had money, back in…the Opera House…" She tried desperately to avoid the topic of his more illicit ventures, and he followed her lead.

"It was lost. The mob burned down most of my lair, and the money, and even if they hadn't…I had no wish to return there. I did not even pay for the trip here; I smuggled myself onboard." He thought for a moment. "After you…left…I didn't really care about myself."

Christine looked down. Something had changed his mind about that, but she did not want to bring it up. "So… you put yourself up as…a freak?"

"I did." When she sneaked a glance upwards, she saw that he wasn't looking at her either, but at a point somewhere above her head. Wanting to move on, he added, "I asked – and received – a quarter of the profits. And I had other means. When it was over I would often take to the streets to show off my other skills."

"Other skills?" Christine's head was swimming with new information; she had known her Angel was learned, was an extraordinary singer and composer and, based on what Madame Giry had said, architect and designer, but she had not imagined he had even more talents. After all, weren't the rest enough?

"Ventriloquism," he explained, adding wryly, "as you may remember. Magic tricks, anything involving sleight of hand…and later, inventions. The automatons that you saw – those were conceived of in that time."

"Magic tricks?" came Gustave's voice. He had been concentrating on his food, but that had made his ears perk up. "You can do magic tricks?"

Erik leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "I can do many. Would you like to see one?"

Gustave nodded.

"Very well. But first, we need some money." Erik reached for the air next to Gustave's ear, and in an instant, had made a coin appear in his hand. The boy gasped, delight apparent in his eyes. Erik smiled back slightly and said, "Now go to that stand over there and buy me a pack of cards. Your choice."

Still stunned, Gustave rushed to where Erik was pointing, bought the first deck he saw, and came back. Erik unwrapped the cards, allowed Gustave to shuffle the cards, then took it back and held the deck out to the boy, the cards facing down.

"Choose a card, any card you like."

Gustave threw a look, then picked one out from the middle and peered at it.

"It's the-"

Erik put up a hand. "Don't tell me. Just put it on top of the deck."

Three of spades, that was the card. Gustave did as he was told.

"Now, Gustave, what card is on top of the deck?"

Gustave was utterly bewildered. "The – the three of spades, right?" He glanced at his mother. "Right?"

With an enigmatic smile, Erik replied, "Lift up the card and see."

Gustave did. The card was the seven of clubs. He cried out, "Mother, the card! I put it right there, and it's gone!" He snapped his gaze back up to Erik. "How did you do that?" he asked.

"A magician never tells his tricks," was Erik's answer, sliding the cards away.

"No, please, tell me!"

Erik laughed, and it was quite a pleasant sound. "Perhaps I shall teach you instead."

"Oh, teach me now!"

"Later." Erik glanced swiftly at Christine, and was delighted at seeing Gustave's joy mirrored in her eyes. "For now, perhaps you should finish your food."

While Gustave ate, Erik finished up his story.

"With tricks like that, I soon had enough money to buy out the sideshow and start my own. It was successful; I had made some connections during my time out in the streets." He shrugged, neglecting to explain just what those connections were. "I expanded, and in a few years, I had Phantasma."

She picked at a spot in the table and said, "You make it sound so easy." Night had fallen, she noticed, though, perhaps due to Erik's preferences, the electric lights strung up all over the park had not turned on.

"It was something to distract me," he said once more. He looked about, saw Gustave had finished eating and was looking longingly towards the games, and stood, sweeping the wrappings into a nearby trash bin. "Come. It is getting late. We should be going back."

Christine nodded and took Gustave's hand. As they walked towards the back entrance once more, Christine wondered what Coney Island looked at night. She had heard wonderful things – ribald things, too – and she was sure the darkened, silent state it was in was not the Coney Island usually seen when the sun fell.

"Careful," warned Erik, guiding the two around some trash.

"Thank you," said Christine. She looked at Erik, seeing only the masked half of his face, blank and glowing slightly in the night. Suddenly she said, "Erik, I-"

"Christine?" called a strangely familiar voice. It echoed dully in her mind, and she groped desperately for it. But it was Erik's sudden growl that brought it jolting back to conscious memory.

"Christine!"

She turned towards the voice and cried out, "Raoul?"

"Christine!"

Gustave yelled, "Father!"

Christine pulled free of Erik and ran in the direction of the voice. In seconds she saw her husband, stumbling through the park. "Raoul!"

Erik grabbed her; a yelp from the gloom informed her of Gustave's capture as well. Then they were fleeing, running towards the fence looming towards them, going so fast Christine could not keep up, depending only on Erik to keep her balance. She stumbled over a bit of debris and almost crashed, and was jerked back up by Erik, who snapped at her,

"Do not think you can escape from me, Christine!"

With a twist that almost wrenched her arm from her socket he forced her forward, pushing them through the fence opening – and finally becoming aware that this was not the gentle Erik of only a few moments before, Christine found herself screaming,

"Raoul! Raoul!"

"Christine!" To her horror she found his voice was shrinking, becoming more distant; she could not even see him in the darkness anymore. And her cry brought Erik's attention; with a roar he threw her forward so that she fell on her hands.

"Move!" he shouted, pulling her back up and pushing her. The tower came sharply into view; they ran around it until they were at the entrance, and Erik, still holding her arm in an unshakeable grip, almost brought the door down with the force he threw at it.

"Get in!" And he pushed both forward and locked the door behind them.

"Christine! Christine!"

He turned, thinking he heard her cry.

"Christine!"

Gone. Gone. They were gone. He fell to the ground, pressing his fists to his forehead. He had been so close. So terribly close to rescuing his wife and son. But like the stupid idiot he was, he had called out to them without seeing the dark figure at their side.

Oh God, why hadn't he waited just a few more moments? Why hadn't he kept silent and crept up on them. He had beaten the Phantom once before, and he could do it again.

Christine, Christine…I was right, oh God in heaven, I was right…that monster has you and I don't know what he plans to do to you…

Wait…he did know.

It had been two, almost three days now. Why was this Angel of Death letting Christine and Gustave walk around freely? Had Christine gained his trust, somehow? Deep in his heart, Raoul knew why the Phantom had done his terrible deeds. The monster had loved Christine, though in the end, it had been his undoing. And apparently, he still fancied himself in love with her, and was trying to…

The answer came sluggishly to his mind. He was trying to gain back her love.

But Raoul, like the fool he was, he had ruined any chance of Christine escaping. He had heard the Phantom's angry shout and Christine's accompanying cry of fear. And Raoul clearly remembered the consequences of arousing the Phantom's anger.

No, the Phantom would not let her go out again. Until…

The performance. He was saving her for the performance. The girl, that 'bathing beauty' herself had said she would, but he had forgotten in his urgent need to find the Phantom's home. And he had seen the men revealing the concert hall, setting up posters. But he had thought the Phantom was just keeping up a facade of normalcy, that he would never dare let Christine out of his sight.

But you remember how much music meant to him, he thought. His plan from the start was to have Christine sing for him. Now that she was in his grasp – with Gustave – it only made it more likely that she would do as he ordered.

He stood up, fists still clenched at his side. He would be at the concert hall, though he had no way of getting in and no police to help him. He would find Christine and Gustave, take her away from this horrible place – and he would wait for the right moment to strike back at this man who had so ruined their lives. He would kill the Phantom of the Opera.

"Erik – Erik-"

Her cries went unheeded. Desperately she reached for him, tried to still his terrible jealousy – but he lashed out at her groping hands, throwing them back.

"Erik!"

"Do not – do not-" He was almost incoherent with rage. With another shout of frustration he forced open the bedroom door. "Get in!" he shouted at her.

"No! Erik, please-"

He shoved her forward so that she fell to the floor; when she managed to roll over she saw Gustave screaming as he was dragged in as well. She screamed, "Erik, we didn't-"

"Do not-!" He cut off his own shout. When he next spoke it was in a low hiss. "You thought you might escape, Christine? You thought you could run from me?"

She shook her head frantically. "Erik, please-"

"You can never leave me, Christine!" He grabbed her arm and jerked her up to his masked face, screaming at her. "You will stay here, you and the boy! You will sing for me!"

She thrust out her hand and shrieked, "You cannot force me to do anything, Erik!" Falling back, Christine pushed her son behind her, tears of pure anger running down her cheeks. "I am not a naïve child you can command at your will! Not anymore!" She drew even closer, crying out, "I will choose whether I am to sing, Erik! Or to stay!"

He jerked forward, seeming to fill the entire doorway, but it was his burning gaze that made Christine gasp and stumble back. "If you do not sing for me," he whispered, "I promise you will never see your son or your husband-" he spat out the word "-ever again. Do you understand me?"

He grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her forward. Gustave shrieked, pounding at him, only to be shoved back.

She went very still in his grip. The very lack of struggling unnerved him. Her tears had stopped, leaving only their wet tracks on her cheeks.

"Erik," she said through lips that felt completely numb. "I will decide."

Her last words seem to have come from a very great distance. She backed away from the doorway, gaze unfocused.

Erik took the gentle words as if they were a blow to which he had long grown used to. His body sagged against one end of the doorway, breathing in shallow gasps as his anger left him as quickly as it had come.

"You will stay here," he finally murmured. "And you will sing for me."

He shut the door.

Raoul is developing this incredible ability to completely mess things up for everyone.