Well, there it is, the next chapter. I know you are all waiting for some father-son interaction, and I promise it's coming. Soon. And to clarify things, little Rico is actually three and a half, since it's spring again (remember, he was born in November), but since he is tall for his age (Erik's genes showing), Erik thinks he might be five. Yeah, we wouldn't want to make it too easy for Erik to guess who the boy is. (evil grin) A little suffering is good for the soul. :-p

Anyway, thank you all for reading and reviewing, for favoriting and putting the story on alert. I know it sounds as repetitive as a broken record, but I realy could not do this without you all! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

And I do not own POTO or anything even remotely connected to it, sigh!

Chapter 12 - Plans

Nadir smiled. So he had been right and Erik had indeed found his music again in this sunny country. Hopefully his friend would now be able to overcome his depression, to let his broken heart heal and eventually regain his former health in the process. "I take it, that you like it here?" he asked Erik. "Shall we rent this house, then?"

Erik looked up from the piece of paper on which he had been scribbling, and stared at Nadir. He was slightly disoriented and it took him a moment to process what the latter was talking about. Erik felt like he had been in another world, a world of dreams and music, from which he had been brutally removed and put back into the here and now. Then he remembered.

"There was a boy outside in the garden," he murmured. "The most unusual child you can imagine, Nadir. Maybe five years old, but musically gifted in a way I would not have thought possible in such a young child. He was sitting in a tree, singing, not a common folksong, I doubt it was a song at all, for there were no words. He might have made it up while singing, but even if he was trying to reproduce something he had heard elsewhere it takes an incredibly talented child to sing such a complex tune. It was beautiful, Nadir, I tell you, hauntingly beautiful, and so sad!"

Nadir beamed! A child! Why had he not thought of this before? Erik had a great way with children and loved teaching them and caring for them. He had been the best friend of his own ailing little son and he had apparently also done a great job helping Christine deal with the loss of her father and teaching her to sing. A child he could befriend and teach might be almost as good a remedy against Erik's depression as a reunion with his beloved Christine. If this boy had peeked Erik's curiosity...

"A boy?" Nadir asked, trying to hide his eagerness to learn more about Erik's encounter with the child. "An intruder in the garden?"

Erik shrugged. "I guess you could call him that, but then, as far as I know, the house is abandoned, the garden untended. A child probably sees this as the perfect playground, as some kind of unclaimed property that may be visited at will, like e.g. a grove would be." He frowned, remembering something. "There were other children, too," he explained, "but outside the fence. They must have heard him or seen him, or both, and called for him, and he jumped down the tree, climbed over the fence and joined them." He shook his head. It was kind of strange that the other children had not come in, but called for their friend to come out. "It seemed as if he were the only one coming here...," he added. "The others stayed outside."

Nadir did not consider this a problem. On the contrary, if this supposedly oh so remarkable little boy was used to coming here on his own, it would be easier for Erik to befriend him. "He may just be the most courageous of the lot," he came up with an explanation for this slightly odd fact. "Or maybe he appreciates nature's wilderness around here more than the others, or maybe," and that possibility appealed to Nadir most, for it was the one best suited to help Erik, "maybe he is a bit of a loner. If he is as gifted as you say, he might appreciate some time apart from his friends. Peace and quiet, in order to express his feelings in music or something like that." He grinned at Erik mischievously. "Reminds you of somebody we know?" he asked his friend with a twinkle in his eyes.

Erik sighed. He could not deny that he was intrigued by the little musician he had discovered in this tiny village at the outskirts of Turin. He definitely wanted to meet the boy again, to learn more about his talent and love for music. He had a feeling as if this boy could fill a void inside him, as if guiding him and helping him to fully develop his talent could bring a purpose and new meaning to his wretched, miserable existence.

"We cannot scare him off," Erik whispered. "We need to make sure he will come back so that I can make his acquaintance one way or another."

Nadir nodded. Erik was of course right. He had to meet the boy "by chance", preferably when the boy was singing again. Things could then develop naturally, a question about the song would lead into a conversation about music, and hopefully the boy would be impressed by Erik's vast knowledge in that area and would want to come back on his own. Once the two would have become friends there would still be time to contact the parents and officially get their permission for Erik to teach the child.

Of course he could go into the village and ask at the baker's shop about the boy. It should not be hard to find out who he was, there could not be too many children around with such a unique talent, but then, how willing would anybody be to tell him, the oriental-looking stranger, about a five-year old? And what would he say if they asked what business of his it was to inquire about such a young child? That his deformed, depressed, heart-broken friend needed a diversion and that boy seemed to be the ideal person to provide just that? No, they would think of him and Erik as two perverted old men and would do their best to keep the boy as far away from them as possible. As much as Nadir disliked the idea, it was probably best to initiate contact with the child first, behind the backs of his parents, and once he and Erik had gained the little one's trust, there would still be time to meet the boy's family and get their permission to continue teaching him.

"We must make sure he will come here again," Nadir thought aloud. "Which means he cannot know of our presence. He must believe that the house and garden are still abandoned, for he probably would not enter somebody else's home. He also probably would not come if we invited him, for any parents worth their salt will teach a child not to accept a stranger's invitation."

Erik grinned. "We will rent the house right away, but tell the owner that for some reason or other we will not be able to move in at once. It might take another two or three weeks, before we can use it, but in order to secure the house, which we like, we will pay the rent for the current month. That way he will give us the keys. He will probably also tell the neighbors that new tenants will move in soon. If the boy hears about this, he might come one last time to say good-bye to the wilderness. And if he does not hear about the new inhabitants, he will think the garden is still deserted and come anyway."

Nadir smiled. "And then we will meet him."

Erik shook his head. "Who said anything about you? I will meet him. I will be staying here on my own for the next two or three weeks, but nobody will know about my presence. Darius may stop by tomorrow night, once it is dark, with a few provisions and some clothes. He should make sure that he is not seen, then he must return to Turin. The house and garden must look deserted and everybody in this community needs to think it is, otherwise I don't think the boy will come back."

Nadir hesitated. He knew that Erik's plan was sound, that the village would believe the house deserted, while, as the rightful tenant, Erik would have every right in the world to be there, when the boy did show up. For a brief moment he considered if it was a good idea to leave Erik and that strange boy alone. The whole setup did have an uncanny resemblance to a trap. Was it possible that something good could spring from such a forced encounter? Then he shook his head. No, the boy would be safe with Erik. He could trust his friend in that regard, and should the parents get upset about the situation, he could vouch for Erik and tell them how he had trusted him with his own son so many years ago. His little darling Reza...

Nadir fought back tears. This was not the time to get all worked up about his own lost family. Erik needed him. And maybe in helping Erik he would be able to help a very special young boy develop his own talent.

"Fine," Nadir agreed with Erik. "We will do it that way. You stay here on your own and try to make the acquaintance of this unusual child, while Darius and I will have a look around Turin to find us some furniture and other household effects we may need here. The house does not seem too well equipped in terms of pots and pans, china, silverware and the like. And am I wrong if I assume that we will need to purchase a piano and huge amounts of staff paper?"

Erik stared at his friend uncomprehendingly. "A piano? Staff paper?" he asked. "What for?"

Nadir pointed at the piece of paper Erik had been scribbling on earlier. "A certain friend of mine may feel the urge to compose," he chuckled. "Or maybe you might need those items once you start teaching your new protégé."

Erik looked down at the paper, as if seeing it for the first time. Could it be? Had he truly started to write music again? He had thought this impossible after he had lost Christine. He looked closer at what he had written, humming a few notes and then whispered in awe. "The song, the boy's song. It spoke to me, I had to … to reply to it, to make it my own. This... this is a variation of his main theme, a continuation of it..."

Nadir chuckled. He'd better go and handle the paperwork with the owner of the house. The sooner Erik could meet this unique child again, the better for him it would be.

Xxxx

Christine was looking through her wardrobe, reattaching a button here, repairing a lose hem there, when her eyes fell on the one dress at the very back of her closet that was not black, the wedding dress Erik had chosen for her, the dress he had forced her to wear that night, that he had peeled off her so expertly during their lovemaking, the dress she had hoped to wear in front of the altar, when she and her Angel would be joined in holy matrimony. A sigh escaped her lips and her fingers tenderly caressed the soft fabric. Erik had once touched that dress, every detail of it spoke of his love for her. In a way she felt closer to him by touching the fabric.

"Papa, you must think I am such an ungrateful wench," she sobbed. "You picked the most wonderful man for me, you sent me this marvelous Angel, that loved me and cared about me, protected me and guided me through the formative years of my life, but because of a tiny imperfection that did not diminish his personality in any way, shape or form, I did not appreciate him the way he deserved, denied him my heart and drove him to extremes. I guess it only serves me right that he was taken away from me in such a cruel way. I obviously did not deserve him. I was not worthy of his love. But to punish me for the pain I had inflicted on him, God made me realize my Angel's greatness and acknowledge my love for him right before I lost him."

Tears were running down her cheeks now as she thought of how much pain she had caused Erik by her betrayal, and then remembered how he had died a slow and painful death at the hands of the angry mob. "That was my fault too," she sobbed. "If I had not conspired with Raoul to catch him, none of these things would have happened, the chandelier, the fire, Piangi... it was my fault that these people grew angry at him, hunted him down and killed him like a beast."

Christine buried her face in the soft white fabric of the dress. "Angel," she sobbed, "I love you so much, that it hurts. Was that how you felt when I was engaged with Raoul?"

She looked up embarrassed when she heard footsteps approaching, and her son appeared in the door of her room. "Mamma!" Rico exclaimed, "don't cry! It makes me so sad!"

He ran to her and put his arms around her. Christine hugged him back, trying to compose herself. "My little Angel," she murmured, clinging to the boy. "What would I do without you?"

Once she had calmed down and released her son from her embrace, Rico noticed the white dress. Since Christine usually kept it at the very back of her closet he had never seen it before. "What is this?" he asked surprised. "A white dress? Whose is it?"

Christine sighed. "Mine," she murmured. "My wedding dress."

Rico grinned. "Oh, mamma, did you wear that when you and papa got married? You must have looked so pretty!"

Christine smiled. Her son's enthusiasm was contagious. She hesitated for a moment, before she nodded. "Yes, that's the dress I wore when your papa and I..." She did not finish the sentence. She did not want to tell such a blatant lie to her trusting son. She was not married, never had been. She was not going to tell him about a wedding that had never taken place. But she could not tell him the truth either, namely that he was a lovechild, a bastard without rights in society, for this truth would weigh heavily on him, and would make things almost as hard for him as the disfigurement had done for his father.

"And papa?" Rico asked. "What did he wear? Do you keep his wedding outfit as well?"

Christine shook her head. "No," she said, "I do not keep any of your father's clothes." Then somehow evading her son's direct question yet still giving him an answer, she added. "Your father was always impeccably dressed. He was so handsome." Christine blushed. She knew that Erik would never have believed her if she had called him that, but to her he was the most attractive man in the world. She did not feel disgusted by his grotesque face anymore, since to her it was the face of her beloved.

"Tall and skinny," she elaborated, smiling at Rico. "You look a lot like him," she told her son, "you will one day be the most dashing young man in the village. And a great musician," she added with pride.

Rico listened to his mother's words, as she continued talking about his father, telling him for the thousandth time what a great musician he had been, a genius, how sweet and beautiful his voice had sounded, and above all, how warm and loving and caring he had been, how safe and protected she had always felt with him and how utterly proud he would be of his son.

Rico smiled. There were no pictures of his father around the house, but from what his mother used to tell him, he imagined that unknown father to be a striking young man, similar in age to his mother, a well educated man with impeccable manners and a heart of gold, and the more his mother told him about "her Angel", the more he wished he could have met him.

Christine talked and talked about Erik, but while she went into details about the wonderful qualities her Angel had possessed, she avoided anything that would reveal the fact that he had bee the notorious Opera Ghost, who had been hunted down as a criminal and slain by an angry mob.

"I cannot tell him that," she thought. "He is too young anyway, but even later, once he will be older, I do not know, if I will ever have the strength to tell him everything. He has a right to know his origins, yes, but what if the knowledge of his father's actions, the fact that his parents had never been married and his mother had only pretended to be a widow, what if those news crushed him, broke his spirit and caused him to have low self-esteem, see himself as an outcast of society?

Her beloved Angel's self-esteem certainly had been lacking. What if the boy, who was so much like his father in so many ways, had inherited this trait together with all the other talents and characteristics he shared with his father?

"How did you meet papa?" Rico's question brought Christine back to the present.

"I...," what could she say? That he had sung to her through walls when she had been a seven-year-old orphan? No, that was too close to the truth that she wanted to keep from her son, at least for now. "I had known him for many years," she finally answered, "but I was just a little girl when he entered my life and of course I had no idea then that I would one day fall in love with him, and neither did he. Things just developed, at first I did not admit those feelings even to myself, and when I finally did..."

Rico put his small arms around his mother. "Don't cry, mamma," he said. "I am glad you found out you loved him, before he died, and that you had me, and I am sure papa was glad, too, when you finally knew you loved him."

Christine nodded. She was glad, too, she had realized her love for Erik in the end, late, yes, but not too late to show him, to give him the ultimate proof of her love and in thus doing create their son, who reminded her so much of her dead Angel.