This chapter is in loving memory of my first flame. May it shine brightly in my inbox.

Chapter 14

Christine had been there.

Raoul had sat in the very front row, fingers clutching the pistol with such force his hand had gone numb. As the minutes ticked down he had waited, part of him in rising anticipation, the other part waiting for disappointment. Surely the cursed Phantom would not be so stupid as to actually let his captive out to sing.

Then the orchestra had started to play; the curtains had opened; and out stepped Christine, in a simple yet beautiful gown, the only decoration a lavish necklace. For one brief second he had wanted to jump onto the stage and grab her, whisk her back to Paris where they would be safe.

Then she had started to sing.

And even Raoul, who was not a music aficionado, had felt himself swept away, not just by the complex harmonies, but by the pure quality of his wife's voice, which he had gone so long without hearing, and by the soaring emotion clear in every line. Her gaze had swept over the audience, including him and everyone else in the timeless song about love.

When it was over, he still could not shake himself of the spell. In the song, everything seemed safe and all right. But it had broken when Christine had executed a curtsey and the curtains had closed. Then he had come crashing back to reality. His wife had simply left. Surely she had seen him. Surely she wanted to escape.

Gustave. Gustave must still be with that demon.

He had leaped to his feet and tried to make his way backstage, but the crowds were horrific, all of them talking of the performance, half going for the exit and half trying to reach backstage as well. Raoul had pushed and shouted himself hoarse trying to get through, and endless minutes had been wasted.

He had looked desperately for another way, and suddenly caught the stage. Every aristocratic instinct in him told him not to, but his desperation was paramount. Ignoring the cries around him, he had leaped around the orchestra pit and onto the stage, and was behind the curtain before the stage manager, or anyone else for that matter, was able to stop him.

Gun out, he searched frantically for his wife and son.

Erik had never thought he could feel anything like this – the touch of Christine's fingers intertwined with his, the flash of happiness that crossed her face when she looked back at him, the reassuring sight of her running ahead of him. It felt like a dream from which he must soon awake.

But she had kissed him. She had held him, touched him, and when he caught up to her, whispered of things that might happen later – living with him, with her (their) son, a wedding, and…she had left him hanging after that, though the teasing look she offered spoke of so much more. He felt a hard ache within him. Ten years had passed since that taste of true happiness, ten years in which he had all but buried those feelings. Yet one soft smile could reignite it all…

"Gustave!" Christine caught sight of her son and ran to him. The boy, however, only saw Erik behind her, and stared disbelievingly.

"Mother?" he said, the unspoken question making his voice rise.

Christine smiled hesitantly. "Gustave…there is so much to tell you."

Erik saw Gustave step back slightly, and felt a painful tightening in his chest. The boy's kind words had only been said because he had thought Erik to be leaving for good.

Christine held her son's hand. "Gustave, I am going with Erik. And I want you to come with me."

He lifted shocked eyes to Erik, then back to his mother. "Why?" he cried out. "Why are you going with him?" He didn't bother dropping his voice, so distraught was he at this turn of events. "You said we could leave after your performance! You said we would run away!"

Christine shook her head, guilt flitting across her face. "No, Gustave…many things have changed." She took a breath, holding her son steady. "Gustave, Erik is-"

"Christine!"

Erik lifted his head at the voice, grinding his teeth. The Vicomte. In three strides he was at Christine and Gustave's side and had them in his grasp. There was no way in hell that pompous aristocrat would take them from him.

Christine gasped, but this time she did not call out. She grabbed her son and started to pull him away.

But Gustave cried out, "Father!"

"No, Gustave!" Christine exclaimed, trying to silence him. To Erik, she whispered, "Let's leave, Erik. Right now!"

Erik could not agree more. Holding onto her arm, he ran back to the doorway.

"Stop! Let them go, you demon!"

Erik paused, a smirk crossing his face. Slowly, deliberately, he turned, holding Christine's arm possessively. She was his now. The Vicomte had no power over him anymore.

"Raoul!" Christine cried. "Let me explain-"

Raoul lifted his arm, revealing a pistol. Erik actually snorted.

"Are you going to shoot me, boy?" he shouted across the backstage area.

Raoul's grip did not waver. "Let them go!"

Christine tried to struggle free; at Erik she hissed, "Let me go! Please, Erik, let me talk to him! I just need to explain to him!"

"Let her go!" Raoul yelled once more, misunderstanding her attempts to free herself. "Release her, or I will shoot you where you stand!" His fingers tightened over the handle. "Do you think I am playing, Phantom? Monster?"

Erik laughed. "No, I do not think that, boy! I think you are playing at a game you have no understanding of!" He pulled Christine to his side. "She loves me!" he said triumphantly. "She has chosen to stay with me, Vicomte!" He pressed her even harder, though she struggled for release.

"Let her go!" And the foolish man actually looked as if he were about to cry, Erik thought with disgust. Raoul pleaded, "Please, she has done nothing to you! Just let her go, and I promise-"

"Are you deaf, boy, or just stupid?" Erik shouted, frustration starting to grow. "Christine loves me!"

"You tricked her, manipulated her!" Raoul answered, drawing closer, gun still aimed at him. Yet Erik felt no fear; Christine's love had erected a wall of invincibility around him. Nothing this boy did would affect him.

"Raoul!" Christine called from Erik's grasp. "Raoul, please-"

"She stays with me!" Erik said over her pleading. "Turn around, Vicomte, or I will have to do something Christine will regret."

Raoul paused at those words. But then he scowled. "You have brainwashed her!" he roared. "You have used her, forced her to your will!"

"No!" Christine screamed. "Raoul!"

"You are a monster! A demon from hell itself! She would never love you!"

Erik felt something within him snap. He released Christine and rushed towards the Vicomte, hand going automatically for the lasso he no longer carried –

He saw the Vicomte's eyes widen in terror at his approach – then saw the gun rise and skidded to a halt, ready to dodge aside – and he felt a sudden wind, saw a flash of lavender –

"No, Raoul! Stop!"

A shove to his side, combined with his own unbalanced position as he turned, sent him sprawling to the ground. An instant later, the boom of a gunshot echoed throughout the cavernous hall. From a great distance, it seemed, came Gustave's scream.

Erik pulled himself up, eyes moving quickly to Raoul. Who would have thought the boy had the courage to shoot? He sneered at the horrified expression on his face. Obviously, he had no idea what killing entailed.

Raoul dropped the gun; the clatter as it hit the ground was quite loud. Then he groaned.

"Christine…"

A fluttering panic arose in Erik's stomach as he searched for Christine. He caught her with some relief, standing a little apart from him. Erik stood, going to her. She was breathing shallowly, bent over slightly.

"Christine?" he murmured, holding her hand. "It's over. I'm-"

I'm all right, he meant to say. How selfish of him, how foolish that he had not thought of her.

Christine collapsed against him, her hand falling from her side. Erik saw, with numb disbelief, that she was bleeding.

"No…" he whispered. "No…no…" Christine shuddered in his arms, blood draining rapidly from her face. She raised bloody fingers to his face.

"I feel…so cold…" she said weakly.

"No!" And he screamed, falling to his knees, clutching at her thin, shaking body. "No! No, Christine, you can't die, you can't leave me…"

He was vaguely aware of Raoul and Gustave drawing nearer, but only when he saw Gustave's small hand on Christine's shoulder did he fully register their existence.

"Mother?" Gustave said in a small voice. "Mother…please get up. Please."

Raoul pulled the boy away gently, kneeling at Christine's side. Her eyes flicked towards him, and Erik felt a hot jealousy combine with his overwhelming grief.

"Raoul…"

Her husband clutched her hand. "I'm so sorry, Christine…" he whispered. "I'm so sorry…I tried so hard…I didn't mean to…"

The jealousy and grief combined into a potent anger. Erik itched to grab the gun and kill the man where he sat, to do something, anything, to relieve the terror, the feeling that all his potential happiness was slipping away from him.

"I'm so sorry…" Christine said quietly to Raoul, clearly weakening.

He shook his head. "Christine, it's all my fault…" There were tears dripping down his face too. "I shouldn't have brought you here…I shouldn't have…" He grasped her hand. "Oh, God, it's my fault…"

She shushed him. "Raoul…I'm so sorry…for what I have…done…" She paused, taking quick, panting breaths. "I… love…Erik…" Her husband's eyes widened in shock, and Erik finally felt a tiny bit of sympathy. Christine whispered, "Gustave… Gustave… your real father….is…Erik."

Gustave stared at her, then at Raoul, equally shell-shocked, then finally at Erik. Erik gazed back, eyes dead, no longer caring.

But then he felt Christine's touch, her bloodstained fingers tracing his cheek.

"Erik…oh, Erik…" She was tearless, yet her eyes looked overbright, gazing at him with more love than he had ever seen. "Take care of him…"

He nodded, unable to speak. Her breaths were growing slower, shallower.

She whispered, "Kiss me, one last time…I love you, Erik…"

He bent down, gripping her arm, holding her head, and kissed her. He felt her giving everything, all her remaining energy and spirit and life, into this last kiss; in it he felt years of love and devotion being expressed.

And then he felt her lips grow cold, her body heavy, and when he pulled away her eyes were closed, and she was merely a lifeless shell in his arms. But it was only when Raoul pulled her body away did it at last sink in. Christine was dead.

The pain was more than he thought he could bear. Forcing himself to leave her had been nothing compared to this. That had been a raw, ripping tear in his heart. This felt as if his very soul was being consumed. What kind of life would there be, without Christine?

He sank to the ground, wrapping his arms around himself, and sobbed, even though the tears helped so little, even though none of it relieved the pain that spread all over his body.

Your real father is Erik.

Gustave sat still as his mother died. He saw his father – who was not his father – take her, crying. Then he saw Erik – his real father, he thought incredulously – sink completely into himself and cry. Gustave had never seen anybody cry the way Erik did – as if his entire world had fallen apart.

Raoul cradled Christine in his arms, then looked up at the boy he had thought was his son. Still there was no anger in his eyes, only compassion mixed with sadness.

"Gustave," he murmured. "You heard your mother, didn't you?" When Gustave nodded, Raoul said slowly, "Then you know who your real father is."

Erik. Gustave looked at Erik again and wished his mother would get up and hold him and explain it all away. She had always found a way to make it all better. A hard lump rose in his throat, burning in the back of his mouth and forcing tears to his eyes so that he could not speak. It was not fair. He wanted his mother back. He closed his eyes, hoping that maybe, when he opened them, his mother would be all right, that she would get up and tell him that it was all a silly daydream.

Instead, he heard his father – Raoul's – quiet voice.

"I have tickets back to Paris, Gustave," he said. "I'm…taking Christine back there." He paused, taking several long, shuddering breaths. "I will bury her…next to her father." Raoul suddenly dropped his gaze, voice dangerously close to breaking. "She…would have…loved that."

Gustave felt the terror coil up within him. It was all real. It was all happening. His mother, who had sung to him and danced with him and comforted him, was really gone. No, his mind cried. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut, willing for everything to disappear.

After a moment, Raoul continued. "Gustave…who do you wish to stay with?" He paused. "I love you. Even if you are not my son…you are, to me, Gustave. But if you wish…to go with…your true father…" His voice caught for a moment. "…I will not hold it against you…Gustave…"

Gustave opened his eyes and found himself facing Raoul. Then he turned and gazed at Erik. When he closed his eyes, he saw Erik, throwing him to the ground when he had caught the boy at his piano…he saw him yelling at Gustave…shoving him into his home and imprisoning him… How could he even think of staying with Erik, even if he was his true father?

Then, unbidden, came another memory, of Erik, teaching him to swim, the gentleness and care he had displayed, the patience while teaching him, and how he had gazed at Gustave for one brief instant, when Gustave had looked up at him in an unguarded moment. There had only been devotion and love in that gaze.

Gustave moved towards Erik, sitting all alone. His sobs had ended, but there was a dead quality to the man now, as if all his spirit had been sucked away, leaving a hollow shell. His entire reason for living had just died, Gustave realized. And that frightened the boy, for if he went with Erik…he realized he would have to replace his mother, would have to become his own father's reason for being.

Gustave hesitated. Then he reached over and tugged at Erik's mask. As it came off, he felt the hair underneath shift oddly, and, realizing what it meant, pulled off the wig, revealing Erik's true face.

It was more terrible than he remembered. The deformed scars, the lumps, the malformed lips and eye, all remained, and more. Now he could truly see the exposed skull, and how little hair his father had; mere wisps of blondeness.

Erik looked up at him mutely, all defenses stripped, and by his own son. And now Gustave stared back quietly. This was his father, he repeated to himself. Whatever the man was, Gustave had come from him, would understand, at some deep level, what he was feeling. And that made all the difference in the world.

He crossed the chasm separating them and embraced his father.

Erik stiffened in surprise, vaguely stunned that he could still feel that much. Every emotion and thought seemed to be shrouded, dulled, coming to him slowly and with none of their usual force. But the soft little body resting against him kindled some deep, long-hidden feelings within him. Very, very slowly, he lifted his arms and hugged the boy. Gustave responded by squeezing tighter, resting his own smooth cheek against his father's lumpy one.

In the very back of his mind, Gustave heard Raoul leave and felt sudden fear overwhelm him. He truly had no idea what would happen next. But for that one moment, neither the pain-filled past, nor the uncertain future, mattered. All that mattered was himself and his father.

The End

I'm kidding. KIDDING! I did say there were going to be roughly ten more chapters, didn't I? You probably all hate me right now, don't you?