~ April 1933 ~
Erik loved singing with Celeste. It had taken him several years to relinquish constant control of the music hall, at first from pride then from nerves. They had always sung together in private, of course, right from the beginning of their friendship. Yet they had only performed on stage once, the night that had turned into a disaster, and Erik had been concealed under multiple characters - a servant, Don Juan, Piangi, the Phantom. To perform again, when the audience knew his name - knew him as a person - was intimidating. The idea of stepping out onto the stage, showcasing his voice once more, made him feel vulnerable. Performing had only ever been something he was coerced into, and almost always resulted in humiliation and exploitation.
But Celeste had gently encouraged him, reassuring and calming him until he felt comfortable enough to try a rehearsal. One had led to many, and eventually to a season of performances. The first night had been terrifying yet electrifying, the buzz incredible once he relaxed - especially when singing with Celeste. A delightful advantage of having the skill to play the leading male was that he was often her love interest, the dashing hero: something he had never dreamed he could portray. He had always assumed those roles were cut off from him, but for once his voice gave him power over his face. With his mask in place, he appeared like any other man, and was judged according to his talent.
Erik did still occasionally take a step back again; to manage the hall, or direct a show, or play in the orchestra. The variety of jobs kept him excited, kept him involved in every aspect of the hall, and also meant he could foster a plethora of rising stars. Many actors, dancers and musicians took the push from the experience and encouragement they gained in his mini Opera House to travel to larger towns and cities; to Paris, and even further afield. He had created a dynasty, his talents spreading far and wide through the numerous protégés he accumulated - for he was only too willing to offer guidance to anyone looking for it.
Tonight, however, had been magnificent in so many ways. It was an opera of his own creation, and for the first time it had truly involved his true dynasty: his family. He and Celeste took the main roles, though he needed to write them to be more than the youthful lovers they had portrayed in the past. Her voice and stardom still attracted patrons from around the country and even the world, and age had not diminished her talents.
Matthieu was a part of the orchestra - while his voice was sublime, he preferred the inconspicuousness of a musician, and prided himself on having suggested additions to his father's music. Belle, on the other hand, adored dancing almost as much as she loved singing, so she played a young heroine. It was a secondary character compared to her mother's, but one to showcase her talents nonetheless. Erik had no doubt that she would one day take Celeste's place as the star, as his Prima Donna.
Erik couldn't help grinning to himself as he double-checked that everything on the stage was secure - having acted as a poltergeist for several years, he was very cautious now to protect his theatre against any accidents. Celeste had already left with Matthieu, the two deep in a discussion about the symbolism behind one of the pieces. Belle too had gone, arm-in-arm with Isaac Morais, her engagement ring sparkling on her finger - Isaac had promised they would marry once he had his doctor's qualification and could provide for them, though with Belle's own income from performing they were already set to be comfortable. Poor Isaac had been trembling in his shoes when he had asked for Erik's blessing, especially given the caveat of an extended engagement, and it had taken a lot of restraint not to feign added sternness to play with the boy.
His grin only widened at the memory, and of the subsequent excited outburst when Belle had returned that evening, ring newly in place. He had never seen her so happy, and he hoped she would only grow more joyful with time.
As Erik moved, the only sound was the soft tapping of his footsteps, which he no longer strove to conceal as he wandered the music hall. He was a manager, a performer, not a ghost. He deserved to be here, not just in this building but on this earth, and he would never apologise for it again.
It came as a surprise, therefore when he came out into the foyer and found someone else standing there - he had been sure he was alone. As he stepped silently into the room, he took a second to scan the woman, who was facing away from him. He took in the once-fine dress, with its faded colour, repaired patches and frayed hem. A scarf was wrapped around her head, but he could see wisps of white hair poking round the edges.
Erik cleared his throat. "Are you alright, Madame?" he asked, his voice warm and polite, a matching smile lifting his lips. He had learned over the years how to be a gracious host, a welcoming manager, and Celeste loved to tease him that he was actually pleasant now.
She turned at the sound of his voice, and his smile froze.
It may have been several decades, but he would recognise the woman anywhere. That face was burned into his memory, and those eyes still stared hatefully in his nightmares.
"Mother?" he choked, feeling as though someone had just stabbed his heart. His mind reeled, not knowing how to react. Should he be cold? Angry? Would he shrink back into the small, scared boy he had been the last time they set eyes on each other?
The woman gave a small smile, and he detected nerves in her expression. That wasn't the witch he had known; she had always been so sure of herself, so powerful compared to him. "Hello, my boy." She reached out a hand to touch his arm, but he recoiled like she had sprouted claws.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, warring emotions making his head spin.
"I… I came to find you." She retracted her hand, bringing it back to join the other in worrying at her threadbare sleeves.
"Why?" Suspicion championed for a moment in Erik's mind - maybe she was here to extort him, to threaten exposure of his face, of his past.
Her fingers gripped tighter at her sleeves. "I wanted to see you again. I heard of a masked musical genius out here, I read about you in the paper, and I just knew it was my little -"
"Don't say it!" he snapped through gritted teeth, unable to hear that word in her voice again. "That's not my name anymore."
His mother blinked, a look almost like sadness crossing her face - but that couldn't be; she couldn't be the sad one after everything she had done to him. "I see. A lot has changed."
"It has." It was defiance's turn to reign, his eyes flashing as he drew himself up to his full height, as though striving for the power he had never possessed around her. "I'm not afraid of you anymore."
She actually looked pained by his words this time, which he could never have thought was possible. His mother did not crack, did not admit weakness. She did not care what he wanted, what he thought. She lashed out the moment she felt anything, hit him the instant he showed vulnerability. She did not stand before him, quiet and timid and anxious, as though she were simply a little old lady who could not hurt anyone, could not abuse and torture a child the way she had so many years ago.
"Why did you come here, Mother?" he asked, clenching his fists by his sides to conceal the way they were starting to shake - whether with fear, anger or sadness, he couldn't tell. He wished he had something else to call her - Mother implied care, love, a relationship he had never had. She was nothing when compared to the mother Celeste was, and had always been, to their children. "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing." She seemed genuinely surprised by the question, but what did she expect? Had she believed she would be received with open arms? That he would weep for joy at being reunited with his saintly mother? "I just wanted to know whether it was you, to see that you were doing alright. And you are! You're so talented and successful, and you have such a lovely family." If he didn't know better, Erik would have thought that pride shone in her eyes. But it was an alien expression on her face.
"You stay away from them," he hissed. "You have no right to poison them, no right to hurt them. You will not destroy me again through them. I would rather kill you than let you lay a finger on them."
She flinched at his words, knowing as he did that there was some truth to them. "I don't want to do anything like that," she replied, her voice wavering and turning pitiful. If it were someone else, he might feel compassion, but he knew how often he had used that tone with her. He remembered how often he had begged and pleaded with her to love him, to be happy, not to hurt him. The tables were turned now, and she deserved nothing less than what she had given him.
Not that he would actually beat her, and he wouldn't truthfully kill her unless it actually was to save his family. That wasn't out of kindness or familial affection, but he was simply determined to be better than that. He had only learnt cruelty from her, but that was not who he wanted to be. He would not turn into the monster she had always told him he was.
"Then what do you want?" he demanded. "If you really just wanted to see the performance, you wouldn't have stayed to ambush me."
"I… I wanted to…" She looked at the ground. "I wanted to ask for your forgiveness," she whispered, now truly pitiful and powerless. He heard a sniff, and she raised a hand to wipe her eye.
Erik's heart seized in his chest. He felt cold, painful and numb all at the same time. "What?" he hissed, his pulse pounding erratically in his ears.
She raised her eyes again, now plaintive and brimming with tears. "Oh, I know I did so much wrong to you... Erik." She stumbled over her words, clearly about to call him by the name she had given him. The name she had shrieked and hissed, screamed and cursed; the name he had learned meant worthless, evil, unlovable. "I know I hurt you in so many ways, and I should go to Hell for all I did. I wasn't the mother I should have been to any child, least of all one with your…" Her eyes flickered to the masked side of his face, and he tensed.
Her words broke off with a sob, and his heart squeezed in conflict. On one hand, he despised this thing that had ruined so much of his life, and yet now it was just an old woman standing before him. A woman who had travelled across the country to beg forgiveness from the monster she had once despised.
Erik scoffed, but gave into pity and produced a handkerchief from his pocket, holding it out at arm's length to her. Damn Celeste for making him good.
His mother looked up at him with something akin to wonder, taking the handkerchief with shaking hands before he snatched his arm back, crossing them defensively over his chest.
"You grew into a gentleman, despite all I did to you," she murmured. He didn't know whether to feel pride at her praise, or disgust. "That shows that you're truly good at heart, you know," she continued, nodding her head as she wiped her cheeks. "It's one thing for someone to be kind after an easy life, but for someone to see the worst of the world - especially in those supposed to guard you from it - and still have goodness? That shows a truly kind soul."
Erik didn't know how to respond. He had never viewed it that way, didn't like to dwell on being a tortured soul - in fact, he had fought in many different ways to make himself the victor rather than the victim.
"I can't forgive you," he said abruptly, and she looked like she might wail aloud. "Partly because what you did was unforgivable, but also because you don't seem to be the same person that did it all." He stopped and swallowed, finding the assault of memories almost unbearable. "I don't want to start fresh, because we can never have a relationship - I have no mother, not in the way others do. But I won't bear a grudge against you. You are absolved from having any effect on me in the future."
"Oh, th-"
"But." Erik held up a hand, cutting her off. "You will not be a part of my family. I will not bring you into their lives, because it can do no good. You've seen me, you've said your piece, and I've said mine. If you really want to come again, you can, but I am not your son, and my wife and children are not part of your family. They have shown me what love and kinship are, and I will not let my past poison them."
His mother closed her mouth and nodded. She did not argue, as he thought she might. Instead, she wiped away her remaining tears and handed the handkerchief back wordlessly.
He stuffed it back into his pocket, not wanting to think about how close he was to everything that had started his miserable existence. Instead, he gestured to the exit and followed her out, locking the doors behind them.
"Your family is very lucky," his mother whispered into the silent night, her words appearing as small clouds in the air. "You've turned into a wonderful person, despite the poor example I set you."
Erik turned to look at her, even though her face was half lost to shadows. There was none of the malice he used to see there, nor the sluggishness of drink. He wondered fleetingly what his life would have been like if this woman had been his mother, or if she had been more like Celeste; loving and encouraging and hopeful. Would she have been different if he had not been disfigured, or was the darkness inside her already too strong? Could he have had a normal childhood even with this face, or had he always been doomed to torture no matter how he looked?
"I'm lucky to have them," he said stiffly after a moment. "They're more than I deserve, but I will fight every day to be worthy of them." With that, he turned and walked out into the night, away from his old, sad mother, and away from his past.