No matter how many times Erik brushed his fingers across the keys of his organ, he could not play. The Little Vicomte stood timidly in the corner of Erik's old lair. Almost every piece of furniture was scattered across the floor and covered with dust and cobwebs. Gustave, however, was more worried for Erik than for himself, for Erik had barely said a word since they left Coney Island. And Christine Daaé's funeral was only a day away.
It was a long time before Gustave found his voice, "What are we doing here?" He figured it was a safe enough question, and hoped it could bring the man before him from his state of dread. Instead he received a glare in his direction from cold piercing eyes, one eye hidden behind the white mask. Gustave shuddered, knowing what was underneath.
"Did she never tell you, Little Vicomte?" Erik sneered, but quickly looked away. "This is Palais Garnier. Your mother used to sing here. Even before that, she danced." Gustave nodded, not daring to say another word lest he get another angry look from the man. Erik looked at his son, this time looking for traits Christine had given him. Gustave had a beautiful face, so he must have gotten that from his mother, Erik thought dryly. His hair was the color of christine's, but straight and smooth like his father's. Gustave's hair was thin too, Erik noticed. Gustave met his gaze a moment later and Erik pried his eyes away and looked down at his hands.
"I used to live here, underneath the opera. It's how I met her." And how you drove her away. Erik didn't speak the last thought but it felt like he had wrapped his own Punjab lasso round his throat and tugged, and his breath was gone momentarily. He pulled his cravat loose and began again after taking in a deep breath.
"She called me her 'Angel of Music' but I was merely her singing teacher. I wanted to be more, and I would have been if not for her dear Vicomte." Erik paused and realized he had started to raise his voice.
Another hour or so passed and slowly Erik realized it would be a long time before he would play again, if ever. He turned to Gustave, who sat thoughtfully some distance away from him, and assumed responsibility for the boy once again.
"You can stay in Christine's room, it is the only guest room in this place." He sighed. "Let me show you the way, follow me." Gustave rose and followed Erik through a hallway and the door to his mother's old room opened with a loud creak as Erik pushed it open. Gustave noticed that of all the rooms he'd seen so far, this was the only one where not one of the furnishings had been knocked over or broken. A small white vanity with little drawers was in the center, with a bed against the wall on the side. And a wardrobe to the opposite side of the bed. "There is a bathroom across the hall, should you need it. We leave in the morning for…" Erik's voice wavered and he found he could not finish. He felt a sudden warmth and looked down to find Gustave had touched his arm.
"Thank you." The boy said, looking up at Erik before releasing his arm and walking through the doorway. Erik closed the door slowly, taking one last look at Christine's room before making his way back to the drawing room. He would not sleep that night.
The funeral was held at the Montparnasse Cemetery in Paris and Christine was to be buried next to her father. Raoul would be there, and Erik would be too. Erik knew that Raoul would want to take Gustave back, but Erik wouldn't allow it. Gustave was to stay with his true father. Erik had arranged to get the boy decent mourning clothes and picked it up the next morning before the boy had awoken, leaving Gustave to have the place to himself. Gustave had trouble sleeping and woke several times in the night, but was too afraid to leave the room. Usually when he had frightful dreams he would go to his mother, but now he was alone and had to be brave.
Not entirely alone Gustave thought, but he was never sure of what to say to the strange man in fear he would strike some nerve of his. When he woke the next morning, there were new clothes folded at the foot of the bed. He rose to look at them and run the fabric through his fingers. He would have to thank his father later. He swiftly changed clothes; they were a perfect fit.
His curiosity was overwhelming, and he knew he shouldn't, but he went to the white wardrobe and pulled the handles. Inside were pretty dresses, some looked like they would have been on a little girl's doll. All of them looked as new as the outfit he put on that morning. He heard a single, soft knock on the door.
"Gustave, you must come to breakfast. We will be leaving soon." Gustave hurried to the door and found a tense looking Erik outside leaning against the wall for support.
"Hello, Father." Gustave greeted deciding he must start calling him that. Erik shuddered at it, but even so his shoulders relaxed and he no longer looked as tense.
"Hello, Little Vicomte." Erik sighed. "This way to the kitchen." he waved a hand in signal to follow him.
Breakfast was the most silent Gustave had ever experienced. Usually there was yelling, the source of Raoul's complaining, or sometimes just his grumbling from a heavy hangover. His mother would always hum a tune softly and ruffle Gustave's hair before school.
Instead he received an empty stare and a permanent scowl etched on Erik's face. Erik noticed how uncomfortable the boy was and folded his arms, looking away.
"Thank you for the clothes, they are very nice." Gustave remembered his manners. Something his mother taught him well, Erik thought with the slightest hint of a smile. They both rose from the table.
"You are quite welcome, young Monsieur." Erik raised his eyebrows. "Your tie is slightly crooked, let me fix it." Gustave stepped forward, and Erik had to get on his knees to be at eye level with the boy. "There. Now you look perfect." Gustave offered a smile.
It was a long walk to the cemetery but it did them both good to get some fresh air. Erik wore his own mourning clothes, his cloak and hat, and of course his mask. They walked in silence for the most part, and Gustave took in the sights of Paris. As they got closer to the cemetery, Erik's hands began to shake, and suddenly a small hand slipped in to hold his. Erik squeezed it.
Raoul was there waiting for the service to begin, and once he saw Gustave he hurried over. "Oh Gustave are you alright my dear boy? This man didn't hurt you did he?"
Erik honed in his gaze on the Vicomte de Chagny. "You still think me a monster. Still so immature, aren't you Vicomte?" he sighed in annoyance.
Gustave, however, looked confused. He had never seen this man so clean-shaven, or without his trademark temper. Raoul cleared his throat, gave Erik a glance, and raised his eyebrows.
"Forgive my rudeness." Raoul had a light tone that didn't match the narrowing of his eyes, as he stuck out his arm to shake the Phantom's hand.
"Let's not play games Raoul, not today." Erik said impatiently, disregarding Raoul's outstretched hand entirely. With Gustave still holding his hand they walked away from Raoul and the service began.
Raoul confronted them once more after the service, but this time with less contempt in his eyes. He dug around in his jacket pocket for something and pulled out a letter. He practically thrusted it at Erik, who snatched it from the Vicomte.
"What is this, Raoul? I thought I said no more games." Raoul's face fell, and he looked down to avoid Erik's stare.
"It is no game, the letter is from Christine. It was addressed to you." Raoul explained.
"Won't you tell me what it contains? I'm sure you've already read it, haven't you?" Erik accused.
Anger flashed in Raoul's eyes, then shame. "I could have kept it to myself, you know." he retorted.
Erik seethed, and was about to strangle the Vicomte, but he felt a slight tugging at his cloak. He looked down to see Gustave, who had been trying to say something in the midst of the men's argument.
"What does it say, father?" Gustave asked, barely able to contain his curiosity. Erik smiled, for the boy had the same if not more curiosity than his mother.
"In time, Gustave. We shall read it once we return home. That way we will have more... privacy." He glared at Raoul in time to see his shocked reaction at Gustave's acceptance of Erik as a father. Erik smirked and before turning to leave he looked Raoul in the eye, "l bid you adieu, Vicomte de Chagny."
"Goodbye." Gustave gave a timid wave to Raoul as he and Erik made their exit.
Later that afternoon, Erik and Gustave made work of the lair. Chairs were propped up and dusted off, and lifting the sofa required the efforts of both of them. Once the drawing room was looking as normal as normal could be in such a place, Erik took a seat and patted the spot beside him. Gustave plopped down closeby and Erik took the letter out of his pocket.
His hand began to shake. "You open it, Gustave."
Gustave took the letter so gingerly Erik barely felt it leave his hand. His small fingers carefully opened the envelope making sure to keep it's condition. He slipped the folded parchment out and unfurled it, handing it back to Erik.
Dear Erik,
If you are reading this something has happened to me, and there are some things you should know. I'm so sorry to have kept these things from you Erik, but you must realize I had no choice.
We have a son, and his name is Gustave. You are his father, Erik. That night you didn't only give love, you gave me so much more. I have never told anyone, and Raoul assumes the child is his. In the circumstance that I can no longer care for him, I want you to be his caretaker. "Fear can turn to love." Isn't that what you told me? And I know Gustave has so much love in him.
Raoul is not the charming, sweet Vicomte he once was, and I believe Gustave should come to know his true father, and be raised not just knowing of music, but knowing how to sing, and play. Raoul never let me perform after we married, which brings me to my next point.
We have just yesterday received a letter from a Mr. Y from Coney Island in America, and Erik I must say you are very clever. I know it is you, and from what I hear, you are doing well. You have your own show now, and a new life. I am happy for you, and I'm sorry for the wrath Raoul brought upon you that day. That you had to flee. I know you liked the Paris Opera House, I liked it too. It holds many memories for the both of us and maybe it will be as lively as it once was again. You will forever be my Angel of Music, my dear Erik. And now my Little Angel is yours.
I love you,
Christine Daaé
Erik clutched the letter between his fingers, not caring he was making little creases in the paper. He held back a sob but could not stop the tears that streamed down his cheeks. He handed the letter to Gustave in fear that if he gripped it any harder he would crumple it. She called Gustave her Little Angel. Erik realized that it was true, and that Gustave was not a little Vicomte but a little Angel. What he would give to hear her call their boy a Little Angel, even just once.