Author's Note: I just wanted to take a moment to thank all of you who have been reading my little tale here, and especially all of you who have so far been so kind in your reviews!
angelofnight: yes, you were right, but no, can't be mean to Mlle. Perrault, and you'll see why in a few chapters, she may be easy to pick on, but even Erik stopped putting shawls on her shawl after she showed him kindness, after all, it is she who (as Kay put it) instilled on drop of purity in his soul!
Deirdre of the Sorrows: Yes, I like the Daroga myself, he is such an interesting counter to Erik, and rest assured he will make another appearance somewhere in the story!
Rachel Gardner: Thank you so much for your kind words and for being my first reviewer! I hope you're still out there somewhere enjoying the story!
Kates: I very much plan on continuing! This story has me just as hooked as you guys are, and it's not letting me go just yet! Thanks for your kind review, made my day!
Emmy: We shall see about the happy ending . . . as I have not finished writing it as yet, so I'm not totally sure how it's gonna end.
AriesSolar: LOL, just gotta love E/C romances
Marianne, Ash, Elenmir, Alexis: More coming ASAP, hope you enjoy the rest as much as you've enjoyed the early parts!
Jo: We shall see, we shall see ;-)
And now . . . on with the story! For disclaimers, please see the prologue!
Chapter Five: Don't Give Up On Your Faith
"I am sorry, Erik, truly I am," Christine sighed as they settled down in a tiny, cramped room in the inn which lay on the far outskirts of Boscherville.
They had walked rather dejectedly to the inn after Christine's meeting with Monsieur Perrault, and Christine had made the arrangements for them to secure the room, lying by saying she was traveling with her husband. Erik had stayed out of sight as Christine rented the room with money Erik had handed to her just outside the establishment.
"I am not upset with you, Christine, merely . . . saddened that we've reached a dead end."
"There's always tomorrow, Erik. Perhaps the church will have some record . . ." Christine trailed off as a thought occurred to her. "Erik, would your . . . would your mother be buried in the church cemetery?"
Erik turned to face her at the thought, a slight vein of anger running through him before he realized her motivation for asking such a question. "You mean we should look for the headstone and that may give us the name we seek?"
"Exactly. Of course, Madeleine is not all that uncommon of a name, but surely there would only be one Madeleine who would have died on that day," Christine continued before cutting herself off again. What if Erik didn't know what day it was that she had died? After all, he didn't seem to know exactly how old he was, she'd gleaned that much out of him. At least, he didn't know his exact birthday, only said that there had only been one time where there was any kind of celebration. What if he didn't know when in 1861 she died? "Erik?"
"Yes?" Erik returned with trepidation.
"Do you know when . . . when she died?"
Erik's head dropped and hung low as he answered in a voice which was barely more than a raspy whisper, "Yes, I do."
Christine rose from her seat on the bed and stood by him, her hands reaching out as if to comfort, and she gasped as he pulled her into a fierce embrace.
"You still fear asking me questions," he rasped. "Will you always fear me, fear my anger?"
"I do not fear you, Erik," Christine answered, her own arms wrapping around his waist as she held him close. "Not anymore, not when I can see the love in your eyes." She pulled back just enough to be able to see his masked face, and the gleaming of his eyes. Eyes she knew that were filling with tears. Her hands moved from his waist up to the mask, and she gently pulled it away and wiped away the tears from his naked face.
Erik watched with wonderment as she did this, and saw that her face did not show even a hint of revulsion at his deformity now. He was even more amazed as she stood on tiptoe, and her lips brushed his. And more so as the kiss deepened.
It took moments after they resurfaced before he found the words to express himself. "The last time, I was so sure it was an aberration," Erik whispered, still holding Christine close. "So sure, and yet for the second time you've kissed me without the mask."
"You really didn't believe me when I told you that I no longer feared your face?" Christine questioned.
"I dared not believe, Christine. I was happy enough knowing you loved me, I didn't want to . . . push my luck, as they say."
"Oh Erik," Christine sighed sadly. "There is so much more to you than your face."
Erik stared down at her in puzzlement.
Christine did not speak again to explain, instead she opted to meet his lips with hers again.
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The rain continued steadily through the night, making them both glad they had managed to secure a room at the inn. Yet the morning dawned bright and cold, and they made their way to the cemetery shortly after daybreak.
"I know her name was Madeleine, Erik, but perhaps if you told me the date I wouldn't have to call you over at every tombstone with that name."
Erik sighed, and then agreed to her request. "June 10, 1861."
Christine grinned as she committed the date to memory, and turned back to the tombstones.
They continued in silence, until Christine's gasp rang out in the cold air. Erik immediately came running over, the concern showing in his eyes as he looked to see if she was okay. Christine merely pointed to the double headstone.
Charles
Loving husband
July 17, 1799 - May 3, 1831
Madeleine
Loving wife
April 5, 1814 - June 10, 1861
"There's no last name," Erik said, rather dejectedly. His eyes remained trained on the first name on the stone. "Charles," he whispered.
"Your father, no doubt," Christine replied.
"I never knew him," Erik commented.
"Then you must have been very young when he died," Christine added. "Perhaps not even born yet."
"Somehow I doubt that I was, for if he had been, he would likely have run screaming at the sight of me," Erik spat bitterly.
Christine turned to face him now, and took his hands in a gesture that Erik had come to recognize as her way of trying to soothe his anger. "We have a little more to go on now, at least. The church, I'm sure, has records on them. At least now we have a birth date for them, and we know now your birthday could not be any further past February of 1832."
"Yes, there is that, at least," Erik responded, the disappointment still evident in his voice.
"Surely the priest is in by now," Christine continued, gently leading Erik toward the church. They had made it to the door when Erik stopped as the memories of the inside assaulted him. His breathing became shallow, and he let his hold on Christine's hand go loose.
"Erik?" Christine questioned concernedly. "Erik, what is it?"
Erik backed away from the building as if the devil himself were inside. "Christine, I . . ." he turned as his voice trailed away. Christine ran from the door and around so that she could face him, her worry written in every gesture.
"Is it another attack?" Her voice came high-pitched, the anxiety clear as a bell.
Erik's breathing evened out, and he looked down at his fiancée, took the hand she offered out. When he had breath enough to answer, his voice came out in a ragged whisper, "No, thankfully no, it's just that, Christine, I don't know if I can go in there."
Christine's face softened, although the question remained written on it. "You told me once you'd only heard mass at your home. What is so frightening to you about this building?"
Erik allowed a pause as he collected his thoughts, "Yes, I only ever heard mass at the house, but I have been in this building. As a child, I used to sneak out my window at night in a strange desire to see the world that lay without. Father Mansart told me about the organ in the church, and all I wanted was to see it, and once inside late at night, I couldn't help but play it. I foolishly thought that anyone close enough to hear would believe it to be a ghost. When some of the parishioners told the Father that they had heard the organ playing, he came to my house and spoke with my mother about it. I had not only been heard, but I had been seen on the church grounds. That was what prompted them to board up my window, so I could no longer roam at night."
"Boarded up?" Christine questioned in outrage. "Without light to shine in?"
Erik nodded, and Christine's face fell, her anger at the injustice of it apparent. She stepped closer and took him in her arms, and Erik laid his head on her shoulder as his breathing returned totally to normal.
A silence fell in which they merely held each other, before Christine finally broke the spell, "Erik, would you prefer if I went in alone and asked?"
Erik raised his head from her shoulder and met her eyes, "As much as I may prefer it, you were right when you told me that this journey would enable me to put some of my childhood ghosts to rest. We'll do this together."
Christine smiled up at him knowingly. As afraid as he was, he was also curious about his past. Both of them knew that if they did not find anything here, they would be more or less out of options. "We can take a moment if you wish."
Erik nodded, knowing he would need a moment to rein in the demons in his soul. He could almost see the people of the past walking up the steps of the marvelous cathedral. And as if all the ghosts of his past wished to torment him, he saw in his mind's eye, his mother walking up those steps with Mademoiselle Perrault, followed shortly by Doctor Barye.
~~~~~
"You ruined my life the day you were born – ruined it! I hate you, I hate the very sight and sound of you . . . your devils face and your angel's voice! There are plenty of angels in hell, did you know that? I wish to God that you were there with them, where you belong. I wish you were dead, do you hear me? I wish you were dead!"
"Rightly or wrongly, the village fears him, and wherever you try to take him it will be the same – hatred, persecution, violence."
"The midwife had no right to let him live. If I had attended the birth he would never have drawn a single breath."
~~~~~
Erik stiffened as the scenes flashed through his mind, 'Why is it I can still hear her, and later him, even now, even after all these years?'
Christine sensed, rather than felt, the change in him. "Erik?"
He looked down once more on her face, so much like another, yet so much softer, glowing with love. The look he had always yearned for, the touch he was always denied, were now his for the rest of his time on this earth, given freely by his angel.
"I'm sorry, I was just thinking. Shall we?"
Christine nodded her assent, and for the first time in nearly forty years, Erik entered a church.
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They wandered through the nave for a few moments, and every now and then Erik's hand reached out to caress a statue longingly, as if the cold stone would bring back the shattered remains of his childhood and make them whole.
"She used to meet him here," Erik whispered unconsciously.
Christine's hand automatically sought out his, and squeezed it.
"I told her I didn't want her to see him again, but that didn't matter to her. And then I thought if I left, she would be free to be with him, yet still she stayed here, alone in that house, until the day she died."
Christine's face twisted in confusion. "Your father?"
"No," Erik answered simply, choosing not to go any further with his thoughts.
Christine opened her mouth as if to ask further, but closed it again as she saw the movement out of the corner of her eye. She motioned to Erik, and they both turned to see the priest coming down the aisle between the pews.
Erik released Christine's hand and walked toward the priest. From her vantage point, Christine could see the priest's surprise at the mask, yet the man quickly reined in his shock and listened intently as Erik asked him about the parish records. The priest simply nodded his head, and motioned for the two to follow him.
The priest led them to a door at the opposite side of the church near the back, and opened it to show them a library of volumes. He stepped toward the right, and indicated the shelves at the corner.
"Everything we have from 1800 to the present is in here. Perhaps you'll find what you seek there. I fear I cannot help you look, as I have to go out and see a sick gentleman. Feel free to look through the tomes, Monsieur."
"Thank you Father," Erik replied graciously as the young priest left them.
"Well, that was relatively easy," Christine remarked.
"Yes," Erik nodded as he scanned the bindings of the books, and then pulled six off the shelf. "1830 to 1832, it seems a logical place to start, does it not?"
"Yes, we know you couldn't have been born much later," Christine commented. They walked with the books over to the small table in the middle of the room, sat down, and both took a book and immersed themselves in the past.
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