Father Once Spoke of an Angel

By: Stealiana

A/N: For all the loyal reviewers: Thank you so much for your encouragement up to this point. I cannot even begin to tell you how much I appreciate it! I hope you all have grown to love my new characters, because I cannot guarantee a lot of Erik in the upcoming chapters - however, Raoul and Christine WILL show their face! So stick with it and I promise you it will be rewarding in the end!

Chapter 12: The End of the Opera Ghost

Christine awoke in a sweat, tormented by the same dream that had haunted her sleep during the first nights of her stay at the underground home. In the dream, she called out for Eric, trying to warn him, the men were after him. They were coming after him for… well, she confessed to herself, she didn't really know what. But they had been chanting his name, running after her, demanding that she divulge his whereabouts. She had flown through the streets of Paris, crying out that she did not know, and if he could hear her, he should run before it was too late. There was the familiar crack before the blackness seized her.

When she awoke this time, she had not screamed.

Her knees were weak as she made her way to the invisible door. She held back her sniffles, making her teary-eyed journey to the room of the Ghost as she had countless nights before. He had always been awake, she realized, his breathing irregular and his muscles tense, as if he expected her to attack. He never spoke nor touched her, but left her to cry herself to sleep, and then wake alone in his room as if he had never been there. However, in its own strange way, his presence was soothing, that of a protector. Whenever she ventured into his domain, the nightmares vanished, leaving a blank canvas of sleep for the remainder of the night. She supposed he did not mind these late night intrusions, else he would have put a lock on the door. She had grown to learn that he was not as articulate as his well-spoken manners would have her believe. Often, when he said nothing, he was in agreement.

The door to his room opened silently, and her bare feet made no noise as she slipped inside. Her eyes fearfully darted about; she was still quite ill at ease. Her jumpy eyes rested upon the white mask lying on the floor next to his bed. He never left his clothes strewn about; he was quite fastidious in terms of personal neatness. She crept closer to where he lay on his side, shielding her candle so the light would not wake him. She supposed he had exhausted himself with the completion of Don Juan Triumphant.

She could see his chest rhythmically rising and falling, his lax breathing indicating he was indeed asleep. As she inched closer, it dawned on her that his countenance was mask-less… naked. Her eyes drank in every detail of the pale face: his elegantly defined cheekbone and his clean-shaven chin, the blood red lips and the thin eyebrows surmounting dark lashes. His hair, always slicked back to make wearing the mask easier, fell down to his cheekbone, straight as a stick and thin as thread. She stared at this face in wonder. Why did he hide the truth when the truth was such a beautiful thing…?

She did not notice her hand was falling as she stared, the light growing in intensity until suddenly, the man's eyes flew open in shock. He lurched, involuntarily rising upward, his eyes filled with terror.

It was then that she saw the reason for the mask. His golden eyes bore into her soul, accusing her of breaking her promise to never look upon his face. Her own eyes were glued to the other half, a ghastly white scarred mass, glaring indignantly. The tissue was uneven, the scar drawing parts of his face thin and then inflating others. She stepped back, speechless at having woken him, and terrified at seeing his face. He had watched her reaction, and she could see the rage, boiling equally fierce in the different colored eyes. Before he could speak however, she opened her mouth to say something, anything.

"You're…" He flinched, knowing full well what to expect, and braced himself.

"…Erik?" She finished innocently, making the connection. At his silence, she offered a timid smile. "I knew you weren't a Ghost."

"I'm worse than a ghost! Oh, I'm far worse than any nightmare you ever had!" He spat out maliciously. He did indeed look terrible, the way the candlelight flickered across his disfigured face. But at the mention of nightmares, Christine shuddered, remembering the reason for entering his room to begin with.

"No," she said slowly, frowning in thought. "In comparison, you aren't that scary." Her eyes roamed his face analytically. "No. Not at all."

Erik moved his mouth wordlessly. This little girl did not scream, did not cry out, did not call him a monster. He did not know what to say.

"Y-you lie." He sputtered. Christine shook her head, shaking a little.

"Well, you're a little scary." She conceded. "But not… terribly." He watched her put the candle on the ground and wrap her blanket about her shoulders tighter.

"Do you mind if I sleep here?" She asked. "If I go back… they'll get me." Her eyes welled with tears and she sniffled back the drips in her nose.

"Stay… here? With me?" Erik asked, bewildered. She merely nodded.

"I'm scared."

"Of who?"

"I don't know. They're after Eric." Her eyes searched his for an ounce of compassion, a slice of pity. She found none, as he was still too lost to understand what had just happened. She ventured to say a little more.

"I feel safer here…" Erik continued to stare. Safe, in a room with a man who had such dark thoughts, who had murdered, who threatened the woman he professed to love? And this child dared to feel safe in his presence…

Hardly aware of what he was doing, he patted the coffin bed next to him. Christine obediently blew out the candle and clumsily crawled next to him, curling up in a little ball of comforter against his chest. He tried to squirm back, but he was already up against the wall. It felt odd to have this little child rolled up next to him, and he tried not to infringe on her space. Once he resigned himself to being unable to avoid contact with her, he tried to relax a little. But he felt the little bundle shaking, muffled sniffs escaping the layers of blanket every now and again. He sat up, looking down at the little girl.

"What's the matter?"

"Y-you won't let them catch Eric, will you?"

"Of course not. You needn't worry." He heard her choke on a tiny laugh.

"Y-you'll scare them away?" Erik blinked, caught off guard yet again. He knew by the laugh that she was referring to his hideous face. He fought the urge to laugh along with her; for whatever reason, her poking fun about his appearance did not incite his rage. It reduced him to feeling… human.

"Yes…" He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly to his breast. "I'll be so monstrous, I'll scare them all off!" He felt her body tremble with a small giggle before he released her. He flipped over so they were back to back, reminiscent of fellow conspirators surrounded by enemy forces.

"Go to sleep, child. Your Guardian Angel is watching over you."

* * *

7 years later

Christine jumped, startled by the knock on her dressing room door.

"Come in." She continued brushing her blonde locks as she gazed into the full-length mirror. The door opened, and whoever was there remained silent, until Christine put down her brush and turned.

"Yes? Oh, hello Eric!" She smiled and gathered the skirt of her gown in her hands, gently moving towards him.

"Christine." He said matter-of-factly, as a greeting. "I might as well get to the point; I was wondering whether you had any plans tonight after the show?" Her brow instantly creased in agitation.

"I was going to go out…" Eric laughed at her expression and gently rubbed the space in-between her eyebrows with his thumb.

"You shouldn't make such a face!" He teased. "It might get stuck like that, you know, and then what would we do!" She pouted and brushed at her skirts in indignation.

"I'll not have you tease me like that!"

"Oh, come now, don't be so spoiled." He wrinkled his nose as he smiled. "If you make plans more important than me, I can't be held accountable for what I say next!" He sauntered past her and stopped by her dressing table, staring intently at an engraved mirror on the countertop. Christine.

"Was that all you came for?" She inquired. "Because if it is, then I'll be glad to escort you out, with a swift kick on the backside for good measure!" She grinned. "If you taunt me, I can't be held accountable for what I do next!" Eric turned with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that so? What makes you think I wouldn't enjoy that?" She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Actually," he turned away from her again, tracing the letters on the back of the mirror. "There was something else."

"Oh?" She tried to put on an air of indifference.

"Yes." He looked at her solemnly for a moment, before his boyish grin escaped his control, shamelessly appearing on his face. "I'm going to be moving out!"

"Moving out?" Christine was bewildered. "To where?" He beamed and pulled out a small key from his pocket, dangling off a rather short chain.

"I've saved enough to rent a room in the boarding house down the street. Of course, that's only until I scrounge up a little more and get a better place all to myself." He chuckled at the look of astonishment on her face. "Aren't you happy for me?"

"Tremendously!" She exclaimed. "I… I just can't believe it!" He smiled, his tone becoming slightly more serious.

"You know my door will always be open for you. If the Opera becomes too much or Erik starts one of his tirades, you can always knock and stay the night."

"But that would be scandalous-!"

"Of course! Why else would I suggest it?" He laughed again, as her face turned a light shade of pink. "Oh, don't worry, no one will care. I'm sure there are much more interesting things to gossip about, and no doubt the foolish dancers will be preoccupied with other silly matters." He smiled gently. "Don't worry, I understand if you choose not to come. I'll only cry myself to sleep every night!"

"Oh, will you stop!" She gently slapped his arm and waved him off, moving back to her dressing table. "I've got to get ready!"

"For what?" He snorted, backing off to the door. "A handsome gentleman is going to waltz through this door and spirit you away for a night in the city?"

"As a matter of fact… yes!" She smiled to herself, feeling excitement bubbling inside of her. "Although I doubt he will waltz in…"

Eric blinked and took another step back. He stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at the ground in confusion.

"…I see. Well, forgive me for intruding. I'd best be on my way." He did not look at her, unwilling to let her see his emotions splattered across his face. She did not respond, however, and a swift glance up confirmed that she was no longer listening, her humming and brushing and vivid imagination drowning out all consciousness. Without another word, he closed the door and walked away.