Chapter eight


"Marie Perrault, Madeleine, this is Christine Daaè," Raoul introduced, seemingly oblivious to Christine's white face.

"My dear, what is the matter?" Marie asked, looking concerned.

"Oh! I'm sorry…" she stammered. "It's just, your friend looks so much like a sketch I've seen before of a woman… It startled me very much."

"A sketch?" Madeleine's voice was soft, though with wariness and not kindness as was her friend's. "Whose, Mademoiselle Daaè?"

Christine fumbled for an answer for a moment. Erik had been so reluctant to speak of his mother when he had shown her the drawing. Tears had gathered in his eyes, a long-ago hurt still burning within him. She hated me and I hated her, he had said. What horrible words! What a horrible woman!

"Christine?" Raoul's voice penetrated her whirling thoughts.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled quickly, not thinking as the next words tumbled out of her mouth. "Perhaps I should go check on Erik…"

"Erik?" Madeleine asked, seeming to grasp the name and hold to it as if it were her last hope for salvation. "Erik?"

Bumbling fool, Christine cursed herself silently. She nodded dumbly, unable to think of anything to say.

"Tell me…" Madeleine began, but then stopped, her eyes turning sad. "I'm sorry, child," she whispered. "A foolish thought by a lonely old woman. I once had a son by the same name."

"What became of him?" Christine found herself asking quietly.

"He… ran away," the old woman managed, tears filling her eyes. "I was too cruel… Too horrible of a mother."

Marie placed a comforting hand on her friends shoulder. "Shh, Madeleine. Please don't cry." She turned to the diva. "I'm sorry, Mademoiselle."

Christine shook her head. "No, it's quite alright," she mumbled. "If you'll excuse me."


Madeleine was nothing as Erik had described her, except for her appearance. Even with age and hardship, her beauty lingered beneath it all. There was a loneliness in her eyes that reminded the singer of her love. She shook her head. "No no," she muttered. "We have enough to deal with." That decided, she continued her way down the hall towards the room where Erik lie, hopefully, resting.


Nadir replaced the cool cloth on Erik's face and the younger man shuddered and gasped. His mismatched eyes fluttered open and he put one hand to his face, looking as if he might succumb to panic when he did not find his mask there.

"We are alone," Nadir said simply, catching one flailing wrist and putting it firmly back to the bed. "Quiet now."

"How long… have I slept?" Erik managed between gasps.

"An hour, perhaps two. Might I assume that you feel no better?"

"Try worse. Where's Christine?"

"Raoul took her to meet a guest."

Erik nodded. "Good."

Both men's eyes turned to the door as a small, quiet knock came from it. It opened slowly and Erik flew up, searching wildly for his mask. He reached one hand up to cover the scarred side of his face as he turned to see Christine peeking in.

"It's only me," she said with a smile.

"More the reason to find it," came the Phantom's response.

She gave him a small laugh and moved closer, picking up the porcelain mask as she passed the table it lay on. Carefully and slowly she took hold of the hand that covered his face, pulling it away and kissed his palm lightly. Still tense with uncertainty he watched her as she turned her eyes to his face. "I love you," she whispered, kissing his marred cheek and placing the mask in his hands to do with as he pleased. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he whispered, voice raw with surging emotion.

"Liar."

"Perhaps, but then why did you ask?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me the truth," she responded quietly. "Lie down, Erik, you'll only make it worse, won't you? Please do lie down." He did as instructed and she ran a hand through his hair and over the mask that he had hurriedly replaced. "You're burning up."

"I've been trying to get his fever down," Nadir, nearly forgotten in his spot, commented. "It simply won't for the present."

Christine turned her worried eyes to him and he gave her a small smile in returned. "I've lived through worse, my dear."

"That's only a bit encouraging…"

Erik chuckled at this, but soon the chuckle turned to a cough. The cough, in turn, caused him to shudder violently and turn to one side, away from Christine. He brought a hand to his lips when he tasted blood. A shiver passed through him and he lay there for a moment after the fit had subsided, breathing as deeply as he dared without provoking another attack. His shaking slowed when Christine's hand came to rest on his bare arm. He hadn't realized until that moment that he had no shirt on and his mind pointed out how improper this truly was.

"Erik?"

"I'm-"

"You're not fine!" she sobbed, latching onto his arm tighter. He grimaced as her nails bit into his skin. "Erik, please…"

He turned to her, eyes showing his exhaustion. "I'm sorry, Christine," he whispered, reaching up to her face and running one long, skeleton-like finger along her cheek and tracing the shape of her face. "I thought it best…"

"For you not to tell me everything?"

"Yes."

"Well, it wasn't," she whispered, her voice laced with hurt. "Please tell me, Erik. Maybe I can help…"

"No," the Phantom managed, voice growing weaker. "The poison must run its course."

"Poison?"

He'd closed his eyes, seeing as his lids had been drooping anyway. He let out a long sigh and opened them again. "It will run its course and I will be alright."

"Are you sure? You said you'd been hurt worse before, Erik, how? My word, what have they done to you?" she whispered fiercely as she clung to him. "You swear to me you will be alright?"

"Yes, Christine. Perfectly well."

"Then I believe you. If it were anyone else I would be a fool now, but it's you. I believe you, Erik."

The Phantom smiled and forced himself up, pulling her to him as he did so. He cradled her for a moment, unmasked side of his face pressed into her thick curls and he inhaled her scent. It was the sound of the knock on the door and the sound of it swinging open at that knock that caused him to look up in irritation.

"Mademoiselle Daaè?" Madeleine was calling, but her eyes widened and her face went white when she met the two-coloured eyes of the man holding the girl she had been searching for. She stared, her hand over her mouth and tears standing in her eyes. "Erik…"

Christine spun around, eyes wide. "Madame!"

Madeleine was babbling incoherently by this point, tears streaming down her face as she leaned against the doorframe to keep from passing out. Erik looked to see if Nadir would help her, but the Persian man had disappeared at some point during his conversation with Christine.

"Madeleine, did you find her?" Marie's voice came around the corner before she appeared, her eyes following her friend's gaze. Her mouth dropped open. "Erik!" she gasped.

Madeleine was stumbling forward now and Christine sat back on the bed, afraid to interfere between mother and long-lost son. She sank down to the floor next to the bed and looked up at her son, tears falling freely. She reached forward, her hand hovering over his.

Erik watched, eyes fixated on her. They were cold and distant, yet held a bit of curiosity, though it was hidden far beneath the chill. He snatched his hand away when his mother touched it and pulled from her completely. All illness seemed to flee from him and weakness took a backseat to his anger. His voice boomed in the small room and his eyes lost the hint of anything other than pure rage. "Don't touch me!" he growled out, causing the aging woman to fall back and shake with fear.

Christine watched the man she loved with careful eyes as he stumbled from the bed, shaking with either rage or exhaustion or fever. Perhaps it was all of that combined. Either way, he looked as if his knees might give way. "Leave."

"Erik…" Madeleine pleaded quietly.

"I said leave!" he yelled. Christine was sure he would have lunged at her if she hadn't grabbed hold of his hand, clung to his bare arm, and held him there with love. He turned to her and his expression softened slightly. "Just get out."

Madeleine scurried out then, followed quickly by Marie. They left Erik leaning against the wall and Christine hugging him closely. No words were spoken as Christine's quiet sobs filled the room. No words were needed as she looked upward and saw the silent tears streaming down Erik's face.


A/N: Madeleine… I could never decide if I liked her or not. I couldn't stand her at first, but I think on some level she really did love Erik, therefore that is the picture I portray of her now. She deserves that much.

Quaxo: I'm glad you liked the twist. I really was struggling with if I should put Erik's mother in this story or do a one shot where he returned to his house (like he does in the book) but instead finds his mother alive and deals with it like that, but I wanted so badly to put her into this story and I thought it would make for such an angsty turn of events.

Lynx Ryder:Yes, it is a sad story for her, but, being as you haven't read the book (and wow! It's just as expensive in America! What' sup with that?) I guess you wouldn't know about her background. :keeps forgetting to make notes: I'll put it this way: When Erik is born and she sees just how deformed he is, she literally throws him as far as she can get him. A baby. Yeah, not the best introduction to her character. And, as it says in the play, his first piece of clothing was a mask. Madeleine does get better, though, in her own way. She's just about to make a full turn around when he runs away at age nine. This is after her boyfriend wants to admit Erik into the looney bin and she tells him that he won't be taking her son and he can go on without her. I was very pleased with her at that point. That's Dr. Barye, incase you see reference to him. Erik leaves thinking she'll marry him and be happy, but he finds out in the book some years later that she never did, but since I've conveniently forgotten that part so that my story works, he simply still thinks she's married to him. Glad I caught you off-guard with bringing her in! That made me so happy! No one was expecting it, not even me! Lol!