I Liiiiiiive!!!! Brandy new chappie for ya, plus I revised all of the other ones! Unfortunately, I'm leaving for marching band camp on Sunday, and I have practice all day tomorrow (which is less than an hour away, so getting a bit of sleep would be ideal) so unless my muse beats me over the head with a steal pole, don't expect any updates for about a week. I jumped over quite a big writer's block to write this one, so appreciate it!!! But now my muse is back! wOOt wOOt! Oh, and camp was great. I made my friend read Phantom of the Opera, and she got obsessed too! And we Punjabed rocks and tortured them with mirrors, and we hung them from trees behind the bunk (because we couldn't find any iron ones, so the real ones just had to suffice). Anyway, enjoy! And review!

RAOUL

The first few months of Verrill's life found me walking on hot coals at all times. I had no fear greater than the fear that he would, after all, be the phantom of the pair. But the months crawled by, and Verrill showed no signs of any extraordinary development. He laughed and cried and ate just as any normal baby would. He babbled and crawled at just the right age. He was the epitome of perfection.

Sometimes, just looking at him would make my stomach turn with guilt, as I thought about his sister below the surface of Paris, or my sad, detached relationship with him. I let Christine take care of him most of the time, and had never really done anything more than feed him, or clean a diaper. I had never been more confused in my life. I wanted to be a good father, but I felt that I had already failed in that respect. And however I tried to explain the feeling away, a tight knot remained in my stomach constantly.

"Raoul," Christine said one night, looking concerned, and putting her palm against my forehead as she spoke. "Are you feeling alright? Do you think you should see a doctor?"

"I'm fine!" I uttered hurriedly. "What made you think I was sick?"

"You've been acting rather strangely the past few months. Are you still upset about…you know…"

Christine and I had resolved never to speak of the other baby, especially not in front of Verrill. He would be happier sans that knowledge. Interesting, how I had never lied in my life, and the birth of one little girl saw me becoming quite an expert at it. A tiny event can change a person's entire character, apparently. An honest man telling lie on top of lie, just to protect a thing that should have never come to be by the laws of nature.

"You could certainly say that," I replied. Telling the truth was a luxury lately, and I was glad to be able to indulge even in a half-truth. The words felt oddly foreign, tasting like blood in my mouth.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes! My brain screamed mercilessly, even as, "no," emerged from my mouth. At least the lie washed away some of the aftertaste of the reality.

"I understand," said Christine softly, and leaned in, kissing me tentatively. At first I resisted, but then, slowly, I felt myself surrender. Christine was the only thing in my life that could loosen that knot in my gut, if only for a moment. I felt my eyes begin to water.

"I love you Christine," I whispered.

My New Year's resolution that year was to become a better father. By the time the holidays rolled around, Verrill was crawling and had learned a few simple words, like mama, papa, and his own name. Still nothing particularly unnatural, but one quality of his put me a bit at unease: the way he responded to music.

Any time that Christine started to hum, even just the slightest bit, he would drop whatever he was doing at the moment and come running, often hurting himself in the process. He would sit perfectly still, and just listen. The piano in our foyer, though neither Christine nor I could play it, fascinated him, and he would sit down and plink at the keys constantly (though not, as I observed with relief, in any sort of pattern or rhythm. Just normal baby-like noise) and often cry when he realized he couldn't duplicate the sounds of his mother. His absolute obsession scared me, but I wasn't sure what to make of it. He hadn't done anything really, and I wondered if maybe this characteristic was inherited from Christine. It did remind me of that night in the cemetery in Perros, her ecstasy at Erik's music. Maybe that was why she continued to return to him, for I was quite certain that it was not love.

I was beginning to feel more at ease around Verrill, and I had even started to play with him sometimes. He really was an adorable little thing. The kind of child everyone wished for. He was lucky. Every time we took him out, ladies would coo at him and compliment us. Our several maids all loved him, and often played with him, and slipped him sweets. I was wild when I first found this out, fearing he would choke, but one thing he had certainly shown himself a prodigy at was eating sweets. He could suck on candy before he could even chew food.

But even as I slipped out of my slump, one thing always remained in my sights: my agreement with Erik. No matter how high I climbed on the ladder, I could still look down and see that at the bottom, and I felt that old knot start to twist again. I realized I didn't want to go. I had finally fallen back into a routine, and I was feeling relatively content. I didn't want to invite that to end. Besides, he had been in an odd mood the last time we had spoken. I wasn't sure he would receive me so kindly a second time. But I knew deep down that I would go, for the sake of the girl. The girl that wasn't even mine.

ERIK

I would be incredibly interested in performing a study on parents to see if knowing how to raise children is an innate characteristic. I had always thought it was, until I came face to face with Etoile, and realized that I wasn't even sure if I could put her down and leave the room for a few minutes. It is a very good thing I had Nadir, who at least had some experience in the area, or I might have stood there holding her for the rest of my pitiful existence. It seemed that this was going to be harder than I had thought. There were practical issues that hadn't even crossed my mind, not to mention all the emotional ones that I knew were soon to come.

Not that I had an overwhelming amount of experience with children, but I was sure that Etoile was an odd one. For one thing, she rarely slept. Nadir insisted babies needed at least twelve hours of sleep, and that nothing less was healthy. But Etoile was apparently different as she spent about twenty hours of her day awake. She wouldn't cry, she would just lie there, staring at you with her yellowish eyes, taking in everything about you. I have to admit, as much as I am ashamed of it, her burning gaze in that twisted face sent shivers down my spine on more than one occasion, but that just redoubled my fierce affection for her.

Another quirk of hers was her crying. As long as she was with me, and no-one else was there, she was content just to watch, quietly, from wherever she happened to be, unless she was hungry or dirty, which wasn't terribly often, for a baby, I suppose. But the second another person entered the room, she would cry like a dying animal until the person left, or she fell asleep. The same thing happened when I failed to keep her in the same room that I was in. The day that Nadir and I first discovered this was one of the most amusing I have ever had. We clocked her at over three and a half hours, without decreasing her volume so much as a decibel, while we scrambled about like headless chickens, trying everything from feeding her to changing her to playing with her to singing with her. It wasn't until Nadir left to use the water closet that she quieted down, and we discovered the secret to her incessant noise. Three and a half hours was quite an accomplishment for a month-old baby, I remarked proudly. With lungs like those, she was going to make an excellent singer someday.

And she loved music. No matter how unhappy she was (barring the presence of someone she didn't know) singing would have her perfectly quiet in seconds. And if I started playing the organ or the violin, she would fuss until I brought her closer to the instrument. My latest project became writing her a lullaby that would actually put her to sleep, and she was always up for an experiment.

I was testing my latest creation on her one morning when Nadir came, not knocking, but pounding on my door, as though it had done him some great wrong and he was seeking retribution. I sighed, put Etoile down on the couch, and let the man in before he bruised his knuckles.

"Erik!" he said, sounding winded and breathless, as though he'd run all the way there, "Is this from that woman you spoke about? I got it in the post today. It has your name on it."

He handed me the letter, and, sure enough, it was addressed:

ERIK

vis a vis NADIR KAHN

RUE DE RIVOLI

PARIS, FRANCE

"Well, I think it's safe to assume," I said, ignoring Etoile's crying for the time being. I could project well enough.

"What does it say?" Nadir asked.

"To be able to tell you that, my friend, I have to read it," I said, my voice dripping with frustration.

"So what are you waiting for, springtime?"

Sighing, I tore open the letter, and read aloud, "Dear Erik,

'It is wonderful to hear from you again," I rolled my eyes, "I hope you are well, and so is your baby. I will do anything I can to assist you. Thank you for making such kind arrangements for me to come to Paris. I will come as soon as I can. You can expect me around November 6. My mother recently passed away, and I have been busy making arrangements, so I apologize for not replying to your letter sooner.

'All of the best, Marie Perrault. Well, that was a lovely letter."

"What exactly did you write in that letter of yours?" Nadir asked suspiciously.

"Oh nothing threatening, really," I said with a bit of a smile. "She's already been terrified of me for a while. Signing my name was all the threat that letter needed."

"What kind of arrangements did you make for her?"

"I offered to rent a flat for her nearby. Actually, on the same street as yours."

"And how are you planning to afford that?"

"I told you, I really deserve a raise. I've been working hard this past month." Nadir cringed.

"What you do to those poor fools is your business. Just don't forget your promise, Erik."

I sighed. "How could I forget? You're never out of my ear long enough for me to even move my thoughts. You know Daroga, I would appreciate you far more if you weren't around so much."

He grinned a bit. "Right. Oh, Erik, I forgot to mention. Moncharmin and Richard sold the place at last. The opera is under new management."

I returned the grin. "I'm always up for a bit of a challenge. I'd better make them up a revised memorandum book right now, before they get to comfortable."

Nadir shook his head. "Just don't do anything you'll regret, Erik."

"Oh, come on Daroga. It's been a while since I've had a bit of fun."