From Heaven's Mind

Chapter Fifteen

Christine was nervous.

She knew there was no point in being nervous. What happened happened. She would tell Erik and take his reaction calmly.

But she was still nervous. She walked out of the airport and hailed a taxi. Giving the address of the penthouse, she settled into the backseat and tried to decide what to say. This was not, after all, an easy thing to say.

Eventually Christine decided that the best thing to do would just to tell him. Straight out, no beating around the bush.

"We should be there in another five minutes." The driver said cheerfully. She smiled.

"Thank you."

It was raining when she climbed out of the taxi and handed the money to the driver. She pulled a hood over her head and went indoors. Erik would still be at the opera house and she wanted to clean up before she saw him.

But when she opened the door to the penthouse, she saw Erik already there, sat at the piano. He didn't hear her come in, so absorbed was he in his playing. Christine stood in the doorway listening until he had finished and then applauded enthusiastically. He looked over sharply and his face actually lit up.

"You're here!"

"Yes." She smiled, putting her suitcase down. Erik seemed to fly across the room, his arms sliding around her. She laughed. "You only saw me the day before yesterday!"

"I know. And it was far too long." He said, kissing her.

After a few moments she pulled out of his arms.

"Shower. I need one."

"Go ahead. I'll start dinner."

"Erik, before we eat there's something I need to tell you. Let me just wash first."

"Of course." He smiled. Christine returned it, a little weakly before heading for the bathroom. She quickly showered, dried her wildly curling hair into submission, tied it back and changed into clean clothes.

By this time the smells of the food cooking were making her mouth water. She came out of the bedroom and Erik smiled at her.

"Feeling better?"

"Much. What are we having?" Christine asked.

"Salmon with parsley sauce, new potatoes and vegetables. Will that suffice?"

"Most definitely." She said.

"There's also wine, your favourite. And I took the liberty of renting some films I know that you like." He said, leaving the sauce to simmer.

"Erik-"

"And if you want to do anything this weekend, just say so and we will."

"Erik, I don't-"

"But if you want to stay in we can-"

"Erik, please! There's something important that I have to tell you!" Christine cried. Erik stopped his uncharacteristic chatter and looked at her.

"What is it?" He asked, looking curious and concerned. Christine licked her lips nervously.

"Erik, I…"

"Christine, whatever it is, you can tell me." He said, smiling slightly. She took a deep breath.

"Erik, I'm pregnant."

You could have heard a pin drop. Her proclamation did not have the effect that she had hoped for. The blood drained from Erik's face and he stared at her.

"What?"

"I'm pregnant." She repeated calmly, but her fists were clenched in nervousness. Erik blinked and his expression turned to one of extreme confusion.

"But… but we used protection. Every time. How can you be…?"

"It doesn't always work. Erik, I was so afraid but I think I've figured out how we can make it work. My show will have finished before I start to show too much and-"

She broke off because Erik had let out a hollow laugh and turned away, his hands grasping at his hair.

"The show… you're worrying about the bloody show?" Christine was puzzled.

"Yes, but… Erik, what is it? Why are you so angry?"

"Open your eyes, Christine! What the hell are you thinking?" Erik shouted, turning back to her, his face now flushed with fury. Christine stared at him.

"I don't… what…?"

"What do you think a child of mine is going to look like? Bloody hell, Christine! Look at me!"

He wrenched the mask from his face and threw it on the floor, revealing the full horror of his deformity. Seething with anger he seized her hand and pushed it against the rough skin.

"Feel it! I've spent my whole life hiding it away, making sure no one would see it and you want to bring another face like this into the world? You want to inflict this on a new generation?" He spat. Christine tried to pull her hand away but he held it tightly. "Do you?" He demanded again.

Christine felt sudden furious anger and a terrible urge to protect her unborn child. She ripped her hand from his and glared at him.

"Don't you dare talk like that, Erik Destler." She hissed. Hearing such venom from his young wife's lips seemed to shock Erik from his anger. Christine pulled his hand down, lifting the hem of her shirt to press it against her stomach.

"This is our child. Our baby. It's not even a month old; I will NOT let you speak like that! Whatever this child looks like, it'll be beautiful because we made it and I love it! I don't care if it looks different because it is my baby and I will not let you condemn it before it's even come into the world!"

"Christine-"

"No, Erik!" She was breathing hard now, her eyes fixed on his. "No… I didn't run from you when I saw under that mask, did I? Did I, Erik?"

He stared at her, his hand still against the warm skin of her abdomen.

"No." He admitted, almost inaudibly. Christine let out a breath.

"Then don't run from this. Don't be angry. This is our baby. There's so much to look forward to, so much that is going to be good about it. So don't focus on what might happen, OK? Because that's not important. This…" She touched his hideous cheek. "This isn't important."

She was on the verge of tears now. Erik saw and instantly regretted having brought her to that state. He looked down at his hand, still against her stomach.

"How long?"

"Three weeks. I was going to tell you last weekend but… you know." She whispered. Erik closed his eyes and then opened them again.

"Christine, what are you going to do if it's born looking like me?"

"Be so happy that it won't have to put up with my hair."

He blinked and smiled without meaning to. She smiled too.

"If it's born looking like you, I'll be happy. Yes, you look different. But you've got so much to make up for that. I never even see your face anymore. I don't see this when I look at you. I just see Erik."

For a moment they stood in silence and then she said quietly,

"I've got some scan pictures in my bag. If you want to see them."

"Yes… yes, I do." He said in a voice that was just as quiet. Christine went to her bag and pulled out the folder. She opened it and stood beside Erik to show him. He gazed blankly at the picture and she pointed to the speck.

"There. Right there. It's our baby. I know it doesn't look like much now, but…" Her voice faded away as Erik closed the folder. She looked at him anxiously. He was staring at her. Christine smiled slightly.

"Erik, you're going to be a father. A dad. In eight months and one week you're going to be able to hold your son or daughter in your arms. Please say that'll you be happy when that day comes."

He didn't reply. Instead he knelt in front of her, his hands resting on her hips. Christine watched as he lifted the hem of her shirt and pressed his face against the smooth skin of her belly. For a moment she wasn't sure what that strange feeling was. And then she knew and she put her hands on his hair, stroking it lovingly.

It was the sensation of warm, fresh tears against her skin.

"You really don't care, do you?" Erik murmured softly. They were lying on the sofa, wrapped in each other's arms. A film was playing, one of Christine's favourites, but neither of them was paying attention.

"About what?"

"About… this." She knew what he meant and smiled.

"No, Erik. I never did. And never imagine for one moment that I ever will."

He smiled and kissed her, his hand stroking her stomach.

"Do you want a boy or a girl?" She asked. Erik considered.

"I don't think I really mind. What about you?"

"I think I'd like a boy. A baby boy." She said, looking down at his hand. "But as long as it's healthy, I don't care."

She sat up to sip her water. Erik watched her and then said,

"Do you get morning sickness?"

"Oh, yes. And it's not always in the morning. I wasn't great yesterday evening." Christine said, pulling a face. "And for some reason I can't eat tuna. It makes me feel sick."

"Your favourite. That's a pity."

"Hmm." She agreed and then stretched. "I'm sleepy."

He stood and in a swift movement, pulled her legs out from underneath her. She gasped and then smiled as he carried her across the penthouse to bed.

"So romantic."

"I'm assuming I have limited time to do this. You may become too heavy." He smirked and she laughed.

"Fine. Whatever you want."

Saturday was perfect until the evening. They had spent the day playing music, talking, walking around the city and when they returned to the penthouse, Christine announced she was going to make him dinner.

"You made it last night, now it's my turn." She told him. He smiled and went to watch the evening news but a beep caught his attention. The answer-phone announced there to be one new message.

"Mr Destler, this is Christopher Mackintosh. We spoke briefly last week about Kelly Delaney, who had been causing you trouble. I'm sorry to say that Kelly took her article about you to a different magazine and got it published this morning. I'm trying to sort it out, but I thought you'd want to know. You have my number, if you want to talk to me."

Erik stared at the machine. Christine had stopped moving around the kitchen. He glanced over and saw her watching him.

"What are you going to do?" She asked. Erik hesitated.

"I'll call him. And then possibly find a Punjab lasso and find Kelly Delaney." She smiled briefly and then moved to put her arms around him.

"Have you seen the article?" She asked.

"No. That's what I'm worried about." He said darkly. "She knows about James Pewter."

Christine jerked back.

"You told her?"

"No, of course not! She found out somehow. I don't know how."

"Is it so bad, what she knows?" Christine asked. Erik sighed.

"It depends on how she presents it. I have to get that article."

"Go and find it now." Christine said. "There should be a shop open somewhere. Go and find it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" She pushed him towards the door. He seized his coat and disappeared. Christine sighed and looked down at herself.

"I think your daddy is going to have a heart seizure before long."

Erik stormed into the small shop and began to hunt through various magazines, desperately seeking the article. The teenage girl behind the counter watched him curiously.

"Can I help you sir?" She asked. He glanced at her.

"A culture magazine. The new issue came out today."

"NY Art and Culture, on the middle shelf." She pointed to it. Erik snatched it and threw a ten dollar bill at the girl, leaving the shop as he feverishly flicked through the pages.

The girl blinked and shrugged. She'd heard that English people were odd. This just proved it.

Christine stirred the sauce that was going on the beef steaks and left it to simmer. The door swung open and Erik entered, dripping with rainwater. She looked at him quickly.

"Did you find it?"

"Yes." He said shortly.

"Well?"

He handed her the magazine. It was already open at the article, dark spots of rain dotting the glossy paper. After a quick scan, Christine could see that James Pewter's name was not mentioned anywhere. It seemed to be simply what Kelly had intended it to be, an article about Erik's past works and his new opera. She looked at him and offered a relieved smile which he did not return.

"The last couple of paragraphs." He said, throwing his wet coat onto the coat rack. Christine glanced down again and read.

So what makes an artistic genius such as Erik Destler such a success? Natural skill or hard work? Or is it, as rumoured, a fearful presence? Several people who have worked with Destler on previous projects have admitted to his unpredictable temper and occasionally violent outbursts. Whilst working on a university performance in England, he attempted to fire a stagehand for faulty equipment, has been known to shout abuse at workers and I too have witnessed his violent nature when he threw a glass object at a wall in anger.

And Destler's passion for his work does not appear to limit itself. After only two months of marriage, Christine and Erik Destler have separated and are currently living in different countries. Perhaps this sort job requires constant attention that cannot be provided when the producer's attention is diverted. With a nine year age difference, it is hardly surprising that a marriage like this is not a success, especially with their obvious differences in character and one can only wonder if Destler's violent tendencies halt at the theatre or if there are darker reasons for their separation.

How does one define Erik Destler? Musical genius? Obsessed overachiever? Without priorities? Let us settle for just one word – Intense.

By Kelly Delaney

Christine sank into a chair.

"Oh my god." She said, in disbelief. "I don't… I can't believe it." Erik was already calling the magazine and ordering for a retraction. Christine knew how serious this was. An article with such serious implications as this could ruin Erik; no one would hire him if they thought he was violent, no matter how talented he was.

But what had horrified her most was the mere implication that Erik was abusive. This woman was actually saying that she and Erik had separated because he was abusive to her.

"I'll kill her. I'll actually kill her." Erik snarled, having hung up the phone.

"Oh no, this one's mine. I'll kill her with my bare hands." Christine spat. "I've never read so much bull in one article before."

"The rest of the magazines are being taken in and destroyed and I'm going to be calling every magazine and newspaper in the city to tell them not to hire that woman." Erik said, sitting beside Christine. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's nonsense, Erik. Everyone who knows you will know it. And they'll let other people know as well."

"I just hate that she's still affecting us." Erik admitted. Christine put her arms around him.

"Then let's not let her. We've still got tonight and tomorrow morning. Let's pretend that this stupid article never happened."

He looked at her. Her face was perfectly sincere. He nodded.

"Yes. She doesn't matter."

The weekend should have been perfect but the black cloud of the article hung over them. Several workers at the opera house had rung up, demanding details. Erik had had to explain the situation to several patrons, the owner of the opera house and Tony had come to the penthouse.

"My girlfriend showed it to me this morning." He said on Sunday. "I couldn't believe it! Why was she so harsh? I thought you were getting on well."

"Kelly Delaney was getting ideas above her station and was manipulating the situation." Erik said icily as Christine poured the three of them coffee. Tony blinked, trying to figure it out and then his eyes widened.

"She tried to…? Jesus…" He glanced at Christine who lifted her eyebrows.

"Yes, I wasn't particularly happy about it either." She said, handing him a mug. He thanked her and said,

"What are you going to do?"

"Well, I've put her completely out of work. There isn't a place in the city that would hire her as a writer now." Erik said. "And the rest I couldn't care about. As long as Christine and the baby are kept from harm."

"The…"

He stared at Christine and she smiled.

"Three weeks gone."

"Congratulations! Oh, that's awesome, Mrs Destler!" He said. Christine laughed.

"Thanks Tony. We're happy about it too."

"Well done, Mr D. I'll get out of your way. See you tomorrow morning; have a nice flight Mrs Destler." He left, grinning inanely.

Christine smiled and put her arms around Erik's neck.

"You can meet the nicest people in this work."

"And some of the worst."

"Mr Negativity." She teased. "I'm going to finish packing."

Nadir had been extremely helpful and had moved her things back to Rochdale. She got back and Trister leapt up at her barking. She giggled and hugged him tightly.

"Oh, you're such a good boy."

"I'm glad you think so highly of me." Nadir grinned, coming out of the library. Christine smiled.

"You're a good boy too."

"Good. How was your flight?"

"It was fine. I told Erik about the baby." She said. His eyebrows lifted.

"How did he take it?"

"After the initial shock, he… well he yelled for a bit and then… he's happy." She smiled. Nadir laughed.

"Good."

"But… well, have a look at this." Christine said, taking out the magazine. She gave it to Nadir. "Look at the last three paragraphs."

He read swiftly and his face became sombre. He looked up at her.

"Who wrote this?"

"Kelly Delaney. The woman who tried to…" She didn't need to finish. Nadir's jaw was set firmly.

"I trust Erik has dealt with it."

"Yes. But Nadir, how could anyone write something like that? Half of New York thinks that Erik is beating me up in his spare time, how could she get away with writing this?"

"It's a new angle, isn't it? And it'll get people reading." Nadir said disgustedly.

"Not really. Erik had all the remaining copies taken in; it was only available for a few hours." Christine said, putting the magazine away.

Nadir put a hand on her shoulder.

"He'll get past this. He knows how to handle publicity, good and bad."

"I know. Is dinner nearly ready? I'm ravenous. I could eat a horse."

"I think its chicken tonight. I'll have the chef put horse on the menu for tomorrow." Nadir grinned. Christine laughed.

"I look forward to it. And then I'm going to sleep until tomorrow morning, because I'm knackered."

"That sounds like an excellent plan." Nadir said as they made their way to the dining room.

A/N: (Evil Smile) She's baaack. I'm really rather pleased, if I may gloat for a moment, with the way the pregnancy announcement came out. I thought it worked rather well. But let me know what you think.

This chapter is fondly dedicated to greenified for being generally awesome and because I mercilessly tortured her with a pathetically small teaser.

Lotsa luv 'n' huggles

Katie