A/N: Lots more explanations to come and then my ending… I hope no one is too disappointed. This chapter is not exciting but it is Erik and Christine… they have yet to broach the subject of Raoul.

Thank you for ALL of the reviews. I'm sure I don't need to tell any of you how much it means to receive so much feedback from readers. When this story is over I will be taking the time to read a story (if there is one posted) by everyone who has reviewed this story. It might take me a while to get to yours but I promise you that I will…

Individual replies next chapter xx

'My brother is a brilliant artist. His oil paintings are really beautiful. And he was the one that taught me what to see - how to see. Colours, lights. And how lights can be so musical. '
- Joan Chen speaking of her actual brother but I somehow thought it a fitting description for Henry… for Henry in his relationship with Erik. I hope you like this chapter.

Perhaps, like Raoul, Erik has grown… perhaps his world is beginning to fill with colour?

Read on.

Chapter 56- Lullaby

Christine felt him, she felt his breathing and his body behind her, she heard his voice, soft and low, the gentle voice that had soothed her so many times. She had seen him, sitting on his horse, she was sitting on it now… herself, felt it moving beneath her in the setting summer sun but still… she didn't quite believe it. Dream or no dream she didn't want it to end so she simply listened.

'Henry discovered the existence of a brother on our mother's death bed,' Erik began, controlling the horse's reigns with his hand. 'In some sort of guilt ridden moment…' many years too late, '…She had confessed all to an utterly astounded and very young Henry.'

Erik's mother had described his face in all of the gory detail, told of how she had ridden of him once Erik's father had died, she had sent him to the freak show where he belonged. Erik shuddered at the memory and Christine felt it through her own body.

'Did you know about him?' she asked, trying to look over her shoulder, she wanted to see him… was he still there?

'I knew of Henry's father… like my own, he was an honourable and good man.' He thought for a second. 'How he ended up with the evil that was our mother, only the Devil knows.' He said with a smirk. 'Henry had been brought up not by our mother but by his own father… I think it a shame that we didn't grow up together but as I'm sure you're aware there are a few years between Henry and I, I think I was thirteen when he was born...'

Of course, Erik knew about Henry since the day Henry was born. It would be foolish for anyone, even Antoinette Giry, to believe that he never left the cellars of the opera house and that he had never been back to look in on the woman who had abandoned him. One night he had actually seen an infant in the cot that Erik used to sleep in when his father was alive.

The infant, around four years old, was the picture of perfection. He had brown hair and his skin was the softest, pinkest silk. Erik glanced over, after entering through the window, and watched the child sleep. Then Erik had resented him. He resented him for all the love and attention he was given, he resented him for his perfect face and he resented him because no one wanted to give him away.

It didn't last.

'Night after night, before you came to the opera, I would wander down to my old home, under the cover of dark and watch Henry sleep.' He sighed softly and Christine, for a moment, thought that he sounded sad. 'I watched him grow through that window, I watched him change.'

Christine simply nodded.

'When he was seven his father died,' Erik squeezed his eyes closed. 'And he was left with our mother… who was at best useless,' his tone became harsh. 'She left him alone a lot… often went out with callers of an evening leaving poor Henry to fend for himself and cope with the loss of his father,'

He stopped and thought for a moment, felt sorrow well inside his body as he remembered the look of pure grief on Henry's face when he had been given the news of his father's death.

'I'm not a monster, Christine,' Erik said and she reached down and stroked his leg gently. He was there. This was real.

'I know, Erik,' she said softly and he couldn't resist the urge to kiss her hair. Although he couldn't see her face he knew that she was smiling.

'So, I went to him of a night, as I always did, but this time I made myself known,' he said quietly. 'I sang.'

'I…' Christine said. 'It must have been comforting for him, Erik, it must have helped him so much.' She thought for a moment. 'It always helped me.'

'He was afraid,' he said.

'So was I,' she replied, and he smiled.

'At first,' he said and this time Christine smiled.

'Was it the same for Henry?'

'Yes,' the memory entered his mind. 'He asked who I was.'

'And what did you tell him?'

'I told him that I was his friend,' Erik said with a gentle shrug, 'And that I would come as often as I could to help him sleep,'

Christine allowed a smile to form on her lips, slowly her shock at seeing Erik was subsiding and being replaced by a story that finally made her forget that Erik had killed so many times. She knew that Erik was a good man, with dreams and aspirations and with a heart, it was just that sometimes Erik wasn't sure how he should express himself.

He had never been given an opportunity to practice.

'How often did you go? She asked, breaking the small silence that had fallen between then.

'Every night,' he said, without hesitation. 'I went every night for four years.'

Christine thought for a second.

'Until he was 11?' she asked.

'Yes,' he answered. 'Until he got himself some friends at school, became popular.'

'He was schooled, then?' she said, surprised.

'Very well,' Erik replied. 'His father left him a fund and he chose to go to school.'

Christine smiled.

Erik had prompted him to learn, that was obvious to her, Erik had had been Henry's guide in life and in education and probably in many, many other things.

'Did you tell him your name?' she asked as Erik pulled the horse up and hopped off before helping Christine down to the floor. They walked along side the horse and continued to talk.

'No,' he said. 'He simply called me friend.'

'Did you still visit him?' she said, curious and overwhelmed by the story.

'Of course,' he said. 'Whenever he asked me to and sometimes I would just check in on him…' his mind wandered to his past for a minute, he remembered Henry growing into a handsome man, turning into the man Erik had always wanted to be but rather than resent him Erik had swelled with pride. '…just, you know, to make sure.'

She smiled.

'How old was he when your mother died?' she asked, glancing up at Erik as they walked through the wooded area.

'Eighteen… it was not long before you moved to the opera,' he said, thinking about it carefully.

'Does it make you sad that your mother died?' she asked, unable to contain the question as she watched Erik's thoughtful face.

'It makes me sad that I wasn't there to see it,' he said coldly. Christine shuddered at the sound of his voice.

'I'm sorry…' she began and he stood still and looked at her.

'Don't be,' he said. 'It's not you that I'm angry with.'

She nodded.

'Henry tried to find me but had no luck, he got as far as the circus and reached a dead end as Antoinette had helped me to escape and no one knew where I was.'

'Why didn't you tell him?' she asked, curious.

'I had stopped visiting,' he said sadly. 'He was growing, becoming more intelligent and he wanted to know who I was, where I lived...' Erik sighed. 'Henry was no longer content with hearing my voice, he wanted to see me.'

Christine understood and remembered what her eagerness to see him had ended in.

'I missed him,' he said. 'Christine, he welcomed me in to his life and he loved me… it was a very peculiar situation for me.'

'I'm sorry…'

He shushed her by placing his finger gently to her lips and looking into her eyes.

'No apologies, not with us Christine, not anymore… there's no need to apologise anymore,' he said softly. She nodded her head, again she understood.

'He found me around three years ago,' Erik smiled. 'He was walking through the Opera Populaire, investigating me…' he laughed gently. 'The irony was certainly not lost on me but still, I was proud of him… he was an intelligent man with a well paid, important job… I was proud…' he stopped. 'I am proud.'

Christine stared at him.

'He was investigating you?' she said slowly. 'Is he a police officer?'

'More of a spy,' Erik said, smiling.

'And he found you,'

'Yes,' Erik said and grinned. 'He's a very good spy.'

Christine couldn't help but return Erik's smile. Was he as happy as he sounded?

'He heard me talking to Antoinette Giry in the manager's office,' he said, and closed his eyes. 'I'll never forget that day… for as long as I live…'

Christine watched as his eyes became damp with tears. Erik swiped them away and forced a smile.

'He came in, so quietly, not even I heard him,' he said, squeezing his eyes shut. 'He had heard me talking with Antoinette…' Christine listened carefully, watching the emotion on Erik's face, amazed by the man standing before her. 'Rather than shouting at me to halt or arresting me… and I'm not sure why he said it, perhaps it was that he was lost for words or that he simply wanted me to know that he knew who I was… but he said … 'Erik… sing me a lullaby.''