DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything even remotely affiliated with the Phantom of the Opera including but not limited to: Gaston's book, Susan Kay's book, Andrew Lloyd Webber's Musical works, etc.
A week after the incident with the girl, Erik had returned to his composition in hopes of possibly seeking English publication. Realizing that he could not continue work when the house around him was falling apart, he resolved himself to journey into town for workers and supplies. He had hired a crew of gardeners and maids to refurbish the manor to its past grandeur. Of these, he would choose the most skilled to continue work throughout the year. During his bout in town to find such laborers, he had come across a man called William who had recently been dismissed from his master's home. Upon inquiry of William, Erik found that he was rather grumpy and accustomed to running a household without the nonsense of a noblewoman. Erik was immediately delighted by this discovery and offered the man a butler position in his home.
He could once more see the winter roses as they were cleared from the weeds. William, per Erik's request, oversaw the remaining duties of the workers. If anyone understood a master's need for privacy, William was that man.
Now, back in the sanctuary of his music room, Erik once more placed finger to key and pen to parchment. The unsettling dreams he had been having continued to haunt him during the day. He could almost hear the marching of soldiers out his window and the cries of maidens running through the flames. His composition seemed to grow more sinister by the moment characterized with deep snare drums and almost impossible woodwind harmonies. He no longer had control. The dream seemed to compose for him.
Soon, the sun set once more and Erik was forced to put down his composition. He had not eaten properly since fleeing Paris, and his long nights without little more than an hour of sleep, had begun to take their toll on his rail-thin body. William's stern voice appeared at the entrance of the music room as if summoned by Erik's aching stomach.
"My lord. Do you wish to supper downstairs or will you be taking your meal up here?"
Erik paused for a moment and decided that he needed to get out of the room for a while. He rose from his piano bench and opened the door. William's stout figure and wrinkled face stared at his master sternly and with a hint of snobbery.
"I will sup downstairs, William. What is on the menu tonight?"
"I have had Rosemary make Cornish hen in a gingernut sauce with oven-fried potatoes, my lord. I assure you, the hen is well-seasoned." He replied almost as if wishing his master would invite him to sup with him.
"Very well. I shall be down in a few moments," he finished and closed the door once more.
Later that night, Erik found himself back in his parent's room. He stared at their wedding picture on the bedside table. Neither appeared to be rather satisfied, much less content in the portrait, however, Erik was a little aware of their arranged marriage, so he thought nothing of it.
The memories were fluttering back once more. He cursed himself for returning to this place when so long ago he swore to never return. So many horrible days passed in his youth, and he wondered if he had only been born normal, with a gentle visage like his father's, would he have been loved? Even the angry face of his mother seemed blurry to him now. His father's he could never seem to remember.
He recalled the night he had last seen his mother. It was a clear spring evening filled with the sounds of crickets and birds singing. He had been staring out his bedroom window, maskless, at the large round moon. He saw a rather tattered wagon pull up to his parent's front gate, as a profile of his mother scurried down the path. He could not properly listen to their conversation, but he heard the sound of coins jingle into his mother's hand. The man in the wagon seemed impatient and forcefully grabbed his mother's arm and threw her to the ground. Erik, instinctively, fled his bedchamber to the outside where his mother lay. He bent down to see if she was alright, when she fluttered from beneath his small hand.
"No, Erik." She growled from the ground. "Take him, he's yours."
Erik looked at his mother with a puzzled face questioning what made her actually breathe his name instead of referring to him as a monster, as the dark man grabbed the scruff of his shirt and lifted him from the ground. Erik could smell the ripe pungent odor of smoke and mold on the man as his glassy eyes moved across Erik's small deformed face.
"I know what I will call you, little demon," the man began in a sinister husky voice, "you will be a prime attraction. I can see it now. "Devil's Child," come and see the horror!"
He man let out an evil chuckle as he threw Erik into a cage at the rear of the wagon.
"Mum! Please… please don't let him take me. I…I will go back to my room…." The young Erik pleaded as his mother rose to her feet and wiped the dirt off of her face.
"You are no son of mine," she whispered as she collected the coins from the ground and walked back to the house.
"Get out of here!" she yelled at the dark man, "Leave before my husband comes home!"
Tears welled up in young Erik's eyes as the dark man chuckled once more and tugged at the reigns to leave. Erik's mother did not look back as she walked up the trail into her mansion. Erik could do nothing more than sob as the mansion slowly disappeared out of sight.