Disclaimer: Please see previous chapters.

Chapter 27: Little Lotte

Newspapers were a rare thing in Paris during 1917. Most of the paper had to be used for the war effort. But, one or two of the bigger newspapers stayed open and war news was usually the main topic of discussion. Erik had a hankering to read the newspaper that day, in the early fall. The leaves were just falling off the trees and it was quite beautiful.

I volunteered to walk to the nearest stand and pick one up for him. He protested that he should get it, but I won out. It was a gorgeous day for a walk and besides, he was getting too old to be walking around in this weather. Despite how nice it was, it was still cold and there was an epidemic running around. He bowed to my wishes and I found myself walking the mostly deserted streets of Paris.

The city was so different now than when I had first arrived. Then it had been constantly in motion, day or night. Now it was a skeleton of its former self. Nearly a third of the population was gone, explaining the unusual silence. Not to mention all the sickness going around. I was lucky I had not caught anything.

The nearest stand was a mile and a half from the house. I accomplished the walk in forty-five minutes, a record for me. I purchased the paper and headed back. More war headlines were splashed across the front. That was all anyone could talk about nowadays. I sighed and flipped through it.

I wasn't truly reading the paper, just scanning the headlines, until I came to the obituaries. Nine words stood out to me and I almost dropped the paper, a bad thing considering how blustery the day was. My face paled as I slowly reread the lines: World Renown Parisian Opera Singer Died of the Epidemic.

It had happened. Christine de Chagny had died. I leaned against a lamppost, trying to calm my racing heart as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. A woman walking along the opposite sidewalk stared at me like I was demon-possessed. Dead, I thought. She's dead. Oh, Erik! I wanted to tear the obituary out and throw it away. Let the wind take it far away from my life. But, I knew I couldn't. I couldn't spare Erik. He would find out some other way. And I would rather be there to comfort him now than to have him read it in the dead of night without me.

I started walking and soon I had come to the house. Squaring my shoulders, I walked in. Erik glanced up from where he was in the front parlor, reading. I hadn't expected him to be in there. I thought he would have been working up in the piano room thus giving me enough time to compose myself. That time was now lost. He knew something was wrong the minute I walked in the door. My pale and tear-stained face must have given me away.

"Elizabeth, what is it? What's happened? Are you ill? Do I need to call the doctor?" I shook my head. Hesitantly, I handed over the paper, with the obituary page open. "I don't understand." He whispered, taking the paper. He soon understood though. The words were in bold and splashed across the front. There was no way in the world he could miss them.

"I'm so sorry, Erik. I know what she meant to you." His face had gone a deathly white and then a fierce red. His hand clenched the paper. Without warning, he picked up the book he had been reading and threw it against the glass panels of the parlor doors. The glass didn't break, but a crack line appeared in the glass. I fought back a scream.

He hurried out of the room, not even glancing at me and leaving the newspaper crumbled on the floor. A few minutes later, I heard the sounds of the piano keys. Erik was pounding on that thing like his life depended on it. The sounds were horrific. I covered my ears in an attempt to drown them out. They were the sounds of a lover who had suddenly and unexpectedly lost the love of his life.

I should have been jealous. I really should have been. Why was he mourning a woman who had gone off with someone else? I was the love of his life. He should be thinking about me! But, I pitied him. This was a hard blow. I knew from the beginning I could never replace Christine. Never. She would always be his first love.

I walked up the stairs, the music swirling around me. I couldn't block it out, no matter how I tried. It brought to my mind my home in the "future" and my family. I hadn't thought about them in a while. The old ache for home sprung up in my chest. Erik's music could always do that to me: evoke emotions long buried.

I opened the door and watched him play for a few minutes. He was pouring all his frustration, anger, sadness, and fear into the music. His face was so contorted by the range of the emotions that the deformity stood out. I walked quietly over to him and laid my hand on his shoulder. He didn't even break his stride in the music.

"I am truly sorry." I whispered. I could have been a stone gargoyle for all he cared. Erik just kept on playing and playing and playing. "I am. And I love you." I leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. He stopped playing and reached up and grabbed my hand. His eyes looked deep into mine.

"I am sorry, Elizabeth. Please give me a few days to get over this. I won't want anything to eat and I don't want to be disturbed." I nodded my head and turned to go. "Elizabeth."

"Yes, Erik?"

"I love you." And with that he turned back to his playing.