A\N: Hola my fellow readers! This authors note is solely for Lonely Loony's sake, in case you actually did want an answer to your question "Where do you get your ideas?" Where do I get my ideas...hmm... I either get my ideas from dreams (odd), or sometimes ideas pop into my head (Passion of the Stallion) Or sometimes I use actually experiences that happen to me, and just twist them to fit this story. Or once in awhile I hear people talking about something funny, and it gives me a small idea, and I build on it. I hope that answered your question. And I hope all of you REVIEW!
Another month passed for Christine and Erik, and Christine was now well into the last trimester of her pregnancy. On one not so special summers day, Erik left Christine resting, and went out for a walk. He was walking by the bank, when he noticed something glinting in the grass.
"Silver!" He exclaimed, rushing over the grass. Bending over, he examined something flat and silver half buried in the grass. "Urgh." He grunted, grasping it, and vainly trying to pick it up. "It appears to be caught." He muttered. "Between these two flowers." He wrapped his fingers around it, and started to pull it with all his might.
"What are you doing?" Erik turned around to face a short stocky balding man in a very sharp suit.
"I'm sorry." Erik turned back around. "All questions must be submitted in writing form." And with one final push, Erik ripped the silver piece out of the ground. He immediately realized it wasn't a silver coin, because water suddenly burst out of the ground, soaking him. "My apologies." Erik pushed past the man, and started running back towards his house. When he reached the front door, he hurriedly opened it, and darted inside.
"Christine!" He shouted, striding forward, not watching where he was going, and slipping in a puddle of water. "What the-?" He gasped, sliding across the floor, into the wall.
"Erik!" Erik turned around to see a pale Christine hurrying towards him.
"Christine are you-ouch!" Erik yelped in pain as Christine dug her fingernails into his arm.
"Erik." She gasped, gritting her teeth. "I am having the baby."
"Oh no." Erik stared in shock. "You can't, we're really not prepared, we haven't even hired a midwife yet."
"Shut up and go find one." Christine hissed at him venomously.
"Ok, ok." Erik led her over to the couch, and set her carefully down. "Do you want some ice?" He was getting hysterical. "No count to ten, no hold your breath!" Christine slapped him in response, and Erik quickly left the house, slamming into Raoul right as he stepped out.
"What's wrong?" Raoul asked the flustered Erik.
"Christine is having the baby!" Erik shouted in Raoul's face. Raoul couldn't care less about Christine, so he focused all his attention in helping Erik.
"Did you tell her to hold her breath?" Erik slapped him, and Raoul quickly replied in a commanding tone, "Ok, leave it to me." He grabbed a small black girl, and shook her. "You can give birth to Christine's baby." He glared at her.
"I doan know nuthin' 'bout birthin' babies." She squealed, and ran off.
"Well I'm a midwife." Erik turned around to see a motherly sort of woman standing awkwardly before him.
"Perfect." Erik grabbed her, and pushed her inside the house. He turned and stared at Raoul for a moment, before scurrying back into the house. Raoul sighed, and sat on the front steps, and waited.
Erik was sitting in a chair outside of Christine and his bedroom. He could hear her cries of pain, and occasionally she cried out his name.
"I should be in there inside with her." He thought, but the midwife wouldn't let him.
"It's bad luck." She had told him. He groaned and clutched his head.
"What if this baby was deformed?" He asked himself. Would if be condemned to grow up the way he did? And how would Christine react? "I will make sure it will get love no matter what." He told himself fiercely. Up until now, Erik had mostly blocked out memories from his childhood, and now in his mind, he relived a memory when he was six years old, during a thunder storm.
"Mother?" The six-year old Erik tottered into his mother's study.
"What?" She looked up from her work, not bothering to hide her revulsion at Erik's face.
"I'm scared." He whimpered, as a bolt of lightening streaked across the sky. He reached his hands up to his mother. He wanted affection he needed affection. Gently, Erik lay his head against his mother's leg.
"Ew." She kicked out, and Erik fell to the ground. His mother picked up the mask off of her desk, and threw it at him. "Put that on, and get out." She told him icily, rubbing the spot where his head was a few seconds before.
"No mother, why do I have to wear it, I hate it." Erik pouted.
"Why?" His mother asked, getting up and grabbing Erik's head, ignoring his cry of pain. "Why?" She repeated herself, dragging him to a mirror. "Look." She pushed his head to his reflection.
"Ow mother, no." Erik cried, clenching his eyes shut. His mother pried his good eye open.
"Satan left his mark on you." She hissed in his ear. "And it needs to be covered. You are spawn of Satan. Spawn of Satan." Erik clenched his eyes shut, to stop the tears from running down his face.
Suddenly the midwife burst of the room, snapping Erik out of his thoughts.
"Well?" He asked, quickly standing up. The breathless midwife only indicated for Erik to go into the room, before hurrying down the stairs. Erik took a deep breath, and stepped in Christine and his room.
"Christine?" He asked gently. Christine opened her eyes, and stared at him blankly. He curly brown hair was damp and unkempt, and her face was shining with sweat. "Where is it? Where's the baby?" He asked her. Christine pushed up the sleeves of her dress, and feebly pointed to a crib that Erik had made some odd months ago. Erik rose, and walked over to the crib, and looked down at his child.