Author´s notes: Much Kay influence here, the scene is almost completely based on the book... with one small detail changed. Well, it´s not that small, actually... but you get the idea.

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Chapter XXXVI

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The journey was long, but in a way, peaceful. At least outwardly. Neither Erik nor Christine spoke much during the first day, mostly thinking about their own problems and dreams. As they desired privacy, Erik had taken up the role of the driver, but put on a black hooded cloak while in the city, apparently not wanting to attract any more unwanted attention. Christine sat in the carriage itself. She was still shaken by the encounter with Raoul, but she was trying her best not to get Erik worried about her, let alone guess that it had something to do with the Vicomte de Chagny. After all, she had managed not to mess up until now – it would be a terrible misfortune if she would blunder now and disturb the fragile peace they had.

Erik, for his part, was quite aware that Christine was still as nervous as before, perhaps slightly less, but didn't want to bring up the subject. Perhaps she was simply anxious. In a way, he was actually grateful that she had asked him to do this. He had, after all, been planning to go to his "home" and finish that part of his life for some time, but he had been trying to delay that reunion as much as possible. Now, however, he would "make peace" with it slightly earlier than he had thought and then, he and Christine would start a new life. He was still a bit skeptical, unable to believe it fully, that he would really have a wife, a home and, most of all, love.

Rouen, fortunately, was not far from Paris and the village of Boscherville was close to the city. They had not ordered rooms in any of the inns, because Erik didn't wish to bring back old memories to the older residents and because he doubted they would be staying for very long. The first surprise came when they walked to the old house and he found it still standing. The second came when he noticed the light in an upstairs window. He tied the horses to a nearby tree and went into the garden, Christine following. The house was old, with its ivy walls and weed-infested garden, but clearly still functional and inhabited. Christine looked at the house, then at him, and saw the hatred in his eyes that were fixed upon the house. He didn't even seem to notice her and she found she didn't have the courage to grasp his hand right now.

After a moment's deliberation, it seemed, he took out a pistol from his cloak. Christine almost shrieked, but he merely knocked on the door rather loudly on the door. Noticing the wooden canopy above them, Christine realized that the occupants of the house would have to open the door to notice them. She didn't dare ask why Erik had the pistol, but hoped that her trust wasn't misplaced at the moment. Not that she could do much, anyway.

She saw, however, the distaste in his eyes as the old bolt eventually began opening and the light appeared behind the door. It was a woman that opened, some fifty years of age; it seemed, with carrot-red hair and a very timid face. When she spotted Erik, her eyes widened with unquestionable horror and she almost dropped her candle whilst attempting to hold back the cry that almost emerged from her throat. Similar shock flashed through Erik's eyes and the woman finally found her voice with a gasp.

"Holy Virgin! Erik!"

Erik sounded rather cool as he gave a little automatic bow and said: "Good evening, Mademoiselle Perrault, I hope we find you well." She wouldn't have even noticed Christine if the girl wouldn't have stepped slightly closer to see what Erik would do. As she stepped into the candlelight, the red-haired woman spotted her and gasped again, almost making the sign of the Cross quickly for reasons unknown. Instead, her hands flew to her mouth and, clearly unable to speak, she gestured to them to come in. from this short conversation, Christine gathered that this wasn't the mother in question.

Erik went first, slowly, with a kind of slow dread Christine hadn't witnessed in him before. Apparently, Mademoiselle Perrault was an old acquaintance that had known his mother. Erik was very relieved to find the drawing room empty. There was no sign of anyone else in the house, at least not at the moment. Ignoring both women, he sank into the nearest chair, relieved but disappointed as well. Christine wandered around the room for a moment, then, feeling eyes on her, she turned to see the older woman looking at her with a very strange expression. Christine didn't even have the will to attempt a smile of any kind. It was Erik who broke the awkward silence.

"Where is my mother?" he asked, finally looking at Mademoiselle Perrault. She tore her gaze from Christine and sobbed slightly. "You must know where she lives now." The old woman didn't seem to be able to find the right words, still sobbing quietly. "You need not be afraid, I shall not go there ... but I should like to know."

There was a sound from upstairs that didn't interrupt the sobs of Mademoiselle Perrault, like a door opening. Erik noticed it and Christine saw his eyes dart to the top of the stairs. She now also heard something like slow, slouching footsteps.

"Marie?" a very weak and old female voice sounded from upstairs. It had apparently had certain beauty to it, long ago, but it had been long since diminished and almost gone. At the sound of it, Erik gripped the chair so hard it was a great surprise it didn't break underneath his grip. "Is someone at the door, Marie?" the same voice asked, almost too quietly.

With an agitating slow pace, a woman appeared atop the stairs, about as old as Mademoiselle Perrault. She was slightly gaunt and apparently a little sick, with a blanket wrapped around her like a mantel. Her features must have once been childish, but a weariness had made her look far older than she was. Not even that, however, could really disguise that her face bore a certain twisted resemblance of Christine's.

Mademoiselle Perrault, quickly wiping her eyes with her sleeve, hopped atop the stairs and wrapped the blanket closer around the woman. She said nothing, her throat apparently too choked to speak, or she didn't know what to say. The woman noticed that and looked down the stairs, spotting the newcomers. It was remarkable how quickly an awkward silence could change to the silence of a deep breath before the plunge.

The woman stoop there, stupefied, not daring to believe that what she was seeing was true. She didn't move for a long moment before opening her mouth to speak. It seemed that a thousand thoughts were swirling through her head, foremost of them the doubt whether she was hallucinating or not. Finally, she whispered: "Erik?"

His golden eyes, unblinking, never left her from the moment she appeared, but they were gradually filled with more and more loathing. Part of him wanted to pity her, or at least the ruin she had become, another part of him remembered the beatings, the screams, the pain. That part won.

Like a king admitting the lowliest servant to his throne room, he limited himself to two cynical syllables. "Mother."

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It was late in the evening by the time Raoul arrived in Boscherville – he had decided that perhaps it wasn't a good idea to continue in a carriage that would be easily spotted and heard and thus instructed the driver to return to Paris and inform Philippe that he would arrive within a few hours. He took one of the white horses and set out after Christine's carriage, but not on the main road.

He knew that he had to take care and, using the skills he acquired on the many hunts on which he had accompanied his brother, he managed to stay out of sight. Yet this time, the prey was what he sought to protect, not hunt. There was something terribly wrong with this whole situation, he knew, because Christine was acting very strangely. Never before had she seemed this afraid, not even when she had refused his marriage proposal.

Yet why had she refused? The question continued to repeat itself in his mind. To some degree, the knowledge of who her companion was explained moments of her odd behavior he had witnessed back in Persia. Now, however, he wondered whether this was the very reason why she had refused him. How had she ended up with that man? Raoul knew too well that Christine was a girl who was as sweet as she was naïve and often let dreams take over her mind. She was a dreamer, timid, with a personality that didn't at all match her beauty, which was free for all of the world to see.

From what he had seen of this Erik, he had gotten the impression of a cold, arrogant man, who cared nothing for the world besides the moments when they applauded his work. He had a right to be arrogant – he truly was a genius. He had a right to be cold – one who had to wear a mask at all times could hardly be viewed with warmth by the rest of the world. Raoul understood that much. He came to the conclusion that Christine had somehow managed to break that exterior and see beneath the surface. And that unleashed something way too dark for her to escape.

Raoul almost laughed bitterly. He had been foolish. He remembered encouraging Christine to go with him the very first day, despite her pallor, he had allowed her to spend time with the man. Now he finally understood the sudden change in Christine when they had come to Persia. She couldn't have said anything to him, horrified that he might not believe her or that the information might be intercepted and she would have to face the consequences.

He had heard of the revolutions in the eastern world. Doubtless she had been on the move ever since to escape possible detection, always looking over her shoulder to see whether she was safe. After all, what other explanation was there? Why else would she have run from him in Paris? If she had been alright, she wouldn't have had fear in her eyes.

The Vicomte decided that he must take things slowly. He didn't want to cause a commotion in the village and he didn't want to terrify Christine even more. Why had they come to this village, anyway? He wondered that as he entered the village. Perhaps here, priests could be bribed into ignoring a tearful, fearful bride and a devilish groom and unite them in front of God.

But God wouldn't allow that. God will have brought Judgment upon those who have sinned. God would allow him to save Christine.

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Christine was fearfully watching the scene in the drawing room. The one word Erik had spoken with such coldness had a similar effect as if lightning had struck the woman. She almost swayed, tears found themselves a way into her eyes and her mouth shook, as if she were about to weep or smile, but she didn't. She just stood there, her almost mad eyes looking at him with a great relief that he was real and that she wasn't insane, but also a fear and dread that had, apparently, been there even before.

Marie wanted to take her hand, but the woman stood frozen. "Madeleine," Marie whispered shakily, "Madeleine, come, I will help you sit down." Slowly, she led Madeleine down the stairs. Madeleine's eyes remained locked with her son's for a while, but then she didn't manage to withstand it any longer. She sat down, as Marie wanted her to, on the nearest sofa.

"Erik… oh, God above…" she whispered afterwards, looking at him again. Christine, sensing that they were threading on very thin ice, moved towards Erik carefully in an attempt to calm him down. Madeleine, startled by the sudden movement, looked at the girl, her eyes as wide as ever. Erik watched this reaction for a moment before turning his attention to Christine, who stopped a step to the left from him.

He seemed to finally notice that she was afraid of him right now. His eyes softened when they were aimed at her. "Don't shrink away from our pleasant conversation, my dear." But his voice was still slightly threatening, reminding her that this was her idea, even though he had meant to come here one day anyway. "You wouldn't want to give your future mother-in-law a wrong first impression."

He glanced back at Madeleine, who was looking at Christine with wide disbelieving eyes. Behind her, Marie too seemed on the verge of shock. "Manners dictate that I introduce you. Christine, this is Madeleine, my mother. Mother, this is Christine, my fiancée."

"You… you…" Madeleine repeated.

"To quicken this: yes, Mother. The woman you see here has agreed to marry me, willingly. What should I tell you about Christine? How I taught her to sing like an angel? How she cried in her room when I wanted to give her up? How she gave up a life of wealth for me? No. I don't think I should. I don't think you deserve to know about Christine. Now tell me, before I lose all patience with you. Why have you come back here? You hated – hate – this house as much as I do. Yet you live here. Why? Is your precious doctor dead? Your wonderful runaway marriage ruined?" Erik asked, venom returning to his voice.

Madeleine didn't seem to be able to speak. She closed her eyes tightly and looked down at her lap, as if hurt. It left Erik wondering what she had been expecting. He was merely repaying her with what she had given him all those years ago.

But it was Marie who spoke. "Erik ... your mother never left this house." It seemed to enrage him greatly, his eyes flaring up like fire as Marie continued. "There was no marriage. Dr. Barye went back to Paris a few weeks after you disappeared and your mother never saw him again. She never remarried. She lives here in this house alone ever since, only I visit her occasionally." Erik's eyes still didn't seem to soften, but Christine sensed a wave of relief pass through him.

"You… you've really returned, Erik." Madeleine said quietly. Right on cue, his eyes darted into her again. "After so long… I had hoped… I had dreamed… and now you are here… you are back… I thought I was going mad when I heard your voice downstairs…"

"Forgive me if I don't cry, Mother." Erik said dryly, "What were you hoping for? That I would rush into your embrace, like a dear little boy that misses his mother? God knows you didn't want to be called that when I was little, Mother! You see, I have this dreadful illness – I remember everything. And a happy reunion is somewhat hindered by the fact that when I came here, my deepest desire was to see this house burn."

Madeleine sprang to her feet with a strange energy – Marie didn't have the speed to stop her. She rushed to a cabinet in the corner, running through the papers she found within and tossing them out like a madwoman. She then rushed back to Erik, holding several papers in a shaking hand. "I… I have everything here. Everything, Erik. Everything you drew, everything you left behind when you… when you ran away." Christine gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth.

"Everything is to go to you when I die… and I will die…"

Erik closed his eyes for a moment. She looked almost like a madwoman, standing there, desperately trying to convince him to forgive, to stop haunting her, to remember that she was still his mother. But for him, his mother was a fantasy… always just a fantasy. And that was how he would remember her – through Christine, perhaps, he would remember.

"Poor Mother." He said finally, looking at her. "I pity you. But pity is all I have for you. I used to have more for you, but no longer. Pity is not love – I cannot love you as you couldn't love me." He stood up, taking Christine's arm. "This is the goodbye I should have given you years ago. Farewell, Mother. You are free. And I am, too." His eyes shifted to Marie. "Mademoiselle, take care of my mother in my absence. Christine." He turned to the pale girl at his side. "We can visit later, if you wish, but now, we leave."

Christine nodded, knowing that this choice was out of her hands and that objecting would do no good. "Very well, Erik." She didn't have the will to attempt a smile. "Au revoir, Madame, Mademoiselle." She said to the two women.

"If my wife wishes it, she will come again sometime to see how you are. Come, my dear." Firmly, but not fiercely, he led her towards the exit. Christine followed, exhaling when the door closed behind them. She heard a wail of despair from the house, but didn't dare turn around. Erik certainly didn't. Glancing at her, he brought a hand to her cheek and caressed it briefly. "Fear not, Christine. My mother has always been unable to throw anything away. She will live the remaining years of her life with the old papers. It will be better if I don't come to see her again."

"It was cruel of you, in a way." Christine said quietly, "All she wanted was that you would be a son to her."

"All I ever wanted from her was that she be a mother to me. She couldn't stand the sight of me, Christine. For my birthday, all I wanted was a kiss and what did I get? Screams, beatings…" Erik frowned, "No matter. It is in the past, it is over. Justice can be cruel."

Christine didn't know what to answer to that. It was almost midnight and they wanted to be back in Paris as soon as possible. She was slightly drowsy now, but Erik didn't mind the slightest that he was supporting her on the way to the carriage. She wasn't sleepy enough to dream that Raoul was standing meters away from them, however.

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AN: Cliffhanger! And the detail is: Madeleine is alive! In Kay, Erik arrives much later than here, two years later, and Madeleine is already dead.