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Pertie – In some respects, you are very close with your "predictions", but all is not ready to be revealed yet!

Gerardphantomhot, iloveerikS2, jtbwriter, Mlle.Fox, OperaLover, Pertie, PhantomLover05, Terpsichore314, Tink20, Twinkle22, and UsaGoddess – You guys are my regular reviewers and go with me through most of my stories, I love you wonderful ladies – thank for sticking with me.

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BEYOND THE SHADOWS

CHAPTER 7

They had agreed to play seven games; of which, Christine won four and Erik won three. He sat, in utter shock, replaying each game in his head. Rebekah came out carrying two tall glasses of lemonade, and gave Christine a wink.

They had all gathered around to watch the tennis match, and they were impressed with Christine's abilities, especially since Erik was a gifted tennis player. Nadeesh had observed that Erik seemed distracted by the perfect, female specimen running on the opposite court from him.

"You were doomed, my man….doomed." Nadeesh stated with a grin and he walked behind Erik and nudged him on the shoulder.

Erik just stared, in numb bemusement, as Nadeesh lightly laughed at him. "If it's any consolation - that is the worst I have ever seen you play."

Erik lifted seething eyes to his brother-in-law, "Thank you Nadeesh, you're loads of help."

Nadeesh leaned over to Erik and whispered, once again grinning sheepishly, "I wonder how badly you would have played if she had been wearing one of those skimpy little tennis skirts and a sleeveless shirt."

Erik buried his head in his arms and groaned, he had been certain he could win…but he hadn't counted on the effect her female form would have on him.

Sachin came bounding out of the house and jumped into Erik's lap. "Uncle Erik, you lost…how did you do that…and to a girl?"

Erik smiled at his seven-year-old nephew. The boy was going to be a heartbreaker that was for sure. He had a head full of curly black hair, equally black eyes, and olive skin – compliments of his father; but he had Rebekah's fine features and bone structure.

"Someday, Sachin…you will understand that a man loses many things to a woman." Erik remarked.

Sachin rolled his eyes, not having hit that 'crazy-about-girls' stage yet. Erik rustled his hair and watched as Christine came to sit beside him. She had heard his words and had seen the fleeting look of sadness in his eyes.

"Run along, Sachin…Ms. Daae and I have some unfinished business to tend to." He said, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

Erik watched as his nephew ran off and played with his father; a strange, distant smile graced his features as Christine sat down across from him.

"He's a delightful boy." Christine observed.

Erik looked at her with pained eyes, "Yes, he is…one day, this will all be his."

His tone was mournful and full of regret. Christine watched as the deepest loneliness she had ever seen settled on Erik's features.

"Isn't that an honor that should be reserved for your own son?" She asked.

The minute he looked at her, Christine knew what he was going to say, she could hear the self-loathing in his voice every time he spoke. His features changed and the aloof stranger once again took over.

The scoff that came from him was very loud and pronounced, and his smile was humorless.

"Look at me…" he demanded, his tone scathing and hard, "…do I look like what a woman would want in a husband or father?"

He was suddenly very upset and Christine could tell that he thought himself beyond the love of a woman. Rebekah had hinted to her that if he never had to look in a mirror, he wouldn't…he hated his own reflection.

Christine furrowed her brow and replied, more to herself than anyone, "Thankfully, not all women have the same taste in men." She watched him fidget in his chair and rub his jaw…he was mildly agitated. "You certainly have a temper, don't you?" She jested, trying to lighten the mood.

He examined her with narrowed eyes and a hard mouth, "Only when provoked." He said, bluntly.

There was a slight smile playing about her lips, he was easy to read; his emotions were visible in the depth of his arresting eyes and the lines of his handsome features.

The next question was probably going to make him upset also, but she kind of liked getting his ire up…it made his eyes dance in pools of jade.

"Why do you shut yourself off from the world, Mr. St. Clair? It appears to me, that you have a great deal to offer it."

She watched his face after she asked the question; he was trying frantically not to become upset as he thought about his answer.

"Are you so obtuse and blind that you cannot see why I remain as far away from people as I can?" His controlled fury was boiling just under the surface of every word he said. "I learned the hard way…years ago…that people are generally fearful of creatures that look like me."

Christine cringed at his use of "creature" in reference to himself. "That's absurd, Mr. St. Clair…you may have had some bad experiences with some, but not all people are that way."

Erik scoffed at her observation, "What would you know about it, Ms. Daae?" His tone was condescending and full of acid, "You, with your irrefutable beauty, keen intelligence, and intense charisma; you know nothing of my plight."

Christine was taken slightly aback by his acidic tone, but he had paid her three sideways compliments with his rough words. She had already deduced that the insecurities he felt about his looks, manifested themselves through his words. He tried to push people away with his egotistical attitude, hoping they would not look too closely and see that it was all an act.

Christine would not be swayed; she had a feeling he was worth it. She grinned at him, an action that caused him even more irritation. She had no fear…no fear of him, whatsoever; in fact, she seemed to enjoy his outbursts.

"Now, now, Mr. St. Clair…are you just a little perturbed that you lost four out of seven games of tennis…or are you more upset at having lost to a woman?" Christine asked, trying to give her most sincere look.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It would not do to blow up at this woman; she seemed intent on getting under his skin. Erik had never meant anyone like her. Her insistence upon using formality was grating on his nerves, also.

"That doesn't even warrant a response." He riposted. He glared at her; examining her features with scrutiny and appreciation. If nothing else, he would enjoy looking at her, "Do you want this interview, or not?" he asked impatiently.

Meg had come out to watch the tennis match, and she got her first good look at this "phantom" billionaire. She liked what she saw. She could feel the sparks of verbal bantering in the air, and knew that Christine was working her magic.

Erik stood up as she approached the table, an action that was not lost on Christine. 'He is a gentleman, even when he's rattled.' She thought.

"Hi there, handsome, I'm Christine's assistant and best friend, Meg Giry."

Erik frowned at her compliment, but flashed a smile that he had no idea caused a set of hearts to speed up. He pulled the chair out for her to sit down and introduced himself, "Erik St. Clair…It's a privilege to meet you, Ms. Giry."

They shook hands and Meg sat down. She had her note pad and pencil ready, looked at Christine, and smiled.

Christine focused her attention on Erik, "Mr. St. Clair, first of all, I'm curious as to why you have granted me the opportunity that so many others before me were not granted?"

Erik smiled slightly before answering, "I have been following your career for several years now. Your elemental and thought provoking articles captured me from the very beginning." He dared a look into those deep, blue eyes, "You cover the tragic realities of life all over the globe, and put them into prospective…especially for the cynic, like me."

He smiled once again; this time, showing a row of straight, white teeth. It took Christine's breath away, "Your writing is almost musical in its style." He stated.

Christine inclined her head, wondering what it was he was getting at.

Erik caught the baffled look on her face and expounded, "We hear and comprehend music on a different level than regular conversation. The simplest of concepts can be miraculously transformed into complex thought on the strands of a song."

His words captivated her, she had never heard her writing complimented in such a beautiful way.

"In short, I felt that your interpretation of my story would be the most accurate and truthful." He looked downward, at his entwined fingers, "I do apologize for my moodiness and short temper; my sisters are trying to 'make me a better person'," he put his hands up and made the quotation sign with his fingers, "…but I am afraid it is inherited from my mother's Irish background."

Christine inclined her head, accepting his apology. His mother was a subject that Christine intended to discuss, but his dropped eyes and lowered tone, told her that it was a depressing subject.

"Abigail Barnhouse seems to think that you have a story worth telling." Christine injected.

Erik raised his stormy eyes to her, "Abigail…" his mind seemed far away, and the tone of his voice was soft and wayward, "Abigail never ceases to amaze me."

Christine saw something hidden in those green eyes that pricked her curiosity. There was more to this story than he was letting her know. He had been pursued by others, but never allowed them to find him…why her?

Christine raised a brow as she stated the obvious. "I only found you because you wanted to be found, didn't I?" She asked.

Erik smiled and shook his head, "Correction, I wanted to by found, by you. I am adept at avoiding humanity and all it's constraints; you found me because I willed it." He raised a brow, but his voice was slightly perturbed, "I am sure that the $500,000.00 commission you have waiting for you, will make your time with me worth while; and I'll give you your money's worth."

"I am not doing this for the money, Mr. St. Clair." Christine emphasized, hurt by his assumption. "This was never about money."

"Then why?" he asked, not fully certain he believed her.

"The challenge of finding a man whose very existence was in doubt; and then upon finding out he did exist, finding that he supposedly gives away half of what he makes to charities and other humanitarian efforts…but he also distances himself so far away from the human race, it's as though he doesn't consider himself one of us." She replied. "That's why."

Erik said nothing; but instead, sat there with an infuriatingly devilish look in his eyes. He had allowed himself to be more vulnerable than he had ever been before…it was unfamiliar ground and his discomfort was mounting by the minute.

"Next question." He stated flatly.

"Where were you born?"

"Elizabethtown, New York…upstate in Essex County."

"When were you born?"

"April 9, 1975…I will turn thirty-one in a couple of weeks."

Christine smiled, trying to lighten the mood, "So you will." She tucked that knowledge away for future use. "Where did you attend school?" She was honing in for the kill.

Erik had expected a few questions about his mask by this point. He wondered if she was as uncomfortable at the horror it hid as he was.

"I attended one school until I was ten." He stated.

"What happened at ten?" Christine asked; her nerves were jumping in anticipation of his answer.

"I ran away." His tone was flat and undaunted.

"Ran away?" Christine asked, wanting him to elaborate. This was not something she had expected to hear.

"Yes…I ran away from my father and hid in the mountains of upstate New York." He did not want to make eye contact, thinking her expression would be one of shocked horror.

"What happened to your mother?" Christine asked, almost dreading the answer.

His eyes misted over and he dropped them for her gaze; he wasn't sure he wanted to tell this story, but he knew it had to be done.

"Tell me about it." Christine whispered, feeling the torment that poured from him.

"The first couple of years that I can recall were wonderful." Erik smiled. "My dad meant my mother through the hometown paper she worked for…she was a journalist, also." Erik stated, looking Christine in the eye. "They fell in love quickly and married within a month of meeting."

He swallowed hard and continued, "Shortly after I was born, my father started using heroine and other hard drugs." Erik tried not to look at her; not sure he wanted to see the look in her eyes.

"I don't know when he started beating my mother…I just remember that he always did. I was about four when he started beating me." Erik could feel the constricting fury in his chest, "My mother would never cry out or beg for mercy…until he started beating me."

Christine watched as one lonely tear eased down his sculptured cheek, "One night, my mother decided she'd had enough…" his voice was wavering, "…she found his hand gun and fired at him – she missed." He paused, as more tears flowed, "My father backhanded her, grabbed the gun, and then he aimed it at her."

At this time, Erik lifted his misty, sea foam colored eyes to Christine, what she saw in their depths made her long to cradle him in her arms, "He moved the gun from my mother and aimed it at me. Mother tried to wrestle it out of his hands, and in the process, the gun went off."

Christine gasped and then realized his intentions. She had never intended for him to become so vulnerable for her.

He reached up and removed the mask, exposing the ghastly, mauled flesh of his right cheek. He sat there with his eyes slammed shut and his breathing strained. Christine gasped as her hand went to her mouth, she had forgotten how truly disturbing the right side of his face was.

"The bullet molested the right side of my face…tore through my cheek bone and muscles, and finally imbedded in the back of my cerebellum; where it remains to this day."

He sat quietly for a moment, giving Christine a chance to collect her thoughts, "He left me on the floor, and dealt with my mother who was screaming in hysteria. He beat her until she moved no more and then picked me up and took me to his doctor; a man that was even more twisted and evil than my father."

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and swallowing the nausea that threatened to overtake him, "To this day, I don't know why he bothered to save me."

The tone of his voice resembled a hurting little boy and Christine felt the tears prick her eyes.

"The doctor used what means he had, but ended up cauterizing the wound to keep out infection. I remember being somewhere between heaven and hell as he worked on me – I could see the looks of disgust on my father's face and the doctor's face." Erik closed his eyes to the image, but it would not desert him.

"The smell of my own burning flesh was horrifying, to say the least." His sardonic smile was full of hatred and malice, "It took me several months to heal to the point that I could start school…my father began the abusing again, just as soon as I was strong enough to put up a fight."

He dropped his eyes and Christine saw tears dropping onto his hands, "I never saw my mother again."

Christine was speechless; there were no words that would ease the pain of his childhood, and she knew it. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and sooth the anguish that was so much a part of him.

"The bullet…does it cause you problems?" Christine could barely ask the question without crying.

Erik hesitated; he did not want this woman's sympathy or pity…he wanted this whole thing over with as soon as possible.

"I have some problems…yes." Was all he said.

Christine gulped back the bile that had crept into her throat after hearing about his father's abuse. She knew he had to have serious problems with the bullet still imbedded, but she focused her eyes on Erik, not flinching away from him as he sat there without his mask.

He was hiding again…behind a mask of indifference and self-loathing. Christine sighed and asked the next question. "You said you ran away at ten…what happened between your mother leaving and the summer that you ran away?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders, "I survived." He smirked sadly, "Not an easy task."

"Did your father continue to beat you?" Christine was not certain she wanted to hear anymore about his abuse, but it was vital to understanding him.

Erik reluctantly nodded, "Yes, but the abuse took on a mental avenue…he verbally degraded and berated me, day in and day out, until I began to believe everything he said about me." His eyes were distant and cold, "By this time, I had started school and he didn't want the teachers growing suspicious of physical marks on me, so he changed his methods."

Christine saw the opportunity to steer the conversation toward a place where she could tell him how they knew each other.

"Where did you go to school?" She asked.

Erik thought the question was rather odd, but he answered, "A small community outside of Mt. Vernon, New York…in Westchester County." He looked over at Rebekah and Rachel as they came to listen. "My father had moved there after leaving my mother, hoping to hide away in a small community and not draw any attention to us."

Christine allowed a smile to cross her wearied features, "I went to elementary school at Charles Stokes Elementary School, just outside of Mt. Vernon…."

Erik cocked his head to the right and a look of interest covered his features, "That's where you know me from?"

Christine nodded.

"I attended that school for four years, and never made a friend; the teachers tolerated me, but my mask intimidated them." Erik stated, wearily. "I was hated and feared."

"Why did you wear a full mask?" Christine asked, curious to know why.

Erik stared at her, trying to discern where she knew him from, "I was all I had at the time, and easy put on and take off; and besides, it did not matter that one half was fine, all they saw was the mutilated side."

Christine hung her head in shame…she remembered seeing him off by himself all the time; no one ever talked to him or tried to get to know him. He must have been very lonely.

"You were my hero, Erik." Christine finally offered.

His look was priceless. He frowned at her with such doubt in his eyes, that Christine almost laughed the absurd way he was regarding her.

"You helped a young girl who was being teased unmercifully You picked up my books and handed them to me after the boys that had been teasing me knocked them out of my arms." She dropped her eyes, ashamed of the next part, "Those same boys than started mocking me and saying you and I were boyfriend/girlfriend…" She drifted off as his eyes meant hers.

Erik's entire demeanor changed. His face hardened, and his eyes flared with long forgotten images. Christine saw the uncertainty behind his stoic gaze.

"Chrissie and the Devil's Child." He murmured, recalling the incident.

Christine swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat, "I got angry and turned on you…I pushed you to the ground and ripped the mask off your face." She looked away, unable to look him in the eye as she sobbed. "And then those boys beat you…viciously."

Rage, hot and dangerous, raced through him. He closed his angry eyes, and willed his nerves to calm. 'She was only a child…and she knew no better.' He told himself, and the more he said it in his mind, the more calm he became.

He reached over and put his mask back on; once again feeling like a semi-normal person. Christine watched the action, and knew he was attempting to hide from her.

"That is ancient history." She heard him say.

His tone was reserved and distant, not like it had been before. She lifted her eyes to him and noticed that he had shifted his body to a rigid, standoffish position.

"I am so ashamed of the way I acted…I never told my father…it would have broken his heart." She whispered. "Can you forgive me?"

He looked deep into her beautiful eyes, and knew he would not hold this against her…it had been too long.

"There is nothing to forgive, it was long ago." He stated, smoothly.

"But I caused you such pain…a bleeding nose, a broken lip…bruises everywhere; a concussion…" She began to say.

His words came out more abrupt than he intended, "Yes, and five broken ribs…but I survived…and the beatings made me stronger."

He started to rise up out of the chair; anguish and disquietude were evident in every move he made.

"Please…" Christine pleaded.

Erik stopped his retreat and hung his head. He had no desire to continue with this knowing that she was mocking him behind her cool, controlled façade.

"Let me in." He heard her mutter, barely audible to his acute hearing.

He slowly turned and looked at her. She only had a look of earnest curiosity and concern on her face; there was no duplicity or fear in her eyes, just genuine inquisitiveness.

"Why should I?" He whispered.

Christine stood up and approached him. She noticed how he began to subconsciously back away from her, unsure of her intent.

She refrained from reaching out to him, knowing that he would only recoil, "Because you long for someone to know you Erik…really know you." She pleaded with him through her eyes, "Someone who doesn't pity you…someone whose interest stems from friendship, or something deeper." She lowered her tone slightly as she spoke the next phrase. "For too long you have buried yourself in a tomb of self inflicted loneliness and loathing…and it has to come to an end."

She smiled radiantly up at him; noticing, again, how tall and strongly built he was. "There's no reason for this prison you reside in." He grimaced at her use of that adjective. "Yes, the right side of your face is hard to look at, but that does not change who you are, or the fact that the other two-thirds of your face, not to mention your body…is resplendent."

She could tell by the look on his face that he did not believe her, "I don't think you have been told that enough – at least not by women who aren't related to you."

Christine blushed slightly as the words came out of her mouth. She had not meant to insinuate any feelings she may have toward him; although, if he thought that was what she was doing, he did not indicate it.

Erik relaxed his rigid stance, moved back into his chair, and sat down. She had his undivided attention. She appeared to be genuinely interested in his story.

"Next question." He finally said, gracing her with a breathtaking smile.

"How did you find your sisters?"

TBC