Here is chapter two
He watched his son's every move; he had gotten better at hand-to-hand combat.
"Now, Christopher. Remember what I taught you." He suggested, moving closer to the boy.
"I remember, papa. Never talk to your opponent." He said, kicking his father's leg out from under him.
"Good, Christopher." He complemented, reaching out his hand. Christopher took it; Erik pulled him down beside him.
"You forgot another keen rule." He said, standing up. "Yes, I know. Never trust your opponent." Christopher jested, also standing up. He dusted himself off, and fixed his hair; he then straightened his mask.
"You're getting better, Christopher." Erik commented, patting his son's shoulder.
"Thank you, papa." He replied, smiling at the older man. They looked up; someone was up in the opera house.
"Let me take them," Christopher begged, "Please." Erik nodded, and waved him away; he smiled and hurried up the stairs.
He draped his cloak over his shoulder, and placed his sword on his belt in record time. He hurried down the secret passageway to the dressing room mirror; he slid it open softly, it had grown rusty and squeaked every time he opened it. He tiptoed down the hall to the back stage, and looked for his prey. Two people, a man and a woman, dressed in very elegant clothing; he smiled his wicked smile. He drew his sword and climbed to the pillars above; he followed their moves.
"What if he's not here, Raoul?" he heard the woman ask, hugging the man's arm.
"He'll be here, my dear. This is his home." He answered, smiling down at her. Christopher jumped down behind them, making them jump, but he stayed in the shadows so they couldn't see him until he wanted them to.
"May I help you, Monsieur, Mademoiselle?" he asked, walking out behind them; they turned to stare at him.
"It's not polite to stare, Monsieur." He said, glaring at the man who was gawking at his face.
Raoul stared at the boy who seemed to only be thirteen years old, but he seemed to be more mature then most children his age.
"What is your name, child?" the woman asked, smiling at him weakly. Christopher's temper boiled, how dare she call him a child.
"I am not a child, Mademoiselle. And how dare you insult me in such a manner." He yelled, tears starting to stream down his face; he felt them under his mask.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you so. I just want to know your name." She apologized, taking a step toward him.
"Christopher Willard Destler." He replied, wiping the tears away. She gasped; Erik's last name was Destler.
"You wouldn't happen to be related to Erik Destler, now would you?" she asked, walking back beside her husband. The boy smiled a wicked grin, that reminded her so much of her old music teacher.
"Yes, mademoiselle. He is my father." He snapped, replacing his sword.
"Your father is the phantom?" Raoul asked, standing behind his wife.
"Do you have a problem with that?" Christopher asked, glaring at him.
"I would like to see your father, Chris." The woman suggested, smiling at him.
"It's Christopher, Mademoiselle." He snapped, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
"Please, Christopher. I'm begging you to take me to your father." She begged, pleading at him with her soft brown eyes.
"Alright, but I better not get in any trouble." He said, turning to walk away. They followed him silently. They followed him down the same passage he had used before.
"Papa, we have guest. They say they know you." He shouted as he walked out into the underground palace. His father looked up from the organ; removing his fingers from the keys.
"I don't know anyone, Christopher." He said, looking over at his son.
"I don't know them." He replied, shaking his head and moving out of the way. His father stood up, staring at the woman, his mouth open wide.
"Christine." He muttered, walking toward them.
"Hello, Erik. It's good to see you again." She said, smiling shyly at him.
"Papa, I need to talk to you now." Christopher whispered in his father's ear.
"Later, Christopher." He replied, not looking away from the woman.
"No, now, papa." He snapped back.
"Later, Christopher. Go to your room." He ordered, pointing toward his room.
"No, I want to talk to you now." Christopher snapped, his face turning red.
"Christopher Willard Destler, go to your room, we will talk later. And don't you ever get that tone with me again." Erik scolded. Tears started streaming down his son's face. Christopher glared at him then ran to his room; Christine saw tears in Erik's eyes.
"You've never scolded him before, have you?" she asked, walking over to him.
"I've never had a reason to." He answered, wiping the tears away.
"He's a lot like you, same temper and everything." She commented.
"Thank you." He replied, smiling at her.
"Where's your husband?" he asked, wiping his eyes again.
"Probably went looking for our son, Ronald." She said; he laughed coldly.
"What's so funny?" she asked. "Your son, Ronald. What about your other son, Christopher?" he snapped, all of suddenly his temper boiling over.
"Please, Erik. Calm down, I've come to see you and Christopher." She informed, taking a step back. Beautiful violin music suddenly filled the cave; it was dark, and tragic.
"He's upset." Erik muttered, lowering his head.
"He is like you, you can tell his mood by his music." She commented, smiling again. Then there was a loud noise coming from Christopher's room.
"What was that?" she asked, looking at him.
"He's escaping," Erik, answered, running to his room, "He's gone." He said, searching the bedroom.
"Where could he have gone?" Christine asked, standing behind him; she looked the room. There were sheets of music all over the floor and pinned up on the wall; Erik picked up the violin and placed it on the bed.
"What do we do?" she asked, picking up the violin bow and sitting it on the dresser.
"What do you mean we?" he snapped, turning around to look at her, the angry was back and so were the tears.
"He's my son as well." She replied, taking a step toward him.
"What about the last thirteen years, Christine?" He bellowed, grabbing her and shaking her, "hum, where were you when he said his first word, or when he took his first step, where were you on his fifth birthday." He snapped, shaking her harder.
"Let her go, Erik." Rauol ordered, walking into the room; Erik saw a young boy standing behind his father's legs.
"Hello, Rauol. Came to finish me off." He snapped, letting go of Christine.
"No, Erik. I haven't." he snapped back, glaring back at him.
"Just leave, Christine and take your Vicomte with you." Erik ordered, pushing her toward Raoul.
"I want to help look for him." She explained, turning to look at him.
"I'll look for him just like the other times, alone," He growled, walking toward her, "Now, go!"
Raoul took her by the arm and dragged out of the bedroom, leaving Erik alone.
"We better just go, I knew this was a bad idea." Raoul said, pulling her and their son down the secret passage way.
"He hasn't changed, has he?" Christine muttered, looking back.
"No, he hasn't, still rude selfish Erik." He replied.
"He's not selfish, just protective." She said, smiling at him.