I don't own any of these characters
She watched as he played. He was magnificent, never missing a note or fumbling. He was tall, like his father. His fingers were long amd graceful as they moved across the keys, barely touching them. She couldn't see his face, but she knew what it looked like. His dark hair was slicked back and formal. He was dressed in black pants in a white, loose, long sleeve shirt. He had become a great man, without her help. She kept to the shadows, but still moved to get closer.
"I know you are there, even though I don't know who you are." He informed, still playing. She walked out of the shadows, but said nothing. He finally turned and stared at her. A white mask covered his deformity well, only allowing the part of his face that was untouched, to be seen.
"Do I know you, Mademoiselle?" he asked. His voice was still angelic, just as it had been.
"It does not surprise me that you do not remember me." She replied, smiling weakly. He cocked his eyebrow; confused.
"I have finally confused you. I could never do that when you were young. But you always confused me, especially when you were a baby." She said. His eyes widened as he finally realized, who stood before him.
"Mother?" he whispered, not moving from the organ bench. She nodded as silent tears caressed her cheeks. He stood up and took a few steps back from her.
"Please, don't run, Erik. I mean you know harm." She pleaded, reaching out to him.
Suddenly, a look crept across his face, that she could still remember from when he was younger, right before he had one of his rage tantrums.
"Mean me no harm? Did you mean me no harm when you sold to that circus? Did you mean me no harm when you locked me in the attic, all alone, just because you couldn't stand to look at me?" he shouted, his hands clenching into fists.
"Please, Erik. I've come to apologize." She explained, putting her hand down.
'I don't want your apology, Mother." He spat, cringing at saying the word 'mother'.
"All I ever wanted was your love, something I should have never had to ask you for." He shouted, his face turning red.
"Please, Erik Give me another chance!" she begged. He shook his head.
"No. Now, get out!" he shouted, turning away from her.
"Please, Erik. I'm sorry for what I did to you. You didn't deserve it. Please!" she cried. He laughed harshly as she cried.
"I said leave!" he shouted, turning to glare at her. She bowed her head.
"I blame myself." She whispered, not knowing he had heard her.
"For what? What have you done?" he snapped, not looking at her.
"For your horrible life and your incapability to forgive." She replied. He snickered softly.
"Leave, now." He said again, this time softer.
"Come with me." Se whispered, hoping he would agree; but knowing he probably wouldn't.
"No." he snapped. She nodded and turned to leave. She had tried to mend her relationship with him; but maybe, she was doing it to rid herself of her guilt.
Suddenly, she heard something crash to the floor. She listened until everything was silent. She thought he would have thrown more things. She had this feeling, deep down in her gut; something was wrong.
"Erik?" she called, walking back in the organ room. She couldn't see him at first.
"Maman!" she heard him call. He sounded like he was only four or five years old.
"Erik, where are you?" she called again. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, by the organ; where he had been standing only a few seconds before. He was lying on the floor, crawling toward a near-by chair.
"Erik!" she shouted, running to him. He was clenching his chest and he was pale.
"It hurts, Maman." He sobbed; tears streaming down his face. She shook her head as she caressed his cheek softly.
"It's going to be alright, Erik. I'm here." She whispered, moving closer to him. She easily sees that he had inherited his father's heart condition. His breathing was labored and his chest rose quickly.
"Is this the first time, Erik?" she asked. He shook his head, no. There had been many other times. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead and then on the cheek.
He would have been shocked if he hadn't been in such pain.
"We need to get you into bed." She suggested. She wrapped his arm around his neck and helped him stand up. She half dragged, half carried him to the bed in the next room. He was covered wit sweat and the attack didn't seem to be letting up. She propped his head up on the pillow as stroked his hair back out of his face. He licked his chap lips as he clenched his chest. None of the other attacks had ever lasted this long. She never left him; she sat there, stroking his hair and face.
"It's going to be alright, Erik. It'll be over soon." She kept saying, holding his hand. Soon, the pain subsided into a dull ache. He suddenly felt tired as he lay there, trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes as his head went limp on the pillow.
At first, I thought he was dead; but then I saw the rise and fall of his chest and I relaxed. I pulled the blanket, which was at the end of bed, up around his shoulders. He didn't stir; he was pale and drenched with sweat. I didn't let go of his hand as he slept. I had decided that I was going to stay as I watched him fight for his life, just like his father had when he had been alive. I wouldn't leave my son to suffer alone, any longer. I stood up when he did not awake and decided to go exploring. His home was amazing, which didn't surprise me. Even when he was just a little boy, he had always wanted the best, nothing else would do. I would see that, that hadn't changed. I could also see that he was still a magnificent artist, by the drawings that were on the wall, by a desk. They were all of one young woman; she was a pretty little thing.
I ran my fingers softly over the organ keys, so not to press down on them. Erik shouting from the bedroom interrupted me.
"Sasha!" he cried, tossing his head furiously. I took his hand, hoping to calm him.
"No, Maman. Don't put Sasha out. I'll be good, I promise!" he shouted again, gripping my hand tightly. I stroked his cheek as he fought the nightmare.
"I won't put her out, Erik. She can stay inside." I whisper in his ear, hoping it would work. He calmed down at the sound of my voice. I stand up quickly, and start searching for a washroom. When I finally found it, I soaked a cloth in a bowl of water and then hurried back to him. I lay the cloth on his forehead, thinking it would help his fever. I sit down in a chair and lean back as I watched him sleep. I soon dozed off, wondering what would happen once he woke up.