The Perfect Solution

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

DISCLAIMER: I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in The Phantom of the Opera or Phantom, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

To E.

I have remembered beauty in the night,
Against black silences I waked to see
A shower of sunlight over Italy
And green Ravello dreaming on her height;
I have remembered music in the dark,
The clean swift brightness of a fugue of Bach's,
And running water singing on the rocks
When once in English woods I heard a lark.

But all remembered beauty is no more
Than a vague prelude to the thought of you –
You are the rarest soul I ever knew,
Lover of beauty, knightliest and best,
My thoughts seek you as waves that seek the shore,
And when I think of you, I am at rest.

Sara Teasdale

Chapter Forty-Eight – To E.

Erik murmured in Christine's ear.

"Are you quite all right, ma chéri? You look a bit pale."

She smiled and unconsciously brushed her hand across her abdomen.

"I am wonderful, mon amour. Just tired. Really."

"Well then, we cannot allow the greatest prima donna to ever grace the stage of an opera house to become overtired. Here, ma femme, allow me to escort you home."

"Merci, Monsieur." She smirked then grew serious. "Je t'aime, Erik. Je t'aime."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Seriously, Christine, what is the matter? You look pale and tired. I know it is not the opera. For the last fifteen months of preparations and rehearsals, you have been a bundle of inexhaustible energy. Are you ill, ma chéri? Should I call a physician?"

Christine smiled at the concern she saw on her husband's well-loved features. She turned around to face him from her seat in front of her dressing table and smiled gently. She held out her hands to Erik and he took them into his as he knelt before her.

"What is it?"

She drew his hands to her and placed them over her abdomen. Her eyes moved from staring into his and down to the place their hands covered then back up to his eyes. She shrugged ever so slightly and gave a mischievous smile. She watched as his eyes moved from their joined hands and back to hers. After the fifth time, he froze as his eyes met hers. His mouth moved silently and Christine began to frown.

"Erik?"

Her frown deepened as he continued to mumble soundlessly.

"Erik Destler!"

He jumped and then blinked slowly, his eyes returned to look at the spot covered by their hands.

"Erik, what were you saying just now? I need to know."

He raised wonder-filled eyes to hers and she relaxed.

"You are with child? We made a child. You and I made a child. You shall be a mother and I, a father. This is more than I could ever have dreamt possible! First, I marry the most beautiful woman in all the world. And, now, we will have a family. It is a miracle. Please! Tell me I am not dreaming!"

She smiled as her eyes began to fill with happy tears.

"You are not dreaming, mon mari. Of this, I am quite certain. You are not dreaming. God willing, we shall become parents in six month's time."

He leaned into her and covered her abdomen with wild kisses as she placed happy kisses on the top of his head. And, they both shed tears of joy.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Meg, I thought that the first dress they showed you was the best one. Do we really need to continue looking? I grow rather tired of looking at the svelte ladies modeling these dresses for you when I appear as large as one of those balloons Raoul likes to ride. I only wish I could float like a balloon instead of waddling along. No one ever told me that being pregnant in the summer was so uncomfortable. Meg, when you marry, never join with Raoul during winter. I cannot think of a more uncomfortable time to be with child than the summer!"

"Christine! Please! Keep your voice lowered. You are a scandal for me to associate with as it is. You should be in confinement and your refusal to hide away in your home is causing an uproar among the upper classes. You are the talk of the town. All of the ladies gossip how you and Erik went to the opera just last week and how you and I go out regularly for tea. I just know that you accompanying me here today is going to make tongues wag for at least a month. And, I absolutely love it."

The petite blonde giggled as she leaned in conspiratorially and whispered.

"Really, Christine! I heard the Comtessa d'Schiavon fainted when she heard you say you are pregnant. You did not really say that, did you?"

The girl giggled again and then she bit her lip as she looked about the salon to make certain no one overheard their conversation. Christine cast an indignant look at Meg.

"Of course I did. After all, that is what I am. I am pregnant. Very pregnant, I might add."

Meg looked at her friend and shook her head.

"Christine, you were so tiny before that until just recently, you only looked as if you had gained some weight. You never looked with child. You still do not."

The young mother-to-be rolled her eyes.

"Wonderful! I do not look pregnant. I just look fat. Remind me to give you the same support when you are expecting your first child, Meg. I am certain that you will find it as reassuring as I do."

"Oh, Christine! I am so sorry. I simply cannot seem to say anything right lately!" Meg moaned.

Christine shook her head and sighed.

"It is not your fault. I am so uncomfortable. It is so hot and the bébé kicks so much that I believe I shall give birth to an octopus!"

Meg gave a small shriek of outraged laughter.

"Really, Christine. The way you speak, I can imagine your words coming from the mouth of a man. You speak so plainly. What does Erik have to say about all of this?"

The dark-haired woman sighed again and then gave a pouting frown.

"He does not say much. Lately, he has taken to closeting himself away in the music room. He is composing. Seriously, though, Meg, Elaine and I have to threaten him with dire circumstances to make him come out and eat. Between the time he spends working at the firm and the time he spends composing, I barely see him and it just makes me even more aggravated. I just want this bébé born. I want to have done with it. I want to return to the opera house and sing. I guess I just miss Erik's attention."

The petite blonde placed a consoling hand on her friend's shoulder.

"You should tell Erik exactly what you just told me. He will listen. After all, he adores you, Christine. I am certain he does not realize how lonely you feel. Tell him."

"You are right, Meg. I shall tell him. I cannot expect him to read my mind."

"You say he is composing? What is he writing?"

"Oui. He is writing an opera entitled, "Don Juan Triumphant." From the sounds emanating from the music room, it seems a rather discordant and passionate piece of music. He told me that he wants to have it finished by the time I am ready to return to the stage."

Suddenly, Christine's eyes widened and she inhaled deeply.

"Christine! What is it?"

"Oh, no! I do believe the bébé is on the way. We need to get home!"

The blonde ballerina jumped up from her seat and began to rush about the salon.

"What do I do? Oh, my! What do I do?"

"Meg!"

Christine's calm voice broke through the panic, which had overtaken her friend.

"Call two hansoms, Meg. Send one for the midwife. The other is for us. We need to return home as quickly as possible." She paused and closed her eyes as she breathed slowly and deliberately. "Oh! And, tell the store manager that I do apologize for the chair's upholstery. They are to send me a bill for the damage. Oh, merde!" Another pause. "Meg … I think you had better hurry!"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

One hour and twenty-two minutes later, the sound of an infant's cry echoed throughout the Destler domicile. Erik rushed out of the music room and caught Raoul and Phillipe's eyes.

"How is it possible?"

Raoul shrugged his shoulders and Phillipe muttered.

"How am I supposed to know?"

Erik began to take the stairs two at a time, when a second wail resounded in an odd harmony with the first cry. The man slowed only slightly before resuming his mad dash for the master suite.

Raoul looked at his older brother.

"Twins?"

This time, Phillipe shrugged.

"It would seem to be the case. I thought twins ran in families …."

Raoul opened his mouth to reply when a third cry interrupted him.

"Mon Dieu! And, just how am I supposed to respond to that?" Raoul quipped.

"I do not know about you, but I do believe I could use another whiskey right about now."

Raoul chuckled as he nodded his agreement and added.

"And, pray that we do not have a quartet forming upstairs."

Phillipe ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head in disbelief.

"I always knew Erik never did anything by half measures, but triplets? Mon Dieu!"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Élise, Élodie and Émilie Destler were born divas. The girls were identical right down to the small birthmark each had on their left hips in the shape of a V. The proud parents dubbed the marks, "their angel wings." The girls inherited their father's green eyes, their grandfather's black hair and their mother's curls. All three girls had voices that their proud Papa said would make the angels weep.

And, at long last, with the birth of his daughters, Erik Destler's nightmares ceased. He no longer dreamed of the beaten and unloved boy, but of his hopes for the future with his wife and children.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Now, forty years after the night of his fateful trip to the opera house with Raoul and Phillipe, Erik Destler was the retired proprietor of Destler Design and current honorary manager of the Opera Populaire. Erik and Christine Destler had graced the stage for many years as the most charismatic couple ever known to perform in the world of opera. Erik's first opera, "Don Juan Triumphant," opened to praise for its originality and haunting blend of music and vocal performances. The public and press received the dozen or so operas that followed with equal enthusiasm and rave reviews.

Erik Destler had a prestigious reputation and wealth. He had all a man could ever want. He had everything he had ever dreamed of having, including the two little things he never thought he would.

Love and music.

And every morning he awoke from his dreams to find that the truth of his life far surpassed the mundaneness of his dreams as he gazed upon the face of his beloved wife.

He lived in a home filled with love and the sounds of music.

He found it was driving him mad … with joy.

And, he decided that this glorious madness was one that he would enjoy until his dying day.

Author's Note: Please do not scream about Meg and Raoul or Madame and Phillipe, let your imaginations wander and fill in the blanks. This is, after all, a fiction about Erik and Christine. Final chapter goes up on Sunday. I began this story on March 19, 2007 and posting the final chapter exactly five months to the day later seems somehow very appropriate and very satisfying for someone with OCD.

Please read, review and ENJOY! --ny