My precious Erik,

I cannot live in the dark. I cannot hide. I want to live with you in the light, and raise my babies in the sunshine. I have never been ashamed of you, and you have nothing to be ashamed of.

You said you would do anything for me, but I asked you to return to the light, and you could not. I do not blame you, and I am not angry. I grieve, I grieve, Erik. I know what you will say: that you asked me to stay with you in your castle, and I could not. So here we are, my dear love.

When I left you, I gave up everything I adored in this world, and I was not strong enough to do it alone. That is why I have gone with Raoul. He is a very good man. He will care for me and my babies. I love him enough to make a good marriage. He deserves much more, but he tells me he will be satisfied with the life we will have together.

Erik, all that remains is for you and me to forgive each other. I have forgiven you everything. Please, forgive me.

Think of me fondly.

Always, your
Christine

I read Mother's letter over and over again. I couldn't stop thinking about them–Christine and Erik, desperately in love. She wouldn't live under the Opera House, and he wouldn't live above ground, so she left him. It was heartbreaking, and for my father, too. He knew, and he accepted what Mother could give him.

Mother said she was never ashamed of Erik, and that he had nothing to be ashamed of. It was the strangest feeling to read those words; I remember Mother saying the same thing to me. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Gaston. I have never been ashamed of you." Mother seemed to suggest that it was Erik's shame which kept him underground. Since the murders at the Opera House, I could see why he would hide. But Father said he'd always been an eccentric recluse. Why? What was he ashamed of?

I had Erik's letter. I could meet him and ask my questions–different questions than I'd originally had--if I could still bear to. I felt ashamed of having read the letter; rather, I felt ashamed to face Erik, and having him know that I'd read the letter. It was like watching lovers.

I went home and sat with my knowledge.

-0-0-0-0-

The Comte and Comtesse de Chagny returned home looking happy together, if surprisingly well-rested. They were not home two days before the blushing bride tracked me down. She brought me up short around the side of my little house–and Mignonette right inside! Not good; I had to establish some ground rules before we both perished. I had hoped that she'd come back hopelessly devoted to Raoul, but that apparently was not the case.

"Simone, not like this," I hissed. "Go to the stable and wait, for God's sake."

She all but attacked me when I walked in the door. I pulled her into a clean, empty stall and knelt down to give us at least a chance of escaping undiscovered. Her arms took a death grip on my neck and she attacked my mouth. Little skinny thing knocked me off balance and fell on top of me, stuck her tongue damn near down my throat.

"Simone, Simone, wait, Sweetheart. What about your husband?"

"Gaston…" She was coming out of her corset and blouse and tugging at my shirt. She bent down to kiss me again and straddled my hips, making suggestions with her movements. What was I supposed to do? I slid my hands up under her skirts; nothing to impede my progress. The naughty girl had planned ahead. She loosened my trousers, fished my prick out, and made blissful sounds as she gave it a good yank. Either she was a girl who just naturally loved a good shag or I needed to have more respect for Raoul, I was not sure which. Yet.

Simone was not interested in wasting time discussing her wedding trip. Very limber skinny girl, she planted her feet flat on either side of my hips, and just squatted right down on the thing. Amazing view, marvelous; I watched her get me all slick and juicy. She leaned back and rested her hands on my legs; it was an odd sensation to feel myself bent the wrong way. I grabbed her hips to prevent her going too wild like that. Didn't want to come to any grief. After grinding against me in delicious slow circles, she leaned forward again, bouncing and squealing. What is it with me and the noisy ones? I shoved a couple fingers in her mouth.

"Wait, wait, Simone," I suggested. "Hop off–it's alright, promise. Turn around, hands and knees, Sweetheart." I slithered in like a bad dog and reached around to give her a little help up front. It didn't seem particularly necessary, judging from her meowing, but I try to be considerate, even as I'm abusing my newlywed stepmother in a barn stall.

We were ungodly noisy. If there was anyone even passing the stable, we were discovered. In addition to all the vocals, there was the furious slapping sound as I pulled her back toward me even as I slammed into her. She wriggled and fussed to let me know that she wanted to finish with me on top. Fine; that was accomplished acrobatically and we were back at it. Her feet in the air, nails digging into my ass; heavenly, she was a mad cunt. When she got her end off, she bit the hell out of my shoulder; alright, at least it kept her quiet. Can't imagine Raoul with a screamer; he's such a tidy fellow–but that's what comes of being a good boy, you never know what you're getting until it's too late.

I shot my brains out, I was sure of it. It went all over the stall--because pulling out is better than nothing–and the Comtesse applauded with glee as if it was a fireworks display. No more of that; next time I would be better prepared, since I knew what she was up to, and bring a packet of caution with me.

We dressed and helped each other get all the straw off. While that was going on, I established some ground rules about her walking up to the front door and asking if I could come out and play. She swore that she'd be more careful, but that she'd been dying for me since you-know-when; it just wasn't the same with Raoul. Ah, yes, well, you may be my father's wife, but I don't want to hear about my father, thanks. We agreed to have a chat near the end of the week and see what sort of schedule developed, and made a staggered exit from the stable.

-0-0-0-0-

I brooded and drank a lot of cognac. For a change, Mignonette left me alone. She asked me if I'd found anything; I said I didn't want to talk about it, and she let me sulk. I suppose she knew I'd talk eventually.

I didn't know what to think about Mother anymore. She was everything to me, and yet…what she'd done to Raoul. How did I reconcile that with the woman I knew? Anyway, if it was alright with Father, why should I care?

As I sunk deeper into my mood, I got cynical again. Cynical about Mother, cynical about myself, cynical about life. Condemning my mother for her treatment of my father, while I was meeting his wife almost weekly for…anything. I went to Paris, lost money, won money, bought women, stayed drunk, got into fights, got arrested, beat up policemen, staggered home when I was exhausted. Mignonette put me to bed long enough to revive me; then the harangue began, and I ran away again. My only joy was my fat happy baby. He loved me like Lucie did, and I was determined to love him as Mother had loved me.

It was because of Chretien that I sobered up again. I awoke from a major debauch with no memory of having come home and the boy was passed out asleep, drooling all over my chest. I enjoyed his comfortable weight on me. His curls looked like his grandmother's, but his eyes were Lucie's. Sound asleep though he was, I had the urge to sing to him. When I paused I noticed that Mignonette was watching from the door. I braced myself for her onslaught, but she just gave a little smile and walked away.

It wasn't long before she was screaming at me again, though, and I called her a few zesty names and started collecting my things. My chubby shadow grabbed my leg and stood on my foot, wailing and refusing to let me go.

"Get him off me," I growled at Mignonette. She pried the baby away, but she could barely keep a grip on him the way he threw himself around and screamed for me. When I passed by on the horse, he tried to run after me and fell, of course. I turned back and collected him from the ground, dusted him off. His little face was dirty and streaked with tears; he pushed it right into my face and grabbed handfuls of my hair.

"Gasson, no, no!" he insisted. His tears kept coming, breaking my heart.

"Shall I stay here with Chretien, then?"

"Mm, something something something Chretien," he snuffled. He used my coat for a handkerchief and wiped his nose off.

"Shall we go for a ride?"

"Mm." That pleased him. We rode around the property and he pointed out, well, everything.

"Tree!"
"Tumble!" --the dog's name was 'Trouble', but it didn't matter which spaniel it was, they were all 'Tumble'.
"Rao! Lili!" --the big house.
"Tsable!"
"Mao mao!" --barn cats.
"Fowers!"
"Nonette! Chretien! Gasson!" --our house.
"Bye!" --the road off the property.

After our ride, I sat outside the stable for a good hour while he dragged a long-suffering barn cat all over. Those hateful, mangy cats let the baby do anything to them. If I got within a meter of one, it ran; if I cornered one, it'd slice me to ribbons. With Chretien, it buzzed with pleasure.

"Mao mao something something Chretien. Something boo-boo something," he nodded at me very seriously.

"Oh, yes, absolutely," I agreed. Mignonette understood most of this babble; it amazed me. How does a whore learn baby talk? Must come with breasts.

"Mm." He was satisfied and finally permitted me to carry him home. He was asleep before we got there. Even in sleep he wouldn't let me go, so I had to sit and rock him while he slept on me. Mignonette brought me some lemonade; I pinched her bottom in thanks.

"If it wasn't for the baby I'd slap your face," she snapped, trying to sound angrier than she was.

"If it wasn't for the baby I'd make you sit on it," I replied. I waggled my tongue at her for good measure. We took care of some business later which put her in a much better frame of mind.

-0-0-0-0-

I didn't know what to say to Erik, but I knew that I had to give him his letter. The longer I held onto it, the more it troubled me: I felt I had no right to it, or the knowledge it had imparted to me. Mother hadn't given me the letter; whether she'd forgotten or not, I didn't know, and yet what did she want me to know, if not this?

ERIK: SEND COURIER. DON JUAN

I made a copy of Mother's letter and put it in my trunk. I no longer knew what I would ask Erik; I thought I knew the answer to my original question: 'What was between Christine and you?' Still, I hoped he would say something to make sense of it all for me. I wanted to return to believing that my parents were a perfect couple; that the Phantom was a madman and Mother was an angel.

When Aunt Giry arrived, I gave her Mother's letter wrapped securely and a letter from me, advising that Erik should read my letter first.

Erik,
I am forwarding what I believe to be the letter you seek. I located it unopened in Christine's Bible. I regret the necessity of opening and reading what was intended for your eyes alone, but I trust you appreciate my lack of alternatives in the present circumstances. Please be assured that you can rely on my discretion.

If I were in your position, I would appreciate the opportunity to read and consider Christine's letter in private; therefore, I forward it to you without insisting upon a meeting. When you feel ready, I trust that you will contact me to fulfill your part of the bargain. I have the Sonnets for you, should you still wish to have them.

Regards,
Gaston de Chagny

I didn't believe I was gambling to send the letter to Erik, trusting him to meet with me later. Anyway, I could not sit across from the man and watch him read that letter; it was a question of human dignity. I didn't consider him a madman anymore, and I felt certain he'd respond favorably to my gesture of respect.

I thought about Erik that night, when I was certain he must've received the letter; alone in the dark under the Opera House. Oh yes, since reading Mother's letter I was certain he was still down there somewhere. I thought about Lucie sending me such a letter, and reading it after twenty five years. I could not imagine what I would feel. For myself, I felt glad at having found it and being able to give it to him, but I also felt a deep sadness, because I knew someone was grieving all over again that night. I knew what that was like…poor Erik. All he had of his love was a letter; I had my son.