A big thanks to everyone who reviewed. I was happily surprised by all the interest in the topic of E/C and children. I may even extend the vignettes a little longer than planned just so nothing feels rushed. I hope you all enjoy this particular chapter.
Thanks to MadLizzy for editing and for adding some mature ideas to these more sensitive vignettes.
Read and Review!
After that pleasurable night, he insisted on genetic testing.
He suffered through a nightmare in which something with his face was staring up at him from a rocking cradle. Its tiny, yellow eyes followed his every movement as unnatural wails escaped its throat. He awoke gripping the sheets, his heart hammering and a scream threatening to emerge from his twisted lips. Unable to sleep, he merely stared at his dozing wife.
She was smiling. Obviously, Christine was having a better dream.
"I do not want you suffering the fate of my mother," he declared the following morning. "Even she did not deserve such horror."
Standing behind his chair, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "You know it won't matter to me. I'll love our baby no matter what. "
He nearly groaned, wishing that she would be more damned reasonable. "Do you really want to hear the nurses scream because something hideous has emerged from your body? Is that what you want, Christine? Perhaps we could make a place for the creature in the basement, and you could come visit both of us every now and then with a basket of baked treats." He placed his head into his hands.
"We are not going to hide our baby in the basement. God, Erik. I'm not like your mother."
She still did not understand, and he was dangerously close to screaming at her. "It does not matter how much love you give it," he said through gritted teeth. "It will either have to face the rest of the world or hide forever. There are no other options. None. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she replied. "That would be hard. I know stupid people would make comments if…." She sighed and took a seat, her mouth pursed to one side. "We'll get Dr. McKenzie to help us with testing. At least we'll have warning if something might happen. And then we can make a more informed decision."
"Good."
If there was any chance of the infant having his face, he might insist that Chagny pay a visit and give Christine attractive offspring.
Of course, he would then have to kill Chagny for impregnating Christine. It would be an extremely violent death, too. But, ultimately, it all might work out for the best….
"We'll take each step slowly," she continued. "I won't do anything without asking you."
He paused. "What about…a calico kitten?"
"Oh, Erik. Are you really that unhappy about it?"
"No," he softly replied. "No. But you must have warning before bearing a possibly deformed, disabled, or otherwise impaired creature."
"I will."
Ever since Christine had returned from her getaway, he had searched for signs that she might permanently leave. Her three day absence had terrified him, and her growing unhappiness had left him with few options.
To his relief, though, she showed no signs of leaving. Christine went through her daily rituals- household chores, errands, singing. She always came home on time and was eager for affection. Christine simply wanted offspring. And nothing would alter that fact.
"I'll call Dr. McKenzie today," she said, standing and kissing him on the cheek. The shine of optimism had returned to her eyes. He grunted as she practically skipped away.
The doctor came to their home a week later. Harold McKenzie glanced between them with nothing short of exuberance. Perhaps being the combination of scientist and philanthropist made him one of the few human beings who could stand to stare at his face—or stand the idea of his child.
He was not sure whether to despise Dr. McKenzie even more or hate him a little less.
"It's so good to see you," said Christine upon answering the door. "Thank you so much for coming."
"Good to see you, too. Wow. Children, huh? Wow."
"Yes!" She beamed. "We just want to know how it'll all turn out."
"Of course. I can understand that. I'll try to be of help."
They went through the irritating ritual where Christine offered him a drink, and Dr. McKenzie refused. He simply wanted to get this whole damned thing over with.
"Well, let's go ahead and get this done. I'll need a DNA sample," Mr. McKenzie said, approaching him.
He glared and folded his arms. "And how do you intend to obtain it?"
"There are several ways. A blood sample. Or if you'd swab your cheek for me, that would be helpful." The doctor smiled, his twitching upper lip the only sign of slight nervousness. "You can choose, Erik."
"I will do the latter." He grabbed the swab and turned his back to the doctor, feeling like a frog in a jar awaiting dissection. Removing his mask, he quickly brushed the inside of his cheek. After replacing the mask, he turned around and thrust the stick back at the doctor, unable to keep from sneering.
"Thank you," Dr. McKenzie replied, taking the swab without flinching. He put it in a plastic container and twisted the lid closed. "I'll get this to the right people and hopefully obtain some results. After the lab contacts me, I'll call you."
"Thank you so much," Christine said, still smiling. "Just tell me how much it all costs, and I'll make payment arrangements."
"I'll try to work something out for you," he replied. "You two have a good day." As Christine walked him to the door, Dr. McKenzie whispered something to her about another type of test.
He glared. There was no way in hell….
Fortunately (for the doctor), Christine whispered, "I don't think Erik would want to do that."
He watched the doctor depart, his muscles tensing. On the one hand, if his genes were completely mutated, it might be the end of this entire matter. What if Christine were told that her child might be grossly deformed? Even she would not go through with it.
On the other hand, deformed DNA would mean he truly was a complete freak, right down to the last gene. What if the tests proved him not human?
"I think Dr. McKenzie likes us," she stated, returning to the living room "He sort of reminds me of this guy in my fifth grade class who insisted on feeding the hamsters fresh vegetable leaves every morning." She giggled. "When the teacher tried to feed them cheap hamster food, he got really mad." She paused. "He was really smart, though. Keith. That was his name."
How could she think of these things at a time like this?
"What if I am genetically a monster?" he haughtily asked. "Will you still love your mutant Erik?"
"Oh, Erik. You're not a monster or a mutant. Except where the baby is concerned, the DNA test doesn't matter."
He simultaneously wished to kiss her and shake her senseless.
Every time the phone rang over the next month, they both jumped. He would shudder as Christine's eyes lit up. Whenever it was proven not to be Dr. McKenzie, her shoulders would slump and his would relax. Christine remained close to him; in fact, she seemed to dislike being alone for long periods of time. That, of course, was perfectly fine with him.
Finally, the phone rang, and the moment of doom arrived. He curled into himself as he heard Christine answer.
"Hello? Oh, Dr. McKenzie! Hi!" The pitch of her voice rose. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Oh? Okay. That's so…wonderful." A long pause. "Great. Great. Thank you so much. Yes. That's what I thought, but Erik wanted—Uh-huh. Thank you. For everything. I will. You, too. Bye." There was a click as she hung up. And then…"Erik!"
He watched as she ran into the living room, smiling wide and reaching out to him. He refrained from dashing to the basement.
"Everything is fine," she declared. "Your DNA is like everyone else's. In fact, it's better because you don't have a predis-dispos…." In her excitement, she was stumbling over the words. Christine took a deep breath and tried again. "You don't have a predisposition to certain diseases or cancers like some people. Dr. McKenzie said he thinks you just kind of developed…differently in the end because of the chemicals."
"Ah." He didn't know what to say or think. On the one hand, a perfectly good excuse had been decimated. On the other hand, he was genetically human. There was relief in that fact.
What was there to say now? "Well, my wife, I suppose..." He could see the utter delight in her eyes, the glow in her cheeks. How could he deny her anything? He couldn't. "I suppose it is done."
Evening came with all its temptations. In her white summer nightgown with her soft skin and long hair, she was irresistible. Perhaps she looked so lovely only to lure him, but he could not care. Her palms ran over his cheeks as she stared up at him in the dim room. She whispered sweet words and rubbed up against his bare torso, her lips trailing along his neck and chest. No man, monster, or mutant could have abstained.
There was also something dangerous about their intimacy in those next months—as though he were doing something forbidden and perhaps wicked. It was horrifying and thrilling.
If you wish to have all of Erik, then you shall have him!
But Christine never seemed to sense any darkness in it. She was only…happy.
At least for awhile.
A month passed, and, one morning, he watched Christine walk into the kitchen with a tiny frown. She looked up at him and tilted her head, one slipper-covered foot rubbing over the other. "Not this time," she said with a smile and a shrug. "Oh well. Maybe next time."
It took him nearly three minutes to decipher her words. He would hear them repeated over the next year. Each time, the disappointment was slightly more evident on her face. Each time, the "maybe next time" became less hopeful and more dejected.
How was it possible to feel relieved and ashamed and mournful all at the same time?
"Not this time," she nearly whispered one June evening. Christine curled up on the couch beside him and stared at the blank television screen, one of her hands twirling the edges of her hair. The "maybe next time" never came.
He silently sat there as the beginnings of self-loathing began to sink into his mind.
It should have been obvious from the beginning. He was only capable of bringing death; he could never be part of creating life.
Christine was quiet throughout the next week, staring over magazines or watching television with the feline. She didn't sing or even leave the house. At some point, he could no longer stand the dismal atmosphere, choosing to head to the basement without a word to her. As he entered the dark, cool confines of his underground refuge, he saw that there would be no mercy for him that day.
Romeo was dead.
Upon leaving London, he had vowed to give her absolutely everything—everything that Chagny had to offer her. In retrospect, the notion had been naïve and ridiculous. Ten years of near bliss could not undo over thirty years of damage. He could not give her walks in the sunlight. He could not escort her to dinner parties and dances or even restaurants. And now he could not even give her what she wanted most.
Falling upon the sofa, he began to drown in these thoughts, wondering how lonely she was in their isolated little world. He remained there for hours, not even able to immerse himself in music. To be honest, he had not composed in months. This was not about his misery; it was about her unhappiness. Over time, he'd learned how to deal with many of his own mental battles. But how did he fight her demons—especially when he was the cause of them?
At some point, he was vaguely aware of footsteps, and then the door to the basement softly squeaked open. "Erik?" She poked her head into the room "Are you okay? You've been down here all night."
He hadn't realized that over twelve hours had passed. "I am fine. Merely thinking."
"Can I come in?"
"Yes."
She took several steps forward and stood in front of him, wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and a robe. "Erik…." Her voice was hesitant as she wrung her hands together, and his heart clenched in terror. "I wanted to say…to say that I'm sorry. I've been kind of difficult over the past…well, the past year." Tears gathered in her eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you."
"You should have what you wish for," he replied.
"No. I mean, I did want a baby. But I'll be okay. There are other things; there's you. I need you."
He moved slightly so that she could sit down beside him. "Perhaps I could steal an infant for you. Hospitals have laughably lax security." He was not joking.
"I only want yours," she said with such sincerity that he could only believe her.
"Erik is broken inside and out."
"No, Erik. For all we know, it's me. Maybe I can't…."
He scoffed. "You know that is untrue."
"I don't know. And it doesn't really matter…." She rested her cheek on his shoulder. "Oh no!" Her head shot up as she noticed the fish tank. "Romeo died."
"Indeed."
"Oh…." She sniffled. "He had a good life. I'll miss them both, though. They were like family." She put her cheek back on his shoulder. "Maybe we can get more fish."
"You will stay?" he asked. The question was meant to be somewhat ambiguous.
"Yes. It's nice and cool down here. I'm not bothering you, right?"
"Of course not."
Christine remained with him, sleeping occasionally. It was impossible to tell how much time passed or whether it was day or night. If he had thought she was remaining there out of pity for him, he would have suggested they go upstairs. But…she seemed to want to be there, snuggling down as though the darkness were a warm blanket.
After she sneezed three times, he decided that it was time to take her to the surface. He picked his wife up bridal style, carried her up the stairs, and laid her on their bed. After pulling the covers up to her neck, he merely watched her sleep and debated whether to return to the basement.
"Erik. You'd better not leave me here by myself," she said, glaring at him from her pillow.
"Perhaps I should not," he replied, falling down beside her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry I left," she whispered. "For those three days."
"It is fine." That wasn't entirely true, but he did not wish to dwell on it.
"I was scared," she continued. "I realized how old I was. My twenties disappeared."
"I stole what was left of your youth, I suppose."
"No, no. They disappeared quickly because I was happy. They were wonderful years. But I'm still older now."
He snorted. "Erik is much older than you."
"But I'm getting close to the age that you were when you first met me. Isn't that strange?"
"It is odd, I suppose."
"Anyway, I did want a baby. But it's not worth losing everything else. I don't want to hurt you anymore over it." She took a deep, shaky breath. "We can quit trying…if you want."
"I do not think it really matters whether we try."
"But would a baby make you miserable?" she asked. "Tell me the truth. Does it really upset you?"
He paused. "I do not know. Would it be like a cat?"
She laughed. "Probably not. I don't know. I've…never had a baby either."
He could hear fondness in her voice. She still wanted offspring, but perhaps their entire lives did not depend on it. And he was no longer sure what to make of anything, so he did not answer her question.
"You can think about it," she murmured. "Tell me later." Her breathing soon changed; she had gone back to sleep.
He did think about it, but he never actually gave her a reply. He allowed life to go on as it would, never telling her to buy more pills nor stating that he desired a child. They relaxed back into a normal pattern of work and music and food and lovemaking without purpose. Occasionally, a gleam of longing entered her eyes when she saw small children on the television or during an evening outing. He learned that he was capable of bringing her comfort, be it a cup of herbal tea or a kiss on the temple.
Perhaps it was the evaporation of the tension that caused it to happen several months later.
The first thing he noticed was that she became very quiet one week. He watched as she stared into space during their meals and a voice lesson. Her expression was not downcast but rather distant.
"You will not concentrate," he complained, setting the violin in its case.
Christine blinked. "Oh. I'm sorry. Tired, I guess." She smiled at him, and there was such warmth in her expression that he could no longer be irritated with her.
"At least your next performance will not be for months," he replied. "We will quit for the night."
Several days later, she hopped up from the table after eating scrambled eggs and ran out of the room. Alarmed, he followed her to the door of the bathroom, cringing when he heard the sounds on the other side. The sink then ran for ten seconds.
"You are not well," he stated, staring at her flushed cheeks after she emerged.
"It might just be something I ate." She kept her eyes lowered.
"Ah. That is the last time we buy that brand of eggs. Their chickens are likely infested with insects. Or perhaps some idiot coughed on you."
"Yeah. There is a flu going around."
"Indeed. You will go to bed now."
Christine laughed as she always did when he made a blunt command. "Maybe a short nap wouldn't hurt."
Even after sleeping for two hours, though, she still had that strange expression. He made her stay on the couch or in bed. Who knew what sort of disease some vile person had given his Christine?
Two days later, she kissed his cheek and said, "I'm going out for a little while."
"To where?"
"Grocery shopping."
"There will be more diseased people there."
"I'll be careful." She was out the door before he could protest.
He sensed that something was off, especially when she returned with only three grocery bags after being gone for nearly two hours. Ten minutes later, she was in the bathroom.
Perhaps he knew by that point; he simply was not ready to acknowledge it. Neither was she—at least not to him. Christine spent much of the evening fidgeting and biting her lip as though waiting for something. When he touched her shoulder, she jumped.
"You are tense," he said. "You make Erik tense."
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her gaze drifting downward again. Her mouth opened as though she wished to say something, closed, and then opened again. "Sing to me so I can relax."
At least he could do that for her.
The next day, she scheduled a doctor's appointment. He never asked why; she never explained, only saying that she was going out for a few hours. After stepping outside, she came back in and grabbed an umbrella before heading out the door again. A light rain tapped unevenly against the roof, creating an ominous melody.
By the end of that day, she'd received enough confirmation to finally admit the truth aloud. Her face was shining when she returned as droplets of rain trickled off her hair. She grinned as she shakily walked into the house, momentarily grabbing onto the back of the sofa to support herself. He pulled her forward and forced her to sit on the couch before she fell and split her precious head open.
"Erik," she said, staring up at him. "Erik! It happened. We're going to have a…." He grunted and stiffly sat down. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. You are the one who cannot walk."
"Oh. I'm just so….We're going to be fine," she assured him. A tissue was bunched up in her hand, and she quickly used it to wipe her eyes. "We'll be okay. It'll be wonderful." There was a pleading note in her voice; she wanted him to agree.
"We will…be…." She intently stared at him, waiting for him to finish the sentence. "We will survive." He paused. "Will you know what it looks like before it…emerges?"
"We'll have some idea."
"Be sure it has a face," he ordered. "It must have a face. And a nose. And four limbs. It must not be defective."
"Our baby will be beautiful," she murmured, dabbing at her eyes again.
"Your idea of beautiful might be called into question, considering what you married." He dryly chuckled, trying to ignore the fear building in his chest. "Perhaps someone should give you a second opinion."
To his shock, she lunged forward and hugged him, nearly squeezing the oxygen out of his body. "I'm so happy!" she exclaimed. "I would have been okay if it had never happened. But I'm happy that it did! And I just…I think that we'll be fine…and…and happy…."
"You should be very happy," he agreed, letting a hand rest in her hair. "And now you are." And he had made her happy…. At least he was capable of giving her this.
She drew back and looked at him with warier eyes. "You're not going to go hide in the basement now, right?"
"I had no plans to do so." Although it did sound rather appealing now that she mentioned it….
"I'll cook us a big dinner. With salads and rolls and dessert and everything."
"No," he stated. "You will sit on this couch so that you do not die. This all had better not kill you. Otherwise, whoever decides to visit our house next will find three corpses in the basement."
She shuddered. Her furrowed brow was evidence that his comment had gone a bit too far. "Erik, that's terrible. Our baby is not going to kill me. I'll be fine. We'll all be fine."
"All the same. Sit. I will order one of those adolescent boys to deliver food here. Sit."
"Fine. But I'm making breakfast in the morning."
"Only if you do not walk as though you are inebriated."
She released a loud sigh, but he ignored her. After he returned from ordering the food and resumed his place on the couch, she curled up beside him. He kissed the top of her head. Despite his dread, he felt no resentment. All he had ever been able to do was love her.
She could take care of the other. And he would take care of his Christine. And perhaps, that way, everyone would come out of this alive.
