So apparently I write fanfic now. This story will be primarily Leroux and Kay based with some nods to ALW. Sorry for that last chapter. It was a bit sad. If you stuck with it anyway, thank you for reading. Writing this was a whirlwind experience but I hope you enjoy and review!
Chapter 2
Nadir found him. Erik had no idea how much time had passed, or even that time had passed at all as he lay beside Christine, her skin for once as cold as his.
But suddenly the Persian flung open the door to find the two of them in a passionless embrace on the bed. He said nothing.
"Go away, Daroga," said Erik after a moment. "I would like to die in peace with my wife."
"Erik, where is Émilie?"
Without answering, Erik pulled Christine closer and whispered, "Don't listing to the fool, my darling. Émilie is fine, just as I promised."
"Erik!"
The baby began to cry and Nadir vanished. He returned later – an hour, a day, the next year, Erik neither knew nor cared. Only this time he held a squalling infant swaddled in a clean white blanket. This made his presence even more detestable.
"Where is the food for her, Erik?"
There was no answer.
"Damn you, Erik, get out of bed and care for your child."
The only thing at hand was the porcelain mask, so Erik threw it with all his might at the Daroga. It missed and shattered against the wall. Nadir left again.
When he next returned, he came alone. Erik watched without raising his head as Nadir walked about the room, gazing first at Erik's prone form and then Christine's body.
"How did it happen?" he asked.
Erik answered with absolute calm, as if he spoke of the weather. "An infection, from the birth."
"I'm sorry, Erik."
Glistening tears ran down the rivulets in the twisted flesh of Erik's face.
"We must bury her, my friend. She cannot stay here."
Instantly, Erik was on his feet, hands in his hair, clawing at his face. "Why must everyone try to take my wife from me? My wife! You are just like the rest of them, Daroga." As he spoke, he advanced on the Persian who refused to retreat even when Erik's hands were about his neck. "She will not leave me! She promised. She promised to stay. Why do you try to take her from me?"
"She's already gone-"
The scream was inhuman, ravaging vocal chords and innocent ears, echoing on stone and water and cold, empty air. It was too terrible, as ugly as his voice was beautiful, as ugly as his death mask face – Nadir threw his hands over his head in a futile attempt to hide from the sound.
When his breath expired, Erik was hanging on Nadir's lapels, too limp to continue strangling him.
Naturally, his cry had woken the baby who now gave her own plaintive wail, almost as terrible as her father's. Erik drew himself up at the noise, nearly pulling Nadir down as he did so, and placed his face a breath away from the Persian's.
"I will kill that child!' he shouted and Nadir flinched. "I will throw it in the lake! It killed her. She cared too much for it and it killed her! It took my wife from me! Where is it, Daroga? Bring it here and I will snap its neck!"
"Think of what you're saying, man! Your child!"
"Now, Daroga. Don't keep me waiting."
"Christine's child? What would she say?"
The distraught man broke again, returning to kneel beside the bed and press frantic kisses to Christine's dead hand.
"My love," he gasped between kisses, "I would never. It is Erik's fault! Erik is to blame. He put the baby in you. He was blind. Please forgive your poor Erik! You mustn't worry, my dear. Christine made Erik promise to care for her child and Erik will keep his promise."
Nadir looked away from the pair with an expression of mixed disgust and compassion. To the doorframe, Nadir said, "I am going to fetch an undertaker. I recommend you bathe while I am gone and find another mask."
xxx
The undertaker had been told to say nothing if he did not want to leave in a coffin himself. So he gave no reaction when the masked man – now stiffly dressed and groomed – opened the door and bowed them inside.
"Welcome, messieurs," he said evenly. "If you'll follow me, I've moved her to the bedroom."
He meant his own bedroom, they soon saw, and the undertaker just caught himself from gasping upon seeing the open wooden coffin in the center of the room. Inside, Erik had arranged Christine to show her living beauty even in death. Her hands were folded over her white gown, her curls splayed about her peaceful face. She was surrounded by dozens of pure red roses.
"She shall be buried beside her father. Monsieur Khan will direct you there. I do not wish to attend. Good day."
"Would you like to sing her requiem?"
Erik glanced over his shoulder, already halfway out of the room.
"No, Daroga, I do not wish to sing."
Before any more could be said, Erik had entered his study and locked the door behind him.
xxx
Nadir entered tentatively when he returned that evening, only to find Erik sitting easily on the parlor sofa and gazing at the bookshelf opposite. Without a word, the Persian slipped into the kitchen to prepare tea. Of course Erik didn't drink the cup Nadir poured him. But it felt familiar, as did their patient silence. Erik broke it first.
"The madness is gone."
Nadir glanced up at him.
"I have tried so hard to escape back into it, but everything is sharp and clear. I treasured Christine for taking it. I had rather hoped it would return when she left. But it seems I am denied even that relief."
"What will you do now?"
Erik's returned gaze was confused.
"Have you considered sending a letter to Mademoiselle Daáe's little friend from the ballet? The little Giry girl. And her mother."
"What about them?"
"They can take Émilie. Or perhaps they know someone who can."
The man was on his feet again, sending the china tea service flying. One long, bony finger trembled in Nadir's direction.
"You will not take her from me!" he screamed, his voice like the shattered china. "No one will take her! Erik promised his wife that he would love her. No one else!"
"You are not capable of raising her on your own. You're too frightened to even touch her."
"On the contrary, my friend, I will love her more deeply than any father has ever loved his child. I will not leave her. I will not let her die."
Nadir could not ignore the direction of the last remark. His eyes went wide at the cruelty of it, never mind that it came from a distraught and desperate man. The pain of Reza's death, of Rookheeya's death, recalled so neatly in Erik's current situation, was years old and still too raw.
"Let us not forget which of us actually killed my son," he said coldly.
Then he rose and strode from the little lakeside house, leaving his masked friend alone with his crying infant.