Erik's POV

I was tossing and turning in bed, my mind caught in a fitful nightmare.

"No," my feet were scurrying beneath the sheets, my body screaming with fear. "Christine, Christine, no…no…"

"Erik," I heard my name being called, only to jolt awake. It was the middle of the night, rain pouring against my roof and thunder rattling my room. I plopped back against my pillow and gasped for air, my head sweaty and heart racing.

"Angel?" when I heard Christine's voice, I rolled over to find her standing at the side of my bed. How strange it was to feel her hand against my forehead… It was as if she were really here, as if she were still alive. I closed my eyes and tried to drift back off to sleep, but I couldn't. For years, I have lived with nightmares, never finding comfort in sleeping.

"You can't sleep."

I opened my eyes to find Christine still standing there. I shook my head and to my surprise, she laid down beside me.

"I have things on my mind." I murmured.

"You saw Raoul today."

I nodded. "He's going back to Paris."

"And you tried to give him Gustave."

"I can't care for a child, Christine. Gustave would have been better off with Raoul."

"If that were so, do you think I would have given him to your keeping?"

I closed my eyes again, and snuggled against my pillow.

"You have a child to care for, Erik." Christine said. "You should get your sleep."

Without another word, I closed my eyes, only to jolt awake to my child screaming. When I sat up, my angel was gone. I wasn't sure what was wrong with Gustave, but I quickly threw on my robe and headed downstairs to Gustave's bedroom. The child's bed was empty, his body hovered in the opening of his closet with a blanket thrown over him.

"Gustave," I approached him and scooped the boy up into my arms. "Gustave, it's all right."

"Mister Y, I want my mother…" he sobbed into my shoulder, my hands patting him on the back. "Mother always protected me from the thunder."

The child wrapped his legs around my waist, holding onto me for dear life. I knew placing him back into bed wouldn't do any good, therefore, I carried him out into the kitchen and sat him down at the table. Though, when I attempted to turn on the lights, I noticed that the power was out.

"Mister Y, I'm scared."

Quickly, I lit a match and began lighting the candles I had placed about my kitchen. Yes, Coney Island was lit by electricity, but during the summers, the weather was so bad that the power was always knocked out. Therefore, I decided to keep a few candles in each room. Most nights, the thunder would knock out the power and it would wind up staying out for hours. I worked at night and couldn't afford to have my work postponed. Everyone, after all, still expected a pay at the end of each week. I couldn't risk falling behind just because of a spell of bad weather.

When my kitchen was illuminated in an orangey glow, I placed a kettle over the fire to heat up some water. Tea always calmed my nerves and I knew it would do wonders for the boy.

"Mister Y," when I heard my son's voice, I turned to find him sitting there in tears. Oh, how I hated when he cried. "I want my mother."

"Yes, well she's not here." I calmly stated. "Therefore, my company shall have to suffice. I'm making some tea for myself. I'm sure you'll enjoy a cup as well."

"I don't like tea." He sniffled. "Mother knew that."

"Then what do you like to drink?"

"Hot chocolate," he cried, tears pouring down his cheeks.

Hot chocolate? I didn't know how to make such a drink. What in the world was hot chocolate?

"What is hot chocolate?" I questioned.

The boy cried harder now. I was the worst father in the world. I couldn't sooth his fears, I couldn't stop him from crying, and now, I didn't even know how to make him his favorite drink. Oh, he would have been better off with Raoul! Once more, the child ran from me. Though, he didn't run very far, only into the family room. I might not have been as comforting as his mother had been, but I knew that he was afraid of the storm and felt better with having an adult close by. When I was alone in the kitchen, I leaned over the sink, closing my eyes and feeling the guilt of not being able to comfort my son.

"Angel, how do you not know how to make hot chocolate?"

From behind me, Christine placed her hand against my own.

"I..I don't."

Christine opened my food pantry and began searching. What for, I wasn't certain of.

"Here," she placed down my small canister of chocolate fudge. "But for next time, do yourself a favor and buy chocolate bars to melt down. It will taste better."

"He's scared." I said. "What am I supposed to do to make him feel better?"

"Well, hot chocolate would be a start. When it stormed back in Paris, I made him hot chocolate and then held him close until the storm ended."

When the tea kettle began to whistle, I removed it from the stove and sat it down on the counter.

"Pour some of that chocolate into a mug, ange." Christine stated.

I did as I was told to do, before pouring some of the hot water on top of it.

"Now stir it up." I picked up a spoon and placed it into the mug, my angel's hand clasping around my own to help me stir up the chocolate.

"That will do for now, ange, but like I said before, chocolate bars and some small marshmallows will make it perfect."

I stood there with the steaming cup in hand, looking down at the brown drink and wondering what to do. Though, when I looked up again, Christine was gone. Yes, I had planned on making myself a cup of tea, but I wasn't thirsty anymore. Therefore, I carried the hot chocolate out into the family room and sat it down on the coffee table beside the couch.

"There you are, Gustave."

My son looked up at me and then at the steaming cup.

"I thought you said you didn't know how to make it?"

"I had a little help."

Gustave sat up and reached out for the mug, slowly sipping on it.

"So?"

"Mother used to make it with marshmallows."

"Yes," I sat down beside him and patted my child on the back. "Well, I don't have any marshmallows lying about. Tomorrow we'll go into town and do a small grocery order."

When the thunder cracked against my home again, the child scurried into my lap to bury his head into my shoulders.

"Gustave," I wrapped my arms around his body. "It's all right."

"I don't like thunder storms, Mister Y."

"Can't be any scarier than my face."

My child looked up at my bare face, before burying it back into my shirt.

"It's much scarier."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because the noise is scary."

"You know, Gustave," I began. "The thunder is caused by Zeus's anger."

"Zeus?" he questioned. "As in the Greek god?"

I nodded. "Zeus has control over the sudden change in weather. He makes it sunny when he is happy, makes it rain to show his sadness."

"Then where does thunder come from?"

"When he is battling his enemies, his lightning bolts crash against the earth and cause the horrid sound that you are feeling frightened over."

Gustave lied there within my arms, looking up at me with one question boggling his mind.

"What do you think Zeus is crying over?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said it rains when Zeus is sad. It's raining now…"

I shrugged my shoulders. "It's hard to say, Gustave."

"Maybe his mother died. If I were Zeus, I'd be making it rain now too." Gustave pouted.

As another crackle of thunder echoed outside, I pulled my child closer to me and held back the tears that wanted to come.

"Everything will be all right, Gustave." I assured. "You'll see."

"I don't want to wake, Mister Y. I want to be with mother. Do you think if I wished hard enough that mother would let me go to her in heaven?"

"Gustave," I pulled him away from my body so that he were looking me directly in the eyes. "It doesn't work that way, son. I wish that we could both be with your mother, but things don't work that way. We must live out our lives here on Earth, and then, when the time is right we shall be rejoined with your mother again."

My grandfather clock in the hall chimed in the late hour of two. I yawned, for I was exhausted and ready for bed.

"All right," I stood to my feet with my child still wrapped within my arms. "Time for bed."

"But the storm is still here." He whimpered. "Please don't make me sleep alone in that room."

"And what would you have me do, Gustave?"

"Could I sleep with you tonight, Mister Y? Please? I miss my mother."

I looked up from his body, not knowing what to say. And as I looked up, I noticed my angel standing there with a smile across her face. I looked to her for an answer, and she gave me hers by nodding. I sighed, and carried my child up the stairs, laying him down into my bed.

"Your bed is shaped like a strange coffin, Mister Y." my son replied.

I crawled in beside him and yawned. "So it is… Now close your eyes and get some sleep, Gustave."

"Mother always sang to me when I was scared. Could you sing me to sleep, Mister Y?"

"Gustave, I'm exhausted. I have work that needs to be done in the morning, work that I have to be well rested to fulfill. I will sing to you, but on another night."

"Mother always sang to me." My son pouted. "She never told me no."

"And just what am I to sing?"

It was as if Christine had been listening, for a few moments later, I heard her humming. But she wasn't just humming; she was humming a beautiful song, my song, music of the night.

"All right, Gustave." I said. "One song."

And just like that, I began singing to him. Oh, how my son smiled in happiness as I sang to him, his eyes growing heavy and then closed completely. When he was asleep, I laid there a while more, brushing his dark hair with my fingers and settling down myself.

"You did great, Erik." I felt Christine's hands brushing against my neck. "You are a wonderful father."

"I wouldn't be anything without you."

"Of course you would."

"He looks like you." I said, brushing my fingers through Gustave's brown hairs. "He is you, angel."

"No, Erik. You may believe him to be me, but the truth is that he is all you."

"How so?"

"Look at his nose."

I did, taking in the detail of its cute, yet adorable round shape.

"I have no nose, Christine."

"But his nose is not mine, therefore, it must be yours."

"Perhaps, but everything else belongs to you."

"Not all. Look at his ears, mon ange… He has your ears, your nose, your smile, even your lips. The only thing he has of mine is his chocolate hair and my eyes. Everything else is you."

"And yet, he is beautiful."

Christine smiled and I felt her lips press against my neck. "Yes, Erik, he is. Now get some sleep…"

With that, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Gustave's POV

When I woke, the sun was shining in through Mister Y's bedroom window. The storm had passed and now, it was sunny again. I yawned and sat up to stretch, noticing that Mister Y's spot was empty. Curious, I rose to my feet and slumped down the stairs to search for him. It didn't take long to find though, for I found him standing outside facing the ocean with his hands folded behind his back. He wasn't dressed in his suit, no, he was still in his robe.

As soon as I opened the door, the hot August heat hit me. The air was extremely muggy, the sun making it ten times more unbearable.

"Mister Y?" I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes as he turned to face me. The only thing different about his appearance now, was that he was wearing his mask and wig.

"Ah, Gustave, I was wondering when you were going to wake."

"What time is it?"

Mister Y produced his watch, looking down at the time. "It's eight."

"I'm hungry, Mister Y."

"Well, I was thinking that we could go into Phantasma and have breakfast at the bakery. Afterwards, I have some errands to run around my park."

"And what about me?"

"I was thinking that you could join me, Gustave. You did, after all, wish to see my park did you not?"

I still missed my mother very much, but any day in Phantasma was enough to bring a smile to my face. I hurried down the hall and changed into my clothes before coming back out to meet Mister Y, who was now dressed in his daily attire. He wasn't dressed in his suit, for it was too hot. Today, he was dressed in a white, long sleeved dress shirt with a black, velvet vest covering it.

"Ready?" he questioned.

I nodded, and we were out the door. The heat was intense, but I followed Mister Y through the crowds of people in his park. Yes, they were a bit unbearable, but I didn't complain. Once inside the bakery, Mister Y lifted me up onto the counter and pointed to the menu that was hanging above the register.

"What would you like, Gustave?"

I looked up at the choices, settling with a raisin covered sticky bun. When our order was paid for, my papa took me to a nearby table and sat me down, sliding the pastry towards me.

"There you are."

I took my first bite of it, noticing that Mister Y was sitting across from me and watching me eat.

"Aren't you going to eat?" I questioned.

He shook his head. "I usually don't eat breakfast, Gustave."

"What are we going to do after this?"

"I need to go around and make an order of things that need to be purchased and restocked around Phantasma. While I'm doing that, I could show you some things you haven't seen."

I looked down at the reminder of my breakfast and began to play with a few raisins that had fallen off my pastry.

"Mother was supposed to take me to the beach today." I pouted. "On the night of her performance, she promised that she would take me to the beach and teach me how to swim."

I looked back up at Mister Y, awaiting his answer. He was silent for a few moments, running his finger through his wig.

"Gustave, that's one thing I simply cannot do."

"And why not?" I whined. "Why can't you take me to the beach?"

Mister Y sighed and began rolling up his sleeves. My eyes went wide the moment he reveled the flesh of his arms and wrists. Every inch of it was covered in scars.

"That is why, Gustave." He stated. "My entire body is covered in them."

"But you could wear a shirt." I said. "And you could wear your trousers."

"Gustave, enough."

"Please, Mister Y. I want to learn how to swim. Mother promised me, she promised that we would go to the beach…she promised, Mister Y."

"Gustave, finish your meal." I could tell that Mister Y was becoming aggravated, and therefore, I did as he told me to do and finished my breakfast. And even though I did, I couldn't help but whimper a bit as I did so. I wanted my mother, I wanted to be with her. I didn't want to be with Mister Y anymore, I didn't want to go around his park with him. I wanted my mother and nothing else.

"There are things in this world I simply cannot do, Gustave," Mister Y said as we exited the bakery. "And going to the beach is one of them. Coney Island is filled with freaks. I, myself am one…I cannot walk amongst man and act as if I am normal."

I wiped my tear soaked eyes with the back of my hand.

"I hate you…" I cried. "I wish mother were here and not you."

I broke away from Mister Y and ran, ran so far away from him that I became lost in the crowds of people. Yes, I heard Mister Y calling for me, but I did not stop. I didn't want to be found, and I didn't want him.

"Gustave, stop!"

His voice was getting closer now. But what was I doing? He was all I had left and I knew I couldn't run away. Mother had left me in his care and it was to stay that way forever more. Therefore, instead of running, I sat down at the nearest bench and began to sob into my hands. I hated Mister Y; he was not mother and would never be her. Raoul might not be my real father, but I wished he was, for Mister Y was a stranger to me.

"Mother, I don't like Mister Y." I cried. "Why did you leave me with him?"

Mister Y said that mother would always be listening to me from heaven, but even now, as I sat there crying on that bench, I didn't get a reply…and I knew I never would.

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