~Phantom~
By: Shannon K. O'Brien
Love Never Dies
"Beneath A Moonless Sky"
Erik:"Wager" (Part One)
My angel was fast asleep within moments of her last tired and garbled words, and I was left to wonder how she could ever possibly question why it was she whom I loved.
As if I ever had any conscious choice in the matter?
I found it comforting to watch her sleep, to follow the constant rise and fall of her chest. She was so very perfect, and once again, so very close to belonging to me. I felt that if I were to finally reach out for the one great dream of my life that at last it was within corporeal grasp. I am not sure how long I lingered there, taking her beauty in like a soothing balm, but suddenly the light from the breached bedroom door jolted me to immediate attention. I knew it could very well be de Chagny, returning to finish what he had started.
Thankfully it was only Gustave. He didn't seem startled to see me there. Instead his gaze went straight from me to his mother. "She is lovely, isn't she?" he asked seeming as genuinely awed by her sleeping beauty as I.
"Indeed she is," I concurred, smiling as I turned my eyes from Gustave back to Christine.
"I do not blame you, you know," he began after a moment of silence, turning his brilliant amber gaze my way. "For falling in love with her. I understand how it could not have been helped."
"Your mother has told you then?" I asked, trying to keep the hope out of my voice, but failing miserably.
"Yes. She explained how she met you and my father."
So she had not confessed to the child that I was his father after all, I realized disheartened.
"–and how you tutored her. How her voice would not be what it is without your instruction. And I also know about all the lies you told, and the dreadful things you did. Only . . . she didn't tell me that. I already knew. I saw it all before in what I thought was only a dream, but I know was a vision of some kind." He seemed so very sad as he confessed this.
And all at once it struck me.
That dream! The blasted one that repeats night after night, Gustave was the child who had appeared that solitary time, the one whose face I could not make out! But how could he have stumbled into my subconscious?
I threw the unsettling thought asunder for the time being as I rose from my chair, leaned over Christine's peaceful form, kissed her rosy cheeks, and ushered Gustave from the room.
Before I could relay to the child that it would please me greatly if we could speak, he turned to me and said, "I should be very grateful if you would afford me the privilege of speaking with you in regards to my mother, and her relationship with you. Man to man, sir."
I tried to repress the smile I felt prickling at the corners of my mouth, thinking – my son, my little man – but a grin escaped nevertheless.
"Do you find my request funny?" he bristled, the gold burning dangerously in his eyes, as his small chest swelled to its maximum with indignation.
Oh, yes. I recognize those rising flames, my son . . .
"On the contrary. I am happy to see how deeply you care for your mother and that it is why I smile. Not for any other reason. I assure you."
"Of course I care deeply for her. She is my mother," he replied as thought my statement had been foolish, for why ever in the world shouldn't he care for her. "Doesn't everyone love their mother?"
"I am afraid not, Gustave. For there are some mothers you cannot love because they do not desire such love."
That held him silent a moment as he pondered my words. I watched as the wheels turned round and round inside his precocious head, until he said, "Will you speak with me about my mother sir, or not?"
"I will. Though not here. Come with me, if you would." I gestured for him to follow. He hesitated for a second, but then nodded in consent and obediently obliged. "There is a special place here within the hotel that I know you have not yet seen. We shall speak there."
"But I thought Kerie had shown me every inch of the hotel?" he asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.
I laughed. "No. There are many sections constructed for my sole enjoyment. Places that no one but myself has ever been permitted entrance to."
His eyes were lit as brightly as Lady Liberty's torch. He was enthralled. I had him hook, line, and sinker.
He remained silent as we traversed the hidden stairs from the library up to the top floor of the hotel, where, to the unknowing eye, there was no door.
"It's a dead end!" he exclaimed disappointedly.
Smiling secretively, I queried, "Is it?"
Instantly he turned his intent gaze upon the black and pink rose inlayed tile walls and floor, attempting now to look past its façade. He continued to inspect the room, to run his little hands along the walls, checking for variations, anything out of the ordinary, but when he still could not discern a thing that was amiss, frustration wrinkled his brows and darkened his eyes.
"I don't see anything!" he cried exasperated.
I put my hands on his shoulder and turned him to face the opposite wall and encouraged, "Look again. Open your mind. Forget the conventional notion of what a door and lock are. Look beyond and to the impossible." Slowly I released him, stepping back to watch his mind fully at work with the given task.
Suddenly, it was as though he had known the answer all along, and exclaimed in pure joy when he laid his hand over one particular rose shaped tile, whose petals had thin, almost imperceptible slits carved into its surface.
"A lock! It's a lock!" he sang jumping up and down. Then hastily added, "But what of its key?" His curious gaze again turned to the room around us, as if the key also lay concealed somewhere in plain sight.
I chuckled as I reached in my pocket for the key shaped like a rose. Its garnet petals and onyx ribbon tied around its emerald stem glittered in my hands as I withdrew it.
"Here is your key."
He took it quickly, turning it over in his inspecting hands, absolutely fascinated by its beauty and design – just as I'd been when I had created it.
My son . . . I have a son!
"Magnificent! This is absolutely genius!" he gushed.
He dashed to put the key into its counterpart, but caught himself at the last moment and implored, "May I?"
"Be my guest," I said motioning him to go ahead, and his smile, the ray of it, the pure and undiluted light of him, stole my breath.
The look of wonder and awe displayed upon his face as he watched the wall slide inwards, opening to reveal a botanical gardens unlike any of its kind in the world, was a glorious thing to behold. The garden paled in comparison. The once beloved collection of the earth's most rare and beautiful species of plants, that I had so painstakingly amassed, suddenly held none of their former allure in contrast to my child.
"Oh my," Gustave exhaled, his beautiful eyes widening in amazement. "You were quite right, sir. Kerie did not show me anything akin to this!" The latter was stated with a great flourish of his arms, gesturing to the massive garden before him and it's equally titanic sized glass domed ceiling above.
I chuckled, taking him by the hand, for a second afraid he might shy away, but was instantly relieved when he did no such thing, and easily permitted me to walk him inside.
"This is – it's – I'm afraid that I am at an utter loss for words, sir."
"Please Gustave, do not call me, sir," I beseeched gently.
"Oh, of course. Mr. Whye," he corrected blushing.
Oh, how very much I wanted to touch that perfect shade of pink ghosting his small round cheeks, but I painfully refrained.
"That is not what I meant, my son."
There, I thought. I have proclaimed it aloud, even though he does know it to be true, I do. And it felt wonderful.
"It would please me very much if you would simply address me as Erik." I yearned to hear the words father pass from his lips, but alas . . . I had to respect my angel's wishes and trust that she would tell him in time.
"If that pleases you, Erik." He was so impossibly adult for his ten short years. Looking at him, I grasped his potential, and conceded that perhaps Christine had been correct – he, my son – would one day be of very great importance to the world. No, in fact I knew it to be so. For the boy before me was destined for great things.
"It pleases me very much, my son." I wanted to reach out to him, to take him into my arms, and breathe him in with a primal ache that was completely new to me.
Blast you, Christine! He is my son! I just want to hold the child I never dreamed I would have!
I had to quell my inner turmoil and have faith that Christine would tell him sooner rather than later. After all, that was all I could do. There was no need riling myself up when my hands were tied.
"There are various species of flora and fauna from almost every corner of the globe. It has taken me many years to gather all that you see."
"Oh! They're all so painfully beautiful," he sighed, filled with the intoxication such beauty can bring to only those such as him and I; those of us who are cursed with the capacity to feel too deeply and dream too far.
"I took great care in my selection. I chose only the most exquisite of species. I desired my very own Garden of Eden and here it is, willed into reality."
"That is the perfect comparison for this place, but I think it is better than Eden, because it's real."
"I must admit that designing the ceiling was a challenge. The room required maximum light, while still maintaining its unique spherical structure. However, after some thought and time, I overcame that obstacle. I rarely fault in anything I set my mind to.
"Yes. I can tell you are a man who gets what he wants." His voice lost its childish undertone and gained a maturity I was not anticipating as he turned his far too knowing eyes on mine. "Do you want my mother for your own?"
The breath left me. I was expecting him to have questions, but the direct way in which he began took me aback.
"Gustave, I am afraid it is not quite that sim–"
The boy was gone, nearly out of the door by the time my stupefied mind made my legs function again. Gently, I grabbed his arm, halting him before he could leave.
"My son, please wait."
"Why?" he lashed, shaking my grip free, extremely strong for his size. "So you can tell me more lies? I am tired of all these incessant lies!" His familiar eyes burned with unvented rage, so much so that I watched as they filled with tears. "Mother's lies to father – father's lies to mother – Mother's lies to me, telling me she is happy when I can see she is dying inside – father's lies to us both, when he says he no longer gambles! Oh, yes. I know!" he stormed when he saw my look of surprise.
I had thought he would have been shielded from that knowledge, but he was my son, and just as clever and observant as I.
"I'm tired of lying to mother. Saying that I believe her when she promises everything will be all right – when I know it will not. I am so very sick of it all! Please, Eric! Please!" sobbed my boy.
Instantly I was down on my knees before him, my hands on his shoulders, so much weight held atop such young shoulders. "Anything, my boy. Just ask it of me and I swear on my life it shall be yours!"
"I ask you – no," he said shaking his head. "I beg you. If you care for my mother as I believe you do, and you have truly changed, as I also believe that you have, take her away. Away from Papa and from Paris, and a life that does not make her happy – a life that is killing her more each passing day. Please, Erik! Make my mother happy! And she is happy around you. I can see it, so please, please do this for me. I love her so much!" The hysterical boy reached for me, grasping me with all the strength in his small body. He was no longer playing a miniature adult. He was nothing but a ten year old child who cried in his father's embrace.
"Shh, shh now, Gustave. Hush, my son. For I believe I may be able to help. But first I must ask you, and I do not mean this harshly, what of your father? Do you not care what becomes of him?"
"Oh, I care. I care very much! That is precisely why I am asking if you want my mother. Don't you see? Neither are happy, but both are too stubborn to admit it. He will be happy too, only he doesn't see it. Please help us – help her. I love her more than anything in this earth or in any other. I just want to see her happy."
"My dear child, you are the sun in your mother's sky. Can you not see that you make her happy?"
"But I am not enough. She requires more light in her life. She deserves it!"
"Calm down, Gustave." His rage was again beginning to take hold, his eyes once again smoldering with growing fire. "I will confess to you now, man to man, that yes, I do love and want your mother more than I ever loved or desired anything in this life, but I cannot, and I will not make her do anything against her will ever again. She must want it."
"Then make her want it! You didn't play fair last time, so why must you now?" he challenged, petulantly stomping his foot.
"That is quite enough of that!" I warned, allowing my tone to turn icy as I pushed him gently from me. "My son, look at yourself," I went on, warming my tone. "Think of what it is that you ask. I will not allow you to behave in this manner. You are better than this, Gustave."
As if connected by some invisible plumbing line, the valve to his ducts turned off, and immediately he regained his composure. "You are quite right. I humbly apologize."
"There, that's better. Now, shall we discuss this like men as I walk you back to your suite?" I was not trying to hasten the child and flee his pleas; however, they now made me desire to find de Chagny even sooner.
I would make him a wager he could not refuse. Perhaps it was time to play dirty as Gustave suggested. Maybe it was high time that I fought for my life, my family, and for what I wanted more than the entire world combined.
"Do you truly believe I can make your mother happy? You hardly know me, son."
I was in no way trying to persuade him otherwise, but I needed him to fully understand all sides to the situation.
"You may think me mad, Eric. But I assure you, I saw it all – felt it all . . . the entirety of yours and my mother's past. I know that you love her, really love her. Like I do, and so you must understand when I tell you that I love her enough to let her go."
We were approaching the entrance to his suite, he walked in front of me, but after such words, I could not help but place my hands upon his shoulders and turn him toward me. My son was clearly hurting and there was suddenly nothing I wanted more than to ease his pain. I would do whatever it took.
"Why would you have to let your mother go?"
"Well, because if she was to start a new life with you, I am sure you would not desire having me around as a constant reminder of my father."
I am your father! I wanted to scream.
Instead I took a calming breath and said, "You are your mother's heart. It would be the very death of her if she were ever parted from you. If you truly understand my great love for your mother, how could you ever think I would wish to wound her so?"
He gazed up at me in understanding and . . . dare I say . . . relief. "That was the correct answer."
"Ah, a test, I see?"
Clever, shrewd, brilliant.
"Why yes, of course. If you truly love Mother, you would never harm her so. I hope you will forgive me, but I had to be completely certain. I'm sure you understand."
"Oh, yes. I understand."
And I did indeed understand something in that moment that I hadn't fathomed to contemplate prior. Yes, the child prodigy before me was indeed capable of great good, but alas, also of unleashing unimaginable horror. If sent down the wrong path, or the right one, depending upon how you viewed it, my son could be ten times the monster I ever was. Why shouldn't he be? He was already far more excelled than I was at his age.
A numbing chill ran down my spine, and for the first time, I was afraid for my son's future. This rare treasure must be nurtured in all the correct ways or . . . I stopped musing, for I did not wish to reflect on the possibility.
There was absolutely no way around it. If I had thought before that Christine and the child were better off with me than with de Chagny, I now had reached a level of understanding far above certainty. No one else in the world could be trusted to raise my son. No one, not even his mother could comprehend him as wholly as I.
"As I've said, Gustave . . . Your mother must want a new life, neither you nor I can force her."
No, I would not force her, but I would eliminate de Chagny from the picture and remove the burden of choice from the equation.
"You must have faith in her and believe she will make the right decision. You must not sway her, and that is why, though I loath to ask it, I must implore that you keep this discussion between us. Can you do that, my son?"
He agreed, but I could see the reluctance to do so in his intelligent gaze.
"Very good. Now," I began as I opened the door into the suite's library. "I ask that you return to your room and rest. I am going to look in on your mother once more and then I must leave. I have affairs which require my immediate attention. Goodnight, Gustave. I thank you for your candor."
"Goodnight, Erik." He reached for the door knob, but turned and added, "Thank you for sending for Mother and for loving her." With that he disappeared into his room.
Remarkable. Every. Single. Thing. About. Him.
There was no sign of de Chagny, which meant I would have to track the louse down, a prospect that in no way pleased me. I opened the door to Christine's room, stole inside, closing it softly behind me and made my way silently to her side. She hadn't moved an inch since my departure. I knew I must find de Chagny, but I required just a few moments with my angel first.
I lay beside her, gently and quietly as a falling leaf, but no sooner had I positioned myself, then she bolted up, her chocolate eyes large with fright.
"Easy, my angel," I soothed, immediately taking her into the safety of my arms. Nothing would ever harm her there. I wouldn't allow it.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, placing a hand upon her heaving chest. "I thought that perhaps it was Raoul. He's been known to wander into my bed in a drunken stupor on more than one occasion."
I stiffened, leaning back to take her in as I asked, "Christine, he hasn't ever . . . What I mean to ask is . . . he's never forced himself on you, has he?"
I would kill him. Changed man be damned! There were times, such as then, when I eyed the faint vertical scar that marked the creamy skin of her throat, that I indeed felt some of my former murderous rage roiling to the surface.
"Oh no! Never unless his desires were returned." She admitted casting her shame filled eyes down.
"Returned!"
She cannot be serious!
She yanked free of my arms and I watched as her shoulders straightened and her eyes rose to meet mine with a defiance and indignation I had never seen them hold before.
"Yes, returned! For god's sake, Erik. I know you like to think of me as an angel, but I can assure I am not! I am so very far from one that it is comical. I am only human! Are you truly going to sit here and fault me for occasionally craving the companionship of my husband? It has been ten years, Erik! Surely you have not remained celibate either," she accused, her eyes narrowing to slits as she scrutinized my reaction.
"You, my dear Comtesse, may cast those judgmental eyes of yours elsewhere!" I shouted, leaping from the bed to pace the floor. "Not all of us feel that any companionship, no matter how lonely we may be, is better than none!"
She opened her full lips, which even in that moment I wanted to take in mine, about to argue, but quickly closed them as a look of disbelief blanketed her face. "You mean to tell me that in ten years there has been no one else?"
"There has never been anyone else and there never shall be anyone else! You, my dear Comtesse, are it – because the mere thought of lying with anyone other than you sickens me!" I spat turning my back to her.
Before I could have taken a breath, she was beside me, her arms embracing me from behind, one delicate hand resting on my shoulder. "Forgive me. I ignorantly assumed there have been others, because a normal man could not stand forgoing the comfort of a woman for so long a time. But you Erik, I have forgotten, are no ordinary man. You are, in some small part of my mind, and forever shall be, my otherworldly Angel of Music."
Instantly my anger evaporated and I turned to face her. "I apologize. As you can very well see, at times the selfish and angry cretin still appears in me. I have no right to be cross with you for finding comfort in the arms of your husband – even if I do abhor the ground he walks upon."
She smiled and blast it if I did not grin in response.
"We forgive each other then?"
"Yes."
"Good," I smiled releasing her hand, even though it was the last thing I yearned to do. "Now, while I do loathe leaving you, I fear I must. I have business to attend to."
"Business? At this hour? Erik, it's nearly dawn." Her chocolate eyes narrowed, taking me in, and then all at once they grew as large as an owl's. "Erik, no! Do not do this! Please, leave Raoul alone. I beg of you!"
"Easy, my angel," I said unlatching her bony fingers from the flesh of my arm. "I swear that no harm shall come to your husband. But now, I am afraid, I truly must leave."
"Erik!" Before I could blink she was standing in front of me, purposely blocking my way.
"Truly, Christine?" I implored crossing my arms impatiently. "I just swore I would not harm him and I meant it. Now, if you please, Comtesse. I have pressing matters which need my attention." A light nudging on her arm spanning the doorway with my hand, and I was granted my exit, but not silently.
"Say it one more time. Let me hear. Swear on my life that you will leave my husband unharmed."
I turned to see her standing strong and resolute. She would not allow me to depart until I assured her once again.
"I vow on your life that I will not mar the louse in anyway. Now there, are you quite satisfied?" I asked, sighing. The longer I dwelled there placating her, the longer it would be until I locked the final peg into the wheel I hoped to set in motion, one which would make her mine forever.
She sighed heavily, not appearing content with the situation, but accepting nonetheless. "Very well. Do what you must, Erik. For you will anyway." I could not help recall Nadir stating the same, not too long ago. "I am putting my trust in you. Do not make me regret it. And know that as difficult as you find it to believe, I have certainly had my hand in creating the darkness you now see in Raoul."
I stood numb for a time in the hall, after she closed the door to her room, her words reverberating again and again.
"I am putting my trust in you. Do not make me regret it."
No, Christine, I thought. You shall not regret it.
*Author's Note: Well there you have it. The very long awaited Chapter 13. I hope you guys enjoyed and once again, I apologize. I'm so, so sorry it's taken me this long. On the plus side – I have Part 2 nearly done, so YAY! LOL! A HUGE THANKS to my beta Grayskies29!
If you guys are interested, I'd love for you to check out my original story, "Reaching for Atlantis". The first 5 chapters can be found at FictionPress .com - Just search for the title "Reaching for Atlantis - the Egyptian Hall of Records" it's by Shannon O'Brien (you'll see two stories, but both are the same. One is in the YA category and the other in regular fiction. Take your pick.
Here's a quick summary. If it sounds interesting and you have the time, I would love to hear what you guys think. Your opinion mean a lot and I worked really hard. Thank you!*
What if the mythological civilization of Atlantis is no myth at all? What if proof of its existence lies hidden beneath one of the world's most beloved monuments?
Twenty-year-old archaeological intern Katarina Hamilton, her renowned archaeologist father Frank, and adopted archaeologist brother Tony are about to begin the excavation of a lifetime and learn if the legendary Hall of Records – prophesied to lie secreted beneath the Great Sphinx and to contain ancient riches and knowledge from Atlantis – is myth or fact; their discovery potentially changing the world. For if this ancient treasure trove does exist and proves to originate from twelve thousand years before – the date both the Greek philosopher Plato and prophet Edgar Cayce give for the demise of Atlantis – it would show proof of a civilization that predates any previously known by thousands of years. Such a discovery would rewrite history as we know it.
But their significant excavation is not without its dangers. There is unrest in Egypt. A terrorist group named Azrael has been deliberately targeting and destroying ancient monuments across the country, and Kat and her family will be working at the heart of Egypt's crown jewels. The Giza Plateau, on whose sand sits the Great Pyramids and Sphinx. The first place Azrael will strike if given the opportunity.
Things take an extraordinary turn when a handsome young man named Eric Danbury unexpectedly arrives on their site. Immediately Kat finds something oddly familiar about his snarky smile and unusual eyes, drawn to him against her will. She strives to push the feeling aside, in love with another – her adopted brother, who ardently returns her forbidden affections, yet whose love must be kept furtive – but Kat will soon learn there is a profound reason why Eric seems familiar, and that together they share a connection which defies logic, history, and time.
A connection that will ignite the impossible.
For both are part of a prophecy that will alter their lives and world forever. . .
Fact: In 1933 Edgar Cayce – who gave over fifteen thousand psychic readings in his life, eighty-seven percent of which have proved accurate – declared a hidden chamber rests below the front paws of the Great Sphinx in Egypt, and that in it resides ancient artifacts and forgotten wisdom placed there by survivors of the lost civilization of Atlantis. He called this chamber the Hall of Records and prophesied it would be opened in our lifetime by two men and one woman.
Fact: In 1992 Dr. Robert Schoch, a geologist and professor at Boston University, having no knowledge of Cayce's prediction, conducted seismic surveys at the base of the Sphinx and found a thirty by forty foot rectangular shaped anomaly just sixteen feet below its limestone paws.
Fact: The Egyptian government has denied permission to excavate since.