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Chapter 15

Family News

Erik's POV

My poor Christine was so ill, constantly throwing up, not being able to stomach food and in terrible back pain. She was on bed rest now, by order of me and spent most of her time fast asleep or listening to me as I played the violin. Often times she was drugged on pain medication and just laid there with glazed eyes until she had to vomit. Then she would puke all over herself being too loopy to go to the chamber pot and just lie there moaning till I carried her to the tub and washed her like a small child. When I did this she would hold onto me and weep because I was so tired that sometimes I snapped at her that she had better eat or force-feed her myself.

It hurt me to do so because she was so miserable and nauseous, but there was nothing I could do about it. Her moans were pitiful and twice a day I would pour tonics down her throat that tasted and smelled awful. She would cough and sputter harshly but the bitterer the medicine the quicker the cure I suppose. Now if only I could make her understand that, she fought me every time I tried to give her the medicine she tried to refuse even though her back was killing her and she was sicker than a dog. I did not blame her, the stuff tasted horrible and looked like vomit, green vomit at that.

Christine would moan and shake her head but she had to eat and drink if she was to live… and she had to take her medicine because it was all I had. She was so weak that I had to hold her up and spoon feed her like a helpless infant. I did this faithfully every hour or so with a glass of water that she would suck at feebly. My poor angel tried to drink it neatly, always a lady even when she was desperately ill. But she struggled to keep the water in her mouth and I would wipe the dribble from her chin with my handkerchief. Sometimes she would cough and spit the water out all over the towel I placed on her chest.

I mop the dribble from her chin over and over while she laid there groggily her eyes listless and glazed. I sang to her and rocked her back and forth in a cradle made of my arms until she was snoring. Then I would take a pale of warm water and soap and wash her hair soothingly before I brushed it out while she slept. Christine turned over in my lap and lay on my knee, snuggling it wanting to be comforted in her current state and I didn't blame her. So I would hold her till she woke and begged me for water for her burning throat.

I would oblige her and she would drink like she was dying of thirst, sloppily and noisy till the cup was drained to the last. Christine collapsed on the bed, beautiful and innocent as a cherub child, eyes babyish and wide with a fear that was almost palpable. The kind of childish fear a toddler might have of a storm. Her illness was sapping the strength of her body and I wrapped my arms around her and held her for a long moment. I got up and made a pot full of English tea, pouring her a glass of it and dropping two cubes of sugar into the steaming liquid.

I had no milk; there was none on the ship as there was no way to keep it fresh and spoiled milk would only serve to make her worse. But still it was sure to cheer her up so I did the best I could to make her comfortable. I bought it to her but she had fallen asleep and so I drank the tea myself, finding it soothing on my aching body. I could see why she liked this brew; it was gentle and soothing just like her. The warmth in my belly was calming enough to make me feel the sleepiness that I had pushed away from the stress. My hand put the cup down and I slid down in my seat and closed my tired eyes. I was exhausted, I couldn't deny my body hurt and I wanted to sleep but I would not.

Not until she was well and it would be some time before that was. Her sickness was beyond terrible and I cried at night when my eyes burned from insomnia but she needed me right now. I had known when she started complaining of pain and dizziness that this was far worse than seasickness. So I made her go to bed despite her assurance that she was perfectly all right and I needn't worry. I knew she was being strong and trying to hide her weakness from me so I would not be frightened. But it did not work; I knew she was terribly ill

Her eyes snapped open and she paled, looking at me and I knew she was about to vomit. I ran and grabbed the chamber pot before holding her hair back and she gagged, but nothing came up. She just wretched for a good fifteen minutes before she reached for the empty water glass and I refilled it, wishing I had brandy or something that would soothe her. But all I had was hot water and tea; she never kept tea down lately so I went with the water. It was apparently more than she could take because she groaned and doubled over clutching her stomach as though she were in agony.

She threw the water back up of course and I cleaned her again before laying her down to rest again. Christine would sometime hold my arm and look at me with tearing glassy eyes asking me to hold her. I would slide into bed with her and hold her limp body against mine; she was so weak nowadays that it made me weep. This was not my Christine and I wanted her back, I wanted my wildcat angel determined to love me whether it was good for her or not. My spitfire who made me burn with a simple touch and who screamed with passion at my own. Not this weak mewling woman so helpless that the mere sight of her was so…pathetic.

Christine whimpered as I fed her chicken soup and warm tea, sleep weighing her eyelids down as I fought to keep her awake. I could not let her fall asleep till she had taken her medicine and let the soup soothe her poor throat. I held it to her lips and she drank it to make me feel better but was too weak to hold her head up. So I held her in a sitting position, rubbing her back as she coughed and struggled to swallow. I did the best I could to comfort her as I poured the medicine down her throat and she made a horrible gasping noise as she tried to force and keep it down.

I knew something was seriously wrong when a week had gone by and she had not gotten any better. She was shivering and I reached out to feel her forehead where she was hotter than usual. I sighed, now she was running a fever and I must get it down before it gets out of control and became fatal. I pressed a cool towel to her head and she smiled, chilled a little and relaxed by the gentle coldness. I sighed in relief and relaxed a little watching her sleep and tuning into the rhythm of her snores and ragged breathing, allowing her comfort and peace to soothe me as I touched her white cheek, thinking of how lovely she was, even when she was ravaged by pain and sickness.

As I gazed at her I could not help but think of how weary she was as she slept through this nightmare. Most people's faces would be crinkled in lines of pain and weariness but her face was a slack miracle of childlike purity. I reached down and stroked her cheek, she leaned into my touch and her lips turned up in a tiny closed mouth smile. It warmed my heart that even in her state she still found comfort in my arms and at my touch.

This version of her reminded me of a shattered porcelain doll, so fragile yet so beautiful needing warm glue and a good warm wash to be made better. Her beauty still remained, but it had been ravaged by the weakness, there were dark circles under her eyes do purplish black that it appeared she was the victim of domestic abuse. This would never happen when she was in my care, but still people might get the wrong idea. That would cause problems because people would take one look at my face and assumed I had kidnapped her. Because why would a beautiful woman like her love a man like me.

They would never believe that I loved her and the feeling was mutual, they would believe I had brainwashed her. Then they would recognize her from her fame and the scandalous engagement to a French aristocrat. Of course, this would cause issues for me because then they would figure out that I was the Phantom and of course everyone knew of the horrible scandal that had rocked the city of Paris after they had finally gotten their heads out of their silly romantic clouds. I wished they would just forget me but I had been in the papers after I had dragged her off the stage that night.

Most of all they blamed me for ruining their opera house, as they should because I did cause it's burning. This had created even more of resentment because if there is one thing Parisians loved it was their arts and their romance. Both of which were now ruined because of my rage and unwillingness to accept the fact that she might love someone other than me. If anyone found out about our love things would get out of hand and the shit would hit the wind so to speak. Oh, it would hit so badly that things would spin way beyond my control. If I was discovered some greedy bastard would out me for the price on my head which was expensive.

I had seen the WANTED posters when I had left with Madame and her daughter in the night. They had born my face in all its horrible glory in a drawing of black and white that made me seem to be a walking skeleton, a fitting depiction in my opinion. The gaping holes in my head were appearing to drip blood and ooze dark black ink. It was truly a horrible sight, a picture of a child's nightmare or the monster they feared was under their bed waiting to snatch them from their dreams. The demon mother's prayed would not reach their babies at night.

Thus was my horrible visage and thus was the reason I thought I would never be loved in my life. After all my mother had not seen fit to kiss me even when she said I could have anything I wanted on my birthday. Of course, I did not understand the reason for her cruelty then as I do now. I did not know why she had seen fit to traumatize an innocent child at the age of five. Nor did I know what she meant when she said as long as I wore the mask I would never be harmed by that face again. At least she had possessed the care and compassion to tell me the horrible truth that it was my own face in that terrifying mirror… horrible and distorted.

I had no idea why I had loved the woman so much when all she did was abuse me, and care more about her love life than her only child. She even courted a man who wished to lock me up in an asylum. He probably was married to her now, the thought of him being my stepfather and fathering children, normal children with her made me sick. At least my mother would be happy now as a child that was all I wanted. I had not understood that she hated me because her husband was not there and she had not had the beautiful son she had promised. I did not know then that I was a monster.

That I had learned the hard way, when that disgusting, obese brute of a gypsy had kidnapped me. He had dubbed me a living corpse and forced me to use my face as a fucking attraction and my voice to draw the crowds. Forcing me to sing for an hour on end with no rest till my voice was hoarse and giving me no water. That was my first sexual experience, a cruel and brutal rape and that was also the first time I committed the act of murder. There was no way in hell I was going to let him live after that.

I remembered that day he had barged into the tent that I had extorted from him, "corpse!" he shouted and grabbed my head tearing the skin and I screamed.

"Please master…' I begged, terrified as I had been as a child. "I am bleeding, please bandage my head."

"No…" he said cruelly and yanked me forward, "Now listen to me corpse, you are going to shut the fuck up!"

He threw me against the wall and I screamed, I knew what he was about to do. He had a fondness for men more than women, I knew he was about to rape me. "Please master…" I blubbered.

Javert slapped me hard and I heard a small pop, blood trickled down my face. I knew my nose was broken and I groaned and sank to the floor. He grabbed the little hair I had and yanked me back up and I screamed. He threw me on my back and pulled the horse whip off its hook, I knew what was coming and I braced myself for the impact. The whoosh of the whip rang through the air, then a snap and a horrible sharp agony. Javert hit me once, twice, three times and I could feel the warm, wet blood trickling down my back. No running down my back.

"Now, "he growled, "maybe you will behave." I groaned and he pulled me up again. "Shut up!" he bellowed in my face. "I am about to do you a great service, no woman will ever want you! Do you hear me corpse? No. Woman. Will. Ever. Want. You!"

Then it happened, he tore off my pants and raped me, I screamed and struggled but the more I did the worse it got. Finally I just lay there limp and he came over and over inside me. When he was done he got up with a satisfied smirk and licked his cigarette-burned lips before he kissed me on the ear and I shivered with disgust. He thought it was from pleasure and picked me up gently this time and kissed me deeply on the lips. The taste of his mouth and his tongue was grotesque and slimy. I gagged and he dropped me heavily on the dirt floor.

"I love you corpse we will do this again." He said roughly.

I saw the only way out then the knife gleaming and sharp as it dangled from the thick belt over his fat bulging belly. I reached down pretending to hug him as I slid the blade from his sheath and just like that plunged it into his belly over and over. His eyes widened as he sank to his knees and I plunged it into him one more time all the way to the hilt. Blood sprayed my face, hot sticky and coppery to the taste as he sunk to his knees and toppled over dead. That was my first taste of murder, an addiction that took me years to overcome.

My eyes closed as I thought of my mother, calling the man who was my real father to perform an exorcism on her little monster. I was indeed an ugly creature, and now I was wanted for ten-thousand francs and could never go back to my underground home. I ripped the poster off the lamp post where it was nailed and crumpled it into a ball, tossing it into the fire in lamp where the edge caught. I watched it smolder and fold up as it turned into ash and angrily stepped on it. I had thought that my life was ruined all in the name of an unrequited, unreturned love.

Now I was a fugitive running from the law, I had to live my life alone in the shadows, forever alone. Forever running until she had returned to me by some miracle of fate and made me a normal man. She was my only reason for sanity, my only reason to live and if I were separated from her there was no reason to live. If I were taken away from Christine, then I might as well be sent back to the gallows of France to my well-deserved death. But that would never happen, I would not allow it…no one would take away my Christine.

No one would find out who I was because then they would call the authorities and my criminal record would be found out. I would surely be tried and convicted of murder. If that happened then Christine would be a widow for I would most surely be put to death. They would show no mercy for me, not that I deserve any for now that I have a somewhat normal life I realize that killing those men did not help me win Christine's love. That was not how a gentleman won a lady as the Daroga had said long ago.

But still I have the social skills of a troll in a fairytale trying to eat the lovely princess. The ugly, monstrous troll trying to win her love but too repulsive and brutish to even have a chance at winning her heart. But then it turned into another fairytale, the Beauty and the Beast, although I am no handsome prince after marriage. Still she loved me and thought me beautiful and enjoyed our sexual experience, I was her dark prince. She was my fragile angel whose light needed restoration after this ordeal that it was my duty to provide as her spouse and her lover.

Therefore it is imperative that she recover from this sickness and be her healthy vibrant self again lest I go mad with worry. Right as I was going to eat lunch she feebly reached for me. I cupped her hand in both of mine, strong and reassuring as she opened her eyes and looked tiredly into my eyes. It broke my heart to see her like this, and when she coughed it sounded harsh as though her body was deliberately making her suffer. I stared back at her, my eyes worried and she reached up to touch my face weakly, a sleepy caress.

"Erik… it hurts…" she moaned.

"I know angel, you will be all right." I said.

"What's going on, what happened?" she asked, trying to hold me.

"You are very sick; you need more sleep and medicine…'

"I feel awful…" she whimpered, "I need a doctor."

"No, you don't…" he said firmly, "I will take care of you."

"But…. "She started.

"No!" I snapped, and she flinched. I turned my voice gentle, cupped her face and gave her the tenderest kiss I could manage, "I will take care of you." I laid her back down and covered her up snuggly. "Now, go to sleep."

Christine did not argue with me she did not have the energy and neither did I. God I am so tired and I laid down wrapping my arms around her. Soon I was snoring along with her feeling how loud it was going to be before it came out. She woke up from the noise of my exhausted sleep and shook my shoulder waking me. I offered a sleepy mumble and closed my tired eyes again, resuming my helplessly obnoxious snooze almost instantly. I couldn't help it; I was so tired I laid completely still, not even rolling over in my much-needed rest. I did not even feel her wrap her arms around my waist and woke up only when I heard her moan and saw her clutching her belly.

"Erik, please get the doctor on board…" she pleaded.

She looked in such distress that I could no longer deny her, "I will be right back angel try to relax."

"Thank you." She said a grateful tone to her voice.

I found the doctor in a flash, in the dining hall; eating kippers and cheese on toast, obviously an Englishman. He was old and had thick glasses just like my father and was wearing a white burlap coat. I held my nose as the smell of tonic and morphine wafted there, making me want to puke, it smelled revolting and I had to struggle to keep from gagging. The last thing I wanted to do was offend the man for fear he would refuse to help my ailing wife. I tapped his shoulder and he turned to me, his eyes immediately filled with compassion at my sorrowful, worried look. I realized when I saw him that there were tears running down my face, whether from exhaustion or grief of my angel's condition I did not know.

"What's wrong sir?" the doctor asked me in a kind voice.

"Please, I need help." I sobbed, speaking English.

"Of course…" he said, gently rubbing my shoulder, "but you need to tell me what's wrong."

"My wife is so sick… I tried to help her but she's not getting any better." I realized I was choking and I dropped to my knees weeping like a broken man.

"Speak in French, I learned it and it is your native tongue yes?"

I nodded suddenly blabbering about her illness, how worried I was. I could barely get the words out through my tears. The doctor gave me a sympathetic look and offered me tea silently. I took it hopeful it would calm me down but it did no such thing. It was impossible to keep it down with how much I was sobbing and hyper-ventilating. The tea went down my chin in a most undignified way, my gasping caused me to regurgitate the tea I had swallowed and as I coughed it up, he ran small circles on my back.

"Shh it's going to be all right…" he got down at my level and rubbed my shoulder.

"No, I only married her two months ago I love her so much and now I might lose her…" I sobbed, "I cannot bear that…"

"Then you must take me to her at once." He said.

I nodded my head and he followed me back to our room where Christine was moaning in pain. I went to her and wrapped her in my arms where she burrowed closed to my heart and cried. It broke my heart and I knew she could feel my tears dropping sadly on my head. She looked up at me with an apologetic look and fingered the dark circles under my eyes with tender pity. I shook my head, pressing her close to me and rocking her back and forth gently wanting her to relax and feel secure in my arms. She did, going slack before she looked at the doctor and questionably looked up at me. I told her in French that he was the doctor. He came up to us and asked her in almost perfect French asked what her symptoms were.

"I am so sick…" she moaned.

"I was aware from your husband's hysteria." He said gently. "Poor man…"

Christine moaned and touched my hand, too weak to lace her fingers through mine so I did it for her. "I am in terrible pain in my back, I can't keep anything down. "She groaned.

The doctor nodded, "anything else?" he asked.

"I am shivering and running a temperature, I am so tired." Christine whispered wearily.

He smiled and rubbed her hands, "do not worry Madame that is normal in the early stages of pregnancy with multiples. Congratulations to you both." He then took out three bottles, one orange, blue and red. "The blue is for the fever, the orange is for the pain, and the red is for the tiredness."

"Thank you," she said, touching her belly with a surprised smile.

He nodded and smiled at her turning to me. "You sir, need sleep and then you will be fine."

I nodded and stood still as the doctor left me standing there in complete shock and horror. Christine was pregnant, with my demon children.