Author's Note: DarlingPhantom730, Thank you so much for your Reviews. They Make me all warm and fuzzy, and I am glad you are enjoying the story and appreciate the prose of my writing. Your Ch2 Review-Hearts all around. I hope to see feedback again from you soon!


Chapter 4: Learning to Cope


Charles sat the kitchen table numbly staring at his arm as Erik deftly peeled away the stained bandage where blood started to seep through. Although the eccentric masked man, his genetic father, long since moved his Mother's body elsewhere, he did not want to be in that room for any duration.

In the hours since she died, neither Charles or Erik really spoke a word. They had barely interacted since the hug outside. It was only for the need of comfort that Charles sought out that embrace. There was no else to seek out, and Erik seemed equally distraught over her loss. They shared in the emptiness of her absence.

Although Erik's awkward uncertainty was apparent to any observer, that initial hesitance soon faded. In that embrace, Charles felt himself melt into the comfort and safety it offered. While it was not quite the same warmth of his Mothers, or the familiarity of the Father he knew, but it was more than enough to ease the tear of anxiety in his weary and lonely spirit. Lastly, his Mother spoke no lie when she said he would be safe with Erik, because Charles felt untouchable in those deceptively gaunt arms.

A while after that shared moment, Charles ate what he could of the stew at Erik's rather stern instance. He was not in the mood to eat anything, and just sipping at its broth that had been kept hot on the stove was not enough this time. At least it only took a few bites of beans and potatoes to be left alone on the matter.

But then, Erik gave him tea that left Charles's eyes so impossibly heavy over the course of the next half hour. Then, when he opened his eyes next, roused by the percussive sounds of the hooves from a cantering horse, he found himself in a room brimming with books. Beneath him was the cushions from the sofa and then the blanket drawn up to his shoulders.

When his eyes drifted to the windows, he caught a glimpse of Erik riding by, returning from somewhere unknown.

Only minutes passed between then until now, where they sat at the table.

"Where did you go?" Charles asked as Erik poured some sort of thickened liquid over the long cut that almost ran the length of his inner forearm. It first stung, then tingled into nothing.

Those strange eyes where the irises lacked pigment glanced up to him from behind the eyeholes of the black mask, but Erik did not lift his head. "I returned the horse you rode to the creek. I cannot keep it here."

"Why?"

Lips pursed as he gently wiped away the excess ointment, to which Charles felt no pain, only pressure. "Horses are easily tracked. It would not do well to have the property of a dead man housed within my stable."

"Because of your…mask?"

Erik's lips thinned further as he switched to a cloth and warm soapy water and carefully began cleaning the wound again. "Yes. Once someone discovers them, authorities will likely try to find their way back here."

"Then what?"

"You will hide in the basement while I convince them to leave."

"You have a basement? And how will you convince them to leave?"

"So many questions," Erik sighed. "There is a hidden basement which I shall show you how to access it. As for convincing them," a small flash of a smile appeared this time, "my secret."

Charles crinkled his nose as silence fell between them while Erik paused the cleansing to closely inspect the wound further. While it was not uncomfortable, Charles did not want to spend time in his own thoughts. "How many followed us?"

Erik paused with another glance, turning his chin upward this time. "There were seven."

The two floating bodies in the creek after the blinding flash slipped into his mind, then the invitation, from seconds before their deaths.

"They are all…?"

"They are no longer of any concern," Erik answered, clinically detached from his own words.

Charles swallowed hard, knowing the implication though Erik seemed to avoid saying it outright. While their deaths were deserved in his eyes, he was not sure how to feel about the notion. Relief that they were gone and some sort of justice for his parents were served, intermingled with guilt for being glad those men for lying dead somewhere.

Erik traded the soapy water for a small tub filled with a thick and sweet-smelling amber substance, and began spreading the sticky residue over the wound.

"Honey?"

Another small glimpse of a smile. "An old tried and true method to stave off infection while promoting healing, especially if you keep the area and bandages clean, as we are doing now." Erik finished applying the honey and re-wrapped the wound. After which, he began cleaning up the various bottles and supplies he had on the table by returning them in to a square wooden bin that fit numerous medicinal supplies in addition to what Erik already used on him.

As more hours of silence ticked away, Charles spent his time in the kitchen just staring out the window as the world passed by. Rather, it was nature woodland creatures and wandered the grassy meadow of Erik's property beyond the glass panes. Deer were a near constant presence with the three horses out in the massive pasture that took up much clearing to the back of the small two-story house.

Two of the horses were Friesians as indicated by their silky black fur, wavy manes, tails, and the bit of hair growing around the fetlocks. The third one was white and seemed content to graze on what little grass was available. All seemed to content to exist, and Charles envied them for that. Peaceful ignorance of life and its troubles…with its losses.

Erik seemed to keep busy with moving things up on the second floor. What exactly he was doing, Charles did not know of even care. It mattered little to him. Nothing seemed to matter now.

But when dusk came, Erik reappeared with the instruction for Charles to dress and meet him outside. Charles did not even mind that his clothes were stained and tattered. At least they were dry and not an oversized nightshirt that might as well be a dress on him.

When Charles did emerge, Erik was in the processes of hitching the Friesians to a small tented cart that would only really need one horse to pull it along.

"Where are we going?"

Erik did not pause or waste any fluid motion as he expertly moved around the horses and adjusted any buckle and leather strap as needed. He did not even cast him a glance. "Paris. You will need clothing and a place to store it along with a bed. Unless you are fond of a thin cushion on the floor of my library."

Charles shook his head.

"Among other tasks that can only be addressed Paris. I do believe it is fair to say we are both agreed that your Mother deserves…" he paused long enough to take in a deep inhale, "deserves a proper burial."

Glancing to the to the bed of the cart, Charles swallowed against the welling tightness of his throat. Quickly, he turned towards the horses and a stroked the velvety nose of the one who bounced his head towards him while nickering playfully.

"That one is Phobos," Erik spoke from inside the stable where he was writing out a note on waist high table nestled against a wall opposite of the four stalls. "But he answers to Phoe."

"Like a villain?"

"Yes," Erik chuckled. "Though, he hardly has the personality to be a fiend anyway."

Phoe bobbed his head with enthusiasm as he butted Charles with his nose before just rubbing his face against the boy, particularly around the bridle straps. Charles did not let Phoe's shoving head deter him, if anything it made him grin and scratch at anything Phoe wanted scratched with a small giggle.

"Case in point," Erik commented with a gesture to the eager gelding. "He is friends with most anyone."

"What is the other one's name?"

"Deimos. He is not as friendly. It takes time for him to decide if he likes you, and it is best to let him come to you."

Charles nodded at the stoic equine that was giving him a bit of a side eye look. "Does he get a nickname too? Is it Dei?"

Erik shrugged and added a bucket to the back corner of the cart before approaching. "Eimos perhaps, on occasion. Dei does not seem to suit him, most nicknames fail to fit him," Erik's eyes flickered over Charles a moment before he added. "Go fetch one of my jackets inside. It is too chill to be without for three or more hours."

"Three?"

"Yes, two get there. Another or so more to travel through the city to our destinations."

Charles grumbled something under his breath, which was a mistake.

Erik's eyes narrowed and his tone instantly dropped and sharpened. "Get the jacket now, and I do not care if it swallows you whole. You will wear it until something more suitable is procured. Do I make myself clear?"

His mouth went dry as he shrunk back a bit, "Yes, Monsieur."

"Then, go get it."

The boy darted away and hastened his step into the small house and retrieved the same jacket that he used last night and rejoined Erik by the cart. Once there, Erik helped Charles climb up onto the bench seat and took the seat beside him. Already, his demeanor softened from the authoritative force he had become in a blink.

As they went into the night, Charles came to an understanding.

Life with Erik was going to interesting.


~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~


When they did reach Paris, Erik was at a terrible crossroads of indecision of how exactly he wanted to proceed. He needed to leave Christine's body with the mortuary under the cover darkness. Having her body discovered in his presence was a worst possible scenario. No one would believe a masked fiend would be anything but the murderer of the Comtesse and her husband. Not the rescuer, not the one who tried to save her life. Only the murderer.

They would lock him up and throw away the key until the day of execution. Likely by guillotine, for France had strong taste for a beheading. What a spectacle it would be too, bear faced on the block; the crowd would be fainting before the blade ever fell through his neck. What would they do with his grisly head then? Embalm him in a jar for generations to gawk at the murderer with death's head? Dissect him out of morbid curiosity of how anyone could be so hideous?

The question was what to do with Charles. It was likely whoever wanted the de Chagnys dead had eyes on any affiliates. That crossed out Meg Corbin, and possibly Nadir. However, Nadir was not much of an option regardless. That man would sooner believe that he killed the Chagnys for some stupid reasoning. If not, the incessant questions would grow mind numbingly annoying faster than an open flame catching oil.

There was too much he needed to do than to waste time chatting just yet.

Which left three options. The first and second options where that he either left Charles unsupervised in a rented room or tucked away in an alley and hope he did not get apprehended in the meantime. Or, the final option of keeping Charles in his direct care while he rendered the locks to the morgue useless. If they were caught, the boy would be in the charge of Sûreté, for better or worse.

Charles was the safest with him, even if Erik somehow was captured for a crime he did not commit.

No one else knew where Charles was. No one else knew where or who Erik was.

Right now, they were almost as invisible as the Phantom of Erik's past.

There was…the opera of course, a fortress beneath Paris. But in truth, that was that last place Erik wanted to go ever again. Regardless, if he somehow failed to return to Charles, it would be a death sentence for the boy.

After ensuring the hour was sufficiently late and the area was devoid of life, Erik made quick work of picking the lock and ushered his son into the corridor. Then, after locating the appropriate room, Erik moved Christine's body faster than he ever moved a body before. He had kept her well concealed in the cart in a manner than would make it difficult to locate her should they have been stopped and searched.

Moving her was both the harder and easier part in the sense she was over twelve hours deceased and rigor was in full affect.

When he had her safely within the confines of the morgue and placed, Erik proceeded to bar Charles from the room but secured in the corridor. As he looked towards her, herbody wrapped in blanket, Erik pressed his back to the door. Fingers became little more than claws as he shut his eyes and steadied himself.

This is not Christine… She is not here. She is not here.

He had to disassociate from her completely to ensure that her magical appearance came across as nothing less than legitimate as a last-minute addition. Which meant removing the blanket and covering her with the sheets found within the morgue. Death and the contortions of the flesh that death created did not bother him.

The fact that this was his sweet Christine lying there as still as stone bothered him without measure. He did not want to see her any more than he had already had, but Erik to protect himself, Charles, and her right to dignified burial alongside the man she chose to wed. Anything for Christine.

After taking a deep breath and detached as ever, Erik proceeded to make all the necessary and adjustments to her presentation. Not once looking at her face.

When he was finished, he permitted Charles's entrance while he went about forging documentation with his right hand. He listed her as being found by on the side of the road between Chateau de Chagny and Paris. The man who found her, a false name of course, attempted to render aid but she died anyway. It was upon her death that her body was brought her.

All of which, were essentially true statements, apart from the name and location. Any investigation into the name would like lead to the conclusion that whoever brought her, wanted to remain anonymous. Also true. However, forging the initials and a timestamp on intake documents…well, that would remain blank. Hopefully, there was at least some inadequate employee that was in great habit of forgetting details. If not, well, the police would have more questions than actual leads.

When he finished, he looked to his son standing beside where his mother lay looking rather miserable, which was a sentiment that Erik shared completely.

"It is unlikely that you or I can attend her funeral," Erik said softly. "So, if there is anything you wish to tell her before we leave…"

"Is that what you do?" asked that small voice. "Talk to her body?"

Erik paused as he struggled to summon suitable words to divulge the thought. "Her death is perhaps the first to have…impacted me. While I have not spoken to her body, I have spoken to her spirit, here," Erik tapped his temple. "As though she is still alive and can…answer my questions, although I know she cannot."

"She isn't alive, she can't hear me. She can't speak. Nothing."

"A spirit such as hers does not simply vanish with a last exhale. Her spirit lives on, I have no doubt of that, even if I am not fond of religious connotations. Her memory also lives in you."

"Still…why talk to her at all."

Erik pursed his lips. "Charles, I cannot presume to know or understand all aspects of grief, or how others deal with it. What I do know, what I have observed, is that speaking to the body and or the grave of the missed one, seemed to ease the pain of that loss. I know in conveying my thoughts to her, what I wish I said or could say, releases it into the universe. The idea that she is listening helps lift the weight of things left unsaid. Which is something I think that you need now," Erik came to stand beside the boy and placed a hand on that small shoulder.

"Speak to her aloud or in silence, in the presence of where she lays or her spirit whenever you think of her. Allow yourself to release that pain you feel in here," Erik floated a fist over Charles's chest between the sternum and diaphragm. "Carrying it with you always is not good for your soul. It will turn to anger if you hold onto it long enough, and even more misery for you. Believe me when I say that it a path you do not want to dwell within. I know this better than most, and it is a form of hell."

Charles seemed to absorb what was said but remained unmoving and sullen. "I don't know what to say."

Erik moved his fist from hovering over Charles to briefly rest an opened palm on the sheet over Christine's head. "You start by telling her good-bye."