Author's Note: List of the Previous Chapter's Phantoms:

Erik = Lon LeRoi: For Lon Chaney(Erik, 1925)

Julien Claudin = Claude Rains (Erique Claudin, 1943)

Herbert Petrie = Herbert Lom (Professor L. Petrie, 1962)

Michael Carriére = Michael Crawford(1986) + Charles Dance(Erik Carriére, 1990) since to Me, they are both quite similar in a number of ways.

Robert Destler = Robert Englund(Erik Destler, 1989)

Claudin got the first name Julien because Claude Claudin wouldn't work, and Erique Rains-well, we already have an Erik. For LeRoi - It means King and since he is the First Phantom, he is the King of the Phantoms.


Chapter 6: Paris


After depositing Christine in the morgue last night, Erik had managed to secure them a decent room in a rather deplorable establishment. However, when one wore a mask and the other had bruises on his face, Erik could not exactly blame the more reputable Inns would did not ever want questionable guests making others feel uncomfortable. What a horrid notion to their precious reputation.

At least Erik was able to secure a kettle of hot water and a buttered baguette with warm ham for Charles to eat while he prepared a special cup of tea to help the boy sleep through the night. The evitable suffering from the plague of a restless mind would otherwise keep such rest beyond the boy's reach.

Charles mental state was becoming a greater concern with his inability or resistance to find a suitable outlet for grieving. Although Erik was hardly a source of proper guidance on the matter, he did know what it meant to continue to hold onto such pain. What he could not quite grasp why Charles did not even wish to bid his mother a farewell. A day had barely passed, it was true. But in consideration of all the torments that the last two days held for the boy, the absence of tears since Christine's passing that morning was problematic.

It was not just the absence of continued grief for Christine, but…damnably, for Raoul de Chagny as well. While Erik never cared for the man, Christine did… Charles did. In truth, de Chagny was the more suitable arrangement for Christine and the rearing of a child, even if the thought pained Erik's still bleeding heart further.

Charles was bottling everything away, even Erik knew that, and its affects. But beyond what little advice he imparted, Erik did not know how to help him further.

Perhaps the boy would find his own path to handle his grief.

In turn, Erik skipped eating anything and had enjoyed a cup of tea without the addition of any sedative. He watched Charles fall into a fitful sleep within minutes of the consuming the provided. It was not ideal. Restless thrashing was hardly restorative, but at least it was better than no sleep at all, and any tormented dreaming was going to be forgotten.

Come morning when Charles woke on his own accord, Erik acquired him another buttered baguette, this time with cheese. Erik was eager to move on with the day as the less time they spent in Paris, the better. They were already at more risk than he cared for admit.

Their first stop was two-fold in purpose. The there was the carpenter whose work Erik often found favorable for the quality of his craftsmanship. Then there for the blacksmith that sat on the other side of the alley where Erik recruited the farrier there to perform maintenance on the hooves and re-shoe the horses.

At least neither business was in habit of a gauging him out of francs completely. In comparison to others of their trades, they only marked up their work by half.

With the carpenter, Erik left a note of what he needed to purchase and loaded into the cart which was left between the two businesses. It was nothing that should not already be on hand, all the necessities for furnishing a bedroom for Charles since having him sleeping on a mat, sofa, or Erik's own bed simply will not do for any length

Their second stop was the tailor which Erik had been using for years.

"Ah! My best client!" declared the aging tailor that must be in his fifties now as they were granted entry through the backdoor. "Monsieur Renaud, I have some items ready for you in anticipation that you would appear again soon—" the tailor paused as he looked Charles up and down. "And who is this, in one of my ruined jackets no less!"

Erik gave a sigh, "Monsieur Brossard, this is my charge, Gustavé. Gustavé, Brossard," he introduced with the use of Charles's middle name for continued discretion. "As for the jacket, I could not well have him freezing to death in coming here to appease your vanity."

M. Brossard harrumphed and pealed the jacket off the boy with a look of disdain at Charles's rather depressing state of dress. "Well then, I suppose it's a good thing you brought him here to rectify this," Brossard threw a glance towards Erik before back to the boy. "Now tell me, dear boy, what has put you in such a state? Quite the shiner you have."

Charles pursed his lips with a glance towards Erik, who dipped his chin. "I got into with a few other boys," the boy explained.

"For what reason?" asked Brossard as he lightly grasped the wing of Charles's shirt collar, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger.

Erik narrowed his eyes. Damn tailors.

Charles shrugged, "They didn't exactly give me one, just jumped me."

"I see… and this is all you have, Gustavé?"

"Monsieur Brossard, I do have other tasks that need accomplished today," Erik spoke with sourness.

"I've been on my own for a while, until Monsieur Renaud found me last night" Charles said anyway, keeping with the story they had fabricated for just this reason.

Brossard glanced between them, his jaw set and mind annoyingly working in something other than measurements.

Not caring for the apparent thought processed coursing through the tailor's mind, Erik bit out a lightly toned warning, "As you and I both know, Monsieur Brossard, there are certain things better left unsaid," Such as the extent of Brossard's relationship with his associate. "I trust that Monsieur Joubert is doing well?"

The tailor squared his shoulders a bit and raised his chin a bit as the point struck home. They both had their secrets and were reasonably privy to certain privileged, information. Brossard and Joubert were the fine artists of a certain Red Death costume. "It will take a few days to make anything to your expectations Monsieur," Brossard snipped as he tugged the measuring ribbon from around of the back of his neck and set to task.

"That will not be necessary," Erik spoke in a more casual manner. "Merely whatever you have available that is his size and will likely to grow into will suffice."

"Any other preferences? Colors?"

Erik gave a dismissive wave. "Whatever the boy wishes, however it is best to avoid any light colors for any jackets, trousers, or shorts," he winced at the last one. While he understood the fashion for rampant boys running through the day, he was not overly fond of it.

"The knee socks as well?"

"At Gustavé's discretion. I gave my stipulations."

Brossard breezed through the measurements and jotted them down all at once, even Charles's feet. "What color would you have for such socks, Gustavé? Contrasting? Matching? White?"

"Uh…" Charles looked helplessly towards Erik who only offered an aloof shrug.

"Jean!" Brossard called to the front as he wrote something on a separate piece of parchment.

Jean Joubert appeared from the front, but gave a noticeable start at the sight of Erik, but recovered quickly. "Yes?"

"Here," Brossard help up the paper. "Go to the cobbler and get this boy some shoes. Four boots, an ankle and knee in each color."

Jean took the note. "Any particular…style?"

"Practical," Erik laid out enough franc notes to cover the cost of those shoes.

Joubert took the francs and vanished from the shop without making eye contact with Erik.

Brossard looked towards Charles when he had yet to give a preference on colors. "How about, I bring you my selections and you decide what you like best, since your guardian is being less demanding today."

Erik flashed a wicked smile, which Brossard ignored.

Brossard soon vanished then quickly returned with an armful of garments which he began laying the selections out on a work table.

"Monsieur, I have a matter that I need broach with Monsieur Ducasse next door, would it be too much of an imposition?" Erik asked with a gentle motion to Charles.

"No, no, not at all. I imagine it will take time to pick out Gustavé's preferences," the tailor stated and went to fetch more clothing.

Erik looked to the boy and lowered his volume. "Stay in the back here, do not go to the front. I will not be terribly long."

Charles only nodded, but nervously glanced towards where Brossard vanished.

"It will be alright," Erik assured softly. "Should something arise, I am right there," he pointed to the wall that separated the solicitor's office from the tailor.


~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~


"Your son?" asked the incredulous solicitor as he slumped back into his worn leather chair. "The little Vicomte de Chagny, that everyone is looking for, is your son?"

"That is what the Comtesse said before she died, yes." Erik explained from his seat across the desk from solicitor Ducasse, whom he employed for various tasks that required legal documents. From purchasing land, to banking, and to investments Ducasse was the man he had manage it. After all, few people would continue to do business with him over such large sums of money were at stake.

"How do you know she wasn't telling some falsehood?" sighed Ducasse as picked at the old crinkled leather of his armrest, a nervous habit Erik suspected.

"He is the right age, and it is simply not something she would lie about. Lastly, his name is one she… knew I favored in the unlikely event…" Erik trailed off, not wanting to delve deeper into that particular memory.

Ducasse pinched the bridge of his nose. "You should be telling this to the Police Judiciaire."

"Then off to the guillotine I go," Erik cut his fingers across his neck. "Then who will protect the boy from whoever killed his parents?"

"You don't know that, Monsieur Renaud."

"I do, and you know that well enough yourself, Monsieur. The man in the mask is the convenient choice to quickly wrap up such sensationalized homicides and the only person who would complain about it is me."

"And me," Ducasse protested. "Even if most my work for you is as an executor of certain affairs that your afflictions bar you from with prejudice."

"Only because of the exorbitant retainer I pay you," Erik growled.

"Seven years I've worked for you, and I've not once questioned all the different surnames you assign depending on what we are working on; Alarie, Vernier, Lavigne— I'm fairly certain there is no actual Erik Renaud at this point."

"Your point?" Erik snapped while patience thinned finer than parchment.

"The point being, is you give me fucking headaches that are not worth that retainer's fee because admittedly yes," Ducasse leaned forward with his hands steepled on the desk now. "I like that fee and that you are just curiously too damn interesting to work for, until now. Now you put this de Chagny business on me during one of the biggest homicide investigations of the decade. To what end? To add the boy's inheritance to your small fortune?"

Erik shook his head with a dismissive hand floating across the air between them. "I have no need or want of any part what belongs to the boy. That is his, and his alone. Eventually, it will be discovered that he is alive and that he is with me. If there are documents that somehow puts him in my rightful custody, that is all I want. He is all that matters to me. His inheritance can be handled at a later date."

"If he is in as much danger as you think he is, doing this now could draw attention to you both. Solicitor Tomas and the Estate could demand proof of life, to see him. Then the Police Judiciaire and whoever is hunting him will be upon you."

"Tomas should be reminded that it would put a risk to the boy."

"And I'm the one to remind you that this risks the boy."

"I have no fear of the police or those who mean Charles harm." While hiding Charles was paramount to him, Ducasse had no real information that would lead someone to his doorstep. At most, they would discover that Charles was in a care of a masked specter who went by the name Erik. Fewer still would know of Erik's connection to Christine. If anyone did manage to realize his former existence as the Opera Ghost, well… it would serve to put fear into those men early, before anything could

"You should be."

Erik only smirked.


~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~


When Erik returned, he was pleased to see Charles properly dressed rather than the tattered rags and oversized garments. Brown trousers and jacket with a mint-colored shirt with a patterned vest of deep orange. Perhaps a bit more eye catching than Erik preferred, however in his effort keep Charles at ease, keeping him entirely in black was not going to be helpful to the cause.

"A vast improvement indeed," Erik had commented as he adjusted the black fedora Charles wore to tilt over the bruised left eye.

In turn the relieved smile from the boy nearly melted him.

The rest of the errands from there on were rather mundane. However, as loathe as Erik was to do so, resulted in sending Charles into shops with a list and francs to purchase a few but necessary items while Erik waited with the cart and horses. He was in no mood to deal with ignorant fools accusing him of some imagined misdeed. A child running errands for a parent flew below observation.

As a reward however, their last stop on their way to leave the city was to a toy shop where Erik handed the boy a five franc note, to which Charles issued him a puzzled look. "Purchase whatever you wish."

Charles remained unmoved, and whatever brightness or spark of interest Erik expected to see at the prospect for a splurge in a toy shop was not present.

"Unless you want music, art supplies, or books, I do not have much in the way of entertainment for you."

"I…I want…"

Erik remained silent, waiting for Charles to finish the thought. But when he spoke no further after a minute, Erik made the effort to keep his voice soft as he asked, "What do you want, Charles?"

Charles's chin quivered as he pressed the franc note back to Erik and stood. "I just want to go…"

"Charles?" Erik's hand fumbled a he took the returned bill that had been pushed to his chest.

The boy hurriedly climbed over the bench seat to the back of the cart. "Can we just leave, please?" Charles pleaded with a crack in his voice as he tucked under the canvas tarp.

A swirl of possible reactions stirred within him, from confusion and shock to a flare of his temper for failure in his attempt to appease the boy. Rationally, Erik new it was likely a culmination of all the events of the past seventy-two hours would cause unparalleled stress on Charles. Yet, his admittedly clueless attempts to offset that stress and grief only seemed to worsen Charles's state of mind rather than pose any remedy.

At a loss of appropriate behavior for the given situation, Erik did not snap at the impertinence of Charles's suddenly fouled mood. Rather, Erik allowed that all too familiar and icy shield rise to full defense of his already weakened heart. It suffered more than enough torments for a lifetime.

Even if Charles meant to world to him, just as with Christine had.

Blinking away the threat of tears, Erik sunk into iced composure as he tucked the franc note into his vest pocket and took up the reigns. "As you wish," he tersely obliged.


Author's Note: Poor, Confused Erik. We go from a fairly good day to well...that. Also, DarlingPhantom730,thank you or your continued support. I'd respond more directly, but your settings do not permit me to do so.

In researching clothes for the period, 'shorts' on boys denoted more wealth while trousers meant you were poor. As a boy grew older, those shorts did to until eventually trousers. Of course this isn't always the case, especially in winter, but it still was a bit interesting.

Also, in reading into the police work in France, the de Chagny Murders, I believe would fall under the Police Judiciaire which is a more Judicial Branch which handles more of these types of cases. The Gendarmes handle more rural policing in the country or small towns, Sûreté would be more localized to a city(like Paris), and the Judiciaire are more focused on investigating and persecuting felonies. - If you are from France - Please correct me if I'm wrong.