Twisted Every Way(Phantom Of The Opera Fic)

Chapter 11: Care Taker

Erik sat on the edge of the small bed and untied the black laces of his shoes. He gave a heavy sigh as he thought of the many worries that plauged him daily. How happy they had been meerly a week ago! How content.

Christine had turned to face the wall, and for a moment as Erik laid beside her, he thought by the rising and fall of her shoulders that perhaps she dreamed a pleasent dream, one she deserved.

But as the moments passed, Erik watched as her hand was brought to her cheek and quickly brushed away a tear from her eye.

"Christine," he said in almost a whisper, "what-"

"Erik," she sobbed turning over, hugging him tight as grief wracked her body. "I can't lose him."

Holding her in his arms, Erik gave way to tears.

"Will he really come?" Christine asked shakily, "Erik can he help him? Truly."

"He will," Erik mumbled, brushing the tears from his wife's cheek and assuring her as firmly as he was able, "I know he will."

Erik prayed that he was right.

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Gustave rolled over and felt someone force food into his mouth. Stubbornly he spit it out, he wasn't hungry.

Slowly, his two crystal blue eyes blinked open. It wasn't his father nor mother aiding him. It was some one new. Nervously he pulled away. The man stared at the boy and then handed him the bread.

Gustave didn't feel for once in his life much like questions. Exsaustion was consuming him.

"Erik," he heard the strange man call, "The boy, he is awake."

Gustave heard quick footsteps entering the room. He closed his eyes again, even the dim, barely existent light of the rooms stung and burned as his head throbbed violently.

He glanced at his father. Erik's eyes were tired and worried, he looked as if he had been crying. Did he really care? Perhaps Gustave had misjudged him.

"Father?" Gustave asked hoarsely, "Am I sick?"

He nodded gravely, "You are."

Gustave contemplated his fate.

"Who's that?" He asked pointing towards the man.

"An old friend of your fathers. You may call me the Persian." The stranger responded.

Gustave didn't ask any questions, none that he feared the answers too. But he allowed himself just one.

"Where did you meet my father?" He inquired.

The Persian laughed, "So it is true دوست من," which Gustave later learned to mean 'my friend'. "The boy really is truthfully yours! How is that possible Erik?"

Erik answered him with a sly smile.

A smile Gustave would not understand till he was older.

Much older.

The Persian, Nadir, had once said that Erik was a murderous genius with a touch of brilliance. Now he realized how wrong he had misjuded his friend. The only word that he could now think to describe him with was calm. But Nadir knew well enough of Erik: there is always calm in the wake before a storm.

Nadir considered the invalid in front of him, his deathly pale color and sullen eyes.

In the many years of their friendship, Nadir had always done his best to induce the poor viscount to listen to reason. The last time he had seen him, in that torture chamber, that awful dreaded schism, he had made him touch those very walls, keep awake, face reality.

Clearly the viscount had not heeded his warning.

Now as Erik recounted his tale and ended with another smile basked in mysterious intrigue, Nadir laughed heartily.

"Erik!" he exclaimed, "Surely not!"

Gustave assumed it was a laugh, but it was more like a hissing wheeze.

After a moment's hesitation, the Persians face changed to one of shock instead of jest.

"Erik! Not Christine?" Nadir almost yelped.

"Did you not see her show you in?" Erik laughed, savoring his friends confused excitement.

"That goddess? That angel of a woman? She was our Christine?" Nadir triumphed.

"Mind your place Nadir, My Christine," Erik growled.

The Persian touched the side of Gustave's face, he pulled away.

Something about this man didn't sit right with Gustave. It didn't frighten him, just puzzled him in a way he did not like to experience.

"Erik, is he deformed?" The stranger asked worriedly.

Erik shook his head, "He is perfect in every way. A genius man! On occasion even more so than I."

Gustave turned with all his effort and stared in awe. Greater than his father? Had he really said so?

"Did you mean that?!" Gustave choked out.

His father nodded and repeated, "And a better man than I will ever be."

The Persian took ahold of the boy's wrist and shook his head.

"He needs rest, Erik. And urgent care, I've done all I could. I'm not a doctor, and now, thats what he needs."

Erik gave a nod, praying the worst had passed.

And if it hadn't...

He wouldn't allow himself or Christine to think of that. An idea was sparked in his mind, one he dreaded.

But what was he to do? Gustave needed help- He had no money, no knowledge of medicine!

He was decided.

Tomorrow to the devil he would go.

He was to meet the Vicomte Dechangy at Nine.