Twisted Every Way(Phantom Of The Opera Fic)

Chapter 22: Autumn is here

He did not eat he did not sleep, but he did think.

But only of her and their child.

Hours of wondering how on earth he was going to get through this.

How they were going to get through this.

Christine begged him. He did not hear. 

His son fretted endlessly, asking if he was allright.

Erik himself did not know. 

At long last: Christine had told him.

She had kept it a secret till the moment it could no longer be hid.

Now the secret was out.

He had been reading the newspaper, his eye glasses low on his nose, absorbed in taking in all the facts of France when she had entered.

"Good Morning." He smiled softly. "How is domesticity treating you? Anyone you'd like me to kill today? I've had my eye on Firmin as of late."

Christines eyes shot at him, "Erik that isn't funny."

He gave a small dark chuckle, "Nadir thought it was."

"Erik please," Christine sighed. "I wanted to talk to you."

"You are talking to me dear." Erik muttered taking a bite of his crossiant.

"Erik I went into town this morning."

Erik gave a hearty laugh, his smile unrestrained, "Though, now that I think of it...Andre does deserve a good fright as well. I caught him sneaking around my box yesterday. Cheeky man."

Christine gave an exsasted sigh, "Erik please, in my condition I-"

That caught his attention.

Erik snapped the paper shut, his eyes turning worriedly to his wife.

"Are you ill?" He choked.

"Not exactly Erik." She smiled tenderly.

Eriks face went deathly white. "I knew this day would come."

Christines brow furrowed in amusement. "What day Erik?"

Erik took her hand tightly in his own, "You're dying aren't you?"

She laughed aloud, her eyes sparkling. But beneath them there was a sadness, and a great fear.

"No Erik I'm not dying."

He gave an audible sigh of relief and returned to his chair, picking up the crossiant.

How she longed not to say it, not to bring this pain on him.

But she was allready half way there.

Past the point of no return.

"Erik I'm going to have a baby." She spat out quickly.

Erik chocked on his food, sputtering and recoiling.

"What?"

Christines smile danced in the faint light of the fire.

"I think you heard me." She laughed, her beautiful hair tucked in long locks behind her ears.

Erik looked dazed.

"And its mine?" Erik stuttered.

Christine gave a scoff of a laugh, "Of course Erik."

"Oh. I see."

Christine gave a sigh of relief as Erik set his glasses aside, aproached her and kissed her.

"I love you." He mumbled.

"Dont kill Andre," she teased, "I've grown rather fond of the little man."

"Who?"

"Andre dear."

"Oh. Yes right. Well then."

Eriks heart beat out of his chest. Impossible, he told himself, and yet the signs were all there...

From then on he had taken solemn dark walks at night.

And while no murders occured, Erik had been grounded by his wife for pulling pranks on unsuspecting opera visitors. So many pranks in fact, that the people of the opera were convinced the evil spirit of so many years ago had returned. 

And Chrisitine supposed in a way they were right.

It was on one of these nights as Gustave was walking after his father that he heard the carriage. His Mother had told him to go scout out who it was.

To see what threat they possessed. 

His Mother thought it would do him good. Gustave had too much to worry about, let alone following his skulking shadow of a father all day.

Christine had no idea at the time just how much good it would indeed bring.

Gustave watched as a young girl and her mother came inside. The mother never stopped speaking, the girl never said a word. 

Gustave had been watching through the ceiling when the girl turned and looked directly at him. As if she could see him. She stared and he stared.

She was given the dressing room. At first, Gustave felt like hating her. Hating her for taking Anabel's room. 

"Why do I care," Gustave mumbled, "Not like I liked her anyway."

The strange girl began to sing to herself quietly.

A small and sweet swedish tune, her voice with power but clarity, a round tone of accuracy and emotion.

She was untrained, unable to project or have been taught, but she had such potential, such soul-

As he listened, he watched as a single tear went down her cheek. 

Was it possible?

She seemed as lonely and sad as he was. Broken, alone, yet clever and shy. 

He climbed down out of the ceiling and watched her face turn white. She looked like she might scream, but she was too timid for that.

"Do not be afraid of me. Don't hide, tell me where you've come from." Gustave whispered.

"I live here, tell me sir where do you live. If you are sir, not a ghost." She interjected timidly.

"I am no more ghost than you are a prima donna." he smiled kindly.

 No matter how broken, Gustave was always kind.

"I can barely sing." She laughed. 

"A lie!" he exclaimed, "but what if I told you that you could be a prima donna."

She looked at him fascinated, "How?"

"There's a place where I am a ghost and music is alive and the dark is as bright and powerful as the night. I can show it to you." He said eagerly. "We can go together." 

"And you sir would show it to me?" She whispered.

Gustave grinned and outstretched a hand, "Follow me."