Like Father, Like Son | Phantom of the Opera

xxiv. It Seems Like Only Yesterday

SEPTEMBER 1919

ERIK

I was awoken by the familiar sound of my son running down the hall to my room and tried to brace myself for the bombardment of when he arrived. It seemed my efforts were in vain, though, considering I hadn't expected him to start shaking me from my half-asleep state.

"Papa, wake up! I'm getting married today! Get up!" he exclaimed.

"I'm awake, I'm awake. Is there a fire? What's going on?" I asked as I peeled myself off the pillow that was feeling all too comfortable right about now. I don't believe I properly heard what he had said, but I did remember him yelling at me to get up.

When I looked at my son, he looked absolutely exhausted with me and it wasn't even eight o'clock in the morning. "Papa, that's not funny. Come on, we have to get ready! I'm getting married today!" he repeated.

He ran out of the room as quickly as he had run in and was already halfway down the stairs before I had even put on my slippers. Dear god, my son is getting married today, I thought to myself. I looked over to the other half of my bed, intent on saying what I had been thinking, only to find myself disappointed when I saw an empty spot beside me. What had I expected to see? Was I really delirious enough to think that I could turn over in bed and see her as I had that night when I had woken up beside her and just looked at her before I left? Had I actually thought I would see her chestnut curls spread across her pillow, a messy few having fallen into her face while she slept? That I would feel her laying next to me, ready to share the incredible day ahead with me? How could I have been so foolish?

Instead of her, the only thing that was over there was the nightstand where I kept most of my more valuable trinkets. I could hear Sasha's little paws scramble across the floorboards as she chased Gustave around the main floor, and I decided I still had a moment to myself before I was needed downstairs, so I got up, went over to the nightstand and opened the top drawer. The bottom one was larger and was able to hold the bigger boxed items, but the top was ideal for letters and photographs.

Carefully, I pulled out a well-worn photograph of one of the people who deserved to be witnessing what the day had in store today but couldn't; my Christine. I looked into her eyes and I couldn't help but notice yet again how similar Gustave's were. It felt wrong that I was experiencing this day and she wasn't. It felt like our roles should be reversed; I did not deserve the happiness I had been given and she deserved more happiness than she had had a chance to receive.

"Oh, Christine. My Christine, you'll never guess what is happening today," I said, running my finger over her cheek as I spoke, remembering the feel of her skin beneath my hand when I last saw her. "Our boy is getting married. It doesn't feel like he's old enough, I know; you've been gone longer than you think. I do believe he's ready for this, though. You'd have loved Lara; you and she would have become the best of friends, I am sure of it. She is smart and she knows how to balance out Gustave in the best of ways.

"I hope you don't mind but I gave her your necklace. You should have seen her in it; she looked beautiful. She loves him, Angel, I know that for certain. You know he wants you to be here with him so badly; it's eating him up little by little on the inside. He's just wishing you were somehow here again, and so am I, really. I know you're always with us, but I suppose I wish you could be here in a different way, for both of us. Nevertheless, I'll take good care of things today. I love you very much, Christine."

I carefully put the photograph back in the drawer after kissing my finger and placing it to her lips. There was a part of me that knew it was foolish to talk to a picture like I just had, but the greater part of me felt like Christine could hear me and that it was easier to talk to her if I could see her face. Her words were echoing in my ears as I went downstairs to find out what Gustave was doing. She had told me to take the love that I deserve, and though I knew that love would never come from another woman, the love of our son was more than enough for me.