His wonderful, beautiful Christine was now just a corpse. He could barely look at the limp form of his muse, as the blood from the shot flowered across the white linen of her dress. Ironically it had bled into the shape of a rose, the same colour as the ones he had given to her all those years ago when she was alive and triumphant.
He lay her body down gently on the cold, damp wood of the jetty, supporting her head so that it did not knock harshly against the surface. As he crossed her arms over her chest, barely suppressing the tears that pressed against his eyes, he heard footsteps and looked up into the gloom.
It was Meg. She looked distraught and wild, her hands still shaking from what she had done.
“No….No!”Brushing past him, she sat by Christine’s head and cradled it in her lap, pushing away the strands of hair. “No… Christine… What have I done?” She sobbed, allowing her tears to flow freely. Erik stared at her, numb. Reaching up to the clasp around his throat, he undid it and handed Meg his cloak, getting up from his knees.
“Here.” He said, voice rough and thick. Meg accepted it with a trembling hand, laying it over the body she held as if she were tucking up her babe.
“I am so sorry.” She sobbed, brushing her thumb against Christine’s still warm cheek. Erik did not respond. He didn’t know who she was talking to. Instead, he walked further away, sick to the stomach, his mask pressing uncomfortably against his face. He didn’t even see Gustave, who was tentatively making his way back until he was only a few feet away. Erik stopped where he stood, cocking his head as Gustave got closer and peered up at him through eyes glazed with tears.
“Is she…?” Again Erik, did not speak, merely shifted his body so that he could see Meg cradling his mother as she lay unresponsive and limp. But Gustave had already known from the moment he saw the blood bloom on her shirt what the outcome would be. He choked down a sob, brushing his tears harshly away as he looked at this man… his father… who stared back at him blankly. It was like there was no one there. He didn’t know what to say so instead he reached for his fathers hand and grasped it. That seemed to jolt him out of his state as he looked down in wonderment at their entwined hands, then at the boy. He took in a shuddering breath and sat down on the edge of the jetty, bidding Gustave to do the same. They looked across the eerily calm ocean and at the moon who cast her perfect, shimmering form across the surface.
“I’m sorry that… that you found out like this. That I am your father.” Still holding hands, Gustave peered up and was met by a cold, white mask that was completely emotionless and hard for him to look at. He no longer wanted to see this… thing… that hid his father. His mother had taught him a wise lesson. Look with the heart and not with the eyes. It was time for him to do so. Reaching up with his free hand, he rested his hand against the mask and curled his fingers under the seamless lip that almost seemed to melt in with his fathers face. Erik jerked away and glared at him warningly, softening when he saw the quiet determination in his eyes that reminded him of Christine.
“Gustave… Is this truly what you want?” The innocent boy nodded, withdrawing his hand as his father reached up and pulled away his mask and wig slowly, turning away almost immediately to place them on the ground next to him. He was stalling. Gustave touched his arm, felt the hard, sinewy muscle underneath and beseeched him to look his way as he tugged gently. Erik let out another quivering sigh and turned haltingly until the ravaged side of his face was in full view, not even daring to watch his sons reaction. Instead he stared and stared at the moon, now allowing the tears to run freely down his cheeks. He had had enough of holding them in.
Erik gasped when he felt a little hand brush his ravaged cheek, then cupped it, before it explored the rest of his deformity. He looked then, curious to know his reaction and was surprised to see acceptance as the hand crawled up further and brushed his non existent eyebrow. What he didn’t expect was for the boy to suddenly crawl into his lap, wrapping his arms tight around his torso and resting his head against his chest. Stunned, Erik sat with his arms rigid at the side, knowing the boy could hear the erratic thumping of his heart before he came to his senses and hesitantly wrapped his arms back around him. When he felt the boys tears wet his shirt, he rocked his son ever so gently side to side and rubbed his back soothingly. It felt good, albeit a little strange for him. They sat in silence like this for a while, until Gustave pulled back a little and inspected him again.
“I’m… I’m glad that I found out by the way. I’ve always felt a little different, a little odd and I never knew why.” He laughed softly, “I guess it all makes sense now.”
Erik dared to brush the hair out his sons eyes and cocked his head in curiosity.
“What do you mean?” He watched as his son reached up to his hairline and pushed back his fringe, revealing a small puckered bit of skin that zigzagged back through his hair. Proof that Erik lived in him. A blemish of his own.
“I was born with this. My father… Well, my other father… he was really angry apparently. I know because I overheard him when I was a little bit older talking about it, throwing accusations against mother. She always held steadfast that I was his son. But I knew… I knew something wasn’t right. The way I looked, my eyes…” Again he studied his father’s face and grinned, “I have your eyes. Then it was the love of music. Father accepted that because of mother but the other things… The love for weird, unnatural things… He didn’t accept that one bit. I guess he always knew.” Erik brushed back his hairline again, touching the blemish gently.
“I’m sorry that… That I wasn’t there for you. It must’ve been very confusing growing up. Especially with a little bit of me in you.” He joked, though it sounded hollow.
“A lot of you. I realise now how similar I am to you.” Gustave rested his head back on his father’s chest. “But… I’m happy I finally understand everything now. Yet… What happens now?”
“Well… You’ll probably have to go back to Paris with your father. As for your mother I don’t know-” His voice broke and he bit the inside of his lip as he stared out across the ocean, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“You loved her, didn’t you?” Erik nodded and sighed.
“More than anything.”
“I think… I think she loved you to. This will sound odd but she always told me about this character called ‘The Angel of Music’ and how he saved her life when she was at the opera house. Was… Was that you?”
“I… Well it’s a long story but yes, it was.” Erik murmured, stunned that Christine had disguised their time at the opera house as childhood stories for their son. He felt Gustave nod against his chest and when he spoke again, it truly shocked him.
“Do you think I could stay here with you? I don’t want to go back to Paris.”
“I… You’d really want that? To stay with me? Gustave… I’d love nothing more. I’ve already missed ten years of your life and I don’t want to miss any more. But you must understand, I don’t really have any say in this. It’s down to your other father and I know he will be very against the idea.”
“But if I beg him?”
“We will see what we can do. For now… Let’s just savour the moments we can have together.”
They remained sitting there, on the edge of the jetty, son in his fathers lap as they gazed across the ocean. Both of them were hurting, their hearts raw but it was relief to both that they had each other and they clung to each other like lifelines. It seemed that Gustave did not want to let go and Erik was fine with this, for the shock he still felt after Christine’s death still rocked him to the core. In fact, he was still half convinced that she still lived but the other, more stern half berated him and told him that she was dead. Still, at least he hand tangible proof that something of her, something of them,was here and he knew that he would never let go of this blessing again.
A quick sketch of my Phantomverse. Lerik has taken Raoul’s place for Love Never Dies. Hijinks ensue. Maybe one day I’ll actually finish writing this monster of a story…
