Disclaimer – None of these people are mine except for Emilie and any other characters I decide to make up along the way.
Ok, I got this idea while watching the silent movie of Phantom…don't know where it came from, but I think it's quite intriguing, so…AND I actually won't abandon this one.
All right, I know this situation is rather implausible, but it's the only way the story really works out. And I know it's not that good…a lot of this was written at 5 in the morning.
Remember to review, as I will become discouraged without them!
Chapter 1 – The Birth of a Monster
The de Chagny household had been in quite an uproar for the past few hours. The servants had been having short whispered meetings in the hallways, then quickly disbanding. The doctor had been called, who had had a brief conversation with the Viscomte Raoul de Chagny, then entered the bedroom and locked the door. Raoul then sighed and sat down heavily, his face in his hands. He glanced at the door, cringing a little.
It was going to be a long night.
liner here
The Viscomtess Christine de Chagny rested her head on her silken pillow, gasping for breath. The pain had stopped, for now at least.
"Doctor," she panted, "When will this be over?"
Dr. Malebranche glanced up from the foot of the bed, his round spectacles perched on the end of his nose. "Well, Madame de Chagny, I can't really say." He replied, looking at the regal grandfather clock against the wall. "I'm hoping within the hour…it shouldn't be too long." He gave the young woman a friendly smile.
Christine wiped the sweat off her forehead. Slowly exhaling, she thought back to that day in the Opera House when Madame Giry had explained to all the chorus girls how babies were made. She now realized that childbirth was just as hard as Mme. Giry had said.
A plump, matronly woman entered the room, carrying a silver tray with a porcelain teapot, tea cups and a plate of biscuits on it. She laid it on the nightstand next to the bed and patted Christine's hand. "Now, don't you worry, dearie!" she said with a smile. "That little darling will be out any moment now, whether he likes it or not!"
She poured a cup of tea out and offered it to Christine, who waved it away disinterestedly. The woman, whose name was Mme. Lea, took the cup for herself and bustled over to an overstuffed armchair by the clock, sipping the tea slowly.
All of a sudden, Christine threw her head back and screamed. The pain had returned, worse than ever this time. Mme. Lea rushed over as the doctor threw aside the sheets.
"There's the head!" he shouted joyfully. "Madame, I can see the head!"
But Christine had already passed out.
When first she opened her eyes, the entire room was blurry. Slowly it returned to normal, shifting back into focus. Lifting her head slightly, she caught sight of the doctor and the maid in deep conversation. Suddenly Mme. Lea noticed she was awake.
"Go back to sleep, dearie," she said quickly, bustling over and pulling the covers over Christine's face. "I'm sure you're absolutely exhausted-"
"No, I'm fine, thank you." Christine sat up, pushing the covers off. She glanced at both the doctor and the maid. "Where's the baby?" she asked, curious.
The two gave each other an uneasy look. "Well, Madame, um…" The doctor began, rubbing his neck. "There was an unforeseen problem, I mean, it could've happened to simply anyone…quite horrible, really, but I suppose-"
"Where is it?" Christine interrupted. An icy fear grew in the pit of her stomach, filling the very core of her being. "What happened?" She began to climb out of bed, but Mme. Lea pushed her back in again.
"Now, dearie, stay calm." The old woman stuttered, backing away. "We'll give you the baby right now." She walked across the room and reached into the crib that had been specially ordered for the baby and withdrew a bundle of blankets. The doctor turned away, apparently wiping his spectacles.
The old woman looked down at the baby, then back at Christine with a weak smile. "It's a girl, love. A little girl." She slowly began walking towards the bed, the blankets squirming in her arms.
The fear overwhelmed Christine as she was handed the bundle. A soft cry came from within its folds as she slowly moved her hand towards it. Glancing up at Mme. Lea, she took the bundle. Her heart was pounding madly; feeling almost like it was going to rip itself out of her chest. Biting her lower lip, she closed her eyes and slowly, slowly, pulled away the blanket.
She opened her eyes. And instantly began to cry.
All was silent except for her broken sobs. They echoed throughout the room, filling its silent emptiness with anguish and despair. The doctor and the maid stood in silence, the doctor still busily cleaning his spectacles, and the maid stared at the floor, tears filling her own eyes.
Christine found her voice behind her tears. "Please," she said in a strangled sob, "Please don't tell Raoul. Just…" She racked her mind for a solution. "Tell him she died!" She blurted out. She looked at both of them, a pleading look in her eyes. "I will take care of this." She whispered. "Please."
Mme. Lea buried her head in her hands and turned to the window, her shoulders shaking. With a sigh, Dr. Malebranche returned his spectacles to his nose. He stared into Christine's eyes, which burned into him making a plea for help. He knew there was a decision to make here, but what to do?
Raoul had been pacing around the room for an hour when he flopped down on the sofa with an exasperated sigh. How long could this ordeal take? He poured out a little brandy and sipped it slowly. Christine didn't approve of liquor except for social and medicinal reasons, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Besides, nausea and butterflies in your stomach could pass as illness.
The door creaked open, making Raoul look up eagerly. Dr. Malebranche exited the room, tiredly rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache. Raoul rushed over.
"Now, don't keep me waiting, Doctor." He said joyfully. "It's a boy, isn't it? I was hoping for a boy, but Christine was hoping for a girl. Is it a girl? A girl would be lovely as well. Oh dear, I haven't given a moment to thinking of names…"
"Monsieur le Viscomte." the doctor interrupted, an odd creak in his voice. Raoul paused in the middle of his sentence, surprise on his face.
"It was a girl, monsieur." The doctor explained, sounding as if getting every word out was an ordeal. "But…she died a few minutes after birth." His eyes were filled with pity, sympathy…and maybe something else behind those that was not able to be interpreted with words.
Raoul was numb. He passed a hand over his face. "And Christine?" he croaked.
"She's healthy, but she's devastated. You can see her in a few minutes if you like." The doctor laid a hand on Raoul's shoulders. "I'm so sorry, monsieur."
The doctor turned and went back into the bedroom, shutting the door softly. Raoul slowly returned to the sofa, sitting down heavily. He stared into space, a blank expression on his face. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he collapsed onto the table in front of him, sobbing hysterically.
It was sometime pastmidnight. Paris was utterly dark, and would stay that way till late morning; for these were the first hours of December 21, the longest night of the year. Every house was silent, and all the streets were empty, except for one.
Christine de Chagny slowly shut the front door of her mansion. In her arms was a basket with a pile of blankets inside. She wasn't supposed to be out of bed for the next few days, but she had to do this now.
She ran through the streets, rushing past prostitutes standing on street corners, following the familiar paths to her old home. When she reached the Opera House, she paused. Should she do this? Should she get rid of this poor, defenseless child? Yes, she decided, steeling herself. It was an abomination, and not her job. It has been his idea, so now it was his responsibility.
Within a few minutes, she had struggled through the gate that led to a part of the underground river that ran underneath the Opera Populaire. Stepping through, she instantly found herself up to her ankles in muddy water. She made a disgusted noise and began to wade through. For something that seemed like hours she waded through the water, straining her ears for any noise at all.
That's when she heard it.
The organ music was soft and faraway, but still audible. Christine gave a sigh of relief. Placing the basket on the water, she held it tightly, wondering whether this was really the right thing to do. Well, even if it wasn't, she decided, there was nothing else to do. She had already lied, already come this far. There was no turning back now.
Putting an envelope in the basket, she pushed it off. The slight current carried it slowly along, disappearing into the velvety darkness. Christine stared after it. Misery consumed her. Turning away with tears in her eyes, she ran as fast as she could towards the gated entrance to this place of so many memories.
Clambering outside, she blinked. It had taken longer than she'd thought; the sky was tinged pink and gold, and a reddish light was spreading over the streets. She knew that Raoul would wake up in only a half hour or so. Panicking, she sprinted through the streets, trying to push away from her mind what had occurred in the past few hours.
Erik, more commonly known as the Phantom of the Opera, was falling asleep at his organ. More and more he found his eyes shutting and his head nodding over the keys. He finally decided to go to bed. Sighing, he got up and gathered the pieces of paper that covered his desk. He yawned, practically stumbling over his own feet as he dragged himself over to his bedroom.
That was when he heard the cry.
He spun around, searching for the noise's source. He knew that sound back from the days when he had been with the gypsies; a baby's cry. The sound continued as he looked around, but he couldn't find where it was coming from. Was he finally going insane? He saw something moving in the water out of the corner of his eye and turned quickly to look.
It was a basket, of the type of carrying fruit or fish or some such thing. It was floating slowly and serenely closer to the banks of his home. It seemed to be filled with blankets; and the sound he had been hearing was coming from the basket.
Now wide awake, he walked down to the water. Reaching for the basket, he pulled it towards him. On top of the blankets, there was an envelope, slightly damp, addressed to him in loopy script. Erik paused. Tentatively, he reached for it and opened it. His eyes widened as he read it:
My dearest Erik,
In this letter I will be direct as possible to avoid confusion, even though this is quite a complicated situation. Soon after the incident that occurred last year, I found I was pregnant. Raoul and I went through the 9 months without incident until yesterday afternoon, when the child was born. Erik, you will most likely remember the night that Don Juan Triumphant played, etc., which means that you'll remember what happened between us before Raoul arrived, despite my reluctance. I never gave it another thought until tonight. This child is yours, of that I am sure. And because of this, I cannot keep her. Do not try to return her to me; I have already told Raoul that she died at birth. I am begging you to take care of her for only a little while. I'll come for her soon, I promise you. Be careful with her, and with yourself as well.
Christine
The letter dropped into the water, floating for a few moments before becoming soaked and sinking below the surface. Erik gaped at it as the creamy paper disappeared in the murky depths. His attention returned to the basket, where the child within still screamed. Christine had said she knew without a doubt that this child was his; but the only way she could have known that was…
He ripped away the many blankets, dread overpowering him. When they had all been taken off, he stared into the basket. The child would've been exactly like any other newborn; if it wasn't for the deformity covering the right side of her face.
The child emitted a high-pitched whine that made Erik wince even more than he already had been. He gingerly lifted her out of the basket, holding her above his head. When first reading the letter he had considered just dumping the baby into the lake and going to bed. But now, actually looking at this child…his child…he couldn't. Killing a baby was much different than killing a lecherous stagehand.
Holding the baby close to him, he fished the driest blanket out of the water and wrapped it around her. Scrambling into his boat, he laid the baby on the floor, taking care to bunch the blanket underneath her floppy neck, and struck off. As it seemed he would be taking care of this situation for a while, and knew nothing about children of any age, he started on his way to ask his only – maybe not even that – friend about how to raise a child.
A/N – Ok, lame ending, yes,and I don't think I did justice to the emotions that darling Erik was feeling...BUT ANYWAYS!Please review!