A/N: Finally finished with Chapter 1! Keep on the lookout for Chapter 2, I'm almost done with the next update. Anyway, I hope you continue to read, and... enjoy!
Chapter 1: April 1, 1834
"Rose? Rose! What is going on!" The Vicomte de Remin swung the door open, striding in angrily. Spotting a maid, he snapped, "Where is my wife? I demand to know why I was sent for!"
The maid answered in a small, quivering voice, "My lord, please, sit down. My lady is in labor. She instructed us to send for you when it was nearly time."
Reynard de Remin slumped into a large chaise. Worry and stress lined his handsome frame. His hair was dark, his eyes a bright, piercing blue that softened only when he looked at his wife. Thinking of her now, he managed to rasp, "And all is well?"
"Oh yes, my lord, she is handling it very well. It should be over any moment now-" The maid glanced eagerly at the door. "I should go in and check on her now."
He dismissed her with a flap of his hand, watching her scurry away, obviously relieved to be rid of him. A child? he thought. I never before realized… I will be a father. The thought worried him. What if he did not do well by the child? What if, perhaps, there was something wrong with it? What if… No! he stopped himself angrily. It will be fine. What have I to fear?
Reynard tried to relax without success. Despite himself, he soon began to doze.
"My lord!" A hand shook his shoulder gently. Reynard woke with a start, staring at the maid from before with bloodshot eyes.
"Wh-What is it?"
"The baby is born, my lord! It is a boy!"
Reynard shot out of his chair, a smile lighting up his entire face. He was a father! And he had a son! Running into the bedroom, he looked at his wife's sleeping face, and at the little bundle in her arms. "My son," he whispered, brushing the blanket away so he could see.
The baby's face was smooth and pink from the left side. It slept softly, like an angel. Smiling, he leaned over it. The baby turned over in its sleep, giving the room a clear view of the right side of his face. Huge pus-filled warts ranged all over it, the skin glowing with a yellowish tinge. It was horrible, so disgusting and disfigured it looked like the face of Satan himself. Gasping, he took a step back.
"Wh-What is- that!" he whispered, repulsed.
One of the maids grabbed a Bible. "A demon, from Hell!" she cried. Others joined her, chanting prayers.
Reynard turned around, snarling at them. "Get out! GET OUT!"
They fled. He could not bear to turn around once more, look at the hideous creature lying in the blankets. Nor could he escape it. The image was seared in his mind.
"Reynard?" Rose struggled to open her eyes. "What's wrong?"
She hadn't seen yet. "Nothing, my dear," he murmured, trying to distract her, but it was too late.
He heard a small gasp escape from her lips. "My baby boy… my poor, sweet baby boy…" she whispered.
Whirling around in surprise, Reynard winced as he saw the baby's face once more. "Sweet?" he demanded. "What is sweet about that- that thing?"
Rose looked at him, straight in the eyes. "He is our son. A gift from God, from Heaven."
"Nothing of Heaven ever looked like that!" He practically screamed at her, trying to make her see reason.
She stroked the side of the child's face. Reynard flinched. She cooed to the baby. "Our son," she reminded him.
Hoarsely, he raged, "Look at him! His face is distorted, deformed beyond anything I have ever seen! I cannot even look at his face without feeling nauseous!"
He turned away from them then, and said coldly, "He is no son of mine."
Then, with a swish of his cloak, he slammed the door and disappeared into the cold, dark night.
Rose rocked him. His face did not disgust her. He was her child, her little angel. "My little Erik," she whispered to the child. His face wrinkled in a smile, before he gave way to violent cries. Softly, she began to sing to him. He silenced and fell into a peaceful slumber.
"I will always watch over you, my little angel of music," she whispered to him.
He was in a large, unlit room. It was a mess- draperies hung on the floor, slashed pictures hung haphazardly on the wall, and the furniture was either overturned or broken in some way. Squinting, he saw a pinpoint of light in the distance. He walked toward it until he saw a small table. On the table was a beautiful rose, deep red and perfect in every way. It lay next to a blazing candle. Slowly, the candle began to fade until it was a mere flicker. The rose became his mother, lying on her bed. Her skin was as white as marble, her lips rose-red. She lay in her favorite dress. People materialized out of nowhere. Some shook their heads. He looked down at his hand. The rose was now in his hands. The thorns pricked him mercilessly, drawing blood. His father stared at his mother. Suddenly he looked up at him. His eyes shone with hatred.
Erik awoke with a gasp. "Mama?" he called. "Mama!"
His mother ran in, clutching her nightgown. "Erik, my Erik, what's wrong?"
He trembled under his covers. "I had a nightmare, Mama. And you weren't there." Despite himself, small tears ran down his cheeks.
His mother sat down next to him and hugged him, singing to him until he quieted down. She smiled at him, her tumbling brown curls brushing his face. He breathed in her scent, squeezing her tightly. He wouldn't let it happen to her. She had promised she would always be there.
"Rose?" His father's voice echoed down the hallway. "What's wrong?"
Knowing his father would be angry if he knew his mother was in the room with him, Erik gently pulled away from his mother. "I'm alright now, Mama. I promise."
She looked back at him, worried. "Are you sure?"
He tried to smile. "Yes. I just wanted to make sure you were still here." It was hard to lie to her, but he didn't have a choice.
"Alright." She smiled back at him, then called back to his father, "I'm fine, dear. I'll be there in a minute."
Looking back at Erik, she told him, "I will always be here, my little Erik. Always, in your heart. Now, go back to sleep."
He let her go, wondering if she was right.
He thought sleep would never come, but it must have, for in the morning he awoke to his mother playing the organ. It was the same way she had awoken him for the past six years, playing the same song. His father never knew, of course. His father usually pretended Erik didn't exist.
He had given him a private room in the unused west wing, far from their bedroom, and especially the servants. They were all afraid of him. His mother tried to keep it from him, but he knew they called him a demon. He couldn't understand why they hated and feared him, but whenever he asked, his mother always told him that some people simply were afraid of people who were different.
Erik couldn't understand why he was different, or why his father hated him. He'd always tried to be good, to do whatever he was asked. He never left his room, except to use the privy. His meals were left at the door by the gruff manservant. He was not allowed to open the door before the manservant had left.
His favorite part of the day was at noon, when his father left to check up on the bank, for he was the manager. That was the only time he could see his mother. If his father found out, Erik knew he would become angry and probably give him no food for a day. His mother said his father simply needed time to adjust to Erik, that not everyone understood why he was special. Whatever the reason, Erik was simply glad to have his mother come visit him for 2 hours. It was the only contact he had with a real person.
During that time, his mother taught him to play the organ. She had one sent to his room so he could practice during the long, lonely hours of silence. She taught him to sing, applauding him. When he did well, she would smile at him and call him her little 'angel of music.' He always tried to make her smile. It made him feel warm and loved in a way nothing else did.
During the rest of the day, he often read, or played his organ. Sometimes he listened in on the servants. One day as he roamed around his spacious room, he heard the low chatter from the vent on the far side of his room. Curious, he listened and heard two of the chambermaids gossiping.
"… should have been there, Marie. It was hideous. I feel bad for my lord. He took it rather hard. He'd often talked before that, of the things they would do together. He was so disappointed." He heard the one shake her head. "Terrible thing, that."
Another voice, high and squeaky, replied in hushed tones, "Is it true he doesn't know? That my lord ordered that no mirrors be placed in his rooms?"
The first maid sighed. "My lord wishes that the boy not know. He cannot stand to look at him, but he still keeps the creature on my lady's wishes, bless his heart. I would've sent him down the river, meself. Bad luck to keep a demon in the house, but I s'pose God's taken some pity on us." She shivered. "I hear him, sometimes, when I'm about my chores. Playing that ghastly organ, he is. Enough to make anyone nervous. I'll never know how my lady can love such a monster."
Erik withdrew without a sound. Silent tears coursed down his face. Later, when his mother came to visit, he asked her what a mirror was, and why his father would not let any be placed in his room.
When she asked him how he'd found out about it, he relayed the conversation he'd heard earlier. Later he found out that the two maids had been fired, although his mother refused to explain what they had meant. In time, he forgot about it and simply enjoyed his mother's presence. However, he no longer heard the gossip of servants. None dared go near the west wing any more.
A beautiful melody floated through the air, breaking his dreams and bringing Erik slowly awake. His mother played the organ, only this time she played a new tune. It made him smile. He tried to remember each note, so he could play it for her during their afternoon meeting. Then he realized that it was his seventh birthday.
He practiced the entire day, trying to get the song right for his mother. She entered his room softly, smiling at him.
"Happy birthday, my little Erik. Today you are seven, and that merits a special present," she told him, and drew a small, well-wrapped present from behind her back.
Eagerly, he opened it. It was a music box, very beautiful. A little golden monkey perched atop the cover, with every detail so perfect that he could see the dancing laughter in its eyes. When he opened the box, it began to play the tune his mother had played for him that morning.
"Oh, Mama, I love it!" He sat there, listening avidly to the little box's tune. His mother embraced him.
"I'm glad you like it. Would you like to learn how to play that song?" she asked him.
"Oh, yes, very much!" he exclaimed. "I've been working on it since morning, and I think I have the beginning now-"
He broke off as his mother began coughing uncontrollably.
"Mama? Are you alright? What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.
She tried to smile, calm the onslaught of coughs. "I'm fine, dear, really. Just a little head cold."
Erik was still worried, but led her over to the organ. Twice during the lesson she once again broke out into coughs. Finally, Erik told her, "Mama, maybe you should go rest. I'll practice while you're gone and make it really special for you."
His mother was too tired to protest, and called to a servant to help her once she was clear of his hallway. Erik stared after her, trying to believe she would be fine. His father would certainly hire the best doctors money could afford. She would be fine. She had promised him, hadn't she? She would always be there. Always.
That night, as he lay on his bed, trying to sleep, he heard the muffled voices of his mother and father, arguing. He crept over to his vent. He knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but he couldn't pull himself away. He heard his father's voice, angry and annoyed, and his mother's soft, caressing murmur.
"… really, Rose, did you think I wouldn't notice? That I wouldn't piece together the missing organ, all those songs you wrote, and that little music box were for him!" his father spat at his mother.
His mother replied gently, but firmly, "He's our son, Reynard. I haven't forgotten, if you have. You act like you don't love him, but I know you do."
"He's killing you," his father whispered. "That- beast- is stealing you from me. You haven't been well since his birth."
He continued harshly, "I've been a fool. Tried to ignore it, pretend it didn't exist, but it spread its poison anyway. You love that demon, don't you? You love it more than you love me. I kept it here, for you, tried to protect it even. But it hasn't done a damn thing except cause trouble and problems. Perhaps God really is punishing us."
"God isn't punishing us." Her tone was scalding with fury. Erik had never heard her like this before. "I love him. Just because you're so blinded by his appearance and the prejudices of the world doesn't mean he is any less human. Until you can come to terms with that, I cannot bear to spend another moment with you. From now on, my things will be moved to the west wing. To be with our son."
He heard her slam the door in anger. Unrelenting tears streamed down his face, but he couldn't make himself move.
His father was silent for a long time. Then he cursed.
"That monster," he muttered furiously. "That monster took you from me, Rose. And I won't ever forget it."
Erik snuck silently back to his bed. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, hating himself. He reached for the little monkey box, and cried himself to sleep.
Erik awoke, sweating. He'd had the nightmare again, with his mother dead. He often dreamt it now, ever since the coughing began. Without his mother's organ playing to wake him up, every little sound seemed to disturb his sleep. He listened quietly for the sound of his mother's cough, her constant companion of late. There. Soft, so as not to disturb him. He could hear it though, deep in her chest, wracking her lungs so that it pained her to even breathe.
The doctor had been there since last week, visiting every day. His father barely went to work, staying by her side night and morning. Erik could almost feel his father glaring at him through the wall, cursing him and blaming him.
He buried his small face in his hands. But why? Maybe he was to blame. In the books he'd read, it talked about how people sometimes hurt others without meaning to. Had his room been too cold for her? But she'd been fine before. He let out a small whimper. It was all so confusing.
Suddenly he realized the coughing had stopped. He breathed a sigh of relief, hoping his mother had finally fallen asleep. He nestled back under the covers and touched his music box for comfort. He fell into a deep, blissful darkness.
Strange lights played in his mind. They were hazy and beautiful, yet he sensed there was something dangerous beneath them. Like a rose, he thought dimly. Mama always said her favorite flowers were roses, because underneath their beauty is a danger, their thorns. He continued watching them as they slowly came together. Suddenly he knew something was wrong, very wrong. He tried to puzzle out what it was, and there- he almost had it- his mother…Like a rose, Mama always said her favorite flowers were roses, because underneath their beauty is a danger, their thorns.
"ROSE!" His father's bellow cut through his sleep like a knife. Erik was instantly awake. And the dream's message was still with him.
"Mama!" he cried, sobbing. "Mama, you said you'd never leave, you promised me!"
Gulping shakily, he threw himself out of bed and staggered toward the door. He heard his father slam the door of his mother's room and snap at the servants to ready his carriage. As soon as he could no longer hear him, Erik thrust the door open, ignoring the servants' screams of terror. He thrust open the door of his mother's room and threw himself on the bed.
He hugged her lifeless body to him as if it was his only lifeline. He felt the brush of her dead hair against her cheek and cried, cried for an eternity, cradling his mother's body.
"Y-you said you'd a-always be th-there," he shouted at her. Whimpering, he curled up next to her. "You p-promised me."
He didn't know how long he lay there, crying. All he knew was, when he awoke, it was nighttime and his father still hadn't returned. All the servants were in their wing, hiding from him. Erik rose from the bed. His father couldn't find him here. Slowly he walked back to his room. The world didn't seem real. It was all just a bad dream… he'd wake up soon and hear his mother playing her song for him… after all, she'd promised to always be there, and she'd never break her promise to him…
The stiff-collared black suit was itchy and uncomfortable. His father had paid one of the servants to slide it under the door. He would be allowed to see his mother briefly before they placed her in the coffin, after everyone had left. Dismally he stared at the monkey, its smile mocking his grief. He felt as if a great, big hole had opened up inside of his heart, smothering it until he felt no more. He had shed his tears until no more sprang to his eyes.
Absently he walked toward the organ and began to play, softly at first. He felt his heart pounding, his emotions climbing with his music. Slowly his anger twisted into his music, dark undertones playing a haunting harmony to his music. He crescendoed, pounding out the notes now, unabashed tears running down his face as his music ran rampant through his emotions.
A sudden silence followed. Erik panted, now physically exhausted. He heard a sound outside, like a box being dragged along the floor- the coffin! But they'd promised to let him see her before she was put away… he had to see her again…
Unthinking, he thrust the door open and padded down the hall, slamming open the door to his mother's room. It was just like in his dream. Feeling detached from everything, Erik saw the rose lying on the table. Slowly his eyes traveled toward the bed. His mother lay there, in her favorite dressing-gown. She looked peaceful and happy. Time slowed down. He heard the people around him scream in shock and horror.
He saw his father. He had seen his father only once before. It brought back a flood of unwanted memories. Slowly his father looked up at him. In his eyes Erik saw a loathing deeper than he could possibly comprehend. The guests had all filtered out sometime during his reverie.
"What- the- hell- are- you- doing- here!" his father screamed at him. "Did you want to see? Come to gaze at your precious handiwork? She's dead now, thanks to you! She was weak ever since she gave birth to you… you demon! Damn you! You're the reason she's dead!"
Erik shrank back, afraid that his father might kill him in his rage. Reynard grabbed a mirror and shoved it in his face. "This is what you are, you little viper! Here is the truth!"
His eyes widened. He didn't understand at first. Why was his father showing him a picture of this hideous, tormented face?
Then it dawned on him. With a trembling hand, Erik touched the right side of his face. The mirror reflected it. It was… his face.
So hideous, deformed. When he felt his face before, he felt the bumps, but… he had thought that was natural. Nothing to worry about. Now he understood. His father didn't hate him because he had done anything wrong, he hated him because he was… different. As his mother had said. But she had not told him he was a monster.
He grasped the mirror with trembling hands. Then brought it up, over his head, and smashed it into a million pieces on the floor.
Knowing he had little time before his father would react, he grabbed his mother's music sheets, and ran back to his room. His feet pounded against the floor, hearing his father right behind. He grabbed two sacks. In one, he placed his precious music box, his mother's music, and two of his favorite books. He cut two eyeholes out of the other, thrust it over his head and vaulted out the window, narrowly avoiding his father's grasp.
"Let him go," Erik heard his father snarl. "Let the little demon see how far he gets before God's wrath falls upon him."
End of Chapter 1