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Replaying Past	By : RubyNatulieLee Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 7371 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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[Disclaimer: I do not own or make any sort of money off of this based story. I only own the charaters of Esme Lonsdale, Eddy and his sister Crystal, The wig maker, Nicolas and the three boys from Sandor's gang. Everything else I do not own nor belong to me. ]

[Got my muse back!]

~~~~~~~~~{@

The night was not kind to Esme, as she sat upon the stone floor, feeling the fabrics of an worn carpet tickling at her legs, as she watched Eddy soundly sleep. Careful not to wake him, she had gotten him to lay down upon the swan like bed. To dream a restless sleep, as she sat wondering, where her beloved Phantom ran too. He left in such a haste, he gave no time nor reason for his leave. This dug into Esme’s mind, like an infection, never going away in till a cure was found.

The minutes seem to squeeze by her, slowly and loudly. The ticker of the clock upon the night stand, ticking away slowly moment after moment. Driving her mad with her worry. She wanted to run out and find Erik, wanting to run out and see what graced his face with such worry, and painful expression, that shock Esme to her very core. But as much as she wished to go, she could not. Eddy was a wreck, she needed to stay and take care of him... and only pray for the best.

The candles about her, were down to their last spit of wax, telling her that new ones were going to be needed. Slow, painful hours have passed, there was nothing to do but wait. With a heavy sigh, rising her shaky hand to her face, brushing back her red locks, she pushed herself to stand, to find the box, where Erik’s held the candles. To keep the room lit, like her very hope. But as she turned, to slip down the stone steps. A figure stood and her breath hitched a gasp. A smile would have lifted upon her face, then one of anger, to demand her answers from her questions. But none could come, no words could leave her mouth. Only shock, and worry once again grabbed her.

Erik stood upon the last step of those stone way. His head was bowed, as if a great deal was pushed into him and he could not bare to look upon Esme. His hair was wild, like his fingers had run threw them numerous of times, His face pale, his body bent forward, holding something within his arms tightly. As if it were his very life. Letting her gaze drop, a gasp passed threw her again, her eyes widen in horror. Crystal laid within his tight arms, her tender face pressed into his chest, not moving, nor saying a sound. But what drew to Esme’s horror, was the blood stained hands upon Erik’s hands, his fingers that held onto Crystal, upon his cuffs of his shirt. Her body lunged forward as she rushed towards him, touching the young one’s face tenderly. She felt the faint breath of Crystal’s life brush along her palm, as Esme tilted the childs’ head up towards her own. Her fear was cut down, a little more when Erik’s voice whispered, twisted in pain and emptiness.

“Sleeping...”

Esme looked up to her Phantom, frowning upon his voice. Slowly she rose one of her hands, touching his cold face that laid bare to her. But he turned it away, shame washing over him. Whispering soft words to him, Esme took the sleeping child from his tight grip. Holding her, like she was Esme’s own child, she walked slowly and carefully to the bed, in which Eddy slept.

Erik watched, his heart twisting with guilt and pain, as Esme tended to the children. Pushing back the covers and resting the sleeping child within. Brushing the tender locks from Crystals forehead when the child stirred, sending her back to her dreams. Erik could not watch, he was almost too late... Almost... Spinning, his cloaking whipping within the air, he rushed back down those stone steps. He needed a drink, he needed to rid himself of this nightmare, when he knew already, it would hunt his mind.

He just killed someone, with his two hands. Once again he killed without a thought. The blood of the two people still seeped within his clothing and stained his dirty hands. He couldn’t look upon them without becoming sick. Yanking his cloak from his throat, he rushed towards the rippling lake that surrounded his home. Surging waist deep into the cold water, he washing his hands, he splashed and washed, rubbing the blood stains away, but they wouldn’t go away to his eyes, His nails raked feverishly upon his own flesh, struggling, pain filling his eyes. He wanted to weep, he was a murder again, and like is past. Esme would be just like his first love and run from him. She would take the children and she would run from him, telling him he was cold and a monster, killing someone, even if the reason was justice.

He didn’t want to be alone....

Slowly he began to stop, his body trembling, wet to the very bone, he slowly turned. Looking back towards his home, to see something that made his eyes widen just a little.

Esme stood upon the dry edge, a black robe in her hands.

Was she... waiting for him?

Slowly he made his way back, the water dripping from each part of him, his clothing, his hair, his skin and mask. He made his way towards her. But instead of running, or stepping away like he feared she would. She simple held the robe open. A tender smile upon her face.

Then all crashed.

Tears fell as he let out a heart braking cry. Falling to his knees before her, grabbing her waist, burying his head within the rippling fabrics of her skirt. He sobbed into her dress, holding onto her, fearing for what would come, pained by what he had done. Feeling the heavy robe slowly slip upon his shoulders, He felt Esme’s body slide down threw his arms in till she knelt before him, her arms wrapping around his head. “Erik.” She whispered, pulling him to lean upon her, his face resting gently upon her bosom, her cheek resting softly within his wet black hair. Closing his eyes tightly, he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close, holding her tightly, listening to her whisper cooing words into his ears, feeling her fingers tenderly stroke his wet hair. She didn’t run from him, but comforted him. This was far to much, this was shameful, braking down before her, when he was suppose to stand and take anything that came his way.

“F-Forgive me.” He whispered, his words breathless and cracking from his sobs.

He felt her grip tighten around his head, holding him close to her rising breasts, clinging to him, telling him, the very devil of his nightmares could not take him, without fighting her. She only bowed her head a little more, softly kissing his brow as she whispered, giving him the words that gave him, for a split second, clam ease.

“Of course...”

~~~~~~~~~{@

“How do you know this is him?”

Charlie sat with such despair, his face twisted in such pain, as if his very bowels was going to explode and he was going to be sick. Before him laid the mangled body, of what George had spoken to be their friend Adam. Whom was beaten beyond recognizable.

“Looks like the bloody bastard isn’t pretty any more.” George scoffed, his arms crossed over his round stomach. His eyes narrowed, staring upon the still body. The face was badly damage, the nose broken, right eye swollen and his skin covered with bruises and cuts, blood covering every inch. “Shame it is.” But looking over to Sandor, his lips gave a snarl. The man was holding onto Charlie’s shoulder, since the weak lad was struggling to keep his food inside. George had seen far worst, then what their little friend here had endured. Far more worst.

“Damn it man, I asked you a question.” Sandor growled, glaring to his fat helper. Sandor was a cruel and unreasonable yes... But he held his friends dear. As shocking as it seems. Squeezing Charlies’ shoulder, trying to give him some support, he also was trying to keep his anger down. Wanting to lung over to his disrespecting cow, and knock his false teeth out, for speaking ill of their dead friend. Adam might have not been the best person in the world....The truth be, He was never the best person in the world. But he was the closest trust worthy friend Sandor could have, even if that was very rare...

“Is the bastard.” George grumbled, waving his hand to the body. “ I followed him to the Tavern.” Sandor rose a brow to his friend, whom only grumbled, looking away. “ I was just gonna ask him for some money. I’m not bloody rich ye know.” Sandor only snorted, before removing his hand from Charlies shoulder, softly brushing his fingers threw those locks of hair. “Do you know whom done this?”

George shock his head, “Most doubtful, the man was wearing a cloak. But I bet he be one of those pissed daddies. Since he was carrying one of the children out from the place. But I did over hear, from one of those whores inside, the man was wearing a mask.”

Sandor frowned slowly, before whispering, “ A mask?”

George nodded his head, “Aye, and some blonde lass was in there screaming something about ‘The Phantom Returns.’ or some rubbish like that. Stupid lass, she was crazy, running about the place screaming, flinging her arms about. Had to knock the chick out before she gave me a bloody head ack!”

Sandor returned his gave back to Adam’s body. His eyes narrowed, his face twisted in rare anger. “We’ll find this man.” He growled, before letting Charlies shoulder go. “We’ll find him and Esme. Then get the hell out of this damnable city. But right now...George! Make a grave for Adam, he deserved far more then this.”

Georges eyes widen before shouting out, “Wot?! Why me? Let Charlie, the weak boy needs to grow some muscles these days!” But his words came to deaf ears, as Sandor punched him within his jaw, causing George to fall to is side, and spit out a good amount of blood.

“I....said....Do it!” Sandor ordered, before taking Charlies arm, yanking the boy away, going back to their tavern. Leaving George to sit upon the ground, beside Adam’s body, in which he had to drag out of the tavern, before the coppers came. Growling, he looked over to the still body, before kicking the limp leg.

“Lucky Bastard.”
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Replaying Past