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You Alone	By : mrssmeagol Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2670 -:- 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
- 3
- 4
- 5
DISCLAIMER: See chapter 1.

A/N: I'm reading Susan Kay's awesome "Phantom" at the moment and I pretty much fell in love with the description of how Erik hypnotized his mother with his voice. The idea - as cliché as it is - was simply too good to be wasted. ;)

CHAPTER 4 - Imagination Wakes

Comte Raoul de Chagny returned from Marseille four weeks later. He had barely been able to get off the carriage when Philippe had already ran to him, hugging him tight. Young Comte easily lifted the child into his arms and kissed his cheek.
"Have you missed me, little one?"
"A bit."
"Only a bit?" He smiled at his son's honest answer.
"I have been too busy to miss you a lot, Papa."
"What were you so busy with?"
"I had to play with my angel. He is very strict."

Raoul was patient enough to listen at Philippe's stories for about half an hour before sending him away with his nanny. He had not seen a glimpse of his wife yet, which surprised him. Had Christine not heard that he was back already? He finally found her at the music room. She was sitting by the piano, her face hidden behind her hair. Her fingers were running on the keys, luring a complicated and amazingly beautiful melody out of the instrument. He leaned against the doorframe and felt a smile settle on his lips. It was no wonder that their son was so obsessed about music. Christine would never admit it but when she played or sang, the rest of the world did not exist for her. It took her a couple of minutes to finish the song. Then, she leaned slightly back, a smile on her face. It was not until then that Raoul dared let her know of his presence.
"Bravo, my love," he complimented softly.
She turned her face slowly, finally meeting his gaze. "Raoul?"
"You played magnificently."
She blushed slightly. "I did not hear your return."
"Oui. I noticed."

He quickly closed the distance between them, kissing her then fiercely. He did not miss her hesitating a fraction of a second before answering his kiss. Soon, though, he had already forgotten it as they had somehow found their ways onto the small sofa. Who knows what they would have ended up doing, if they had not heard Philippe's crying from outside.

Within a second, Christine had left him alone on the couch and rushed to the window.
"Is he all right?" he asked, shifting his position on the couch uncomfortably.
"I think he fell from a tree," she told him before running out of the room.
With a sigh, he stood up. What had the child done at a tree at this time of a year, anyway? He shook his head and followed his wife out of the room, never seeing the dark-cloaked man standing on the balcony, his eyes full of hatred.

Philippe had, indeed, fallen down from a tree. After having been carefully checked by a doctor, his parents were assured that there was nothing to worry about.
"Just a small bump, Madame la Comtess. There is nothing to worry about. He may suffer some headaches tonight but there were no bones broken."
She did not answer but held her son closer to her.
"Are you sure?"
"Oui, Monsieur le Comte. He must have had his guardian angel with him."
He nodded as an answer, noticing at the same time, how his wife shot a questioning gaze at their son, who nodded weakly.

That night, when it was time for Philippe to go to bed, Raoul volunteered to take him there. After he had finished the bedtime story, he could still see that his son was not asleep - quite on the contrary. He was staring at the ceiling, frowning slightly.
"What is it, Philippe?" he asked, softly.
"When will Maman come to kiss me good-night?"
"I think she already went to sleep, Philippe. You'll see her when you wake up at morning."
"I want her to come to give me a kiss."
"I am sure you understand that she cannot do that since she is sleeping."
A single tear slid down the child's cheek. "Please, Papa, go to see if she is still awake."
"Sleep now, Philippe. I will stay here."

The look he received from his son was the coldest one he had ever seen. It was almost impossible that child that young would have the ability to put that much anger and hatred into one single look.
"I shall tell my angel that you try to keep Maman away from me. He will not accept that."
"Philippe. Go to sleep. Now."
Despite his disbelief and amazement, he had been able to put enough authority into his voice. The child gave him another glare before closing his eyes. After a couple of minutes, he was already fast asleep.

When Raoul told his wife about this, she frowned slightly.
"I am sure he did not mean it that way, Raoul. He adores you."
"You cannot say that it was not weird."
"I am not saying that it would not have been weird. It is just that..."
"What?"
"He hit his head when he fell, did he not?"
"That is what the doctor told us."
"It could have caused that." She kissed his cheek gently. "Do not worry, Raoul. I am sure he will be just fine tomorrow."
"You are probably right," he agreed and laid himself down on the bed. "Are you going to come to sleep?"
"Not just yet. I have some things I need to take care of." She placed a kiss on his forehead. "You must be tired, dear. Try to get some sleep. I will join you once I have finished my tasks."
"Oui. As you wish."

Christine waited for about half an hour in the library, wanting to be sure that her husband was fast asleep. She knew that Erik would wait for her.

During these four weeks, he had sung to her every night. Precisely like her son, she too had noticed that the voice sounded most beautiful in the music room. After a week, she realized that every night she had fallen asleep in the music room, listening to Erik singing, and that every morning she had woken up in her own bed. At that point, she began to question her mental well-being. Had she lost her mind?

After thinking about it for a couple of days, she realized it. If losing your mind meant that you could listen to Erik every night, then it was worth it.

During the four weeks, she could see her son get deeper and deeper into the world that Erik presented to him - the world of music, the world of fantasies. Philippe would spend most of his time outside. Her nanny was getting rather desperate as the child refused to speak with her anymore, telling her that he needed to listen to his angel. One day, Christine went outside and lifted Philippe to sit on her lap.
"What does he tell you?" she asked softly, playing with the child's hair.
"He sings to me," the child answered, leaning absently against her chest. "Can you hear it, Maman?"
She closed her eyes but could not hear anything. "I am sorry, Philippe. I can not hear anything."
"It is all right, Maman. He shall sing to you later. Right now we would want you to stay here with us."
"And I would want to stay here with you."
The child shifted slightly and closed his eyes then, concentrating fully on the music.

After the second week, Christine noticed that she could now hear Erik's voice even when she was awake. Sometimes, he would sing. Sometimes, he would tell her stories. But most often, he would whisper her words of undying love. Soon, he would start asking her to do little things for him - go to music room and play a certain song. She could not refuse. She did not even want to. She could almost feel her will power leave her. There was no will of her own left. She would do anything Erik asked her to. She could not help wondering, though, if it was the same with Philippe.

She had not once heard her son sing after that night, and still she was not sure if she had been awake then. That is why, she was so surprised the morning before her husband's return, when Philippe entered the music room and shyly captured her hand into his own, much smaller one.
"Maman, I wish to ask you to do something."
"Then ask, my dearest."
"Would you... Would you sing with me?"
She felt her eyes widen. "Sing with you? Are you sure you do not mean you want me to sing at you?"
"I want to sing with you, Maman. Angel says I am ready for it." He eyed her cautiously. "Maman, why are you crying?"
She could not answer verbally but she tightly embraced her son.
"Maman, if you do not wish to sing with me, I understand."
"No, cherie, I want to sing with you. I really do."

Together they sang for almost two hours, stopping only because she was worried of his voice.
"But Maman..."
"No buts, Philippe. I do not want you to lose your voice. We can sing more later."
"Oui, Maman."
"You are such a sweet little boy," she whispered kissing her son on his cheek.
"Maman, angel asked me to tell you that we should not tell Papa about this - that we sang together."
"It will be our secret," she promised.
"I love you, Maman."
"I love you too, Philippe."

"And I love you both," a gentle voice whispered into both of their ears.

When Philippe had left the room, she could hear her Angel sing again. Without giving it another thought, she went to the piano and started playing. Soon, his singing was replaced by his violin. She completely lost her sense of time - she just played with her Erik. When the melody finally came to its finale, she leaned back, exhausted. That is when she realized that Raoul was there, leaning on the doorframe. As he came to kiss her, she could not help wishing that it would have been Erik's lips that were caressing hers - neither could the black-cloaked man, standing on the balcony.

That night, he saw how the young Comte de Chagny refused to grant his son a kiss from his mother. The Comte left the room after a couple of minutes. The very second he closed the door behind him, Philippe's eyes snapped open and he bursted in tears. Erik sang to him and told him over and over again how much both he and his mother loved the poor child, until Philippe finally fell really asleep.

You need not suffer much longer, mes anges. I shall release you soon.

Soon, you both shall belong to me and me only.
- 3
- 4
- 5
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You Alone