You Alone

DISCLAIMER: See chapter 1.


CHAPTER 5 - Father Once Spoke of an Angel


For the relief of the young Comte, the next morning, there was nothing out of ordinary when it came to Philippe's behaviour. Raoul watched with a smile as the child played Mozart with his mother, both of them lost in the little world music was creating for them. The music was captivating his attention, too. He had tried to concentrate on writing a letter for his friend but found that he could not. So, he watched, his head slightly cocked, at his son's fingers glide over the strings of the violin he had in his small hands. His wife sat by the piano, her eyes closed, all her attention absorbed by the music.


He had woken up a couple of hours after the sunrise and found both his son and his wife here, in the music room, going through the sheets, trying to decide what to play. Philippe would have preferred Bach but finally, Christine had managed to convince him to play Mozart. They had been playing for almost two hours now, and Comte de Chagny was getting slightly bored. As beautifully as they played, he would rather have talked with them, taken a walk with them - anything involving him, too.


Finally, they finished the part that they were playing. She kissed her son's cheek gently and whispered something that Raoul could not quite hear. The smile that Philippe flashed at his mother was so full of love that Raoul could not help feeling slightly jealous. How come the child never smiled at him like that? Ever since his birth, Philippe had shown so much more affection towards his mother. Sometimes it felt as if the child was fonder of his imaginary angel than his father.


"Did you like it, Papa?"
"Of course I did," Comte answered, lifting the child to his lap.
Philippe started playing with his tie, not quite meeting his eye. "I have been practicing a lot."
"Oui, I noticed that." He met his wife's gaze and gave her a small smile. "Would you like to take a walk with me, Christine?"
"Maybe later, my dear. I promised to read Philippe a story at the garden."
He felt the smile on his face slowly die as his wife lifted the child from his lap. Neither of them asked him to join them. With a sigh, he continued writing his letter.


As the weeks went by, he could almost see his wife and son distance themselves from him. Whenever he would enter a room, they both would suddenly fell silent. Sometimes, it almost seemed as if Philippe was trying to hide from him - if not physically, then at least mentally. The child would seldom speak with him more than he absolutely had to. When Raoul told Christine about this, she would always answer that she had not noticed anything out of ordinary.
"You must be imagining, dear."


She knew that she would have to talk about this with Erik. They could not afford being caught. She knew that Erik had some great plans for them - even though she was not completely sure what those plans were. She did not know what had happened between Raoul and Philippe that night when the child had fallen from the tree, but she did know that Erik was furious with her husband and told her to make sure not to allow Raoul to take Philippe to bed. She had tried to ask him what it all was about but the only answer she had received was a mysterious, "There are some things that no child should be denied."
"I do not understand, Erik," she had confessed.
"Yes, mon ange, I know that you do not. I promise to explain you some day."
"As you wish, Erik."


She was not sure, when she had begun to think of him as Erik instead of Angel. Somehow, calling him Angel seemed to be childish. She knew better. She knew that he was no angel but a man. A man that she had learnt to love from the very bottom of her heart. A man that was the father of her son. A man that would give her anything and everything she would ever want. Somewhere deep inside, she knew that she should fight him - fight for herself, her husband and Philippe - but she did not. She did not want to. Erik would give her everything she would ever want. He would give Philippe everything he would ever need.


That night, she went to the music room and softly called for her Erik.
"I am here, mon ange," his melodious voice answered.
"I need you to speak with our son. Raoul is getting suspicious."
"What do you mean, mon ange?"
"He sees through Philippe. He knows something is going on."
He did not answer. She could almost feel his eyes on her.
"Erik? Where are you?"
"Where would you want me to be?" the piano asked with his voice.
"No, I mean for real. Where are you - physically?"
His chuckle sent shivers down her back.
"Anywhere you want me to be. Behind your back, right by your side, under your bed - even in your bed, should you want me to."
She heard Raoul call for her. "I must go. Please promise to speak with him."
"Oui, mon ange. Shall we meet tonight?"
"I shall do my best." She began walking towards the door but stopped right before it. "Erik?"
"Yes?"
"I love you."
"I know, my love. I love you too."


"Child, there is something we need to talk about," angel told Philippe that night, when he was already in his bed. His stern and serious tone made the child worry.
"What is it? Have I disappointed you somehow?"
The angel chuckled softly. "No, my child, quite on the contrary."
Philippe let out a relieved sigh. "Good."
"You should not be so cold towards your Papa," the angel's gentle voice told him.
The child frowned, confused. "But did you not tell me, angel, not to trust him anymore?"
"You have paid attention to my words and made me proud of you, Philippe. Yet, it is extremely important for us that your Papa thinks nothing is out of ordinary. Do you understand me, child?"
"Oui, mon ange."
"Do you have any questions for me?"
"Just one, Angel."
"Then ask it."
"How come you never call my Papa my father? All the other grown-ups do."


Erik smiled at the child's question. He had wondered when Philippe would realize this. Yet, he had never thought that he would ask it this early. It did not matter. He would not lie to his only son.
"What I am about to tell you, Philippe, you must not tell anyone. Not even your Maman."
"Is this a secret?"
"Oui. This is the ultimate secret."
"Then I shall tell no one."
"Excellent, my child."
Before he could continue, he heard the child's voice, barely above whisper. "Papa is not my real father, is he?"


He stared at his son, amazed. "How did you know, child?"
Philippe shrugged slightly. "I just knew, Angel. My father would never deny me a kiss from Maman."
"You are right."
"Can I ask another question?"
"Of course."
"Do you know my real father? Do you know where he is?"
Ah, the child had not discovered the whole truth. At least not yet.
"Oui, I know him. I can guarantee you, Philippe, that he loves both you and your mother very, very much."
"Have I ever met him? Can I ever meet him? What is he like? How...?"
He chuckled gently. "Sleep now, child. All your questions shall be answered when you are a bit older."
"If you see my father - my real father - could you tell him that...?"
A huge yawn cut the child off.
"I will tell him."
"Angel?" the child asked after a couple of minutes of silence.
"Oui. I am here."
"Sing to me. Please."
And he sang.


After about half an hour, the child finally fell asleep. Even though he had never said it aloud, Erik knew that he was slightly shocked. Who would not be in his place? He was such a wise and brave little boy. His little discovery would force him to speed up his plan. He had thought that he would not have to act upon it before Philippe's sixth birthday. Now, barely two weeks after his fifth birthday, he had no choice but to begin. It did not really matter him, though. Christine was completely under his spell - his voice - and she would not resist. Now, the only object in between Erik and his goal was the young Comte Raoul de Chagny. It would not be difficult to get rid of him.


This night will be the point of no return.


This night I shall begin with my plan.


This night, she will be mine.