You Alone

DISCLAIMER: See chapter 1.


A/N: Special thanksies for Demon, who helped me to kick that writer's block's butt. :) This chapter is a short one with a nasty little cliffhanger. I'll try to update soon. ;)

Ah, almost forgot. Me wants those reviews!!!


CHAPTER 8 - It's Me They Hear


"No! I do not want to!" the child screamed and fled the room, leaving the astonished Comte Raoul de Chagny staring after him. Philippe had certainly acted strangely recently but this was something new. He had merely asked if he would like to play for him. Shaking his head slightly, he got up from his chair and poured himself some brandy as his wife entered the room.
"You should not drink that much, Raoul," she stated before starting to examine the bookshelves.
"You are right," he answered and emptied the glass with one long sip, feeling the liquid burn its way down.
"What did you say for Philippe?" she asked, trying to reach for a book.
"Nothing. I just asked him to play for me. Why do you ask?"
"He is hiding under the grand piano, begging me not to let you in."
The Comte could barely contain himself from throwing the glass he was still holding to the wall. "There is something wrong with that child, Christine."
The sound of the book hitting the floor made him jump slightly. He turned around and faced his wife, who - by the look on her face - was rather furious.
"I swear to God, Raoul, if you ever even suggest that there might be something wrong with my son, you are going to regret that your parents ever met."
With that, she left the room. Comte de Chagny was rather sure at this point that this day would not turn out as good as he would have wanted it to.


He did not even see either his wife or his son during the rest of the day. He knew, though, perfectly well, where they were. He could hear the constant music flowing out from the music room. Sometimes Christine would be singing, sometimes playing with Philippe - sometimes just listening. Comte de Chagny enjoyed music just like every man in his position but still he could not understand the power it held over his wife and his son.


During the next couple of days, Raoul barely saw his wife. She spent her nights in one of the guest rooms. He was not completely sure, though, if she slept at all. One night he was certain that he heard her play the whole night. He was sure that it was she, since he had checked that Philippe was in his room, soundly asleep. He stood behind the door for a while, trying to find the courage to enter the room and apologize. Finally, he had gone to bed. He knew his wife well enough to realize that if he disturbed her when she was concentrated on her music, she would never forgive him. He quietly returned to Philippe's room and had a good look at the child.


When Philippe had been but a baby, Raoul had spent nights just watching him sleep. There had been something oddly comforting in watching the child sleep. There still was. Philippe's dark hair was tousled and there was a small smile on the lips of the child who would smile so seldom. He stirred slightly and Raoul quickly took a few steps back, not wanting to wake the child. When he was certain that the child was still asleep, he left the room as quietly as he could. Behind the window, Philippe's Angel quietly watched over his son.


Nadir Khan, the former Daroga of Mazandera arrived a couple of days later. Raoul had barely had time to convince his wife that he had not wanted to insult either her or Philippe and that he was truly sorry. Philippe had returned to trying to avoid spending time with him, which was quite fine with the young Comte. He wanted Philippe spend as little time as humanly possible with the only friend Erik had ever had.


For the surprise of the Comte, the Persian had barely time to hand his luggage to the servants before he asked if they could speak somewhere in private.
"Oui, of course we can, my friend," he answered, leading his guest to the library. "Would you want something to drink? Brandy? Wine? Whisky?"
"Something with no alcohol in it, if you please, Monsieur le Comte."
"I apologize. I forgot." With a sheepish grin, he handed a glass to the other man. "What is it that has frightened you enough to come here, my friend?"
The Daroga snorted softly. "Who else but Erik?"
"What does he want?"
"I wish I knew."
"He did not send you, then?"
"No. Madame Antoinette Giry asked me to inform you that we have lost Erik."
"Is he dead?" Raoul could not quite suppress the optimistic tone in his voice.
"No, I do not think so. We simply do not have any idea of his whereabouts." The serious expression on the face of the olive-skinned man turned into a smile. "Besides, I wanted to meet young de Chagny myself."
Comte waved towards the music room. "I am sure you shall find both my son and my wife in the music room."
The man stood up, bowed slightly and left the room.


It was not difficult for the former policeman to find the music room. The door was slightly open, allowing the music to float out from the room. Madame Giry had told him that Philippe de Chagny was even more talented musician than his mother, so it did not really surprise him to see the child sitting by the grand piano, fallen into the lures of the piece he was playing. Comtess de Chagny was sitting on a sofa, a gentle smile on her face. She nodded as a greeting to the man, who was still standing at the doorstep, and gestured him to take a seat. With a bow the Daroga did as he was asked to, choosing a seat, which would allow him to watch the child. The boy's dark, slightly curly hair veiled most of his face but the Daroga was still able to catch a glimpse of his eyes every now and then. In the eerie light of the candles, the colour of his eyes seemed almost amber. There were many little details - gestures, features and expressions - which spoke their own, clear language to the former head of police. Philippe de Chagny was no de Chagny. In fact, he did look quite a lot like his real father. Erik's features were quite handsome if the deformation was ignored.


Soon, the child finished the piece he was playing and was rewarded with appropriate applause by his Maman and the stranger. Philippe quickly turned around, eyeing the man with some caution.
"Philippe, be a nice boy and greet Monsieur Khan."
"Bonjour, Monsieur Khan," the boy greeted formally and bowed slightly. "Did you like my playing, Monsieur?" The child's voice was playful.
"Why yes, I did, young Master de Chagny. You have been well taught."
"Merci beaucoup," Philippe answered with another bow.
"Philippe, why do you not go to the kitchen to see if your supper is ready?"
"As you wish, Maman." The child quickly ran to his mother, kissed her cheek and left the room.


"You have a polite son, Madame la Comtess."
"Please, Nadir, I do have a name," the young Comtess answered with a smile. "And thank you."
"He looks quite a lot like his father, does he not?" Nadir asked casually.
"Oui, he does."


Christine was not surprised at all by the fact that their guest had immediately realized the true identity of the child's father. Nadir was, after all, a clever man, who had spent lots of time with Erik.


"I believe congratulations would be in place," the Daroga added soon.
Christine simply nodded. "Thank you."
"You are most welcome."
"What has brought you here now, Nadir, if I may ask?"
"Madame Giry asked me to come to tell your husband that we have lost our track on Erik. Everything here, though, indicates that you have not."
Comtess de Chagny blushed slightly. "I can guarantee you, my friend, that you have no reason to worry."
The man nodded casually. "I trust you can take care of yourself. I would, though, be pleased if you allowed me to speak with him."
"Of course. I shall ask him to come to meet you as soon as I see him."
"Merci beaucoup, Christine." With a smile and a bow, the man left the room.


The door had barely closed behind the former Daroga, when Christine heard his voice.
"Nadir has aged more than I would have believed."
"You really should not sneak around like that, frightening pregnant women, Erik," she told him with a smile.
"No, I probably should not," he admitted. "Shall we meet tonight, mon ange?"
"Oui, of course."
No answer. He was already gone.


Behind the closed door of the music room, Comte Raoul de Chagny could not believe his ears. Had he just witnessed his wife talk with the Phantom?