Music is the Sincerest Form of Flattery (A Phantom Phanfiction)

7: Family Problems

Gustave's red, bloodshot eyes found Erik's.

Erik stumbled back in terror as two things clicked in his mind.

One: The de Changys were in Paris.

Two: Something had gone terribly wrong.

The first thing he thought, after he realised number two, was Christine. Was she alright? Was it just a fight that had upset her son? Was she still alive?

Then he remembered the ten year old boy in front of him. A huge bruise shone on his cheekbone. Gustave stared at him, recognising him as the Mr. Y his mother had introduced, and also perhaps remembering Erik's hideous deformity.

"Mr. Y?" he croaked. His voice was weak, as if he had been running a long time. The crowd was getting thicker and Erik knew he would lose the child soon if he didn't move closer.

He did, guiding Gustave to the back of the street so they could have a conversation without all the noise. He bent down so he was eye level. "Gustave. What has happened? Are you fine? Where is your mother?

Then Gustave started to cry again. Erik watched helplessly, never in the situation where he might have to comfort a distressed child. If Gustave remembered Erik without his mask, it didn't bother him anymore as he threw himself into Erik and cried there, his tears soaking the shirt. Erik hesitantly put his arms around Gustave and awkwardly patted his back, feeling more insecure by the second. Suddenly it occurred to him that it was his son he was holding and fondness bloomed within him.

"Gustave?" he said gently. Gustave's sobs softened slightly. "I won't make you do anything you feel uncomfortable with. But I suggest we take this to a more private place. Why don't we go to my residence and you can tell me what's happened?"

Maybe Christine never bothered to teach Gustave the dangers of strangers because he immediately nodded, still too emotional for words. Erik helped him to his feet and took him by the hand.

They entered through a secret entrance Erik would've shown no one except Christine, Nadir and his... son. Gustave's eyes went wide, tears drying and Erik was reminded of the last time he saw Gustave, where he realised he was Gustave's father. 

The entire way down Gustave did not seem to blink once, trying to soak in everything he was seeing and not miss anything. Every carving, every passage, every tapestry. Surely if Erik had not realised back then who this child's father was, he would've now. Every glance, every interest. It was all Erik's. 

Now and then Erik would glance at Gustave's bruise. He wish he knew what happened. Or more likely: who did it. And he had a pretty good idea already.

They reached the main room, where Erik sat Gustave down on the best armchair. He grabbed a jug with hot water and two cups. He wasn't thirsty, but Gustave would be more inclined to drink if Erik drank, too.

"Forgive me," Erik said as he set them down on a coffee table. "I don't have much opportunity to be a host and food is scarce at the moment."

"I-it's all good," Gustave muttered.

Erik sat down opposite him, in an angle that made sure if Gustave felt nervous about looking at him, he didn't need to. Now in the comfort and ordinariness of a home, he started to tear again and Erik let him cry for a few moments until he let it out.

"Gustave, I want to ask of you something. Something that will require great willpower. I knew your mother since childhood and we were... friends. I care for her very much and therefore, you, too. If anything has happened to you or her, I want to know and take action immediately. So I'm asking you, Gustave, to trust me and to tell me anything you want."

Christine really should teach Gustave the dangers of trusting strangers immediately, Erik thought sternly, as Gustave nodded again and without further prodding. started to talk.

"I d-don't really know what happened," he hiccuped. "It was so weird. I was going up to bed because it was late. I don't know what happened that time Mother did not sing but it changed a lot. F-father wouldn't go out as much anymore and there wasn't shouting ever since. It was finally starting to fit. It's a bit weird to say this because (like Father tells me too much) I'm still a child. Well, it was starting to feel like... Mother and Father were finally loving each other."

Erik really wanted to punch something at that moment.

"Mother had already gone up to bed, too. She goes to bed very early these days. Then I heard Father going too and by that time I was almost asleep. They were talking. Father was not talking too softly, but I could barely hear Mother. They kept mentioning someone called Erik. I don't think Father likes him much. He called him the things Mother called the washing board when it broke."

Erik smiled wryly. He already loved this kid like mad.

"Then suddenly Father was screaming. It was louder than the ones they had before and this was after three months of quietness. He said very, very loudly: 'It's been three months, Christine! It's time to move on and start again, or never do anything goddamn useful!'. Then Mother was shouting, too. She almost never shouts. She said something along the lines of: 'And this is useful? You could be sent to court for this, you know!' I was scared, so, so scared.

"And Father was yelling at her. It sounded a lot like he was hitting her, too. And Mother... and Mother was crying, with pain, it sounded like. There was lots of sounds of something tearing. Paper, or fabric, maybe. He was calling her names and everything.

"I couldn't help myself! Mother always says to stay out of their fights. But it sounded so bad... how could I have? I ran to their bedroom. Mother's clothes were torn up on the floor and she was wearing a dressing gown, except the sleeve and half of the bottom part were also torn. Father was shirtless and he looked... insane. There was blood on Mother's face, arms, legs. Cuts. Bruises. I could even see some strands of her hair on the ground. Father looked like he was trying to take Mother's gown off and unlace her corset at the same time. He kept hitting Mother when she tried to stop him. I was crying and screaming at them to stop but none of them heard me. Then I was there, trying to pull them apart and Father bruised me. He looked as if he was carelessly swatting me away and yet it hurt like hell. And if that hurt me so much and gave me such a brilliant bruise, then let alone Mother..."

At this point, Gustave's tears spilled over.

"Father was on me. He was doing to me what he did to hurt Mother and I left the room so quickly. But he followed me and I was so scared! I don't think he was thinking straight at all. He looked ready to kill and he would. We ran the entire house and I was glad to lead him off Mother if only for a little while. I'm smaller than him and he couldn't catch me. When we reached back to the bedroom, Mother told me: "Run." Father was still making his way to us. I said: "Where?". Mother said: "Anywhere. Away from here. Away from him." She wouldn't answer anymore of my questions, so I did as she asked."

Erik stared at Gustave who now was doing waterworks. His heart thudded painfully. He could finally answer his questions. Was she alright? Was it just a fight that had upset her son? Was she still alive?

No, she was not alright. Not alright at all. 

Was she alive?

She'd be better dead.

Now, he really wanted to punch something. No, kill something. Or more specifically, kill the Vicomte de Changy.