The Angel's Shadow || The Phantom of the Opera || Book Two

26. The Child That Didn't Move

Chapter Twenty Six || The Child That Didn't Move

Valentin

1:45 AM

Everything is going according to plan. Tonight will be the night. Tonight I will pay little Gustave a visit. Not that he will know. At least, not until he feels the blade of my knife.

I have been watching the Changy's townhouse for quite some time. I didn't mind the rain that poured into my eyes. I didn't mind the mud that soiled my custom made shoes. It will all be worth it in the end; we will all be happy....or maybe not all...

I saw that demon come to Christine's house and make his advances on her. I saw him take what wasn't his, just like he took my Antoinette from me. Who knew that such an ugly man could have so many women? And such beautiful women at that...

I took this as the perfect opportunity for me to sneak into the quiet house, using the back door someone idiotically left unlocked. It didn't take me long to find the little bastard's room. I snuck into his room without a sound. He didn't even stir, the floor didn't even creak. I sat beside him and watched him sleep, studying his peaceful face. As I watched, I rolled the knife into my palm, subconsciously squeezing it's handle in time with the rise and fall of the child's chest.

Antoinette would want this. She would want her husband's son removed. She would want all connections he had with his mistress and ex-lover taken from the face of the earth.

I positioned the knife directly below the boy's jaw and pressed down. He turned his head, catching on the blade and nicking himself. He still didn't waken.

I snickered. Stupid boy got himself cut by moving. I pressed the knife deeper into his fragile neck, covering his mouth to muffle his pathetic scream. And then-

Footsteps, quiet footsteps, came from outside the door. A moment later I heard the door handle turn and I brought the sheet higher up Gustave's neck before swiftly hiding inside the open closet.

I edged closer to where I could see into the room, needing to know if it was the boy's nanny who came in here. If it was, I would have to at least knock her unconscious. If the child's state is discovered now, it would leave no way for me to escape undetected.

I tightened my grip on the soiled knife, about attack my prey. But when my eyes fell onto the woman who now occupied the room, I slunk back into the darkness of the closet, feeling every part of my body slowly shut down.

Mélodie

1:20 AM

Paris is so hot. So unbearably hot. I couldn't tell if the moisture on my face was sweat or rain or both. You're right. It is probably both.

I walked in the steady rain, unsure exactly where I was going, my weak body being fueled by hurt and betrayal.

The unrelenting voices in my head kept chanting, tormenting me further into madness, "Christine is pregnant. Christine is pregnant. Christine is pregnant."

A flash from my nightmares blocked out my vision and caused me to stumble over a crack in the sidewalk.

Erik. My Erik. N-No. I have that wrong don't I.

Christine's Erik.

Yes. That's correct, is it not? Christine's Erik. Never Mélodie's Erik. Never mine. Erik could never love Mélodie the way he loved Christine. Mélodie was never good enough for sweet, mysterious Erik. Christine's Erik.

No I think you had it wrong. The moisture on my face wasn't only sweat and rain. I am almost positive that moisture is tears, too. My tears. At least I think so. I cannot be sure. I can no longer be sure.