So this was originally written by a friend and I, but I liked it so much (and we weren't going to continue) that I decided to rewrite it and put it into an equally depressing story. This is only the first part (based on the original), and I'm probably going to start the rest of it.


"The docks… monsieur, where are the docks?" Christine asked a man who walked, her eyes wide with worry. Gustave… oh I hope he's alright! Meg wouldn't hurt him. Meg… Meg couldn't.

"Right that way, miss," the man said, pointing to the water. Christine nodded in thanks, before hurrying away. The Phantom followed, but he almost lost her multiple times through the thick crowd. Christine saw some signs, pointing to the docks. She began picking up her pace to a run- folks were clearing as it was dark at and no one had no reason to be at the docks. Except for Christine, who was terrified for her son.

"Gustave?" Christine approached a lamplit area, and upon seeing Meg standing, holding Gustave's hand, screamed, "GUSTAVE!" She ran to Meg and Gustave, but upon seeing that Meg was holding a gun, backed off. The Phantom soon joined Christine. Christine's eyes were wide. Gustave dangled off the edge of the dock, only a foot and Meg's hand keeping him safe.

"Mother!" cried Gustave, terrified. Meg's eyes were fixed on the Phantom.

"Another step and he dies," Meg warned, "years and years of being overlooked, and finally the attentions on me." Her voice tightened, "I'VE DONE SO MANY THINGS FOR YOU, ERIK! I became a prostitute, for God's sake! Look at what you've made me!"


"IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" Meg shrieked, "and for that, Gustave…" Her eyes shifted, finding those of Christine's. "Gustave, go to your parents…" she whispered quietly. Gustave ran to Christine's arms. "I've got your attention, now haven't I?" Her shaking hand moved the gun towards the Phantom. "But its not worth killing you, is it, and being stuck with this hell of a life?" Christine gasped. Meg moved the gun to her head.

"Meg, don't do it!" yelled Madame Giry, who'd followed the Phantom along with a worried Raoul.

"Meg, please," Christine moved towards her troubled friend, still holding Gustave, "drop the gun."

"Christine, I can't…" mumbled Meg.


The gun clattered to the floor, but not without a bang. Gustave screamed. He stood, shaking, before falling backward into Christine.

"Mother… why does it hurt, Mother?" Gustave clutched his chest, right where the bullet pierced his skin.

"Its okay, Gustave," Christine whispered, before kneeling down, letting Gustave fall to his knees. "It'll all be over soon…" There was no chance for help, and Christine knew that. Blood seeped out of the wound, Christine couldn't believe that it was real. But that shade of red… it was unmistakable.

"Mother, what's happening?"

Christine couldn't bare to tell her son the truth, but instead she sang a song to him, a lullaby that Gustave knew well. "Look with your heart, and not with your eyes…" She cast a glance at the Phantom, before sighing, "Your father… your real father, is… is…" Christine couldn't finish the sentence, before both Raoul and the Phantom came kneeling beside the two.

"We're here," Raoul said softly, "because we're both, your father." He offered the Phantom a smile- an offering of peace to end their quarrel.

"Father... but Mr. Y is scary!"

"My name isn't Mr. Y, little Vicomte."

"Then what is it?" Gustave tensed, causing Christine to grab him.

"Close your eyes, Gustave. You need not know his name, just know that we…" Christine sighed, closing her eyes, "we all love you." Christine laid a kiss on her son's forehead. "Just love… just live… and give what we can give… and take, what little we…" She cast a glare at the Phantom, "deserve." She breathed slowly, noticing that Gustave's eyes had closed. His breathing softened, until it became no more. "He's gone." Christine laid the boy's head down, before the Phantom swept him into his arms. Christine did not run to cry on the Phantom though, she found Raoul and wouldn't let go. Because, as everyone knew, Christine's heart would never truly belong to the Phantom. For who could love a murderer like him?