Author's Note: Hello everyone, and welcome to my first attempt at fan/phan
fiction. I hope that you like it, but even if you don't, PLEASE R and R!
The only way I can get better is by learning what I'm doing wrong. Help me
out!
Disclaimer: Everything that you recognize belongs to Mssrs. Leroux and Webber, or another of the great authors-authoresses that have, in the past, brought this story to life. If you do not recognize a character, however, they are most likely mine. May they make you glad that you read this. In conclusion, I am earning nothing by writing this, except, perhaps, a couple of complements. Do not sue me.
Here goes!
There wasn't much money to be found in Paris that year. The economy had dropped yet again. No one was getting along very well, but the poor were doing even worse. There was no food, no clean water. Shoot, there wasn't even a place they could use the rest room without worrying about rats. Life was never good for these people, but lately it was horrible.
It was from these people that Lyra came. She was the daughter of a woman who had long since forgotten her name. How then could she be expected to remember the name of the man who had fathered her child? She hated Lyra with a vengeance, whenever she was sober enough to remember her. But Lyra, like all children, loved her mother.
It was on Lyra's sixth birthday that her mother decided to get rid of her. She pulled some strings and, with some long-forgotten bit of compassion, took Lyra on a ride through town in a cab. Lyra was so excited! She had never been in a cab before. She had always had to depend upon her own two feet. The horse seemed like a fairy-tale creature, for she had only heard about them from the other people in the slums. The woman took her all through town, finally arriving in the part with huge mansions and lit streets late at night. There she directed the cabby to stop. -------------------------------------------------
She was gone.
The phrase screamed through my mind and body when I was awake, and through my dreams when I slept. No matter what I did, I saw her face, heard her voice. She was everywhere, in everything I saw or heard. The time I had had with her replayed itself through my mind, no matter what I did. Finally I came to a conclusion.
I couldn't live without her.
So I set about putting my affairs in order. I sold all of my valuables that had survived the mob, leaving the money I received on a table in my house on the lake. When she came back to bury me, she would find it there. Perhaps it would bring her and the boy happiness. It would be my wedding present. I left Ayesha there as well. Nadir had been annoying me constantly. He had made it a principle to check in about once a week, and if she wouldn't take care of Ayesha when she heard, Nadir would.
Finally, I had everything done. That night, I went out walking, surveying Paris for the last time. I came to a stop on a well-lit road through the aristocracy's part of town. I stood in a small shadow, looking at the life I had been denied.
"Why not here?" I thought. "Why not now? It would be fitting, a suicide on the steps of a palace. Irony runs rampant in Paris." I brought out my gun, for it would be exceedingly hard to hang myself on this street. I held it to my head, ready to end everything.
Just then, at the most inopportune time imaginable, I heard a carriage approach. I swore softly, jammed the gun into its holster, and eased back into the shadow. To try anything else would have been stupid, and I was never that.
The carriage was a dirty, ramshackle bit of equipment. The nag looked as if it was about to drop dead, the wheels tottered from side to side, and the entire structure was held together with little more than cloth and paste. Such a conveyance was as out of place as I was. I watched, incredulous, as it pulled to a stop in front of the most expensive house on the block. The door opened, and a small voice began to scream. -----------------------------------------------
"No! Mama! Nooo!"
Mama pushed me from the carriage. I was barely able to stop my head from bashing against the cobblestones. What was happening? What did I do?
"Get out of here, Jacques!" That was Mama's voice!
The carriage began to pull away. I pulled myself to my feet, running after it.
"No Mama! No! I'll be good! I promise!"
"Faster Jacques!" ------------------------------------------- The child never had a chance. The horse, whipped to new heights, took off down the road. Even I would have been hard pressed to catch it. Which left me with the question, what was I to do? Should I go after the carriage? That wouldn't be doing the girl any favors. Should I just leave her, hoping, as the mother must, that the people on this street would take her in? I knew better than that. The aristocracy is never that kind or generous. That left only one alternative.
No, never! How could I subject a child to...
I watched as, about a block down the way the girl collapsed. I could hear her sobs, even from where I was. They didn't sound as they should. Something about them, what was it?
She got up again, and began to walk back this way. Her lanky brown hair concealed her face, but she couldn't have been more than seven, surely. The thing was, if she kept this way, she would be sure to notice me.
---------------------------------------------
So, Mama had left me. I knew she would eventually. Why wouldn't she, I was a freak. She had told me for years that no one could ever love a freak like me. Still, I couldn't help crying. I loved her! But, she was like everyone else. No one would play with me, why would anyone want to be my mother. What was I to do now? Not stay here! I walked along the boulevard, not daring to look up. I would want to stay, and that would let people hurt me again.
Then there was a sound from the shadow. I had lived in such a neighborhood that I knew what people in shadows could do to people like me. I started and looked up, peering into the shadow. Was that a person?
------------------------------------------------------
"Who's there?" she called in a tear-choked voice. "I know you're there, I can hear you and see you. If you don't come out I'll scream!"
I couldn't allow that. Not now that I knew why her sobs sounded so strange, and why her mother abandoned her.
"All right, all right. I'll come out. Don't be scared."
-----------------------------------------------
The voice! It was like mine! I stared, scared and unbelieving as the man came from the shadow.
-------------------------------------------------
I stepped out slowly, trying not to scare her. The moon was full that night, and I could feel it light my mask as I came out from under the tree. Her expression contorted from awe to fear, to awe again. She came towards me, and the light illuminated her features even more clearly. There was no doubt now as to her face. I felt as if I had stepped back into time and confronted myself. The skin was no thicker than a piece of parchment, and it was stretched unnaturally tightly over her bones. The veins stood up out of the face, like rivers on a relief map. Her eyes were sunken in and blue. I knew, however, that if the street were not as well lit they would shine yellow. Her mouth was misshapen, much to wide at one end and much to thin at the other, but the voice that came out of that mouth was quite extraordinary. My mind was made up at that moment. It did not change as she asked one question I never thought I'd hear.
-----------------------------------------------------
"Please sir, are you my father?"
"What?!" he asked.It made so much sense. Mama hadn't known who my papa was, and this man had a voice like mine! He also had a mask on. Maybe his face...
"Are you? Could you be? My mama lives on Grimmerie Street, on the top floor of the old house there. Is it possible that you knew her? She didn't know who my papa was and,"
"No!" the man cried. Of course, the thought must scare him. "No," he said in a softer voice. "I'm sorry, but it's quite impossible. You see," he said, reaching up and pulling his mask off, "No one would want me to be their little girl's papa." -------------------------------
She stared at me, wondering and silent. It was very strange, most people pull away screaming when I lose my mask. I winced at that thought. Then she smiled and surprised me again.
"I'd want you to be my papa!" ------------------------------------------------
If somebody looked like me, then it would be impossible for them to hate me, wouldn't it? They wouldn't make fun of me or leave me all alone for hours. I waited for him to answer, and hoped.
"You would?" he asked. He didn't sound as if he believed me.
"Of course I would! You look like me, and you talk like me! You wouldn't hate me like everyone else does. That would be like hating yourself! Nobody can do that, not really."
"You'd be surprised." he sounded like he knew what he was talking about.
I considered that. "Maybe," I decided. "My mother must have hated herself. But still..."
"That's not to say," he added hastily, "That I'd hate you."
I smiled, "Really?" I asked.
"Really," he answered, holding out his hand. I reached out and took it. With his other hand, he pushed his mask into a pocket. ------------------------------------------------
This was amazing. I must be dreaming. It was either that, or the god I had so long hated had just saved my life. I felt the gun pressed against my side and knew that I couldn't use it now. I had a reason to live again.
I smiled down at her. "Come on," I said, "we're going home."
Disclaimer: Everything that you recognize belongs to Mssrs. Leroux and Webber, or another of the great authors-authoresses that have, in the past, brought this story to life. If you do not recognize a character, however, they are most likely mine. May they make you glad that you read this. In conclusion, I am earning nothing by writing this, except, perhaps, a couple of complements. Do not sue me.
Here goes!
There wasn't much money to be found in Paris that year. The economy had dropped yet again. No one was getting along very well, but the poor were doing even worse. There was no food, no clean water. Shoot, there wasn't even a place they could use the rest room without worrying about rats. Life was never good for these people, but lately it was horrible.
It was from these people that Lyra came. She was the daughter of a woman who had long since forgotten her name. How then could she be expected to remember the name of the man who had fathered her child? She hated Lyra with a vengeance, whenever she was sober enough to remember her. But Lyra, like all children, loved her mother.
It was on Lyra's sixth birthday that her mother decided to get rid of her. She pulled some strings and, with some long-forgotten bit of compassion, took Lyra on a ride through town in a cab. Lyra was so excited! She had never been in a cab before. She had always had to depend upon her own two feet. The horse seemed like a fairy-tale creature, for she had only heard about them from the other people in the slums. The woman took her all through town, finally arriving in the part with huge mansions and lit streets late at night. There she directed the cabby to stop. -------------------------------------------------
She was gone.
The phrase screamed through my mind and body when I was awake, and through my dreams when I slept. No matter what I did, I saw her face, heard her voice. She was everywhere, in everything I saw or heard. The time I had had with her replayed itself through my mind, no matter what I did. Finally I came to a conclusion.
I couldn't live without her.
So I set about putting my affairs in order. I sold all of my valuables that had survived the mob, leaving the money I received on a table in my house on the lake. When she came back to bury me, she would find it there. Perhaps it would bring her and the boy happiness. It would be my wedding present. I left Ayesha there as well. Nadir had been annoying me constantly. He had made it a principle to check in about once a week, and if she wouldn't take care of Ayesha when she heard, Nadir would.
Finally, I had everything done. That night, I went out walking, surveying Paris for the last time. I came to a stop on a well-lit road through the aristocracy's part of town. I stood in a small shadow, looking at the life I had been denied.
"Why not here?" I thought. "Why not now? It would be fitting, a suicide on the steps of a palace. Irony runs rampant in Paris." I brought out my gun, for it would be exceedingly hard to hang myself on this street. I held it to my head, ready to end everything.
Just then, at the most inopportune time imaginable, I heard a carriage approach. I swore softly, jammed the gun into its holster, and eased back into the shadow. To try anything else would have been stupid, and I was never that.
The carriage was a dirty, ramshackle bit of equipment. The nag looked as if it was about to drop dead, the wheels tottered from side to side, and the entire structure was held together with little more than cloth and paste. Such a conveyance was as out of place as I was. I watched, incredulous, as it pulled to a stop in front of the most expensive house on the block. The door opened, and a small voice began to scream. -----------------------------------------------
"No! Mama! Nooo!"
Mama pushed me from the carriage. I was barely able to stop my head from bashing against the cobblestones. What was happening? What did I do?
"Get out of here, Jacques!" That was Mama's voice!
The carriage began to pull away. I pulled myself to my feet, running after it.
"No Mama! No! I'll be good! I promise!"
"Faster Jacques!" ------------------------------------------- The child never had a chance. The horse, whipped to new heights, took off down the road. Even I would have been hard pressed to catch it. Which left me with the question, what was I to do? Should I go after the carriage? That wouldn't be doing the girl any favors. Should I just leave her, hoping, as the mother must, that the people on this street would take her in? I knew better than that. The aristocracy is never that kind or generous. That left only one alternative.
No, never! How could I subject a child to...
I watched as, about a block down the way the girl collapsed. I could hear her sobs, even from where I was. They didn't sound as they should. Something about them, what was it?
She got up again, and began to walk back this way. Her lanky brown hair concealed her face, but she couldn't have been more than seven, surely. The thing was, if she kept this way, she would be sure to notice me.
---------------------------------------------
So, Mama had left me. I knew she would eventually. Why wouldn't she, I was a freak. She had told me for years that no one could ever love a freak like me. Still, I couldn't help crying. I loved her! But, she was like everyone else. No one would play with me, why would anyone want to be my mother. What was I to do now? Not stay here! I walked along the boulevard, not daring to look up. I would want to stay, and that would let people hurt me again.
Then there was a sound from the shadow. I had lived in such a neighborhood that I knew what people in shadows could do to people like me. I started and looked up, peering into the shadow. Was that a person?
------------------------------------------------------
"Who's there?" she called in a tear-choked voice. "I know you're there, I can hear you and see you. If you don't come out I'll scream!"
I couldn't allow that. Not now that I knew why her sobs sounded so strange, and why her mother abandoned her.
"All right, all right. I'll come out. Don't be scared."
-----------------------------------------------
The voice! It was like mine! I stared, scared and unbelieving as the man came from the shadow.
-------------------------------------------------
I stepped out slowly, trying not to scare her. The moon was full that night, and I could feel it light my mask as I came out from under the tree. Her expression contorted from awe to fear, to awe again. She came towards me, and the light illuminated her features even more clearly. There was no doubt now as to her face. I felt as if I had stepped back into time and confronted myself. The skin was no thicker than a piece of parchment, and it was stretched unnaturally tightly over her bones. The veins stood up out of the face, like rivers on a relief map. Her eyes were sunken in and blue. I knew, however, that if the street were not as well lit they would shine yellow. Her mouth was misshapen, much to wide at one end and much to thin at the other, but the voice that came out of that mouth was quite extraordinary. My mind was made up at that moment. It did not change as she asked one question I never thought I'd hear.
-----------------------------------------------------
"Please sir, are you my father?"
"What?!" he asked.It made so much sense. Mama hadn't known who my papa was, and this man had a voice like mine! He also had a mask on. Maybe his face...
"Are you? Could you be? My mama lives on Grimmerie Street, on the top floor of the old house there. Is it possible that you knew her? She didn't know who my papa was and,"
"No!" the man cried. Of course, the thought must scare him. "No," he said in a softer voice. "I'm sorry, but it's quite impossible. You see," he said, reaching up and pulling his mask off, "No one would want me to be their little girl's papa." -------------------------------
She stared at me, wondering and silent. It was very strange, most people pull away screaming when I lose my mask. I winced at that thought. Then she smiled and surprised me again.
"I'd want you to be my papa!" ------------------------------------------------
If somebody looked like me, then it would be impossible for them to hate me, wouldn't it? They wouldn't make fun of me or leave me all alone for hours. I waited for him to answer, and hoped.
"You would?" he asked. He didn't sound as if he believed me.
"Of course I would! You look like me, and you talk like me! You wouldn't hate me like everyone else does. That would be like hating yourself! Nobody can do that, not really."
"You'd be surprised." he sounded like he knew what he was talking about.
I considered that. "Maybe," I decided. "My mother must have hated herself. But still..."
"That's not to say," he added hastily, "That I'd hate you."
I smiled, "Really?" I asked.
"Really," he answered, holding out his hand. I reached out and took it. With his other hand, he pushed his mask into a pocket. ------------------------------------------------
This was amazing. I must be dreaming. It was either that, or the god I had so long hated had just saved my life. I felt the gun pressed against my side and knew that I couldn't use it now. I had a reason to live again.
I smiled down at her. "Come on," I said, "we're going home."