Gustave was becoming nearly impossible. The one year anniversary of Christine's death was quickly approaching, his twelfth birthday just beyond that, he hadn't taken the story of his birth father well, no matter how much Raoul toned it down, and on top of it all, he seemed to have the idea that Raoul hated him. That couldn't be further from the truth. He hated the Phantom and from time to time, he hated Christine for leaving him with a child who had never been with children his own age, but he didn't hate the poor child who had simply been caught in the middle.
It wasn't fair to either of them. Gustave had to live with his mother's decisions, and Raoul had to do his best to repair the damage. He understood that Gustave would never be like other children, but Christine had only made that worse by keeping him by her side for ten years as opposed to allowing him to be with other children. Of course, it wasn't entirely her fault. After the deaths of both of her parents when she was a child, Christine had a terrible fear of losing the people closest to her, and Raoul had a sneaking suspicion that the disappearance of her lover all those years ago hadn't made it any better. But as a result, Christine had nearly smothered Gustave, and now he was struggling to adapt to a life not at his mother's side.
He wanted nothing more than a drink as he heard the violin echo throughout the house. Raoul had finally caved and given it back to Gustave after his outburst. He didn't want to, but at this point, Gustave's feelings mattered more than punishing him. It was amazing how good the boy was. Gustave was teaching himself to play completely by ear, and even in just a few weeks, he went from unbearable screeching to something that closely resembled music. The boy had certainly inherited his grandfather's talent.
Raoul glanced over the papers on his desk once more, before sighing, standing, and making his way to Gustave's room. He was dreading this talk, but they needed to do it sooner or later. "Gustave," he called, knocking on the door.
The music stopped abruptly and the door opened. "Yes?"
"We need to discuss what we're going to do about your schooling in the fall. The sooner we can make a decision, the sooner I can start making preparations for you."
"What?! You said I didn't have to go back there!"
"I didn't say you had to go back to that school. But there's only two options for you. It's either staying here with a tutor or going away to school. At least if you go away to school, you'll have the chance to make friends."
"So you do hate me! You are trying to get rid of me!"
This was going about how Raoul was afraid it was going to go. "I'm not trying to get rid of you. I'm trying to help you."
"Then why do you keep sending me away?"
"Are you happy here?" Raoul asked back. Gustave opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. "Because you're not. Even I can tell that you're not. And on top of it all, I can tell you're lonely. I've been a terrible father to you, and now your mother's gone. There's nothing left for you here."
Gustave shook his head. "But I don't want to go back to that school."
"We can look at some others then. They're going to be further away from here though."
The little boy was silent for a long time, seemingly deep in thought. "I'll think about it, okay?"
Raoul nodded. "Let me know when you decide, preferably sooner as opposed to later." Gustave murmured an unintelligible reply before turning back to his violin.
"What does Devil take the hindmost mean?" Gustave asked suddenly.
"Where did you hear that?" Raoul demanded, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Promise me you won't get mad?"
"Gustave, where did you hear that?"
"Back in Phantasma," Gustave replied slowly. "The morning Mother…" He hiccupped, barely able to speak. "It was early. Mother wasn't up yet. I saw Mr. Y outside so I followed him. I wanted to apolo- I wanted to talk to him. He didn't see me, and by the time I caught up to him, he was in a building, with you. You both looked so angry, and I thought he was going to hurt you. He said something to you, but I couldn't hear, and then he left. Once he left you said it."
"Don't worry about it. We had gotten in a fight and I said it because I don't like him. That's all. It doesn't mean anything."
Erik swallowed hard as his homeland came into view. He had spent the past ten days on a ship destined for France so he could retrieve his son. It was getting close to a year since Raoul had stolen him away, and Erik was relieved there wasn't anything to delay him any longer. Christine had said Gustave's twelfth birthday was coming up just a few weeks after that, and Erik knew that there would be no greater present for him than to find out his mother was alive and waiting for him.
He instinctively reached up and touched the mask on his face. Erik hadn't been to France in ten years; there was no way of knowing how likely it would be that someone would recognize him. As a precaution he had taken one of his porcelain masks and painted it the same color as his skin. Between that, and a hat pulled low, he would look far less conspicuous than running around Paris with his usual outfit on.
Of course, this was all implying he ever even got off the ship. The Girys had smuggled him illegally into America, and so one thing he had to acquire was forged papers in order to get out of America to France and then back again. Hopefully the customs officials would be fooled. Erik had certainly paid enough money that they had better.
But fortune smiled down on the former Phantom. He was waved through customs without as much as a second glance, and was able to catch a train to Paris. As he left the station, Erik wondered what he should do next. Part of him wanted to get to Gustave right away, but it was late. He was exhausted from the journey, Gustave was probably asleep, and he knew that Raoul was going to make this ugly. The least he could do was let his son have a full night's rest before completely rocking his world again.
Instead Erik began to wander the streets he once knew, amazed at both how similar and how different Paris was from the last time he saw it. Eventually he found himself in front of what was once the Opera Populaire. He was shocked by the state of the building. It had been abandoned after the fire, and it had only decayed further in the decade since.
Actually, he realized as he looked around, the whole neighborhood had deteriorated. Many of the local businesses thrived off of the people both working in, and visiting the opera house, and with it gone, it was clear the area was struggling. His stomach churned uncomfortably as guilt crashed over him. Erik, for the first time, realized that not only had he meddled with his own life, Christine's, Raoul's, and Gustave's, he had ruined the Girys', and now he realized everyone's who had either worked at or lived near the Populaire. He had come back here once, right before he and the Girys fled France, but it hadn't been long enough for such drastic change to occur.
It had been nearly thirteen years since had been here, Erik realized. Hell, he had a boy who was almost twelve years old now. He could hardly believe it. It definitely made him feel old. It also made him wonder how well Gustave would take his arrival. After all, he had screamed when Erik revealed his face, and then ran away when he found out the truth about his parentage. Between those two events and the fact Gustave had been alone with Raoul for the past year, there was absolutely no way there wouldn't be at least some resistance. Hopefully, Gustave would understand. Erik wasn't sure he could handle a third rejection from his own flesh and blood.
Gustave paced in his room, dwelling on Father's words. He wasn't sure what he was going to do. There wasn't anything left for him here. Father didn't understand him, and he still was terrified that Father hated him. Maybe it was best if he left. But at the same time, he didn't want to go to another boarding school after his first experience was so bad.
What about Mr. Y? part of him asked.
Well what about him? another part replied. If he really wanted you, wouldn't have he come before now? It's been a year since Mother died and he's never even written. But even an eleven year old knew that might not have been the case. It was entirely possible that maybe Father had gotten rid of letters instead of giving them to him. However, there was no way of him knowing either way.
He wondered what would happen if he found his birth father. Would Mr. Y take him in? Or would he send him back here? There was no way he'd know unless he tried. Besides, when he was in Phantasma, Mr. Y had shown him all those amazing things and he had been the first one to the pier and was one to convince Miss Giry to let him go, so maybe he did care.
Maybe America wouldn't be too bad. It couldn't be any worse than here. At least Mr. Y would allow him music. After all, he had written that beautiful song for Mother; maybe he'd teach him to write music too. Gustave glanced at the violin, his door, and then the window. After all, he was almost twelve. Surely he could get back to New York on his own. After all, he had gone once, with Mother and Father, how hard could it be to go alone?
Gustave glanced at the clock. It was late; Father was probably fast asleep by now. He lit a candle and placed it on Father's writing desk. The gas lamp was across the room, and the candle was right here. He didn't need that much light; he was only writing a note to Father, telling him what he was going to do.
After he finished writing the letter, Gustave left it on Father's desk to be found in the morning. Then he ran upstairs, pulled out the bag he had taken to school and packed it with what little money he had been given as an allowance and saved and what clothes he could fit. Gustave brought it back downstairs to Father's study where his violin was waiting. He reached over the desk and opened the window, letting in the warm summer air. Gustave threw the bag out the window, before lowering the violin out, much more carefully.
His head snapped in the direction of the door as Gustave thought he heard something. But when the door remained closed, Gustave climbed onto the desk and dropped to the ground beside his things. After slinging his bag over his back, he grabbed the violin case and started to disappear into the night.
But he froze, suddenly afraid of going forward further. He was only eleven. Could he really go all the way to New York alone? What if Mr. Y didn't want him after all? Gustave realized he couldn't do it after all. He turned around and his eyes tripled in size. There were flames in his window and the fire was spreading fast. Gustave realized in horror that he must have knocked over the candle when he climbed out the window. There was no turning back now. Father would never forgive him for this. Gustave turned and ran from the house as fast as his legs could carry him.
Raoul paused as he was changing for bed. Something wasn't right. He almost thought he could smell…smoke. He opened the door and saw the flames. "Gustave!" he screamed. Raoul ran towards the boy's room, but the door handle was too hot to touch. Instead, he kicked the door down. "Gustave!" There was no answer. It was hard to see through the smoke and flames, but he didn't think the boy was in his room.
He ran the stairs, screaming the boy's name, but received no response. Raoul tried to look for him, but the fire was spreading fast. There was no sign of Gustave anywhere. Maybe he had gotten out already. Raoul tried one last time. "GUSTAVE!" His voice was getting hoarse and the smoke was burning his eyes and lungs. When the little boy didn't answer, Raoul had no choice but to assume that Gustave was out of the house already.
"GUSTAVE!" Raoul glanced around wildly around the property, waiting for the boy to appear. "GUSTAVE!"
"Monsieur le Vicomte?" He looked up and saw a man standing there. There was a crowd of their neighbors gathering to watch the house burn. "Are you alright?"
"Where is Gustave? Gustave!"
"You're the only one who's come out Monsieur."
Raoul turned back to the house and was about to rush back in when the whole thing came crashing down. "NO!"
