Chap 12
Return to Light
The Paris Opera House - 1911
The shores of the underground lake were dark save for a single lantern, held in one slim hand of a tall woman with chestnut hair and liquid brown eyes that shown with tears. Her other hand rested in that of the even taller man besides her, clinging tightly to him as if she needed his support. "I'm glad Mother and Father couldn't come… how it would pain them to see this." A tear rolled down her check, and the man beside her wrapped an arm around her. Erik was speechless with anger, anger at who ever had torn their home apart like this and anger the world for its having to change.
The underground lair which had for so long been their vacationing home had been desecrated and destroyed. Fathers organ had been torn apart and of the few things they had left here only one or two remained. "I suppose things had to change, but I never thought that this would… why do things have to Illie?" Ilisandra Daaé-Lockwood couldn't answer her brother, at least not truthfully, at nineteen he was still a bit of the bright-eyed wanderer that she had once been. She couldn't tell him the truth of the world's intolerance and its hatred, with a sudden surge of rage made her want to stay here, made her wanted to cry and rage and scream. Seeing the emotions his question provoked Erik tried to turn the conversation elsewhere. "Illie, tell me why we left? Why we stayed in England so long? Why we haven't come back until now." As he spoke Erik turned her around and led Ilisandra towards the water's edge, eagerly awaiting her response. In truth he had a pretty good idea as to what she would say, but he had never heard the entire story of his parents and his sister and he was hoping that he might at last receive the truth.
Looking at him, Ilisandra didn't think that she should tell him the whole truth, but perhaps it was time perhaps it was as much time for truths as it was for memories. "It started before I was born, when father helped build this opera house. It was his brain child, the joining of his love fore music and art, and he lived here for many years until mother came in 1881. Grandfather had died three years before that and Mama was a chorus girl with a broken heart and wounded spirit…."
As she told the tale Erik rowed them slowly across the lake, his eyes widening when he heard of the Vicomte de Chagny for the first time, and his movement stopping altogether when he heard that this man was Ilisandra's father - that Ilisandra was his half sister. At last she had almost spoken the entire story and they were nearly at the surface once more. "…The year you turned five I was thirteen, Mama decided that it was time I attended a proper conservatory. Father thought it was ridicules, what he and Maman had taught me was certainly more then any conservatory could've taught but she argued that I needed to see the world and learn that there were things outside of Paris. She also argued that you were growing and that you needed to know the light. Father never could say no to her… so we went to England. With Aunt Meg and Uncle David's help papa was able to start an architecture business and Mama decided to take a few vocal students. We didn't need the money, we never have, but Mama refused to be just another useless woman and the scandal was soon buried by the success of her students and the merits of her own voice. I think they choose correctly Erik, father lived in darkness because he had to but we were able to bring him into the light." She smiled weakly, and he could see that telling this story had been difficult for her. "Look at you little brother, 19 and already graduated from Oxford! You have all of father's architectural talents and make a life upon the stage if you so choose. We've turned out well brother, you and I both." As they spoke they walked, and Erik decided that she was right.
"Lot 664: a wooden pistol and three human skulls from the 1831 production of "Robert le Diable" by Meyerbeer. Ten francs for this. Ten, thank you. Ten francs still. Fifteen, thank you, sir Fifteen I am bid. Going at fifteen. Your number, sir?" As they neared the auditorium the sound of an Auctioneer and his gravel came to their ears. Stopping for a second, they watched the auctioneer sell off parts of the opera house that had been so dear to them both as children.
"Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen: a papier-mâché musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals. This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order." Erik hissed through his teeth when he heard what the item was, and Ilisandra could tell that he was about to go forward.
"Showing here." The Porter wound it up and Ilisandra too felt a flash of anger.
"Mothers music box!" Erik took a step and Ilisandra restrained him, knowing what he was like when angry.
"No Erik, don't!" Erik didn't heed his sister's words and she was forced to pull him back towards her once more. "Go outside and tell our driver to bring the carriage forward, James will expecting us soon."
"My I start at twenty francs? Fifteen, then? Fifteen I am bid." The auctioneer's voice irritated them but Erik stopped to think. James Lockwood was Ilisandra's husband and a man that Erik admired and while it perturbed Erik to see his mother's property desecrated so he didn't want to be late either. Nodding curtly Erik stomped angrily out of the Opera house willing to let this go though bloody murder streamed through his mind.
Ilisandra gazed after him fondly for a moment, but then turned back to the auction going on, deciding that she might try to buy it herself. Before she could raise her arm however a familiar face caught her eye. For a moment she froze, her heart thudding within her, then she drew her cowl low over her head, hoping that he hadn't seen her.
The man she had seen was old, looking more like sixty then fifty, hunched and thin in the way that age made all people. He might've been handsome once, and his features retained a quiet dignity even now. He sat close to her, only a few paces away. "Father." The word was whispered softly, half with sorrow and half with recognition. She had never expected to see him again, with memory he had faded into her past. She had her family now she had Mother, Father, Erik, and James, family that loved and understood her, as he never had. She watched him a few moments more, wondering what had become of his life, until she heard the auctioneer's voice break through her thoughts "Sold, for thirty francs to the Vicomte deChagny. Thank you, sir"
Ilisandra took a step forward, a hand half-out, then stopped when she heard him speak. "A collector's piece indeed . . . every detail exactly as she said . . . She often spoke of you, my friend .... Your velvet lining, and your figurine of lead..." So he knew that this was mothers, did he know about her as well? "Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?" So he had forgotten after all, or perhaps he truly thought her dead. She is dead the words startled her, and she was surprised that they came from her own mind. Ilisandra DeChangy died many a year ago. With the revelation came a strange sort of peace, a realization that she owed him nothing. Drawing her hand back into her clock Ilisandra gazed at him once last time.
"Goodbye father." With that final, quiet, good-bye she turned and walked slowly away, back into the sun and back into the light.
~Fini~
Final Notes
Thank you to everyone whom reviewed and read this, it's meant the world to me. Writing this has been for me, it has been a pleasure and self-indulgence, reading your reviews have always brought a smile to my face - and still do mind you! Thank you once again for sharing this amazing experience with me and I hope that you have loved this story as much as I have and that it was able to provide you with the least bit of inspiration. Best of luck,
Calypso
