He returned to the city, walking the streets as he did. Erik sighed and looked around, seeing the people as they went about their business. He handed a coin off to a boy in exchange for a paper. He frowned, eyeing the stories, determined to find where Madeline Destler lived.
He started off down a street, coming to a stop before the flat. It was a small thing, the outward appearance being that of a faded place that had lost its glory. He knew these streets well enough to know that it was the perfect facade-someone with enough money to afford a home in the city, yet not enough to afford a home elsewhere.
Eventually night fell, and he hid in the shadows, watching as Madeline exited from her carriage, entering the home itself. He waited an hour after the carriage had departed to walk up and knock on the door.
"Yes?" Madeline answered. "What do you want?"
"I've come to offer my condolences about your daughter's disappearance." He entered, looking around at the small furnishings.
"Can't you leave a mother to grieve over the loss of her child?"
"I was wondering if I might offer my services to you? I happen to have a few reliable resources. I wouldn't ask for much in return, madame. Only that she be returned safely to your care."
"If you've any idea where she might've run off to, then do share!"
"Might I examine the flat?"
"Search the whole place! The police went through and they've come up with nothing! I don't see the harm in you looking as well. Just don't touch a thing-I'd hate for her to return and find some precious thing of hers missing."
"Of course." He walked upstairs and found her room.
He pushed the door open, eyeing the contents. They were simple-as simple as the rest of the flat was. He walked over to them, fully examining everything. He ran his fingers along the bed's frame, finding the hidden chain that kept her secured. There was hardly a doubt in his mind that she had endured nightmares-had attempted to jump out the window one time in her sleep…. He sighed, straightening to pull back the blankets, seeing the rumpled sheets as she had tossed and turned in the night. There were stains on the pillow…. How many times must you cry yourself to sleep at night?
He turned away and examined the wardrobe, seeing the stiff fabrics and heavy pieces she very much despised, preferring the lighter skirts to any others. He eyed the mirror, adjusting the brim of his hat as he did to keep the mask from being too obvious to the eye.
He went through the rest of the flat, only stopping at Madeline Destler's room. He would much rather prefer not to enter, yet he was curious to see what had become of her cursed mother over the years.
Erik frowned as he walked around the bed, his foot hitting the edge of something. He knelt down and examined the object, finding it to be a case. He opened it and eyed the contents, seeing the remains of a childhood before him.
He reached in, a hint of a faded fabric catching his eye. He held it up, tracing the body, the faded painted face, the brown curls, the pink dress just a bit too large…. He paused, standing as footsteps approached.
"Where did you find this?" he asked.
"It was an old thing I found up in the attic. I suppose she must've lost it up there a long time ago. That was before my husband and I moved to this flat-when I had thought that I had lost her. I might as well keep the memories of my daughter alive somehow.. A mother must do whatever she can to hold on to the memory…. Do you have children, monsieur?"
"Not truly." He shrugged.
"You'll learn that a mother must do whatever she can to keep the memory of her child alive."
"I see." He paused, another object catching his eye. "A curious little thing…. A mask small enough for a child?"
"She was such an inventive little thing. I had meant to be rid of it years ago…."
"Yet you wish to hold onto the memory?" he guessed, tossing it back in with the other things. "Pity."
"I'm certain your mother has many of your childhood things locked away someplace!"
"No. She clearly doesn't."
"You would dare to say something like that of your own mother?"
"Have you ever seen the gypsies perform, madame?"
"Why would you ask such a thing?"
"Have you? Because I can assure you that they are a sight. Travelling around the continent in their colorful garbs, showing all the things they've found on their travels…. The dancers themselves are a sight to behold. There was a pretty little thing there once. Ah, but the true masterpiece had been a child. The 'Devil's Child' they called him."
"I never bothered to see the gypsies. Better to stay away from something as uncultured as that!"
"How about Persia, then? Have you witnessed the Shah's courts? Seen one of his executions-ah, entertainments? Been enough of his favorite that he has presented you with the gift of a woman? Have you ever felt his cruel hand as he made his wish for your death very clear?"
"And why would I ever bother to see something like that? All the comfort I could ever need is right here in Paris!"
"I forgot. The opera house. The ballets. She was a part of those, wasn't she? Your daughter?"
"Yes. The leading ballet girl, in fact."
"I recall." He turned to leave, going down the stairs as he did so.
"And what do all of these questions have to do with my daughter?" Madeline demanded.
"One very important thing, Madeline Destler: how much do you truly know of Adellade?"
"How dare you accuse me of such a thing!" she shrieked.
"How dare I accuse you?" He chuckled to himself and shook his head. "How dare I accuse you? Then tell me: how much do you truly know of your own daughter?"
"She-"
"Do you know what she prefers to do with her time? Do you know what stories she most enjoys reading? Or do you know that her habit is to make tea as soon as she returns? Do you know what type of dress she prefers-obviously you don't, given what I've seen of her wardrobe. Do you know why she walks in her sleep? Do you know what frightens her the most? Do you know why she refuses to go to bed some nights? Tell me what you know of your own daughter, Madeline."
"And just how could you know any of that?"
He strode forward, shoving her up against the wall. "Oh, I know much more than you could imagine. You asked me if I ever had children? Here's your answer: I don't have any by blood. However I consider myself the person responsible for my own sister. The very person I have been looking after since she was a mere seven years old. Why? Not because our parents died-oh, nothing of the sort. In fact: it was much worse than that. It was because her mother sold her to the gypsies all because she refused to spend another second in the same home as her son who had no place in that house."
"How dare you-"
He pressed his arm up against her throat, forcing her to be silent. "No more of that. You listen to me now. You want to know what I know about Adellade Destler? I know much more than you ever could. You might've raised her for seven years, yet I'm the one who knew her. Who do you think was the one who had to comfort her when she would sit through the nights wondering what kind of mother gave her own child to the gypsies for a sack of coins? Who do you think it was who watched her be hurt over and over again? Who do you think went on his knees like a dog begging for them to stop? Her own mother? No. It was never you who helped her."
"Erik," she choked out.
"Madeline." He released her and she fell to the floor, gasping and coughing for breath.
"I ought to be rid of you! Once and for all!"
"Then what would you do about your precious little daughter? Adellade is yours no longer, Madeline. That I can assure you. And if you ever consider coming near her again: it will be your death. Yours might as well be the one life I won't regret taking to ensure her safety." He took a step back, holding his arms out for her to see. "You want to be rid of Erik? Here I stand. The boy you cast away the moment he was born. The one they called the Devil's Child, the Shah's assassin, the opera ghost! You want to be rid of me, then do your worst! But know this: Adellade will never be yours again. Whatever threat you may hold against her, whatever rule you may scream at her to endure, she will never obey."
"You think I can't get my own daughter to listen to me?"
"I know you can't get her to listen to you. She only ever complied with your wishes because you threatened to hurt me. Who do you think it will be she will cry over? You? The woman who sold her away to a miserable life when she should've remained? Or me? The one person who comforted her during her greatest fears?"
"You put so much faith into her! She'll cast you aside the moment she can! She already has, and she will again!"
"Care to put your word to the test?" he challenged.