Author's note:
A big thank you to all my reviewers—you have no idea how much it means to me!
Also, as a note regarding the ending of the last chapter—the beauty of fiction is that much can be left to interpretation, and I do not want to deny any reader this. However, for those who are curious as to what ran through my mind when I choose such an ending, it is this: There is the obvious connotation to his later life, though more importantly, it was not so much out of despair that drove Erik to the opera caverns, but rather that even as a child, he possessed the mentality and fortitude to accept when the end was near…and so he went to the only place that would take him.
With that said, shall we continue?
Galen opened the study door, finding his brother seated at his desk, hunched over a mass of large blueprints. "Aubert?"
Waking from his trace, the man looked up, nodding a brief hello to his brother. Galen walked into the room, standing along side the desk, his gaze falling onto the blueprints.
"I wanted to inform you of my intentions to leave tomorrow morning," he said, without looking up. Aubert pushed back his chair and stood, pouring himself another cup of tea.
"I will be sorry to see you go, Galen. Your visit was truly a welcomed one." The corner of Galen's mouth lifted knowingly. After a moment, he straightened, meeting his brother's gaze.
"You know I cannot take him with me," he admitted quietly.
"I had assumed as much."
"I can ask no more of you when you have been generous enough to house him, which is why I have already taken the liberty of sending a letter to the head of the Paris Orphanage." He pulled a folded paper out of his breast pocket.
"This is the reply," he continued, his jaw tightening. "The man ensures me that the child will not find an ill reception because of his required mask…"
"But you do not believe that," Aubert finished, taking a sip of the steaming liquid. Galen inclined his head at the aloof comment, his eyes lowered. "An orphanage is a better fate than the streets," he admitted dejectedly.
"What is his present condition?"
"Youth has a tendency to grant its charges swift recovery. This child is no departure."
Aubert dropped his gaze back to plans on the desk. "Then why linger in his release?" he responded apathetically, taking another sip. Shaking his head, the architect moved back to his desk and sat down, absorbed himself in the blueprints once more. Galen slammed both hands onto the desk and leaned forward, spilt tea soaking into the papers.
"There are deeper scars there than the ones that you and I saw, Aubert," the physician retorted, his tone caustic. He threw the letter down in front of his brother.
"Never lose sight of that."
Aubert dropped his pencil, taking a moment to rub his throbbing temple. If he heard one more note from that damn piano…
The music haunted the forgotten depths of his memory he bore no desire to recall. Every dull thud was mocking, sweetly whispering of a beauty no longer able to be embraced. Aubert looked wretchedly at his left hand before turning his gaze back to the paper before him.
The mass of lines and measurements seemed almost foreign, increasing the pounding in his head. Lately, he had he found himself having to forsake his position of architect to play one of an accountant or lawyer, cleverly attempting to convince the higher powers to supply the funds they were so reluctant to part with. Paris wanted an opera house, demanded splendor that would shake the world, yet she kept him on a suffocated leash. The truth was a bitter one, yet no longer unbearable to face. These ongoing trials and long years not only stole the majesty of the opera house from him, they had effectively diminished his will and talent to create.
Aubert groaned quietly as he stood, walking to the window to gaze out at the animated street below. He was a fool to have shouldered such a burden—perhaps it had been the inexperience of youth, the vanity to be known and remembered. If only his obsequious contemporaries were aware of the opera house's failings, the grandeur intended but could never form…at least not under his guidance. He wore an impressive facade, but it was no more than that.
Sighing, Aubert seated himself back at the desk. Immersing himself once more in his reviled task, the architect became oblivious to the sounds of the world. It was a long moment before his subconscious commanded him to look up, finding a quiet pair of eyes gazing at him with all the steadfast wariness and intensity that he in turn bestowed. Or rather, Aubert corrected himself, at the blueprints and scattered drawings before him.
"My brother's masked patient," he said crossly, his eyes back on his work, "on your feet at last." The sight of the child brought to mind the earlier conversation with Galen, which had done no part to lift his foul mood. Indeed, it had only blackened.
He had thought his tone dismissing enough, yet when he looked up again, the child still remained. Frowning, Aubert looked at the form-fitting black mask. Strangely, it did not detract from the normal features of the boy's face, instead lending an enigmatic aura to body that seemed too young to possess it. The stillness of his deep eyes, seeming to lack in all things infantile, only magnified the feeling. Aubert finally recognized the astute foresight of his brother—this child would find no place among his own. He was an orphan by every definition.
"What is it that you want?" the architect asked, his eyes dropping back down to the blueprints. The boy did not answer, instead picking up a rolled up a drawing pushed to the edge of the desk. Lifting his head at the child's subtle audacity, Aubert watched in fascination as the hazel eyes scanned over the lines without the slightest trace of puzzlement.
Standing, he moved closer to child, instantly recognizing the maze of lines. "Ah, the foundation of the opera house. Quite impressive, isn't it?" Aubert thought he caught evidence of a wry grin as the child continued to gaze at the drawing.
"That is where we found you," Aubert said, motioning with a finger toward the area. The hazel eyes glanced at him with a hint of amusement.
"Actually, it was here." With an astoundingly graceful motion, the boy pointed to the correct place. After a moment of silent comprehension, the architect looked at him in muted amazement.
The boy carefully set the drawing back on the desk, looking back atthe architectwith a steady gaze. Aubert met his stare, unmoving. In that moment, he understood. It was no a mere child that stood before him, but an intellectual equal, someone who bore all that passion that he once had possessed. The gaze asked for no pity, but rather carried the air of a respectful challenge.
"Might I ask your name?" Aubert finally asked, his voice unsteady.
A series of indescribable emotions flickered across the unmasked face, the tension in the air mounting before shattering at the command of the melodious voice.
"Erik."
Jaclyn slammed the hand mirror down. "Your brother is not taking him with?"
Aubert wearily took off his vest and laid it across the chair. "No."
His wife's face turned a shade redder, her eyes narrowed. "Then send him back to the streets where he belongs." She paused, running a comb through her hair. "It is a pity he did not die there," she continued, her voice lowered, "it would have spared your brother much trouble."
Aubert stared at his wife with curbed irritation. She would never understand what he saw in that boy—Erik—the gift he possessed, the untapped potential…
"Galen already contacted the orphanage."
"Good."
"I am not sending him to that place."
Jaclyn spun at him. Aubert continued, undaunted. "Actually, he will remain here for now."
"Are you fool, Albert? How could you keep that cur from the streets in this house? I will not have it!"
"You will, Madame," her husband retorted.
Jaclyn turned around again, facing the mirror of the vanity. "Fine," she spat. "But if he steals us blindly or does some other unspeakable action, you alone are to blame."
Aubert sighed. "Indeed."
Setting his bags by the front door, Galen made his way through the hall, peering past one of the doors.
"I thought I might find you in here," he said, walking into dark room. Benoît made no move from the piano bench. Walking over to a window, Galen drew open the curtains, allowing the warm, morning sunlight pour through. Kneeling beside the bench, his eyes implored his nephew's sullen features.
"Why must you leave already?" the boy asked quietly. His uncle gave a weak smile. "I have to return to England, Benoît…I am needed there."
"You are needed here, too."
Galen lowered his eyes at the admission, the air tense between them. Though the simple longing of a child, his nephew was strangely vindicated. With only his governess and tutors as companions, and seldom procuring a glance from his own parents...
Eager to break the silence, Galen nodded toward the piano. "Have you tried it yet?"
Benoît nodded. "I cannot play well…"
"Might I have a seat?"
The boy moved over. Arranging himself on the bench, Galen cleared his throat, his eyes gleaming. He studied the keys for a long moment before his hands gently struck the notes, his fingers moving with memorized grace. Benoît sat with rapt attention, listening to the rise and fall of the dueling phrases.
As his uncle played the ending chord, the boy looked up at him with quiet awe.
"And thus concludes Beethoven's Quasi una fantasia, second movement," Galen said, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"You never told me you knew music."
Galen laughed softly. "In truth, I cannot read a single note."
"Then how did…?"
"Someone once taught it to me," Galen answered, absently glancing up in the direction of his brother's study. Rising from the bench, he stood and looked down at his nephew, assuming an encouraging grin.
"You are a far more talented musician than I—do not doubt of your abilities, Benoît. Someday, you will impress them all."
His nephew nodded, a hopeful smile breaking out across his face. Tousling the boy's hair one last time, Galen left the room, a servant opening the door for him to the awaiting carriage outside.
Adjusting his hat, the physician paused, glancing back over his shoulder. At the top of the stairs, the masked child looked on, his quiet gaze burning into Galen. The tacit question hung heavy in the air. Galen looked on hopelessly, the answer not even one he could give. The boy's eyes betrayed him—the look of abandonment undeniable. Unable to move, the physician watched the subtle nod, acceptance it its truest form. Letting out a long breath, Galen turned, departing to the noblest farewell he had ever received.