Author's Note: This is very unlike anything I have written before and unlike anything I have read on this site. It will be a short project, and not in any way shape or form a romance. In short, I am very excited about it! The events take place many many years before Christine Daae and the chandelier incident, when the Phantom of the Opera is just a damaged little boy. Much of the story will be based on Susan Kay's Phantom, but it will not be necessary to have read Phantom to understand what is going on. Please let me know what you think!
I was twenty three years old when I first met little Erik Renard. Three years later he vanished from my life just as suddenly as he appeared. Whether or not his presence in my life changed me for better or worse I cannot be certain, but in those years that child touched my heart in such a way that I knew even then I would never be the same.
In the spring of 1836 my husband moved us from the bustling city of Paris to the small, quiet little village of St.-Martin-de-Boscherville not six miles outside of Rouen. Andre's uncle, choreographer Jean-Louis Aumer had passed away in the village three years prior and left the house to us. It sat empty while my husband finished his schooling in Paris and for two years after while he began to practice veterinary medicine in the city. It wasn't until I lost our first baby that Andre thought it might be a good idea to leave the city we had met and fallen in love in pursuit of the cleaner air and smaller life waiting in Boscherville.
There could not have possibly been more than five hundred people living in Boscherville when we moved there, and our arrival was apparently one of the most exciting things to happen to the sleep little village in quite some time. Before I had unpacked a single crate women were all but lined up at our front door under the pretense of welcoming us to their town, but I knew better; having grown up in Paris, the most vain city in all of Europe, I can spot a bored housewife searching for the latest piece of gossip from a mile away. It wasn't long after the welcoming committee had faded into obscurity that the women returned with more food to console me in my grief.
In their defense, I suppose I was rather obvious back then. I did not take the loss very gracefully; it had taken us four years to conceive, but only a moment to lose the life I had wanted so badly. I so guilty, and even guiltier still when sweet Andre gave up his blossoming practice in Paris to move somewhere so obscure. There were nights I would cry myself to sleep, mornings I would wake up sobbing, days on end that I spent with no more energy than it took to push myself in the rocking chair I had bought to nurse our baby. But Andre never left my side for longer than absolutely necessary, and if he ever resented me for the move to Boscherville I never knew it. He was and had always been my knight in shining armor.
It was on one of my better days that I first met Erik. From the kitchen I heard a knock at the door, more timid than the bawdy pounding of women eager to be seen giving charitable cakes and pies to the poor city girl who had miscarried. I could hear Andre moving to get the door, a habit he had acquired since the miscarriage to spare me the embarrassment of being seen with puffy red eyes , and quickly moved to head him off. "I'll take care of it, darling," I promised, lifting up onto her toes to kiss him gently.
"Are you sure, Collette? Those women have been hounding us since the day we moved in, you'd think we were setting up a circus tent not a household…" he mused, and I smiled.
"Positive. If I don't start being a little more gracious the whole village is going to think I'm an invalid and it won't ever end," I teased him, and to my immense satisfaction he laughed and stepped aside to allow me to answer the door.
The woman at the door was far younger than I expect, no older than I was. She was a mousy little thing, sweet and as timorous as her knock suggested she might be. "Good morning, Madame. Is this Doctor Aumer's residence?"
That had been a surprise; normally women asked for the woman of the house. "It is," I promised, stepping aside to let her in. "I am Collette Aumer, the Doctor's wife. Can I help you?"
"Marie Perrault, Madame," she introduced with a curtsy. "I was actually asked to speak to the Doctor himself, if that's possible. It's quite urgent."
Fortunately, Andre had not gone far. He emerged from the study and offered the young woman his hand to shake. "I am Doctor Aumer, but unfortunately I'm not yet ready to begin taking on cases –"
"Please, Doctor Aumer. I wouldn't have come if it weren't very urgent. My friend's dog is ill, and her son is going to tear the house apart if something isn't done quickly."
This caused Andre to frown. "Well, if it's all right with my wife I suppose you may bring the dog over –"
Marie shook her head quickly. "Oh, no. I can't. You see, Erik won't let anyone touch her. The dog that is. I don't think she's very sick at all, but Erik is worrying himself into a fit."
"How old is the boy?" Andre asked, apparently as curious as I was about what sort of child could have the young woman so frightened.
"Five years old, Doctor Aumer, but very very old for his age. Please, I swear to you I am not exaggerating. You must come; the next closest vet is in Rouen, and I fear what will happen if I am gone that long."
Andre looked to me, the frown on his face deepening. "Are you going to be all right here by yourself for a bit?"
"I'll go with you," I offered, glancing between my husband and the mousy young woman at my doorstep. "If the boy is so protective of the dog a woman might make him more comfortable than a strange man he's never met."
Marie seemed hesitant, but Andre reassured her. "We've done this before, Mademoiselle Perrault. Collette is wonderful with children, especially the young ones. She'll put the boy at ease enough for me to examine the animal."
"…Very well," Marie conceded, and my husband and I closed the door behind us to follow her to a little cottage near the outside of the village.
It looked as though it had been charming once, romantic even. There was a white picket fence surrounding ivy-covered bricks and an overgrown garden. All of the windows were covered from the inside with thick dark curtains, and I wondered how anybody could possibly live what must surely have been total darkness inside. I can remember thinking how the property looked more like an unkempt mausoleum than a home; I could not possibly have known how close I was to being right.
We could hear shouting from the gate and the breaking of glass before Marie grabbed onto my arm with a far stronger gripped than I had imagined she would have. "There is something I didn't tell you before I invited you to come. Erik is… a special boy," she explained, carefully choosing her words. "He is not like other boys his age, in either behavior or appearance. Madeleine never has guests over unless it is completely necessary. I beg of you, if you have any goodness in your hearts at all… do not stare, and do not speak of what you see to anybody."
I glanced up to Andre, wondering if he were as intrigued as I was but able to read nothing but concern for the situation inside upon his face. "You have our word," he promised, and Marie nodded before leading us through the garden and inside the front door.
It was like stepping into the eye of a storm. The house was a mess, but everything was eerily still and quiet at our arrival. Broken glass and splintered wood lie strewn across the living room, surrounding a woman my age who like the house she lived in had once been beautiful and elegant but had fallen into disrepair. She looked to us with such compelling, rage-filled eyes that I might have missed the child standing across from her had he been any ordinary boy.
But this child was far from ordinary. He was tall for his age by several years, and lean. It was hard to believe he was only five years old, the way he carried himself; I have seen soldiers and royalty with a less commanding presence than this little boy had.
As much as I hate to admit this even to myself, the most extraordinary thing about the boy and what I remember the most about that morning was the ugly black leather mask covering his face.
As stunned as we all were – the boy and his mother at the sight of strangers and my husband and I by the sight of the boy and his mother, I was the first to recover. "Marie tells me your name is Erik," I said gently, moving towards the boy where he stood by the lovely golden spaniel lying on the floor. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Erik. My name is Collette Aumer."
I don't know how I knew it since his face was completely covered save his bottom lip and chin, but the boy was immensely surprised at the manner in which I had addressed him. It was his mother who broke the silence next. "Half an hour of shouting and now in polite company he is speechless. Where are your manners, boy?" The woman snapped so harshly I could only blink; I had never heard anyone talk to a child in such a way.
The boy came out of his stupor and bowed hesitantly. "Madame," he addressed me, as though it were the first time he had ever been called to do so.
"Please, call me Collette," I offered with a smile.
"Marie, may I speak to you a moment?" The woman demanded suddenly in a voice that was almost too calm, causing the mousy woman to jump. "In private," she added, and the pair moved into a nearby room to talk in hushed voices.
"Erik, this is my husband Andre. He's a veterinarian. Do you know what it is veterinarians do?" I asked, and the boy only nodded.
"That is a beautiful dog you have, Erik. What is her name?" Andre asked, and the boy finally glanced away from me to eye my husband warily.
"Sasha. She's sick," he added, as if excusing the dog's impolite behavior as she lay whining on the rug.
"Yes, it looks like she is. Do you think I can maybe take a look at her? If I can figure out what's wrong with her I can hopefully make her feel better," Andre offered, and the boy's face once again turned to mine. This time I could see his eyes under the mask as the bore into mine, little yellow orbs that tried so desperately to read my intentions, searching for any ulterior motive Andre and I might have. After an impossibly long moment, he glanced back at Andre and nodded, stepping away from the animal to allow Andre closer.
I took the opportunity to move closer to the child as he watched my husband for any signs of ill intent. "You have a beautiful home, Erik. What does your father do for a living?"
"My father is dead," the boy responded so easily I was stunned. "Mama doesn't like to talk about him."
"I'm sorry to hear that," was all I could manage, effectively ending the conversation.
"Well, I have good news and bad news," Andre announced finally, moving over to us. "Sasha is going to be all right, but there is nothing we can do except wait it out. She has a bit of a stomach bug, that's all. Nothing serious. Just make sure she drinks a lot of water, let her sleep and she'll be just fine."
Erik relaxed visibly. "She's not going to die?"
"No, she will be fine. Just uncomfortable for another day or two."
Just then, the boy's mother came into the room closely followed by Marie. "Well, Doctor, what is the verdict?"
"Your son has done a very good job caring for her, she will be just fine," Andre promised, smiling down to the boy who looked quite pleased with himself.
"My son has done nothing but throw a tantrum since the dog first got ill," the woman snapped, and I couldn't help but glare at her at the way she tore the boy down. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please send me the bill,"
"It was my pleasure, Madame…?"
"Renard, Madeleine Renard," the woman answered opening the door to all but push us out. "Good day."