Like Father, Like Son | Phantom of the Opera

xxi. A Star in the Night Sky

NOVEMBER 1918

ERIK

It had been absolute agony and nothing less as we all waited anxiously for Gustave to return. The country as a whole was busy celebrating the victory over the Germans, but none of us could be bothered to join in the festivities; between waiting for Gustave to return and trying to process our grief after losing William, the last thing any of us wanted to do was celebrate in the streets.

The announcement that the war was over and the soldiers were on their way home had set Madeleine miles back in respect to coming to terms with her grief. Knowing that William had been shot and killed mere days before the armistice had been signed nearly destroyed her. I had gone to visit one day but had seen only Charles and Elizabeth downstairs. "She won't get out of bed," Charles had said. He'd had such a hollow look in his eyes that it was easy to tell that he was barely able to hold things together for himself.

It was another day before I saw her; she had come over to my home, determined to keep the lunch plans she had made with Lara and myself. Within an hour of her arrival, she had ended up crying on my shoulder with both me and Lara attempting to console her. That was a difficult feat, in a way. William's death had still been taking its toll on my own heart at the time, the void of losing the boy who had become like my second son still impossibly deep, but I at least had the reassurance that my child was coming home; Madeleine had not been so fortunate. To comfort her that day was a test of the ability to choose one's words carefully, a skill I had never been strong in, but one that I was determined to hone for her sake.

Amidst the grief that was so glaringly present in every moment of every day, I finally had an inkling of joy in my heart. Getting to train Lara and teach her to sing had helped tremendously, even more so after the war had ended. Lara's voice had a new life to it; new abilities, new vigour when she sang, as if just knowing that Gustave was on his way home had breathed new life into her. However, the happiness it brought me was nothing compared to the sheer glee I felt when I thought about getting to hold my son in my arms for the first time in three years. That happiness was unmatched.

The one aspect that made waiting even more difficult was that we had no idea when Gustave was getting home. Every day, I got out of bed and waited to see if he would walk through the front door and into my arms. Even Sasha seemed to know that I was waiting on bated breath; she stood at the window in the sitting room and simply watched, waiting with her tail wagging at the sight of every person that walked by. I didn't blame her whatsoever; I was just as eager, to the point that Nadir had begun commenting on how he hadn't seen me quite so happy in years. It was a welcome topic of conversation; talking about my son was the easiest thing to do. It made me feel like he was right there with me, even when he was nowhere near me.

Then, the day finally came.

I was in my study working on a commission at the time. Having newfound joy in my life had provided wondrous for my inspiration; I was completing designs faster than ever before and was pleased with the initial drafts, which hadn't happened in years. Quite satisfied with the work I had done so far, I set my pencil to the page to continue, only to be so suddenly started by a scream and loud barking from Sasha coming from downstairs that I dropped my pencil from my hands. Immediately knowing the scream was Lara's, given that Nadir was the only one other in the house and I knew even he couldn't utter such a high-pitched sound, I leapt out of my chair and ran down the stairs. Was something wrong? Was she hurt? Was Nadir hurt? Was someone ill? A million thoughts were running through my head, and I wanted none of them to come to fruition by any means. I couldn't have something happen to them too.

"Lara, what's-'' I began to ask, only to freeze when I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at the scene in front of my eyes. It was...it couldn't have been him. He was too tall. He had filled out, his frame slightly stockier and more muscular. His hair had been cut down close to his scalp, no longer a thick mess on top of his head with curls like his mother's towards the tips. But if I ever doubted that it truly was my son standing only a few feet in front of me, seeing his wide, toothy smile confirmed that it couldn't have been anyone else.