The Phantom's Sister

Chapter 1

The Phantom, getting on in years, had decided that to truly be free of all of the terrors of his past, he must burn his childhood home to the ground. That was where it had all started. If the house was gone, maybe he could be free of the pains. He was prepared to pay, if the house was occupied, to relocate the family and then watch the house burn.

He was less of a monster than before. He had much less of a temper, but was more depressed and cynical than ever. Five years of complete solitude under the opera house was to blame. By now, Madame Giry and Meg were settled in London where he heard they were doing exceedingly well for themselves. Christine and Raoul had three beautiful children. The managers had made off with the money that was supposed to repair the Opera house... And him?

He was left to die. Alone.

It was a whim coming back here, really. It was something that had come to his mind in a dream. He hadn't been able to forget the image of his old house in flames and decided to give himself peace again.

As he drew nearer, the trees became familiar to him. Seeing it in person after running away nearly thirty years ago brought back more painful memories than he had been prepared for. He quickened his pace as he bit back tears.

Damn. He thought. Since suffering a stroke, he had become more emotional. Maybe that's why his temper had cooled so much.

He had barely lived through the stroke. It happened during the night while he was gathering his living essentials. When leaving the back exit of an establishment who had provided him with what he needed to live, in exchange for balancing their books, he fell down two flights of stairs, nearly breaking his neck. The nerve damage caused him to have the stroke.

Now, he walked with a limp and could barely make use of his right hand. However, he pushed on ahead.

The cold night air bit though his bones, and he ached inside. Finally, he slowed his pace and began up the path to the house. Upon arriving, he saw there was a light in the kitchen.

He readied himself to dismount the horse. It was more difficult now because of his mobility. He groaned as he moved. Finally, he got off the horse, gingerly, mostly using his strong arm and leg to do so.

Quietly, he walked up toward the front door. He used a cane to walk. Click, step, drag. Click, step drag. Every step was comprised of those sounds. The click of the cane, the step of his left foot, and his right foot dragging behind.

Upon reaching the front door, he hesitated. This was lunacy. However, he bit back more tears as he thought this place must be destroyed.

He knocked on the door, and a familiar woman answered the door, "My God!" she cried out.

"Marie?" his voice caught in his throat. A housemaid, one of the only people to ever show him kindness, stood before him. She was much older now, grayed and wrinkled, but her smile was still warm and bright.

"My dear child, you're alive..." she hugged him, "Are you hurt?"

"Oh, the cane? I've had it for about three months now... I had a stroke."

"Erik dear... You poor thing," she hugged him again.

"If you're still here, that means..." his breath quickened. He felt tears coming to his eyes. 

"She's dead, Erik... She passed a few days ago, but she's here..."

"Can I see her?"

"Of course... Erik, you should know something."

"What's that?"

"Her daughter is with her..."

Erik froze where he stood, "She had more children?"

"Just a daughter. A lovely girl..."

"She's not to know who I am. I would like to pay my respects and be off."

Marie pointed toward the room where Erik's mother's casket had been placed to welcome mourners to the house. Slowly, Erik hobbled toward the room where a woman sat quietly. She had raven hair that was curled, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes like Erik's own. Her eyes stared at Erik, "Are you here to see my mother?"

"Yes, Madame... She was a friend of my mother's," Erik lied. He stared at the woman and couldn't help notice how much she looked like him, if he hadn't been born deformed. 

"Please, go ahead. Thank you for stopping by... It seems as if Mother didn't have many friends."

Erik hobbled toward the casket and saw his mother for the first time in thirty years. He felt tears coming to his eyes. The tears weren't from sadness; they were from relief... It was over. 

As he stared at her, he remembered how she would never let him touch her. "I'm sorry for making your life so miserable," he whispered and gave her a light kiss on the cheek.