Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Gaston Leroux, ALW or the Really Useful Group. Please don't sue me.
Author's Notes: This last chapter was really hard to write, especially as I didn't know what to write. My original intention varies from what most of the reviewers want to read and I had a bit of difficulty choosing between the two. But here it is: the last chapter of my story (I apologise for the shortness). Enjoy (or not).
Chapter Four: Starry Skies
Madame Proseau trod quietly through the room, the rustling of her long skirts muffling her footsteps. She turned to look at the empty bed and shook her head.
"That's over then…" She was not an emotional woman, but even she had had difficulty in restraining her tears as she had pulled the white coverlet up over Clarisse's face. The child had looked so serene and peaceful, the closest thing to an angel on earth, Madame Proseau thought.
Now, all she could do was sigh. Clarisse's body had been taken away early in the morning, wrapped in her white bed sheet. She should have been buried in a pauper's grave and become another nameless skeleton, but Madame Proseau had paid specially for a small plot in the local churchyard with a simple headstone. She couldn't help but think of Clarisse sitting amongst the graves and laughing.
She entered the room and picked up a small sketchpad that still lay on the desk. Leafing through it briefly, she tucked it into the pocket of her apron. It had been with Clarisse ever since she could remember. Something that her parents had given her, the girl had said. Clarisse had never once put it down.
"Silly girl…" Madame Proseau muttered to herself rather unsteadily. "I always said…" She took the sketchpad out again. There was just one more task to do.
Madame Proseau walked into her small study and pulled a sheet of paper towards her.
Erik went up to the rooftop again. Even he didn't know why, the thought kept tugging at his heart until he gave into it, albeit rather grudgingly, and poled himself across the lake. The caverns were dark, their candles extinguished by the icy wind that had somehow crept inside. It didn't occur at once to Erik that this was odd.
He left his cloak behind, as usual. It would restrict his movement as he climbed up through the makeshift 'trapdoor' and he hadn't felt the cold in years. Erik reached up and pushed up the plank of wood in one fluid motion, hauling himself up.
He looked up and gasped.
It was a starry night.
Not just a usual starry night. Every patch of the sky seemed to be covered with fantastic glittering beings, displaying themselves to Earth in all their glory. They twinkled and flashed, bright specks of light, stretching out to eternity.
To the man who had lived so long in darkness, they each seemed like a portal to heaven.
Erik's face relaxed into a gentle smile. Even the white mask seemed less foreboding when illuminated by the thousands of holy lights. For the first time, he stepped forward, out of the shadows.
Then he saw it. Lying on the edge of the roof, exactly where Clarisse had sat; was a small package. He moved closer, picking it up in his gloved hands. It bore a simple line:
To whomever it may concern.
It was for him.
Erik tore apart the brown paper it was wrapped in. Lying on some sort of notepad was a letter.
A letter.
He had a letter.
Erik stared at it for a moment in disbelief. Surely this wasn't for him? His heart was thudding and he told it to be quiet. His eyes travelled to the bottom of the letter first, taking in the name of the sender.
Yours,
Madame Proseau
It was no one he had heard of. He was about to lay the letter down when a name seemed to jump out at him from the jumble of words. Clarisse. Thud. Thud, thud, thud. He could hear his own heartbeat clearly, so clearly that he was certain that any people wondering the streets would also hear it. Silently, he began to read the first words of the letter.
Dear Monsieur,
I am sorry to say that Clarisse Borois died the previous night, after a long illness. By some unknown means, she had contracted an incurable form of pneumonia. God rest her soul.
Monsieur, I believe that you became somehow acquainted with Clarisse during the past few months and formed a friendship with her. For this, I thank you. Clarisse was greatly in need of a friend at that time and you added to her happiness in many ways. I can only hope she also added to yours.
I believe Clarisse would have liked you to have this.
Yours,
Madame Proseau
Erik finished the letter numbly. Clarisse. Dead. His only 'friend'. The girl who had taken pity on him and befriended him had died. Shakily, he put the letter down and opened the notebook it had rested on. And suddenly, he knew what it was. Clarisse's sketchpad. He realised he had never looked through it before and gently turned to the first page. It was a drawing of a woman, arm in arm with a man, her mouth open in a laugh. The next drawing was of a solitary flower, slightly crushed, no doubt picked by Clarisse as she rambled about one day. Erik flipped through each drawing and stopped abruptly. There, on the second last page was a self-portrait.
In her drawing, Clarisse was serious, her brow set in concentration. In her right hand she held a pencil, in her left she held another flower. She seemed to be doing her best to hold the flower in a graceful position while drawing. Erik smiled at her childishness and turned to the last page.
He stopped and stared.
There was the sunset she had drawn with him, in beautiful tones of grey. Each highlight and shadow, every single ray of sunlight was captured perfectly on the page. Erik could almost see the brilliant colours again, the red, the gold, the orange, was all reflected there on the page. It was magnificent in such a strange way.
Frowning, Erik flicked back to the self-portrait then looked again at the sunset. After a moment, he began to chuckle. He sat on the edge of the roof at midnight, laughing heartily.
Because he understood.
He had found his key. The key to happiness…
And from somewhere far away, he could hear Clarisse's voice again.
We all have it. We just have to find it.
There it was, on the page before him. The sun setting, opposite's Clarisse's earnest little face, it was there! The beams of the sun penetrated his heart at least, spreading their warmth and light to every part of him.
And even as he turned, still smiling, to retreat into the darkness he came from, his heart and soul soared to a brighter place.
Fin.
Author's Notes: I have to apologise to anyone who thinks this chapter should have gone differently. If you don't like it, by all means, please tell me. I always like reviews.
So it's finished! I hope that everybody got as much joy from reading this story as I did from writing it. Thank you to everyone who read this and gave me feedback!
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