Raphael opened a small drawer by the locked door. This was where he had decided to keep the spare keys for anything within this house. He patiently fished through them, pushing aside small bronze keys, bulky door keys and petite keys with elegant and extravagant designs to dictate what it unlocked. Raphael pushed aside a key to his mother's diary, his father's desk drawer and one to open the downstairs grandfather clock, if it ever needed rewinding, before finding a plain black key to the attic door.
He ran his fingers over the cold metal as he passed Maria the portrait and unlocked the door. It opened to another dark stairwell. Raphael smirked and sighed, reaching inside and pulling a small string; light illuminated the stairs. "This seems to be a reoccurring theme with us this evening," Raphael stated.
Maria's eyes seemed absent, but she gave a small smile to his little quip. Raphael took the portrait from Maria and ascended the stairs, Maria slowly following behind him.
The attic, despite the stair light, was virtually pitch black. The attic was a large triangular room without windows, even in Paris weather Raphael and his Father found it got stuffy if one stayed up there for too long. Raphael stood in the middle of the darkroom, having been in here countless times he knew where every object was to walk amongst it blindly.
"Reach your hand out, Maria," Raphael instructed when he saw her silhouette at the top of the stairwell, "You'll find a string, pull it."
Maria was doubtful but stretched her hand out to find a string. She yelped when she touched something made of glass, "Why is there hovering glass?" She sounded shocked.
Raphael snickered, "Find a string. You'll see."
Maria attempted again, grabbing at the air before grabbing a string and giving it a gentle pull. One small light bulb illuminated a small circle of the room, allowing Maria to see several other strings hanging from the ceiling. She grabbed another and pulled, another bulb dangling in the air turning on. She repeated this with three more, gasping at the realisation the room was filled with dangling ceiling lights. One hung before her nose.
"My Father always believed in a bit of flair," Raphael informed as Maria walked around the bulbs, "This place was so dark, so lonely, he wanted to make it magical I suppose." He pocketed one of his hands, using the other to turn on the lights around him, "I've personally found it more annoying then magical." Despite this, Raphael did find the golden glow of the bulbs enchanting in a simple way.
Raphael watched as Maria searched for a string to pull to turn on more lights, making a game out of it.
"Are you ready, son?" Father teased.
"Can I look now?" Raphael asked.
"Be patient, Raphael," a gentle woman's voice cooed.
Not being a patient boy, Raphael jumped from one foot to the other, his Mother's hands resting on his shoulders. His parents both chuckled.
Raphael hadn't been allowed in the attic, but on his sixth birthday, his Father said he was sprucing it up just for him. His Mother seemed most excited for the occasion.
"Okay, open them."
Raphael lifted his hands from his eyes and saw a dark room. He could barely see the outline of his Father, who's silhouette stood in the centre of the room. "Isn't there a light in here?" he asked, he wasn't fond of the dark.
"Reach out, son. There are lights everywhere." His Father sounded otherworldly almost, his voice perfect to telling stories.
Raphael complied, staggering forwards with his arms outstretched in search of a means of light. He walked too quickly and eventually ran into his Father, who made a deep-throated laugh before picking up his son and twirling with him. He held him up and instructed to grab the string.
He felt this one, turning on a light. It was bright against his small eyes.
He noticed there were several other dangling light bulbs. Raphael's Father reached forwards and turned more lights on, giving the room a magical feel of floating lights. Such a simple thing, but Raphael was enthralled.
"Oh, my goodness…" Maria said.
Raphael was taken out of his daze as he saw Maria see what was leaning against the walls of the attic; empty art frames, beautiful canvases sitting on easels and, what he believed to be the source of her surprise, countless replicas of history's masterpieces.
"Raphael…" Maria's eyes locked on portraits such as the Mona Lisa, The Mounted Officer, A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, and exotic artworks from Italy, America, and Russia that bore titles she couldn't read. "Some of these are famous."
Raphael nodded, "I'm aware." He approached some frames, sifting through them to pull out a large gold frame with an exact copy of the Queen's portrait in it. Raphael took the painting out of the frame, delicately rolling it up and tying it with a tweed string. He fitted the one he had taken from the theatre into the frame, it took a few minutes.
"You're replacing it with a replica?" Maria asked as Raphael leaned it against the wall.
"No," he replied, "I'm replacing the original." He held the rolled-up painting, gesturing it was it.
Maria approached a portrait, her hand reaching forwards but unable to bring herself to touch it. "These look so real…"
"My Father was always a good artist," Raphael informed placing the Queen's portrait on a desk at the end of the room. "Unfortunately, he didn't put his efforts into making his own original works." Maria stood straight and absently walked to him, distracted by the dozens of artworks. "He was an art enthusiast and art restorer for Louvre, but he worked overseas and had an international demand. Museums would send artworks to him, demanding he fix their water damage, brighten up the colours, clean the canvas' and so on." Raphael flicked some large specks off one of the frames. "At first my Father was appalled by what he was doing. In his eyes, he was ruining genuine works. So, instead, he kept them and sent replicas he made, the museums were happy and he didn't feel like an art killer. After a while, my Father had accumulated quite a collection of… genuine masterpieces."
Maria looked to the walls, looking at some hung up landscapes.
"My Father never did any of this to steal art, but rather to protect them. But eventually, he was headhunted by other art enthusiasts. He was made to recreate dozens of famous artworks for years, and gave museums and wealthy people replicas." Raphael was always shocked when he ventured into this attic, where his Father disappeared for many hours of the day and many nights to work. Raphael always assumed it was due to the death of his Mother that he had buried himself amongst the art, but based on how many he had found, his Father must have done this for decades. "I've been returning them, or at least all the ones I could find."
Maria didn't say anything, she continued to scan the frames in the room. "So… how many do you have to go?"
"For Paris, none now. Internationally, I plan on just sending them away," Raphael explained, "If I can figure out where they belong without incriminating my Father."
Maria's face screwed into a confused grimace, shaking her head and rubbing her temples. "So, you've taken up the name Phantom of Paris, to be an art thief that returned the originals, all so your Father doesn't become a criminal?"
Raphael smirked, looking down at the floorboards, recognising how strange that sounds. "My Father left a few years ago." He took out his Father's coin and presented it to her, "He left me this, which is the same as your pendant, this ring and somehow the Unknown Royals." Maria examined the coin, taking out her necklace and comparing the two, once again recognising the beetle pattern.
"For some reason, my Father left that coin for me to find him. And this whole Unknown Royals thing is the closest I've come to find him, what happened to him." Raphael walked past Maria to gesture to the other artworks, "But moreover, I wanted to hand back all the artworks before someone realised they were fakes. My Father did some sketchy things, so I figured if I return them before he gets back, he won't be a criminal and places won't blackmail him anymore. We can have our family back together."
Maria flipped the coin in her fingers. "Raphael, the Unknown Royals don't seem like nice people. Have you considered he is one of them? Could he be a villain?"
Raphael shook his head, "Absolutely not. I know my Father, he's a good man. If he's a part of this, it's not willingly. He would never just up and leave me. And if he's not with them, then I'm just going to have to keep searching." Raphael nodded at his plan, "Loads of room for development."
Maria smirked at his last statement and looked back to the coin, suddenly frowning. "Are you sure he's not dead?"
Raphael blinked at the possibility. Pressing his lips together, he nodded. "I've considered that, and I'm sure. He's still alive," he assured firmly.
"If I may ask, how do you know that?" Maria walked to him and pressed the coin into his hand.
"This house is in his name. For a while, I got evicted because I was an unattended minor, but it was still getting paid for. Proving an adult was paying for it. My Father is still alive, Maria, and for whatever reason, he can't come home yet." Raphael sighed as he looked at the coin. "I'm gonna change that. And when he does come home we're gonna leave Paris."
"You're leaving Paris?" Maria asked.
"Just until the whole Phantom of Paris thing becomes nothing more than bits of gossip," Raphael informed, "Because you figured it out quickly, it won't take too long for the police to finally catch up with me." Raphael pulled a stool from the shadows and sat by the stairs. He sounded very nonchalant about it all.
Maria managed to suppress a small laugh as she ran her hand over a smooth frame, the picture it bordered being a form of the countryside. "Raphael, why are you telling me this?"
Raphael leaned on his knees and shrugged, "Because you knew who I was. Because in a weird way I can kind of understand your situation. Because I trust you, for some stranger reason." Maria looked at him. "And you seem to trust me. I dunno, gives you perspective on me."
Maria sighed through her nose as she circled around the room again. Raphael wondered if his trust had been misplaced. She had become unreadable, not even her eyes giving away what she was feeling. Raphael held his breath.
Maria's hand tangled itself in the chain of her pendant, bringing it to her lips to gnaw on. "Okay…" Raphael's ears perked, "This is quite… shocking, to say the least. I had heard about the Phantom of Paris stealing artworks, only to return them…" She seemed confused by what she said, but continued, "I never thought you had a reason like that."
She faced Raphael, by now his heart hammering in his chest by what she would say. She seemed to debate something in her head before nodding assertively, "Alright." She lifted her head and looked Raphael in the eye, her sudden determination almost frightening him. "If these Unknown Royals have anything to do with your Father's disappearance, then I'll help you in any way that I can."
Raphael felt a mixture of relief and anxiety wash over him, a part of him glad she would help, but another sickening terrified of her assistance. "Really?"
She nodded, "Absolutely. You've helped me already, I need to return the favour anyway."
*
Raphael didn't sleep that night. He doubted he would.
If he wasn't in Anita's room checking up on her, he was pacing the hallway and going on misadventures to the kitchen for a snack. He had awoken Maria a few times in the early morning. "Is Anita okay?" she had asked.
"Yeah, I'm just restless."
Raphael ended up sitting at the end of Anita���s bed, cross-legged, every now and then nodding off and falling on his side. He had never considered how much comfier Anita's bed was to his.
His eyes dropped closed, but in what felt like a blink Anita had disappeared from his sight. He sat upright, rubbing his eyes to look around the room for her. She was sitting on the floor, back against the bedframe, reading a thick volume.
Raphael sighed in relief as he fell on his stomach, dripping his hand over the bed's edge to poke Anita. "Morning."
Anita didn't answer. She turned the page.
"Anita?"
She grunted but continued reading.
Raphael crawled off the bed and squatted in front of her. "How're you feeling?"
Anita shuffled away from him, slightly pouting.
"Anita, please."
"I feel fine." Her words were harsh.
Raphael gulped, a new sickness washing over him. "Good… good." Raphael sat down next to her, leaning heavily on the bed frame as he looked to the ceiling. He could sense Anita's seething hatred. He hated when people were mad at him, especially when it was something he knew he had done. They sat in silence, the occasional flick of a page from Anita's book being the only noise.
Raphael stole a glance at her, seeing a small cut on her cheek. He wondered if she had been struck, or if someone had assaulted her. That thought alone enough to make him angry and strangle him with guilt.
He made a long sigh and pushed himself up, kneeling in front of her book, hanging his head. "Anita."
Anita ignored him.
"Anita, look at me."
Anita's jaw clenched as she dropped the book in her lap and looked at her, her anger still prevalent in her glossy eyes. "I'm really sorry, Anita," Raphael said.
Anita seemed visibly uncomfortable. Something caught in her throat as she tried to swallow, she tilted her head, lifting her eyes to the ceiling as she blinked away the shininess in her eyes. She took a shaky breath and slammed the book shut, the noise frightening Raphael, as Anita stood, scratching her nose, she nodded.
"I'll see you downstairs for breakfast. We need to discuss some things." She walked past him and down the stairs.
Raphael sighed, relaxing his shoulders and resting his head against the bed.