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‘Spoštovani Raphael,
Kako Se Imaš?
I hope I got the translation right, and I hope this letter finds you well in Slovenia!
How was it for you and Fondue in the caves? Did you find any treasures or secrets? I know it’s silly of me to worry, with your abundance of skills and Fondue’s nose, but I really hope you’re both safe.
Things have been very busy at the Conservatoire with my exams and rehearsals, but I’m still enjoying it.
Maman is doing well, too. She said she visited Slovenia years ago and she recommends you try the Sladki Štruklji (Sweet Dumplings).
Alfred also says hello. He could really use a vacation, but he still refuses to leave Maman’s side…
Inspector Vergier had a meeting with Maman the other day. He was as gruff as ever, but he mentioned that Charlie hasn’t been themself lately. When Maman pressed him for details, he admitted that Charlie hasn’t left their apartment— in two whole weeks!
That’s doesn’t sound like Charlie at all.
I tried calling them several times, but each time, the inspector claimed Charlie was resting.
I don’t think this is related to what happened when you and I first met— Inspector Vergier would have warned Maman otherwise! And surely he would have told us if Charlie was unwell…
I’m extremely confused and quite concerned about Charlie. Do you have any idea what the matter could be?
I’ll let you know if I hear anything!
De tout mon cœur,
Marie’
As soon as Raphael had finished reading Marie’s letter, he and Fondue jumped on the next flight back to Paris.
Marie couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw them both on her balcony. After a quick reunion hug, they rushed over to Charlie’s apartment.
“You’re sure there’s been no trace of the Chevaliers in Paris?” Raphael, dressed as Phantom R, double-checked.
He glanced up at houses and apartments as they hurried past; several had French flags hanging from their windows. (It was good to be home, even if he was worried about Charlie!) Fondue seemed relaxed, so Raphael figured they weren’t being watched or followed.
“Not to my knowledge,” Marie murmured, sticking close to Raphael. “But I still think Inspector Vergier would have said something…”
“What if they have come back, but they’ve threatened him and Charlie into keeping quiet?”
“No— Charlie’s too crafty to get captured!”
“Hrrrrrn,” Fondue grumbled skeptically, as if to remind them that he had bitten Charlie on the leg once.
“Maybe not captured,” Raphael mused, “but Vergier might have sent Charlie away somewhere, for their safety. Like witness protection…”
“Do you really think he would do th— ah!” Marie tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.
Raphael caught her by the arm. “Yes, but I also know Charlie would find a way back.”
“Charlie definitely wouldn’t stay put in a convent for seventeen years,” Marie huffed, her face red-hued.
“They wouldn’t have the patience,” Raphael said with a smile. Reassured, Marie smiled back at him.
All appeared peaceful outside the Vergiers’ apartment building… except for the brown-haired young man roaming the street like a lost dog.
“That’s Charlie’s soccer friend… Urbain!” Raphael shouted, waving. “Salut, Urbain!”
Urbain stared at them for a moment, before he staggered over. He was clutching a deflated soccer ball, which Fondue sniffed.
“Have, er, you seen Charlie lately?” Raphael asked.
Listlessly, Urbain shook his head. “It’s too late,” he mumbled. “Charlie’s…”
When he trailed off, Raphael prompted, “What? Where’s Charlie?”
Urbain waved towards the Vergiers’ apartment. His green eyes looked so empty.
“Is Charlie okay?” Marie gasped. “Are you okay?”
“We might be… in a few years…” Hugging the football against his chest, Urbain sniffled. Then he trudged away.
Alarmed, Raphael and Marie looked at each other. What force could have affected Urbain in such a way— and Charlie?
“Woeuf!” Fondue dashed into the building, leading them up to the Vergiers’ apartment.
Marie knocked on the door, but when there was no answer, Raphael hollered, “Charlie, it’s me! I’m breaking in to your place— probably gonna steal something…”
Not even the threat of Phantom R could summon Charlie.
Raphael opened the door (after cracking the weird puzzle lock Vergier must have installed) and the three of them slipped inside. The Vergiers had a combined lounge and kitchen at the front of their apartment.
Again, nothing seemed amiss; there were no signs of an intrusion or theft. It was much tidier here than in Inspector Vergier’s office…
Poking around in the kitchen, Raphael found the bins full of torn-up posters, a French flag, and an old blue soccer shirt.
Had these belonged to Charlie? Who had thrown them all away— and why?
“This is too sloppy even for the Chevaliers,” Raphael snorted. Fondue devoured a half-eaten pastry he’d pinched from the bin.
“Look at this!” Marie called softly. Raphael joined her in the lounge. She was holding up a framed photograph; younger Charlie was pictured watching a sporting event with their parents. All three Vergiers were cheering and wearing colours of the French flag.
Marie’s eyes shone as she studied the photo. “Do you think Charlie’s absence could have something to do with their mother?”
Raphael muttered, “Like an anniversary?” (Holidays, birthdays and the day his father had left were always hard.)
“Or… or what if it’s linked to her death?” Marie whispered. “Could the inspector have—“
She was cut off by a weak cough.
The sound had come from behind a door.
Marie glanced at Raphael.
Raphael signalled to her; he would go first. If something awful had happened to Charlie— if someone had taken Charlie hostage— he didn’t want Marie to be there.
Opening the door, with Fondue beside him, Raphael crept into what must have been Charlie’s bedroom…
The blue walls were covered with marks, like a load of posters or pictures had been torn down. Some of the shelves were bare too.
Charlie, alone, was lying face-up on their bed, which lacked a blanket and pillow cases. Charlie was as pale as the bed’s sheet.
“Hey, Charlie!” Raphael slowly approached the bed. “What’s up?”
Charlie’s head lolled in Raphael’s direction. Their blue eyes were even more lifeless than Urbain’s had been.
“Nice pyjamas,” Raphael quipped, nodding at Charlie’s plain green top and shorts.
At least Charlie wasn’t wearing rags or prison chains like he’d feared…
There was a plate with crumbs on Charlie’s bedside table— so they couldn’t be starving, either.
“Hrn?” Fondue sniffed at the plate. He licked up the leftover crumbs, until he knocked it over. Raphael caught the plate.
At the noise, Charlie blinked. “P-Phantom R,” they croaked. “You’re here…”
Raphael said, “And Marie, too!”
Bursting into the room, Marie exclaimed, “Charlie! Are you alright?”
Charlie rolled onto their side, so they had their back to Raphael, Marie and Fondue.
“What’s wrong?” Marie wondered, reaching a hand out to Charlie’s shoulder. “Please, tell us—“
Charlie shifted away from her. “You’re too late.”
“For what?” Raphael demanded, as Marie drew back. “The Chevaliers Diabolique? Graf—?”
“To… to help France,” Charlie moaned. Their body shuddered. “We will never rise from the ashes of our defeat.”
“Charlie—“ Raphael ran around to the other side of the bed. “Whatever’s happened— we’ll fix it…!”
Charlie’s gaze bored into him. “Where were you when your nation needed you?” Charlie breathed. “Why couldn’t you use your… your dancing skills to rally everyone’s hopes, like before?”
Raphael swallowed. What the heck had happened while he was away? “Charlie…”
He heard rustling. “Oh!” Marie cried. “Do you mean the World Cup?”
Bewildered, Raphael looked at her. Marie had picked up a calendar, with some of its pages ripped out.
Charlie flopped over. “Bah oui!” Charlie shouted, their typical energy returning for a moment.
“Are you kidding me?” Raphael face-palmed.
Charlie had become a recluse… thrown out most of their possessions… and frightened Raphael half to death… over the football World Cup?
Charlie shot up in bed, scowling from Raphael to Marie. “Have you two been living under a rock?”
“I have literally been inside a network of caves— on the other side of the continent!”
“And I’ve had my violin rehearsals,” Marie said, more apologetically.
“Woeuf!” Fondue added, because he was merely a dog.
“How can you call yourselves French?!” Charlie yelled.
Raphael snapped, “How could you scare us like that?”
“I didn’t ask you to… to come here!” Charlie’s eyes flared with anger. “Did my father send you?”
“He didn’t!” Marie cut in. “But he mentioned you’d been… out of sorts— and I was worried, so I contacted R— Phantom R! That’s all!”
“You were worried about me?” Charlie repeated, shoulders dropping. Their frown shifted from Marie to Raphael. “Both of you?”
“Roeuf!”
“We all were,” Raphael amended.
“Oh…” Charlie sank onto the bed again. “You didn’t… have to… over something so s-stupid…” They pulled their knees up to their chest.
“It’s not stupid,” Marie whispered pointedly. “Not if it’s important to you.” She lifted her hand as if she wanted to pat Charlie on the back, but she kept her distance.
“I can’t believe we— France’s team— got knocked out of the tournament,” Charlie sniffled. “After we made it so far…”
“Hey— we’ll win next time!” Raphael promised, pumping his fist. “How long till the next World Cup?”
“Three years?” Marie said.
“It’s four,” Charlie corrected. They huffed. “Of course you wouldn’t have known— typical theatre kids!”
Marie smiled sheepishly.
“Maybe not…” Raphael chuckled. “But what if, in four years’ time, we watch the next World Cup with you? We can cheer and dance for France together…”
“I could play the national anthem,” Marie offered.
“Woeuf!” Fondue raised his paw in solidarity.
Charlie gazed around at the three of them. “You’d do that… for the team?”
For you, Raphael thought. “Sure we will! …And Urbain can come too, if he wants! He seemed pretty mopey as well—“
“This is no time for moping!” Charlie leapt out of bed, pushing Raphael aside. “We need to start preparing our supportive act. Phantom, you’ll do a cheerleading routine; Marie, you’ll play the anthem; Dog, you can be the cute mascot… Meanwhile, Urbain and I will consider strategies and send them to the team. Or… Marie, could your mother get us in touch with the team’s manager?”
Marie laughed. “We can try!”