Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own nothing!

Chapter One

Keep Your Hand At The Level Of Your Eyes!

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There comes a time in every ballerina's life where she has to make a very important decision. She can either be an obedient daughter and listen to her mother, or she can neglect her mother's wishes and try to help save her best friend's life. I chose the latter.

'I have to help Christine.' That was the only thought that passed through my mind as I headed down into the Phantom's lair with the blood lusting mob following about 100 feet behind me.

I hesitated as I reached the edge of the lake. Damn I hated fish. They were just so creepy; the way they swam around your legs, and just started at you with blank eyes. 'There can't be any fish in this water,' I tried to convince myself.

With a quick outtake of breath I stepped into the lake and didn't look back. Didn't look down either. Just kept my eyes straight ahead and hoped that the water would level out before it went over my head. I wasn't the tallest person around so it was quite possible for it to go over my head. Thankfully, the water evened out around my mid thigh. Luck was on my side tonight, it seemed. I was still in my Don Juan Triumphant costume (which consisted of just a shirt, pants, and calf high boots) making it easier to move around, there didn't seem to be any fish, and the lake was shallow.

I had made it about half way across the lake when I felt something swim between my legs. I let out a quick scream before clapping a hand over my month. Stupid fish.

'Okay Meg, keep it together. No more screaming. Stay quiet. Don't bring attention to yourself. Can't help Christine all that much if the Phantom knows you're coming.' My conscious berated me.

'It's not my fault. I'm a screamer. Always have been, always will be. And besides, the fish started it. And I think that the mob behind me has given the Phantom warning enough.' I pouted back trying to justify myself. If my conscious wasn't just a voice, I'm sure it would have rolled it's eyes at me. I crossed the remainder of the lake as quickly as I could.

When I got to the Phantom's lair there wasn't anybody in sight. It looked like all the mirrors had been smashed. I guessed that the Phantom was responsible for that. Christine wasn't aggressive enough to break a hand mirror, let alone all of these; Raoul didn't have a reason to be breaking every mirror in sight. And the Phantom, well the Phantom hated his face to the brink of madness, so why wouldn't he want to break mirrors?

With the quietest steps that I could manage I searched the lair. Looking for any sight of Christine. I found what appeared to be a life sized model of her, I found her Don Juan Triumphant costume, I found a wedding veil, but I didn't find her.

"Christine?" I whispered. Not a sound was heard. Except for the ragging mob, of course. They were almost across the lake by now. As I turned a corner, I came into a very bare room, with what seemed to have nothing but a bed, a music box with a monkey holding symbols and a white mask.

As I picked up the white porcelain mask the mob that had followed me down to the Phantom's lair began tearing everything apart; knocking over candles, chairs, books, head busts, everything. And then they saw it; the organ with sheet music lying on every clean space the organ offered. Whatever hatred they felt for the Phantom before multiplied ten fold; for how dare such a monster create such beautiful music. They had found it; the Phantom's heart, his whole life, the organ embodied everything the Phantom stood for. And the mob couldn't stand it. In the blink of an eye the sheet music was thrown in the lake, ripped, torn, burned. Ruined. For a moment I watched in horror at the scene before me. But as the mob turned to the organ I realized that I had to do something to stop them. Distract them! Confuse them! Anything to get them away from that organ! 'I won't be able to find Christine with all these blockheads annoying the Phantom even more!' I had to get rid of them all, even the police.

"Leave it be." My voice was weak, so were my knees. The mob didn't hear me. "Leave it be." I said with a little more confidence. The mob still didn't even bat an eye. That was it. Christine was in trouble, and the mob wasn't helping anybody; I snapped. "Leave it BE!" I shouted. Complete and total silence fell across the lair. Every head turned towards me.

Benoit, a stage hand that was always drunk and harassing the chorus girls gave me a dirty look and said, "What'd you say, girlie?"

I narrowed my eyes and hissed, "You heard me. Leave. It. Be."

The whole of the mob seemed to hesitate, before Benoit said, "And why should we, girlie?" That nickname was really starting to get on my nerves.

"Excuse me, monsieur, but I am Madame Giry's daughter, so unless you wish to lose your job, you would do well to hold your tongue." Now I knew my mother had no power to choose who stayed and who went, but she acted like she did, and most believed she did, including Benoit. I watched as a flicker of uncertainty flashed across his face. He obviously didn't realize that he was already jobless, just like me. The fire had by now probably destroyed most of the Opera Populaire. The intellect of the group standing before me didn't even constitute for one brain cell. I had them eating out of my hands. "Now then ladies and gentlemen, I suggest that you all return to the upper levels and help out with the fire, I'm sure they need all the help they can get." At the mention of the fire the trance that seemed to be holding the mob broke. They were torn between killing the Phantom and taking care of the fire. "The Phantom's dead. Do you seriously think that he would have let you ruin his music without the Punjab Lasso making an appearance?" This seemed to convince them, and one by one they started heading back. All that was left was Benoit, and the few policemen that had come down. "Go," I said, "I'll clean up here."

At that Benoit said condescendingly, "You? You can't be left down here alone, you're merely a woman." He laughed, and the police laughed with him. My temper started to flare.

"And you, monsieur, are merely a man. And we'll both die someday, so you see, we are not so different after all. Our lives both end the same." My voice was cold and unforgiving. I was not to be reckoned with.

Benoit, not one to be compared to a woman said with a sneer, "come on, there's nothing for us down here." And surprisingly enough, the police turned around and followed Benoit back to the upper levels.

I was now alone in the Phantom's lair with the white porcelain mask still in my hand. I had forgotten about it with all the excitement. I lifted it up to the light, trying to get a better look; now having the time to study the mask that the enigma known as the Phantom hid behind; forgetting for the moment about Christine and the danger she could be in.

But before I had a chance to get a really good look at it I heard a slow clapping rhythm behind me. I didn't need to turn around to guess that it was the Phantom. I took my time turning to face him.

The Phantom was leaning on what seemed to be a frame for what once was a mirror. The whole of his face, torso, and arms was hidden in shadow, but I could still see the outline of a smirk on that face of his.

"Well, mademoiselle, I must say you are a very good persuasive talker." Was he mocking me? The cad. I just saved his music, let alone his life.

"Excuse me? But I just saved your damn life! I think I deserve a thank you." I narrowed my eyes and glared at him.

"Language, mademoiselle, language. What would your mother say?" He tutted. "And I hardly needed saving." He added as an afterthought. If I hadn't known who I was talking to better, I would have thought he was rolling his eyes at me in those shadows.

"You honestly think you could have saved yourself? Against one or two of them. Maybe." The Phantom started as if to come at me, but the desire to stay in the shadows outweighed his desire to strangle me. "But you wouldn't be able to hold your own against all fifty of them." I knew I was making him livid, but I was mad, I didn't care.

"Never underestimate me, mademoiselle. You have no idea what I'm capable of." Was that a threat? "Now, if you would, mademoiselle," out of the shadows the Phantom extended a gloved hand, "I would greatly appreciate it if you would return my mask." The coward. He could at least let me see his face.

"Come out of the shadows and get it then," I knew I was walking on thin ice, but he could've at least stop hiding in the shadows, it was creepy, and talk to me face to face. He did step out of the shadows. A little anyway. He stepped out enough for me to see the Punjab Lasso that he was holding in his other hand.

"You forget, mademoiselle, who you are dealing with, and who's household you are in. I do not have to put up with you if I don't wish." Well… that was true. I had forgotten about who exactly I was talking to, but I was angry and not thinking rationally.

"If you're going to kill me, at least let me see the face of my killer." My voice was ice cold. "I do not fear your face, like some do."

"Like most do, mademoiselle." He corrected. "And all that say they don't fear me have come to regret those words."

"Maybe, but I won't. I know who I'm facing." I tilted my chin definitely. Something of a smirk passed across the Phantom's face.

"Obviously, mademoiselle, you don't. But you are nothing more than a ballet rat, your foolishness is to be expected." The smug and cocky voice of the Phantom was just infuriating me more. At that moment I couldn't have care less if he was the Queen of Sheba or the Opera Ghost, I was just outraged. And those that are angry are not always wise.

"How dare YOU question MY intellect!" I hollered.

As my echo slowly faded away the Phantom spoke quietly, but his voice held a foreboding tone to it. "I must ask you, mademoiselle, not to yell in my household." He didn't want me to yell in his household. He didn't want me to yell in his household. HE didn't want ME to yell in HIS household! Brute. Up until then I had pretty much kept my anger under control, but I was tired, I was cold, I was starting to develop an eye twitch, and my best friend was missing.

"Pardon me, monsieur," I uttered through clenched teeth, "but YOU just burned MY house down," my voice was slowly becoming a screech, "so I think I'm entitled to do a little bit of SCREAMING in YOUR HOUSE!" And to punctuate my point – and just to release some anger – I spun around and threw the unlucky object that happened to be in my hand across the room at the organ. For the briefest of seconds I felt slight satisfaction and relief for unburdening my anger on some inanimate object, but my relief soon turned to absolute horror as I watched a porcelain white mask smash into the organ, breaking into a million tiny little pieces of ceramic, the sound of breaking china echoed all around me. I froze where I stood, facing the organ with disbelief written all over my face. Damn my temper!

Within a second the Phantom had come up behind me and thrown the Punjab Lasso over my head. He wrapped one arm around my torso, pinning my arms to my sides in a very painful way. I could feel the lasso slowly tightening around my neck and forgot to breath.

"You don't seem to understand, mademoiselle," he hissed right next to my ear, "how dangerous I am." His voice was low and deadly. He was going to kill me. I knew it, and he knew it. I let out the breath that I had been holding, as my anger began to rise again. He was going to kill me, and not even allow me to face him as I died. Scumbag.

"Tell me, monsieur," if I was going to die, I was going to die on my own terms, "do you ever look into the eyes of those that you kill?" The tightening of the noose hesitated. I kept on talking. "Buquet? Piangi? Or the dozens of others that died at your hand? Did you ever once look into their eyes as you took the life out of them?" The Phantom's breathing had become ragged and shallow, but in a moment he had composed himself.

"Do you really hold so little value for your life, mademoiselle?" He hissed against my cheek. I let the slightest of smirks grace my face before going neutral again.

"You misread my actions, monsieur, I value my life greatly, I just don't believe you are going to kill me." The Phantom started to tighten the noose again.

"You really are the slowest ballet rat that I have ever come in contact with. Your mother has a fool for a daughter." By now the noose had become so tight that I could hardly talk, let alone breathe.

"Why…" I was starting to see spots from the lack of oxygen, "why… don't… you…"

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle, but I can't understand what you're saying," the Phantom grinned.

"Whydon'tyoufacemelikeaman?" I gasped out.

"Face you like a man, you say?" The arm around my torso began to tighten, "you'll come to regret that, mademoiselle." I let out a strangled gasp as pain shot through me. He would crush my ribs easily, I was sure of it. I struggled against him as best I could with no oxygen. That seemed to just enrage him more as he, in one quick movement, spun me around to face him, relieving my ribs of any further pain, but tightening his grip on the lasso still more. His lips moved, but I couldn't hear any of what he was saying.

I never got to see the scar that covered half his face, for my gaze had lingered on his cheek where the outline of a single teardrop had dried just before I passed out.

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AN: Well? What'd you guys think?

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BeyondtheSea!