Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom. But I did check a copy of the book out from the library.
Patient
Chapter 1: Killer
The mirror shattered, showering the man in shards of broken glass. He brushed several fragments off his face, not noticing the blood they drew as they tumbled away, an picked up his mask. The cool ivory fitted elegantly over his deformed features as he gazed into the terrible abyss before him. Behind him, the roar of an angry mob grew louder as they stampeded down the catacombs, making thier way to his chamber. He paused for only a moment before plunging into the darkness behind the mirror.
Black nothingness consumed him as he pushed forward, and suddenly, he was afraid. Logic abandoned him. His pace quickened to a jog. Then a run. At last it was a wild sprint- he was desperate to escape, though he wasn't sure from what. Thoughts and emotions chased each other through his mind as he ran.
Fear.
Of what, he wasn't sure. Of death? Did he want to live? No...that wasn't it. His opera house was gone. Christine was gone. And his music with her.
Anger.
At himself? For allowing himself to become a beast? A monster? For succumbing to jealousy and lust?
At Christine? For choosing Raoul over him? For not returning his love?
At the world itself? At the cruelty he had felt?
He wasn't sure.
Sorrow.
He had lost everything. Of course he was feeling mournful. But there was something more to it...
He recoiled suddenly as the warm dank of the tunnel ended abruptly. The man groped desperately in front of him. At last he found the block of stone and threw all his weight at it, again and again, until it came loose. One more frantic throw, and the stone fell away, sending him tumbling into a narrow alley.
He tried once to rise to his feet, but as he did, the panicked energy that had possessed him earlier drained away, leaving nothing but emptiness and exhaustion. Bleeding, bruised, and broken, he fell to the ground.
"Marcel! Over there!"
"What is going on, Jaimie?"
"A man! He's hurt!"
"Oh Heaven...Hurry, Jamie, get the horse. This man needs help...Lord in Heaven!"
"What is it?"
"Don't look- just-"
"Never mind that! He needs help. Help me get him up!"
A pause.
"You're right, Jaimie."
The first thing he was aware of was pain. Slowly he opened heavy eyes to meet a distorted display of light and color, bright enough to sear. His eyes retreated once more behind the shelter of darkness.
"Oh! You're awake, Monsieur," he heard a soft voice say. He blinked, and slowly his eyes adjusted to the light. A room came into focus, and leaning over him, a young woman. He jerked as he realized that a familiar weight was gone. The girl's expression became clouded with worry. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "You must be in pain...I'm sorry..."
He tried to speak, but only a shallow croak left his mouth.
"You must be parched," the woman said. Gently she tilted his head up and pressed a cool ceramic cup to his lips. The man drank gratefully, allowing soothing water to run down his throat. Once the cup was drained, it was lifted from his mouth.
"My...mask..." he groaned.
"What...Oh!" she ducked to the side after a moment of confusion, returning with his ivory mask. "Is this what you want?" The man's eyes widened as he realized that she had seen him without the mask in her hand. Even now she was looking at his gruesome, disfigured face... His hand went immediately to cover the distortion. The woman looked pained.
"I didn't mean to offend," she said softly. He felt bandages beneath his hand- one next to his eye, the other on his cheek. "But you were bleeding."
"How long...?" he whispered. The girl ducked away again, and he heard a trickle of water. Again she lifted his head and brought the refilled cup to his mouth.
"You've been asleep for four days," she said as he drank. "You had a fever." He swallowed.
"And where am I? How did I get here?"
"You are at my house- or mine and my brother's, we live here together, you see. We found you lying in the street a few days ago and brought you here. That's all there is to tell, really."
"You should not have brought me here," he said darkly. He looked up into her eyes, daring her to run.
"Why not?" she asked, suddenly uncomfortable.
"I am a murderer," he said. "I killed two men. Perhaps more. I may yet slaughter you." He saw the girl swallow.
"Then I will have to manage that when it comes. For now, you need to rest. You only just recovered from that fever."
"Don't you understand? I killed a man! I am dangerous!"
"You aren't the only one who has passed through a storm, Monsieur." He shuddered at the title. It was meant for a man. Not for a monster like himself.
"Don't call me that," he said, avoiding the girl's eyes.
"What would you have me call you, then?"
Silence.
"Mon- I mean...um..." she stumbled over her own words.
"I...I'm weary. If you would be so kind..."
"Of course," she said softly. She rose to her feet and walked out of his vision. He heard a door creak as it opened. "My name is Jaimie," she whispered, closing the door behind her.
Jaimie.
The man had not lied. As soon as the door was closed, his head fell back on the pillow, and he fell into an exhausted slumber.