Yes, it's another one of those phanfics--the kind where Meg helps Erik find redemption after the Christine Caper. Sorry for the shortness of the first chapter, but...i don't know. Maybe it's more of a prologue, actually.
I apologize for my rambling. I don't own PotO. Short and sweet.
Chapter 1 - Broken
Mass chaos. Complete hysteria. Great, roaring flames engulfing the beautiful building as terrified Opera-goers spill out of every entrance (or exit, as it were) in a blind rush for escape from the horrors of that night.
Such was the atmosphere at the Opera Populaire following the performance of Don Juan Triumphant, a masterwork composed by the legendary Phantom of the Opera himself. But the Phantom was not triumphant, as the title of his opera would suggest. Even now, a throng of furious stagehands and policemen were storming down the dark tunnels to the lair of the Phantom. They carried torches and guns, brandishing them and crying out with murderous intent. Several of the men were hit by falling stones from the ceiling, and fell back into the waist-deep, stagnant water, forgotten in the mayhem.
Among the mob was a thin, blonde girl, who carried no weapon and had no intention to kill, but was just as determined as the rest to reach their destination.
And when they did, they were greeted with an ominous, gloomy silence. No sign of a struggle but the few music stands that had been knocked over. The men were surprised. The cave was well-furnished, if not to their specific tastes. Whoever had lived here hadn't been poor, that was certain.
A few policemen ventured cautiously through the open gateway, fearing for an ambush of some sort. But the girl walked forward boldly, splashing through the water and up to the bank. She glanced around, looking for that telltale shadow, the sound of footsteps—anything to verify her assurance that the Opera Ghost was still there.
She heard a sharp intake of breath, as though in a sob. The girl leaped up a few steps and through a doorway, following the sound. But the room she entered was seemingly empty, much to her disappointment.
A glint of white caught her eye as she turned to leave: a mask, lying on a dark, velvet stool. The girl cradled it in her hands. This was the proof she had been looking for. The Phantom wouldn't leave his mask behind.
She tucked the mask into her belt and went out. "He's not here," she told the mob. They grumbled a bit, wanting to look for themselves, but the girl was insistent. Finally, the group turned and started back the way they had come. The blonde girl followed at the rear, glancing over her shoulder every so often until the lair was out of sight.
- - -
Later that night, two figures stood conversing quietly in one of the labyrinth tunnels that led to the Opera Ghost's cave. They eventually agreed on something. The taller of the two continued into the darkness.
"Be careful, Meg!" the other called softly. She had a feminine voice, and a thick French accent.
The thin, blonde girl nodded in response and kept going. When she arrived once again to the lair, she produced the mask from her belt and began searching around the cave.
All of a sudden she sensed a strong presence behind her. Meg whirled around, and there he was: tall, well-built, dressed similarly to her with a loose white shirt and black pants, and covering the right side of his face with one hand. The Phantom of the Opera.
He looked pale and weary, and his expression was more or less void of opinion. Meg noticed that his eyes were bright—too bright. He was sick, she realized with some surprise.
"Meg…" he whispered, her name sounding strange coming from his voice. Meg started to hand him the mask, when suddenly, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed on top of her, unconscious.
She managed to catch him before falling to the ground. He wasn't nearly as heavy as she expected; of course, that was probably due to the fact that he rarely ate, only when absolutely necessary. Meg shifted his position so his arm was around her shoulders and it was easier to support him. Still, it would be difficult to carry him all the way back to the surface, even with her companion's help.
She pressed a hand to his face, and recoiled immediately: he was hot, and burning up by the minute. The situation wasn't looking good. And yet, somehow Meg was able to support the unconscious man as far as to where Antoinette Giry stood waiting in the shadows. The two women carried the Phantom to the surface, flagged down a cab, and presently arrived at a small flat near a park. The driver eyed them suspiciously, but said nothing, and drove off into the night.
Oh no, our dear Erik is ill! Read&Review plz! (Also, I need some sort of period-appropriate excuse to get Mme. Giry out of the house for a month or so, leaving Meg & Erik to take care of themselves. Why, you ask? You'll see when the time comes. But if you have any ideas, please say so!)