Disclaimer# 1: I do not own anybody except Genevieve
Disclaimer# 2: English is not my first language, so if you find something ridiculously incorrect in my grammar, just ignore it.
"It's over now, the music of the night... past and future... all is over. Why not just stop and let them capture me? Why run like a wolf , pursued by whistling hunters and barking dogs? Would she wish that? Would she believe that I can be changed? How she looked at me – as if searching for the flicker of goodness in the abyss of my soul. Gone, gone now, she and music... No, they will not get me. To cage I will not go, not again."
He knew he could not run much longer. The underworld of the opera house was his domain, where every brick was familiar, yet outside – and now he was on the surface – he could not find his way with the same ease. Only the inherent agility and keen eyes gave him advantage over his pursuers. Yet this advantage was temporal - the gendarmes were catching up with him rapidly, their shouts and threats ringing in the chilly winter air. To the gain of both parties, no loiterers were walking on Parisian streets that night: the cold was merciless, so the commotion could not coax out even the most curious city-dwellers. A few, however, peeped out of windows and later swore they saw a figure in dark cape, moving with inhuman speed and grace; his face they could not see.
As he ran further, the streets grew narrower, featuring heaps of dirty snow and lamps casting dull meager light on rough pavement. The rows of tall and shabby houses formed a labyrinth which lacked any beauty, symmetry, or ingeniousness, but appeared to take pride in its ugliness. The caped figure turned into a nook of a street, where he immediately collapsed with somebody. Instantly he covered his face with the fold of his cloak. The effect of this collision was minimal for him, but the "somebody" fell on the ground and produced a shriek: "Monsieur, your are a bear! Where are you hurrying – to you mother-in-law's funeral?"
It was a girl – small, wry, and very indignant. Like a grasshopper, she sprang on her feet and in one leap was by his side, catching him by the sleeve. "Are you deaf, monsieur? I expect my apologies!"
Insolent meddling brat! What a pity he had no time to teach her manners. "Let go of me immediately, mademoiselle, and maybe then you'll be unharmed. I have unfinished business with the gentlemen yonder,"he stretched his hand in the direction of the distant shouts.
The fold of the cloak slid down, revealing to the girl his deformed face, which looked even more terrifying in the blurry light of the street lamp. A grimace of terror contorted her features. "Misericordia Domini,"panted the girl, loosening her grip. The Phantom – and it was he – twisted his lips in a smirk; he lingered to see his little attacker dart away in fear. This encounter would give her nightmares in years to come.
But she did something opposite – grasped his hand and whispered feverishly, "What have they done to you, monsieur? Oh, what have they done! Please, go now with me, I'll hide you from them, go to my lodging. It's here, just a few steps." She pointed at the porch of the house. Something was very odd. The shouts and whistles, however, were ringing louder, so the Phantom followed the girl, and the house swallowed them both. The girl, tense like a snake, constantly looking around, pulled him up a few flights of stairs until they appeared before a door, chipped and scratched. Hastily the girl opened it and beckoned her companion to step inside. So he did. Then the girl locked the door and collapsed on the floor, as if completely exhausted.
She sat, and he loomed over her. The room was dark, but no light was necessary for the one whose eyes were accustomed to darkness. The Phantom saw it quite distinctively: the furnishings were scarce, only a bed with a crucifix over it and a long table with two chairs. In the corner there was a stove, in a somewhat dangerous proximity to it – an armchair. The furniture probably saw three generations of owners before it ended in this poor room. On the table he noticed a heap of silk scraps and paper flowers – was it what the girl did for living?
"Monsieur, please, there are matches and a candle on the table." Turning his back towards her, he lit the candle in the heavy candelabra. The girl seemed to regain strength and approached, smiling faintly.
"Forgive me, monsieur, I am a bad hostess. On the other hand, I do not received guests all that often. Please, accommodate yourself." The Phantom sat on the chair and continued silently scrutinizing his little rescuer. Something was odd about her, but he could not quite grasp it.
Again, she smiled apologetically, "I was very scared, so scared I could not even move. My sisters always called me a scaredy cat."
"Why, mademoiselle, I think you are very brave – inviting a complete stranger, who is chased by police and whose appearance is so ... charming. So very brave you are, that your courage borders foolishness. Don't you wonder why all Parisian gendarmes are after this monster? Perhaps, because of some darks deeds that this creature of abyss committed. Hmm? Surely, your mother or auntie will be mad when they discover such a visitor side by side with their turtle dove?"
The girl shrugged under his heavy look, "I have neither mother nor aunt... Well, I do, but... it so happened... they are away from me now... In any case, nobody will be angry, I am my own mistress and do whatever I like. This is my home and you are welcome to stay. At least, until the police stops searching for you."
The Phantom smiled sardonically, "I don't think they will stop all that soon." "Oh, you won't believe how forgetful they can be," said the girl. "So do stay."
Again, it felt odd, like a dream. And not a happy dream or even a nightmare, but a heavy, absurd, exhausting dream that accompanies a malady. Was it this mad swirling night, or her farewell, or the unreasonable venture outside of his lair? Maybe he would wake up tomorrow, and his angel would sing for him again and again, and music would blend their souls forever, the world without end... The girl kept chatting reassuringly, but he was submerged deep into his own thoughts and paid no attention.
"...And now, will monsieur let me apply some medicine to his face?" This remark brought him back to senses.
"What did you say?"
"I said, I don't really have proper medicine now, but my mother once said that if you mix lard with soot, it makes a perfect remedy for burns..."
"Burns?"
"Yes, that's what the gendarmes did to your face. Burned it, right? Or did they slash it, or..."But she could not finish the list of gendarmes' possible atrocities because the Phantom momentarily picked her by her shoulders, so that her face was on the same level as his, and growled,
"Foolish girl, how dare you even think that? Few people touched my face an lived to tell the tale... Gendarmes? Ha!... No, this" he gave the girl a shake "this... abomination was with me since birth. My mother fainted when the midwife showed her this monster – her son. A scrap of clothing was my first mask... Look at me!... What do you see?"
The girl struggled to loosen his grip, but her attempts were as effective as those of a mouse struggling to escape from a panther. Then a sudden courage inspired her and she looked directly into his eyes, dark with wrath, and pronounced coolly, "What do I see? A man whom I foolishly mistook for a gentleman. Now kindly put me down."
The Phantom was ready for screams and pleas, but not for this scornful remark. The girl spoke to him like a lady of the house would to a footman. What a nerve in such a sparrow! He put the girl down, rather roughly, and she did not run away from her attacker, but stood before him, still as a mannequin. This girl was a box of riddles. They stood for a few seconds, gazing at each other as if in surprise. The Phantom was the first to break the spell of silence, "I beg you pardon, mademoiselle, I lost control. I must leave at once."
"No, stay. Where will you go? The night is cold and lonely. In a night like this one wants to be at home, sitting by blazing fire and chatting a friend or family. Please, stay. I'm not angry."
"I have neither home nor family. My only friend I lost. I must go lest I hurt you again, unintentionally or willingly."
The girl looked at him with sadness. It was amazing how quickly her moods changed. She continued with even more persuasion, "But the police is looking for you. They will catch you if you venture out. Just stay tonight and leave tomorrow."
"You don't understand..." he began, but was interrupted by her. "I cannot let you go, I'll never forgive myself if I do," the strange girl said . "I promise I'll not bother you. Look how weary you are, monsieur. Just stay."
He should have left, but her pleading voice reminded him of Christine, begging her angel to reveal himself.
"All right, mademoiselle, I'll stay, if that's what you wish. But you are playing with fire."
"Thank you, I knew you would not refuse. You need to sleep now – you are so tired. Take off your cloak – I'll hang it over the chair." He reluctantly took off the cloak. Almost suddenly he felt that he was weary indeed, after all the events of the night, yet he made his best to hide the fatigue from the strange child.
"You may sleep in the bed, monsieur," offered the girl. The Phantom, to his great dismay, felt his face was getting hot, and he deeply regretted the absence of a mask. Perhaps, making paper flowers was not the only occupation of his hostess.
"But if I sleep in your bed," he started cautiously, "where will you sleep?"
"In the arm-chair," said the unabashed girl. "Don't you worry, I'll be comfortable. You are tired, so go sleep."Then she sat at the table, moved the candle closer, and started sewing, as if everything was perfectly normal.
The Phantom did not like her motherly tone, but he felt mortally tired, so he lay down in the bed, needless say, without undressing. It was strange – to be in bed at night, but it was even more strange to be in the bed of a woman whom he met ten minutes ago. Whose name he did not now. Yet soon he was asleep. Somewhere near dawn a strange sound woke him up. As the Phantom opened his eyes, he could see in the dusk a little kneeling figure: slightly trembling, the girl was muttering prayers under her breath. Her quiet "ora pro nobis" lulled him back to sleep. Then Cristine came to him, smiling seductively, "I returned, mon maitre." He asked in disbelief, "Is that really you, Cristine? You came back, you will not disappear like a wisp of fog?" She gave out a soft laugh and started singing, as sweetly as a Peri.
