I promised I'd try to get another one up today- here it is. :) Happy New Year to all!
VIII
.
The road they traveled remained absent of horse-drawn vehicles or pedestrians, though a few poverty-ridden souls huddled around a fire under the eaves of a decrepit building. A steady fall of snow dusted the muddy ground and the rooftops of the tall pathetic housing structures, two of which leaned toward one another like old, arthritic men.
The Phantom rarely left the opera house. When he did, he did not travel in this direction. Throughout his journeys with the Spirits, he'd felt neither the chill nor the heat from his surroundings, but now he shivered from the cold. He drew his velvet robe close about him and tucked his bare hands beneath his armpits, wishing he'd at least retrieved his cloak and gloves before leaving the lair.
"Where in blazes are we?" he groused, though certainly this godforsaken place was far removed from the fires of Hades. He cupped his hands in front of his mouth and tried to breathe warmth onto them.
"You would not be familiar with this place. The destitute make their homes here."
He sent her a sharp look. The quality of her tone seemed to suggest he was at fault for the welfare of the populace. A dirty child in rags, a basket over her arm, stood on the stoop before a door. Her cheerless blue eyes appeared to look straight through him, and he panicked before remembering she couldn't see him.
"It would seem that your spirit of joy and goodwill has not visited this locale," he said dryly, "though you claim such expressions flow universally throughout Christmastide, and manage to find even the stingiest of hearts and situations."
She smiled. "Good. You were listening."
He grumbled under his breath about the impudence of some spirits. "You have yet to present me with an explanation of your oversight in this matter."
"I do, don't I?"
Her comportment made the Phantom uneasy and he averted his gaze to the dwelling near which they now stopped. He caught sight of another small child sitting on a bowed wooden stoop. She clutched a patched cape around her tiny body, her gaze expectant as she peered past the Phantom as though waiting for someone special to appear.
"I am but Spirit," the Ghost murmured from beside him. "I can do little if others refuse to listen. If they choose to bar with walls of silence and apathy those in suffering, and close their eyes to the deprived souls in the world around them, I am given no opportunity to act." She drifted closer, peering intently into his face. He would not look at her but kept his gaze fixed on the wan child. "I influence the hearts of men to reach out with charity toward their fellow men, but if they choose not to listen, then all will suffer. Wealthy or impoverished, those hale in body or ailing - none are unaffected by the crass choice of indifference."
The Phantom hardened his jaw and his heart, once more experiencing a complete loss of control regarding the situation. "Who is she?" His words came clipped.
The Spirit looked toward the girl, her expression now gentle. "A pretty child, is she not?"
From beneath a cloud of unkempt but clean hair the color of russet, huge dark blue eyes scanned the area beyond him. An expression of dismay swept across the child's face, before she dropped her gaze to her lap. He didn't have long to wonder about the reason for her change in disposition.
"Well lookie there, gents - it's the little cripple," a boy's voice called out from behind the Phantom, and he turned to look. "What hole did you crawl out of, pigeon?"
A trio of hooligans, no more than twelve years of age, approached the child. "Like as not a rat hole, as tiny as she be," another boy said, and they all laughed.
One of them scooped up a fistful of snow, packed it hard and threw it with a savage thrust. It hit the girl squarely on the forehead. Lifting her fingers to rub the pink spot, she ducked her head lower into her cloak. She remained as if turned to stone while the boys continued to taunt her.
The Phantom gave a disapproving grumble. "Why does she not respond - at least tell them to leave her be? Has she no tongue in her head?" He doubted such a command would faze her tormenters; she looked years younger than the bullies. But surely she had some fight in her!
"She has learned that reacting in kind is of no benefit, and offering them the response of silence will cause them to retreat."
The Spirit's words seemed to chide the Phantom, and he felt they were meant for him.
"She is too small to do harm in any event." His rebuttal sounded weak, and the slight smile the Spirit gave irked him.
"You there! You despicable little worms - get away from her!" A heavyset woman lumbered into view, swatting evergreen fronds at the trio like great green whips. The young hooligans fled, scattering like mice.
The girl's face brightened and she held out her arms. "Maman! You came home."
"Of course I came, Poppet." With the threat of the boys gone, the woman's manner gentled, and she scooped her daughter up in her arms, hugging her close. "Did you think I wouldn't? Where is Grandmere? And why are you sitting outside in this freezing cold? You'll catch your death, child."
"I was waiting for you." The girl wrapped her arms tightly around her mother's neck, pressing her cheek to hers. "I knew you'd come. You wouldn't miss Christmas."
The Phantom stared at the plump and dowdy redhead, thinking he'd seen her before, but that was impossible.
"Where is your crutch?" the woman asked.
The girl pointed near the stoop, and he watched the woman bend down so the child could retrieve a crude stick.
Still holding her daughter in her arms, the woman whisked through the door, and the Spirit motioned that he must follow.
The room they entered boasted little: a worn sofa, a table and two chairs, a small cot tucked away in a far corner, shielded from the room by a faded curtain. On the sofa in front of a small hearth and dying fire, an elderly woman snored softly, a faded image of the younger woman who held the girl.
With care, the plump redhead settled the child onto a chair and set before her a hunk of charcoal and a brown wrapper that once covered a parcel. "There you go, Poppet. Draw a pretty picture for Maman while I talk to Grandmere, hm?"
"I'll draw an angel, shall I, Maman?" the child asked with a smile.
"You do that, cherie."
At her mention of angels, the Phantom eyed the Spirit with barely concealed irritation. "Is there a reason we have come to this pitiful dwelling?"
"In life, there exists a reason for all things, Monsieur."
He narrowed his eyes at her words. As always they seemed to contain a hidden meaning he felt certain he would not appreciate. He turned upon hearing the woman on the sofa awaken.
"You're here." She rose to a sitting position. "Didn' think you'd make Christmas."
"You've been drinking," the redhead said in an angry whisper as she sat down beside her.
"Non, but I will if you don' tell me what's been keeping you, daughter. Where have you been?"
The fight left the woman, her shoulders slumping. "I was discharged two days ago and have been looking for work ever since."
"Discharged!"
"Shh!" She darted a look over her shoulder at the child, who sat engrossed in drawing her picture, before returning her attention to her mother. "Madame told me to take my things and go. Like as not, he put the flea in her ear to do it!"
"He? One of the managers?"
"Non, they do not intimidate her. They do not yet understand the workings of the theater, and few pay them any mind. It's him, I'll warrant who done this to us - the Opera Ghost. Madame told me she had orders from her superior to sack me. An' he's the only one she calls by such a high and lofty name."
The Phantom inhaled a hissing breath through his teeth, at once realizing the identity of the woman. He cast a sharp glance at the Spirit, wondering what reason she had for bringing him to the pathetic lodging of the opera house's former seamstress.
"Your work is exceptional," the older woman argued. "They're fools not to see it! What did you do?" she added suspiciously when she noted her daughter's downcast eyes. "You must've done something to cause them to give you the boot."
"I passed many a night making a coat for Tina, from the wool of a costume left over," she mumbled, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Madame Giry caught me. I'd already received a warning about my tardiness in delivering a costume."
"But you lived there so you could get his impossible demands delivered on time!" The elderly woman cast an uncertain glance the child's way. "What will you do now?" She lowered her voice.
"I don't know." The former seamstress dropped her head into her palm.
"Instead of gallivanting about collecting greenery," her mother cast a disparaging glance to the lengths of garland, "you should have spent time lookin' for work."
"And what manner of man would hire a seamstress on Christmas Day?"
"Mayhap you'll find work to bring home and watch after the child. I cannot continue carin' for her; I'm old and tired, Dulscia; I fear my time to meet my Maker isn't long in coming. And if Tina doesn't soon get the help she needs -"
"Stop it, Maman," the child's mother wearily insisted, as though she'd heard the lecture many times. Her expression grew determined. "I'll find a way to take care of all of us. But I'll need a good job to pay for the special doctor Tina needs. Bringing home basting and sewing won't accomplish that." She raised her voice a notch. "It's him that done this to us! He's the cause of our quandary. He cares nothing for anyone but himself, hides away only God knows where, as if afraid to show his face - and brings a soul nothing but grief and troubles for all the long hours and hard work. Always issuing his impossible demands! He ordered that Miss Daae's gown be completed in three days for her singing debut - three days! Can you imagine?"
"Maman?" The child lifted her focus from her work. "Who are you talking about?"
"No one, Teeninsey." The young woman's expression underwent a dramatic transformation as, all smiles, she moved toward the child. She laid her hand atop the girl's head while looking down at her work. "Why Poppet, that's lovely. You draw the prettiest angels."
"Were you talking about the Ghost, Maman?"
"Ghost?"
"The one that lives at the opera house." At her mother's surprised expression, the girl explained, "I've heard you and Grandmere speak of him some nights when you were home to visit."
"Well now." Agitated, the woman snatched up the garland from over the back of the chair. She began to tuck it in areas of the room. "You mustn't worry your sweet little head about the likes of that tyrant. He's no ghost, only pretends to be. He's nothing but a man. A very bad man. It's due to his interference I've not been able to visit much, though I suppose now that will change."
Tina studied her picture. "He does bad things?"
"Oui, very bad things."
"Maybe he's only sad and wishes someone would care." The child again picked up the charcoal in her small fingers and began drawing on the paper.
"What?" Her mother stopped fluttering about and looked at her strangely. "Why should you say such things, Poppet?"
"I think sometimes people do bad things 'cause they're all alone and think no one likes them. He must be sad and lonely if he hides from people, like you said." She looked up from her picture, innocence shining in her blue eyes. "I shall pray for the Ghost, that an angel brings him a friend. I think he must need one very badly. Will that be all right, Maman?"
Her mother shook her head in disbelief and hunched down to wrap one arm around the girl's frail shoulders, hugging her tightly. "It's more than the likes of him deserves. You're too good, mon Poppet. It is you who are the angel."
The Phantom stared at the intuitive child in awe, moisture welling in his eyes.
"Little ones, whose souls rest at the very threshold of heaven, often perceive truths beyond the knowledge of other mortals," the Spirit explained softly. "Often they alone can forgive when others cannot."
"I know the name you withhold," he whispered, shutting his eyes as a tear slipped down his cheek. "It is Mercy."
"At last you have come to understand, Monsieur," she said with a satisfied smile. "But the question remains, what will you do with the knowledge?"
"What ails the child?" He changed the subject to the moment at hand, uncomfortable with the Spirit's prompting.
"An accident twisted her leg; her heart never has been strong. She needs special care, care even a mother with an abundance of love cannot give her."
He looked directly at the Spirit. "Will she live?"
"Oh, but Monsieur, she is of little significance. The world is full of children such as she."
Reminded of his earlier disparaging words, he grimaced, clenching his teeth.
"Will she live?"
"It is not for me to uncover the future," the Spirit answered, her voice fading at the same time her dazzling image began to dissolve into mist, "but rather for you to decide the present course you will undertake."
"What does my present course have to do with -"
Before he could finish his question, the Spirit faded completely from view and the Phantom found himself staring at the rock wall of his lair.
xXx
