A/N: If you have read this far… why, thank you. It is a sure compliment. I hope I'm managing to keep the Phantom in character and trying to get the plot somewhere… kind of amusing, really, that this is where it begins, per say. I hope you enjoy it.
And, apologies for the ending… until next Monday, if you can survive that long. I hope so…
As always, I own this not.
Chapter VIII: Prelude
After a long moment, the Phantom lifted his head, half-turning it towards the frozen Raian without meeting his gaze. "My apologies, Monsieur," he said at length, looking away. "It is only… I had written that music for her… I did not expect it to be played…" he drew a long, shuddering breath, pushing himself to his feet.
"I… I understand," Raian managed to say, attempting to control the slight tremor in his voice.
The Phantom barked a short, bitter laugh. "Had I not heard what I did but a moment ago, I would name you liar, Raian." He paused, glancing coldly at his guest. A chill ran through Raian at the sudden change from fire to ice. "As it is," the Phantom continued, picking up the pole he had thrown violently away in his anger, "I could actually believe you. Fancy that." Pause. "Your sister is here."
Raian's face broke into a wide grin. "Jaqueline! At the Opera! Good sir, that is simply—" his jubilation faltered.
"Your brother is here as well." The Phantom leaned the pole against the wall and glanced over. "As manager."
Raian could only stare at him in horrified silence. The Phantom turned away, saying nothing, busying himself with whatever small tasks he had to accomplish about his underground lair he called "home".
Raian stood frozen for a long while, the only sound his harsh breathing in his ears. "How did he find her?" he asked the air, not realizing he had spoken aloud, forgetting even the silent presence of the Opera Ghost. He took a step forward, then another, and found himself pacing the edge of the lake, running one hand through his short dark hair. "Jaqueline—oh God, I would never have left you, but he was looking for me… all those weeks of running, now hiding out in this place, knowing he thinks me dead, never once wondering about you. How could I? I promised to look out for you—promised Father—so I fought for you. How did this happen?" The words barely came out, a numb whisper. Raian closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath, as if the oxygen would fuel the smoldering coals within, and with a ferocity that amazed him they leapt into flames. "God, how could you let this happen to her!" he raged suddenly, storming angrily along the route he had silently paced before, eyes snapping flames. He yelled wordlessly, taking savage pleasure in the way the discordant echoes yapped back at him.
"She was innocent of it. You should have spared her!" he shouted, suddenly, mindlessly charging—the grand piano—the music—Jaqueline—with blind hate. An instant from reaching it an astonishingly cold hand wrapped black-gloved fingers around his wrist.
Snarling in anger he spun, wrenching his arm to break the grip, but the fingers shifted with him, relentless. A second hand seized his good right shoulder and spun him deftly, twisting his arm behind his back until his shoulder knotted up with pain. A well-placed kick knocked him to his knees jarringly; the grip on his upper arm tightened and the other hand moved firmly to his shoulder. The air suddenly became close as the Phantom leaned over him.
"A wrecked home once in a day is enough," a slightly amused voice said by his right ear. "You have no idea how… difficult… it was to repair the place after the mob tore through here. Please exercise caution." Nonetheless he kept a firm grip on both arm and shoulder until he felt the young man relax under him, then slowly moved away.
Raian grimaced, trying to work the knots out of his shoulder. "How do you do that?"
The Phantom's smile was both bitter and ironic. "Fate has seen fit to give me plenty of opportunities to practice," he said dryly, offering Raian a hand to pull him to his feet. Those peculiar green eyes were cool again, appraising him silently. Raian glanced away, trying to swallow the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him more surely than the Punjab Lasso.
"A skill I wouldn't mind having," he managed to say.
"So I see." The other man studied him carefully. "Though I doubt you would willingly accept the life that comes with it—if you can call this tortured existence 'life'." Raian snorted a laugh, or choked it rather. The Phantom stepped up to him, one gloved hand tilting the other's face until their eyes met; candlelight gleamed off the single tear. The Phantom was surprised to find in that grey gaze a measure of his own hapless insanity. "Or would you?" he asked quietly. A deadly quiet.
Raian slowly stepped back. "I might," he rasped, then cleared his throat uneasily. The Phantom's unwavering gaze silently urged him on. At length Raian rather abruptly nodded. "It began twelve years ago…"
