Chapter 5: Lessons, and a Dismissal
Meg was an apt pupil, and the Phantom was inclined to liken her to a sponge. Each instruction he gave, she took immediately. It rather reminded him of his boyhood, though he begged it not to. She did not posess the same talent that Christine did...but she was a much faster learner. In a single night, he had managed to teach her what it had taken Christine nearly a week to learn. Whether she could ever become as good as Christine could have been remained to be seen...but it was worth the effort, either way.
"I think we are finished for tonight," the Phantom declared, as Meg's voice lost its struggle to reach a high note for the second time that evening. The girl looked as if she'd been struck, and she protested worriedly.
"No, no, it's all right. I can do it," she insisted strongly.
"Your voice is tired, Mam'selle. If we continue tonight, we could injure it," he said simply, dismissively.
"No, please! Don't send me away!" Such was the desperation in her tone, that the Phantom took pity on her. He reached his hand out to touch her shoulder, but then thought better of it, and pretended to be adjusting a nearby candle in its holder.
"I said tonight," he said, with emphasis, "You shall return tomorrow, and we will pick up where we left off, won't we?"
The Phantom was almost embarrassed by the sudden, unabashed smile that spread like wildfire across Meg's face and twinkled like sunshine. She nodded with almost tiring enthusiasm, and, swallowing to massage her poor throat, she curtseyed to him. He couldn't hold back a chuckle, and gave her half a bow from his sitting position.
"And now to bed, Mam'selle," he insisted calmly, as he watched the young blonde take up step toward the boat. She climbed into the small watercraft and sat down before her mouth opened into a disappointed moue.
"Oh...the staff. It's broken, how will I - ?" she asked, turning her head up to look at him with reproach in her eyes.
"Oh, I expect it knows its own way by now," the Phantom replied enigmatically, waving a hand at it. He rather delighted in the surprised gasp Meg gave when the boat launched of its own accord, sliding effortlessly across the surface of the lake.
"How - ?" she began, but he'd all ready turned his back and disappeared into the darkness. She laughed, slightly, and the sound echoed around the suddenly empty cavern. As the boat disappeared around the corner, a little voice called out, "Good night!"
It reached the Phantom's ears as he was emerging from the shadow, and he rather regretted having to send her away. With a sigh, he sat back down at the keyboard of his artistic medium, and retrieved the score he'd cast off in irritation. He looked down on it now with a smile, and against his will, a deeply satisfied feeling settled in just beneath his ribs.
As Meg reached the streets, far below her, the deep and feeling strains of organ music began to play, newly inspired.
She came back the next night, and the next. A week passed, and each night Meg would make her way to the Phantom's lair, and sing until her voice ran dry, until her shoulders sagged and her eyelids drooped, and then, exhausted, would drag herself home and sleep until late afternoon. Her mother was becoming quite irritated with her, though to Meg's surprise, had made no moves to stop her. Though Meg felt bad for upsetting her mother, she knew there was little choice in the matter. The lessons had to continue.
The Phantom was a patient, if strict, tutor. He never seemed quite pleased with her efforts; indeed, he barely showed emotion at all, unless you counted his boundless passion for aural sensation. He spoke of Music as a person, no, as a God. In its shadow, all humans were mortal, petty creatures, it seemed. He was very professional, and would speak of nothing else but the music; Meg's gentle inquiries went impolitely ignored, almost resented. Soon she learned to stop making them, and focused entirely on the task at hand.
The girl was shaping up nicely, and quickly, at that. The Phantom often mused that he probably could not have asked for a more open and obedient student. Meg was incredibly sensitive to his orders, very easily moulded by his suggestions, while at the same time being inventive in her own right, and unafraid to incorporate her own ideas. It was really a delight, and the Phantom found himself looking forward to each visit; more than he cared to admit. The company was a welcome interruption from the unbroken monotony of the darkness, especially since she'd stopped asking him questions. And she never showed any inclination to remove his mask, which relieved him greatly.
As a matter of fact, it was almost dismaying how much he came to look forward to the lessons, and because of this, he took great pains not to show any undue emotion, or any at all, for that matter. He'd learned, more than once, that allowing people to tell what you thought or how you felt could only lead to problems. He couldn't allow these lessons to turn into anything more. He couldn't allow himself to get attached.
But as he set about lighting the candles for the young girl's benefit, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. When she was gone, he could still see her smile, the one that she'd given him in the pub, that seemed so long ago. He could still hear her voice when he played the music. He could still sense her warmth behind him when he went to his bed, solitary, and slept. He was attached more firmly than he would even dare to think.
And he knew he wouldn't be able to take it much longer. He would have to do something, and soon. Unfortunately for him, that most likely meant sending her away. For good. He could not risk another Christine. Not another, God forbid, Genvieve.
Meg hurried down the dank corridor. She'd left late, despite her best efforts, and she hoped he wouldn't be cross. Meg feared and respected the Phantom as a tutor, a genius, and a magician, but she was not yet sure she trusted him as a man. Christine's warning echoed in her head, and she remembered the fear her friend had felt, just thinking about him. She remembered Joseph's face, ruddy with bloodrush, as he dangled above the as-yet oblivious dance squad. She remembered the fire.
"I'm sorry," she called quietly, as she approached her dark teacher. He turned wordlessly in his chair, and held out a fresh sheaf of parchment. She took it, unthinkingly doing now what would before have caused great suspicion. The score was completely unfamiliar to her, though it was well-thumbed. As she rifled through it, it began to dawn on her. "This is new," she said, "You wrote this."
"I did. And you shall sing it, Mam'selle Giry. I thought perhaps we would begin with the refrain. Page three, measure twenty, and - " the music began to play, and Meg obediently began to sing the notes written on the page. But she'd barely gotten to the next measure before her mentor stopped the accompaniment and corrected her. She nodded, the music began, she sang. The music stopped, the Phantom corrected her again. She nodded. The music began.
Before the end of the night, Meg was in tears. No matter what she sang, it was incorrect. She was too loud, she was too quiet, she was too crisp, she was too slurred. She had too much vibrato, she had not enough. She could not get it right, not on this most important piece. The Phantom was always critical, of course, but ever the more so when it was his own music he felt Meg was butchering. Soon his chiding turned to near-shouting, and eventually Meg was reduced to her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking in frustration.
There was a pause, as he allowed her her tears. Had he done this to Christine, too? Meg could remember seeing her friend looking drawn and pale at morning practise...had he tortured her, too, until she was little more than a soppy, sobbing bundle of nerves?
Meg's thoughts were punctuated by the sound of wood scraping against stone, though her eyes remained firmly shut. There was a small silence, interrupted only by the ex-ballerina's pathetic sobs. Then, suddenly, a hand reached out gently to stroke her arm, and she was startled nearly out of her tears. The Phantom stood before her, and the half of his face that she could see was plastered with concern. Unused to this sudden display of emotion, Meg's sobs ceased out of shock.
"No more tears," the Phantom whispered, gently, "Don't cry. We can't stop now, we've nearly got it."
"I'm tired," she sighed, and this was evinced by the yawn that claimed her mouth the way her heartsore mentor longed to, "I want to go home." Her eyes shut, and she felt her equillibrium shift. But the hand on her shoulder steadied her, and she felt a second hand brush her cheek lightly, caringly. Her stomach jumped, her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes shot open in sudden wakefulness.
"We can't stop now. One more time, Meg. Once more."
"Once more," she repeated, entranced. The touch was suddenly gone from her, and without apparently moving through the space between, the Phantom was seated again on his stool, his fingers perched over the keys. "Once more," she echoed again, sounding resigned.
"From the top, Mam'selle," he ordered gruffly, and Meg patiently let the few bars of introductory melody waft past before beginning her part. Without stopping the music, her once impatient tutor now called out instructions as she reached each part, and she adapted accordingly. As she did so, she felt her skin begin to tingle as if cold. Even she could hear the difference the Phantom's instructions made. Without his direction, the piece of music was gorgeous. With them, Meg's heart rose and sunk with each arpeggio, her skin goosefleshed and sensitive areas tingled with the incredible sensual power of the organ music combined with her vocal efforts. When the aria ended, and the last echo of the last note of the last chord had faded into muteness, the Phantom's shoulders slumped.
Cautiously, slowly, Meg approached him. Her hand tremulously inched forward until it met the cool velvet of the Phantom's coat. He turned, as if summoned by her touch, and as his face became visible, Meg saw on it a single, lonely tear, sliding down his pale flesh. A shock ran through her, and warm tendrils of ultimate flattery began to spread from each nerve like climbing vines. Gently, she reached out her hand and caressed the side of his face. With her thumb, she brushed the tear off of its course, and accosted a second that threatened to fall when the Phantom closed his eyes.
The magic of the moment lingered longer than Meg expected it to. Even after she retracted her hand, after her tutor opened his eyes. After her tutor turned from her, adjusted his coat, and cleared his throat. It lingered in Meg's heart and mind, allowing a sweet tenderness to steal over her; blissfully unaware of the heated struggle going on inside the Phantom.
As a matter of fact, this deceptive magic was only dispelled when he harshly stated, "Go now."
Meg flinched. She could not sense the barely controlled sorrow that surrounded her mentor's seemingly deflated form through her own sudden tears of surprise and heartache. And if she could have sensed it, how could she have understood such a thing? How could he send her away like that?; Heartlessly, just as if some unspoken miracle had not occured between them?
"But - " she began, plaintively, reaching out to touch him again. But the Phantom waved his hand at her angrily, batting her questing one away sharply and painfully.
"No, leave me. Don't..." he breathed in deeply, and let it out in a sigh heavy with misery, "Don't come back."
The indignant, shocked gasp that emitted from Meg's small throat sliced into the tender flesh of her teacher's burdened heart. But no, he wouldn't let this happen, not again. If something went wrong...how could he trust her not to hurt him? And more importantly, how could he trust himself not to hurt her? He would not, absolutely would not risk betraying the woman who saved his young life by possibly harming her daughter.
"There will be no more lessons," he growled, letting his massively heavy heart drag his shoulders down, and he fell forward into the wood of the organ, "Go home."
There was a long silence, and Meg's chest felt tight, as if she were suddenly ill. But she was her mother's daughter, and in the face of such negative adversity, part of her stood strong. "No," she said, simply.
The Phantom stiffened in shock, though he did not turn to face her. It was the first time she had ever disobeyed him, ever. Part of him was inclined to be proud of her bravery, but most of him was inclined to chastise her stupidity.
"No?" he asked, and the tone in his voice was dangerous. Meg knew she was treading on unstable ground, but she was determined to take a stand, however erratic her footing may be. She would not be ejected without ceremony.
"No," she repeated, her voice beginning to waver, "I won't go home. I won't leave." There was an unspoken 'you,' at the end of her sentence, but in his ire and torture, the Phantom could not sense it.
"Would you rather die?" the Phantom asked, his voice reaching a new level of gravelly, but alluring, baritone. The comment was almost off-handed, but fear flickered in Meg's eyes nevertheless, and she took a tiny step backward, subconsciously, as the man chuckled mirthlessly.
"No," she whispered, though it went without saying.
"Then leave!" The words had all the emotion of a shout, but they seemed to come from lungs too weary to emit a proper cry. Indeed, the Phantom's shoulders were drifting closer to the floor with every second, as if he no longer posessed the strength to sit up properly. Obeying some built-in maternal instinct, Meg rushed forward to keep the man from sliding off of his seat. But the moment her hands touched him, he pushed her back with a deceptive strength that sent her careening into a wall. "You tire me, girl!" he shouted, and this time it really was a shout, "I am sick of the sight of you! Leave now, or face the consequences! If you think I am joking, ask your friend Genvieve!"
He spat the name at her, and not for the first time in his rant did Meg's unhappy breath catch in her throat as a strangled sob. Dealt a mighty blow, Meg stumbled backward, her feet tangling themselves in the velvet laid across the stone, overturning unlit candles and mussing up discarded scores of music. But still the Phantom chased her, shouting such unpleasant things that her heart felt rent into thousands of useless shards.
"Leave me alone!" he cried, his voice breaking in its shrill harshness, "Let me die in peace, torment me no longer! Let me die alone, as I was meant to!"
Meg tripped and fell forward into the boat, splashing some of the foul water up onto herself, and desperately scrabbled for the rudely carved replacement staff. She tried, weakly and falteringly, to row herself away from shore, from the shouting ogre of the Phantom, sobbing loudly and ashamedly in the darkness. Even before the boat had exited through the opened portcullis, which showered Meg with a curtain of the slimey green liquid, the candles were being rapidly extinguished, as if by magic. Behind her, the portcullis slammed shut with such force that a sizeable wave came forward, propelling her craft ever faster to the exit.
Genvieve!
"He is wearing a black cloak. You will not see his face."
She'd seen the porcelain shards in the alley, and now there was no doubt in her mind as to the peculiar shape of some of them. Come to think of it, she'd even led the man to his seat. Beyond that, he'd propositioned her! How easily it could have been her to die, that night! Meg was in hysterics when she finally reached the above world, and not even the cool breeze could reassure her. How tempted she had been to say yes! The man's voice, his air of mystery, but more than that, his air of confusion, innocence to the social mores of men, even his distaste for coarse spirits that had set the pub to laughter...they had all endeared him to her, and she felt an immediate affinity for the dark, kindly-seeming stranger. Kindly-seeming! How deceiving looks can be!
He had even called her a sweet girl. It sounded rehearsed, but it felt genuine nonetheless. God in Heaven, she had almost said yes! She had thought it strange, at the time, that she should suddenly decide to throw away her virginity on a man in a pub who would not even show his face...but somehow when he spoke to her, it didn't seem that way at all. He'd seemed so sincere...
Genvieve! her mind screamed, And it had almost been little Meg!