II. The Prison of my Mind

A fallen angel, and far from Heaven.

Just as his night sight, the Phantom's sense of hearing should not be underestimated. He had heard those last few words only too well. And he had silently agreed. Until a short time ago, he had been Christine's Angel of Music, but now… He had fallen so far that there was no Heaven for him anymore. Never again.

Sitting down in front of the harmonium, he played a few notes, but his heart was not in it. His world seemed so empty now, so hollow, ready to collapse like a card house any moment. The burning pain inside him had begun to dull to a weary sensation of loss, sometimes becoming gloomy lethargy, yet always ready to rise up again and overwhelm him anew. Maybe the time would come when he would finally be able to forget – or else just lie down and die. There was nothing left for him, anyway. Nothing in this world. Maybe he would be granted a new, better life in another world.

Probably not, but it did not matter. Eternal, dreamless sleep, without ever waking again, would be better than this, than endlessly tormenting himself with his mad, desperate love.

At least Christine was happy. That was a lot more important than his own feelings.

But that she had chosen such an immature little lump of slime over him… What did this boy have that he had not?

Everything, he thought bitterly. The young fool could give Christine a family, a home, a good name, all the money she wanted, a place in society… whereas he, what could he offer her? What could he truly offer her? His music, his passionate love… and a dark, damp home she would have to share with the sewer rats, between old stage props and smoking candles. Not to mention a lover who had to hide his face from the world, doomed to dwell in the shadows forever. He could not do this to her.

And still, he longed so much to have her back…

"That's just you again", he told himself, rising from his seat and wandering aimlessly along the shore, "always wanting what you can't have." His eyes were wandering as well, but without ever focusing. "There's nothing for you. Nothing, do you hear? Not a damn thing!" Picking up a piece of rock, hehurled it over the water hard, so that it hit the metal grating on the other side, bounced off it with a high, pained clang and then fell into the water with a splash.

Had he done this the night before, it occurred to him, the piece of rock would have hit that arrogant little fop. Yes, he had tied him up there, and the boy had been too surprised to truly resist. When he thought of it, his fingers twitched. How he would have enjoyed killing the whelp, him and the rest of his kind, all of them, the whole world! But in the end, he could not have done so. Not with Christine suffering so much. She would have been ready to spend the rest of her life down here with him, just to save that worthless idiot's life. But he could not have forced her to stay.

He hated himself for his own softness, and at the same time, he equally hated himself for feeling that way.

What now? It was pointless to avoid the question any longer. What should he do now? Where would he go from here? The only friend he still had left here wanted him to stay, and he assumed he would do as she wanted – not just because she wanted it, but because there simply was nowhere else to go. Or had she imagined he would knock at another opera house's door and ask if they had any use for him? Excuse me, are you by any chance looking for a Ghost? I know the business, and I don't ask for much, I'll even sleep in the cellar… Throwing back his head, he laughed, hollowly and mirthlessly. No, he would stay, he would stay until he rotted.

After all, this was his opera house.

And there was still a friend around, someone who cared at least a little. No, this did not do her justice. Someone who really cared; he had to be honest. Even though she had threatened to box his ears. Somehow it was oddly comforting, having somebody around who was still willing to box his ears while the rest wished to see him hang.

He clenched his fists. They would never see him hang!

And little Meg, of course. The girl was so very much like her mother. He had been surprised at himself, about the way he had treated her and how he had spoken to her. After all, he had never truly come face to face with her before, except when she had been a baby and her mother had allowed him to hold her for some time. But he had seen her mother in her, and her mother was a friend, so he had treated her as a friend as well. And maybe she truly would be from now on. He hoped she would. It would feel so good to have another friend.

However, he should not forget himself so much again. The way he had behaved this afternoon… From now on, he would keep a tighter check on himself. A much tighter check.

But still… he had to admit to himself that he had enjoyed her attention. All those years, he had willed himself to be strong, and now he had found what a relief it could be if he allowed himself to be weak for once.

He wished it had been Christine who had held him in her arms. Between them, she had always been the one to yield to him, but now he wished just for once to take this part, to be the one to give in to her… to be just held by her, nothing else. Maybe things would have been different if he had shown her weakness as well as strength; maybe he would have won her trust, then…

Enough of this, he scolded himself. He could not afford to be weak, even if he sometimes longed to be. "You're a complete failure", he muttered angrily. "Now go to bed, before you come up with any more stupid ideas!"

Yes, he would try to find some sleep now. Those few hours in the afternoon could hardly have been enough, and it must be late at night already outside.

Pulling off his boots and his shirt, he crawled under the blankets. It was cold down here, especially in winter, but the blankets were warm… and besides, he was lying exactly on the spot where Christine had once lain, and this was enough to keep him warm.

His mask was the last thing he took off, and he placed it on the pillow beside him. As long as he was alone, there was no need for it really, but he would have to endure his reflection in the mirrors, and he refused to. When he wore the mask, he found himself agreeing with his appearance – and so had little Meg, it seemed –, but without it… never. Knowing about his marred face was loathsome enough; he didn't have to see it all the time as well. There were some kinds of pain which never faded away.

And they made other kinds of pain only stronger. Oh, Christine…

Normally, he would have checked on her before he fell asleep. Over the years, he had become so used to touching her mind that he could do it from down here, without having to see her. Wherever she was, he had learned to pinpoint her exact location in the entire opera house, and her dreams were open to him from anywhere in the building. Every night, he had entered her dreams, made sure she slept peacefully, mentally caressed her, chased away her nightmares. Only then had he allowed himself to fall asleep, savouring the feeling of her closeness as he drifted off into dreams himself.

He was still aware of her now, but she was a lot further away, so the feeling of her was very faint. But it was there clearly. He could have found her by just following his feeling of her.

Could she still feel him as well? She had been aware of his presence, of course, and while it had slightly frightened her during the day, she had clearly enjoyed his watching over her at night. There had been no fear in her then, only trust… trust in an angel who was no angel, but a demon from hell.

Almost automatically, he reached out towards her as he closed his eyes. Her mind was still open to him; he doubted there was any way to deny him access. Over a greater distance, it was less easy to read her, but he knew her well enough to still be able to. She was still awake, but close to falling asleep, and she was tired, but happy, yet at the same time, she was… sad? No, this could not be, he was imagining things. He concentrated once again, but the feeling remained.

He would have to check on her, he told himself. Stay out of sight, watch her, make sure she was well. These cellars, these dungeons might be his prison, but he was not confined to them. She would probably be able to sense his presence, but after some time, when she saw that he meant no harm to her, she might once more find comfort in his being close.

Don't be a fool, he growled at himself, you gave her every reason to hate you!

But he would not give up hope. He would make sure she was happy, and if he found she was not, that insolent, slimy son of a monkey was going to pay for it.

Reaching out to her tenderly, he began caressing her the way he had always done. Maybe he would hide from the world for some time, pretend to be dead, put a wall between him and the rest of them… No, not a wall, because he would still be watching. A veil, this was more like it. But whatever he did, he would still be there for her.

Slowly, the pattern of her mind began to change, until he felt that she was peacefully asleep now. He smiled. Old habits were so hard to break… And now it was time for another old habit. Curling up, he let Christine's presence fill him as he, too, slowly began to drift over into dreams, a lot fainter than usual, but still strong enough to make him feel warm inside.

Completely caught up in this private moment of bliss, he did not realize that a pair of luminous green eyes was watching him from afar.