VII. Don't let them find you

"Did you really think it would scare me?"

"Hah! Just listen to the way your voice trembles!"

"It doesn't!" Meg protested. "That's just what you think!"

"Of course it does!" the Phantom insisted, grinning wickedly and poking her in the ribs repeatedly so she twitched around and squealed. "Liar! Liar! Back of your pants on fire!"

Meg almost howled with laughter. "Aaargh! You bloody jerk!"

"Language, my dear", the Phantom grinned. "I bet your mother would box your ears for it." He did not cease poking her. "Do you know what happens to naughty little girls who swear? God hears everything you say, and is much, much aggrieved by it, and all the little angels weep for you."

"Do you know what happens to mean little boys who pester little girls?" Meg choked out, trying hard to fend him off. "The big bad devil with the trident comes for – eeek, will – you – stop – that?" She was rolling around on the floor by now.

The Phantom was over her on his hands and knees, still smirking, but then his expression changed, and he mimicked the one of a scared little child, with round eyes and a pouting little mouth. The white mask, normally so mysterious and intimidating, had never looked stranger on him. "What'th a twident?"

Meg clutched her sides, snorting uncontrollably. He was so perfectly silly! And this was the man before whom the entire Opera Populaire had trembled?

Very abruptly, as if he had read her thoughts, the Phantom withdrew, sitting down with his back against the chamber wall, his arms wrapped around his knees, "I'm forgetting myself", he stated, and at once his voice was cold and emotionless once more, and nothing of his former mirth remained on his features.

Disappointed, Meg sat up as well. She did not want him to stop. For weeks she hadn't laughed that hard, and she had enjoyed his being so close. Besides, despite twitching around on the floor, she had gotten a few glimpses down the front of his shirt while he had been kneeling over her, and it had been a rather nice view, in her opinion. "Please go on", she said, even though the once more distant look on his face told her it was useless. "I won't tell anybody."

He sighed, his shoulders heaving and settling with it. "You're so very much like your mother when she was your age", he said softly, gazing at the air above her head, as if lost in thought. "You remind me so much of her that it brings up things long forgotten." What was it in his voice, making it so gentle and distant at the same time? Sadness? A longing for a time long past?

"Did you… fool around with her?" Meg asked shyly, reluctant to disturb that calm, cold façade which was his face.

"All the time." For a moment a smile lingered around the corners of his mouth, but was gone in an instant. "Those days are over now. Nothing can bring them back. Not even you, combined with your mother's memory." Dusting off his knees, he rose to his feet. "Come on, I want to be finished with this. Don't stand in the way."

Getting up in turn, Meg wanted to point out that she had been sitting, not standing, but his sudden change of mood made her rethink this idea and decide against it. Silently she got out of his way as he picked up the corpse by the scruff of its neck and dragged it out of the boat, depositing it on the dry stone floor, just where they had been wrestling playfully earlier. To Meg, the message was clear enough, and sharp as the sting of a needle. He seemed to accept her in some way, probably because of her mother, but he did not want her to come too close. Although being cheered up so he could forget all his misery was something he needed very much in her opinion, he refused to let her. He barred her out of his life, out of his solitude.

"You didn't yet tell me why you've come", he said, and it was clear that this was not a question. It was a demand.

"I wanted to help you", she replied, because there was nothing else that came to her mind.

"I don't need your help", he said coldly, kicking Lionel's body so that it rolled over and lay on its back, empty eyes staring up at the ceiling through the grey gloom. It seemed to Meg that the Phantom's eyes were equally empty now.

"I didn't want you to be alone in the darkness", she tried again. Couldn't he just see that there was someone who cared about him? That she could be friend, if he would just let her?

"I'm always alone." Here he suddenly hesitated, and his eyes slid shut for a moment. When he opened them again, there was a note of urgency in his voice. "Change of plans. You must leave. Now."

No! He would not just send her away like this! "Why?"

"Because there's someone coming. Enemies. Take the boat, and continue in the direction we were going, then turn left at the first forking. You'll have to walk a bit, but it won't be far. The exit is backstage. Now go. They must not find you."

"I'm staying with you", she insisted. "I want to help you."

Suddenly he was towering over her, gripping her shoulders hard, and she froze in shock, her vision filled with the crumpled white fabric of his shirt. "I'd sooner kill you than let them have you", he growled, and she found herself trembling, knowing he meant it. "Now go. Go, curse you! I hate repeating myself."

Was this the man who had laughed with her only a minute ago? Was this the same man at all? He had been careful not to hurt her in their playful little fight, yet now he was pushing her ahead of him roughly, towards the boat, which was still smeared with the blood he had spilled earlier on. Yes, this was him, the cold, emotionless man who killed, and that jolly moment they had shared had only been a brief interlude. This was who he really was. This was the true Phantom.

Stumbling into the boat, almost slipping in a puddle of blood, she picked up the pole, feeling terribly empty inside. To think that only a short while ago she had considered him a friend… But he was nobody's friend. There was no place in his heart for friends.

"Wait." With one step he was in the boat beside her, but he did not spare a single glance for her. All he did was bend down to retrieve his cloak from where he had stored it beneath the bench, together with a bundle of other things, mostly wet clothes. Throwing it over his shoulders, he stepped out of the boat again, the cloak's velvety folds billowing around him. "Go now."

But Meg could not. Ready to push away out into the flooded corridor, she still stood looking at him, how he was standing over that only part-human corpse, like a part-human himself, so cold and distant. "What are you going to do?" she whispered.

"Face them at last." His features remained impassive, yet his eyes suddenly seemed to flash up with a searing fire. "And tear down the web of the threads of darkness, whatever the cost."

"Please be careful", she begged. "Don't let anything happen to you." But what did he care about if she was concerned or not? "My mother will be so worried about you." Maybe this was of a little more importance to him. Remembering her mother's words from only the day before – so long ago it seemed now! – she added, "Be safe."

His eyes bored into hers, cold blue wildfire. "My past is dead, and so is my future", he answered harshly. "And my present counts nothing."

"No, please." There was probably no point in pleading with him, but she tried nonetheless. "Don't throw yourself away for something that's not worth it."

Instead of a reply, he patted his trouser pocket as if looking for something, then reached inside and pulled something out, snatched her hand, pressed something small and hard into her palm and closed her fingers around it. "I'll be back for this", he said. Then he stepped back, gave her a formal, but clearly mocking bow, accompanied by a flourish of his cloak, and then he turned, and the shadows of a dry corridor swallowed him.

Slowly, breathlessly, Meg opened her hand. On her palm lay a diamond ring, glistening faintly in the darkness.