A/N: Merry Christmas(in a few days)! Here's chapter 13! I've had it written for a while, but I've rewritten a bunch of stuff because I didn't like it. So, hope you enjoy! Oh, and I think I can reply to reviews through e-mail now, so I'll start doing that. Remember, any suggestions would be GREAT, and REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!
I think reviews would be a great Christmas present!
13
And In the Morning...
Excerpt from the diary of Amy Sauveur...
Well, today is the day. Father has finally given up hope for prosperity in America and is giving in to Mother's wishes. We're moving to Paris, France, in a matter of hours.
I would say I will miss my friends, if I had any. I would say I will miss the scenery, if it were pretty. I would say I will miss the country, if it were not a filthy rat hole.
No, I won't miss this place. If anything, I will be happy to get away from all my ghosts.
I...never told father what happened that night. I didn't have the heart. I couldn't hurt him like that.
And it's taken care of, anyways. I took some medicine for my...condition, and with us leaving he'll never have to know.
I can't...I don't...I will not think about it anymore.
Ha! Writing those words brings back a flood of memories.
No, it is not raining. The splotches of water on this paper are my salty tears.
But I shall dwell on it no more!
Ah, here comes Father. I must go, but I will write again when we arrive in the city.
- Amy
P.S. I wonder if I shall have my name changed to Aimée once in France?
Birds chirped happily throughout the streets of Paris, singing their simple yet elegant songs to one another. The first streaks of dawn's golden sunlight snaked over the gray Parisian rooftops, flooding through every crack and crevice until each corner was illuminated.
A flock of sparrows glided from roof to roof, their beady little eyes gazing with intensity at the lush beauty of a park below them. Each little bird chirped greetings to one another as the new day was rising. Their gazes spanned over the deserted city, catching sight of an occasional early riser shuffling out of their homes wearily.
Spreading it's wings and feeling the cool breeze ruffle it's feather, a single sparrow launched off the tip of the Eiffel Tower and glided lazily towards Notre Dam, the rest of the flock communicating their goodbye's as it left.
The sight before the loner was breathtaking.
Jagged spires jutted off the gothic-style cathedral. Glass windows had murals of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, Gabrielle, and other biblical images painted on them.
As the sun rose higher, the bells began to toll.
Bright rays of light shot out towards the clouds, giving them a golden lining. Higher in the sky, the inky dark blue of night was slowly fading into the pale blue of day. Clouds were bright colors varying from reddish-pink to beautiful violet.
The reflection of this sunrise fused with the paintings of Notre Dam, giving the gothic building a softer, more romantic look.
It was beautiful, to say the least.
Dipping it's wings to glide down lower, the little sparrow descended towards a small outcrop of trees a little ways away from the cathedral.
It began to whistle a song, a light, airy tune filled with joy and happiness, not the slightest bit of real life's pain entering into the pure, sweet melody.
About to land in the lush, green trees, a sudden gust of wind pushed the little creature further down, onto the sidewalk below.
It jumped back up, unharmed, but ruffled it's feathers in annoyance.
A sickening smell entered it's beak, and it turned it's head towards the source. Jumping towards the lump laying on the ground, the little bird fell into a puddle of thick liquid, soaking it's plain brown feathers in the substance.
It sniffed the strange liquid, a fear caused by instinct entering it's gaze. Looking once more towards the lump, the sparrow let out a shrill squawk of terror after recognizing the face of a human a few inches away from itself.
The bird shot into the air, the harsh red color of blood forever staining it's wings.
Stepping towards the body, two young men garbed in rags and carrying a pistol each stared down at the man laying dead before them.
"Humph. A shame, really. Could've used all the help we could get."
The other man, younger than the first, whistled low and motioned for him to go over there.
"Hey, Rick, lookit this!"
A small smile crept over Rick's features as he looked down at the body of a second man, this one dressed in fine silk and expensive clothing with a decorative rapier still tied around his waist.
"'Lotta good that sword did 'em, huh?"
The younger man laughed and kicked the body, rolling it over with his foot to reveal a puddle of blood seeping out of a gash in the heart.
Both whistled at this, and gazed over at the other body dressed in rags much like their own.
"Good aim," Rick mumbled, then bent to untie the sword. "Grab what ya' can, Jon."
Jon shrugged and strode back towards the peasant's body. "Ah, I don't want their filth. You can keep it."
Chuckling, Rick nodded and finished gathering up an assortment of coins he found in the nobleman's pocket.
Then he walked over towards the other man and stood there, both looking from one body to the next, until Jon broke the silence.
A grim smile spread over his features and he laughed quietly.
"I don't see the difference between us, rich and poor. Noble blood looks just the same as peasant to me!"
With a hardy laugh, the two disappeared down the street.
Leah yawned lazily and stretched out her legs, leaning her back into the warmth behind her.
Strange, her bed wasn't near any of the walls in the room.
And none of those walls felt quite so warm.
Opening her eyes slightly, she clamped them back shut in an instant as the sharp brightness of the dormitory penetrated her gaze.
Grumbling slightly, she tried to turn her head, but realized their was a strange weight keeping it from turning.
Trying once more, the girl's lids parted slowly, her vision blurry at first as she tried to adjust to the light.
Two black towers seemed to jut out of the ground on her left and right sides, and the cots surrounding her bed seemed taller than usual.
As her vision cleared, Leah noticed someone motioning towards her, and squinted her eyes to see who it was.
Kayla!
What did she want, though?
The bright blue eyes of that pale-faced girl were widened considerably, and she was pointing straight at Leah, golden locks tumbling all about her face as she shook her head.
Seeing perfectly now, Leah made as if to get up, but Kayla tossed her hands in the air and shook her head vigorously.
'Don't move,' she mouthed, pointing once again towards Leah.
She tried to cock her head in confusion, but once again that weight prevented her from moving.
Annoyed now, the ballerina looked over her shoulder to find the source of her immobility...
...and froze.
Her bright blue eyes stared straight ahead, and a glowing white mask stared back.
Her senses were flooded with the memory of last night.
Her daring to walk over towards the Phantom.
Them talking.
Him holding her.
He shifted slightly, and Leah straightened up, sitting stock-still in his embrace.
What would happen if he woke up?
Would he blame her for this happening?
Would he be...gentle, like he nearly was the night before?
Leah could feel him take a deep breath under her, his lips releasing the hot air onto her neck and making her shiver.
Feeling her movement, the Phantom's grip tightened around her waist.
Looking up, she noticed that Celine, too, was watching with a fearful look on her face.
Leah felt more movement behind her and squeezed her eyes shut, realizing that the Opera Ghost was finally waking up.
Two amber slits were seen first by Kayla and Celine, which widened into golden orbs. When he looked down, those orbs widened into dinner plates, then, after a few moments, turned into slits once again.
"Girl," he growled quietly, his voice strict yet somehow soothing. "Open yours eyes, I know you're awake."
Leah's eyelids snapped apart and she turned her head to face the mask just a few inches away.
"I-I'm sorry -"
He silenced her with a wave of his hand, rolling his eyes in the process.
"Get up."
He shuffled slightly and was about to lift up when a voice stopped him.
"It's the Phantom of the Opera!" shouted La Sorelli, clamping one slender hand over her mouth after the words were out.
Her eyes were widened in terror, and one hand automatically clamped over a neck full of bruises.
Sighing quietly - though Leah heard, as she was right up against him - the Opera Ghost pulled both him and the girl up to a standing position, then stalked a few steps in the screaming Prima Ballerina's direction.
"It would be wise to stay quiet while in my presence, mademoiselle. I would hate to see you getting hurt once again."
His tone of voice sent a chill up Leah's spine, and she instinctively took a step away from the source.
The Phantom took notice of this and whirled around to face her.
What he had felt last night with the girl frightened him. It wasn't love - or, at least, he didn't believe it was love, as he had never felt that feeling before - but there was something there. Kindness? Sympathy? Friendship?
Call it what you must, but it was emotion besides anger towards another human being.
He had, oddly enough, enjoyed the girl's company last night. It was soothing, challenging, different.
He didn't want it to go away.
He wouldn't let it go away!
"You think you can sleep with me and then run off in the morning?" His gaze flickered towards Amy for a moment as he sent her a cold look.
By now the rest of the corps de ballet were awake, and their eyes widened at this news.
Leah, one of them, had spent the night with the Phantom of the Opera!
"N-n-no!" the ballerina stuttered, taking another step back in fear. This was the first time she had faced the ghost's wrath, and the blood-thirsty look she saw in his eyes unnerved her quite a bit.
"Liar!" he snarled, then lunged for her, grabbing onto her wrist with an iron grip sure to leave bruises.
"Well, you cannot run away," he continued, yelling now.
He turned around, dragging Leah with him, and slit his golden eyes at everyone in the room dangerously.
"None of you can!"
"Stop this!" Amy shouted, jumping out of her cot and looked straight at the tall shadow before her. The longer she looked, the more nervous she became, so her eyes drifted towards the floor in a matter of seconds.
"We do not belong to you, Phantom. We're not your slaves. We are human beings who have feelings and emotions, and the right to leave you whenever we want to."
"You have no rights!" shouted the ghost, letting go of Leah and stepping towards Amy.
Staring at him dumbly for a moment, the black-haired girl shook her head and slit her eyes.
"We have every right, you emotionless monster!"
Golden orbs widened in surprise, then, in one swift stride, the Phantom had Amy caught in his arms, holding her against his chest as she struggled to get free.
She could feel the laughter that escaped his lips vibrating up and out his throat.
"Emotionless?" he asked with incredulity. "I feel anger..."
He paused and ran a hand slowly down her arm, causing the girl to shiver. "...and I feel lust."
"What about love?" whispered the ballerina, finally giving up her hopeless struggle.
"Never." The ghost grinned, as if that were a good thing.
In rage, Amy shouted out: "Beast! I'll bet your own mother didn't love you."
The grip on her tightened - if that were possible - and everyone could see the Phantom visibly tense up.
"Never speak of my mother." His voice was the harshest any of the corps de ballet had ever heard it. The haunting tone made their skin crawl.
Fear surged throughout Amy's body, but a grin spread across her features.
"Ha, I was right! She hated you, didn't she?" The girl knew her words stung, but it was her only defense at the moment, and in her panicky state she didn't have time for compassion.
The Phantom's eyes glazed over and Amy could feel him shudder at a terrible memory.
"You little beast!" she shouted, beating the boy repeatedly with a thick branch of oak wood. "I hate you, you monster! I hate you! I should have drowned you when you were a baby! I HATE YOU!"
Blood soaked through the child's thin shirt, chunks of flesh completely gone from his back.
"Stop. Please stop, mother," he begged pitifully.
The blows became harsher, more frenzied.
"Never call me that, beast! Never!"
"M-mo -"
"NO!"
"Please!"
"I should kill you now! I should kill you!"
But she didn't.
He would have rather died, though.
That night was the last time he called her mother.
It was also the last time he had ever begged.
Shutting his eyes closed, the ghost tossed Amy forward as he himself staggered back.
"Do you want to die, girl?" he said after regaining his balance. "Because you sure act like you do..."
His hand slipped under his cape and pulled out a long line of rope. He might have been bluffing, trying to frighten the girl into submission, but the strange glint in his eyes proved he was a merciless killer and that a girl - a mere girl! - would not stain his concious.
La Sorelli, out of fearful impulse, jumped back as far as she could, successfully running herself into a cot and flipping said cot onto it's side.
As if the clatter and noise she made were the cue, the Phantom flicked that thin piece of catgut and sent it sailing through the air towards Amy.
In the last seconds, though, something unexpected happened.
It surprised the Phantom.
It surprised the whole corps de ballet.
And it definantly surprised Celine.
Little Celine, the girl with light brown hair and large doe eyes; Little Celine, the fearful girl who cowered under opposition; Little Celine, the helpless girl who hid behind those stronger than herself; Little Celine grew a backbone.
Pushing Amy out of the way, Celine found herself caught by the Ghost's deadly punjab lasso.
The rope tightened instantly around her neck, but it wasn't enough to cut off her air supply.
She didn't know how long that would last, though, so she quickly spun around to face the Opera Ghost.
"P-Please, Monsieur," she said weakly, the rope slowly beginning to tighten with every breath she took. "Please d-don't h-hurt them. T-They're m-my friends."
"Foolish girl," he replied with venom, taking slow strides forward while still keeping the rope tight. "The Phantom of the Opera takes mercy on no sniveling child."
The rope tightened again, and this time Celine couldn't breath.
"Consider this justice on all the crimes you have done in the past, whore."
"I'm no whore," she whispered raspily, even that small effort burning her throat. Tears stung the edges of her eyes and, though she tried her hardest not to let them fall, they poured down her cheeks like rainwater.
"Then you are a liar, for not stepping out of line at the stage."
"I-I w-w-was s-scared..." Celine sobbed out; her last words.
"Atone for your crimes," the Ghost spoke suddenly, and the rope began to slowly loosen. "Come with..." He stopped for a moment, remembering the night with Amy. He couldn't rape a girl, he just couldn't bring himself to do it.
"Come with me...willingly. No chains, no ropes, no bindings. Obey me without question, child, and I shall spare all of your friends."
If he wasn't forcing her, it wasn't rape, right?
"Celine, no," Amy broke in, turning to the girl trapped by the Phantom's rope.
But it was too late.
Celine had made up her mind.
"Yes..." she spoke, letting out the tiniest of sobs, and bowed her head.
Now standing directly in front of her, the Phantom lifted his punjab off her neck and coiled it around his hand.
"Good," he said, then swiftly strode over to a darkened corner of the room. He dissappeared, but his voice was still heard.
"Come," the darkness seemed to say, like a demon beckening her into hell.
Without question, the little ballerina followed, her head bowed in submission as teardrops fell from her eyes.
Withoout goodbyes, the corps de ballet watched as the girl faded into darkness, the shocked look on their faces mirroring the shock in their souls.
And just like that, Celine was gone, the only sound indicating her exit being the tiny click of one of the Ghost's many trap doors shutting.