A/N - i don't own anything to do with Danny Phantom or Beauty and the Beast
Five
They had dropped him just outside Amity Park, then flown away. He had stumbled through the deepening snow for hours, his pace slowing as he got colder and colder, and as the snow climbed higher and higher up his body.
When he finally saw the lights of the town, the only thing he wanted, the only thing he could think of – was warmth.
He staggered into the tavern, drawing countless strange looks. He shuffled numbly over to the oversized hearth, dropping from his throbbing feet to his shaking knees just in front of it and holding out his hands in pain.
The people in the tavern swapped between giving Jeremy Manson strange looks, and giving them to each other. They all knew who he was – the no good father of Philip Manson's charge, that strange girl who rarely came to town and always left a commotion in her wake.
They had been under the impression Mr. Manson had left town the previous day. So why was he back? And why had he been out in the snow so long that he was this cold?
Four boys and three girls clustered in the corner table watched the old man with amusement. One of them made a snide comment and the other six laughed cruelly.
Dash looked over once again at the blond haired man after he had finished laughing. What an embarrassment. At least his daughter was not as pathetic as he was. She sure was weird, though. He wished he didn't have to marry her, but his father had dragged him into it, and he couldn't dishonor his father like that. What would people say about the Baxter family pariah? He couldn't deal with that kind of negative attention.
He snuck a few more sideways glances at his future father-in-law – God help him – as he shivered and shook by the fireplace.
Gordon, the bartender, walked finally over to Jeremy, looking apprehensive at having to deal with the man. He stood over the elder Manson with his arms tightly folded.
"Mr. Manson? Can I help you?"
Jeremy's head snapped up, and Gordon yelped and inadvertently fell backwards a few steps. His eyes were vacant, staring, heavily ringed. They looked wild and dangerous, but more panicked.
"My Sammy," the man moaned painfully.
"What?" Gordon was recovering from his shock. "What did you say?"
Jeremy suddenly leapt up, grabbing the surprised bartender by the arms and yelling into his face. "He has my Sammy! He has her!"
"Who has Samantha, brother?"
Jeremy's attention snapped to the disheveled man walking towards him from the bar. Recognizing his brother, he jumped towards him, falling to his knees in front of him, tears streaking his face.
"He's taken her, Philip! That madman has taken her prisoner!"
"Who, Jeremy?"
"The Phantom!"
"The what?"
"The Phantom! He's horrible, horrible! He isn't human – he's a monster! He's kidnapped Sammy! My poor Sammy!"
Dash stood up from his place in the corner and walked over to the hysterical man with a sneer. "Describe this 'Phantom' for us."
"He's huge – ten, twelve feet tall!" He sniffled pitifully, gesturing far above his own head, the image of the monster towering over him as he was curled on the floor vividly fresh in his mind. "With pale, no, white skin! And he was translucent – and glowing!"
Sniggers had begun to ripple through the gathering crowd as soon as he had established his imaginary kidnapper's height, and had intensified when he told them he was translucent. But glowing? The laughter in the room was deafening.
Dash wiped a tear from his eye as he laughed uncontrollably. He slapped the old man on the back. "Glowing, you say?"
"Yes, glowing! And his eyes were green – and they glowed too!"
"Of course they did!" Dash screeched, laughing so hard he was doubled over.
Jeremy looked around him at the uproarious crowd around him, his head spinning. He was still freezing, a headache blurring his vision. His sinuses ached, and his throat was sore. The loud noise surrounding him was making his head thump agonizingly.
"I'm telling you!" He shouted furiously. "He has her! We have to go rescue her! Please, Philip," he turned to his brother, grabbing him by the lapels. "Please – we have to go rescue our Sammy!"
Philip wore an expression he had never seen before. It was somewhere between rage and boredom.
"That's enough, Jeremy."
"But, but Philip – Sammy…"
"Give it a rest, brother."
Jeremy was suddenly aware of a vice-like grip on his forearm. Philip was dragging him from the tavern, down the street. He watched the lights of the late-night town flicker past him, meshing into one large light blur every so often. He vaguely noticed climbing a hill, his younger brother still clamping his arm tightly.
They entered a house. Philip's house. They went left, then through a door. Then down some stairs. He had never been down here before. It was dark. He was lying on the floor. His hands were tied together. So were his feet. He couldn't see. He couldn't talk. The light streaming through the door suddenly disappeared, and the metallic sliding of a key in the lock sounded just as he lost consciousness.
Sam…
The word carried in the wind, screaming for her desperately. It echoed and ricocheted through the mountains, so far away. Snow drifts fell from the tops of the mountains, the firs shook mournfully, rocks tumbled down the sheer sides around her to her feet. She stood at the bottom of the biggest mountain, looking straight up.
She wanted to scream back, to cry their name into the sky. To let them know she was there, they it was alright, that she could help them.
But she didn't know who it was.
Sam…!
She reached out a hand, but they were tied behind her. She tried to run forward, but her feet were bound. She tried to scream again, but she was gagged. She tried to look for them again, but her eyes were blindfolded. She was in the basement once more.
She fell to the ground, writhing against her bonds. She was suddenly lifted, and the blindfold was gone. She was at the top of the mountain. And her uncle was holding her over the edge of the sheer cliff face. She couldn't scream. It was pointless. Her arms and legs were still tied.
"Samantha," he whispered cruelly. His voice was like a branding iron, burning her, hurting her. She twisted away from the noise. "Samantha, come back. Come back, Samantha." He made her name sound like a curse.
Suddenly she was free from him. She was sitting in the middle of a field, white flowers spreading out as far as she could see. The sky above was baby blue. Her dress was purple, the same shade as her eyes. She lifted her head from its place on her knee and looked around her. It was so peaceful.
Suddenly a scream resonated through the field. It was a scream of pain. It echoed unnaturally. It was horrible, but she had to listen. She had to know.
As the scream continued, the flowers began to die. They began wilting and dropping their petals, and turning black. She looked at them in horror, watching them die.
"Help us, Sam. Help us," they moaned to her. She couldn't block them out. She didn't want to. She had to hear. She had to listen. She had to know.
She stood up, the field of black flowers crying to her under the grey sky.
Suddenly there was a flicker of blue before her. Her eyes were drawn to it, and she stepped towards it. There was a flash of movement just in front of her, and she took another step forwards. She couldn't see anything, and the flowers grew quickly until they were taller than her. She looked around her desperately, feeling lost.
Just then she saw the movement again. She sprinted forwards. But she tripped over her long dress. She picked it up and continued on. She reached a thicket and looked in desperately. She looked down at her dress. She had to wear it, she had no choice. Right?
"Sam?"
The voice pierced her mind. She had to find whatever it was she was chasing. She had to. Her dress was suddenly gone, replaced with man's breeches and a black man's shirt. Newly free, she clambered through the thicket. Thorns scratched her face and she winced in pain but continued. No matter what she had to reach the other side.
She made it through, battered and bruised, and looked around her. She was no longer in the field. She looked around her. Everything was white. She stood on a white floor, and she could not tell where the white walls and ceiling began, or ended.
Suddenly she turned around, and a man was standing behind her. He was just a shadow though, taller than her, but with no definite features. He reached out a hazy hand to her. Although she could not see his face, he had blue eyes, shining at her.
She stretched out her own hand, and her fingers were only inches from meeting his, when she suddenly pulled back.
"Who are you?"
"Does it matter?"
She looked distrustfully at the shadow. "I need to know."
As soon as she finished her words another deafening wail shot through the air. It was so loud. She threw her hands to her ears in pain and fell to her knees. It carried on, and she forced herself to look up. The shadow was disappearing, falling away in pieces with every second the scream continued.
"No!" She cried. "No!"
She reached up again for him, her heart wrenching. He held out his own arm as it continued to dematerialize. His fist was clenched, and she held her hand below his. He opened his fingers and let the object wrapped between them drop into her tiny, pale palm.
He disappeared, and in his place was a rose. A black rose, white staining the tips of the petals. It was turning by itself in midair, a faint white glow emanating from it. Quite a few of its petals were gone, sitting on the floor below. It looked a step away from death.
She blinked at it, and opened her own fingers. It was her locket. It, too, was glowing white. It lifted delicately into the air, its chain trailing behind it like a bridal veil, and floated over to join the black rose. The two melded together with a bright white light, leaving Samantha staring at them in shock.
Sam…
Jazz stroked a wet cloth over the girl's forehead. It was hot to the touch, though Sam was shaking and shivering. She seemed to be dreaming, turning and writhing every so often.
"No!" She cried. "No!"
Jazz put her hand against Sam's burning cheek reassuringly, but it didn't seem to have any effect. She stroked the raven hair back from her face and fanned her again with the book she had sitting next to her.
The red-headed girl looked weary, black circles beginning to form under her eyes. Her hair was messy and her clothing disheveled. She hadn't slept much for the past three days. But outside the door she could hear the worried pacing of someone she knew for a fact had slept even less than she had in those three days. In fact, she didn't think he had slept at all.
She stood and walked over to the door. The moment she opened it she was seized about the shoulders and pulled into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind her. She looked up into the anxious face of her brother.
"Is she better?"
"No, Danny. In the past twenty minutes since you asked me, she has not suddenly, miraculously, recovered." His face fell into a frown, and she was mildly surprised that he didn't yell at her for that. Maybe this girl was doing some good already. "Danny, if you want to see her so badly, just go in there."
He looked very reluctant.
"She's unconscious."
He had phased through the door, leaving his sister in his dust, before she even saw him move. She smiled knowingly to herself and went downstairs to report to the countless worried servants. That was their last chance lying inert in that room.
Danny stood some feet from her bed, watching her sleep. It was a fitful sleep, and she twisted and moved, frowns distorting her face. He moved tentatively closer.
He felt very strange. Watching her restless sleep was making his own stomach turn nervously. Somewhere deep inside him he just wanted to reach out and make her better, just to heal her. He didn't want to see her like this.
He took another step towards the large bed. When she had first fallen unconscious into his arms in the Emerald drawing room, he had carried her up to the East Wing bedroom, suddenly feeling strangely unkind to have put her in that tiny little room before.
He stepped closer to her. Sweat beaded her forehead, and, without even realizing it, he picked up the cloth on the bedside table and wiped her face gently with it. He looked at her features, crunched into a worried frown, her lips moving agitatedly.
He reached his hand out, setting it on her face. His icy skin seemed to calm her down a little, and her body stopped twitching, leaving just her fingers flickering slightly.
"How?" She murmured.
She was dreaming again. He wondered what she was dreaming about. He traced his forefingers down her hairline from her forehead, looking at her lovely face. She was not beautiful in the traditional way – with her black hair, and her strong features. But he still thought she was beautiful.
"You're beautiful." He told her in a hoarse voice. He didn't want her to die. He couldn't let her die.
"Please, Sam." He whispered, his hand resting tightly on her shoulder. "Don't leave me." He put his hand over her body, on the covers of the bed, supporting him as he leaned over her, his other hand cupping her face. He lowered his forehead to hers and squeezed his eyes shut.
"You're all I have."
She was sitting on a river bank. Clear blue water swirled past her, stemming from a flowing waterfall to her right. The cooling spray was bathing her face. Her knees were up, her arms curled around them.
Even though it was beautiful here, she felt unsafe. The yellow and purple flowers all around her did not give her comfort. She plucked a tiny violet bloom tenderly, twisting it in her hands.
Loneliness was all she felt. It was all she knew.
Suddenly a hand fell on her shoulder. But she didn't turn around. She closed her eyes, and whoever it was sat down beside her, pulling her head to his chest.
"Sam…"
She breathed deeply into his thin shirt.
"Sam, help me…"
"I can't."
"Help me, Sam…"
"How?"
"Sam…" his voice was pained. "Help me."
"How?" she cried. She sat up from his chest, but he was gone. Growing out of the ground where he had been was a black rose, white staining the tips. She looked at it resentfully.
"What are you?"
Wake up, Sam. Wake up. Come back, Sam. Wake up.
"Please, Sam. Don't leave me. You're all I have."
Sam, wake up. Come back Sam...wake up...Sam...
Her amythest eyes slowly flickered open. The first thing she was aware of was a white head resting on her stomach. It only took her a few moments to figure out who it was.
"Um, Phantom?"
His head shot up at the sound of her voice. He looked into her eyes, but, as before, the neon orbs were expressionless.
"Sam. Better?"
She nodded faintly, confused. Had he been staying with her the whole time she was asleep? Why?
"Have you been here the whole time?"
His whole face shut down, and he stood jerkily. He turned noiselessly and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
She stared after his black-cloaked form in some surprise. "Did he actually open that door?"
The shadow flew backwards, thumping agonizingly against the opposite wall. It slid down the grey stone face unceremoniously, lying in a disembodied heap on the floor, unmoving and noiseless.
The white-cloaked figure floated across the room, his hand still glowing faintly magenta. His face was twisted into a furious snarl, his vampire-like fangs showing clearly. His red eyes were glowing vividly, and he hovered over the fallen shadow creature disdainfully.
"I told you not to hurt the Phantom child!" He shouted, furor rising in his tone.
The creature's head lifted slightly, painfully. "Why does it matter anyway?"
The red eyes opened in astonishment. "Why does it matter?" The eyes glowed red once more. "Why does it matter? Do you have any idea what you could have done had you killed him?"
The creature remained silent, cowering in fear, and the white clothed figure continued, his pale bluish skin tinging red with his extreme anger. "I have been planning this for over ninety-nine years! I have researched curses from all over the world for this!"
"And I suppose you consider yourself an expert, then?"
The creature was silenced with another blast of magenta energy. "I am. The curse if supposed to end at exactly midnight four months from now. If Daniel has not fallen in love, and if that girl has not, in turn, fallen in love with him, he, her, and everyone else under the curse will die.
"But, if Daniel has fallen in love and the girl returns that love - at midnight all under the curse will be returned to normal. And my love with return from the oblivion to which she has been sent."
"Right, so, all that needs to happen is for the girl to fall in love with him."
"Not quite. I said they will be returned to normal. That means that they will all be over one hundred years old. Ghosts can survive that long - but humans?" He sighed. "Impossible. We will all die either way. The curse is a trick curse. Or that ghost who put it upon us was a fool."
"So what are you planning, Vlad?"
"It's 'master' to you, underling." Vlad hissed at the slumped shadow. "What am I planning? Well, according to my research, if the key to the curse is destroyed at the exact moment the curse is due to end, the curse will be void. It will be almost as if it had never happened. All will be the ages they were at the time the curse was set. And I will have my love back."
"Won't her husband retrun with her?"
"Of course!" Vlad scoffed. "But I shall kill him the instant he does."
"Alright. But, wait, isn't the key-"
"Yes, the key is Daniel. So I can't have you killing him now, can I? Actually, you don't have much purpose at all anymore. You have made sure she stays at the castle. I have no use for you."
Just then the two hands lifted and shot a powerful dark pink ray at the creature point black, vaporizing it instantly. The hands dropped again, as if nothing had happened, and he turned around.
"Now, how to kill Daniel. He will be heavily guarded. I will need an army to distract them...or, better yet, an angry mob. Angry mobs always do the trick. Where...of course."
He looked out of his window, where, far in the distance, Amity Mountain could be seen set against the dark night. The faint light of Amity Park could also be seen.
"Perfect." He murmured, the fangs showing themselves again in his twisted smile.
review pleeeeeease!!!!
FunkyFish1991 xXx