A/N: Yeah, the storyline's pretty fast-paced, but as I said: I'm considering turning this into a really long one-shot someday. We'll see. Anyway: Chapter #3! I know I don't update this NEARLY as often as I update Adrift, but, hey, it exists? I want to do a sketch of Phantom from this fic. Maybe one with Phantom AND Danny, so that you can see what his clothes look like in either form. Danny has a very different personality as Phantom in this fic; he kind-of gets…'In-Character', if you will. As Phantom, he's far more confident and acts like a wealthier man. He's a smooth-talker and very good at dealing with others, but not necessarily…nice. You know he's in charge when he enters a room. Danny himself is very kind, and very responsible. He's more easily flustered and polite to his 'superiors'.
Anyway, a big thanks to all who reviewed/faved/followed! I hope you'll continue to enjoy, and remember to check out my other DP stories, "Journey of Secrets" and its sequel "Adrift"! (I promise they're far better written, as I have more of them planned.) Anyway: please continue to read/review/fav/follow!
Chapter #3: The Tormentor
It's dark in the manor, thunder rumbling in the distance. Only a single candle illuminates the room. Sam finds herself jumping at shadows as she walks by. Every once in a while, she feels as though she can see red eyes glowing in the darkness, but second glances just reveal her own ghostly reflection on the glass.
She pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she ascends the staircase, the candle wavering in her hand.
You…
She swallows, picking up her pace. She's imagining things…
I'll be coming…
"He got to me more than I thought," she mutters, "I will not let him torment me when he's dead!"
…for you…
She slams the door to her room, leaning against the heavy oak paneling. She lifts her head, making eye contact with her reflection in the mirror. But she isn't the only one there.
Baron Harwood glares from beside her reflection, his eyes vibrant crimson, and his skin a sickly shade of blue-green. His blond hair is disheveled, falling into his eyes, and his elegant clothing is torn.
The candle drops from her grasp, flickering out as it falls to the carpet. The room falls into darkness, save for the glowing red eyes in the mirror.
You cannot escape me…
-BREAK-
Her boots stick in the mud of the street, the rain pelting her black umbrella. It's past midnight, far later than a woman like her to be out and about, but she can't stay in the manor.
Not with him there.
She strolls aimlessly, her mind whirling. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees the burning red orbs in the darkness. Her trembling hands tighten around her umbrella, and her pace quickens.
…Even now the demon loudly calls,
Demanding her crimson blood be spilt…
He knew…she realizes, he was warning me. She marches on, paying no attention to her surroundings. She just needs to walk. Walk away from that place, from him. Tears sting at her eyes, even after I kill him, I can't escape!
She stumbles into someone, "I…s-sorry," she apologizes quietly, not lifting her eyes to see who she bumped into. She steps around to continue on.
"Mrs. Harwood?" they question, and she turns her head, the umbrella falling to the street.
Phantom stands in the rain, his cane – topped by a silver skull with glittering green eyes – tucked under his arm and his top hat to his chest. He seems to glow in the darkness, but she decides it's the light from the house he's just exited glowing on the small halo of rain pelting his body.
"You're…Phantom, right?" she questions.
"That's the name I go by," he nods. There's something familiar about him…"Are you alright? A lady of your status shouldn't be out this time of night…"
"I…I'm fine," she brushes a clump of wet hair from her face.
He smirks, unconvinced, "Are you really?"
"Yes!" she frowns, pulling her umbrella from the ground and shaking it out.
"…don't tell me he's already…" she can hear him whisper, more to himself than to her.
She turns to face him, stomping closer and entangling her fist into the lapel of his coat, "How did you know?" she hisses, "How did you know that I…?!"
"The dead are a surprisingly lively bunch," he replies flatly, suddenly out of her grip, though she has no memory of releasing him. Those glowing green eyes stare down at her, "he's a bit louder than others though. Not surprising, given his temper."
"Why…" she swallows, "why didn't you…"
"Turn you in?"
She nods.
"Weren't you listening?" he smirks, "He deserved it. Even if he didn't…" he places his hat on his head, "what proof do I have?"
"…I…I'm seeing things," she whispers. She can't explain why she's telling him this; a complete stranger, "…and hearing things…"
He frowns, his expression becoming pensive, "…perhaps we should get somewhere…drier? This weather can't possibly be good for you. You can tell me then."
"I…I'm not…" she presses her trembling lips together.
"He won't bother you if I'm there. He won't dare," he whispers.
"Why not?" she questions.
Those green eyes glow more vibrantly, and she knows that it's not the reflection from the lighted windows.
"It's simple, really," he smiles, "I'm a lot scarier than he is."
-BREAK-
They approach her dark manor. He's soaked to the bone, and she's not far behind, but he seems unconcerned as they stand before her doorway. She shivers, closing her umbrella – she shouldn't have dropped it in the first place.
"Allow me to help," he places his hand on her arm, and she watches in shock as her body disappears momentarily, the mud and rain falling to the ground. When she fades back into being, she's perfectly dry – and so is he.
"…thank you?"
"You're welcome," he smirks, opening the door for her.
She steps inside, shivering again as she imagines red eyes glowering in the darkness. Phantom, sensing her apprehension, moves into the darkness of the house before her, a faint glow illuminating him. He switches the lights on, and she finally directs him to the parlor.
"Where might the servants be?" he inquires.
"I sent them home for the night," she replies.
"You shouldn't be up here alone," he frowns, "There have been robberies in wealthy neighborhoods nearby."
"I like being alone," she retorts.
"That's not true. You enjoy the company of Ms. Grey, do you not?"
"…and how would you know that?" she narrows her eyes.
He laughs, "You'd be amazed how much I overhear. Regardless, you were telling me you've been seeing and hearing things?"
"Yes," she nods shakily, and she clasps her hands in front of her.
"What did you see?" he asks seriously.
"My h-husband…" she swallows. The clouds have just cleared, and the moon shines through the window, illuminating the mysterious singer sitting on her couch. Despite the grave circumstances, she finds herself admiring him – but there's still a familiarity that bothers her.
"Blue-green skin, red eyes, messy blond hair?" he clarifies.
"Th-that's…exactly…"
"Hmmm…." He leans back, his green eyes swirling, "he's growing stronger more quickly than I anticipated. It must be because of the sheer amount of miasma in this place."
"M-miasma?"
"Yes," he replies, "only ghosts and the occasional medium can see it. It's greenish fog that collects in places full of negative energy. This house is full of it," his nose wrinkles, "A lot of ghosts feed on negative energy, but I, personally, don't like touching the stuff if I can avoid it."
"Negative energy…huh?" she stares down at her feet.
"You are not the only woman he tormented in this place, Mrs. Harwood – no, Miss Manson," he states quietly, "At least three maids have died here. That man was not your husband. No man who treats his lawful wife as he did cannot be called such. It's an insult to those out there who love their wives."
"…were you married, Phantom?" she asks.
"That's a rude question to ask the dead," he smirks, "for future reference. The answer is no. I just have parents who love each other dearly."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."
"I get offended less easily than others. Don't trouble yourself," he chuckles.
"So..this…miasma," she begins, "It…makes him stronger?"
"Yes," he nods, "usually, places this packed with miasma 'air out' once the cause of misery is gone, but there haven't been people around to stir it up. If miasma is caused by negative energy, then it can be dispelled by…?" he waits for her to answer.
"Positive energy?"
"Correct. It doesn't need to be anything spectacular, but with a shortage of servants – and likely your memories or guilt – it isn't disappearing as I thought it would," he frowns, "a dog. Dogs are good. Most of them are sensitive to spectral visitors and they're nearly a constant source of joy."
"So you're suggesting I get a dog?" she asks dryly.
"Among other things," he smirks.
"Like…?"
"Bring Miss Grey here," he suggests, "other people you like, and who like each other. Hold a garden party. It'll slow down his progression, at least, if you can cut down the miasma here."
"I'm not sure if such a thing is possible," she whispers quietly, hugging herself, "This place…the things that happened here…"
"I know," he whispers. Her eyes whip to meet his, and she sees despair swirling in their depths, "Trust me, I know everything that happened in this place. I can see it – feel it – when I come into contact with the miasma. It's very difficult to avoid here," he reaches across the coffee table and takes her hand in his own. For a moment, she can see a blanket of green mist covering the floor. He lets go, and the vision vanishes.
"I…every morning I wake up and think he's standing there again, glowering down at me," she whispers, "and then I have to look at the bruises in the mirror and…"
"I know…" he whispers again.
"…I'm never going to be truly free of him, am I? I killed him and he's still ruining my life."
"I can weaken him again, and then by the time he gets enough energy to appear again, you'll have long since moved on," he smiles gently, removing a white glove and wiping her cheeks with a cold, long-fingered hand.
"He won't show up as long as you're here?"
"If he's smart," he replies, "I assume the other residents of the Infinite Realms have told him how much he wants to avoid angering me."
"So how many ghosts are there?"
"Too many to number."
"And all of them fear you?"
"Most of them."
She stares into his eyes, entrapped in their acid-green depths, "Can…can you stay for the rest of the night?" she whispers, "I can prepare a guest room for you…"
"Would it make you feel better?"
"Yes."
He thinks it over for a moment, "I have to leave early in the morning; probably before you wake, but I will make sure you're safe before I leave…"
"Thank you," she whispers, another tear sliding down her cheek and caressing his thumb, "thank you."