Chapter three: A face revealed
Disclaimer: If I owned anything to do with PotO there never would have been a love never dies. But there is. So I own nothing.
Meg didn't feel comfortable in the 'Phantoms' lair by any means, but nor was she afraid of it at this point. Having visited the 'Phantom' for over a month now she wasn't convinced that their weren't dark things lurking in the shadows; just that they had no interest in her.
However as they enter the hallway one thing was different that offset that entirely. Usually they would have to wander down the hallway a bit before hearing the beautiful music the 'Phantom' seemed to always be enraptured in playing.
On this night however once they open the door they can hear a chaotic melody being beaten from the organ that the 'Phantom' had heretofore only treated to intimate caresses.
It makes mother freeze. Inhale sharply. Stay still as a statue for a few moments. Meg looks up questioningly, and instantly tenses at seeing her mothers expression. Her lips are pursed, brows furrowed. She looks down at her suddenly, not saying anything, simply staring for a few seconds; debating. Her heart beat accelerates uncomfortably at that look.
Taking a deep breath mother seems to decide on something, lowering her hand from the level of her eyes she grasps her smaller, more delicate one. Meg's eyes widen as she glances at their entwined hands and then mothers face. She wasn't looking at her any longer, her gaze now focused determinedly on a point ahead of them in the darkness. She starts at a brisk walk, and if the iron grip on her hand wasn't still there Meg would have thought that nothing had happened at all.
But something had happened. Mother was breaking her own rules by taking her hand from her face to hold her own. Which was more frightening than comforting. She was many things, but no hypocrite. When she set down a rule she made an example to adhere to it more strictly than anyone. Something was very wrong.
Meg shrinks closer to her, eyeing the shadows warily. They dance in the candlelight around her, constantly changing patters on the weathered walls. With the music growing louder as they approach it made for a stifling atmosphere. When they reach the staircase that will lead them down to His lair Meg, for the first time, doesn't want to go, for fear of what they would be descending into.
But blessed mother felt the hesitation in her hand as she took the first step and turned to her. Her face was as composed as always on the surface, but she can see a heightened edge beneath. Only the sureness in her voice made it possible to keep moving on her shaky legs. "Meg, I will not let any harm come to you."
She had turned around before Meg could nod in acknowledgment, but that was alright. If mother was here she would be fine. She hoped.
As the room came into view Meg notices that it looks more of a disaster than usual. Not only was there the usual chaos of scattered books, papers, toys and instruments, but most of the sparse furniture in it was overturned and moved far from their usual places.
Meg's eyes search through everything, before finally landing on the man who had done all this. He looks impeccable as ever, out of place in these drab settings. But the music he was forcing from that poor organ told more of his state than his appearance. Meg was fairly certain with the way he was slamming down on the keys either something in the organ would break, or his fingers would snap. Whichever it was, something had to give under that amount of force.
Mother didn't even pause at the bottom of the stairs and Meg was rather glad that they didn't have to be called to His attention at this moment. Straight for the corner as usual, which had been untouched.
She was gathering up the papers and glancing back at him simultaneously. More worried for his sake at the moment. He stopped playing abruptly, grabbing a pen and scribbling furiously onto a sheet of half finished music. Grunting with each completed bar. Discarding them just as fast he returned to slamming on the keys once more. Forcing painfully low, angry sounds from the organ.
Meg looks back at her mother, who was preoccupied with actually doing their task. She began in a low, worried voice "Mother, what is-"
She gave a sharp shake of the head, only looking up for a second from her work to send the message that she was not to talk. Meg heard the unspoken words and closed her lips tightly.
She didn't know what was happening, why he was acting like this. She was worried; she was worried, but she was also scared.
To emphasize that point the 'Phantom' ceases his playing and sweeps all the papers on the abused organ to the floor in one motion, accompanied by a feral noise deep in his throat. They flutter about him and Meg's vaguely distressed at the idea of having to get in such close proximity to him to clean that up.
He was gasping hard, as if he had been running or shouting. Placing his arms on either side of him on the organ. He turns his head around without warning, staring dead at her.
She froze, her gaze pinned down by his. Her heartbeat climbs to her throat at the fierceness in his eyes, she works to swallow around it. "What is it, Meg? You look like a cornered cat." He turns his whole body to face her and giving a quick glance at her mother Meg's mind began to panic.
Mother gives her the barest of nods. Telling her silently to answer. Meg should look at him in the eyes, she knows that, but can't quite find the courage it would take to do so. She starts to sweat. How is she to answer him? What is the correct thing to say? Her frantic mind supplies the only thing that seems doable at the moment; the truth. "I'm frightened Monsieur ."
"And why, is that?" He paces his answer out, watching her intently.
"Because..." 'Don't look at mother. Don't look at mother.' She chants to herself, because for whatever reason she feels he won't like that. "You...you are acting, differently." As well as a man possessed, a man gone insane, an animal, but she doesn't voice those.
He takes a step down. "And what's wrong with that, Meg? People act differently all the time. Why is me acting differently frightening to you?"
"Ah, well..." Her tongue sticks in her mouth, unable to form anything. She swallows hard and pushes on. "I am just not used to seeing this side of you?" It comes out as a question and she prays he won't take offense to that.
He scoffs. "Not many are." He half turns back to his organ and for one glorious moment she thinks he will move on from her. Then he speaks and shatters her thin hope. "Come here Meg." It is not a question, it is an order.
Meg glances at her mother again, hoping she will have have an answer to fix this, but only sees her mothers panicked expression. She tries to conceal as fast as she realizes Meg is looking at her, but Meg has already seen it.
She's never seen that expression before and it frightens her into a decision. She's a big girl now, if mother can't be strong, then she will be strong for her. As gracefully as possible she lifts herself up and wipes off both the literal and figurative dust from her dress and cloak. She marches towards him with her head held high, despite the urge to run away and cry that has built up in her.
He motions for her to take a seat on the bench and she complies. Choosing the side farthest from him. He sits as far on the other side as he can.
He presses a single finger down on a key, something she vaguely knows to be a C. "What do you think of being different Meg?" He's not looking at her and that makes thinking easier, but she still doesn't know how to answer.
"Forgive me, but, I don't, understand?"
He plays another note. Higher. "Being different; standing out from other people, not being able to fit in."
Her brows furrow and she purses her lips. Contemplating this on the white of the keys. "Well, I think it must be very hard." It's the truth, the first thing that comes to her mind. She has never thought much on being different or it's consequences. However thinking of it now, that is her conclusion.
"Ha!" He laughs only once, but the bitterness in it resounds in the room. "That, is very true." He plays two more notes. "It's very hard to be different." Ping. "It can weigh on you more than you could know." Ping. Ping.
"So very hard to be different. Makes the heart yearn for obscurity. Yes so very hard to be different." The last words are spoken as more of a verse than a sentence. He begins to play more notes.
"Isolates you from any that could've been dear. Makes them reject you, turn you away in foolish fear." The notes are beginning to resemble a rhythm more and more and Meg's face fills with surprise as he is slowly composing a song before her. Though she is sure he's completely forgotten her existence at this point, and rather than answering her he is musing aloud to himself.
"Steals light, replaces it with revile and fright. Pours consoling prize in the concealing shadows of the night." He is using both hands now. His words are drawn out and mellow, resigned. "It hides the genius that could have been. Makes you want to repent though you've committed no sin. You beg and plead, but still are cursed. Ask God to change this, make it all reversed." His voice is gaining emotion, almost trembling at first. Meg watches and feels her heart ache. Even if she can't truly comprehend all of this she can still feel the pain radiating from it.
"Get spit on, abused, made a show of in return. The stares of shock, the sneers of horror, I can still feel them burn." He snarls the last part, and he's making his way to lower keys on the organ. She scoots father to the edge to avoid brushing his arm.
"Those taunts they throw, they think themselves so clever. If only they knew, how easily their tongues I could sever." He growls that out and Meg can feel the fear trickling back into her brain. Self preservation kicking back in. She scoots as far off to the side of the bench as she can.
"Oh their faces I can see, so pitiful. Begging mercy though they gave none to me, how laughable!"
He rears up without warning and Meg involuntarily screams and falls from the bench. He is no longer playing, but pounding on the keys. Creating painful chords. He's yelling something, but it's so rushed and distorted with rage she can't understand. She merely watches as he turns his fury to the bench and throws it on it's side. He marches down the steps and kicks books, papers, furniture, toys; not discriminating from anything in his path.
She stays on the floor till she feels two strong arms encircle her middle. It's her mother, it has to be, no one else is here. Even as she physically carries her out Meg can't take her eyes from the raging 'Phantom.' Who's only purpose now seems to destroy and cause the pain that is screaming to get out of his heart.
When they reach the streets mother lets her down, but her grip on her hand is iron. She walks so fast that Meg has as much control as when she was still being carried. But her mind is racing even faster than her feet. She can't get that pained expression out of her head. Can't get the whispers of his haunted voice to disappear.
When they get home mother takes her to her room immediately. She lights the lamps and sinks down to her level, holding her at arms length. Her face turns horrified as she looks at her and Meg is very confused. "Oh, my darling. Please forgive me, I never wanted you to be witness to that! Please don't cry." She looks at her confusedly and brushes her cheek with her fingers. They come away wet and she tries to pinpoint when it is she started to cry.
"It'll be alright Meg, I won't ever make you go near him again." A pang of fear strikes her hard. Meg's eyes widen and she shakes her head.
"No, mother! Please that's not what I want!" Her mothers brows furrow in confusion.
"Meg, what do you mean?"
She sniffs, wipes at her eyes with the palm of her hand. "I-I'm not afraid of him."
Her mother shakes her head and lifts her onto the softness of her bed and sits down next to her. Gently taking her cold hand in hers her mother looks at her. Really looks at her, like she's a proper person and not just her little baby. "Explain."
She doesn't know why everyone seems to be treating her as an adult lately, but she's growing fond of it. Except the part where she has to decide what's going on in her frazzled mind.
She purses her lips and looks away for a moment. 'Why aren't I afraid?' She goes over the night again. Thinks back to his violent outburst, which, she's going to be honest, was truly terrifying. She was scared, but mother had been there, and everything was alright. 'If mother hadn't...if mother hadn't...Something clicks in her brain just then, making the fog surrounding the 'Phantom' a little bit clearer.
"Does he have a mother?"
Her mother slowly shakes her head.
"Does he have, any, friends?"
Once again she shakes her head.
"He's all alone there, all the time." She already knows its true when she asks it, but her mothers condemning nod solidifies her theory.
She nods absentmindedly. "Then, that is why I'm not afraid of him. Not that his outburst wasn't frightening, but...it's that he's...I think he's just, lonely."
She looks at her mother dead in the eye and smiles. "And I want to let him know, he's not alone anymore."
Her mother stares at her in shock for a few beats. Then smiles in a way that looks like she's fighting back tears. This time Meg expects her to hug her, but she doesn't. She gives her hand a meaningful squeeze and cups her cheek. "Oh Meg. My beautiful girl. My beautiful, beautiful girl."
Meg feels a swell of pleasure warming her insides at the pride and emotion in her mothers voice. She knows she's made the right decision. After all, it's the only one that made sense to her heart, and how could ones heart lead one astray?
A/N: Hey guys!
I just had to put in one of the different sides to the phantom. He's not all mystery and magic, he's malice too.
Some of you may find it odd that Meg isn't more frightened of him at this point, having an outburst like that. However this is important, it's where it all starts. The justifications, excuses, downright blindness to what he's doing and the wrongness of it.
In her young mind it makes sense that he would react that way without a mother or any friends. He's lonely and because of that it's ok. If she can just let him no he's not alone then of course he will change! Be happier, better!
Naive, naive, naive. But hey, give her a break, she's five!
Also that was a song. Written by me. *Hides* I know, I know, it sucked. Please forgive me?
I hope everyone enjoys! Constructive criticism is welcome, but no flames please!