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Phoenix	By : LadyMeda Category: M through R > Phantom of the Opera Views: 4486 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any variation thereof. I do not make any money from this fiction. Tags include things that will be in future chapters.

Chapter List
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Meg awoke with a lavish stretch, trying to piece together the odd dream she'd had. It was all very hazy, but she was certain it had something to do with the Opera Ghost.
She gasped, bolting upright in bed. Sure enough, a quick survey showed that she was still wearing the pageboy costume she had fled the burning opera in four years prior. No! No no no! How could I be so careless?! She couldn't believe that after so much planning, she had fallen asleep at the last moment.
Four years ago, she had taken the Phantom's mask so that she would forever have a piece of that genius to remember. But over the years, it only served to be a painful reminder of what was lost that day. It kept her from moving on with her life. Months ago, she had resolved that upon her return to the opera house, she would return the mask to its rightful resting place.
Everything had worked out perfectly. She arrived a few days early, dressed in her least cumbersome clothes, even borrowed Eugène's work gloves so that she didn't tear her own to bits on the sharp rocks below. And then she'd blundered up the most important part: staying awake until everyone else had retired for the night. She cursed under her breath. Now she had very little time to carry out her plan before the other dancers arrived.
But that dream. She'd dreamt she had gone through with her plan. She'd made her way through the winding ruins, and... and... something. It was as if her mind didn't want to remember. Something terrible happened. But something wonderful as well. The Phantom was alive. He held me. Comforted me. But why?
A tentative knock interrupted as she grasped at the memory. With a sigh, she robed herself and answered the door; where she was greeted with the nervous face of Eugène.
“Good morning, Miss Meg.” He whispered, glancing around worriedly. It was improper of a man- or boy- to be calling on a lady like this. “Have you finished with my gloves? I kind of... um... need them now.”
Drat! She thought. Why do I have to be such a clumsy thief of the night? She prayed he would let her borrow them again later.
“Of course--”
“What happened to your neck?” He asked in alarm.
“What?” Her still gloved hand rose to her throat. “Oh, I... fell.” She stammered, hoping to God it was a likely excuse for whatever he'd seen.
“On a rope?!”
The memories flooded back in a wave that made her knees nearly give way. It was all she could do not to gasp aloud. She tore off the gloves and shoved them into Eugène's chest with more force than intended.
“Well I... the rigging. Its a mess now and not where it should be at all and this is quite embarrassing when your supposed to be a woman of grace so if you'll excuse me I have to dress.” The words spilled from her mouth in a tumble before she shut the door in his face.
She rushed over to her little mahogany box, the key falling several times from her shaking fingers before she managed to disengage the lock. Her heart skipped a beat.
Empty.

* * * * *

The Persian hit the wall of his office with a satisfying thud. “I shee yeur angri abolt somfink” he choked as the Phantom's forearm pressed into his throat.
“Oh no, friend.” The Phantom seethed. “Angry is a place with sunshine and rainbows, that I dream longingly of right now.” He released the Persian and began to pace in an effort to calm himself; a hand smoothing down his hair.
“You have to stop doing that!” The dark-skinned man gasped, hands on his throat. “You'll kill me someday.”
“I should kill you now!” He roared. “I told you to ban the staff from the catacombs below!”
“I did! I swear it!”
“You did a damned poor job!” The Phantom fumed. “I found someone wandering down there! They nearly found my home. Walked right up to my doorstep!” Some of the rage bled out of his voice as Meg's terrified face flashed through his mind. “I nearly killed them.”
“But you didn't?” asked the Persian. The masked man shot him an icy glance. “No, that's good! I'm glad. But I thought you had a maze. It didn't deter them?”
“She already knew the way.” Said the Phantom.
“Oh, I see.”
The Persian did a double-take. “Wait... She?! She who? The first cast members don't arrive until tomorrow.”
“It seems that Madam Giry's daughter arrived early. She always did seem an eager little sprite.”
Now it was the Persian's turn to pace worriedly. “Oh that could have been catastrophic. Did she see you?” He asked, rubbing his chin.
“Unquestionably.”
“Damn. That's bad. But we can figure out a story. At least you didn't hurt her.”
The Persian's statement was met with a tense silence. He stopped pacing, voice coming out in a squeak. “Please, please tell me you didn't hurt her.”
“I said that I didn't kill her.” Corrected the Opera Ghost. “I never said I didn't try to kill her.” The manager's face turned nearly as white as his counterpart's mask. “Oh she'll be fine.” The Phantom snapped. “I only hanged her a little.”
“I think I'm going to be ill.” Said the Persian with a hand on his belly. “Only a little?! This is very, very bad. If she goes blabbing that the Opera Ghost is back and trying to murder people, we'll lose our cast, our crew, and our patrons. We will be hunted down and executed. I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe you should go kill her some more!”
“That is NOT going to happen!” He bellowed with renewed fury.
“Then what?!” The Persian's arms flailed about wildly. “Ship her to Persia in a box?!”
“I'll talk to her.” The Phantom growled, stepping back into the secret passage from which he came. “I'll try to Reason with her.”
“You? Reason?! Then she's as good as dead!” The Persian shouted after him, but he was already moving swiftly down the corridor.
With hardly an upwards glance, he stole through the winding passages towards his home. Why did I return her to the surface? He wondered, perplexed by his own motives. It put everything in jeopardy, and yet he'd done it without a second thought. Why didn't I let her die? Hell, why did I vow to the Persian that she would live? The more he contemplated it, the more he insisted to himself it was because Meg was Antoinette's daughter... because he had never killed a woman... because he had promised the Persian he would cause no more unnecessary deaths. And yet he wavered even when the pious Persian would see him take action.
He knew he must be mad to think he could reason with her. Those glittering aqua eyes had rested on his face for only a fleeting moment before she'd been overwhelmed by fear. Why would it be any different on their second meeting?
What on earth had ever possessed her to come down here? Was she so desperate to be certain that her friend's kidnapper had perished? Had she thought to find a mountain of francs squirreled away somewhere? With a steeled resolve, he decided it made little difference.
He would make an attempt to bribe her. If causing his downfall meant she lost something too, it would assure that she wouldn't tell. And if she was entirely unreceptive or completely hysterical... then he had little choice. He would do what must be done; for the good of the opera.
As he approached the rock face where this whole mess had started, his foot collided with something. The thing scraped and skidded across the floor, sending an awful noise bouncing off the walls of the cavern. He bent to retrieve it, for once feeling as though he had seen a ghost. The hair on the nape of his neck stood painfully on end as he stared at the mask that was lost four years ago.
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Phoenix