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I Can Run But I Cannot Hide	By : mrssmeagol Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 1987 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
DISCLAIMER: Phantom of the Opera does not belong to me but to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber and a bunch of other authors (Kay etc.). In my opinion, the character of Phantom belongs to Lon Chaney, Michael Crawford, Gerard Butler and all those other wonderful actors and singers who have performed him. Anyway, the point was that he is not mine. *sob sob*

I've taken some lyrics from the ALW's musical and altered some of them slightly. You all know that I don't own them, either.

A/N: Just keep thinking of Michael Crawford's Phantom with a little Leroux-shaped devil sitting on his shoulder. ;)

CHAPTER 3

He sat on the balcony of the de Chagny estate, watching his former Angel through the window. She was brushing her hair, staring at her image in the mirror with empty eyes. He could tell that her thoughts were far, far away. Was he thinking of him, of her poor Angel? He shook his head slightly as if to clear his mind. This was not how he should think. He was here for his revenge.

His revenge was the only reason why he was still alive. His revenge was the only reason why he had lived on after that night when both the women he loved had betrayed him.

He had shown Antoinette quite a lot mercy. His first plan considering killing her had been a lot, say, messier. The injection had not only been quick but taken most of the pain away, too. He was still slightly unsure of how to handle things with the other woman. Now that he was actually able to see her, he could almost feel his anger weaken as the love that he held for her tried to break through it.

He was taken back from his thoughts as another woman entered the room. He took a step closer to the window, not wanting to miss a single syllable.

"Madame la Vicomtess?"
She remained silent.
"Madame?"
"What is it?" she asked without taking her eyes off of her reflection.
"Your son asks for you."
"Bring him here, then."
"Oui, Madame." The woman - obviously a nanny - left the room.

The man behind the window felt rather curious. He had heard the de Chagnys talk of their son but had not once seen the child. He waited, patiently, and was rewarded a couple of minutes later, when the door opened. He could see the nanny and in her arm was the most beautiful child he had ever seen. He could not tear his eyes away from the divine creature in front of him, as the nanny gently set him down and he began to walk towards his mother. His walking was still rather unsure and the man was convinced that the child had celebrated his first birthday just few months ago. He watched as the child's mother took him into her arms with a gentle smile. He leaned closer to the window.

"Have you been a nice boy today, Luc?" the mother of the child asked and was rewarded with a giggle, as the toddler reached for a lock of her curly hair. She allowed him toy with it for a moment, then carefully drew it from his hand and began to caress the child's blonde hair that was as curly as hers was.
"You may leave," the young vicomtess told the nanny. "I'll put him to sleep."
"Oui, Madame." The nanny touched the child's cheek gently. "Good night, Luc."
The child answered with a yawn. When the nanny had left, he softly said a single word, "Maman?"
"What is it, dear? Are you tired?"
She did not expect the child the answer but laid him on her own bed and sat next to him. "Would you like Maman to sing for you?"
"Oui."
"Then Maman will sing."

The man on the other side of the window took a step away from the glass, a rather twisted smile on his face. He knew now what he would do.

He knew how to have his revenge.

About half an hour later, the vicomtess left the room in order to take her son to his own room. He drew in a shaky breath, entered the room softly and swiftly and hid in the shadows. The trap was now set.

This was it, the point of no return.

When she returned to her bedroom, she did not notice anything out of ordinary. With a soft sight, she sat down next to her dressing table and continued brushing her hair, meeting the eye of her reflection. For some time now, she had felt as if someone was watching her, following her - haunting her.

Could it be that he had found them?

She shook her head. No, it could not be. Raoul had hidden their traces so well that even he could not find them. Besides, he had not been seen ever since the events at the Opera Populaire. She had quite recently found out that he had managed to avoid the mob, though. Maybe he was still alive, hiding somewhere. She was slightly shocked by the hopeful tone of her thoughts.

She gave a smile at her reflection. Had he not hidden in her mirror, then, whispering and singing at her - with her? Had he not always been there, guarding her and guiding her? At some level, she felt lost without him. A lonely tear slid down her cheek. Would she not give her soul if she could hear his velvety voice again, the voice that would be filled with promises of eternal love and fiery passion? She closed her eyes, trying to remember all the tones that made his voice so special. Suddenly, she could hear his voice.
"Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance."
The voice seemed to come from far, far away. She smiled to herself. Is this how much she missed him? Could she actually hear his voice even though he was not even close to her? Could she not answer?
"Angel, oh, speak! What endless longing echoes in this whisper?"
For a while, there was no answer. Then, she could hear it again, his voice, as if it would have been somewhere closer.
"Too long you've wandered in winter, far from my..."
"Is it really you, Angel?" she cut him off, her eyes popping open. She could not see anyone in her room or at the balcony.
"Angel of Music," the voice sang now.
It seemed to come from the mirror!
"Where are you?" she asked, almost frantically.
"You betrayed me."
The voice seemed to fill the whole room, now, and it was not as calm and peaceful as it had been two years ago. Every single syllable was full of venom.

The voice was evil. It was the same voice she had heard laughing that night when they had performed "Il Muto".

She quickly sprung up, knocking the chair over in progress, and ran to the door. It was locked from outside. She let out a strangled cry, banging the door.
"There is no point in doing that, my Angel. No-one will hear you."
She turned around but could see no-one in the dimly lit bedroom.
"Where are you?"
"The Phantom of the Opera is here, inside your mind," the voice answered softly.
The voice seemed to come right from her side but there was no-one there.
"It is you who has stalked me, isn't it?" she asked with a shaky voice.
"No, child, I do not stalk people. I haunt them," his voice corrected.
She looked at her bed, where the voice seemed to come from, but it was empty.
"Why are you here? What do you want?"

He did not bother to answer. She knew it as well as he did.

"Show yourself!" her voice was full of fear and he could see the tears running down her cheeks.
There was no point of continuing the hide and cheek game of theirs. He stepped away from the dark shadows and met her blue eyes with his mix-matched ones. He had his loyal Punjab lasso in his hand. She could see it, too. He knew she could.

She let out a shaky sigh.
"It is you. It really is you."
"Yes, it is I."
"But how? She never told you had found us."
He arched an eyebrow at her. "Who did not tell you, child?"
She stared at the floor, her expression telling him that she would not share the information easily. It was not that he would not have known the answer, though. He just would have wanted to actually hear it.
"There is no point in protecting Antoinette anymore," he told her, his voice surprisingly tired even to his own ears.
She met his gaze then, open-eyed. "How did you know? Have you done something to her?"
"She sealed her own fate long time ago, my dear."

She could feel her resistance weaken whenever the man spoke. His voice, the one that she had so missed just minutes ago, was now terrifying her in all its beauty. She shivered as she realized that it was his voice that would seal her fate.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice surprisingly calm.
"My revenge."
"Why?"
"You betrayed me, child, and so did Antoinette. Antoinette has already paid for her debt, and so must you, my dear."
She was too afraid to stop him as he tied the Punjab lasso around her neck
"Please, don't do this to me."
"Why not?"
"I have a son. He is but a baby."
"Yes, I know. I saw him. A rather handsome young man, I must admit."
The smile that he gave her distracted her slightly.
"Unless you have a better reason, my dear, I am going to have to kill you." He touched her cheek gently. "You see, if I cannot have you, no-one will."

She fell silent. Then, four words. "You can have me."
"No, my dear." He gave her another smile. "It is too late. I do not need love anymore. Antoinette proved it to me."
"Madame Giry loved you and so do I."
"I loved her too. I even loved you. But not anymore. I do not need love."
"But what about my son? What about my husband?"
"I am going to kill the fop, too," he answered, making sure that the knot was tight enough. "And I am going to take the child with me. Maybe I am going to let him kill the boy."

She stared at the man, not quite believing what she heard. What had happened to him? What had happened to the man that she had once loved, that she still loved, at some level?
"All this because I left with Raoul?"
"If I cannot have you, no-one else will."
"But I told you can have me."
"Yes, I heard you." His voice was calm but she could tell that inside was different.

He had not once expected that she might offer herself to him.

This could be her chance.

"I want you to have me."
"Stop it, child."
"I need you to have me."
"Be quiet."
"Do you not want to have me?"
He whirled around and threw his mask away, revealing his deformed face to her.
"Is this what you want?" he yelled at her face. "Is this what you need?"

Their eyes met briefly. He was surprised by the fact that he did not see any disgust in her eyes. Only pity.
"No," he told her. "You would die with me."
"I will die without you as well," she told him softly and he could tell that she meant every word.
"You do not have to."
"What do you mean?"
"You shall die because of me."

With that, he pulled the rope, with enough force to break her neck. He could tell that she died immediately, probably never realizing what happened to her.

It was done.

He gently gathered the young woman in his arms and laid her on her bed. He had lied to her, too. He would not kill the boy nor take their child. He knew enough not to hurt the innocent child. It was not his fault that his parents were who they were. And the fop - there was no way to make him suffer more. Even though he despised him, he knew that he truly loved his wife. It was quite certain that Vicomte de Chagny would never remarry.

Thus, there was only one thing left to do.

The man, who was once known as the Phantom of the Opera, stood on a chair and made sure that the knot tying the rope around his neck was strong enough. With a sigh, he stepped down.

A moment later, it was all over.

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I Can Run But I Cannot Hide