I Can Run But I Cannot Hide

DISCLAIMER: I still don't own the Phantom of the Opera. ;__;


SUMMARY: The deleted scene from the final lair. ALW musical based. Erik/Christine, a bit of Mme Giry/Erik


A/N: Please, please, please, PLEASE rate&review. *puppy-eyes*

Oh, this Phantom is Michael Crawford based with a minor Leroux influence. ^__^



I Can Run But I Cannot Hide
by MrsSmeagol



It was all over now - his music, his love, his life - his everything. His Angel, his sweet little Angel, had chosen the boy in his stead. She had chosen the fop in his stead! He let out a frustrated growl and threw a candelabrum through a mirror.


He sat down on his throne, the sweet music's throne, and listened to the voices of the quickly approaching mob.
"Track down this murderer!"
Murderer. Devil's Child. All they meant the same. He was a murderer. He deserved to die. They had every right to kill him.
"He must be found!"
He snorted at it. All they needed was to walk straight forward and find a way to cross the lake.
"Hunt down this animal!"
Animal he was - a beast, worth of no-one's love or compassion.


"Are you still here?" a worried voice asked from his side.
"Go away, Antoinette," he murmured without turning his head, slightly disappointed by the fact that she was not with the mob.
"You must leave," the ballet mistress told him sternly. "They will kill you if they catch you."
"Then let them kill me!" he jumped up from his seat. "I am a murderer, a madman, a monster - a beast! I have no right to live! I have no reason to live!"
She sighed softly, now understanding what had happened. "I told you that Christine would leave. You frightened her."
"I loved her - I even thought that she might love me."
"She was afraid of you," the woman murmured. "She is but a child. She did not even know that love can be something else but rosy and sweet."
"I do not understand what you are saying," he confessed.
"Your love is like you are," she told him softly, her eyes examining the ridges and plains of his deformed face.


He realized suddenly that he wasn't wearing his mask. He quickly reached for it and put it back in its place. For his surprise, she took it again off his face and let it fall on the floor.
"Your love is like you are," she repeated. "Your love is like your music is. They both were too much for the poor child."
He was too stunned to answer.
She smiled at his confused look. "Your love is too dark for Christine. You are too passionate and jealous. She could never have been yours the way you wanted her to be. The Vicomte is young and sweet - he can give her what she needs to have. That's why I told him how to get here."
"You led him here." It was not really a question - just a statement. She could hear his pain in those four words. She watched as the now unmasked Phantom sat on his throne and buried his head in his hands.
"You were the only one I trusted, Antoinette," he whispered. "Even you betrayed me."
"No, no, no!" She placed her small hand on his shoulder. "You mean too much for me, I could never betray you."
"Then why?"
"Don't you understand? She would never have been happy with you. She would have always thought how things would be if she had married the Vicomte."


"Have I lost her for ever?" His muffled voice was no longer one of the horrifying Opera Ghost, the murderer and blackmailer, but one of a lost little boy.
"I think she will come back to you, one day, when she realizes how deep your love goes."


He lifted up his head and finally met her gaze. She saw something new in the depths of those mix-matched eyes. She saw hope.


"Do you really think so? Or are you just saying it because you do not wish my blood to be spilt on your conscience?"
"My conscience is far from clean," she confessed softly. "You know it as well as I do. It was I who brought you here. It was I who hid you here. I am as guilty of the murders you have committed as you are."
"Do you ever wish that you had not helped me, Antoinette?" he asked, his voice curious. "Have you ever wished that you had left me there, in the hands of the gypsies and the police?"
"I..." she stammered. Then, she realized that the time of the lies and hiding was over. It was the time for the truth. "Yes. God, yes."
She actually saw his mood sink back into the dark abyss of desperation and self-loathing.


They both were silent for some time - it might have been minutes or hours, neither of them really knew or even cared. The voices of the mob were already quite close to the lair. Only a few more minutes and they would reach it, its inhabitant and his only friend.


"I should die here, tonight," he murmured, probably mostly to himself. "It is my destiny, Antoinette. I can run from my past but I cannot hide from it. Someday, I will be found. Someday, they will take my life. Wouldn't it be the best if it was by my own decision?"
She did not answer.
"I have no reason to live on, Antoinette. I have lost my Angel. You tell me that she might come back to me one day but we both know that she will not."
She did not know what to answer.
"Love, Antoinette, was the only reason for me to live on. You see, I never knew what it was like to be in love." He stood up and began pacing back and forth. "When I finally did fall in love, it was already too late for me to pull back. The feeling took me over. I could think of nothing else but her. Even my music was calling for her, trying to make her fall in love with me, too. For a while, I thought I had succeeded in it. For a while, I thought that she really could love me, a repulsive carcass, an angel in Hell. Then, the boy showed up."


She watched mesmerized as he punched a mirror. His gloved fist went straight through the glass. The sound of the shards of the glass hitting the floor was deafening. He fell on his knees in front of the remainings of the mirror and touched his head on the ground. She could see the tears wrack his body. She saw his lips moving as if he was speaking but she could hear nothing. Carefully, she took a couple of steps in his direction and could now hear that he was repeating the same few sentences over and over again.


"I am worth of no-one. I am worth of no love. I am worth of no compassion. I am only worth of death and death only."


"Too long he's prayed on us but now we know."
The mob was approaching quickly. She could already see the light of their torches.
"The Phantom of the Opera is there, deep down below!"
She could not let them find him!


She tried to pull him up but he shoved her back, causing her to fall down.
"Go, Antoinette. Go now and leave me here."
"I cannot let them have you."
"Do as I tell you!"
He stood up and began to walk towards his desk. She could tell that something had changed. She followed, mesmerized, his graceful movements, as he quickly gathered the sheets of music from his desk and went, then, to sit on his throne.


Their eyes met briefly. She realized then, what he was up to. There was still despair in his eyes but underneath it was something even more dangerous.


Revenge.


"You must leave, my dear Antoinette," he told her with a calm tone - the one that she had learned to connect with the Opera Ghost. Still, she was too shocked by abrupt change within the mysterious man to react. Suddenly, he was there, helping her to stand up.
"They will kill you, too, if they find you here."


The torches of the ever-approaching mob casted eerie shadows to the walls of the lair.


"I do not know what you are up to," she told him with a whisper, "but I know that you should not do it."
"Come now, Antoinette. It was you who told me that I could not give up. That I should live on."
She met his eyes once again but saw nothing in there. They were the eyes of a dead man.
"I found one more reason to live."
She knew now what he was going to do. "I beg you, don't do it. She does not deserve your wrath."
"No! If I cannot have her, no-one else will, either."
He let go of her and took the few steps back to his throne.
"If I cannot have her, Antoinette, no-one else will either," he repeated, his voice so calm that it made her nervous.


They stared intently at each other for a few seconds. Then, he flashed her a smile that could almost be described as gentle.
"Thank you," he whispered and with that, he vanished into thin air.


She had known him long enough not to be surprised by tricks like that one. Quickly, she left the lair, managing to avoid the bloodthirsty mob.


Could he really kill the poor girl just because she had not loved him in the way he had wanted to?


Unfortunately, Antoinette Giry was sure of the answer.


Yes. He most definitely could.




A/N vol. 2: Now, don't eat my head. I still believe that Erik and Christine were meant to be together.

Comments? Ideas? Critique? (I won't read the "Erik would never kill Christine"-ones, so don't even bother unless you haven't got anything else to say. :P)