Phantom

by Laura DeLuca

  “How are you?” she asked.

  He shrugged, but didn’t say anything.

  “That good, huh?” Rebecca felt decidedly awkward, and struggled to think of something appropriate to say. “I was surprised to see you at school today.”

  “It’s better to stay occupied than to sit home alone feeling sorry for myself.”

  Rebecca nodded, and was about to comment that she understood when she suddenly felt eyes on her, burning into her with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. She looked up to the stage, and saw Justyn watching her from a corner by the curtain. He didn’t look angry, but he certainly didn’t look happy either. She realized that to him it must have appeared that she had chosen Tom after all. Rebecca knew she had to get Justyn alone so she could explain the circumstances. She had to let him know that Tom was just a friend in need, and would never be any more than that ever again.

  Justyn wasn’t going to make it easy for her. Miss King ordered them into position and she had to leave Tom alone with his sullenness. Along the way, she tried to grab Justyn’s arm as they crossed paths before the scene began, but he pulled away. He wouldn’t even look her in the eyes as he spoke.

  “I told you I would bow out gracefully when you made your choice. Be happy with your hero.”

  “Justyn, wait . . . .”

  She tried to stop him, but like the mystical creature of the night that he was, Justyn all but disappeared into the darkness backstage. The music was starting and Rebecca was forced to wait behind the scenes for her queue while Wendy and the chorus began the ballet routine. She watched with a little envy as Carmen and the other chorus girls swirled effortlessly around the dance floor. She was a little relieved that Miss King had foreseen her inability to be even remotely graceful and had made sure she had very little dancing to do.

  Soon the ballerinas slowed, and one by one, they slipped out of sight. The music deepened emotionally as the choreography came to an end. Rebecca began to inch her way out onto the empty stage with a basket of silk flowers in her hands.

  It was a challenging scene, especially when her mind was already moving in a dozen different directions. She was an actress playing the role of an actress. Her character, Christine, was portraying an innocent maiden about to be carried away by the darkly handsome Don Juan—carried away to the corruption of her innocence.

  How close to reality art really was. When Justyn stepped onto the stage, wearing the black mask of the opera ghost, Rebecca caught her breath at his dark beauty. He was so unbelievably sensual, so hypnotically captivating. She wanted to throw herself at his feet and offer herself up to him, body and soul. And that was before he opened his mouth and the sweet beauty of his voice enveloped her in its silky embrace. She felt her knees tremble like any virgin maiden’s would have trembled at the feet of the irresistible rogue who was Don Juan.

  “In all your innocence you have come to me here.

  Release your doubts and shed not one tear.

  There’s no going back the way that you came.

  You will know passion but feel no shame.”

  Rebecca was wrapped in the caressing shroud of his melodic voice. They stood on opposite ends of the stage. It seemed like a never-ending chasm was between them. She trembled with unspoken longing as she watched him glide towards the wooden steps of the platform. She was drowning in that longing, sinking into his voice. She struggled to make her weak knees carry her to her own stairway, casting aside the forgotten flowers of innocence.

  It was only through the direct unspoken order of his dark eyes that she was able to find the strength to release her own voice in a strong soprano that matched his perfect baritone. She admitted in the words of her song, in the radiance of her voice, how much she longed for his embrace. Justyn had to know it wasn’t just a duet between Christine and Erik anymore. They had somehow transcended from fantasy to reality, and the words she sang were meant for him and him alone.

  “A strange fire burns within my breast.

  Is this passion real or merely a test?

  Will the burning be quenched when our bodies unite?

  Will we become one on this dark, moonless night.”

  They had reached the center of the platform. Rebecca was both grateful and a little afraid to find him suddenly at her side. Her heart pounded furiously as Justyn took her hand, spun her around, and then mercifully steadied her dizzied body with the firm grip of his hands around her waist. She sank into his arms, letting her head rest lightly against his firm chest.

  When they began the final verse, their voices met in an almost elemental clash that rung in perfect, sweet harmony—a harmony that went beyond the aspects of music and into the harmony of the spirit. As their voices became one, so did their souls. It was a beauty that even the most untrained ear in the room suddenly became aware of. It was an art form that could not be ignored.

  “All barriers have been crossed.

  All innocence has been lost.

  The seeds of passion have been sown.

  From this crossing there is no return.”

  Rebecca waited with closed eyes, in both the real and imagined throes of passion as Justyn’s hands caressed and explored her waist, her arms, and ran gently across her shoulders. Such a simple touch, yet it set her blood on fire. His breath was warm and sweet as he nuzzled against the soft skin of her neck. His hands shifted as he used them to brush her long hair out of the way so that his lips could trace a path from her neck to her burning cheeks, making her entire body tingle with pleasure and her breath come in short gasps.

  Rebecca knew what she was supposed to be doing. She knew her role was to remove the mask, to betray the phantom once and for all, thus proving her devotion to Raoul and sending Erik into a murderous rage. But this Christine had no desire to betray her phantom. This Christine felt no fear, at least not in that perfect moment, of what was hiding beneath the mask. This Christine wanted the phantom to finally have the happy ending that so many fans had dreamed of.

  She felt Justyn pull her toward him, and she finally opened her eyes. He looked confused. He was waiting for the scene to continue. He didn’t realize that in her mind, the play had merged with reality. She met his sad gaze, and with a small smile, she reached out her hand to gently touch his cheek. She wanted to tell him that she had made her choice. That she had chosen him. But the words stuck in a throat swollen with emotion. Nevertheless, she was almost certain that he had read her mind, and knew all her unspoken thoughts.

  Even through the dark mask, she was sure she saw his eyes light up just a little as it dawned on him. His entire demeanor was magically transformed. Justyn leaned down, unable to resist the urge any longer. Rebecca thought that finally, finally she would know the ecstasy of his kiss. Finally, she would know what it was like to be truly complete in his arms. She closed her eyes in anticipation. But just as she sensed the parting of his lips as they neared hers, something snapped him violently from her grasp.

  Shocked and startled, Rebecca’s eyes popped open just in time to see Tom swing his fist squarely into the unprepared face of an even more shocked and startled Justyn. Justyn staggered back in surprise, and put a hand against his lip. Rebecca gasped in horror as she saw blood ooze from the broken skin. Tom only sneered, apparently pleased with himself and his unsportsmanlike attack.

  “Look, the vampire bleeds.”

  Rebecca hardly recognized Tom, his face was so twisted, his voice so harsh and bitter. How had he gotten there, anyway? When and where had he come from? She hadn’t even heard him coming up the steps.

  “Tom, what are you doing?” Rebecca exclaimed.

  “You aren’t going to take Becca away from me!”

  He was practically spitting in Justyn’s face, and Rebecca knew the Goth well enough to know he wasn’t going to just stand there and take it. His silence was only a testament to his rage.

  “Tom, you have to stop this!”

  Tom didn’t listen or even acknowledge Rebecca. Even Justyn seemed to have forgo
tten her presence. He lunged back at Tom with uncontrollable fury, despite her startled cries of protest. There was nothing she could do to stop them. It had been too long coming.

  Tom was too quick for Justyn. He easily sidestepped Justyn’s counterattack, and before he could come at him a second time, Tom shoved him backwards as hard as he could, sending him sprawling backwards into the railing.

  Rebecca saw what was happening. She even made a desperate grab for Justyn’s hand as she saw him go down. But someone so uncoordinated never stood a chance. She heard a high-pitched scream, and was shocked to realize it had come from her own mouth. But even that sound was overpowered by the sickening crack of wood splintering as the railing of the platform gave way under Justyn’s heavy weight.

  She saw Justyn tip over the edge. She could see the horrified guilty look on Tom’s face as he realized what was happening. Time moved so slowly that she even noticed a dusting of sawdust on the ground as she fell to her knees. She saw everything in terrible, vivid detail, including the fact that one side of the railing had cracked, but the other had been cleanly sawed through. She gasped when she heard the awful crash of Justyn’s body slamming into the painted, wooden flames, shattering several of them to pieces. She watched it all unfold in eerie slow motion. Then she saw nothing but a blur of tears as she ran down the platform steps to Justyn’s side.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next few seconds were terrible. They were filled with a sudden and awesome silence in which it seemed that every single person in the auditorium had turned to stone—had stopped even the necessary intake of breath as they waited in paralyzed shock. It was a silence in which the resonating crack of Justyn’s body hitting the ground seemed to echo over and over in her ears.

  Rebecca was the only person in the room who was moving—or more appropriately, flying—down the platform stairs. All thoughts of her own clumsiness were forgotten as she rushed to Justyn’s side, even when she tripped near the bottom. She hardly noticed the bruises on her knees as she pulled herself back to her feet, only to fall back down beside the shattered remnants of the wooden flames next to Justyn’s body—Justyn’s still, unmoving body. Rebecca pressed her hand against her mouth and gasped, terrified.

  “Justyn? Justyn, are you all right?”

  The voice she heard was so tight and scratchy; she could hardly believe it was her own. Around her, other people were repeating the same question, but she was having trouble focusing on them. All she could see was Justyn. All she could hear was her own heart pounding in her chest as she waited. She wanted to touch him, to roll him over. But some small part of her brain that was still functioning rationally knew it wasn’t a good idea to move people who had fallen, especially from a large height. The less rational side of her was afraid that if she dared to try, she would find him impaled by the splintered wood. Afraid he might turn to dust before her very eyes, thus fulfilling the fate of a vampire once and for all.

  “Justyn . . . please . . . .”

  Why wasn’t he moving? Was he even breathing? He couldn’t be . . . couldn’t be . . . No! She wouldn’t even think it. It was too terrible. Justyn was fine. He had to be fine. Fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to take him away from her when they only just found each other. She had never spent much time thinking about divinity, but Justyn’s Goddess would never be so cruel.

  “Someone . . . someone call 911.” Miss King’s voice cracked the order from the sidelines, and all at once at least half a dozen cell phones were flipped open and started beeping as a multitude of trembling fingers fumbled to press the three simple digits.

  “No, no don’t . . . .” The muffled reply came from the crumpled black heap on the floor. It was a voice she would know anywhere. Justyn’s voice, sweet and melodic even though it was strained, and he seemed short of breath.

  “Justyn . . . ?”

  Unbelievable relief flooded through her when he rolled over, and with a small groan managed to pull himself, somewhat unsteadily, to his feet. “I’m fine. Just winded,” he croaked.

  Rebecca immediately reached out a hand to help him up, as did several of the stagehands, but he brushed them all away, looking undeniably annoyed by their efforts. Rebecca could understand him wanting to play the tough guy when his ego had been so horribly bruised. But she would have thought he would have accepted at least her help, even if it were only to get back at Tom.

  Tom had at some point climbed back down the stairs as well, and was visibly relieved to see Justyn on his feet. Justyn glared at him from across the stage. But for once, neither of them took it any further. She didn’t think they could have started fighting again, even if they wanted to. She wasn’t quite sure which one of them looked more wobbly-legged. She could still sense as much as see the anger radiating from Justyn, a wave of dangerous heat that might drown them all in its intensity if she didn’t intervene.

  “Justyn, are you hurt?”

  Miss King was fretting around him like a typical nervous Nelly. What kind of stupid question was that to ask anyway? Obviously he was hurt. He had just fallen fifteen feet. Already Rebecca could see an ugly black and purple bruise appearing on his left temple. And blood was running down his chin where Tom had split open his lip. But when she watched him close his eyes and grimace, and was pretty certain she saw him sway just a little, she echoed the same rhetorical question as the teacher.

  “Are you okay?”

  Justyn turned, and seemed to notice her there for the first time. The blind fury had faded from his eyes, but he remained silent. He looked like he wanted to say something. His mouth even opened and closed a few times. But instead of talking, he nodded his head and climbed down the stage steps, albeit very slowly and with some difficultly. He didn’t acknowledge the shocked stares of his cast mates as he walked out the door without a backward glance.

  Rebecca was probably the most shocked of all, staring at his retreating back with her jaw very nearly touching the floor. But then she collected herself, and without taking a moment to wonder what anyone thought about it, she moved forward to dart after him. She hadn’t even made it to the steps before Tom stepped in front of her and blocked her path.

  She wanted to yell at him. She wanted to scream every nasty four-letter word she had ever heard while she pummeled him with her bare hands. But she only wanted to do that for about a millisecond. Then she looked at his face which had already been a mask of pain and grief before the incident, but which now had the added lines of deep regret. How could she scream at him when she knew he was already berating himself for what he had done? Besides, she knew in her heart that Tom had never had any intention of doing any more than throwing a few punches. And even though someone obviously had worse intentions when they sawed the platform railing, she couldn’t for a second imagine that person had been Tom.

  “Becca, I’m so sorry. But you have to know . . . I mean, you understand . . . I didn’t mean for him to fall. You do believe that, don’t you?”

  “I know, Tom,” Rebecca told him. “I know it was an accident, but I can’t talk about it now. I have to go.”

  “You’re going after him?”

  It was half question and half accusation, but Rebecca didn’t have time to explain things to him. Even though she hated the hurt look she saw in his eyes, she brushed past Tom and was down the stairs in a flash.

  She heard Carmen calling, saw Debbie watching tight-lipped and shaking her head in the shadows behind the curtain. She even noticed Wendy scowling at her as she ran past her. She ignored them all as she followed the path that Justyn had taken. It didn’t take her long to find him. He was at his locker, leaning his bruised head against the cool metal. One hand was clutching his side. Rebecca felt an immediate rush of concern that bordered on sheer terror. Justyn, her mystical, beautiful creature of darkness, couldn’t be hurt. It just didn’t seem possible that a fairytale creature could get hurt.

  She approached him with caution, like she would a wounded animal. But she was certainly not very stealthy because
even though she tried to inch up on him slowly and quietly, he heard her soft footsteps. He knew immediately who it was without turning around or even opening his eyes, giving even more credence to what she truly believed were supernatural abilities of perception.

  “I’m fine, Becca.” She didn’t need to see his eyes to know that on some level they were rolling. She heard the exasperation in his voice. “You don’t need to worry about me. Go back to Tom. I’m sure he’s not going to be happy that you came after me.”

  Rebecca felt the ridiculous urge to stomp her foot, to have an all-out tantrum. How could he be so stupid, so blind, so downright annoying? For someone that she knew for a fact was highly intelligent, he sure had a strange habit of acting like a moron.

  “I don’t want to go back to Tom,” she informed him as she crossed her arms defiantly.

  “Really?”

  He turned his head around so he could cock his eyebrow, but he still leaned heavily on the lockers. She wouldn’t have thought it was possible for him to be any paler than his normal shade, but his face was a ghastly white, except for the areas that were bruised and bloodied. Yet, although she knew he had to be hurting physically, the pain, the yearning, in his eyes was so much more intense. It made her heart swell with emotion. That stupid lump was back. She had to clear her throat.