The Beauty Underneath ● The Phantom of the Opera

Chapter 35

◌The Shadow◌

The car was silent. I felt numb. I wished for the darkness to wrap me up, just as it had when I killed Gloria Bleeker. But the darkness didn't seem to want me. Not anymore. It abandoned me in my time of need. In a time I needed to be nothing.

I knew I wouldn't be brought back from this sorrow by Julian's haunting melody. I knew there was no reason to hope he might. Julian hadn't been moving the last time I laid eyes on him. He would be dead--just like my father.

It never occurred to me that the great Opera Ghost could die. Could be mortal. He was made of granite and steel. He was the Phantom. But, like all things, I was wrong. The Phantom of the Opera--my father--was dead.

It was my fault. This was all my fault. If I had just been a good daughter. Had just sucked up my pride and obeyed my father, he might still be here. Richard Giry would have never found our family. Julian would have been better off. He would have still been with his family.

Gustave, despite his bad leg, helped me out of the car and up the steep stairs that led home. Maurice froze before he could open the door. "What...What are we going to say?" To mom. She didn't know. How could she? We all watched each other, not knowing what to do.

"I...I don't know. We don't even know if--" Gustave spoke, leaning heavily on his cane. But I knew. Richard had had the upper hand. The gun was closer to his reach. "We'll just tell her what we know..." We all nodded and made our way into our home.

The house was practically empty. Boxes were stacked here and there. Father must have been getting ready to move. The dining-room door opened and out walked our mother. She looked better. So much better than how I had left her. Upon seeing me, she dropped the cup of tea she held and rushed over.

She attacked me in a rib breaking hug, running her shaking fingers through my tangled mass of hair. "My baby girl. I was so scared." She was okay. She was okay.

We stayed like that for what felt like ages, before she turned to my brothers, never letting me out of her grip. Her eyes scanned the space where father should have been. "Where--where is your father?" She asked. Fear shaking her voice.

Tears brimmed in my eyes as Gustave told our mother what had happened. Of Meg Giry's son and his hatred for our father. Of how father had stayed so that we might escape. Of the single gunshot that could only mean one thing.

Mother covered her mouth, tears flowing over her cheeks. Her legs all but gave out and I caught her just before she hit the ground. We sat her in a chair as she cried. I held her as we cried together.