Chapter Thirty Nine

Samantha Jacinta Riley ached profusely that morning.

When she awoke her stomach and chest felt as if it were burning as her body throbbed with an ever-present dull pain. When she had arrived home that night, she forced herself to walk properly and hid her injuries as best she could from her Father. It hadn't been proven difficult as he was so enveloped in his work at his desk he had barely given her a second glance.

Sam didn't know how she could have slept. Her joints felt creaky and small movements burnt the muscles in her front. She swung her legs out of her bed and forced herself to stand. The world spun and before she knew it she had sat back on her bed. She found a mirror perched in the corner of the room, she noticed a sickly pale girl leaning on the bed with shaky arms. She looked awful.

She attempted a long, deliberate breath, but was cut short by a sharp stab in her right lung and released her air, hissing in pain as she clutched it. The impact of her hand caused a wave of discomfort to spread down her right side. She suddenly felt very ill.

She laid back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Her lips followed a pattern of parting, puckering and pressing together with every inhale. Eventually, the pain numbing her, breathing was possible.

In the corner of her eye, she saw something glowing green. She turned her head and reached for her side table, ignoring the sensation that pricked her skin, as she clasped the Ring of Liberty she had pulled off Raphael's finger using her teeth to night prior.

The metal was cold against her fingertips as she examined the green sketch. Curious, she slipped the ring onto one of her fingers, sat up and looked at it on her hand in the mirror. It was a beautiful ring.

"Too bad it's stolen," she mumbled as she went to pull it off.

She had difficulty.

Her fingers gripped it but slipped with every attempted twist. The skin on her finger turned with it, as if it had fused with it. In a panic, she started biting it, attempting to loosen it. Her worries surfaced, what if someone caught her with the stolen ring?!

There was a knock on her door, followed by the muffled voice of her Father. "Samantha? Are you up?" he called.

"One moment, Father!" she called, a final attempt at pulling off the ring before being forced to sit on it as Detective Riley opened the door.

"Thought I'd pop in and say-" His face dropped at the sight of Sam, a look she didn't recognise, but soon noticed it to be worry. "Is something wrong? You're pale as a ghost." He approached her, she dug her arm further underneath her to hide it from him. He pressed a hand to her forehead, checking for a fever. "You're quite warm…" he confessed.

She could feel the sweat dripping down her back. "I'm fine, Father," she said.

He wasn't convinced. "You can tell me if something is wrong," he informed, "I'm right here. Maybe I can make it better."

"I'm fine, Father," she repeated, a hint of annoyance rising in her.

"Are you feeling ill? Tired? Anything?"

"I'm a bit sore," she confessed, "But it'll pass. I am fine."

He reached a hand out to her, but she slapped it away, much more violently then she intended and screamed at him. "I'm fine! Will you just leave me alone!"

The rise in her voice startled him, his hand slowly dropping as his eyes down casted, projecting something sombre as he turned his body away. "Very well," he rose from the bedside, Sam frozen to place, shocked by her own behaviour at yelling at him. "I just came in to say good morning. I'm heading off early, may not be home until late. I…" He stood up and started for the door.

"You'll try your best to let me know?" Sam finished, an anger still bubbling in her, rising beyond her control. "Where have a heard that before?" Her distain spilled from her lips like an overflowing cup.

Her Father waited by the door, running his hand down its frame, clearly sad by his daughter's statement and sighed. "I love you. Take the day off it you're feeling unwell. I'm sure Miss Dubois will gladly make you one of her old-fashioned remedies." He waited a moment, waited for a response, but Sam couldn't talk.

She couldn't find the motive to open her lips and apologise, give a lie that she hadn't slept well or didn't mean to yell at him.

She wanted to say that she hated when he worked late, that she never got to see him, that he spent no time with her, but didn't hate him. That she was hurt when he forgot to get her from school, when he broke his promises, and when he at times wouldn't even come home for days at a time. She wanted to cry, to yell, to plead with him like she had years ago but stopped doing as it became a waste of energy. What frightened her the most was, in that moment, she wanted to hurt him, to make him crumble, to truly feel horrible and inadequate.

All her swirling feelings started bubbling to the surface, and it took every nauseating ounce of willpower within her to not say any of it, in fear she would hurt him.

But her silence seemed to hurt him more, as he scratched under his nose, hiding a silent sniff. "I'm worried about you, you know," his words were fragile, and small, "You're my whole world, Sam. I don't want to lose you, like I lost your Mother." Sam couldn't meet her Father's eyes, fearful that he would see how teary she was becoming. "I promise, I'll try harder, Sam. I promise."

The door clicked closed, and Sam was left alone in the apartment.

Her sudden anger, sadness, disgust, and other emotions forced tears from her eyes as her jaw clenched, her breathing intensified as she pushed past her pain to stand up and pace. Her feelings suddenly controlled her actions as she pulled at her hair in frustration, continued to cry for reasons she had long ago ignored or forgiven, and grinded her teeth out of seething hatred.

When she recognised the reasons it halted her, turning her into a pillar of ice as her bones felt cold and her vision blurred.

Father… Mother…

She pressed a hand to her mouth to smother her sobs, determined to lock away these feelings she had already come to terms with long ago. Or at least she thought she had.

Her finger started throbbing.

Aside from the general pain, both physical and sudden emotional, her finger throbbed in the similar beat as her heart. But it felt stronger in her hand, as if the ring had a heartbeat of its own.

The beetle symbol started to throb.

Sam staggered at the sight of this, holding her hand away from her face, before realising she had to take it off. She pulled with all her strength, new tears streaming down her cheeks from the searing pain as the ring struggled to move, abrasive against her skin. She couldn't contain her agony as she yelled out.

The jewellery gave way and the ring forcefully slipped off, the momentum of her strength sent it smashing against the opposite wall.

A weight suddenly lifted off Sam's mind, a strange cloud she hadn't noticed rest, as she collapsed to the ground. She crawled away from the still glowing ring, always facing it as she hugged her knees and stared at it, the eerie green light reflecting in her eyes.

While she had never seen the ring before, nor every worn it, the gesture she was in felt oddly familiar, as if she had recently sat like this, but knew for a fact she had never huddled in a corner, overcome by emotion before.

When her mind cleared, all her initial anger dissipated, replaced by the lingering sadness and a feeling of regret. She rested her chin in the node between her knees and took a long, deliberate breath in, ignoring the pain in her lungs.

*

Sam knocked on the door. When no one answered she maintained a rhythmic knocking beat. But no one answered.

She looked up to the brick building, wondering if Phantom had made it home safe. All the windows were obscured by curtains. She pressed an ear to the door and a window to listen for any noise but frowned.

"Music…?" Sam tested the door knob and watched it slowly creak inwards from being unlocked.

Sam peered inside, cautious as she had never entered Phantom's abode, and strolled in. While she had never entered the house before, and didn't know what everything was meant to look like, she was shocked to see the state it was in. There were empty bookcases behind piles of books on the ground, all light furniture ranging from dining chairs to side tables had been toppled over, and, in the instance of a once elegant looking dresser, had been smashed it at the top.

Sam gulped as she reverted to her girlish habits of raising her hands to her lips and neck in shock. "Oh Phantom…"

Music was evident in the household, dwindling by the time it had gotten down the stairs, making the house seem even more empty.

She ascended the stairs. Her hand ran along the railing as she took slow steps, whenever the creaking of the stairs echoed up the hallway she stopped, wondering if the music would stop. Whoever played either ignored it or didn't hear it.

Sam recognised the playful tune on a piano but was jarred at how loud it was being played, as if someone were bashing the keys.

Unlike the downstairs, the rooms she passed were organised. All doors in the hallways were open, in three of the five rooms the beds were made, the floors swept and everything about its accessories were tidy. Sam stopped before the door she assumed to have been Anita's. It appeared like a child's bedroom with countless toys and little girl activities sprawled throughout the room. Sam leaned on the frame and took in the room, Has Phantom even come in here since she left? She mused sadly. She noticed some things had gained a very thin layer of dust.

She grabbed the doorhandle and slowly closed it as she continued after the noise. She took a side glance into the room immediately across the hall, catching sight of an artwork of night time Paris sitting on an easel by the window.

When she approached one of the last doors in the hallway, the piano music was at its loudest. Similar to the rest of the house, the room was darkened by the closed curtains, leaving her only to see the outline of a grand piano in the centre of the room and someone sitting before it.

They were hunched over the keys, their fingertips gliding over the keys despite how hard they were pressed. The music seemed flawless. So perfect in fact, Sam felt the anguish behind the song and even an unprovoked sense of frustration. The piano reached a climax, the bashing of the keys becoming slower and deliberate sounding. The musician finished the song with a gentle final note, dropping their hands by their side as they continued to hunch over the keys.

A loud collection of keys boomed out as the figure rested an elbow on the keys and rubbed their forehead, a groan overlapping the unintelligible noise.

"I didn't know you could play," Sam called to him as her hand found a light switch.

Just as she expected, he wasn't shocked by her presence, merely chuckled. "A feat from my Mother," Phantom said taking his elbow off the piano, "This entire room use to be hers. She would stay in here for hours, playing music until her fingers turned red." He flexed his hand at the description. The square room's main feature was the elegant black piano in the centre, but lining the walls were various string instruments, including a harp, a lute, and a guitar, and a golden wood viola that sat by a small table featuring a pan flute and a silver flute. Unlike other rooms, the walls of this music den were golden and, upon closer inspection, revealed to have the faintest lines of music as a pattern. The gold was amplified by the golden chandelier like lights that hung over the piano. "I got the music from her and the gambling from Father," he muttered as his fingers fluttered over the piano.

Phantom played a haunting rendition of Clair De Lune. Unlike the previous work, this was much slower, and the focus in his eyes mesmerized Sam. She hadn't noticed she approached the piano and stood beside it to listen more intently.

"Clair de lune, meaning moonlight," Phantom said as he played, his eyes glued to the ivory keys. "Made from a poem of the same name by a Paul Verlaine a few decades ago." Sam could scarcely hear his voice. "It was originally titled Promenade Sentimentale," Phantom softly added as his hands continued to gently play the song, "One of my parents' favourites. My Father urged me to learn it, so that they could dance." Sam heard him then, not because of his voice, but by the movement of his head. He had turned it to a clearing by the piano and stared longingly. Sam followed his gaze, imagining a younger Phantom playing this song as his parents held each other in a dance.

"It was called bergamask-ing," he added, tearing his eyes from the spot in the floor, "A very old and clumsy dance." Despite the description, his eyes turned glassy and a smile perked his cheeks.

He closed his eyes and lifted his head, the song appearing muscle memory as they flew across the piano in the quicker sections, a single tear falling down his cheek.

It took Sam a moment to realise she too was crying. For a lot of things, not just one reason. The song, how he played it, how easily she could imagine the significance, the yearning in his voice and the fragile appearance of his eyes before they closed, letting her know he was telling the truth. The song ended on a light melody.

"Do you play, Sam?" Phantom asked. He reached forwards and pulled a cigar from the music sheet holder, placing it between his teeth but not lighting it.

Sam raised an eye brow, "I play a little. I didn't know you smoked."

Phantom shrugged, taking it out, "I don't. But growing up my Father smoked these when he was stressed. I just kinda bite them." He returned it to his mouth, his teeth sinking into that end. "I haven't done this in a long time." He examined it, realising how silly the habit was. "What a waste of a good cigar." He replaced it on the ledge of the piano and continued playing, Sam didn't recognise the tune.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked. She tried to look at Phantom but kept watching his hands improvise a song.

"I should be asking you that," he replied as he looked at her, "You received quite a beating yesterday."

"No thanks to you," Sam said.

Phantom physically bit his tongue as he continued playing. "What did Detective Riley say when he found out?"

Sam mentally withheld a sigh. "He doesn't know. He thinks I'm sick."

Phantom's hands floated above the keys. "You didn't tell him?"

"I don't want to worry him."

"He's there for a reason, Sam. To help you when your hurt, take care of you, things like that." He continued playing, this time playing an actual song.

"And here I thought you knew about my Father," Sam replied, "He doesn't have time for Fatherly stuff like that because he's after people like you."

Phantom scoffed, "I don't know whether to be offended or not."

Sam managed the smallest smiles, but her jaw clenched.

Phantom continued. "Don't take advantage of your Father, Sam. Even those fleeting moments he's there are more then I'll ever have," he informed, his arm stretched down to her end and played some of the notes, eventually grabbing her hand and making her do them. She carried the harmonised tune.

"I yelled at him today," Sam suddenly said, "I just suddenly became so angry at him, when all he did was say he was worried about me." She sniffed and wiped her eyes. Her hand dropped from the piano and searched one of her coat pockets. "I think it was because of this." She held out the ring she had taken from him the night before, at the sight of it he stopped playing. "When I wore it I had that outburst, and when I took it off I felt so… awful." When he didn't take it, she placed it on the ledge of the piano by his cigar. "And I know you have been wearing that ring for a long time."

Phantom didn't speak, he just stared at the ring. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"After last night? Pretty stupid," he answered as he took the cigar and held it in his mouth.

"I meant in general," Sam clarified. He had bitten into the end of the cigar so strongly it dropped from his mouth. He spat out what he bit off.

"Oh."

Sam watched him wipe his mouth, wincing at the raw taste. "Are you okay, Phantom? You fell off the wagon a little bit last night."

He laughed, "A little bit? Try completely."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sam asked as he picked up the cigar.

Phantom placed the cigar back on the ledge and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't know what to talk about. There's just so much to discuss and yet… so much I don't want to talk about." He sighed to look at the ceiling, "I don't really know how to start this."

Sam shrugged, "Just talk. And I'll listen."

Phantom pressed his lips together, still unable to accurately word what he wanted. "Maybe play something." She started playing a jolly little tune in the high octaves of the instrument, the happy tune impressing Phantom as he observed the groupings she made with her fingers and, quite quickly, picked it up, mimicking the little song on the lower keys.

The pair started playing bits and pieces of songs, at times improvising, other times doing a call and receive. Sam laughed, a proper from the belly laugh that hurt her cheeks from smiling too hard and made her bruised body ache. Phantom became playful, almost silly as he bellowed out old French songs and cursed when he made a very loud and obvious mistake.

"Okay, okay," Phantom gave her a side ways smile, "You're pretty good."

Sam gave a confident wave of dismissal. "I'm aware. Just don't ask me to do any more or you'll be very disappointed."

"I doubt it. Music is a gift many take for granted. They think just because someone else can do it, means they shouldn't learn." He started playing a few short chords, "I see the appeal in listening rather then playing, I suppose." The short chords elongated, turning into long drones of noise, until they turned into something fragile. Sam watched his face slowly drop, his eyes go blank as he played. For a split second, Sam thought he had disappeared entirely, his body and eyes switched on but no one manning the controls in his head.

But he blinked.

A simple action broke him out of a daze as his breath shook and his hands retracted mid-chord. "I think I'm spiralling, Sam…" His focused hunch was replaced by a defeated slouch as everything about his attentive, confident demeanour changed to something Sam almost didn't recognise. "She asked me to adopt her… It was so sudden, and strange and… for some reason completely unreasonable but I don't understand why." The words made his lip quiver as he fought back tears. "And now she's gone, just like everyone else. Like my Mother, like my Father, like Maria…"

"Phantom," Sam put a hand on his shoulder, "Don't do this to yourself. I've seen what happens, I've been where you have. You lost some people in your life, some very important people, but don't push people away in fear they'll just disappear one day. Maria isn't gone, she's still here. I'm still here. You're slightly criminal friends are still there. And more importantly, Anita isn't gone." Phantom looked at her. She added, "Yet. You can still get her back, be a part of her life. Because if you're going through this, she must be as well." His eyes fell back to the keys. "We can all understand, Phantom. All of us can relate. You aren't alone. But you got to understand, little girls like Anita can only hold onto you so tightly before they lose their grip on you."

He started pressing random, depressed notes. "Phantom, when I lost my Mother, I pushed my Father away for nearly ten years. And we're barely holding on by a thread anymore." She felt her voice crack as she began to tear up again.

"Sometimes even when you try to hold onto them it just seems like they're being pulled away." He fidgeted with something in his back pocket, a coin, and placed it by the closed music book on its stand. "Or sometimes like they aren't holding you at all."

Sam stared at the coin, recognising the beetle symbol from the ring on it. He stopped playing the piano. "Do you ever just learn to be okay with everybody leaving?"

Sam had never seen Phantom, in the year she had known him, look so defeated.

She realised he didn't need someone to get down on his level of sadness, but rather someone to pull him out of this quicksand he was trapped in. She shrugged, "If you do, I haven't. You just keep filling it with people until your whole again and hope for the best." Sam stood up from the piano. "But it doesn't help if you push people away, Raphael."

His smirk was wide. Sam folded her arms, recognising a hint of mischief within it, "What?"

He turned in the chair, straddling it, as he looked up to Sam, "That's the first time you've called me by name," he said, "Almost thought you had forgotten it."

Sam took a moment to think and was stunned she hadn't used his name yet. She shrugged, pocketing her hands as she started for the door, "How about this then? I promise not to forget about you, Raphael Dane."

Something warmed in her chest to call him that, and the sight of his face brightening up from her words made her feel special.

She gave him a head bow and turned to leave, stopping in the hallway to turn around and quickly add. "Anita gets adopted today. If you hurry, you can still say goodbye."