Phantom: A Love Story.

In the parlor, Phillip and Andrew stood side by side at the window. It was black outside, like always, but it was a quiet night as well as dark; no drums. Phillip drank scotch from a thick-bottomed tumbler. Andrew's glass was still full.

"It's worse," said Phillip. "It's worse every damn night now."

"That's why you have to listen to me."

"We had to lock them in their cabins," said Phillip. "Half of them have run away, and I can't blame them. I wish I could run away too."

He looked at Andrew out the corner of his eye.

"Do you think we'll ever find them, the slave children who disappeared? Or do you think they're just..." he made a vague gesture, "...gone? Like the Phantom in the locked room, gone?"

"That letter you got this morning, what did it say?" Andrew said. "Tell me Phillip, please."

Phillip's voice went flat. "It said that if I don't leave Devereux Manor tonight, by midnight...Penelope will die."

Andrew nodded. "That's what I thought. And that's why you have to listen to me when I say that I know who's behind all this."

Phillip said nothing, but raised an eyebrow, waiting. Andrew swallowed his entire drink in one go. His face turned red. He fussed with his cuff buttons, and Phillip made an impatient gesture again. Andrew sighed.

"It's my father," he said.

Phillip looked at him fully for the first time. His face registered confusion but then, after a few seconds, he broke into a sick grin, and then he began to laugh.

"I'm not joking!" said Andrew, grabbing Phillip's sleeve again and shaking him. Phillip only kept laughing, peels and peels of diseased cackling.

Andrew went to the mantle and pointed at the glowering painting of the elder Devereux. "It's the only explanation that makes sense. He's angry that you're running the estate differently than he did. You remember how angry he could get over even the slightest challenge to his authority?"

Phillip poured himself another drink, snorting. Andrew grabbed the bottle out of his hand.

"You were wrong, Phillip," said Andrew. "The Phantom really is a ghost. And the angrier he gets, the more people will get hurt."

"Even if I believed in ghosts, your father would never do this to us."

Andrew sighed. "You knew him very well, Phillip, but you didn't know him completely. There was another side to him. Did you ever wonder about these?"

He indicated the busts of Janus.

"He loved the image. It suited him. You only ever saw one face, but there was another. He could be a tyrant when he wanted to. We were afraid of him."

Phillip looked incredulous.

"It's true," said Andrew. "Especially Penelope."

"That's a lie."

"Damn it, I didn't want to tell you this, but the first time she refused your proposal he beat her black and blue. I thought he would kill her with the way she was screaming."

"That's a lie!" Phillip said again. He stood with his hand in a fist, arm trembling. Andrew waited to see what he would do. Phillip said nothing for a long time. Andrew started to squirm.

A voice from the doorway caused them both to start. "I'd be careful how you talked to him if I were you, Phillip" said Captain Sidney. "A man in your position needs all the friends he can get."

The captain limped in, leaving his cane by the door. He had a black leather case tucked under one arm. Jeremiah lurked behind him, looking queasy.

"Penelope let me in," said the captain. "And then she sent this to look after me, although I kept telling her I don't need it."

"Penelope?" said Phillip. "She's not supposed to leave her room!"

"And her room has been a safe place for her so far, has it?" said the captain. His face was ashen. "She's there again now, for all it matters. No Phillip, I'm not here for Penelope, I'm here for you. I think it's time we put this Phantom business to bed once and for all, don't you?"

Phillip looked at the darkened window again. "I suppose that means something?" he said. He slurred his words a bit.

"It means I know who the Phantom is," said the captain. He opened the case and let everyone look inside; the red velvet interior held four antique pistols, polished to a shine.

"And what are you going to do with those?" said Phillip.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm going to take you outside and drill a hole in your skull. Because you're the Phantom."

Now Andrew looked as though he'd laugh, but held it in.

Phillip sighed. "I suppose you have some sort of explanation for why that would make any sense at all?"

The captain took one of the pistols, turning it over in his hand. Jeremiah huddled in the corner, watching.

"I admit, I didn't expect you to take it this far," said the captain. "I figured you would do just enough damage to your own interests to throw suspicion off of yourself. But you're certainly thorough, I'll give you that.

"And now that no one would possibly suspect you, it's time to do the deed, eh? Get rid of Penelope, and then you'll have the house and all of her affairs to yourself. Just like you always wanted, right?"

He hefted the gun. "I knew it was always about the money with you. I knew a callow little piano player wasn't capable of the kind of love that a real man feels for a woman like Penelope. Well here."

He put the gun in Phillip's hand. Phillip's arm dropped to his side, and the pistol hung from his fingers. "You can at least die like a real man."

Andrew stepped forward, ready to speak, but the captain thrust a pistol at him, too. "What do you say, Andrew, will you be my second? If you feel obligated to be his instead, I understand. Family ties and all that. I'll take this one for mine."

He dragged Jeremiah by the sleeve and pushed a pistol into his hand. Jeremiah looked as if he'd been burned by it. Phillip's voice became very quiet.

"Captain, I would like for you to leave my house."

"That I will," said the captain. "And you with me. Twenty paces on the front green, then we both fire. You'll have the advantage, being younger and fit in both legs. You can't say I'm not giving you a sporting chance."

"Captain," said Phillip again, "you'll leave alone and never come back."

"The hell I will!"

Andrew put his hand on the captain's arm, but the captain shook him off. He raised his pistol and pointed it at Phillip's face. Phillip didn't blink.

"I'll count to three," said the captain, "and if you haven't taken it outside by then, then we'll settle it indoors. One!"

"Captain Sidney," said Phillip.

"Two!"

"For God's sake!" said Andrew.

"Three!"

Jeremiah recoiled from the scene.

The captain sneered. "So that's how it is? A coward to the end. Fine then. Penelope may hold this against me, but she's the better for it. Maybe Devereux Manor will have a real phantom now, eh?"

Phillip dropped his gun. He squeezed his eyes shut. The captain cocked the pistol. Andrew screamed "For God's sake!" again, and then...

The small room reverberated with the shot. Phillip cried out and Andrew ducked his head, and the captain stepped back and the air was perfectly still, filled with the reeking scene of burning powder.

When the smoke cleared, Phillip opened his eyes. He put his hand to his chest and realized he hadn't been shot.

The captain sank into one of the chairs, gasping, hand on his abdomen, a red stain soaking his coat.

Jeremiah's eyes were wide, but his hand was steady as he set his smoking pistol on an end table.

Andrew ran to the captain's side. The captain tried to talk but a bubble of blood came out as soon as he opened his mouth. Phillip took a few seconds to register what had happened, and then he grabbed Jeremiah by the arm, pulling him to the door.

Jeremiah nodded at him once and said, "Please sir, you do it."

Phillip blinked.

"You kill me," said Jeremiah. "Your wife is a cruel woman. If she finds out what I did..." He turned away. "It'll be better if you do it."

"For God's sake, I'm not going to kill you. But why would you...Jeremiah, I know I've been more kind to you than Penelope or her father, but what you just did for me..." He trailed off, unable to say anything more. Jeremiah only shook his head.

"It wasn't just for you," he said. "It was my way out of all this. I don't care how it happens now."

Phillip was only more flabbergasted, but he knew there wasn't any more time. "Jeremiah, you're a free man, as of this moment," he said.

Jeremiah's mouth fell open.

"Take this key and go to my office, you'll find a letter of manumission in my desk, all ready for you. It was going to wait until Christmas, but..."

"But the captain?" said Jeremiah.

"That's nothing for you to worry about," said Phillip. "After all, I shot him. Didn't I?"

Jeremiah shook his head. "No sir—"

"I shot Captain Sidney," said Phillip. "To defend myself in my own home, I shot him. One white man to another. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Jeremiah clenched his jaw, but nodded.

"This other key on the ring opens the safe, there's cash inside. Take as much as you feel safe carrying, and then take whichever of the new horses you like from the stable, and then you ride. Get as far away from Devereux Manor as you can before the sun comes up, and you never look back."

Phillip closed Jeremiah's fingers around the key ring. Jeremiah only stared at his closed fist for a moment, until Phillip said, "Go!" And Jeremiah ran.

"Phillip," said Andrew, from the others side of the room, "we'll need a doctor."

"I'll fetch one," said Phillip. "The nearest is —" He stopped as he turned around. The windowpane, black as ink all night, was now cast with an eerie orange glow. He ran to it. "Good God!" he said.

Andrew joined him, and they both saw the fire raging.

"The cabins; the slaves!" said Andrew.

"We locked them in to keep them from running away," said Phillip. "Barricaded the doors, boarded the windows; my God, they'll burn alive!"

Before either man could say anything more they heard the scream. As one they turned, the captain included, and all at once they said, "Penelope!"

Phillip stood, torn by indecision. Andrew said, "You check on her, I'll go to the cabins."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to save as many as I can," said Andrew.

"But what about the captain?"

Captain Sidney gasped and gurgled out a few words: "Damn fool...'orry 'bout P—"

Andrew ran for the back door while Phillip rushed to Penelope's bedroom. The door was wide open and the French doors too, letting the night air in. Already Phillip smelled smoke on the wind.

The bedspread was covered in blood, but there was no sign of Penelope. Phillip screamed her name, and when he saw a flutter of movement by the trellis outside he ran toward it, just catching sight of the tattered hem of a grey cape.

It was only then that he realized he was holding Jeremiah's gun, still warm from being fired, and he raised the pistol now, shooting blindly at the retreating figure. Almost at the same time there was another pistol crack; the Phantom had returned fire!

Lips curled in a snarl, Phillip gave chase. The Phantom ran toward the burning cabins. The cavorting flames silhouetted the peaked roofs and, horrifyingly, the twisting bodies of those who had escaped their homes but were too badly burned to flee the area.

The wind changed direction and blew smoke into Phillip's face, stinging his eyes. Fire was all around him now, cinders and blackened things raining on him. Again, just at the periphery of his vision, he saw movement and fired, and again the Phantom fired back.

Phillip jerked from the sudden, hot pain in his ribs. And now Phillip could see him, outlined by the flames, arm raised, flickering light lapping at the barrel of the gun. The Phantom seemed ready to shoot again, but instead turned and ran.

Phillip raised his own pistol and squeezed the trigger, a wild, blind, desperate shot, but he saw the Phantom stagger and collapse, like a felled tree. Had he been hit? Was Phillip really that lucky?

He tried to walk, but pain burned every inch of him; blood soaked his shirt. He fell to his knees, and then to his hands and knees, and slowly, very slowly, he crawled, his hands turning up the loose earth as he inched toward his fallen nemesis.

The screams from all around him mingled with the crackling flames. The fire was spreading, but there was nothing Phillip could do now. Blackness tinged his vision. If he could just make it a few more feet...

He dragged himself along the ground like a snake by the time he reached the prone figure of the Phantom. He saw a bloody, smoking hole in the back of the fiend's head; the fabric of the mask was singed. It had been a lucky shot indeed.

It took everything Phillip had left to roll the body over. He clawed at the mask, weak and feeble. "Come on...bastard..." he said. He rolled the mask up. With some effort, he pulled it off.

Smoke obscured his vision, tears stinging his eyes. He wiped his hands over the Phantom's exposed face, clearing away the soot and blood. Who was it, damn it, who?

The wind fanned the flames, and sparks rained down on them, and in the hellish illumination Phillip finally saw the Phantom's face, and the sightless, unblinking eyes staring up at him, and then...

He collapsed, weak, helpless, fading. The flames spread around the two bodies, one lying atop the other, and slowly, very slowly, they closed in.

***

Amelia was awake. Or had she ever been dreaming at all this time?

She realized how cold she was, and then she realized that she was standing outside Devereux Manor, in her garden, naked except for the motel towel still. She jumped and ran, bare feet turning up loose garden soil.

When she reached the outer wall of the house, she looked back at the spot she'd been standing; the same spot she'd seen Phillip collapse in her dream. Phillip and...

She was not surprised that the doors were all unlocked, though she'd locked them before leaving. She was also not surprised to find the lump of gold in her hand. Least surprising of all was the piano music, that same sonata, filling the whole house.

She followed it to the music room. The door was open, and the room was full of light. Amelia almost paused in the doorway, but instead she walked right in.

Phillip was waiting for her.

He scooted over on the bench and she sat beside him, watching his fingers move over the old, dusty keys. When the last note sounded, he opened his eyes and looked at her. She smiled a little.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Thank you," said Phillip. His voice was a bit faint, just as his features were a little blurry. "I've been practicing it for a long time."

Amelia set the gold lump on the piano. "You gave this to me."

"Yes," said Phillip. "To help you see what I wanted to show you."

"The dreams?"

He nodded.

"Were they dreams, really?"

"Memories," said Phillip. "Memories of the house, mostly. And some of mine."

Amelia indicated the melted jewelry. "Your wedding rings. Fused together in the fire."

Phillip nodded.

"Why did she do it?" said Amelia.

Phillip sighed. "To get back at me, for not loving her the way she wanted. Or maybe just as a way to escape. I think she meant to run off with the captain, if she'd gotten away with it. I doubt he would have agreed. I don't think he had a thing to do with it really, now."

"How did she do it all? She was in her room the first night, when the trellis fell?"

"She planted the mask before I came in," said Phillip. "And she forced Jeremiah to wait outside and knock the trellis over at the right time. That's why she beat him so badly the next day; to make sure he kept quiet. She did other things to him too, to keep him afraid."

"But the trunk, and the weights?"

"She was always stronger than she looked," said Phillip. "There was not much weight on the trunk, remember? She ran to her room from the pantry and changed out of the costume while we were still breaking the door down. Then she put on just enough weight to still be able to open the lid halfway and squeeze inside.

"We assumed from the shoddiness of the setup that we'd simply caught 'le Fantome' in the act."

He sighed, and then put his face in his hands. Amelia wanted to put her arms around him, but somehow it seemed respectful to just let him be. He tapped out a few empty notes on the keys. Amelia followed his fingers with hers, but when she touched a key it drew forth only silence.

"What about the Phan—what about Penelope?" Amelia said after a while. "She's still here. She brought me back."

"I know. I try to keep her pacified by playing. It helps sometimes, like the drums. But only sometimes. I can't leave, and neither can she, and now that you're here she probably won't let you leave either. That's why I thought you deserved to at least know why all this was happening to you. And also because..." he trailed off.

"Because?"

He smiled a little more. "Well, I guess I just wanted you to know about me. I've been here a long time, and you are a very beautiful woman, after all..."

Amelia blushed, pulling the towel tighter around her. Phillip looked away, respectful of her modesty. Amelia shifted in her seat, unsure what to say for a second. Then: "Phillip?"

"Yes?"

"Will you play again?" She leaned against him a little, head on his shoulder; his touch was cold, but not unpleasant. "It's such a beautiful song."

Phillip smiled more. "If you like. It seems I've been playing requiems for so long now, I barely remember anything else. But I've never forgotten this."

And he played, and the music passed through the walls, and the floors, and the ceilings, and the eaves, and became a part of the house.

Because the house never belonged to anyone, or anything; everything became a part of it. It was a house unto itself, and would remain that way, always.