Chapter IV

Delving Deep

Meg wasn't sure how long they had been in the strange hall of chambers. Perhaps a day…perhaps two days…maybe more, she couldn't tell. No way to tell time down here…no sun to tell her if it was day or night.

Just the ceaseless sound of that infernal ring.

Erik would sit for hours on a small ivory stool in a corner, tapping a small diamond ring against a metal cup he had taken to carrying. Meg was never sure what the cup was…or why he had it. But the reverberation of ring on cup, echoing in the merciless vaults of the strange cavern, drove her to the brink of insanity.

She didn't attempt to stop him. His words to her had been of one who had lost all hope. But the remorseless echoing…it drove her mad. She didn't dare confront him. He could become violent, and she knew that in such a state he could kill. She had lost her fear of him…or at least convinced herself that she had, but she wasn't eager to die.

Meg was standing by one of the candelabras along the rough stone hall that led from the narrower tunnel to the larger cavern. She was stretching her limbs, passing the time by doing some of the old dances she had learned…just something to keep in shape and keep her mind off of things. She thought that Erik was too mesmerized by his own thoughts to really notice what she was doing.

"You move very gracefully."

Startled out of her counting and concentration, she paused in mid-movement. A pirouette was left unfinished as she turned, her eyes finding the vague outline of Erik as he stood nearby. She hadn't heard him approaching.

Slanting her eyes downward in embarrassment, she spoke sheepishly, "My…my mother thinks I dance like a lame duck." She smiled slightly at the memory of her mother. She missed her…and she hoped she was safe.

"That's an unfair statement."

"Well, it's unfair to the duck," Meg said, laughing feebly. She was startled to hear Erik's laugh joining her. His laugh was strained, weak. And she could see his half face, a confused expression on it, as if he was unfamiliar with this sound himself. It trailed off, along with Meg's, the feeble echoes bouncing off the walls.

Meg now looked down awkwardly. She supposed it was humorous to think that she had just shared laughter with the opera ghost. But it seemed she had been interacting with him more than she ever thought she would. Had her mother ever really spoken with Erik? Or had she simply assisted him and then left him to his own devices?

"How well did…do you know my mother?"

Erik slanted his gaze down to her, pausing before answering her, "You doubt the bond we share?" Without waiting for her answer, he continued, "I owe her my life. She cared for me for many months as I learned to fend for myself in this cavern. We talked often, as well. I told her some of the secrets of this place, and she promised never to reveal them."

His eyes found hers, "Did she break any of those promises?"

Meg shook her head, "No…I stumbled on that alcove by pure accident, I assure you."

He tilted his head to the side, hiding his half face from her, wondering if it would be proper to respond that he wasn't sure if he was glad of that fact. In the awkward silence that followed, the tapping of the ring on the cup began again.

Meg looked down, "What is that?"

Erik looked down as well, "What? Oh…just…just a cup. Nothing, really."

"Oh…" Meg didn't press the matter, fearing that his neutral mood might turn for the worse should she continue to push the question.

"Curious girl…" his voice almost sounded playful, but it was only a trick of the echoing vaulting ceilings. He reached out, softly touching Meg's chin so as to angle her face up to meet his. He paused, as if assessing her.

"You resemble your mother quite a lot," he commented, nodding as if in approval.

"Thank you," Meg replied, genuinely flattered. She inwardly hoped that Erik also referred to her inner qualities.

Erik's eyes traced her face again, and he opened his mouth as if to say something else, but nothing ever came of it. He dropped his gaze to the floor, showing a flash of uncertainty. Then the invisible mask was on again.

Meg sensed this break in the wall, but did not attempt to breach any more. She didn't really want to…did she? She was simply here to see that he did nothing to harm himself…only for her mother's sake, she reminded herself.

Turning away from him, Meg stretched her arms, feeling the awkwardness of the silence pressing in on her like a hot wave of stagnant air. Erik, finding himself unsure of what to do or say, turned slowly, almost hesitantly, and walked back to his self-appointed post. He didn't dare look back at Meg. It seemed…improper.

Meg continued with her exercises, now feeling the tension thick in the air. Why had it increased despite the decrease of hostility?

Because he knows I can see him clearly now…and he sees me.

Hours had passed since their last interaction, and Meg, bored and overflowing with pent up energy, sat alone in a corner, looking up into the darkness of the ceiling. Still that ringing noise. She wanted it to stop, but he seemed obsessed with the sound of it. She had torn a corner off of her shirt, stuffing her ears with the material, but the high ringing, like a diabolical giggle, seemed to be inside her head, trapped within her ears.

Then, the ringing stopped. But the last strike of the metal did not reverberate as it should have. It was cut short. Curious and strangely concerned, Meg stood and crept closer to the place Erik occupied. She could make out his form, but vaguely, only his shadow against the blackness of the wall behind him. He was bent over, as if concentrating on something. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of a cork being popped from a bottle mouth.

It had been hours since she had had anything to drink, and Meg's mouth suddenly grew unbearably dry at the thought of something to wet her lips. Perhaps if she asked nicely…he would let her have a drink? She began to move forward again, but stopped when he turned his head, almost furtively, to the corner she had previously occupied. His eyes narrowed when he noted her absence. On a sudden instinct, Meg ducked into the shadows, and watched as Erik scanned the chamber. Meg gave out a sigh much like a shifting sleeper. This seemed to satisfy Erik, and he bent back to his task.

Now the sound of a liquid pouring into the cup set Meg's mouth working earnestly to moisten itself, longing for a single drop of something. She again crept forward.

But as she neared him, she saw him raise the cup into the air, holding the ring in his other hand. He seemed to be raising the drink like an offering, as if he expected some pagan god to bless whatever wine it held.

Then a whisper, pained and low as a summer breeze laden with the staleness of stagnant summer pools.

"Farewell, Angel…know that it is for you."

Meg, acting before the realization had even sunk all the way in, ran forward, giving a cry that echoed through the room terribly as she leaped towards Erik's arm, using her fists to bat the cup away from him. A cry of surprised rage from Erik. Meg felt his iron arm grab her about the waist before she had a chance to get away from him. He wrenched her about to face him, his half-face a mask of bitter disappointment mixed with dreadful fury. He struck her once, twice, then, his hand gripping her little throat, brought her feet off the ground, dangling her uncomfortably in the air as he roared at her, "You stupid girl! Do you think you can stop me? Do you think you can save me? From this?" He withdrew his mask again.

Meg was fighting for breath, but she managed to swing out with her leg and catch Erik on the chest. He released her, and she fell heavily onto her back. Something gave way in her arm, but she struggled up nonetheless, unexplained tears on her cheeks as she cried out, "I won't let you do it! It's wicked, it's wrong!"

"A fitting end to a wretch such as I!" His despair was heart-wrenching, his utter hopelessness discouraging to Meg.

"No, no, no no no!" Meg saw him reaching for the bottle that contained the foul drink. She moved forward, seizing his arm with a strength that surprised him. Then, with a movement that belied her small size, she rammed her shoulder into his chest, driving him back a full two steps. Shocked at this display of fierceness, Erik did not move to strike again. He simply glared at Meg balefully.

"You hope to aid me. If you want to do that, let me die! There is nothing for me now."

"There is always something!" Meg retorted passionately, attempting to hide the pain that was burning in her shoulder and side.

"Yes, for those of you fortunate enough to live as a human. Shall I continue as the creature I am?"

"The creature you've become!"

"I was born this way!"

"You were born a man!" Meg's voice broke with her sobs, but she recovered and continued shakily, arms spread, her hair loose about her shoulders from the struggle. Absurdly, Erik saw her as some sort of mad sibyl or Dise, sans the bloodied arms, observing the wildness in her face with a sudden concern and fear. Desperation was evident in her demeanor and her voice, "You were born as all are! What has life done to you? You are your own bane! Your own persecutor! Oh, Erik, don't dishonor Christine by laying the responsibility of your death at her feet!"

He paused, trembling with a sort of weakened shudder. He sank to a kneeling position, pressing the back of his hand to his eyes. Meg could see that he was attempting to hide his sudden tears. Pity mixed with the adrenaline from the moment caused her to step forward boldly, taking his face in her hands and kneeling down before him. He looked up at her momentarily, then bent his head again, his sobs choking out despite his attempt to control them. But Meg encircled his neck with her trembling arms, attempting to comfort him. To her and Erik's surprise, it seemed to work somewhat, as Erik laid his head on her breast, letting his weeping come freely.

Meg almost found it humorous (if it hadn't been for the horror of it all) that she, the small, overlooked ballerina from backstage was here, rocking back and forth, cradling the head of the terrible and feared Opera Ghost as if she were a mother consoling a wayward child.

"Erik…I'm trying to help you…let me help you, if not for your own sake, then for my mother's."

He gave a shuddering sigh against her shoulder, and she felt her entire body consumed with fiery pain and he grasped her injured arm with a grip of desperate grief.

Then he raised his face to her, his eyes hard, "I have learned to be selfless…let me be selfish just once."

Meg felt the tears coming again, shaking her head, "No…no, I won't. Nothing in this world will make me leave you like this. Nothing."

Startled somewhat by her sudden devotion to her cause, Erik relented, in a way honoring the bravery he was growing to admire, however grudgingly. He rose shakily to his feet, looking down at the girl, still bent on the ground. She looked like a little child, tears streaking her bruised face. But the fire of purpose in her face made her look startlingly beautiful.

He knelt slightly, taking hold of her shoulders and pulling her to her feet. He paused before speaking, his voice slightly hoarse with something hidden, be it hatred or an unknown gratitude, "Then I will not stop you. Do as you will."