It's over now, the music of the night…
Staring the white mask in her hands, she listened to the uproar all around her. The furies of the mob, the cries, and the loud footsteps were ringing in her ears, and among them, the deep voice of her mother. She looked around her, then back at the black cape on the empty throne.
"He's gone…" she whispered to herself as she caressed the mask in her hands.
"Mademoiselle!" She nearly jumped at the sudden call. She turned around, and saw a man in the uniform of a police inspector with a torch staring straight at her.
"Monsieur!" She gasped, backing away from the throne.
"If you would excuse me," the man said, as he moved passed her behind the throne and searched up and down. Meg slowly moved around the front, and quietly picked up the black cape from the throne and held it in her hands.
"Where has he gone?" she heard another voice among the clamor. The noises around her, the banging, the sounds of stuff being tossed around, the sounds of things crashing on the floor… all sounded as if the place was about to be turned up side down.
"He has escaped!" Another man shouted from the other side.
"How could this be possible? We have completely blocked off all entrances, and the way down here!" Another voice came from behind a shelf.
"He couldn't have just vanished into the thin air!" The other man turned around and said loudly, tossing a few old books onto the floor by his feet. "After all, now that we know, he really is no ghost!"
"Ghost or no ghost, he is no where in sight here right now," the inspector said, and walked around the throne one more time.
"Good Monsieur," Meg heard her mother's voice, calm and composed, yet deep and dignified at the same time. "It is possible that he has escaped across the lake and into the opera house."
"How could he have escaped us when there could be no possible alternative route out of here?" Another masculine voice from the other side of the lair called.
"If he wants to get out, I am sure that there could be many ways," Madame Giry said, walking toward the man. "Perhaps I can show you another route, gentleman. As you can see, there is absolutely no one here."
The men slowed down their steps and looked at the old lady. But all looked reluctant to leave just like this.
"Perhaps if we search further, we will discover some hidden places that we might have overlooked," the police inspector said, glancing toward Meg with the mask and the long cloak draped over her small arms.
"I am almost certain that other than ravaging this place from top to bottom and breaking everything, there is nothing you can do here at the moment," Madame Giry glimpsed at Meg, then glanced over the men, who were now coming over from all corners of the dark lair.
"Could he have escaped while we were in a panic," another man called.
"If you know him as well as I do, you will know that he has more tricks than you can ever imagine," Madame Giry remained composed as she spoke. "There really is no use tearing this place down. If he is not here, he is not here."
"All right, Madame," the inspector came out from behind the throne, and tossed Meg a quick glance. "If you say so, then I suppose, we shall take your word for it."
"He is smart when it comes to escaping, Monsieur," Madame Giry said, quickly throwing a look at her daughter, who immediately nodded.
"Oh, yes, Monsieurs," Meg said, looking at the men, while holding the cloak close to her. "All around the opera house he has escape routes and trap doors. That's why he could always come and go so quickly, everywhere, without anybody being quick enough to catch even a glimpse of him."
"Well, in that case, then I suppose, we will see if the lady has any plans," another man walked toward Madame Giry, gesturing for the others who were still scattered all around the lair looking up and down to follow.
"Go back the way we came, my dear," Madame Giry called, "I will return shortly!"
"Yes, Mother," Meg said as she held the mask and the cape in her hands, and slowly began to turn around. But she knew from the look in her mother's eyes that she had hinted otherwise.
"If you would all follow me now, good Monsieurs," Madame Giry slowly brought her cane forward, and began walking toward the way which she knew that Raoul had taken to come into the lair.
The moment she was sure that the mob had evacuated the lair, Meg stopped on her way out returned to the throne. She lit another candelabra on the side, and fixed her eyes on the empty seat.
"He can't have just disappeared…" she muttered to herself as she studied the big empty chair up and down. "He must be here somewhere, somewhere hiding…"
Slowly, with her little hand, she touched the tall throne, and the thought of trapdoors occurred to her. She knew that she had seen him sitting in the throne before he disappeared. Perhaps he was even cleverer with trapdoors than her mother had told her before? Slowly, her hand slipped down to the empty seat.
"Wait a minute…" holding the mask and the cape close to her with her other hand, she looked down beneath the seat, then back up. The hand that was on top of the seat trailed along its edges, and an idea suddenly struck her as she noticed that it appeared no to be nailed to the throne.
Carefully, she lifted the seat up, and noticed that underneath it appeared to be a tunnel-like hole. Leaning the seat against the back of the throne, she picked up the candelabra and shone it above it, and saw a small ladder leading down to what looked to her like a dark pit. She leaned over it and looked down as far as possible, but she could see nothing. Looking around her and making sure that she wasn't being watched, Meg carefully stepped up the throne, and as gentle as she could, lowered her feet into the hole, with one hand clutching the mask and the cape, and the other holding the candelabra as steady as she could. Needing a free hand to hold onto the ladder as she turned around, feeling her feet on the first rung, Meg swung the cape onto her shoulder, and held the mask with her teeth as she began slowly descending down into what felt like a bottomless abyss. The candle flames flickered as she stepped down one step at a time, casting a big, ominous shadow around. Trying the hardest to battle her fears, she continued. He was down there, and she felt almost sure.
Finally, she was sure that her feet had touched concrete, and she took the mask out of her mouth, and carefully turned her body around. But what she saw suddenly brought a loud gasp out of her, and her trembling hands nearly dropped the candelabra. Only a few feet away from her on the floor was a black, motionless form, lying on his right side, still and lifeless looking. Meg had to back off a few steps, but immediately calmed herself and let out a long breath. It was he… only he. She straightened herself and brought her hand down from her chest, and stared at the still figure from where she was. In the shadows and the dim candlelight, the figure looked dark and ghostly. She studied it from a distance, feeling scared and curious at the same time. As quiet as possible, Meg moved her feet toward it, and carefully bent and set the candelabra down next to it. Holding back her nervousness, she swallowed as she reached out a hand and touched his back, then quickly pulled her hand back. He felt hard and cold, and she wasn't sure whether or not he was breathing. She looked closer at his face, which was half hidden on the floor, and noticed what looked like a small cut on his temple.
This was he? The angel, the ghost, the madman, the murderer…? Meg sighed as she stared at his closed eyes, and a small trickle of blood that was flowing slowly out of the wound on his head. It looked to her more as if he had fallen and rolled down the ladder. Sympathy and pity began rising from beneath her as she stared at him, and she spread out the black cape in her hands and gently allowed it to fall onto his stiff body. Was he dead? She thought to herself as she looked at his closed eyes. She pulled out a small white handkerchief from her dress and carefully dabbed at the wound on his head. His shoulders flinched a little, and she heard a low moan escape his lips. Thank goodness, she thought. At least he was still alive. Suddenly, a hand reached out from underneath the cape, and grabbed tightly onto hers.
Meg gasped a bit as her hand stopped at the spot. The hand that grabbed hers felt no different with that of a corpse's, hard, cold, and rough. Looking at his face nervously, she held her breath and waited. But his eyes did not open. "Christine…" He whispered. The hand that grasped Meg's loosened.
Meg felt her heart tremble at the weak sound, and looking closer, the tearstains on his face glimmered in the candlelight. Gently, she pulled her hand out of his, and heaved out a heavy sigh. Christine… Christine was gone. Long gone. She gathered up her courage, and gently touched his shoulder.
"It's me," she said softly, seeing his eyes slowly opening. "It's me, Meg Giry. Oh, what have you done to yourself?" She gently wiped the bloodstains from his temple, and carefully touched the wound with the handkerchief. She noticed his eyes on her now, looking as if not knowing who she was.
"It's all right," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "They are gone now. You are safe here. I… I will go fetch Mother. She will help you…" she rose to her feet.
But as she turned to leave, she felt a hand grabbing onto the corner of her dress.
"Don't… don't go…" she heard a low whisper as she turned around, and saw the Phantom pulling himself up to lean on his elbow, one hand holding the corner of her dress, the other covering the right side of his face.
Meg sighed again, and knelt back down beside him. She forced herself to look at him, and her lips trembled when she noticed the tears in his eyes, and the shadow from the candlelight slightly shading his face and half-bald scalp. At this moment, he was no phantom, no ghost, no angel… just a man, a lonely, helpless, unhappy man in need of understanding and comforting. She recalled what her mother and Christine had told her before as she looked down at him, and noticed that the hand had let go of her dress, and was now slowly moving forward toward the mask she had placed next to the candelabra on the floor not far away from her.
Gently, she put her hand on top of his and stopped it from reaching the mask. He was not looking at her, and was turning away with his other hand covering his face tightly. Meg reached over and slowly pulled his hand away from his face, holding both of his hands in hers. But her actions had apparently startled him, as he abruptly turned his face as far back as possible and trembled.
"Do not be afraid," she said, her tone even more gentle than before. "I… I thought you were gone, and I did not expect to find you here. Are… are you hurt? It's all right. You… you can look at me. There is no need to hide…"
"Is… is she gone?" He slowly turned his face toward her, and was finally able to look her in the eyes. Meg fought hard to retain her composure as she felt her heartbeat increase along with her breathing at the exposure of the horrifying sight, and swallowed hard trying not to show her fright at the look of the death-like face. But the shock and terror could not be hidden in her eyes, and seeing the look on her face, the Phantom quickly turned his head away to the opposite side, and again, covered the entire right side of his face with his right hand.
"Do you dare to look at this face…" he spoke. His tone filled with pain and sorrow, and Meg had to once again stop him from reaching for his mask.
"I'm sorry," Meg said, "here, let me help you up. Can you move?" She gently touched his arm and shoulder.
"She is gone, isn't she?" The Phantom slowly turned to face her again, only his eyes were not on her.
Meg nodded and sighed. "Yes, she is gone. But I can send for her. I will ask her to come back and see you, and…"
"No, no…" he shook his head hard, and pulled his hands out of hers and buried his face in them. "Let her go… let her go…"
"Erik…" Meg called. The moment she spoke that name, her heart began to tighten. For years she had feared him and dreaded his appearance, yet now she is here, kneeling right before of him and looking into his eyes. All these years he had remained a mystery to her, known to her only as "the opera ghost", yet now she was able to call him by his name. She noticed his expression tightening as well, obviously stunned by her call.
"Angel of music… the phantom of the opera…" he mumbled, shifting his gaze to the floor. "I am nothing… I belong in hell…"
"Do not say this!" Meg cried, again taking his hand into hers and held it tightly. "Please, what scares me now is not your face, but your morbid thoughts and words!"
"What does the world have left for me?" He sighed, looking away from her. "No love, no sympathy… the world is filled with those who fear and detest me, my only love wanted to get as far away from me as possible… there will never be a chance. There is no meaning for my existence in this world. My only reason for living is gone… gone forever. There is no point anymore…"
"Your life does not end with Christine leaving," Meg said, looking him in the eye. Never in her life had she felt so much pity for someone, and for someone who had always been such a fear in her mind, too. "There are those in the world who do not fear you or detest you, and there are those who can give you love and sympathy. Why… why do you think I decided to look for you?" She swallowed, fighting hard to press down her emotions at the same time. At this moment, he was no ghost, no phantom, no madman, and no monster to her, but simply a man, an unhappy, lonesome, pitiful man, who was left alone in this world, and whose pain and sorrows only he himself knew.
"And Christine… she is not gone forever," Meg continued, once again reaching out her hand to him and touched his stiff shoulder. "She will come back and see you. She won't forget you. After all, you are her teacher, aren't you?"
The Phantom slowly raised his head and gazed at her with his left eye that was not covered, and heaved out a heavy sigh as he shook his head.
"No… she will not come back. She will never come back. She has finally gotten away from me, finally with him alone without me in the way… she will forget about me in no time," he uttered, and Meg noticed a shiny tear slowly sliding its way down his cheek. "She has gone away… far away from me, to start a new life. And I am left behind, again all alone in this dark pit… with nothing left, and nothing to wait for but death…"
"You are terrifying me!" Meg cried, "please, stop talking like this. Stop speaking of death! You will not die. I will not let you die! Doesn't matter if you are an angel, or ghost, or man… I will not allow you to die. Not now!"
"I am no angel, nor ghost, nor man…" the Phantom again sighed. "I am just a pathetic creature, damned to live and die in hell, and with my soul doomed forever condemned in darkness. If there really is a God, then I certainly am a being whom he had cursed for eternity. There is no one in this world, nothing, that could save me… not before, now, not ever…"
"Erik…" Meg shook her lips, feeling her words stuck in her throat. However, before she could open her mouth to speak again, she swung her head around, suddenly alarmed at the sound of footsteps on the floor above her long.
"Meg?" came a call from above the ladder.
Feeling as if a rock hanging on the tip of her heart had just dropped to the bottom, Meg let out a long breath as she moved to her feet and moved toward the bottom of the ladder.
"I am down here, Mother," she called as she spotted the dark fabric of her mother's long dress. "And… he is down here, too."
Madame Giry's face soon appeared above the small square door.
"He is down there?" she asked, looking hard toward where the candelabra was.
"Yes," Meg swallowed, turning around to look at the Phantom, who had turned his face away from her.
"Is he hurt?" Madame Giry's deep voice echoed in the pit.
"A little…" Meg turned away from the Phantom. "I do not know how much. It looked like he had fallen…"
"Will he not come up?" Madame Giry asked, trying to look over her daughter down below.
Meg turned back to the Phantom and sighed.
"I do not know…" she slowly stepped closer to him.
"Leave me now…" The Phantom moaned, lowering his head. "Let me be."
Meg looked from the Phantom to her mother, then back to the Phantom, not knowing what to do or say.
"Erik, it is safe for you to come out now," Madame Giry called, speaking as gently as she could as if to a child. "They are gone. There is no one to harm you."
The Phantom kept his face turned away, not saying a word.
"Erik, are you not even listening to me now?" Madame Giry called again, keeping her tone as soft as she could.
"Come out… what use it is to come out? The world has long abandoned me, and the people in it despise and fear me. This mask alone is never enough to cover up what will always drive every living being away with fright and disgust!" The Phantom's voice became hoarse as he spoke, and another tear slowly slid down his face.
"But do you not wish to take a chance, as well as giving the world another chance?" Meg slowly walked toward him again.
"I am already tired with chances!" The Phantom growled, tossing Meg an angry look that made her back off four steps.
"But…" Meg stared at him, feeling confused and irritated at the same time. She wanted to say something, but words were suddenly stuck in her throat.
"I said leave me!" The Phantom shouted, abruptly turning his entire body away from her. "Go! Now! Leave me!"
Meg, now trembling with frustration, abruptly turned around, shook her head, and backed away toward the ladder. What were pity and confusion earlier had now turned into anger, and anger had now completely blocked all her words.
"All right, all right. As you wish, Monsieur!" Meg said under her breath as she started ascending the ladder, surprised that she did not yell back at him. She did not look back at the Phantom underneath when she reached the top, and, without looking her mother in the eye, she went straight toward the exit that she had used to come in.
"Meg," she heard her mother's call. But she did not turn around. Feeling her feet carrying her further and further, before she knew it, she was away from the dark lair.