A knock sounded across the Shadow Gallery. A loud, demanding knock of the doorknob.
V headed to the doors, on his way putting on a hat – to take it off as a greeting for his guest. He stepped quietly, listening carefully. He approached the wide oak iron-coated arch-shaped doors , looked attentively through the keyhole, and only then, dinning the bar, opened the doors.
At the threshold, gazing around worriedly, stood Erik. He distrustfully examined the black clad host, staring attentively into the good-humored mask, answered the courteous bow with a nervous nod and stepped in indecisively.
- I bid you welcome, my dear friend, - V uttered happily, letting the guest in. - You can't imagine how happy I am to see you. Ah, well, it is impolite on my part not to introduce myself. You may call me V. And I suppose your name is Erik?
The Phantom lifted an eyebrow, his face expressing a certain surprise. At least the half not covered by the mask.
- How do you know?
- It is a long and complicated story, – V played the oracle, leading the amazedly and somewhat suspiciously looking around guest to the rooms. - I'll try to explain it for you, – he seated Erik into a velvet armchair with an inviting gesture. - But your story shall serve as a thread we'll have to take to unwind its tangle. How did you get here?
A shaven head stuck warily out of an adjacent room, curious eyes sparked in the darkness – just like a small beast looks out of a bush checking if there is a predator nearby. V waved to her.
- Make yourself acquainted with monsieur Erik, Evey.
For some time the Ghost hesitated whether he should shake or kiss the stretched out hand of this creature of undefined sexual identity. Unable to make up his mind, he made a light bow.
- Evey, could you please bring a glass of wine for the guest. What do you prefer, my friend – white or red?
- It's absolutely unimportant... I'd just like something stronger. - Erik grinned wearily.
Having drunk a couple of glasses and becoming noticeably calmer, he told an extremely strange story about how a swarm of strange girls burst into his underground vault. They broke the iron bars and dragged Raoul somewhere, no matter how fiercely he resisted. They furiously tore away half of poor Christine's hair and tied her to a chair, vowing to inflict great torture on her when they'd have time. And, whooping and crying something in a rough, obscure dialect of English, they started chasing Erik himself. All he could do for his beloved was lead the fury horde further into the dark labyrinths to postpone the promised reprisal. They chased him into a dead end and encircled him, a multitude of tenacious hands with little dark claws reached out to him, tore his shirt... And suddenly the unnaturally soft and warm, as if woven out of darkness, the dead end wall which he was clinging his back to, desperately fanning the girls away with his rapier, opened wide and swallowed him. That's how Erik found himself in the abandoned subway catacombs.
Evey sighed sorrowfully. In similar circumstances she had to come back under V's protection a couple of days after leaving the Gallery. While she was peacefully striding down a street, a gang of similar girls rushed at her, dragged her into a dark corner – and then the poor thing felt a burning gratitude towards V for his hairdressing misdeed. Managing to break free for sure by a miracle, she ran without looking behind to the very doors of the gallery, all in scratches and torn clothes. V listened to her attentively, shook his head and promised to rename Victory station and blow up the most conspicuous tunnels leading to the Gallery, and bid her never to open the doors to anyone.