Chapter 2- Erik
"Chandelier crashes at Paris Opera House! Twenty people dead, nearly ten missing!" cried the newsboy standing on the corner. The headlines of all the local newspapers were reporting the news. "Opera House closed indefinitely!" the boy went on.
It was true.
The managers, André and Firmin had announced their resignation immediately after the show. The day after, they were nowhere to be found.
Inside the Opera House, the fires had been extinguished. Most of the theatre had been destroyed- the once-red velvet covered chairs were now burned out frames; the paintings on the domed roof were covered with ash and grime. The bodies of those that had perished had been removed, but there were still many people in the house, searching for the missing. Among them was Madame Giry, looking frantically for her daughter. But as the hours wore on, Meg was nowhere to be found.
The old dance instructor was a wreck- searching each and every room for traces of her daughter.
Christine Daae and Raoul deChagny had come to the Opera House upon hearing of Meg's disappearance, and they too, were helping to search, though they stayed together and didn't dare venture near the cellar.
Finally, when the day was over, they persuaded Madame Giry to return home and rest. Christine feared for the older woman's health- she had inhaled much smoke during the fire, and she had been coughing steadily all day. They promised to return the following day to search for Meg.
Unaware of the search party upstairs, Meg Giry was sleeping peacefully in her bed in the phantom's lair. She had locked her door to give herself the illusion of safety, but she assumed that the phantom probably had a key. Frightened of him though she was, Meg couldn't help but be curious about the dark, mysterious man who had saved her life. When she woke up, it took her a moment or two to remember everything that had happened. Then it came to her. She was in the phantom's lair, trapped behind a wall of rock that separated her from the outside world. She rolled out of the bed, slipping her feet out from underneath the red velvet comforter onto the cold floor. She shivered, wishing desperately for a cloak or some other covering. The thin dress she had on simply wouldn't do for living down here.
She swallowed hard.
Living down here. Spending an indefinite number of days down here, away from the sun, cut off from all of her friends, and her mother.
Her mother.
Her heart sank as she imagined Madame Giry, looking for her, wondering where in heaven's name her daughter was. Maman, forgive me for not listening, Meg thought sincerely. If she ever got out, she thought, she would never disobey again. Quietly as she could, Meg padded over to the door, and turned the lock quietly. She opened the door a tiny crack and looked out. Seeing no one, she opened the door a little wider and stepped out into the hall. She heard music, coming from down the hall. Following the sound, she found the phantom sitting trance-like at the organ, playing a soft, mournful melody.
From where she stood, she could only see the unmasked half of his face, and she studied it closely. When looked at from her angle, the phantom could pass for a normal man, thought Meg. He could even be considered handsome- with his strong, finely chiseled face and dark green eyes. She found herself unable to pull her eyes away from him. She didn't notice the music stop, and the phantom's head snap up.
The green eyes turned to look at her, flashing in the candlelight.
Meg gasped.
"Come to stare at the phantom?" he asked coldly.
"I- I came t-to say thank you... for saving my life. I-I never got a chance to tell you... yesterday..."
His look softened a little. "You're welcome," he said flatly.
Meg relaxed slightly. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.
"Do you have a name?" Meg asked timidly.
Her question caught him off guard. "I had a name," he responded.
She cocked her head. "What are you talking about?"
"Why is it any concern of yours?" he asked harshly.
Meg frowned. "Well, for one thing, since we're going to be living down here together for awhile, I just thought.... well, I can't just call you 'phantom', or 'opera ghost', can I?"
"Why not?" he retorted. "That's all you've ever called me before." He imitated a high-pitched, girlish voice that sounded startlingly authentic. " 'Eeek! It's the Opera Ghost! Run and hide before he sees you! He wears a mask.... he has no face....'" He feigned laughter.
Meg flushed with embarrassment. She knew he was mocking her... all the times she had regaled the dancers with her own horror tales of the phantom. "I never meant it...," she said quietly.
"No, I'm sure," the phantom sneered. "Just because you can't see him doesn't mean he's not there," he said in a strange, childlike, taunting voice.
"Please," said Meg. "I just want to know your name..."
"I have no name!" he said loudly. "I have no name.... no past.... no future...."
"Maybe I'll call you the Angel of Music, then," said Meg, growing angry. "Christine always used to call you that."
The name struck a nerve. The phantom rose from his chair and pinned Meg against the wall in an instant- his hands closing around her forearms. He sneered at the fear in her eyes.
"Never," he hissed, bringing his face close to her to whisper in her ear. "Say that name... down here!"
He felt her nod, and released her. She looked at him with more fear than ever. He strode back over to the bench. Turning away from Meg, he said, in a surprisingly calm voice, "They once called me Erik. That name means nothing to me, but that is what you may call me. Understood?"
"Yes.... Erik," Meg responded, before returning to her own room. From where he sat, Erik could see tears of pain in her eyes.
Once safely in her room, Meg locked the door and curled up on the bed. She drew her knees up to her chin and began to cry softly. Why did this have to happen? She asked herself. Why was she imprisoned down here with this horrible man? If he could even be called a man, she thought contemptuously. She missed her mother... she missed the sun, and the freedom of the world above. As she thought of her old life, she couldn't help the cries that escaped her. She covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle them, hoping that the phantom wouldn't hear.
But he did.
Sitting out at his organ, he heard his little captive crying. He tried to shut out her small, strangled sobs, but each one met his ears clearly. He fisted his hands and rested them on the keys. Maybe he had been too hard on her, he thought. Who could blame her for hating him? In his mind, he was regretting his actions. Why did you have to make fun of her? he asked himself. Why did you hurt her? Remember how they hurt and humiliated you? And then they laughed... laughed, laughed, laughed at you, monster! Hear them- they're still laughing- laughing laughing laughing!
"Go away!" he said out loud, slamming his head into his hands.
You can't make us go away! We will never go- never never never! We're not like Christine- we'll never leave you.....
"Stop it!" he said into his hands. "Don't say her name..." he pleaded in a whisper.
Christine..... Christine..... Christine.... Christine.....Chrisssssstine....
The voices, thought Erik ... they were getting worse. The memories in his head were coming back to him- mocking him. Why did you do it, phantom? Why? Why? Why?
"I couldn't help it," he said miserably to no one. "I lost my temper..."
He heard Meg's cried soften, and eventually die. She had cried herself to sleep.
Meg didn't come out of her room the next day, or the day after. On the third day, Erik found himself outside her door, trying to coax her into coming out.
He knocked firmly. "Meg?" he called out, her name unfamiliar on his tongue. "Come out," he said commandingly.
"No!" she said in a small, scared voice.
"You need to eat something..." he said, growing annoyed. He didn't like her being there, but he didn't want her to die. After all, she was Madame Giry's daughter, and Antoinette had been kind to him when no one else had been. The least he could do was return her daughter to her safe and sound when the time came.
Meg didn't respond.
"Do not make me break down this door," he said angrily.
He heard the lock turn. He opened the door, and saw Meg shying away from him. "Come with me," he demanded.
She obeyed, hanging her head as she did so. He led her out into the main room, where there was a table, on top of which was a small plate of food. He pulled out the chair for her to sit down. "Eat," he said. "You haven't had anything since you came down here."
She shook her head deftly.
"You want to kill yourself?" he asked sharply, slamming his fist on the table and making her flinch. "Is that what you want? You think that by not eating you'll just waste away down here? I tell you now, Marguerite Giry- that will not happen. You will eat- or I will force you to! I will not be held responsible for your death."
"Why?" she asked, looking up at him. "Wouldn't it be easier for you just to kill me?"
"You insolent little brat!" he hissed. "Why do you assume that I hold such belligerent feelings against you? Why do you act as though you are my prisoner? It is not by my will that you are here- I do not wish to harm you! I will return you to your mother as soon as I can find a way to move the rocks. Until I do- if you wish to live peacefully- I suggest you do as I say."
He turned on his heel and left her alone.
As soon as he was out of sight, hunger pains began to ravage Meg's stomach. She began to eat- but forced herself to stop halfway through. Best to get used to living on little food, she thought.
Erik returned shortly, coming in to ensure that Meg had eaten, but said nothing to her. He sat down at the organ bench, and taking out a soft cloth, idly began shining the keys.
Meg, meanwhile, sat pensively, not sure whether she was allowed to leave. Minutes slipped past, melting slowly into hours. Neither she nor the phantom moved from their opposite ends of the room, until finally Meg- bored out of her mind and tired of waiting- rose to her feet.
Erik looked over at her with an expression of indifference.
She held his eyes as she walked defiantly away from the table and retreated to her bedroom.
As the hours continued to pass, Meg lost track of time. She would sleep for hours at a time, then wake up and wonder what time it was. She had no idea what day it was, or how long it had been since the rockslide. She spent almost all of her time in her room, except for the hour when Erik would summon her out of her sanctuary to eat. He took no food himself- Meg found herself wondering if he ever did, but didn't want to ask him. He was civil to her; saying little while they were together.
Meg also noticed- and this was most unnerving of all- that it didn't seem that he was doing anything to try to get out. This filled her with a quiet rage, which finally boiled over one night.
She was seated, as she normally was, at the table in the main room. Erik was at the organ, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. His face was tightened in concentration; head so close to the paper that his nose was almost touching it. He looked to be in a sort of intellectual coma- blind and deaf to all other surroundings. He was like that often, though Meg never knew what he was scribbling.
She set her glass of wine down deliberately hard on the wooden tabletop, causing him to jump. He looked so startled she wanted to laugh, but remembered why she had wanted to get his attention in the first place. She cleared her throat, bracing herself for any reaction that the phantom might have.
"When are we getting out of here?" she asked firmly. "What have you done to help our escape?"
Her voice was icy and accusing.
Erik met it with a level stare, meeting her eyes with an equal level of contempt.
"What would you have me do, Mademoiselle Giry?" he asked silkily. "Move the rocks with my bare hands? You forget: I am a mere mortal. This task is too great for one."
"Then how are we ever to get out?" Meg asked, voice taking on a note of desperation.
"Perhaps we won't," he said passively.
Meg was on her feet in an instant. "No! We will get out of here- because I refuse to live my life down here! I refuse to be reduced to a shadow.... I refuse to live in the dark... and-" She stopped herself before saying what she was about to. She had been about to say 'and I refuse to live with a monster', but had luckily stopped herself in time. Frustrated, she ran down to the lake, hiking up her skirts and wading out to the pile of immobile rocks. She tried with all her strength to push them; when that didn't work, she kicked, dug, scratched and clawed at the stone, trying to move them. Helplessly, she screamed and cried and struggled against them, until finally, she sank to her knees in the cold, murky water, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.
When she looked up, she saw Erik standing over her, an unreadable expression on his face; a mixture of compassion, pity, and understanding combined into one emotion.
Meg couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She knew she was acting childish- crying and carrying on about something she couldn't change.
Something about the way she had reacted struck a chord of familiarity with Erik. Meg's reaction had been similar to what he'd done when he'd first seen his face. When his mother had put him before a mirror and taken his mask off so that he could see the horror, the irony of his situation. He, too, had screamed and cried- he had smashed his fists against the damned piece of glass, and wished, with all his might, that it wasn't true. But at the end of the day, it was.
"Your hands..." he said suddenly.
Meg looked down at her hands and retched. Her knuckles were raw and bleeding from being scraped against the rocks, and her fingernails had been ripped off, and were also bleeding.
And then Meg felt pain.
Adrenaline had postponed the feeling for a few moments, but now that the damage had been done, she suffered the consequences. She squeezed her eyes shut, but couldn't suppress the whimper of pain that escaped her.
Erik pitied her in that moment- the poor girl, trapped down there with him, away from her mother and the rest of her world. He moved around behind her and grasped her arms, gently lifting her to her feet. She was soaking wet from sitting in the water. He guided her to the shore, sat her down in his large, throne-like chair.
"Wait here," he commanded.
She didn't respond, and he disappeared for a moment, returning with a basin of water and a bottle of something, as well as bandages. He knelt down before her, like she had done for him a few days before. He poured some of the liquid out of the bottle and into the basin, then took her hands.
"This is going to sting," he said, lowering her damaged fingers into the water.
She closed her eyes as her hands became slowly submerged in the warm water. Her flesh stung terribly- she thought it would be easier just to cut her hands off. When she opened her eyes, she saw the phantom reaching for a strip of bandage, having cleaned the dirt and gravel out of her cuts. He began to wrap it carefully and securely, stopping the blood flow. As he mended her cuts, Erik remembered the incident with the mirror. After smashing the glass, his hands had been like Meg's- cut and damaged; pieces of glass stuck in them. It had hurt, but not as badly as that moment of horrible revelation when he had first seen his face.
Likewise, he knew that Meg's wounds wouldn't cause her nearly as much pain as the prospect of living down here with him would.
A/N: I know this is coming along slowly…. But it'll get better, I promise!!! REVIEW!