A/N: I'm sorry this took so long; it took a while to write, and an even more interminable amount of time to revise. But it's nice and long—my longest yet—so I hope it satisfies your tastes for a while. It really would be better suited to two separate chapters, being so ridiculously long, but I couldn't bring myself to split it in half, for some reason.
At any rate, this does end on a bit of a cliffy, but don't get too rabid if another update doesn't come for a while. I'm scheduled for labor induction in less than a week and I'm sure I won't have much time for writing with my new little one, though I'll do my best.
She didn't dare to speak. Silence was all that surrounded them in the underbelly of the Opera, silence and dripping water mingled with the soft clicking sounds of their footsteps on the stone.
Tora stepped in something soft and squelching. She recoiled, nearly falling, but Erik held her arm.
"A dead rat," he said succinctly, almost dryly, and paused as though he were waiting to hear her cry of horror.
But she did nothing more than shiver, and attempt to scrape the awful stuff from her shoe on a nearby wall. A bit of bile rose up in her throat, which she choked back down with an effort. "It…must have been decaying for some time," she said hollowly, and she thought she heard him chuckle.
"Christine might have fainted dead away, I think," she heard him remark off-handedly. "You have a more hardy stomach than most women, I daresay."
Tora held back a reply, and squinted, trying to make him out. It was so black in these low levels...all she could see were the two points of light that were his eyes, reflecting from the far off light of a burning torch upon a wall.
"You look a bit like a rat yourself in the dark," she said, and then suddenly felt embarrassed, compelled to explain herself. "Your eyes…"
"Ah, yes, my eyes," he sighed, pulling on her arm and leading her forward. She trod carefully, hoping not to step in anything horrible again. "Many have remarked upon them. The Sh…" He broke off abruptly, and she heard a clack of teeth.
"The what?" she asked without thinking. Almost immediately she regretted it. She was sure he would think she was prying and abruptly turn nasty.
But to her surprise (and relief), he simply sighed again. "The Shah," he said, "of Persia."
"Persia?" Tora asked in shock. "Erik, you were actually…"
"Yes," he retorted. "I was in Persia, in Mazenderan as a matter of fact, for quite a few years in my prime. You might say I specialized in…architecture."
"And…and…" Tora wasn't sure what she was trying to ask. So many questions felt almost about to tumble from her lips that she couldn't speak a word for fear of sounding foolish and garbled.
"I would not tell this to simply any woman, for fear of squeamishness," Erik interrupted dryly, "but the Shah wanted to put out my eyes, you know…"
"What?" Tora gasped. "Why?"
There was silence for a moment.
"His reasons were twofold," Erik said, and his voice was low and controlled, as though he were holding back the anger of a painful memory. "I had built him a magnificent palace, you see—or rather, it was built under my direction—and the mysteries of the secret doors which he loved so much were, in his jealous mind, in danger of being…commandeered by or sold to an enemy who might manage to get his hands on my intellect."
"And…the second reason?" Tora queried, not quite sure whether to believe any of this or not.
Erik sighed. "He was, like most, quite curious about the catlike nature of my orbs. He wished to have them dissected and studied so that the reason behind their rather quaint appearance and…odd tendencies might be discovered."
Tora shuddered, both from the cruelty of the monarch and the offhand way in which Erik had said "dissected". "How disgusting," she said, her voice laced with venom. "As though you were…"
His fingers stiffened around hers. "Yes," he said, sighing again, and his voice was detached, cold. "As though I were an animal." The words were said almost by rote, as though he had said them—or thought them—so many times that they held no meaning anymore.
Tora closed her eyes.
"The Shah thought nothing of human life," Erik said grimly. "It was his to take as he would. I, of course, was something less than human to him, some very intelligent pet that could be disposed of as he saw fit when my usefulness had run its course." He said it so matter-of-factly, almost nonchalantly, but still an undercurrent of old, tired bitterness was latent in his tone.
Tora made a noise in the back of her throat, something between a snarl and a sob.
Erik chuckled. "Have I upset you after all, child? Forgive me…I forget that you are, when all is said and done, a true female at heart…so given to tender sensibilities…how utterly inane you all can be, really!"
"Anyone would be shocked—" Tora began in sputtering indignation, but Erik cut her off.
"It was long ago," he said. "It does not matter now. Pray don't lose your tears for my sake."
Tora was hard-pressed to come up with a retort, and many minutes were spent in silence as they traveled down, down. She began to feel dizzy, almost faint.
"Is the way really so long?" she whispered, forgetting her irritation and feeling cold, wanting inexplicably to shrink closer to him for protection or comfort. "It seemed so much shorter all those times before…"
"You were a girl then, and everything captivated you, I daresay," Erik remarked sardonically. "Which reminds me…how ever did you find your way here on your own, those few times you…?"
Tora shivered. "I don't know…part shadow-memory, part sixth-sense. You know…" She cut herself off abruptly. She was afraid that if she told him that she could feel him sometimes with her mind, his presence like the keen edge of a knife-blade, he would dismiss it as sheer nonsense and make some scathing remark about the imagination of women.
Erik sighed. "I shan't prod you. Still…" The curiosity in his voice left a little trail in the air.
"I'll tell you another time, perhaps," said Tora. "Though you doubtless believe that I owe you for that gruesome tidbit about Persia."
She heard the smile in his voice, could almost see it with her mind, like corners of a curved moon.
"Ah," he said. "Yes."
"Erik…" she said suddenly. "What exactly were we planning on discussing…on doing?" She immediately flushed. She hadn't meant to sound so blatantly suggestive, but there was no taking it back now without sounding foolish.
His hand stiffened a little.
"Nothing of importance," he said gruffly, "at least as far as doing. Discussing is another matter entirely, one that I will breach with you when we reach my dank abode."
"It really isn't so dank on the inside," Tora amended, swallowing her embarrassing disappointment at his having artfully dodged the better part of the question. "Or at least…it wasn't."
"I still keep it in reasonably good repair," Erik admitted grudgingly. "But I live like a mole in a burrow, and I…tire of it…sometimes."
"Then why ever don't you move to the surface?" Tora asked in exasperation, and then immediately felt hot with shame.
Erik made an indeterminate sound in reply.
"Privacy," she said in embarrassment, answering her own question. "You crave privacy as though it were an exotic fruit, it seems..."
"Yes," he remarked indiscriminately, not sounding as though he were quite sure of himself. "But…"
"What?"
"Privacy is not always to be desired."
Tora felt a little shiver. "Is that why…Chr…"
"Yes," he said again, this time rather brusquely, indicating that he wished to speak no further on the subject.
And now me…again, she wanted to say, but sensed that she might trigger a rather bad reaction if she did. She forced herself to be silent.
"Here," he whispered suddenly. "A secret way…to make the journey a little less long…"
She heard a creak of something opening.
"I should ask you," he said suddenly, "do you mind terribly…getting your dress a bit dirty?"
"I…" Tora stammered, taken entirely aback. "Why? Is it the passage?"
"In a way," he said, with a little chuckle. "It is more akin to a slide, actually…and I daresay no one has bothered to clean it since it was built."
Tora grimaced. "I…well…"
She felt him shrug fluidly beside her. "If you'd rather not, I don't care one way or the other." She could hear the subtle challenge in his voice, and felt herself being drawn to the bait like a wriggling fish.
Making a noise in the back of her throat, she grasped his arm, feeling like a sullen fool. "Fine. The secret way, then."
"Very well," he replied—a bit triumphantly, she thought—and with surprising energy and boldness, he grasped her around the waist and slid down the trap door, holding her to his side.
A faint shriek echoed through the darkness, startling a few nearby rats, but quickly faded into nothing more than a spiraling echo.
Suzette felt about to tear her hair out with worry.
After they had carried Patrick between them to his usual bed in the working quarters, Tora had said something vague about "somewhere I must go" and disappeared.
"Mon Dieu! Where could she be?" Suzette muttered, scanning the dormitories. They were packed with chittering little dancers, but Tora was nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly, Suzette spotted a bit of cream-colored paper atop her pillow. It was a relatively small corner, looking as though it had been torn from a larger piece.
She snatched it up, staring at the cramped black writing.
Suzette,
I am visiting…a friend. You know, no doubt, of whom I speak. Don't tell Patrick—I don't want him doing anything foolish, and besides, you know how poor his French is—he likely won't understand a word you say.
I shall be back as soon as I can. If I am gone more than a day, tell the ballet mistress that I was pressed to go to the bedside of a dying relative in Rouen. Make up any likely fabrication you can think of. I assure you, I will come to no harm.
Do not speak of this to anyone. If E. were to be discovered, it would destroy him.
Do not worry for me. I will be all right.
Your amie,
Tora
"Perhaps he deserves to be destroyed," muttered Suzette, quickly stuffing the note under her mattress when she was sure no one was looking. "If any harm were to come…"
"Suzette, Suzette," chattered Sophie, flouncing over and grabbing her arm. "Everyone is talking about the stage hand that they saw you with! They say you snuck him into the dormitories! Is he your new beau?"
"No, of course not," snapped Suzette, a bit more irritably than she meant. Snuck him into the dormitories, indeed! It had simply been the closest place to deposit him, not to mention convenient while she waited for Tora to return from her rendezvous—and besides, she'd had no idea of where the boy usually slept until Tora had returned and helped her carry him there, but she was certainly in no mood to explain all that to Sophie. "We barely know each other. Besides, he speaks hardly any French, and I certainly do not speak enough of that gobbledygook to understand his English."
"But Lise said…" began Sophie.
"Lise is an idle gossip," said Suzette brusquely. "You should have realized by now that nearly every word out of her mouth is either a false rumor or a gross exaggeration of truth."
Sophie frowned. Then her face lit up again. "But Tora was seen with him, too! They say he was on her arm at the masqued ball! Are you fighting over him? Is that why you're so cross when I mention it?"
"Sophie!" Suzette barked, and then burst into laughter. "You dreadful little thing! Go chatter and gossip with your little friends, if it pleases you. You'll get no more from me, as it obviously is no use to tell you the truth!"
"Very well, then," Sophie said a bit loftily, though it was clear she was hiding disappointment at not being able to wring juicy details from her elder. She skipped back to her entourage, stumbling a bit over her own slippers.
Suzette collapsed into her pillow and closed her eyes, trying in vain to block out the noise, the light from the still-lit lamps, and the horrible fear she had that Tora would never be seen again.
"You're not going to say anything, are you," demanded Tora, vainly attempting to brush the filth from her dress—she was glad she had worn a fairly plain one, but the grotty feeling it held now was still positively irritating. She was covered in dirt and a bit of dreadful slime, the origin of which she would have preferred not to think about.
Erik, no less dirty, held the tips of her fingers—rather standoffishly, it seemed—and led her to the lakeside. "Erik already endured your charming epithets back at the passage opening and I daresay he isn't eager for any more. Silence seemed best."
"I was right to call you a wretch—among other things," snapped Tora, tripping a little and holding back a gasp when he deftly swept her back to her feet. "I…that is to say…I…"
"Pray don't ruin your lovely mouth by talking," said Erik wryly, lifting her into the boat. She swallowed, temporarily distracted by the feel of his long, wiry hands about her waist.
"You really should stop making those kinds of remarks, you know," she said sullenly. "They…"
"Have already gotten me into all sorts of trouble," he said emotionlessly, stepping into the boat and pushing the pole into the water to propel them across. "I don't quite care what effect my words have on others anymore. Erik says what he wishes, and he is freer for it."
"And I do wish you would stop that infernal…" spluttered Tora, searching for the right words. "Referring to yourself…by name…it's infuriating."
"Perhaps you'd like me to push you out of the boat," Erik said with irritating calm. "The Siren…"
"Oh, don't you dare bring that up," warned Tora between clenched teeth. "I…"
She stopped herself, folding her arms and pinching her lips shut. "I'll tell you off when we get on dry land," she said quietly.
Erik laughed a little, and Tora relaxed. His laugh put her more at ease than his dreadful chuckle, which always seemed to sound a bit like bones rattling together.
"My dear," he said in a much lighter tone, "have I told you…" He abruptly fell silent.
"What?" she demanded, and then, frightened by the eerie echo of her voice that reverberated through the cold subterranean space, lowered it to a whisper. "Told me what?"
He was silent for a moment longer, and then said, as though at great personal expense, "I am glad…very glad…of your…I am glad of…I am…very pleased that you returned."
"Hmph," she said, wetting her lips—they suddenly seemed very dry—and trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard wood seat. She shifted her knees, and the boat rocked dangerously.
"Careful," Erik warned, almost in a sing-song. "The Siren might get you…"
Tora gripped the sides of the boat, her eyes bulging in rage. "Erik," she said in a very low, dangerous voice. "Do you…"
She was about to say value your life, but the horrible thought came to her suddenly that of the two of them, he was far more deadly than she—and seriously so, not simply in jest.
"Oh? What was that?" he asked, making his voice echo off the walls like the murmuring of spirits. That, that, that bounced back and forth over and over, and Tora shivered.
"Nothing," she said sullenly, suddenly feeling very cold and more than a bit frightened. She began to wonder if she was truly as safe as she had imagined, and whether or not this had all been a dreadful mistake.
"Ah," he said softly, as the boat bumped against the stone of the landing, "here we are, my charming one. Shall we?"
He leapt out of the boat with a quick grace, and proffered her his gloved hand.
Tora took it gingerly.
The touch of leather on her skin sent a kind of electric shock up her arm and down her spine, and she felt a thrill of sudden, inexplicably delicious horror. The very air around him seemed to crackle with danger, as though he were a flame and she the moth, flirting with the deadly fire and only just escaping having her wings singed.
She very nearly drew back her hand, but resisted at the last moment. Her fingers trembled with the effort, however, and the motion did not escape Erik.
"Are you afraid of me, cherie?" he queried, but instead of the wicked sparkle in his tone that she might have expected, his voice was tired, almost resigned.
"Perhaps," she said, her voice low.
"I have that effect, don't I?" he asked, and the bitterness that had been in his voice when he spoke about the Shah was much more obvious when he spoke now.
Tora closed her eyes. "Don't deprecate yourself," she said. "It is only the dark which closes in around me…like a tomb. T…take me inside."
Erik was silent as he led her through the door. Closing it behind him, he snapped his fingers, and the place fairly seemed to explode with light.
Tora blinked her eyes, shielding them with her hand, temporarily forgetting the choking fear that had enclosed her in the darkness. "Erik…what is it? It can't be candles, surely…"
"Electric lighting," he said with a bit of pride. "Apparently some fellow in America has stumbled upon it too, but I believe I perfected the method. It does make snapping one's fingers quite inopportune, however, if it occurs unthinkingly…fortunately I am not in the regular habit of doing so, and so am not in the least inconvenienced."
Tora giggled, in spite of herself. "I…shall try to remember," she remarked. "Dear heaven, it is so bright…"
"If it is too luminescent for your taste," he said dismissively, "I will dim them."
"Only…only a little," she said.
Erik fiddled with a switch on the wall, and the light immediately grew less prominent—but still more than enough.
"It's amazing, Erik," said Tora, nearly forgetting completely her fright from before, or her forebodings. Her hand drifted away from his, and she stood in the center of the room, staring at the odd wiring and protrusions that seemed to be coming out of the ceiling. "I do remember now that I heard something about it in Boston…but I never imagined…"
"It is not so very great a marvel," said Erik nonchalantly, but she could tell that he was pleased. "Simple scientific configuration, that's all…"
"How many more things have you invented?" asked Tora, lightly running her fingers along a side table.
"Many," he said shortly. "Perhaps I'll show them to you sometime."
"Sometime?" she asked, glancing at him. "Why not now?"
Erik made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl. "Sometime," he repeated in a dangerous breath. "I don't like prying fingers on my workmanship—some of the instruments are very delicate—"
"Oh, have it your way," Tora snapped, fiddling with a yellow rose in a vase. "You've cleaned up the place," she remarked. "It never looked this nice before. It always seemed a bit…dilapidated in the drawing-room."
Erik grunted unintelligibly.
She glanced at him again. I believe I know why he spruced it so…she thought. But I'd rather not bring her up again.
"You're very dirty," he remarked. "You should freshen up."
"You're not exactly fit for meeting royalty yourself," snapped Tora, scraping at the dirt on her cheeks and feeling very embarrassed.
"You remember where to go for baths, I take it?" queried Erik, ignoring her retort.
"I think so…" muttered Tora, glancing about. "What am I to do about my clothes?"
She looked back, and saw Erik standing much more stiffly than he had a moment ago. He was breathing heavily. "I…forgive me, I…overlooked something. Excuse me…"
"Erik, what did you overlook?" asked Tora, with some annoyance.
"Don't make Erik talk about it," he snapped, dashing to the Louis-Philippe room with the speed of a striking snake.
Tora stood awkwardly in the drawing-room, feeling very dirty and not wanting to sit down for fear of soiling the furniture.
She tiptoed to her old bedroom, hardly daring to look inside. She curled her fingers around the doorjamb and spotted Erik frantically throwing a lot of frilly clothes out of the wardrobe.
"…Erik?" she asked with a bit of trepidation. "What on earth…"
"They're Christine's, Christine's, do you understand?" he hissed. "I bought them for her…if you were to come in here and find…but you already have, now. I was such a blasted fool, I forgot to remove them before I took you down here…"
Tora walked over and very lightly put her trembling hand on his shoulder. He stiffened again and didn't move, his back facing her.
"It doesn't matter," she whispered, even though she felt a bit of the old jealousy gnawing at her still. "You're done with her…you said…"
"You don't understand," he said, and his voice was almost like a sob. "It isn't like me to forget something like this…I never leave anything unfinished."
Tora leaned her forehead against his sleeve, and he gave a shuddering sigh. "It doesn't matter," she repeated, and she realized she was speaking of more than just Christine's old clothing. "It doesn't matter, not really," she said more softly, more to herself than to him.
"Eh? What's that?" he asked, somewhat irritably, shrugging her off. "Don't murmur."
Not even in your ear? Tora wanted to say, but held herself off with a choked giggle.
Erik gave a disgruntled sigh. "Clean yourself up," he said, groping through the pile and throwing her a nightgown and dressing-robe. Fortunately, his hands were relatively clean—his dirty gloves lay in a corner.
Tora caught them gingerly. "She's built a bit differently than I…" she began, but Erik's eyes flashed, and Tora ran past him to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Erik sat at his organ, playing softly.
Tora crept up behind him, and touched his shoulder with the very tips of her fingers.
He twitched, and turned around with a little twist to his mouth—he was still wearing the same mask, which he had apparently cleaned, and was wearing comfortable clothing of his own. The robe he wore was strange, and Tora wondered if it was Persian. She had never seen him dressed like this before, and the oddness and strange intimacy of it made her feel a bit embarrassed.
"How did you—" she began, and he cut her off.
"I have my own bath-room," he said brusquely. "Surely you don't think I use that one regularly…or at all?"
"Why did you build it in the first place if you weren't going to use it?" she asked suspiciously, taking her hand away from his shoulder.
He shrugged, and got up from the bench. He seemed smaller in these clothes, though still very tall, and Tora wasn't sure whether to feel relaxed or intimidated.
"How long do you mean to be here?" he asked suddenly, and Tora glanced sideways at him.
"Shouldn't the question be coming from my lips?" she queried. "Haven't you kidnapped me, in a way?"
"You came of your own free will," he said sullenly.
"Ah, yes," Tora amended, "but so did she, on more than one occasion, and she told me…"
She cut herself off, not sure how he might react, but then continued.
"She told me you…told her how long she was to stay," she forced herself to blurt out, "and that you kept her here…she hadn't much of a choice…even when she came back of her own will…she felt trapped by you."
"She told you that, did she?" Erik said softly, almost wickedly, and he sat down on the bench again, putting his hands upon his knees. "The child did not exaggerate. I shall be honest enough about that."
"But…" Tora began.
Erik sighed, for what seemed the hundredth time that night. "You need to understand…she was…is…like a frightened rabbit. When rabbits are frightened, what do they do?"
Tora shook her head, her thoughts too muddled to come up with a reply.
Erik continued. "They bolt at the first chance of escape without thinking of the consequences, or any other options that exist but to flee. I had no choice, if I wanted to keep her. I had to impose rules, enforcements, or else I might have lost her entirely. You, on the other hand, seem more inclined—for whatever foolhardy reason—to willingly seek my company, without such austere imposition."
"And so," Tora said with a raised eyebrow, "you leave these choices entirely up to me?"
"Oh, I am tempted," he said with a strangely menacing lean forward, "to keep you here against your will, but I know you far too well for that. You are as different to Christine as earth is to water. You don't like being forced into anything, and you might react rather violently—or resourcefully. Christine was far too blindly obedient and frightened to do either. She is the kind of person, you see, who relies nearly entirely on being told what to do. She makes very few decisions herself, and when she does, they are usually entirely dependent on the advice that another person has given her. You, my dear, on the other hand…" His smile sent a shiver up her spine. "You remind me of a hawk, rather than a rabbit. A spirited, fierce-eyed hawk."
"As I recall," Tora shot back, "you were the hawk, and I was the helpless bird—according to you. Remember?"
Erik seemed blank for a moment, and then thrust back his head and roared with laughter. "To think you would recall such an insignificant thing," he sputtered, "after all this time!"
"I have a long memory, when it suits me," Tora said blandly. "And our first meeting was rather worthy of remembrance."
Erik's laughter continued, and then faded as he regressed into his own memory. "Ah, yes," he said, and she thought he sounded rather ashamed. "I struck you, do you remember that?"
"How could I forget?" Tora retorted. "The headache took…" She trailed off. "It's like Persia…and Christine," she said, and he looked up quizzically. "It doesn't matter now," she explained.
He smiled again, but there was a bitter little twist to his mouth.
She couldn't see his eyes in the light, but suddenly she felt them travel over her body, and despite being fully clothed, she had a horrid feeling of being entirely naked under his gaze.
"We were going to have a little discussion, if I recall," he said softly. His tone indicated that he did not in any way look forward to it.
"Oh…that," said Tora, unconsciously folding her arms over her breasts to cover them from his scrutiny. "Perhaps another time."
"I would rather this were taken care of as soon as possible, if you don't mind," retorted Erik, and Tora shivered. "I don't know if I want to," she said. "Talk…about…"
"What?" he asked, and his tone was sardonic, almost light, but his voice abruptly turned black. "The murders?"
Tora blanched, and backed away a few steps. "You mean…you did? You killed…"
"Child, listen to me," he said with another sigh. "Buquet stumbled into my…a certain room I have…by accident. I had no knowledge of it until after he had taken his own life by hanging."
"But why would he do that?" Tora demanded, almost in tears. "Was he completely mad?"
"The…singular nature of that room…" Erik said rather half-heartedly, "is such that one who is trapped in it for long periods of time tends to go quite mad."
"Erik, what are you talking about? Explain this to me!" Tora demanded. "Why would you even have such a room, and what possible…"
"Here," he said, getting up and motioning for her to come, "I can see there's no placating you by watered-down descriptions. You will have to see it in its entirety."
Tora treaded cautiously behind him. They came to a little room, in which a series of little steps climbed up to a small window. Erik paused at the foot of these winding metal stairs for a moment and glanced at her.
"Ladies first," he said rather sardonically, gesturing with his hand, and Tora cautiously put one foot in front of the other, holding on to the rail.
Her foot caught, suddenly, and she slipped backwards with a gasp, only to feel long hands about her waist catch her before she could tumble down.
"You should be more careful, my dear," his voice muttered in her ear, and Tora shivered, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.
His hands abruptly left her waist after he had helped her stand upright, and they continued up the stairs until they reached a small platform at the very top.
"It is dark in the chamber now," said Erik with a bitter little smile, "but it will soon be flooded with light! Observe!"
He did something with his hands that was far too quick for Tora to see, but indeed, the small window soon glowed with a bright light.
"Look through it," whispered Erik, and Tora cautiously leant forward, putting her nose to the glass.
"Oh," she gasped. "It's…it's…"
"All an illusion," said Erik, "but all the same, I'm rather proud of it."
"It looks like a real forest," said Tora, "but it seems a bit odd…"
"It's meant to be African," said Erik strangely, and pulled Tora back from the window. "You didn't happen to see the gibbet in the corner, did you?" he asked, and Tora put her hand to her mouth. "What?" she exclaimed in horror. "Why would there be—Erik, do you hang people in—"
"No, my dear," he sighed, and put out the light. "They hang themselves. It's a torture chamber, you see…"
"What on earth do you mean?" she demanded.
"The light," Erik said wearily, but Tora could have sworn that there was a hint of malicious pride in his voice, "produces warmth as well. The floor heats up, as do the walls and ceiling. It soon becomes nigh unbearably hot, and with a few…flourishes, many are led to believe that they are actually in Africa dying of thirst. There are different panels that change…some make the room look like a desert, others like an oasis, which is the most torturous of all. When the victim can stand no more…" He made a choking gesture with his hand and stuck his tongue out—a morbid attempt at humor that did not amuse Tora one bit.
"And Buquet," she demanded, "you put Buquet in this chamber? Why?"
"He bumbled into it himself, the fool, as I told you," Erik bit out. "I was careless…I must have left the stone open. Or perhaps he was spying and saw me make use of it."
Tora raised an eyebrow.
"If Erik tells you much more, he shall be giving away all his secrets," Erik snapped. "But very well. There is a stone…in the third cellar…it rolls back…but don't ever dare to try and find it! If you do, you'll drop into the torture chamber, and you will surely meet the same fate as that intoxicated idiot."
"But, Erik," said Tora in desperate, angry confusion, "You use this as a shortcut? How, when there is no way out? And you say you did not kill Buquet…but I saw that the light is controlled from here! You must have…"
"Listen to me," said Erik in a barely controlled voice. "Only I know where the hidden spring is upon the wall that opens up the door to the rest of the house--which is how I make use of the shortcut--and only I know the way to avoid treading on the hidden switch upon the floor which turns on the light. As I was saying, if you were to drop in here, you would no doubt wander around looking for a way out and tread upon the hidden switch which activates the heat, just as he did. And even now that you know, you wouldn't stand a chance, especially with your height, of finding the spring to get out. I won't always be here in my house to catch such a mistake, you know…"
Tora's breath came heavily. "This is your way," she said slowly, "of dealing with intruders? Making them die a slow and painful death?"
"I enjoy my privacy," he said deliberately, and turned his back to her without another word, heading down the little stairs.
"What about the concierge?" demanded Tora, walking quickly after him. "The chandelier…"
"An accident," he said, "Or so it would seem..."
"What on earth do you mean by that?" Tora exclaimed.
Erik sighed, gripping the rail, and Tora nearly fell down the stairs in her effort to halt behind him. "I…was not myself that night," he said slowly. "I was angry. I had gotten myself half-drunk, and my…more sinister tendencies began to manifest themselves. At another time, I might have controlled myself, but I felt a deep hatred, a desperation…old Giry had been so good, so helpful. I could not stand to have her sacked in such a way. Had I been thinking clearly, I simply would have thought up another demonstration to show the managers that I was serious—dear God, had it been Debienne and Poligny, all I would have had to do was send a note, and it would have been enough, but these new fellows just didn't seem to believe that any of it was in earnest. I fairly snapped."
"So you…made the chandelier fall? You really did?" whispered Tora.
"With a file," said Erik in a very tired voice, "and a bit of elbow grease. It was very old, already, you know…I really did make myself believe, for a while, that it had fallen of its own accord. I pushed the incident out of my head. What did I care, after all? Everything was going according to plan…Giry was reinstated, the managers began to fear me more than ever…that screech-owl Carlotta had been disgraced, thanks to my ventriloquism…"
"Ah," said Tora, "so that's how she 'turned into a toad'."
"Yes" said Erik, and allowed himself a grim smile. He stepped down from the stairs, and Tora came behind him, shifting her feet nervously.
"Erik," she said uncertainly, "all of that—not being yourself—doesn't change the fact that you…committed…m…murder." The words were hard-pressed to come from her lips, and her mouth felt dry.
"You've no idea," he said with a mirthless, frightening chuckle—it was bitter and strange. "In Mazenderan…it was not only architecture that I specialized in."
Tora turned white. "Don't tell me any more," she begged, grabbing his sleeve. "I don't want to know…I don't want to hear…"
"Very well," he said dryly. "Some other time, perhaps." His shoulders were not as straight as they had been earlier; there was a kind of depressed slump to them. "No doubt," he said softly, "you'll be wanting nothing more to do with me…unless the danger of consorting with a confessed killer appeals to your sense of spirit."
Tora shivered. She felt a little sick.
"You've put it behind you," she said. "I should hope…"
"I have always had a mad, nigh ungovernable impulse," said Erik. "to tamper with human life. I daresay it is because my own was so chaotic and uncontrollable, at the start. Once I learnt that I could manipulate and bend the human race to my will—some select specimens, that is—I felt…omnipotent."
He had straightened again, and was staring at his own hands. There was a kind of odd aura surrounding him. It was almost as though he were glowing with a strange inner darkness, something that had been eating away at him for years.
Tora swayed a little, feeling faint. She clutched the edge of the railing at the bottom of the stairs for support. "Please," she whispered, holding out her hand. "Please…if not for my sake, then for your own, Erik…put it all behind you."
"I suppose you'd like me to smash the torture chamber, for starters," Erik said wryly. "Perhaps you'd like me to go aboveground and find a house overlooking the street."
"If…if I were with you," stammered Tora, "would…would you? If I…"
Erik stiffened, turning his face to stare at her. His eyes were burning in the dim light.
"What are you suggesting, my dear?" he inquired softly, almost dangerously.
Tora swallowed. "If…if…we…"
"Speak up, child," he snapped, and she noticed that his hands were trembling a little, though he tried to control them.
"Erik…do you remember what I told you in the box?" she whispered desperately. "That I…that I…"
The words refused to leave her mouth.
"Love me?" he asked bitterly. "Oh, yes…and if you want my opinion, I think you've had a bit too much champagne this evening."
"I haven't drunk a drop," she snapped, suddenly feeling extraordinarily irritated. "I'm completely…I…oh!"
She whirled around, her back to him.
She thought she heard him choke back a chuckle, but she wasn't sure.
"I do wish you would get rid of this thing," she said sullenly, looking pointedly at the little window. "Or at least disable the mechanism…and perhaps make the entrance a bit more difficult for curious passers-by to stumble upon. With your brilliance, you could surely make it impossible for anyone but yourself to get inside!"
Tora felt his fingers upon her hair. "You're a clever little beast," he said with another chuckle. "And you're right, of course."
"Will you do it, then?" she whispered, shivering a little as he slid his fingers through her tresses like snakes on a vine.
"Perhaps," he murmured. "You cause the strangest sensations in me, you know…all at once I am inspired to be both a frightful terror and a better man...a normal man."
"You could be," Tora said. "Normal. If…you really wanted…"
"Have a wife and take her out on Sundays," said Erik. "That might make me feel a little more inclined to be a part of the human race at large…"
Tora jerked. She turned her head so that she saw him out of the corner of her eye. "Am I to understand that as a proposal?" she asked rather oddly.
"A proposition…an idea," he said, and she thought he sounded rather sullen. "You did say…"
"Yes, I know," she said. "But now you are the one suggesting. It…caught me off guard."
"All I ask is that you consider it," said Erik, his voice suddenly very nervous and a bit cynical. "I'll take you to the surface, now, if you wish…and you may give me your answer…at another time. Or never, if that suits you better…"
Tora's head spun. She weighed the possibilities in her mind, one after the other, tumbling over and over like small rocks that begin an avalanche.
"I can stay here," she said in a small voice. "In the old bedroom…I don't mind."
Erik was silent for a moment. "Very well," he said, and she couldn't quite make out the expression in his voice. It was enigmatic, almost unknowable.
"I shall expect an answer…of some kind…tomorrow," he said in the same strange tone of voice. "If you have none…I will take you back to the surface and I will plague you no more…you will not hear from me unless you ask."
"I…" began Tora, and shut her mouth again. "Very well."
"You know the way to your chamber," he said abruptly, turning on his heel and walking out. "Good-night."
Tora stood there alone in the middle of the room, wondering what on earth she was to do now.