The heavy silence of home was a welcome change from the swelter and jangle of the opera ball. The creak of the floorboards beneath her slippers and maman's heavy snore were all Meg could hear. Meg shifted uncomfortably in her gown and longed to be free of it but she was unwilling to wake her mother just to escape her finery.
Meg trudged into her bedroom and kicked her slippers off into the corner and dropped onto her bed with a sigh. She rubbed at her aching feet, made even sorer from her angry walk home from the opera house. Memories of the evening crowded her mind desperate for her to process them all but unable to focus on any one moment, she drifted into a fitful sleep.
A loud creak startled her awake and Meg was unsure of how long she had slept. Dense shadow in the spindly chair in the far corner caught her eye. Her heart leapt into her throat.
"What on earth are you doing here?" she hissed, snatching the coverlet from the bed and dragging it about her shoulders.
"I have already seen all that, while we were dancing." Erik gestured vaguely to low neckline of the ball gown. Heat flooded her cheeks and Meg was grateful for the darkness.
"That is not an answer to the question."
"I came to check on your mother."
She arched a skeptical brow. "In that case, you are in the wrong bedroom."
"And you." He added reluctantly.
"Have you done this before? Sneaking into our home?"
"It's not difficult." His tone was careless, as though the difficulty level of the breaking and entering should inform his behavior.
"That's not the point, Erik." The shadow of him seemed to flinch at her sharp tone.
"Cricket said to let her know Erik." He whispered tremulously. "And so Erik comes to lay his past bare."
Meg felt her anger drain away. "She would like to know Erik very much if he can manage."
"She would be very frightened of him." Erik rose from the chair. "And that would be safest for her. To be afraid, to banish the ghost."
"Erik could let her make that choice for herself."
The silence between them was heavy as he loomed over her bed and Meg felt her stomach turn to ice in spite of herself. Then the moment passed and Erik seemed to diminish.
"May I brush your hair?" Erik asked timidly and folded himself cross legged on the floor beside the bed and removed his gloves.
Meg slid out of bed and sat on the floor with her back to him. She could feel his hesitation, his hands hovering over her head, the cold and confident Phantom from earlier in the evening was long gone.
"Erik was –" he paused, sliding the silver combs from her hair. "I was an unloved child." His voice was low, for her ears only. "My father was dead before my birth and my mother.." his fingers worked nimbly, pulling out pin after pin, freeing her hair.
"My mother could not stand the sight of me. She tied a mask to my face before she ever thought to swaddle me." He placed the pins on the floor beside her and grabbed the brush from her night table. "I knew no one but her, a friend of hers, and the village priest. She loathed me and as I grew, she feared me. I hated her too."
Her heart ached for the little boy Erik once was, with no one to love him, not even the one person who should have loved him no matter what. Though she had often found her own mother overbearing at times, Meg had never doubted that she was a loved child.
"I wonder how different he might have been had his mother cared even a little."
Erik brushed her hair carefully and methodically as he talked and she felt herself growing drowsy from the soothing repetition.
"I loved to torment her so, Cricket. I was a lonely boy with an idle mind."
The tragic tale continued as he finished with the brush and while he carefully plaited her hair, the young Erik killed his master and escaped from the gypsy fair.
"It was the first time, Cricket, the first murder. I was still yet a boy."
"He was a cruel master." She twisted around to look at him. "You were no better than an animal to him."
"That is still no excuse to take a life, Cricket, and far less redeemable because he was not the last." He gestured for her to turn around again.
"Have you – have you killed many people?"
"Oh yes." He spoke matter-of-factly, like they were discussing the weather, deftly unlacing the back of her gown. "Many have died by my hand and many more inadvertently."
Meg breathed in deeply as the constricting clothing loosened its grip.
"You are very calm." He observed.
"Did you expect me to scream and wake up maman?"
A frown tugged at the visible corners of his mouth. "Some terror, more tears perhaps. Not this calm." Erik rose to his feet. "I have freed you from your bonds, mademoiselle."
"Have you ever considered becoming a ladies maid?" Meg patted her smooth hair.
His shoulders shook with a silent laugh. Would she ever hear his real laugh? Did he even have one?
Meg fought a yawn and lost. "Will you not stay and finish your story?"
"Another time." He promised. "I am very old and so the story is very long." His fingers grazed her hair gently. "Rest now, Meg." He gave her a small bow and slipped from the room, through the door this time. It softly clicked shut behind him.