Chapter 8: That Which is Hidden Beneath
Meg had heard about the tunnels beneath the opera house before – after all, it was impossible to survive a week of exercises among the other ballerinas without hearing at least one blood-chilling, made-up story about them and the things that lurked in their gloom. However, very soon she realised that listening to the stories and experiencing them for oneself were two completely different matters. For not even the most detailed tale is able to fully render reality. And, as she had to admit to herself, none she had listened to was even close to portraying the magnitude of the underground labyrinth and its unsettling architecture. Just as none of them was able to describe the growing anxiety she felt now as they seemed to finally reach their destination…
Meg swallowed nervously and forced herself to re-concentrate on the view before her eyes.
The half-flooded corridor, through which she had been wading for the past few minutes, ended with an arched entrance just a few metres in front of her, behind which she could see a vast cave sunk in the semi-darkness. On the walls of the tunnel, in a slight draft of fresher air, ominously flickered a pair of lit torches – a clear sign of somebody's presence.
Gulping, Meg came up closer to the edge, peeking out between the two statues which held up the vault. In front of her spread something that looked like an underground lake. Over its surface lazily crawled writhing strips of mist, thickening gradually the closer they were to the opposite side. And there, from the semi-darkness, emerged a massive gateway embedded into the cavern's wall, guarding access to the further parts of the underground with the eerie iron teeth of a portcullis. Through a narrow gap in the thick curtains hung over it seeped a thin beam of light, highlighting tiny whirling droplets of water.
And that was exactly where her mother was heading, rowing slowly in a small gondola.
Meg felt her stomach knot, but she forced herself to sneak past one of the statues and cling to the cave's side, hiding in the safe gloom prevailing there. Resting one hand against the wall, she slowly started forwards, trying to feel the way in front of her with her feet and keeping an eye on her maman at the same time.
The ballet mistress reached the gate, fixing her gaze on something Meg couldn't see, and a moment later the curtains slowly went up. The bars followed right after, along with the faint accompaniment of a ghastly metallic rasp. Unfazed, Antoinette Giry directed her boat inside, then disappeared from the dancer's field of vision.
Meg bit her lip, hesitating, but then – sending an uncertain gaze towards the entrance – left the safety of the shadows and covered the distance separating her from it. The connection between the masonry gateway and the natural stone formation wasn't perfect – the cave wall was a bit thinner there, forming a sort of shallow recess. What was more, here and there water had washed away some of the mortar, leaving small cracks through which light shone. And that was exactly what she intended to take advantage of.
Without further thought, the ballerina squeezed herself into the niche and put her eye to one of the holes just in time to see her mother drawing up to the bank of what was presumably the Phantom's lair.
Although, as she had to admit to herself, calling what she could see a "lair" was undoubtedly a huge understatement. The word brought to mind some dark, dirty den, and this… Well, this was something completely different…
The whole space was furnished tastefully with beautiful, richly ornamented pieces of furniture and equipment, in some of which she, to her amazement, recognised a few missing elements of the old scenographies. Kerosene lamps and candles in decorative brass candlesticks illuminated the interior with a warm glow, and immense mirrors in ornamental frames enhanced the effect, despite the fact that their upper parts remained covered. Thick fabrics in subdued hues of red, brown and beige adorned the walls and completed the décor, creating a stunning and almost cosy whole. If not for the rock floor and the lack of windows, the hideout could be mistaken for the living quarters of some wealthy artistically inclined industrialist or aristocrat!
Utterly bewildered, Meg tried to look around as much as her limited view allowed, but her admiration vanished when a dry voice filled the cave, brutally bringing her back to reality.
"Madame Giry, what a surprise." The Phantom stepped into her field of vision at the top of the stairs on her right, looking down at her mother, and Meg's insides knotted up again. In the man's half-masked cold expression, there was not even a trace of friendliness.
The Opera Ghost slowly started down. "It is indeed an unparalleled delight to host you in my humble abode after such a long time." His tone could probably pass for civilised, but it was hard to miss the darker undertones rumbling just beneath the surface. "It's been quite a while since you last came here, madame, hasn't it? Two months, if I recall correctly." The Phantom reached the base of the stairs, and the harsh lines of the uncovered side of his face tightened even more.
"I suppose we should exchange some pleasantries now, pretending it's just a normal conversation," he ground out, coming closer, "but I know you never come here without a reason, so I will save you that effort, madame. We can drop the facade of courtesy and go straight to the essence of the issue, in which you tell me to what I owe this unannounced visit." His mouth twisted in an unpleasant scowl, and he stopped like that, ominous and looming, just a metre away from her mother. Meg felt the knot in her stomach constrict tighter.
To her astonishment, the ballet mistress didn't even flinch under the Phantom's glare. Instead, Madame Giry just raised her chin and sent the Opera Ghost one of her well-known stern looks.
"Oh, don't you play this game with me, young man," she scoffed, putting her hands on her hips and taking on the tone of a teacher reprimanding an unruly pupil. "You know very well to what you owe this visit. You had a hand in Carlotta's sudden indisposition, didn't you? How could you resort to something so awful as poisoning?! And that incident with Joseph Buquet? Well, explain that to me!" she demanded, and Meg's eyes widened in utter shock. It certainly wasn't how she had pictured a victim talking to her persecutor!
To her even greater surprise, across the Phantom's countenance flashed something that could almost be a hint of shame.
"It was not poisoning." The Opera Ghost winced at the word. "The addition of a pinch of pepper and some herbal extracts to the throat spray couldn't have done Signora Gudicielli any harm. The only thing that was hurt was her pride. I would even say it was a good reminder for her maid not to forget about preparing fresh concoction. However, if it will put you at ease, Madame Giry, I assure you that I'm not planning to do anything similar in the near future," he added dryly.
The corners of the ballet mistress's narrow lips pulled down in a sour expression. "Good to hear that, at least. But it still doesn't explain the incident with Joseph Buquet." Her severe gaze focused on the man, and he grimaced again, his eyes flitting to the side for a short moment.
"I do not recall adding anything to any of his already quite strong drinks."
Madame Giry let out an exasperated sigh. "You know that's not what I'm asking about! Why, for heaven's sake, have you confronted him? A few gothic story lovers have already started to create some gruesome tales about you wanting to kill him!"
With a prick of worry, Meg noticed that her mother's opponent's jaw clenched hard.
"I assure you, Madame Giry, that if I had wanted to kill him, he would already be dead," the Phantom hissed through gritted teeth. "Anyway, why should you care? Especially about such an excuse for an honest man? He is only a nuisance." Strange notes tinged his lowered voice, and Madame Giry sighed deeply, rubbing her temples.
"You know very well that no human being has the right to judge the value of other people's lives, so I won't discuss it further," she stated wearily. "I admit that I would be overjoyed if Monsieur Buquet finally changed some of his behaviour, but I would never wish for anything bad to happen to him. And as for your question..." The woman glanced back up at the Phantom, and though her features remained firm, a trace of softness slipped into them too. "Well, you should already know that I care about everyone in the opera house. And that also includes you, my boy…" Antoinette Giry reached out her hand, gently putting it on the masked man's arm, and Meg felt her world turning upside down for the second time that night.
Why was her mother acting like this? It didn't make sense at all!
The Opera Ghost froze, staring down at the ballet mistress with disbelief. For a fraction of a second, the stone mask of his cold expression vanished, revealing something that was hidden deep beneath it. But before Meg could fully identify the flash of emotion, the man moved aside, hiding his face from both her and her mother's sight.
"You need something from me, don't you, Madame Giry?" His whisper sounded strangely hoarse.
Against any common sense, something in Meg's chest constricted because of the pain hidden in his words. It was perhaps naive, but in that short moment, she no longer saw the fearsome Phantom of the Opera, but… well, just a person. And for the first time, she wondered not only who this man really was, but what kind of harsh, unforgiving past he must have had to end up like this.
Madame Giry lowered her gaze. "I've honestly meant what I've told you," she said quietly. "But you are right; I need you to do something for me." Her features tinged with sadness. "It wouldn't be wise to bring too much attention to your persona after all the commotion, so I think it would be better if you stayed in the shadows for some time." She slowly looked back at the Phantom. "Also, I have to ask you to stay away from Christine…"
For a moment, only a heavy silence hung in the air, and then Meg saw the Phantom's jaw muscles tighten once more.
"I'm afraid that I cannot fulfil that request." His voice was thicker and much lower than before, and that brought another pang of anxiety inside her.
Antoinette Giry froze for a few seconds, then slowly approached the man from the side.
"I know that it's hard," she began softly. "But you have to understand that Christine is scared and–"
The Phantom interrupted her with a bitter huff.
"Do you think that I am not aware of that, madame?" The Opera Ghost turned back to her, his eyes flashing with anger and something Meg couldn't quite name. "I saw how she was looking at me that night…" Bitterness flooded his tone, and despite herself the ballerina felt another strange wave of compassion.
The man averted his gaze. "All I need is a chance to talk with her and to fix what I can…" he finished more quietly.
Meg could not see her mother's face, but she knew it was filled with deep sorrow.
"I know that might be true, but it doesn't change the fact that you must only meet her when it is her decision. Please, promise me you won't try to see her in any other way or do anything risky…" Madame Giry made a gesture if she wanted to touch the Opera Ghost's arm again, but he just moved away from her. At his sides, his hands curled into fists.
"I'm sorry, but I think that you have no right to ask something like that of me, Madame Giry." His words turned into a low growl, and Meg felt her stomach knot again.
Her mother hesitated for a moment, but then took another step closer. "Please, you have to understand–"
"I understand everything perfectly!" With an infuriated snarl, the man spun to face her, and the ballet mistress flinched, backing away from him. Seeing her reaction, the Opera Ghost's features darkened even more. The hurt man vanished without a trace, giving a way to the ruthless Phantom…
Meg's heart went to her throat. With a twinge of panic, she considered rushing to her maman's side to help, but that same second, the fiery wrath disappeared from the man's profile, replaced once again by a stone, emotionless expression.
The Opera Ghost straightened to his full, imposing height and looked down at his interlocutor. "I'm afraid that our conversation is over," he ground out. "You can go now, madame."
Meg watched as her mother's pale face crumpled in grief. Madame Giry's mouth opened to say something, but she was not given the chance.
"I have heard your arguments, Madame Giry, and I'm not interested in hearing them again." The Phantom's cold, steel eyes narrowed dangerously. "I think I have made myself clear..." he growled, and the woman was even more saddened.
For a moment, they just stood there looking at each other, and then Antoinette Giry made a move as if she wanted to reach out her hand once more, but changed her mind halfway. Her fingers suspended I mid-air for a second and then dropped back to her side, closing around the black fabric of her simple gown.
"I hope you will rethink this yet…" she whispered, and turned, slowly heading towards the gondola. Not long afterwards, she pushed off from the bank, and Meg sighed with relief.
She wasn't exactly sure what had happened there – the eavesdropped conversation brought her more questions than answers, but if there was one thing she was certain of now, it was that she wished to safely find herself back on the surface with her maman as soon as it was possible.
Pulling the hood deeper around her face, the ballerina pressed herself against the farthest end of the niche and froze still, listening as the rhythmical splashes of water, betraying Madame Giry's position, passed her and slowly started to recede in the distance. Meg waited a while longer, then carefully moved towards the edge of her hideout, peeking outside only to see that her mother was already almost at the centre of the lake. Assuming that it was far enough for her to remain unnoticed, she sent one final glance towards the Phantom's lair and… that same moment, her breath caught in her lungs.
The Opera Ghost had moved, and now he stood only a foot away from the glistening sheet of the lake, his frowned glare fixed on Madame Giry's fading silhouette. If she left her niche and took a step or two along the curved wall of the cavern, she would find herself exactly in his field of vision…
Meg clenched her clasped hands, trying to chase away the lump of fear forming in her throat.
If she wanted to have a chance to catch her mother up, she should probably have already set off, but all she could do now was to pray inwardly for the Phantom to move, watching in silence as the flame of the ballet mistress's lantern slowly moved further and further away.
Her stomach twisted into a tight knot.
Her maman slowly got closer to the opposite part of the cave and then vanished into the flooded corridor. A few dozen heartbeats later, the gleam of her light faded completely. Only then did the Opera Ghost finally leave his post, returning to his hidden chambers.
With the last bit of her strength, Meg forced herself to wait a few more seconds just to be sure, and then moved forwards, trying to walk as fast as she could without making too much noise. But when she finally reached the flooded corridor, all she could see was impenetrable darkness stretching out before her.
No.
With a pang of dread, Meg passed the entrance and, snatching a torch from its holder, increased her pace.
It took her half of her previous time to reach the shore on the other side, but as she stumbled out of the water and came up to the embranchment of the tunnel, there wasn't even a trace left of her mother. The corridors were dark and dead, as if no living soul had ever disrupted their silence…
Meg felt ice-cold fear rising in her chest.
"Maman!?" Her panicked, strangely high-pitched voice echoed off the empty walls, creating an eerie reverberation, but no answer came.
Another wave of panic flooded over her, but she gritted her teeth, then forced herself to take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.
A part of her wanted to continue screaming, but she did not allow herself; while the place seemed to be far enough from the Phantom's lair, she was not sure how sounds carried through these corridors and their vents, and she certainly could not risk being too loud.
Meg swallowed nervously. She had made an effort to memorise their way, so she could just get out of here on her own. All she had to do was to focus. Calm down and focus.
Biting her lip, she inhaled again, then stiffly started forwards, plunging into the underground labyrinth and reciting her route in her thoughts. Finding the right entrances shouldn't be hard, as some were half collapsed.
The first on the right.
The second on the left.
Her heart hammered so loud that it almost deafened the muffled sound of her hurried footsteps against the stone floor.
The second on the right.
And then, after a few minutes' walk, she should enter a chamber with a sculpture in the centre…
A moment later, at the end of the tunnel, a familiar statue revealed itself, and Meg felt a wave of relief. Now, she just had to turn right and soon she would reach the spiral stone staircase leading up. A little reassured, she stepped into the corridor, but after just over a dozen metres, her brighter mood started to dim. From the walls glared down at her some terrible bas-reliefs of distorted, abhorrent creatures, inhuman faces twisted into angry snarls. And she did not recall passing by them before…
Feeling her anxiety grow, the ballerina walked a few dozen steps more, and her knees almost buckled as the light of the torch illuminated some decrepit stairs leading down. It wasn't the right corridor!
Turning, Meg rushed back, feeling cold tentacles of fear slipping into her stomach and slowly crawling up.
Maybe she hadn't remembered everything as well as she had thought? After all, she had been almost sure that there had been four tunnels at the crossroad before, while now she clearly saw that there were only three.
Bursting back into the chamber, she swallowed the lump forming in her throat and chose the tunnel on the left, trying to suppress her rising panic. But the problem was that this corridor did not look familiar either.
She had gotten lost.
Her hand that held the torch quivered a little, casting ghastly, wavering shadows on the walls.
With her last bit of strength, Meg tried to calm down, pushing the thoughts away along with the tears welling up in her eyes.
She couldn't let herself think that way. She had recognised the last embranchment, so since the previous corridor had turned out to be wrong, that one had to be the right one. Digging her nails into her palms, she forced her strangely weak legs to move.
Just a little longer and she would definitely reach the spiral staircase.
Just a little longer…
She passed the next bend, and her heart started to beat faster as she saw that the corridor widened at the end. With a surge of hope, she quickened her pace, reaching the arched entrance, and… something inside her froze.
A few steps in front of her, the floor simply ended. Further ahead, there was only a chasm a few metres deep, ending with a glossy sheet of water below.
Meg felt despair creeping over her. There seemed to be a doorway on the other side of the room, but there was no bridge or stairs leading to it – only a narrow half-crumbling stone ledge running along one of the walls.
Not believing her eyes, she took another hesitant half-step towards the edge to have a better look.
It was a mistake.
The floor shifted from under her feet, and Meg's whole world tilted. She plummeted, a scream escaping her lips as her hands flailed in the air, but there was nothing to grab on to.
Her legs hit the water. A fraction of a second later, it forced its way into her nose and mouth, stifling her shouts. The torch went out with an ominous hiss, and she was engulfed by liquid darkness…
…
No!
Fear choked her, and Meg jerked back to the surface, coughing and spitting out water. Her cape had slid off her shoulders and was tangled somewhere about her calves, but that was the least of her problems.
She couldn't see the walls.
She couldn't see the bottom.
Heavens, she couldn't even see her own hands!
She spun around, straining her eyes, but all she could see was darkness. A pitch black, suffocating darkness.
God.
Panic flared in her chest, and Meg threw herself forwards, scarcely controlling herself. Her thick nightgown billowed around her, clinging to her legs and restricting her movement, making keeping afloat barely possible. Why hadn't she reached a wall yet? Her hands blindly reached around her, but all she could feel was water. Water, water and more water…
She might well be spinning in circles.
God!
A panicked sob ripped out of her throat, just as her left palm hit something hard and sharp. Pain pierced her cut skin, but she hardly noticed. Her fingers convulsively clenched around a piece of stone, and she drew herself closer, practically colliding with a pile of rocks. Sharp edges and shards dug painfully into her forearms, feet and shins as she moved, but it didn't matter. With her last bit of strength, Meg pulled herself up and clung to the rubble, no longer able to suppress the shivers shaking her body.
God, how was she supposed to get out of here?
Meg clamped her eyes shut, trying to stop the panic and tears that welled up.
She had to be strong. She had to think of something.
But when she opened her eyes and the same impenetrable darkness welcomed her, something finally broke inside her.
Meg started to scream.
Author's notes:
My first cliffhanger!