A/N: So sorry that it's taken me so long to update, but I've had a terrible case of Writer's Block. Just an FYI, I take suggestions from my reviewers, so if you have an idea for the story don't hesitate to suggest it. I'll credit whoever gave me the idea in the new chapters. BTW, I've started a new Phantom phic based on the recently released movie, but I don't know if I should post it yet, seeing as how I don't get to update often, but I'll leave that up to you.

The Deep Darkness

"Where are we going?" asked Rayne. "What is this?"

"How much do you know about "Phantom"?" asked Erik.

"A lot," replied Rayne.

"Well, you know how the underground lake originally got there?"

"In the story or in the real Opéra Populaire?"

"Either."

"Well, in the real Opéra Populaire there was an accident. The pipes exploded in the basement. The only safe way to deal with the water was to contain it under the opera house. In the story, it depends on what version you're reading or watching."

"Exactly right. The same thing happened here."

"There's an underground lake here? Under the Majestic?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"How? Same as I said before?"

"Yes. But it hasn't always been there. My father, a few years back, was hired to fix a leak in the pipes. But somehow the crack in the pipe expanded. He died there."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you, I suppose. I never know how to respond to that. Anyway, the flood had to be contained, of course, so they did the same thing as they did in the Paris opera house. They quarantined the water in an underground lake."

"And you live there?"

"If you can call it living."

There was silence for a time. Rayne had thought her life was hard, but this was terrible. At length, she ventured to ask, "But what about your mother?" Erik's grip on her hand tightened.

"She died too," he said tightly. "A little after my father."

"Oh God," said Rayne. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I ask too many questions, I know."

"No, you don't," said Erik. "Not many people in this age have a driving curiosity like yours, they don't care about what's around them, what it all means, but you do. I admire that." Rayne smiled and squeezed his hand gently. "Here we are."

They had arrived at the edge of a murky lake, winding its way around the columns that formed the foundation of the theatre. Rayne looked around in wonder. So often since she was ten had she dreamed of the Phantom of the Opera singing to her, training her voice as he trained Christine's, taking her down to his world of music and night and candlelight. And now here she was.

"I'm afraid I don't have anything so fancy as a boat with a dragon's head that I carved myself, but I do have this," said Erik, directing her over to a good-sized raft secured to a post in the stone. "It may not look like much, but it gets me from one side of the lake to the other without hassle."

"It's great," said Rayne honestly. "Really." Erik smiled and offered his hand to help her step on. She took it, and stepped carefully onto the raft. It rocked beneath her, even more so when Erik climbed on after her, but, holding each other for support, they managed to keep from falling. When they realized that they were holding each other, they both pulled away quickly, blushing.

"What would your boyfriend say if he knew about this, I wonder," mumbled Erik. Rayne flushed even darker.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she said. "Never did. My love life is deader than…than Joseph Buquet after Act One, Scene Nine." Erik laughed, but glanced at her with renewed interest.

"Why's that?" he inquired.

"I'm a freak," replied Rayne easily. "You can't imagine…well, you probably can, actually, what I've been through."

"You're not a freak," said Erik, puzzled. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, I used to believe it," said Rayne. "Now I know better."

"What happened?"

"Oh, first it was preschool where my only friends were two boys, and since boys had "cooties" back then, I had them too so no one wanted to be around me. Same thing in kindergarten. All through elementary school, up to fifth grade, I was tormented because of a growth, to put it nicely, on my upper arm here-" she broke off and showed him a long, pale scar that ran down her right forearm "-kids kept saying it was a wart, and I was diseased, so anyone who came near me would be diseased too. I met my best friend in second grade, though, and she protected me from these ignorant children. But it still took its toll on me."

"And you never told anyone? Your teachers, your parents, surely they would have done something-"

"I was always taught that, if you just ignore people who are making fun of you then they'll go away," Rayne intervened smoothly. "I tried to make them go away. It didn't work. So now here I am, this." And with a flap of her hand she summed herself up- Gothic exterior, harsh speech, reluctance to trust. Erik nodded, understanding. Yet, he sensed there was something she wasn't telling him. Well, there was something he wasn't telling her either. It was not his place to pry into her life.

All this time he had been expertly guiding the raft across the waters, and they reached an alcove in a stone wall. Erik tied up the raft and helped her to disembark. The alcove turned out to be the entrance to a tunnel, which he led her down, holding her hand to guide her. The tunnel they perused branched off in several directions, but Erik continued going straight. They came to a great chamber, lit by too many candles to count. Within was a couch, an old armchair, several bookshelves stuffed with books, and a piano with a violin case resting on top.

"Wow," was all that Rayne could say, and she immediately berated herself mentally for saying something so stupid. Erik seemed pleased by her reaction, however. "How did you get this tuff down here?"

"Carefully," replied Erik. "And over many weeks. But it's worth it. It's really cozy down here."

"So, do you demand a salary and the use of Box Five?" teased Rayne. Erik only laughed.

"Nope. I just live here and am glad that no one knows of me. Now, your hand."

"Oh! Right, right, I had forgotten." Rayne looked down at her bloody hand. The handkerchief wasn't enough to stanch the flow from her palm, and blood was dripping from it like an over-soaked sponge. Erik disappeared for a moment into another room, and returned with medical supplies.

"Here, have a seat," he said, gesturing to the couch. Rayne sat, and he knelt on the floor in front of her, removing the sodden handkerchief, applying antibiotic ointment, and wrapping her hand up in gauze. "There. That'll hold for a while. You'll need to change it regularly for a while, and keep reapplying the medicine. How long are you staying here anyway?"

"Twenty-four hours," replied Rayne. Erik stared. "I'm sorry, I didn't know there was anyone here. I just wanted to show those snot-nosed city kids up."

"Oh no, I don't want you to leave! I'm just surprised, that's all. No one's ever stayed that long."

"I wonder why." They looked at each other and laughed. Rayne noticed suddenly that Erik hadn't removed his theatrical mask yet. "Isn't that mask uncomfortable?" To her surprise, Erik looked away from her. "What's wrong?"

"It's…well I…oh, nothing," he said in a tone that let Rayne know that he didn't want to discuss it further. She frowned, confused.

"Are you all right?" she asked, noticing Erik was shaking a little.

"I'm fine!" he said a little shortly. Rayne was silent for a moment. She knew she shouldn't say anything, from past experience when she got angry at people for continuing to question her even after she had said she was fine, she wanted to be left alone. But she couldn't keep the soft words from escaping her lips:

"You can talk to me, Erik."

Silence descended once again. Finally Erik sighed, rose up and sat on the couch next to her.

"You know, curiosity killed the cat," he said.

"Ah, but satisfaction brought her back," replied Rayne with a smile.

"Good answer," said Erik, reflecting her smile but not exactly returning it. "Damn it." Rayne arched an eyebrow questioningly. "All right. I was attending a performance above with my mother. We were having a good time for the first time since my dad died. I thought nothing could go wrong. I was horribly wrong in that. There was an accident, a terrible accident. The chandelier broke when it came swinging down towards the stage at the end of Act One. Many people were hurt. My mom died. And I…well, I survived, but I've hidden away ever since. Everyone else had the common sense to duck down, drop to the floor, cover their heads and faces. I was trying to help my mom. I was hit in the face by flying, burning hot glass and metal."

"By the gods," whispered Rayne.

"Yes," said Erik tiredly, heavily. "I don't just wear this mask to scare off kids who come poking around here. I wear it to hide. So I suppose I really am the Phantom of the Majestic. Ironic, isn't it?" Rayne couldn't answer. She just stared at him. Erik looked pained. "Don't tell me you're going to be like all the others! Don't be another Christine, Rayne." Rayne still didn't answer. Then her mouth twitched a little, like she was trying to hide a smile.

"You think this is funny?!" shouted Erik, jumping off the couch in fury. "I thought you were different, I trusted you, and you think it's funny?!"

"Not in the least," replied Rayne, and a tear inexplicably escaped her eye and traveled down her cheek. Strangely, it seemed to cut through the skin, for her skin was lighter where the tear-track ran than the rest of her face. Now it was Erik's turn to stare.

"Rayne?" he asked softly. Rayne smiled shakily and shook her head.

"I have something I have to tell you," she whispered. And, taking the blood-sullied handkerchief from the table in front of the couch, she rubbed at her face. And her face began to drip and run like melting wax…