Erik had to leave. The walls seemed to be moving in on him. There was so much that he needed to sort out. He'd planned on bringing Christine here to this room. It would be a temporary sanctuary until he could arrange for a house in the country. But in the tradition of the best laid plans, a particular detail had gone awry. He'd ended up with the wrong girl. The irony was lost on him at the moment. His throat had gone dry when he walked into he room and saw Meg dressed in the burgundy robe and brushing her golden hair. It was long with strawberry-colored highlights. Erik knew he shouldn't be noticing things like her light hair and brown eyes. He didn't want to. The sooner he was free of her the better.

Christine was the woman he wanted. She embodied heaven on earth for him. If she had loved him, nothing else would have mattered...at least to him. But for her, his love could never be enough. She pitied him and that was worse than hate. He needed her to need him as much as he needed her. She would see him as desperate and he would have killed himself trying to make her happy.

It didn't stop him from wishing things had been different. Erik would always wonder if she would have stayed with him if he'd done something different. She'd followed him willingly that first time he'd led her down into the depths of the opera house. He felt a pang of guilt thinking of her wide eyed innocence, trusting and pliant. If only she hadn't seen his face... Curse the woman's curiosity! She ruined everything.

Erik knew what the viscount had planned for him that night. He also knew his Christine was part of the treachery. But, he didn't care; not then. All that mattered was that he sing on stage with her, in the role of her lover, no matter what the consequences. For one moment in time he was Don Juan, a man who could have any woman he desired. He could live out a fantasy... A second passed where he thought he might have had it all, but...

Now, here he was, sitting across from Madame Giry's daughter. Abruptly, he stood up; the chair legs scraped the floor.

"There is a feather tick and blankets in the trunk. You may sleep here if you want. I don't care. But do not try to leave. You are not safe outside this door." He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Making his way, with the dim light of the lantern, through the lower levels of tunnels, Erik pondered on the few moments with Mademoiselle Giry. It didn't make sense. Looking into Meg's eyes had felt like fierce blow to the stomach. It was because they were like Christine's, he thought to himself; soft, brown and genuine.

Meg lowered herself onto the feather tick and pulled the thick, cotton blanket over her body. The down tick was a luxury Meg wouldn't have expected, but then she didn't really know what she expected. In fact, she found herself lacking in expectation at the moment. Erik hadn't returned and she didn't know whether to be worried or not. She felt a twinge of guilt; she wasn't supposed to be here. Leastwise, the phantom of the opera didn't want her there. The phantom of the opera... Meeting the legend in the flesh somehow eclipsed the title. Somehow, it didn't matter anymore that he was the Opera Ghost. Maybe it because they were far away from the opera or the fact Meg felt so tired, La Carlotta could barge in with her performance of a toad and Meg would most likely sleep through it. She smiled. Carlotta blamed the phantom for the incident. But, as Meg noticed, Erik had cast Carlotta in 'Don Juan Triumphant' even though she was "past her prime". She drifted off to sleep with the music from the night's performance playing itself in her head. The last semi-coherent image that passed through her brain was the scene, Past the Point of No Return, but she cast herself in the lead, instead of Christine.

The sound of following footsteps startled him. He spun around, peeved at the thought that maybe Meg had followed him.

Garrick Mahoney. He was a gangly boy of fifteen, with mud-smeared clothes and a drawn look about his face.

"Good evening, M'sir." The young man's thick Irish accent coated his attempt to speak the French language.

Erik cleared his throat. "Boy, it isn't wise to take one by surprise in these parts."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you." The youth replied. Erik leaned against the wall, sighing. He had no place to go. His home under the Paris Opera House was probably still crawling with policemen and bounty hounds alike. "You don't seem yourself, M'sir." He sounded genuinely concerned. Erik stiffened. He'd let his guard down too much recently and it cost him dearly.

Erik opened his mouth to tell him to be cautious, but stopped himself. Garrick had been well educated on the dangers of the Paris underground. He had the intuition of a clairvoyant and the instinct of a bloodhound. The boy probably knew every lowlife and lunatic that lurked in the suffocating darkness beneath the city. He possessed a wariness that had served him well in self-
preservation. Erik had come the respect the young man for his resourcefulness and entrepreneurial skills. More than once Erik had found him useful in dealing with the world above. The boy had been fair and honest. He needed him again to attend to Meg, lead her out into the city and see her safely to her home. Wherever that was. Erik was vaguely aware that the girl had lost her home as much as he had. But that wasn't his problem, he quickly reminded himself.

Erik produced a few coins that he knew would be more than adequate compensation for what he had in mind and gave them to the boy.

"There is a lady under the laundry. Watch the door until morning so that no one harms her and take her out at the crack of dawn. There is a boarding house two blocks south and one block east of the opera house. Take her there. Mademoiselle Giry has acquaintances there who can direct her to her mother.

"She's young, M'sir?" Garrick looked at him in open surprise.

Erik nodded but quickly added."Not that it's any on your business!" He thought he detected a hint of reproval in the boys voice. It suddenly struck him as odd that he was having this exchange with anyone let alone a boy, half his age, that he barely knew.

"Yes, M'sir." Garrick nodded.

Erik made his way back to the opera house with some trepidation. The place would have been crawling with police earlier, but the worst of the nights events would be over and he hadn't deactivated some of the traps that might be lethal if someone was to venture out into some areas. The thought that Madame Giry or someone else concerned about Meg might be foolish enough to go down into the cellars was something he didn't want on what was left of his conscience. The traps could be disabled easily and he might be able to recover some comforts for the room under the laundry.

He was running on adrenaline but it would have been impossible to eat or sleep in the same room as the young ballerina. He was used to the closed dark spaces but her presence made the room seem unusually claustrophobic. Perhaps the company of a young woman was too much. He'd never had a woman for a companion with the exception of his time with Christine and then the relationship had been obviously disconnected when she didn't even know who or what he was. It was strange how he could see that now when six hours ago, he was blind to it. Meg didn't act frightened of him and if he were honest, it bothered him. She didn't seem stupid. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with him? Why was he even thinking about her? Out of respect for her mother he would never let any harm come to her, but that was where is responsibility ended.

As he neared the opera house, he noticed that it was indeed very quiet. It about four o'clock in the morning and the fire was doused, he guessed. As he'd expected, his former home had been ransacked. There was nothing to salvage. Sadness for his loss seemed pointless when the theater was in a terrible state. The singed remains were like looking into a mirror. A monument of wasted potential. He made his way through the maze of corridors with ease and familiarity. The traps yielded no victims. The temptation to see the destruction he'd caused got the better of him and he found himself in the remarkable preserved box five. The fire hadn't threatened the structural integrity of the theater. He was oddly relieved that the worst of the damage was cosmetic.

It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't alone. The last thing he'd expected was company.

"How could you do this?" Madame Giry sat in the corner of box five shrouded in darkness.

"I didn't want to. It just seemed like the only way." He didn't know why he was explaining himself. It wasn't something he did often.

"Meg is dead. I have nothing." Madame Giry said flatly.

"No...," he said, shocked. It hadn't occurred to him that Meg would be assumed dead. His inclination to put Madame Giry's mind at ease was clouded by self preservation. If it were known that he knew Meg's whereabouts, he would be wanted for kidnaping charges, among other things. The woman had caused enough trouble, leading the viscount to his home. Erik needn't ask to know she betrayed him. On the other hand, the sooner he got rid of Meg, the better. "Your daughter is safe, Adele. She's most likely asleep."

Madame Giry breathed in relief. "Where is she? How do you know this?"

Erik stared into the darkness, debating how much he should tell her. "I believe that she will be seeing you soon, unharmed. She is with... a... friend. Go home." He meant to sound indifferent, but his voice cracked harshly with fatigue.

"This is my home." Madame Giry exclaimed, her voice heavy with accusation.

"It was my home also, until you brought that useless boy here to destroy me!" Erik hissed raggedly.

"You killed Joseph Buquet. Did you not?" Madame Giry argued.

"You do not know the whole story. If I did not kill him, he would have killed me. I would not kill for pleasure, as some believe. The man preyed on innocent girls. I am surprised that you did not know this!" Erik felt his anger rising that Madame Giry had not done more to protect the girls in the dorm. "Did you not know that he raped Michelle?"

Madame Giry gasped in surprise. "The poor thing. No wonder she was ill and could not work the routines. She was ill every morning..." She broke off. "I didn't realize... She was so young and immature. She was let go because she was so ill... She did not say anything!" She defended herself.

"Of course not. He beat her and threatened to kill her if she told." Erik informed her coldly. "Don't tell me you didn't suspect something. You watched little Meg and Christine like a hawk."

"But it wasn't enough to protect them from you!" Madame Giry burst out angrily.

"But I would not...did not harm them!" He argued. "I...I..." He choked on the words. He'd almost said that her loved her. But it was too painful to remember how his declaration had been received.

"I turned my head when you took interest in Christine because I knew you could teach her to sing and it would help her career. But you took advantage of her trust and innocence." Her voice reveled that she blamed herself.

"You do not know what you are talking about!" Erik shouted, his voice resonating deep with torment. He fought the urge to slap the woman.

"I know that she thought the world of you. You had no right to use her loyalty against her. She has a right to a life with someone her own age, who can give her a family." Madame Giry countered softly.

"Believe me. I know. Why do think she is with him now? Do you really think I could condemn her to share my sentence?" Erik felt the ache in his gut tighten and the tears threaten. He'd considered Madame Giry a friend, but the woman possessed a cruel streak that demanded his attention if not his respect. He could not forget that she had been kind to him when no one else cared. Even now, he found that she understood him in ways no one else had. She had a good heart and even in her betrayal, he knew, she was trying to protect Christine. She made him wary of the fact that if she knew that he'd dragged Meg halfway across the city to a sparse basement room to save his butt from the authorities, she probably throttle him with her bare hands. He'd rather face the police squad than Madame Giry if she ever found out.

"What are you to do now? What am I to do? I have a daughter and no place to live!" The ballet mistress raised her voice.

"She isn't a child."

"Of course, she is. She's never known a life outside the theater. She isn't wise to people..." Madame Giry trailed off.

"Give her some credit. She seems like a smart girl." Erik stopped suddenly. It didn't seem right talking to Madame Giry about Meg especially since something in the atmosphere had changed. Dawn was breaking and pale reflections of light shown through the broken windows of the opera house. "I bid you adieu, Madame." He left quickly.

Meg didn't know how long she'd slept or what time it was when she woke. The unnatural silence unnerved her a little, but she willed herself to remain calm. She dressed into the trousers that were now dry, though stiff and wrinkled. She still wore the shirt. The boots were dry enough as well. She was debating about what she was going to do until Erik returned when there was a distinct tap on the door. It frightened her. Wouldn't Erik just have walk in? Maybe not. She opened the door. A boy, she guessed to be still in his teens, looked back at her with the same uncertainty that she felt.

"Mam'sel."

"Yes?" Meg didn't quite know how to respond to the rangy youth.

"M'sir sent me to take you away." He said.

Meg wasn't sure she should trust the boy. "Who is Monsieur?"

"He is M'sir Erik. I will lead you into the city to a boarding house."

"Did he tell you to take me to a boarding house?" Meg was put out that Erik would be so bold as to decide where she was to be delivered, like she was a package to be posted.

"Come, I will show you the way out of here." Meg followed him.

The escape route turned out to be just a few yards away from the room where she'd spent the night. A single flight of stairs led up to a dark room that appeared to be a storage shed. She took in the surroundings. The sun hadn't shed its rays on the grungy alley that the boy led her through. A milliner's shop with the name of a Pierre Grenois in the window caught her attention as she was led through a cobblestone street. Meg had no idea where she was outside of the general vicinity of Paris. She stopped to catch her breath. The boots were making blisters on her feet. The boy hurried on without her. If she lost him, she would never find her way back to the opera house. Daily life on the streets of Paris was beginning to take shape. The smell of freshly baked bread tantalized her nostrils and her stomach growled in response. The boy turned to see if she was still following. She was limping. Her boots had still been damp and the moisture had been caused her feet to swell. It was bad enough that she was lost, but her feet were her livelihood. She had no choice but to stop, sit down and take off her boots. The boy watched her as she did this.

"No, Mam'sel. We have to hurry." He said.

"I can't possibly take another step. My feet are blistered and swollen. Where can I find a coach?" She demanded. It wasn't like her to be so petulant, but she thought the boy unusually rude.

"Not here." He replied without resentment. "This is a dangerous street and there is a carriage house just over two blocks." He came to stand in front of her and extended a hand to help her up.

As she brushed herself off, she caught a glimpse of two small children running; a young boy about seven years old and a redheaded little girl. The children were dirty, and their thin little bodies were barely covered with rags. They wore no shoes. It was Meg's first time in seeing what was called 'street urchins'. She felt a pang of sadness. All of her life, she had been sheltered from the sad, bad, and disappointing. In the past twelve hours, she had seen the cruelty of the world and was momentarily disgusted that she was apart of it.

"Come on! The carriage house isn't far from here." The young boy's words broke through her thoughts.

He started walking again and she followed out of fear that she would be left as easy prey for villainous characters. He led her down a narrow alley, buildings towering on both sides. The scenery had improved in the last few yards. The buildings were somewhat maintained although old and in various stages of decay. It wasn't a familiar neighborhood. The sounds and smells of morning floated through the air. In the distance, a baby was crying. They went by a bakery and Meg breathed in the scent of fresh bread.

The carriage house and stables were unfamiliar as well. Montague & Son Coach Service in painted letters graced the sign above the door. Meg followed the young man inside to inquire about a coach. It would be available immediately upon payment. It was then that Meg realized that she didn't have any money. In reality, she rarely thought about money. She never lacked for any real comfort and her mother had always taken care of their finances. The boy handed over the requested coins. It surprised her. He didn't look like he had three meals a week on a regular basis. Where did he get money for a coach? She felt foolish that he would have to spend his own money on her. She would get the money from her mother to pay him back.

Meg shielded her eyes from the painfully bright rays peaking over the city. The carriage was clean and comfortable, making the trip to the Clureaux Boarding House a pleasant contrast to walking in her bare feet. The owner, Monsieur Alexandre Clureaux, was a cousin of Meg's late father Jean-David Giry. To her, he was known as Uncle Alec. "Thank you for escorting me. I'm sorry I don't have any money to give you."

The young man shook his head. "M'sir has taken care of that." he said, before bowing his head ever-so-slightly. "I bid adieu, Mam'sel." He turned to leave.

"Wait! Have you eaten?"

The boy hesitated. "No."

"My aunt Clair has a chef here. He has a tremendous talent. I'm sure she won't mind if you join us." Meg smiled. He stuck his hand out.

"My name is Garrick Gavin Mahoney."

She accepted his handshake. "I'm Margaret Adele Giry. Call me Meg."

Garrick held the front door open for Meg to go inside first.When they entered the sitting room, Meg was soon embraced by her plump, raven-haired Aunt Clair.

"I've been so worried! Your mother hasn't had a wink of sleep." The woman wet her thumb and wiped a dirt smudge from Meg's cheek.

"Is she alright?"

"Yes, with the exception of a few frayed nerves and a near heart attack." She chuckled. It was then she noticed her companion. Meg gently pushed him forward.

"This is Garrick. He accompanied me in getting here. I told him that he would be rewarded in breakfast." She paused. "I'm sorry if I was too bold in inviting him."

"It's quite alright. I'm grateful he brought you to us, but breakfast is not ready yet." She turned to Garrick. "If you rather not wait, there are muffins and milk in the kitchen."

"Muffins and milk will do fine, Madame." He bowed his head.

"I'll ask Jacques to bring some ham and eggs." She pointed to the direction of the dinning room and told Garrick she would join him soon. "Meg, are you hungry?"

"Yes, but I'm filthy. I would like to take a bath and change into some clean clothes first."

Her aunt nodded. Meg limped to the bathroom.

"Oh dearie, what is the matter with your feet?" The older woman exclaimed.

"It's nothing, really." Meg lied. They were swollen and blistered. Her mother was surely going to scold her when she found out. Madame Giry was always reminding the ballet girls to take good care their feet.

The bathroom was a recent addition to the old boarding house and Aunt Clair was very proud of it. Meg turned on the faucet and hot water poured into the porcelain tub. She added lavender scented bath salts to the steaming water and removed her clothing.

Meg sighed as she eased her body into the hot water. Her muscles were sore from her cold and uncomfortable night underground. She winced from the pain as the heat affected her blistered feet. It would take days for her feet to heal.

She thought about Erik. The Paris underground was a dangerous place. He'd warned her about the dangers, but the dangers were there for him too. Did he have what he needed? He might become ill. Who would take care of him? Why did she care? Surely he had survived this long without her. But she couldn't shake him from her thoughts. She wouldn't be able to stop thinking about him til she knew he was alright.