The Adventure of the Underground Crypt, 3/?
Title: The Adventure of the Underground Crypt, chapter three
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,138
Main Characters: Autor, Ahiru
Supporting Characters: Lysander
Summary: Autor and Ahiru discuss unresolved matters as they journey further into the tunnels. Then they find an unexpected surprise.
Fanfiction.net Link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5999956/3/
Will be posted to paranormal25 when complete.
Notes: I haven’t forgotten this fic! This chapter has a lot of deep conversation, because what better place to explore deep topics than while wandering through old and creepy tunnels?
Chapter Three
Ahiru could only stare blankly at Autor after he made his announcement. To her innocent mind, it did not make the least bit of sense.
“Why would someone store gems down here?” she said at last. “Did they think they could keep them safe from crooks?”
Autor sighed in exasperation. “In all likelihood, it could be crooks that put them here,” he replied. “If these tunnels connect with the network running throughout the city, this could be an ideal spot for thieves to hide their ill-gotten gain.” He frowned. “And it could explain at least some of the ghosts’ outrage with intruders,” he added.
Ahiru froze in horror. “So there might be mean people down here along with mean ghosts?!” she squeaked.
Autor nodded. “We’ll have to be careful,” he said. “I’ll leave these here for now, until we know more what’s going on.” He placed the bag back in the sarcophagus and stepped back. “Let’s keep going.”
Ahiru swallowed hard. “But hey, Autor?” she said, her voice still quavering. “What will we do if we meet up with some of the crooks?”
Autor paused and looked to her. “We’ll have to convince them that we’re lost down here,” he said. “And we’ll have to act as though we don’t suspect anything about them.”
He was starting to regret bringing Ahiru with him. Of all things, he had not even considered that criminals might have housed up under the library, even though he had been sure that they likely roamed the catacombs from time to time.
“I hope they’ll believe us,” Ahiru mumbled.
Autor pushed up his glasses and smirked at her. “Hmph. You’ve fought things far more frightening than a few common thieves,” he said. “And yet you’re afraid of them?”
Ahiru glowered at him. “But like you said, I can’t be Princess Tutu whenever I want anymore,” she said.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Autor said. “If all else fails, you can get angry and your fiery temper just might frighten them.” With that he walked past, still smirking.
Ahiru huffed as she stormed after him.
****
It was quiet in the tunnels for the next while; the teens’ shoes were the only sound. Now and then it would sound like something somewhere ahead and they would pause, listening intently and scarcely daring to breathe. Upon hearing nothing further, they would resume their journey.
Ahiru stayed closer to Autor, growing more nervous at each chamber they passed. So far there were no more jewels in any of the coffins, but there were plenty of other things to give them pause.
“It feels like all the skulls are looking at us,” she moaned.
“That’s ridiculous,” Autor retorted. “Of course the skulls couldn’t be looking at us. However, the spirits of their owners-for lack of a better term-could be.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better!” Ahiru wailed.
“It wasn’t meant to,” Autor said.
Ahiru was beginning to regret this trip as well. So far there was nothing that could help them revive Fakir, if the ghosts really were responsible for keeping him unconscious. All they had to show for their efforts was a small bag of gems that they had left in the first crypt.
She cast a sideways glance at Autor. He did not seem bothered by any of this. Not that she thought he would show it, of course. That was Autor-and Fakir too, really. They were so alike in some ways. Both were aloof, teased her, and were blunt. And both of them also confided in and opened up to her, something that they did for very few others.
But they were very different, too. As a general rule, Fakir did not like to do research. Autor reveled in it. Fakir was gruff and short-tempered. Autor came across as arrogant and smooth. Fakir was perfectly content riding a horse. Autor would be just fine with never seeing one again-though after his experiences, who could blame him?
Ahiru bit her lip. “Autor?”
He glanced briefly at her from where he was studying a small niche stacked with skulls. “What is it?”
Ahiru shifted. “Um, I guess this will sound weird, but . . . is it hard, being alive again?”
Autor blinked. Now he turned to her, giving her his full attention. “What do you mean?”
Ahiru flushed. “Well, I just mean, since you were dead and everything, and I know how some of the students have been acting even before this happened today, and you said you were happy up there, and . . .” She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, looking at the stone floor. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking.”
Autor adjusted his glasses as he looked back to the shelf. For a moment he was silent, gathering his thoughts. “It’s not that hard,” he said. “My memories of the afterlife have mostly faded. I remember, but it’s like a far-off dream. And in a lot of ways, it feels like nothing has really changed. However . . .” Again he hesitated.
“There are always reminders. The way the other students treat me is only one of them. More importantly, it’s . . .” He turned to face her again. “The way you and Fakir look at me.”
Ahiru’s eyes went wide. “Huh? What do you mean, Autor?! Do we look at you weird or something?”
He shook his head. “You look at me as if, even after all this time, you can’t believe I’m really here. As if I’m a spectre, a shadow of the afterlife that will disappear when you’re not looking.” His voice lowered. “Sometimes even I find it hard to believe that I’m not.”
He cleared his throat, not wanting to dwell on that topic. “But as for my happiness-it’s true that I was happy there. I saw my family, whom I’ve been without for years. Still . . . something was always missing.” He drove his hands into his pockets as he resumed his pace, walking past the skulls’ niches.
Ahiru hurried to catch up with him. “Missing?” she repeated.
Autor nodded, uncomfortable. When Ahiru caught a glimpse of his face, he looked red.
“That’s just the way it is, if there are people important to you on two different planes,” he said. “No matter which plane you’re on, there will be a void.
“For a while I was caught up in the beauty and the peace of that world.” He looked to her as she came alongside. “It shames me that I was so selfish.
“I hadn’t gone to that afterlife the time I stabbed myself to stop my Story. That world was . . .” He frowned. “It was fascinating, but dark and twisted-like Drosselmeyer’s mind. And my own, at that time.
“I didn’t forget the pain I was causing you then. But in Heaven, I . . .” He pushed up his glasses as they slipped. “I believed there wasn’t any way to return from there. I had tried and failed before being taken to that world. And I decided that you and Fakir, as well as I, would just have to accept that I was dead.
“Fakir was angry because he hadn’t realized I was a spirit when he gave me a ride home that night. And after I was in Heaven, I regretted I hadn’t used that time to say a proper goodbye, to him or to you.”
Ahiru looked down, blinking back tears. It was still deeply bothering Autor, no matter how much he snarked and smirked and pretended nothing was wrong. And she had to admit, she was still hurting too. Losing a dear friend was not something she could get over easily. It was not something she could bear to see happen again, to Autor or Fakir or anyone else she loved.
“You were in shock. And you thought there wasn’t anything you could do,” she said softly. “I don’t know, if I was dead and in a really amazing place like Heaven, I might forget about other things too.”
“I didn’t actually forget,” Autor said. “I thought about it. But after I began to explore, I didn’t think about it as much. I wanted to stay there.
“When I was allowed to come back for the funeral service, and occasionally at other intervals, I became stricken with guilt. You and Fakir weren’t recovering. Even when Fakir tried to put his anger and hurt behind him and move on, it was still festering inside him. And some of that was my fault, because of how I behaved that night.”
He looked up again. “I already missed you both and wanted to be allowed to speak to you again. And then I realized that I still wanted to live more than anything. I had partially tried to make myself believe otherwise since I thought there was no way I could come back.”
“Oh Autor. . . .” Ahiru looked up at him. His expression was unreadable, but his tone of voice had betrayed him.
“I guess it’s true about how we look at you,” she said. “It still seems like it can’t be true that you’re back, not when you were gone for so long. Sometimes when I see you, I have to really stop and think about how you’re not a ghost and that you’d better not go away.”
She stared at the stone floor. “Maybe that’s also why I came with you,” she said, “because I’m just so scared of waking up some morning and hearing that they found you lying somewhere and that you’re . . .” She trailed off with a sniffle.
Autor was more uncomfortable than ever now. He had never really known how to react when people talked about him being hurt, especially if they were worried about him. Other than his parents, Ahiru was the first who had expressed worry for him whom he knew was sincere.
“I can’t promise I won’t die,” he said at last. “All I can do is everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t happen prematurely.” He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have every intention of living a long and full life.”
“You’d better!” Ahiru exclaimed. “And I’ll help try to make sure you will!”
“And I’m sure you’ll do exactly that.”
Autor glanced at the cross on the nearest coffin as they came to the next chamber. “It’s ironic,” he mused.
Ahiru blinked. “Huh? What is?” she asked.
“I was raised Christian, but as I got older I found little use for religion or spiritual matters,” Autor remarked. “Cold, hard logic and provable facts were what interested me. After the end of Drosselmeyer’s Story, and particularly after my return to sanity, for some reason I started dabbling in religious topics again. And then I found myself dead and in the next life.”
Of course, he was glossing over many things. Thoughts swirled in his mind of what he kept silent. His anger and hurt towards God when first his father and then his mother had fallen ill and died. His later thoughts on whether Drosselmeyer could have kept the town sealed in such a tight bubble that divine help had not penetrated. His fear of Hell and his belief that he would surely be sent there after his descent into madness. That fear had been acquiesced as he had slowly healed-or at least, he had thought so. But when he had arrived in Heaven after his death, he had been surprised, even stunned.
His parents, albeit saddened that he had died and certain that it could not be his time, had welcomed him with open arms. Neither had mentioned anything about his bout with insanity, until finally, overcome with guilt, he had brought it up himself. They had reassured him that they had not ceased to love him even then and that they were proud of him for all he had done to try to make it right.
As he remained lost in thought he wandered down the corridor, glancing to each tomb. Nothing seemed out of place. To be sure, he tried each lid. None would budge.
Ahiru followed him in, biting her lip. “I’m still learning about religions and stuff,” she said with hesitance as he worked. “I knew some, but then I wanted to know a lot more after you . . .” She trailed off, looking away.
“Um, Autor, can I ask you something?” she ventured, deciding she wanted to change the subject. Talking about his death hurt too much.
“That seems to be what you want to do tonight,” Autor said. “What is it now?”
Ahiru stared at the floor, quickly moving away from any and all bones and skulls that had rolled out of the nearby niches. “How did you get so interested in solving mysteries?” she wondered.
Autor was again surprised. “It started when I began to develop an interest in logic, actually,” he said. “There were things I noticed in town that did not seem right to me. My parents never wanted me to meddle, fearing for my safety, but after their deaths I vowed to learn the truth.”
Ahiru was surprised too. “I thought everything seemed normal to everyone,” she said. “But I guess now when I think about it, I was pretty weirded out by Neko-Sensei at first. . . .”
Autor nodded. “I would see things that seemed strange,” he said, “and then later wonder why I had thought it. This happened more than once, finally leading me to believe that the hushed rumors of the town being controlled by a Story could be true. My parents used to talk about it when they thought I was asleep.”
Ahiru rubbed the back of her neck. “You know, I didn’t even know what it’s like to have parents,” she realized. “Way back as far as I can remember, I was by myself. But then Charon took me in after I became a girl again, and I guess he’s like a father to me.”
“He treats you like his daughter,” Autor agreed. “Though I doubt that you and Fakir are like siblings.” He regarded her in amusement as she went red.
As they left the crypt and stepped onto a darkened path, Autor switched on his flashlight. Or he tried to; the light would not come on. Frowning, he smacked it in vain with his other hand. “The batteries must be dead,” he said in annoyance.
Ahiru pulled out her own flashlight. But she stiffened in horror when it did not turn on, either. “I know this one was okay!” she cried. “I tried it out when I was walking to your house!”
Autor’s expression hardened. “I see,” he said. “There’s something down this corridor that the ghosts don’t want us to discover.”
“Then let’s not!” Ahiru retorted.
“We have to,” Autor shot back. “Anyway, it could be something to do with Fakir.”
Ahiru stiffened, knowing he was right. “But if we can’t even see . . . !” she worried.
“We’ll use extra caution,” Autor said. “We’ll keep our hands out to feel for anything awry and be prepared for the floor to give out under us.”
“I don’t want to have to be prepared for that!” Ahiru wailed. But even as she spoke she steeled herself. She was down here because of Autor and Fakir. She would endure any hardships for that price. If there was something along this path that they needed to find, then they would have to find it, no matter what.
Autor placed the flashlight in his pocket before giving her a smirk. “Well, now I know what defeats Princess Tutu,” he said. “I must say, I didn’t think it would be ghosts.”
Ahiru fumed. “Princess Tutu took on ghosts more than once and won!” she said. “And she wasn’t scared at all!”
“Then come,” Autor said, stepping closer to the middle of the hallway.
Swallowing hard, Ahiru went closer to Autor. But I’m not Princess Tutu now, she thought to herself. And I really am scared! But I have to do this, for Fakir.
Their footsteps echoed eerily up and down the hall as they advanced. The mood hanging over the passageway was dark and foreboding; the ghosts were letting them know in no uncertain terms that they were not welcome. But in resolution they pressed on.
“The students were spreading those awful rumors about your ghost haunting the library,” Ahiru said at last. “They said it would always feel creepy like this if someone dropped a book or talked too loud.”
Autor smirked again. “And if I really had been haunting the library, it probably would have been true,” he said. “Though I doubt my presence would feel as hateful as this.”
“It’s not funny,” Ahiru frowned. “Fakir was so upset about it. I was too.”
Autor sobered. “You’re right, it isn’t funny,” he said. “I apologize.” The wounds were still too fresh. And knowing what had actually been responsible for the ghostlike activity disturbed and concerned Autor more than if it had been a real ghost.
“I still wish we knew why that happened,” Ahiru said softly. “Especially since you told us it wasn’t you.”
For a moment Autor did not answer. Ahiru frowned, turning to look at him. “You also told us you didn’t know what it was,” she said.
“Yes, I did,” Autor said. “It wasn’t an untruth.” Because even though I know it was Fakir’s doing, I don’t actually know what element of his power brought it into being, he thought to himself. I’ve never heard of a Story-Spinner who was able to subconsciously will something into happening, without even writing. And surely if the explanation was something bizarre such as Fakir writing in his sleep, there would be some evidence of it. On the other hand, he could have destroyed it before awakening and forgetting all about it.
Ahiru frowned. “I hope you’d tell us if you found out,” she said.
“Do you trust me?” he returned.
She stopped walking, staring at him. Her eyes had started to adjust to the darkness, allowing her to see the boy’s vague outline. But his face was a mystery.
“Of course I trust you,” she said. “But when Fakir thinks something’s too upsetting, he doesn’t always tell it.”
“And you think I’m like Fakir?”
Ahiru looked down. “Well . . . I just kind of wonder,” she said. “I’m used to it from Fakir, and you still don’t talk about a lot of things, so . . .”
Autor sighed. “If I’ve withheld anything, I’ve had a good reason,” he said. “Will you trust me on that?”
“You are not saying something you know, then.” Ahiru started walking again, not sure how she felt about that. Frustrated, certainly, but mostly weary resignation. She was not a little kid! She could handle it, whatever it was.
“Ahiru.” Now Autor was walking swiftly behind her. “There isn’t some conspiracy against you. If there’s something I haven’t said, I haven’t told anyone. That includes Fakir.”
Ahiru ground to a halt. “Really?” she said after a moment.
“Yes.” Now Autor had come alongside her.
Ahiru thought on that. “It must be really bad,” she said.
Autor was silent. “Hypothetically, maybe I haven’t found a good time to tell either of you,” he said.
Ahiru frowned. “What’s ‘hypothetically’?” she asked, drawing out the unfamiliar word as she tried to pronounce it correctly.
“An unproven theory,” Autor said. “Your theory is that I haven’t told something I know. I’m saying that if that’s true, the reason could be that there hasn’t been a good time to talk about it.”
Again Ahiru was silent, digesting this information. “Okay,” she said finally. “So, hypothetically, if there is something, do you think there will be a time to tell us?”
“Hypothetically, yes,” Autor returned.
Ahiru smiled in the darkness. “That’s good enough for me,” she said. “I trust you, Autor.”
“Good,” Autor replied.
It was at that moment when Ahiru unexpectedly walked into something. With a yelp she flailed and pitched forward, crashing on something hard and jagged.
Autor gave a stunned start. “What happened?!” he demanded.
“Oww,” Ahiru moaned in response. “It feels like stairs.”
Autor walked over, staying alert and careful so as not to take a tumble himself. “Are you alright?” he asked. Feeling with his hands, he touched the stubborn piece of hair on top of Ahiru’s head that would never stay down. He moved further to the right.
“Yeah,” Ahiru said, sitting up on one of the steps. “I wonder where these go.”
Autor placed his foot on the bottom stair. “This is interesting,” he mused. “They don’t feel like stone. They’re made of wood!” He bent down, touching one of the steps with his hand. “They aren’t rotting either.”
Ahiru blinked, tilting her head to the side. “What does that mean?” she wondered.
“They’re remarkably well-preserved,” Autor said. “Or they were built recently. If I could just get my flashlight to work. . . .” Again he took it out of his pocket. But as he flipped the switch, nothing happened. In exasperation he replaced it. “We’ll just have to climb up,” he determined.
Ahiru got to her feet. Part of her was reluctant, but the other part was determined to investigate. Swallowing her fears, and trying not to think of ghosts pushing them down the stairs, she clenched her fists. “Okay!” she said. “Come on!” With that she started up almost before Autor realized what was going on.
“Wait a minute!” he exclaimed as he followed her. “Be more careful. You might suddenly . . .”
He trailed off as the sound of something bumping something else echoed through the corridor. He winced when this was succeeded by Ahiru groaning in pain.
“Now what happened?” he frowned, relieved that at least she had not fallen backwards down the stairs.
“I hit my head on something,” Ahiru moaned. “Watch out; it’s right here.”
Autor raised his hands above his head as he advanced up the stairs. Ahiru was right; the ceiling was suddenly greeting him. He felt around, his nimble fingers soon coming across thin and precise slits in the workings.
“It’s a trapdoor,” he realized.
Ahiru perked up. “Can we get through?”
He widened the perimeters of his search. “Maybe,” he said. “There’s a latch here. I’ll see if I can pull it loose.”
Ahiru waited tensely, listening to the sounds of metal scraping on wood. “Is it coming?” she ventured.
“It’s stubborn,” Autor frowned. He wiggled the knob again, then fought to draw it back. At last it slid over with a resounding snap. Using both hands, he pushed upward on the door. It moved, creaking on poorly oiled hinges. As Autor used further force, it slammed onto the floor above.
Ahiru cringed. “I hope nobody heard that,” she mumbled.
Autor concurred. “I’ll pull myself through the hole and see where we are,” he said. “If I deem it safe, you should come up as well. Otherwise, I’ll come back down.”
Without waiting for a reply he grasped the edge of the opening and began to hoist his slender body upward. This sort of activity was better suited to someone like Fakir, he could not help thinking as his legs flailed for something to brace himself with. But though he did not care for physical exertion, he was stronger than he looked. He forced himself up the rest of the way, then knelt on the floor to regain his bearings.
“This looks familiar,” he said aloud, studying the darkened room and the shapes on the walls. Taking out his flashlight, he switched it on. He gasped in surprise.
“What is it?!” Ahiru called up. She stood on tiptoe, trying to see as he beamed the light around the room.
“It’s one of the rooms the students in the sculpture division use,” Autor said. “We’re in that building.”
“No way!” Ahiru gasped in shock. Reaching up, she tried to grab hold of the opening above her. In relief she caught hold of it and proceeded to try to pull herself up as Autor had done.
He set the flashlight on the floor, watching her progress. “Can you make it?” he queried.
“I think so,” Ahiru said. She grimaced, swinging wildly as she struggled to get her footing. Then, while still holding on, she cried out.
Autor tensed, unsure of whether to take hold of her and assist her in getting up or to let her go it on her own. But before he could determine which was best, Ahiru was dragging herself onto the floor, gasping for breath. She collapsed on her stomach in exhausted relief.
“I thought the ghosts were going to try to stop me from coming up,” she said. “They were starting to swirl all around me!”
Autor sighed, admitting his own relief to himself. “You’re safe now,” he said. “Maybe they just wanted to frighten you.”
Without warning the trapdoor slammed down, becoming just as any other tile in the floor. Both teenagers jumped a mile. When the sound of the latch being replaced followed the noise, Autor frowned.
“They’re sending us a Keep Out message,” he said. “Though I wonder whether that was for sure the ghosts or one of the human occupants of the tunnels.”
“What are we going to do now?” Ahiru wondered, pulling herself into a kneeling position. She would really rather forget all of this and go home. But what about Fakir? What if the ghosts really did know some secret that was keeping him unconscious?
Before Autor could answer, another voice echoed through the room. “Who’s here?”
Ahiru went pale. “Now what?!” she hissed.
Autor got to his feet, recognizing the voice as belonging to Lysander. Since the sculpture and the music divisions shared the yellow building, the two had encountered each other at times in the halls. They were certainly not close; Autor did not consider them friends in the least and he was positive Lysander was of the same mind. And who knew what Lysander would think of finding him in here now, after all the rumors circulating through the school.
“Say nothing of the trapdoor,” he said to Ahiru as she stood as well. “We’ll pretend we’ve been upstairs.”
Keeping the flashlight pointed away from him, he headed towards the door. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said smoothly. “We were unable to keep track of time, as it seems you were as well.”
Ahiru nodded firmly. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m so sorry! We were upstairs and I saw the clock and I couldn’t believe how late it was. So we were just coming down and went in the wrong room. . . .” She gave a sheepish laugh.
Lysander, who had fallen asleep in the room while working on a project, blinked in confusion. “Aren’t you in the ballet division?” he asked. He was sure he placed the cheery young voice as belonging to a friend of Hermia’s.
Ahiru froze. “Um, uh, well . . .”
Autor pulled open the door, allowing the dim light in the hallway to spill into the room. “I was giving her a lesson in music,” he said, not skipping a beat.
Relieved, Ahiru quickly nodded to confirm the story. “Yeah, that’s it!” she said. “Music.”
Lysander stared after them as they stepped into the corridor. He was still half-asleep, but aware enough to now remember seeing the girl around the music student frequently. They were the ones to whom the latest rumors pertained, weren’t they?
He frowned. There was nothing to discount their story, especially since he had been asleep and could not say whether a piano had been in use upstairs. Yet it still seemed odd that they were at the school so late, especially when their friend was hurt. Then again, maybe the music lesson had been to try to get their minds on something else because they were worrying so much.
Shaking his head, he turned on the lamp and looked back to his sketches on the desk. It really was not his business.
****
“Do you think he believed us?” Ahiru whispered when they were safely out of earshot. She leaned close to Autor to speak, not wanting to take any chances on being overheard anyway.
“It’s hard to say,” Autor frowned. “But it could have been worse; he isn’t the type to pass along gossip, and if he tells his girlfriend, she isn’t, either.”
Ahiru nodded. “Hermia’s really nice,” she said. “She wouldn’t be like that.” Biting her lip, she looked out at the moonlit night through the windows up and down the corridor. “But what now? Are we going to go back to the library and into the tunnels again?”
Autor sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “This development surprised me; of all things, I wasn’t expecting to discover that one of the tunnels led here.” He fell silent, considering their options.
“I think I should take you home,” he said at last. “Charon will be concerned about you. And we could see if there’s been any change in Fakir’s condition.”
“Yeah,” Ahiru said slowly. But she stopped and walked around to be in front of Autor, her hands on her hips. “If we do that, though, you’d better promise that you won’t come back here by yourself!” she cried.
Autor rocked back, then smirked. “I should have known you’d say that,” he said. “Don’t worry. After what we saw tonight, I want to look into some other things before going into the tunnels again.”
Ahiru blinked. “Like what?” she wondered.
“The jewels,” Autor said. “I want to find out if there have been any jewel thefts in this general area. Unfortunately, that information might not be much help. The gems could have been stolen from anywhere.”
“I hope they weren’t stolen at all,” Ahiru mumbled.
“It’s possible,” Autor relented. “But considering the circumstances, it’s likely they were.”
As they slipped out of the door and into the moonlight, he gave her a sideways glance. “Maybe we should go back to my house before I take you home,” he said.
“Why?” Ahiru asked.
“You look a bit disheveled,” Autor said. “The last thing we want is for Charon to think I haven’t taken good care of you.”
Ahiru blushed. “Oh. Yeah.” She nodded, brushing some loose strands of hair out of her eyes. “Okay.”
And she smiled faintly. With Autor, as with Fakir, she felt safe.
She just wished she could do more for them.
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,138
Main Characters: Autor, Ahiru
Supporting Characters: Lysander
Summary: Autor and Ahiru discuss unresolved matters as they journey further into the tunnels. Then they find an unexpected surprise.
Fanfiction.net Link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5999956/3/
Will be posted to paranormal25 when complete.
Notes: I haven’t forgotten this fic! This chapter has a lot of deep conversation, because what better place to explore deep topics than while wandering through old and creepy tunnels?
Chapter Three
Ahiru could only stare blankly at Autor after he made his announcement. To her innocent mind, it did not make the least bit of sense.
“Why would someone store gems down here?” she said at last. “Did they think they could keep them safe from crooks?”
Autor sighed in exasperation. “In all likelihood, it could be crooks that put them here,” he replied. “If these tunnels connect with the network running throughout the city, this could be an ideal spot for thieves to hide their ill-gotten gain.” He frowned. “And it could explain at least some of the ghosts’ outrage with intruders,” he added.
Ahiru froze in horror. “So there might be mean people down here along with mean ghosts?!” she squeaked.
Autor nodded. “We’ll have to be careful,” he said. “I’ll leave these here for now, until we know more what’s going on.” He placed the bag back in the sarcophagus and stepped back. “Let’s keep going.”
Ahiru swallowed hard. “But hey, Autor?” she said, her voice still quavering. “What will we do if we meet up with some of the crooks?”
Autor paused and looked to her. “We’ll have to convince them that we’re lost down here,” he said. “And we’ll have to act as though we don’t suspect anything about them.”
He was starting to regret bringing Ahiru with him. Of all things, he had not even considered that criminals might have housed up under the library, even though he had been sure that they likely roamed the catacombs from time to time.
“I hope they’ll believe us,” Ahiru mumbled.
Autor pushed up his glasses and smirked at her. “Hmph. You’ve fought things far more frightening than a few common thieves,” he said. “And yet you’re afraid of them?”
Ahiru glowered at him. “But like you said, I can’t be Princess Tutu whenever I want anymore,” she said.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Autor said. “If all else fails, you can get angry and your fiery temper just might frighten them.” With that he walked past, still smirking.
Ahiru huffed as she stormed after him.
****
It was quiet in the tunnels for the next while; the teens’ shoes were the only sound. Now and then it would sound like something somewhere ahead and they would pause, listening intently and scarcely daring to breathe. Upon hearing nothing further, they would resume their journey.
Ahiru stayed closer to Autor, growing more nervous at each chamber they passed. So far there were no more jewels in any of the coffins, but there were plenty of other things to give them pause.
“It feels like all the skulls are looking at us,” she moaned.
“That’s ridiculous,” Autor retorted. “Of course the skulls couldn’t be looking at us. However, the spirits of their owners-for lack of a better term-could be.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better!” Ahiru wailed.
“It wasn’t meant to,” Autor said.
Ahiru was beginning to regret this trip as well. So far there was nothing that could help them revive Fakir, if the ghosts really were responsible for keeping him unconscious. All they had to show for their efforts was a small bag of gems that they had left in the first crypt.
She cast a sideways glance at Autor. He did not seem bothered by any of this. Not that she thought he would show it, of course. That was Autor-and Fakir too, really. They were so alike in some ways. Both were aloof, teased her, and were blunt. And both of them also confided in and opened up to her, something that they did for very few others.
But they were very different, too. As a general rule, Fakir did not like to do research. Autor reveled in it. Fakir was gruff and short-tempered. Autor came across as arrogant and smooth. Fakir was perfectly content riding a horse. Autor would be just fine with never seeing one again-though after his experiences, who could blame him?
Ahiru bit her lip. “Autor?”
He glanced briefly at her from where he was studying a small niche stacked with skulls. “What is it?”
Ahiru shifted. “Um, I guess this will sound weird, but . . . is it hard, being alive again?”
Autor blinked. Now he turned to her, giving her his full attention. “What do you mean?”
Ahiru flushed. “Well, I just mean, since you were dead and everything, and I know how some of the students have been acting even before this happened today, and you said you were happy up there, and . . .” She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, looking at the stone floor. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking.”
Autor adjusted his glasses as he looked back to the shelf. For a moment he was silent, gathering his thoughts. “It’s not that hard,” he said. “My memories of the afterlife have mostly faded. I remember, but it’s like a far-off dream. And in a lot of ways, it feels like nothing has really changed. However . . .” Again he hesitated.
“There are always reminders. The way the other students treat me is only one of them. More importantly, it’s . . .” He turned to face her again. “The way you and Fakir look at me.”
Ahiru’s eyes went wide. “Huh? What do you mean, Autor?! Do we look at you weird or something?”
He shook his head. “You look at me as if, even after all this time, you can’t believe I’m really here. As if I’m a spectre, a shadow of the afterlife that will disappear when you’re not looking.” His voice lowered. “Sometimes even I find it hard to believe that I’m not.”
He cleared his throat, not wanting to dwell on that topic. “But as for my happiness-it’s true that I was happy there. I saw my family, whom I’ve been without for years. Still . . . something was always missing.” He drove his hands into his pockets as he resumed his pace, walking past the skulls’ niches.
Ahiru hurried to catch up with him. “Missing?” she repeated.
Autor nodded, uncomfortable. When Ahiru caught a glimpse of his face, he looked red.
“That’s just the way it is, if there are people important to you on two different planes,” he said. “No matter which plane you’re on, there will be a void.
“For a while I was caught up in the beauty and the peace of that world.” He looked to her as she came alongside. “It shames me that I was so selfish.
“I hadn’t gone to that afterlife the time I stabbed myself to stop my Story. That world was . . .” He frowned. “It was fascinating, but dark and twisted-like Drosselmeyer’s mind. And my own, at that time.
“I didn’t forget the pain I was causing you then. But in Heaven, I . . .” He pushed up his glasses as they slipped. “I believed there wasn’t any way to return from there. I had tried and failed before being taken to that world. And I decided that you and Fakir, as well as I, would just have to accept that I was dead.
“Fakir was angry because he hadn’t realized I was a spirit when he gave me a ride home that night. And after I was in Heaven, I regretted I hadn’t used that time to say a proper goodbye, to him or to you.”
Ahiru looked down, blinking back tears. It was still deeply bothering Autor, no matter how much he snarked and smirked and pretended nothing was wrong. And she had to admit, she was still hurting too. Losing a dear friend was not something she could get over easily. It was not something she could bear to see happen again, to Autor or Fakir or anyone else she loved.
“You were in shock. And you thought there wasn’t anything you could do,” she said softly. “I don’t know, if I was dead and in a really amazing place like Heaven, I might forget about other things too.”
“I didn’t actually forget,” Autor said. “I thought about it. But after I began to explore, I didn’t think about it as much. I wanted to stay there.
“When I was allowed to come back for the funeral service, and occasionally at other intervals, I became stricken with guilt. You and Fakir weren’t recovering. Even when Fakir tried to put his anger and hurt behind him and move on, it was still festering inside him. And some of that was my fault, because of how I behaved that night.”
He looked up again. “I already missed you both and wanted to be allowed to speak to you again. And then I realized that I still wanted to live more than anything. I had partially tried to make myself believe otherwise since I thought there was no way I could come back.”
“Oh Autor. . . .” Ahiru looked up at him. His expression was unreadable, but his tone of voice had betrayed him.
“I guess it’s true about how we look at you,” she said. “It still seems like it can’t be true that you’re back, not when you were gone for so long. Sometimes when I see you, I have to really stop and think about how you’re not a ghost and that you’d better not go away.”
She stared at the stone floor. “Maybe that’s also why I came with you,” she said, “because I’m just so scared of waking up some morning and hearing that they found you lying somewhere and that you’re . . .” She trailed off with a sniffle.
Autor was more uncomfortable than ever now. He had never really known how to react when people talked about him being hurt, especially if they were worried about him. Other than his parents, Ahiru was the first who had expressed worry for him whom he knew was sincere.
“I can’t promise I won’t die,” he said at last. “All I can do is everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t happen prematurely.” He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have every intention of living a long and full life.”
“You’d better!” Ahiru exclaimed. “And I’ll help try to make sure you will!”
“And I’m sure you’ll do exactly that.”
Autor glanced at the cross on the nearest coffin as they came to the next chamber. “It’s ironic,” he mused.
Ahiru blinked. “Huh? What is?” she asked.
“I was raised Christian, but as I got older I found little use for religion or spiritual matters,” Autor remarked. “Cold, hard logic and provable facts were what interested me. After the end of Drosselmeyer’s Story, and particularly after my return to sanity, for some reason I started dabbling in religious topics again. And then I found myself dead and in the next life.”
Of course, he was glossing over many things. Thoughts swirled in his mind of what he kept silent. His anger and hurt towards God when first his father and then his mother had fallen ill and died. His later thoughts on whether Drosselmeyer could have kept the town sealed in such a tight bubble that divine help had not penetrated. His fear of Hell and his belief that he would surely be sent there after his descent into madness. That fear had been acquiesced as he had slowly healed-or at least, he had thought so. But when he had arrived in Heaven after his death, he had been surprised, even stunned.
His parents, albeit saddened that he had died and certain that it could not be his time, had welcomed him with open arms. Neither had mentioned anything about his bout with insanity, until finally, overcome with guilt, he had brought it up himself. They had reassured him that they had not ceased to love him even then and that they were proud of him for all he had done to try to make it right.
As he remained lost in thought he wandered down the corridor, glancing to each tomb. Nothing seemed out of place. To be sure, he tried each lid. None would budge.
Ahiru followed him in, biting her lip. “I’m still learning about religions and stuff,” she said with hesitance as he worked. “I knew some, but then I wanted to know a lot more after you . . .” She trailed off, looking away.
“Um, Autor, can I ask you something?” she ventured, deciding she wanted to change the subject. Talking about his death hurt too much.
“That seems to be what you want to do tonight,” Autor said. “What is it now?”
Ahiru stared at the floor, quickly moving away from any and all bones and skulls that had rolled out of the nearby niches. “How did you get so interested in solving mysteries?” she wondered.
Autor was again surprised. “It started when I began to develop an interest in logic, actually,” he said. “There were things I noticed in town that did not seem right to me. My parents never wanted me to meddle, fearing for my safety, but after their deaths I vowed to learn the truth.”
Ahiru was surprised too. “I thought everything seemed normal to everyone,” she said. “But I guess now when I think about it, I was pretty weirded out by Neko-Sensei at first. . . .”
Autor nodded. “I would see things that seemed strange,” he said, “and then later wonder why I had thought it. This happened more than once, finally leading me to believe that the hushed rumors of the town being controlled by a Story could be true. My parents used to talk about it when they thought I was asleep.”
Ahiru rubbed the back of her neck. “You know, I didn’t even know what it’s like to have parents,” she realized. “Way back as far as I can remember, I was by myself. But then Charon took me in after I became a girl again, and I guess he’s like a father to me.”
“He treats you like his daughter,” Autor agreed. “Though I doubt that you and Fakir are like siblings.” He regarded her in amusement as she went red.
As they left the crypt and stepped onto a darkened path, Autor switched on his flashlight. Or he tried to; the light would not come on. Frowning, he smacked it in vain with his other hand. “The batteries must be dead,” he said in annoyance.
Ahiru pulled out her own flashlight. But she stiffened in horror when it did not turn on, either. “I know this one was okay!” she cried. “I tried it out when I was walking to your house!”
Autor’s expression hardened. “I see,” he said. “There’s something down this corridor that the ghosts don’t want us to discover.”
“Then let’s not!” Ahiru retorted.
“We have to,” Autor shot back. “Anyway, it could be something to do with Fakir.”
Ahiru stiffened, knowing he was right. “But if we can’t even see . . . !” she worried.
“We’ll use extra caution,” Autor said. “We’ll keep our hands out to feel for anything awry and be prepared for the floor to give out under us.”
“I don’t want to have to be prepared for that!” Ahiru wailed. But even as she spoke she steeled herself. She was down here because of Autor and Fakir. She would endure any hardships for that price. If there was something along this path that they needed to find, then they would have to find it, no matter what.
Autor placed the flashlight in his pocket before giving her a smirk. “Well, now I know what defeats Princess Tutu,” he said. “I must say, I didn’t think it would be ghosts.”
Ahiru fumed. “Princess Tutu took on ghosts more than once and won!” she said. “And she wasn’t scared at all!”
“Then come,” Autor said, stepping closer to the middle of the hallway.
Swallowing hard, Ahiru went closer to Autor. But I’m not Princess Tutu now, she thought to herself. And I really am scared! But I have to do this, for Fakir.
Their footsteps echoed eerily up and down the hall as they advanced. The mood hanging over the passageway was dark and foreboding; the ghosts were letting them know in no uncertain terms that they were not welcome. But in resolution they pressed on.
“The students were spreading those awful rumors about your ghost haunting the library,” Ahiru said at last. “They said it would always feel creepy like this if someone dropped a book or talked too loud.”
Autor smirked again. “And if I really had been haunting the library, it probably would have been true,” he said. “Though I doubt my presence would feel as hateful as this.”
“It’s not funny,” Ahiru frowned. “Fakir was so upset about it. I was too.”
Autor sobered. “You’re right, it isn’t funny,” he said. “I apologize.” The wounds were still too fresh. And knowing what had actually been responsible for the ghostlike activity disturbed and concerned Autor more than if it had been a real ghost.
“I still wish we knew why that happened,” Ahiru said softly. “Especially since you told us it wasn’t you.”
For a moment Autor did not answer. Ahiru frowned, turning to look at him. “You also told us you didn’t know what it was,” she said.
“Yes, I did,” Autor said. “It wasn’t an untruth.” Because even though I know it was Fakir’s doing, I don’t actually know what element of his power brought it into being, he thought to himself. I’ve never heard of a Story-Spinner who was able to subconsciously will something into happening, without even writing. And surely if the explanation was something bizarre such as Fakir writing in his sleep, there would be some evidence of it. On the other hand, he could have destroyed it before awakening and forgetting all about it.
Ahiru frowned. “I hope you’d tell us if you found out,” she said.
“Do you trust me?” he returned.
She stopped walking, staring at him. Her eyes had started to adjust to the darkness, allowing her to see the boy’s vague outline. But his face was a mystery.
“Of course I trust you,” she said. “But when Fakir thinks something’s too upsetting, he doesn’t always tell it.”
“And you think I’m like Fakir?”
Ahiru looked down. “Well . . . I just kind of wonder,” she said. “I’m used to it from Fakir, and you still don’t talk about a lot of things, so . . .”
Autor sighed. “If I’ve withheld anything, I’ve had a good reason,” he said. “Will you trust me on that?”
“You are not saying something you know, then.” Ahiru started walking again, not sure how she felt about that. Frustrated, certainly, but mostly weary resignation. She was not a little kid! She could handle it, whatever it was.
“Ahiru.” Now Autor was walking swiftly behind her. “There isn’t some conspiracy against you. If there’s something I haven’t said, I haven’t told anyone. That includes Fakir.”
Ahiru ground to a halt. “Really?” she said after a moment.
“Yes.” Now Autor had come alongside her.
Ahiru thought on that. “It must be really bad,” she said.
Autor was silent. “Hypothetically, maybe I haven’t found a good time to tell either of you,” he said.
Ahiru frowned. “What’s ‘hypothetically’?” she asked, drawing out the unfamiliar word as she tried to pronounce it correctly.
“An unproven theory,” Autor said. “Your theory is that I haven’t told something I know. I’m saying that if that’s true, the reason could be that there hasn’t been a good time to talk about it.”
Again Ahiru was silent, digesting this information. “Okay,” she said finally. “So, hypothetically, if there is something, do you think there will be a time to tell us?”
“Hypothetically, yes,” Autor returned.
Ahiru smiled in the darkness. “That’s good enough for me,” she said. “I trust you, Autor.”
“Good,” Autor replied.
It was at that moment when Ahiru unexpectedly walked into something. With a yelp she flailed and pitched forward, crashing on something hard and jagged.
Autor gave a stunned start. “What happened?!” he demanded.
“Oww,” Ahiru moaned in response. “It feels like stairs.”
Autor walked over, staying alert and careful so as not to take a tumble himself. “Are you alright?” he asked. Feeling with his hands, he touched the stubborn piece of hair on top of Ahiru’s head that would never stay down. He moved further to the right.
“Yeah,” Ahiru said, sitting up on one of the steps. “I wonder where these go.”
Autor placed his foot on the bottom stair. “This is interesting,” he mused. “They don’t feel like stone. They’re made of wood!” He bent down, touching one of the steps with his hand. “They aren’t rotting either.”
Ahiru blinked, tilting her head to the side. “What does that mean?” she wondered.
“They’re remarkably well-preserved,” Autor said. “Or they were built recently. If I could just get my flashlight to work. . . .” Again he took it out of his pocket. But as he flipped the switch, nothing happened. In exasperation he replaced it. “We’ll just have to climb up,” he determined.
Ahiru got to her feet. Part of her was reluctant, but the other part was determined to investigate. Swallowing her fears, and trying not to think of ghosts pushing them down the stairs, she clenched her fists. “Okay!” she said. “Come on!” With that she started up almost before Autor realized what was going on.
“Wait a minute!” he exclaimed as he followed her. “Be more careful. You might suddenly . . .”
He trailed off as the sound of something bumping something else echoed through the corridor. He winced when this was succeeded by Ahiru groaning in pain.
“Now what happened?” he frowned, relieved that at least she had not fallen backwards down the stairs.
“I hit my head on something,” Ahiru moaned. “Watch out; it’s right here.”
Autor raised his hands above his head as he advanced up the stairs. Ahiru was right; the ceiling was suddenly greeting him. He felt around, his nimble fingers soon coming across thin and precise slits in the workings.
“It’s a trapdoor,” he realized.
Ahiru perked up. “Can we get through?”
He widened the perimeters of his search. “Maybe,” he said. “There’s a latch here. I’ll see if I can pull it loose.”
Ahiru waited tensely, listening to the sounds of metal scraping on wood. “Is it coming?” she ventured.
“It’s stubborn,” Autor frowned. He wiggled the knob again, then fought to draw it back. At last it slid over with a resounding snap. Using both hands, he pushed upward on the door. It moved, creaking on poorly oiled hinges. As Autor used further force, it slammed onto the floor above.
Ahiru cringed. “I hope nobody heard that,” she mumbled.
Autor concurred. “I’ll pull myself through the hole and see where we are,” he said. “If I deem it safe, you should come up as well. Otherwise, I’ll come back down.”
Without waiting for a reply he grasped the edge of the opening and began to hoist his slender body upward. This sort of activity was better suited to someone like Fakir, he could not help thinking as his legs flailed for something to brace himself with. But though he did not care for physical exertion, he was stronger than he looked. He forced himself up the rest of the way, then knelt on the floor to regain his bearings.
“This looks familiar,” he said aloud, studying the darkened room and the shapes on the walls. Taking out his flashlight, he switched it on. He gasped in surprise.
“What is it?!” Ahiru called up. She stood on tiptoe, trying to see as he beamed the light around the room.
“It’s one of the rooms the students in the sculpture division use,” Autor said. “We’re in that building.”
“No way!” Ahiru gasped in shock. Reaching up, she tried to grab hold of the opening above her. In relief she caught hold of it and proceeded to try to pull herself up as Autor had done.
He set the flashlight on the floor, watching her progress. “Can you make it?” he queried.
“I think so,” Ahiru said. She grimaced, swinging wildly as she struggled to get her footing. Then, while still holding on, she cried out.
Autor tensed, unsure of whether to take hold of her and assist her in getting up or to let her go it on her own. But before he could determine which was best, Ahiru was dragging herself onto the floor, gasping for breath. She collapsed on her stomach in exhausted relief.
“I thought the ghosts were going to try to stop me from coming up,” she said. “They were starting to swirl all around me!”
Autor sighed, admitting his own relief to himself. “You’re safe now,” he said. “Maybe they just wanted to frighten you.”
Without warning the trapdoor slammed down, becoming just as any other tile in the floor. Both teenagers jumped a mile. When the sound of the latch being replaced followed the noise, Autor frowned.
“They’re sending us a Keep Out message,” he said. “Though I wonder whether that was for sure the ghosts or one of the human occupants of the tunnels.”
“What are we going to do now?” Ahiru wondered, pulling herself into a kneeling position. She would really rather forget all of this and go home. But what about Fakir? What if the ghosts really did know some secret that was keeping him unconscious?
Before Autor could answer, another voice echoed through the room. “Who’s here?”
Ahiru went pale. “Now what?!” she hissed.
Autor got to his feet, recognizing the voice as belonging to Lysander. Since the sculpture and the music divisions shared the yellow building, the two had encountered each other at times in the halls. They were certainly not close; Autor did not consider them friends in the least and he was positive Lysander was of the same mind. And who knew what Lysander would think of finding him in here now, after all the rumors circulating through the school.
“Say nothing of the trapdoor,” he said to Ahiru as she stood as well. “We’ll pretend we’ve been upstairs.”
Keeping the flashlight pointed away from him, he headed towards the door. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said smoothly. “We were unable to keep track of time, as it seems you were as well.”
Ahiru nodded firmly. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m so sorry! We were upstairs and I saw the clock and I couldn’t believe how late it was. So we were just coming down and went in the wrong room. . . .” She gave a sheepish laugh.
Lysander, who had fallen asleep in the room while working on a project, blinked in confusion. “Aren’t you in the ballet division?” he asked. He was sure he placed the cheery young voice as belonging to a friend of Hermia’s.
Ahiru froze. “Um, uh, well . . .”
Autor pulled open the door, allowing the dim light in the hallway to spill into the room. “I was giving her a lesson in music,” he said, not skipping a beat.
Relieved, Ahiru quickly nodded to confirm the story. “Yeah, that’s it!” she said. “Music.”
Lysander stared after them as they stepped into the corridor. He was still half-asleep, but aware enough to now remember seeing the girl around the music student frequently. They were the ones to whom the latest rumors pertained, weren’t they?
He frowned. There was nothing to discount their story, especially since he had been asleep and could not say whether a piano had been in use upstairs. Yet it still seemed odd that they were at the school so late, especially when their friend was hurt. Then again, maybe the music lesson had been to try to get their minds on something else because they were worrying so much.
Shaking his head, he turned on the lamp and looked back to his sketches on the desk. It really was not his business.
****
“Do you think he believed us?” Ahiru whispered when they were safely out of earshot. She leaned close to Autor to speak, not wanting to take any chances on being overheard anyway.
“It’s hard to say,” Autor frowned. “But it could have been worse; he isn’t the type to pass along gossip, and if he tells his girlfriend, she isn’t, either.”
Ahiru nodded. “Hermia’s really nice,” she said. “She wouldn’t be like that.” Biting her lip, she looked out at the moonlit night through the windows up and down the corridor. “But what now? Are we going to go back to the library and into the tunnels again?”
Autor sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “This development surprised me; of all things, I wasn’t expecting to discover that one of the tunnels led here.” He fell silent, considering their options.
“I think I should take you home,” he said at last. “Charon will be concerned about you. And we could see if there’s been any change in Fakir’s condition.”
“Yeah,” Ahiru said slowly. But she stopped and walked around to be in front of Autor, her hands on her hips. “If we do that, though, you’d better promise that you won’t come back here by yourself!” she cried.
Autor rocked back, then smirked. “I should have known you’d say that,” he said. “Don’t worry. After what we saw tonight, I want to look into some other things before going into the tunnels again.”
Ahiru blinked. “Like what?” she wondered.
“The jewels,” Autor said. “I want to find out if there have been any jewel thefts in this general area. Unfortunately, that information might not be much help. The gems could have been stolen from anywhere.”
“I hope they weren’t stolen at all,” Ahiru mumbled.
“It’s possible,” Autor relented. “But considering the circumstances, it’s likely they were.”
As they slipped out of the door and into the moonlight, he gave her a sideways glance. “Maybe we should go back to my house before I take you home,” he said.
“Why?” Ahiru asked.
“You look a bit disheveled,” Autor said. “The last thing we want is for Charon to think I haven’t taken good care of you.”
Ahiru blushed. “Oh. Yeah.” She nodded, brushing some loose strands of hair out of her eyes. “Okay.”
And she smiled faintly. With Autor, as with Fakir, she felt safe.
She just wished she could do more for them.