"Oh God," Dantès whispered in despair. "After everything, please don’t let this be the end."
That’s when he heard the voice.
"Who talks of God and despair at the same time?"
The words seemed to come from deep underground, muffled and hollow but unmistakably human. Dantès’ hair stood on end.
"I hear a human voice," he breathed.
For years, he’d heard no one speak except his jailer, and a jailer wasn’t really human to a prisoner. More like a living door, a barrier of flesh reinforcing the bars and stone.
"In heaven’s name," Dantès called out, "speak again! Who are you?"
"Who are you?" came the reply.
"A prisoner," Dantès answered without hesitation.
"How long have you been here?"
"Since February 28th, 1815."
"What are you accused of?"
"Conspiracy, supposedly helping Napoleon return to power."
There was a pause. "What? Napoleon’s return? Isn’t he still emperor?"
"He abdicated in 1814 and was exiled to Elba island. How long have you been here that you don’t know this?"
Dantès shuddered. This man had been imprisoned four years longer than himself.
"Stop digging," the voice instructed. "Tell me, how high is your tunnel?"
"How do you hide it?"
"Has your bed ever been moved?"
"What does your cell face?"
"Alas!" The voice carried such despair that Dantès’ heart sank.
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"I made a terrible mistake in my calculations. I took the wrong angle and came out fifteen feet from where I intended. I thought the wall you’re digging was the outer fortress wall."
"You mean you were trying to reach the sea?"
"And if you’d succeeded?"
"I would have jumped into the water and swam to one of the nearby islands, Daume or Tiboulen. From there, I’d be free."
"Could you really swim that far?"
"God would have given me strength. But now everything is lost."
"Yes. Seal up your tunnel carefully. Don’t work anymore. Wait for a word from me."
"At least tell me who you are!"
"You don’t trust me," Dantès said, hearing bitter laughter echo from below. "I swear by Christ himself, nothing will make me betray you to the guards! But please don’t abandon me. If you do, I swear I’ll smash my head against these walls. You’ll have my death on your conscience."
"How old are you? You sound young."
"I don’t know exactly, I’ve lost track of time here. I was nineteen when they arrested me on February 28th, 1815."
"Not quite twenty-six," the voice murmured. "At that age, he can’t be a traitor."
"Never!" Dantès protested. "I’d rather be torn apart than betray you!"
"You did well to speak to me and ask for help. I was about to try a different plan and leave you behind. But your youth reassures me. I won’t forget you. Wait."
"I need to calculate our odds. I’ll give you a signal."
"But you won’t abandon me, will you? Come to me, or let me come to you. We’ll escape together, and if we can’t escape, at least we can talk. You can tell me about the people you love, and I’ll tell you about mine. You must love someone?"
"No. I’m alone in the world."
"Then you’ll love me! If you’re young, I’ll be your friend. If you’re old, I’ll be like a son to you. I have a father who’d be seventy now, if he’s still alive. I only ever loved him and a girl named Mercédès. I hope my father hasn’t forgotten me, and God only knows if she still loves me. But I’ll love you like I loved my father."
"Very well," the voice replied, warmer now. "Tomorrow."
Those few words carried such sincerity that Dantès felt hope bloom in his chest for the first time in years. He carefully hid the stone fragments and pushed his bed back against the wall.
He wasn’t alone anymore. Maybe he’d regain his freedom. At worst, he’d have a companion, and shared captivity was only half as terrible as solitude. When two people suffer together, their complaints become like prayers, and prayers offered by two or three together call down heaven’s mercy.
All the next day, Dantès paced his cell with nervous energy. Every small sound made him jump toward the door. Once or twice, terror gripped him, what if they separated him from this unknown friend he already loved?
His mind was made up, if the jailer moved his bed and discovered the opening, Dantès would kill him with the water jug. He’d be condemned to death, but he was dying of despair anyway until this miraculous voice had called him back to life.
Evening came. Dantès lay on his bed, trying to look casual while guarding his secret passage. The jailer noticed his strange expression.
"What’s wrong? Going crazy again?"
Dantès didn’t dare answer, afraid his voice would give everything away. The jailer left, shaking his head.
Night fell. Dantès hoped his neighbor would speak, but silence stretched on. Then, the next morning, just as he moved his bed aside, three knocks echoed from below.
He dropped to his knees. "Is it you? I’m here!"
"Has your jailer left?"
"Yes! He won’t return until evening. We have twelve hours."
"Yes, yes! Please, start now!"
The floor beneath Dantès’ hands suddenly gave way. He jerked back as stones and earth cascaded into a hole that opened where his tunnel met another passage. From the depths of this new opening, impossible to measure how deep, he saw a head emerge, then shoulders, then finally a complete figure who sprang lightly into his cell.
After years of isolation, Edmond Dantès was no longer alone.