Life is full of ironies.
If Erik could think of it at the moment, he would have found some beauty in it.
But he couldn't. He couldn't think of anything. He was moving out of pure instinct, and there was just one thing that mattered: survival. He could not go back for Christine, but he didn't worry. De Chagny would keep her safe. She would be safe.
The irony was in the fact that he had been there before. There had been also a mob, he remembered it well. But it was smaller back then, and he also was smaller, being able to get into places where they couldn't. This was impossible now.
It was his oldest memory. Erik didn't remember much of his childhood, didn't remember much of anything before the torture. Did he deserve it back then? He didn't like thinking about it. But he remembered the fear, and the hateful eyes, and he couldn't avoid it.
Erik was now surrounded. There was no escape. He put his hand on his pocket to get some time.
It worked: the men who were close took one step back. It was only a moment, but in that moment he realized the irony that it would all end in the same place it started. Yes, there was some beauty in this.
He opened his empty hand.
