Chapter Four: Healing the Affliction

My head was pulsing as I held it in my hands. I tried to steady my breathing, although it wasn't working awfully well. Beside me sat the note the doctor had sent, and that I had just read. I picked it up a second time, skimming it's surface. It read:

Dear Mademoiselle Giry,

Your mother is still in recovery, I'm afraid to say. She still hasn't spoken many words, but some scrambled sentences that seem to make no apparent sense. She has more than once mentioned the name "Meg", supposing this is you, and has also said "Wait" more than once. We're not sure what she wants, but she is desperately sill trying to fight.

Her broken leg and some damage to her head are setting her back. The stitches on her lip, however, went well, I'm happy to report. However, I would caution you to limit your visits, because she gets very worked up any time a visitor is mentioned, and she could damage herself even more.

Sending you best regards and prayers,

Dr. Joseph.

I set the letter down and shrank back into the couch, sighing. It had been nearly a week and a half since the day at the prison and the bakery, where I'd found my beaten mother. We had rushed to the closest hospital, Monsieur Drake and I, and they had rushed her in. Monsieur Drake comforted me, letting me know that he was there for me. But I was so worried about my mother, I barely even heard him. The questions came flooding into my mind: How would we pay for this? Shouldn't we just bring a doctor to our home instead? But my thoughts were so jumbled that I couldn't make heads or tails of the situation. The worst part is that things were not looking up at all. They never gave her any kind of life expectancy, or complete recovery date.

It was not only my mother's health that I was so completely worried about, it was also the bill. I think myself to be the most vile, despicable woman, for my mother is in recovery from being torn up, and all I can worry about is the bill. But I had good reason to worry, we barely had enough money to get by, that's all. With the extra fine of the hospital, I didn't know how we would make it. I would have to hire myself some place, even though I was only seventeen. Surely there was somewhere I could work, like at the bakery with Noellë.

I felt a small tear escape my eye and I quickly wiped it away. No, no tears. I sighed, wondering how Christine would handle the situation. She would probably just take some francs from her moneybags husband, and- no. That was no way to think of a dear, old friend. Just because I didn't agree with her choices didn't mean I had to loathe her. Then again, things could be worse. I could be the Phantom, still locked-

Oh Lord, the Phantom!

I stood up quickly and raced into my room, pulling the top drawer open with rushed force and dug through it to find the wrapped mask sitting atop the newspaper article. I moaned. Now the man would never trust me! I had told him I'd be there a week and a half ago, he must have already given up hope. My blood ran cold. What if his trial's already over? What if he's already been put to death? How would the opera ever be saved? I shook my head. I couldn't think like that. Hurriedly, I pulled my stockings up and laced my boots, then grabbed my jacket and raced outside with my umbrella. It was pouring, and I opened the umbrella as I hailed a cab.

It seemed like forever until an available cab pulled up to me. I swore under my breath to whoever controlled all the time in the world for being so against me. "To the La Santé Prison, please, Monsieur," I said as I pulled down my umbrella and soaking wet from the downpour that had gotten past the umbrella, I climbed into the cab. "And please hurry!"

It took even longer to get to the prison, and I tapped my fingers anxiously on my knee, drumming to a very quick tempo. Finally, the cab pulled to a stop and I burst out of the door. The rain was still relentlessly beating and I hastily paid the cab what I could. The soaked horse and cab rolled away again, and I ran up the steps as fast as possible. Bursting into the doors, I ran up to the receptionist. "Please, tell me Monsieur Fantôme is still captive here!" I gasped for breath. The same man as my last visit raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Yes, he is. But not for much longer. If you want to see him here, then you've only got one day left," He said, setting his newspaper down. My blood ran cold.

"One day?" I breathed. "For goodness sake, why?" The man shrugged.

"He's a criminal. He's either transferring, being set free, or..." He made a motion across his neck like he was slitting his own throat, then laughed to his own amusement. I could have killed him for that. Impatiently, I demanded to see the man. He just shrugged, asking for my name and letting me escort myself down the hall, because all the gendarmerie were at some kind of press meeting. I nearly sprinted down the hallway to the cell of the Phantom, and when I reached it, I almost cried with relief to see that he was still there, and still alive.

"Oh my God!" I cried out, feeling tears prick my eyes. "Praise the Lord you're alive!" I watched through blurry vision the dark green eyes that were flecked with gold stare at me with hatred. I thought I heard him hiss something to me.

"What?" I asked softly. The eyes narrowed.

"How dare you come back... do you wish to fill me with false hope again, you little demon?" He hissed in my direction. My uneven breathing was barely controlled, and I took a deep breath before I spoke.

"True to my word, I've brought your mask for you," I began in a trembling voice. "It's right here." I presented the mask, wrapped in the baby blue handkerchief of mine. He looked at the blue wrapping curiously, but made no attempt to try and reach for it. I sighed. "Listen, I'm sorry. I'm unbelievably sorry that it's a whole week and a half later when we finally meet again, but this past week has been nothing but pain and worrying. I completely... forgot," I said, wincing.

After a moment, he slowly crawled up to the edge of the bars, cautiously. I saw his whole body for the first time that day and gasped. He wasn't wearing his cape, which upon closer inspection was lying down in the shadows as a makeshift bed. His hair was dirty, messed up and looked like it had bits of dried blood in it. His shirt and pants were torn, but his shirt had the worst damage. It was so bad it was almost like he was just wearing rags thrown across his body. My empty hand flew to my mouth in surprise.

"My face still looks as from a nightmare," He said, noticing my surprise.

"No, it's not your face, I'm used to that by now. It's your... you look horrible. In terms of well-being, that is. What do they do to you here?" I asked, my hand going from my mouth to the cell bar. I expected an answer from him regarding his daily schedule, but he just looked at me with confused eyes.

"Used to it?" He asked in a surprised way. "Mademoiselle, not even I have become used to it yet, and it has been with me my entire life."

"Well, maybe it's time you got used to it too. It's honestly not the worst thing on earth," I said somewhat impatiently, partially lying for my own sake. "Now what have they done to you here?" He still had a touch of disbelief etched on his face, but slowly he answered me.

"This place is a nightmare, and if there is a God, let him spare you from any horror," was all he said, and he looked back at me. He didn't seem to be so shy of showing his face any more, and truth be told, I didn't mind it very much. I really had gotten used to the mangled part of his face, and it was more a characteristic feature than something out of a horror tale. Of course, I'd prefer not to look at it, but some things couldn't be helped.

"We have to get you out of here," I whispered. He scooted over a little closer, so he could reach me better.

"I never said I was going to escape. Rebuilding the Opera's a lost cause, anyway. You not being true to your promise is more convincing that it's a useless cause. You and your mother can lead a good, healthy life without me to worry about," He said. I frowned, nearly slamming my hand down on the concrete floor.

"I wish you would stop saying things like that! And do you know how poor of condition we are in right now? Without the cost of hospital, we were barely scraping-"

"Hospital?" He interrupted. "What hospital?"

"It's... my mother," I said finally. His expression changed to a look of surprise and fear.

"Antoinette... what happened to her?" He demanded. I mustered up the courage to speak of what had happened to her. I told him of going to the bakery after the visit with him, and finding my mother outside it, beaten up with a few broken limbs, and her skin partially torn in some places. She had to have stitches across her head, and kept muttering fragments of sentences. Everyone including I had thought it had been some gang attack. The Phantom put a hand to his forehead and ran it through his bloody, messy hair. "How long do they say she has to live?"

"They didn't say. I'm... I'm afraid she might not be the same again. She might not even recover. And... and we can't afford all this, I'm still looking for a job, and we were just barely making it without all this awful... this awful worrying and bills. If I can't find a way to make money soon, we're going to be kicked out of our apartment. I-I just don't know what to do," I said, letting my tears fall freely now. I leaned my head against the bars of the cell for support as I cried and didn't care that the Phantom was right there. To be perfectly honest, I was glad to get it off my chest, even to a murderer I hardly knew. I looked up and saw the man with startled eyes, was he so surprised from my crying? I composed myself. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize. You have every right to cry if you need to. This kind of pain is no stranger to me," He said in a low voice. I gave him a small smile, and suddenly realized I still had his mask.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you've probably been missing this, haven't you?" I said as I handed him the small powder-blue bundle. He looked at the thing as if he'd forgotten about it, then reached to claim it. His cold hands brushed mine as we transferred the precious object and I shivered from the cold touch. "My goodness, your hands are cold as ice!"

"It's what happens when you spend two weeks in a cell," He said, opening the small package. "That is one of the tamer side affects."

"What's one of the worst?" I dared ask. He slid the mask onto his face slowly, and brought his face back up to meet mine. His emerald eyes which I had seen gleam once were now dull and the golden flecks in them were equally as unexciting. With his mask on, he was actually devastatingly handsome on the undeformed side of his face. I nearly blushed. I wasn't here to romance a criminal, I was here for my own, selfish reasons.

"The worst? One of the worst would be this," He said, holding his right arm up, wincing as he did so. I gasped and bit my lip at the sight. His arm on the shirt was ripped off, revealing a strong but not very muscled arm. There was a long gash across his lower arm that looked pretty fresh and was still oozing a small bit of blood. The cut was dirty, too. The mixture of crimson blood and many shades of filth made the end result absolutely horrifying.

"How on earth did that happen?" I asked, staring at the horrible thing. It needed to be bandaged, or it would be infected soon.

"The damned guards," He growled. "They come in every night half drunken and have recently taken the liking to beating on me for their amusement." I couldn't believe my ears. "'The Ugly Pig', they call me in their slurs. One of them had cut me like this with his letter opener. A quick swipe, and this is what it has turned into since last night."

"My God..." I whispered. "We need to get you out of here. But first, we need to bandage that thing up. The handkerchief is too small..." I looked down to my dress. It was a dark red shade, but I wouldn't be too devastated with it's being ruined. Quickly, I ripped the bottom of my dress, taking a small strip off much to the surprise of the Phantom. I reached for his arm and made a makeshift bandage for him, tying it up carefully. "There, that should be good until we can get better."

"Meg..." He said, but halted.

"Yes, Monsieur Fantôme?"

"Erik." He said.

"Excusez-moi?"

"That is... my name. You needn't call me Monsieur Fantôme. It is much too formal. Just... Erik will do."

I smiled. "Erik," I tested the name, looking up to the slightly broken man. It was amazing how broken everything was in my life suddenly. We were both broken, but maybe not beyond repair. "Erik is a very good name. I think it suits you well." We sat there for a moment in silence, and I realized I had placed my hand on top of his on the cell bar. Embarrassed, I pulled my hand from the top of his. I remembered the sole reason why I had first come here.

"So how are we going to get you out of here unnoticed?" I asked him. He looked like he was thinking.

"Unnoticed is a problem," He finally said, and I felt a small sense of victory that he was actually going to try to escape. My heart began to beat faster with the thought of breaking the law.

"The man at the desk said that you were going to be transferred somewhere else today, where is it?" I asked. Erik looked surprised.

"Transferred?" He said with a hint of bitterness. "No, it-" But suddenly there was a slam down the hall. I turned my head to look down the hall, then glanced at Erik, looking for an explanation. He raced over to his cape and tossed it to me through the bars. "Get into the shadows and stay under the cape. This could get dangerous for you."

Although I was bursting with questions, I did as I was told and crouched under the cape, directly across from Erik's cell next to an unused, dark cell. I peeked from under the cape as I watched Erik pull off his mask and hide it under his scrap of shirt, then trying to assume his position of lying down with pain and boredom. I watched a pair of black boots stomp up, followed by another black pair, although this one covered with mud.

"Wakey, wakey, big scary Phantom," The one with dirty boots laughed. "It's time to get ready for your big day." The dirty pair of boots was blocking my vision of anything Erik was doing, and I didn't dare move.

"What do you mean?" I heard Erik grumble. One of the boots shifted and I could see the look of hatred across Erik's face, staring up at clean-boots man.

"The city of Paris has found that they are caught between two decisions, Monsieur, and we are going to take you to the Opera House. There, they will decide what to do with you," Said the voice I assumed to be Clean Boots. The voice sounded very familiar... but I couldn't place it.

"The Opera?" Erik repeated. "What good can going there bring? It is nothing but charred ruins, now." Dirty Boots laughed.

"We found you underneath, you can't fool us. We know you're hiding evidence down there, and you're going to point it out to us," I saw Erik's face twist up with rage.

"Evidence? I've been in this prison for two weeks now, my old home has likely been flooded and washed out with the rain! If you want to want your damned evidence, you'll have to look for it yourself!" He yelled. "Even if I went, I wouldn't be able to walk, your good friends have taken the liking to crippling me."

"Shut up!" Shouted Dirty Boots. "If it pleases 'Your Highness' so much, we'll go and plunder through your precious home without you. But whatever we find, you won't be able to hide it from us."

"You should note that your resistance will be used against you, would you like to say anything else?" Said Clean Boots, and the humor in his voice was very pronounced. Dirty Boots put his foot in the way again, and I couldn't see Erik.

"Nothing," He said sharply. Clean Boots shifted his weight.

"Listen, Monsieur. I'm trying to help. If you just lead us down into your lair without resistance, we shall try harder for your freedom. I have compassion. I'm not a soulless demon like some people. But if you refuse, let's just say that the odds would not be in your favour."

"Why should I lead you there? Don't you know the way, that's how you found me?" Asked Erik spitefully. Where had I heard the voice of Clean Boots before?

"There are traps, we have noted. It seems you know them best, and it would be ever so helpful for you to show us down safely."

"The answer is no," Erik growled.

"Well, then. It's a shame that you won't lead us there. It makes the search harder," he said. "But not impossible. We've got other sources that would know the way down." And with that, both the vaguely familiar Clean Boots and Dirty Boots left. I stayed there under the cape until I heard the door slam from down the hall.