He stood with the smoking gun in his hands, a smug smile upon his face. Yes, he had committed murder, but it wasn't anything personal, 'just good business.' He mused while putting the gun back onto the seat. He straightened his jacket and turned to walk out of the box.
"What have you done?" Andre squeaked as he looked with terror filled eyes at his friend. "Firmin… you've just killed…" He couldn't finish the accusation, his throat ran dry and he sank onto the floor shaking his head. 'This can't be happening.' He thought to himself, the events of only moments ago taunting him over and over in his head.
The audience below cried out in shock and anger once again drawing the attention of the two managers.
She gave him a weak smile as a single tear rolled down her face leaving behind a trail of smudged rouge. He let out a strangled cry, one that masked the usual magnificence of his voice, as she collapsed into his arms, her costume soaked in blood. He looked around helplessly briefly before he looked back at her.
"I'm okay. I'm okay" she whispered in a soft soothing voice. He could see the pain in her eyes but noticed none in her voice. "Are you hit? Are you okay?" This time her voice wavered and was filled with pain and laced with fear. He nodded his head. "Shhhh…" Tears were beginning to fall from his eyes. He reached for his abandoned cloak and wrapped it around her firmly trying to slow the blood flow; he was beginning to panic. He gathered her in his arms and rocked back and forth humming a song in a shaky, tear filled voice.
"Erik." A firm voice pulled his attention to the woman standing a few feet from them. "It will be alright, my dear. Let Monsieur Gilles tend to her." It took several men to pry Christine out of his arms. He stood there like a lonely lost child as he watched the doctor remove the cloak, the corset and cut a hole in the dress to get to the wound.
A part of him wanted to kill the man for exposing his Christine like that to all who were present. No one had a right to look at her. Another part of him wanted to cry at the sight of all the blood that was flowing from her small body. He was terrified.
'Curious.' Madame Giry thought as she looked at Erik, 'I haven't seen that look of terror and helplessness in his eyes since he was a boy. He really does love her.' A slow smile curved her otherwise pursed lips.
She pulled Erik to the side, hoping to get his mind off the task at hand. He leaned on her as his body shook in fear. "Tell me that she will live Nette." Madame Giry looked at him in shock. It had been many years since he used his nickname for her. "She will be fine my dear. Doctor Gilles assured me that the wound is not fatal, it will simply take some time to heal." The look of relief that washed over him was overwhelming, but he was still understandably upset.
"I want you to listen to me Erik. Do not think for a moment that it was the young Vicomte who shot Christine. Anyone who was watching, as I was, knows that it was Monsieur Firmin. Now don't kill him." She hastily added that as she recognized that familiar glint in his emerald eyes. "He has probably gone back to the office to gather some money to bribe the chief of police, since the plan was to kill you and not the prima donna."
He stole one last glance at Christine's limp and blood covered body. His eyes darkened and his posture was rigid. When he turned to walk off the stage and towards the managers office, Madame Giry thought he resembled a panther on the prowl; silent, powerful, graceful, careful, and extremely deadly.
Firmin was behind the desk gathering as much money as he could. He looked up as a dark figure filled the doorway. In one swift motion the door was slammed closed, the candles were snuffed with the gust of wind and a cold voice whispered in his ear. " No where to run."