One last note inviting, practically begging, her to attend the Masquerade with him Erik sent to the Court only to be met with silence and from there his reason was entirely lost, he'd been abandoned and the darkness of his soul consumed him. He went to the Masquerade thrusting his completed opera Don Juan Trumphant at the managers before tearing the engagement ring from Christine's neck, the Vicomte concocting a plan to at last capture the Phantom of the Opera and end his reign. The end result of Erik's obsession was more terrible than Ravyn could imagine, Christine being terribly worried, wavering between her desire for this matter with the Phantom to end and not wanting to betray her teacher a second time while Erik's sanity and life hung in the balance. Thus far, Nadir could only stand and watch helplessly as his friend was finally swallowed up by the madness that had always threatened to consume him, Erik would not listen to him. He set out to meet with a Gypsy child, paying him to relay a message after the boy confirmed that Ravyn still resided in the city, hoping that she would agree to meet with him even if she would no longer see Erik. His message had been to meet him before Notre Dame at a designated time, so he waited where he'd indicated at the appropriate time to see if she came.
"What is it, Nadir?" her voice came from behind him.
He turned to look at her, her hair had been cut so it was one length, her bangs tucked behind her ears, one sleeve of her loose white blouse hung off her shoulder, the hem of her deep red skirt frayed, the sparkle of her eyes subdued, her face devoid of any emotion.
"Thank you for meeting with me," he bowed in greeting.
"Just get to the point," she snapped, "I have things to do."
"You have been noticeably absent from your corner," he remarked.
"Would've made it too easy for him to find me," she replied, rolling her eyes.
"Where do you sing now?" he pressed.
"I don't sing anymore, so what did you ask me here for?"
"You must help him, Erik has been driven to madness, reason is lost to him."
"Not my problem."
"Please, mademoiselle, you must! Only you can pull him back from this darkness! Only you can save him from himself before this goes any further!"
"No, Nadir, he's made his bed now he has to lie in it. I'm sorry, but he's on his own this time."
And with that, she walked away and disappeared into the crowd, afraid of where this whole mess would end.
After weeks of preparation, the debut of the Phantom's opera came, armed officers scattered through the auditorium, prepared for when the Opera Ghost appeared, but the Vicomte's plan failed as a voice that was decidedly not Piangi's issued from the man's costume to sing with Christine. The figure was revealed to be the Phantom himself, not where he was supposed to be at all, and she tore his mask from his face for all to see before the pair disappeared and Piangi's body was discovered. Both law enforcement and a mob comprised of those that worked in the opera house and had grown tired of his reign pursued the Phantom and his captive down below while Raoul begged Madame Giry for her aid. Afraid for both Christine and Erik if he was not stopped, the ballet mistress told him how to get down there, warning him about the Punjab Lasso, wanting to save Erik from himself as much as Christine, she was keeping to her promise to aid him by aiding the Vicomte. Raoul reached the Phantom's lair before the mob did courtesy of Madame Giry's instructions, finding himself nearly killed in his efforts to save Christine, freed when her kiss broke the Opera Ghost of his madness. He released them, his heart breaking in the process, and from there his fate was unknown to the couple who reached the surface where Madame Giry, her daughter, and the Persian waited.
"Where is he?" Nadir asked them.
"Still down below last we saw of him," Raoul answered.
"But the mob..." Christine got out, afraid of what would happen to her teacher if they found him.
"I will go," Nadir turned to leave.
"They could kill you, monsieur," Raoul grabbed at his arm, "They're out for blood."
"I appreciate your concern, Vicomte," he replied, "But I must take that chance."
"You risk your life for a murderer and a madman?" the viscount gaped at him.
"Erik is many things, friend," the Persian said calmly, "Yes, he has killed, and this night he acted on his madness, but he is also a friend and to me worth trying to save from the mob and himself."
By the time Nadir reached the lair, it had been ransacked by the mob and judging by the blood spattering the floor as well as various sheets of music that been strewn about the floor and torn remnants of what was clearly his clothing, they'd found Erik. Yet there was no sign of his masked friend, perhaps he'd fled after the mob had left him for dead or perhaps he'd gotten free of them somehow and fled.
Some time ago, Erik had extended one of the tunnels below the opera to connect to the old catacombs, one of the lesser used tunnels that was lightly guarded, and it was along this passage he fled. Clopin had once drawn him a crude but effective map of the various tunnels that led to the Court, a map he'd memorized should a need like this ever arise, so he had safe place to flee to if he was ever found. Injured as he was, he moved as silently as he could, hoping to slip past any guards who may have been watching, the same reason he 'd come without a torch. He'd been unable to slip away before the mob caught him and they'd beaten him severely before the Surete had arrived, using the distraction to his advantage to slip from the mob's grasp before he could be taken into custody. He'd even managed to take his mask before he slipped out, cursing himself for any number of stupid things he'd done since hearing Christine Daae's voice. After what seemed an eternity, he finally came to the large central chamber that was the heart of the Court of Miracles, the place bathed in darkness, an odd light here and there, but the whole place sleeping for the most part. He stumbled through, his left arm clutching his right to keep it as immobile as possible, unsure if it was broken, but not much caring at that moment as his current task seemed much more important. So many tents and wagons and caravans, he had no idea where to start looking for the person he sought, but as he came to the pit where the communal bonfire usually burned he was spared the trouble of having to think further as his eyes fell on a lone figure huddled beside it. He hoped, he silently prayed, and as he drew closer he sighed in relief that for once his prayers were answered and he lowered himself to the ground across from the solitary female form sitting there.
"Ravyn," he breathed, "Thank God..."
"You don't believe in God," she remarked.
"Mignonne, please," he begged, "Where have you been? I needed you..."
"I told you I wouldn't be coming back," she snapped.
"Something you've said many times before, but you always came back," he returned.
"You chose a lousy time to finally call my bluff," she retorted, "What are you doing here? Come to blame me for your turn of luck?"
"Not at all, ma petite," he let out a shuddering breath, "I should have listened, but I was obsessed. You were right, she betrayed me... twice."
"Fool me once, shame on you," Ravyn muttered.
"Please, Ravyn, forgive me. You proved your point, just come back to me! I need you."
"Fool me twice, Erik," she glared at him, "No. You're on your own."
"Ravyn, I beg of you! I'm sorry, so sorry, I said such horrible things to you, things I never should have, things I did not mean. I know I can never make up for it, but only forgive me and I shall try my damnedest. I love you, you were always there for me, no questions, just acceptance. I beg you, do not abandon me. You turned your back on me once, you had every right to, but do not do so now, I need help, I need you."
"Go to hell, Erik! I will not play second fiddle to your precious Christine and I won't be your second choice or your damn rebound!"
"No, Ravyn, no, none of that. You are my friend, that is all I wish of you."
"Forget it, Erik, go home."
"You are angry with me, you've every right to be, what I did after all you'd given me was unforgivable, I took it for granted. If you want me to go, I will go for now, but I ask you one thing, I've no right to, I know I've no right to, but please, mignonne, look in your heart and find it in you to forgive me. You are a far better person than I can ever hope to be, I know you are. For your sake, for mine, forgive me for what I've done."
Erik, by no small miracle, managed to make it home to his lair, expecting the mess the mob had left in their wake, the authorities waiting for him, but certainly not expecting Nadir waiting for him and most of the mess cleared.
"Nadir," he muttered, swaying on his feet before his aching body finally collapsed to the ground.
"Erik!" Nadir gasped, rushing to him.
He pulled one of Erik's arms around his neck and pulled him up, the man barely conscious and muttering to himself as Nadir guided him to his bedroom and laid him in his bed, before looking him over, removing the mask to see him fully. His once long black hair had been hacked off, his lip was split, most of his face bruised and lacerated having taken much of the damage, the deformities of the right made all the more grotesque by the bruising and swelling. He tore off Erik's shirt, his torso mottled blacks, blues, purples, even yellows and browns, an angry red welt about his neck evidence they'd nearly lynched him, perhaps with his own lasso, a knife wound to his side that narrowly missed piercing his lung. Nadir carefully prodded Erik's right arm, checking the bone, while Erik grimaced from the pain of it, a pained moan escaping his lips, moving his gaze to his shoulder and discovering the source of his pain: his shoulder had been dislocated. Throughout the remainder of the night, Nadir tended to Erik's wounds best he could, his deformed friend directing him when he wasn't sure what to do, Erik's scream of agony as he popped his shoulder back into place going right through him. Nadir had frankly been surprised at the minimal damage done to Erik's home and possessions, but supposed it was because the object of their wrath had been present and so spared his home while taking their revenge on him. It was likely only the timely intervention of the authorities that had saved Erik from further damage, but he was concerned that given the beating and bruising about his torso, there may be internal bleeding and Erik gave no indication of whether he suspected some or what to do if there was. Now, Erik slept soundly, his body and mind exhausted from the day's events and the turmoil of the past months, Nadir giving him an injection of morphine to help ease his pain before placing a cold, wet cloth on his brow for the mild fever that had developed.
It was strange how calm he'd been when Ravyn thought about it later, calmly pleading with her, his voice soft and sad, with no effort to use it to its full hypnotic capabilities to persuade her to do as he wished. It was a natural capability he'd always possessed, his study of ventriloquism had only taught him to perfect it and the best way to utilize it, but he hadn't even tried to use that skill against her. She'd seen him before, how angry he could become when he was denied what he wanted, how he'd yell and threaten to try and get his way, or unleash the full mesmerizing power of that heavenly voice. Yet when he'd come upon her in the Court, there was none of that, only soft, gentle pleading before he willingly took his leave. There hadn't been light enough to see him, the bonfire had been put out when most of the inhabitants had retired for the night and at the hour he'd appeared, only an odd few were still awake, the only light being a lone candle or lamp here and there. She vaguely wondered what had happened tonight that she knew would've been the debut of Erik's composition and normally she would have attended but given all that had and who the composition came to be dedicated to, she couldn't. Erik's voice had been so sad, an echo of her own pain, the pain she'd felt since he'd insulted her, perhaps that was why he hadn't tried any tricks, no tantrums, because he was simply too broken for it. He'd had his heart crushed and what he'd been through had taken the fight out of him, left him too emotionally drained and utterly exhausted, she knew what that was like.
In the coming days, Ravyn heard snippets of the aftermath of the Phantom's Opera, mixed reviews of his masterpiece, but especially the fate of those involved which was what concerned her the most. The Surete kept armed officers in the vicinity of the Opera Populaire to keep watch for the Opera Ghost everyone now knew was a horribly disfigured mortal man whose identity remained a secret, unsure if he had fled that night or if he was still somewhere within. They'd searched for him, but they lacked Erik's intimate knowledge of the tunnels and passages, succeeding in getting themselves lost and wandering in circles more than once, finding their way out when the rat-catcher directed them. Christine Daae had left Paris at least temporarily with her fiance le Vicomte de Chagny, Piangi had not been killed as previously believed, merely rendered unconscious, and was recovering and all productions at the opera were suspended for the time being while matters were sorted out. It became well known that the mob that had gone hunting for the Phantom of the Opera had found him, that the man had been severely beaten by the time the authorities had caught up, but had slipped away. Ravyn wondered if that was before or after he had ventured to the Court, had he been injured when he's come to talk to her or had he been caught as he slipped back into the opera where the mob had been waiting? Despite her concern, she stayed away partly because she wasn't ready to face him or forgive him, though it seemed inevitable that she would, but mostly because of the armed officers hanging about, she didn't have Erik's stealth, they might catch her or follow her right to him. No, best to wait until the heat died down a bit for it surely would, they didn't have the manpower to keep officers posted there at all times indefinitely, there were other criminals in the city.
Days passed, Erik had no idea how many, he was losing track of time more than he used to and too soul-sick to care, long, graceful fingers tenderly caressing the keys of his piano, longing to play, to write, but inspiration had apparently fled with Christine. His words to her about making his song take flight, his music of the night being, he'd meant metaphorically, but apparently she had truly taken his music with her, leaving him with nothing. Part of him hated her for it, but another still loved her, though now it seemed that love was diminished from what it had been that had driven him to madness and acts of desperation. Were she to ever come back, he knew he would forgive her without her ever asking, but he would, could, no longer trust her with his heart, so precious and kind a woman, he wanted her friendship, but he was coming to realize that was all he wanted of her anymore. Depressing a key, the sound reverberating through the room, there was suddenly a ghost of a song on his lips as he began humming, a woman not Christine on his mind, a tune, a song he hadn't written, the words coming to him unbeckoned:
"Who can say for certain? "Deep in the stillness,
Maybe you're still here.
I feel you all around me,
Your memory's so clear.
I can hear you speak.
You're still an inspiration,
Can it be?
That you are mine,
Forever love
And you are watching over me from up above?"
His heart lightened, fluttering in chest, as inspiration struck like a lightning bolt and, desperate to cling to those faint wisps of song on his lips, he let it spill forth,
"Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star!
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you're there.
A breath away's not far
To where you are."
Yes, there it was, a chorus, a bittersweet smile on his face as he released the first words he'd sung since Christine left, the first music that had come to him since, but he knew this song was not for her, no, it was for another who'd touched his heart before she did.
"Are you gently sleeping "As my heart holds you, "And I believe
Here inside my dream?
And isn't faith believing
All power can't be seen?
Just one beat away,
I cherish all you gave me everyday
'Cause you are my
Forever love
Watching me from up above.
That angels breathe,
And that love will live on and never leave!"
One for whom his heart ached, whose company he sorely missed and need to help him mend his heart and soul form the pain Christine had left in her wake, whose visage was in his mind as he sang, this song was for her.
"Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star!
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you're there.
A breath away's not far
To where you are."
A soft clapping came from the entrance to his lair, his cloak whirling around him as he turned sharply to see who dared intrude on his solitude, knowing it was not the one he hoped for, she would not have applauded, a gasp issuing form his lips when his eyes fell on his audience.
"Christine," he breathed, "What are you doing here?"
"I needed to see you, Angel," she replied.
"Erik," he corrected.
"What?" she looked at him.
"My name is Erik," he repeated, "I am no longer your angel, Christine. You should not be here."
"Erik," she breathed, "I needed to see you, to talk with you. I could not leave things as they were, not when I hurt you terribly."
"You need not apologize, angel," he uttered, "There is nothing to apologize for, not after what I did. It is I who should apologize."
"For what?" she drew closer, "For teaching me to sing, for guiding me, for allowing me to achieve my dream? You were there when no one else was, you were my friend and my teacher."
"Through deception, my dear, through lies," he argued, "I should not-"
"You did what you felt you must, An- Erik," that would take some getting used to, "After the life you have led, I can understand that now. Because of you, I am no longer some silly, naïve girl."
"Yes, because of me! Because I took advantage of your innocence to gain your trust! It was not right."
"Perhaps not. But nor was removing your mask-"
"Twice."
"Twice, yes, when you had trusted me not to."
"It is natural to be curious, I cannot hold that against you when so many before have done the same."
"The first time may have been forgivable, but the second? I cannot even say why I did it then in front of all those people."
"Christine, why have you come? You should be with your fiance."
"I've told you already, Erik, to apologize."
"You have done so, you could have sent a note to me, you know how to reach me. Yet here you are... still."
"You were my friend, Erik, perhaps against better judgment, I would not lose that. Yes, you deceived me, but you were a good friend and I know there is goodness in you. If you would forgive me-"
"Oh, Christine, you need hardly ask! I had already done so before you came."
"Then can we not again be friends?"
"It is more than I deserve."
"That song... it was beautiful. Did you write that... for me?"
"Not all in my life is about you, my dear. No, that was meant for someone else, someone who has shunned my company since I met you."
"So you wrote it some time ago, then?"
"No, it only just came to me."
"Have you sung since?"
"No nor have I composed anything since Don Juan Disastrous. That was the first piece since then."
"He-"
"She."
"She? Very well, she has not seen you since?"
"No, we had seen each other a few times since I began teaching you, it was after your success as Elissa that she began shunning my company."
"Oh, Erik, I am so very sorry! I did not know I came between you two, I feel simply awful!"
"It is no fault of yours, dear angel, the blame is solely mine. I became so focused on teaching you, I pushed her aside and made her insignificant. Where once I gave her as much of my time as she wished, I gave her none once I became your Angel. I sent her away, I have tried to reach out to her, but she will have nothing more to do with me. I said hateful things to her when she tried to tell me that I was neglecting her and she will no longer grace me with her presence."
"Perhaps I could be of help."
"You? Dear Christine, I do think she rather resents you for stealing me away. How do you expect to help?"
"A talk, one woman to another. You may not understand, but I certainly do."
"What makes you think I do not understand?"
"Oh, Erik. You call yourself a monster and you may have been cursed with that wretched face, but you are still a man and men simply do not understand these things."