A/N: Hello, all! Wow, forty reviews! :D You all make me so happy. The next chapter will be the much-anticipated Christmas chapter, which is a month late in coming. Many apologies.
Erik pulled Caesar to a stop in the back of Antoinette's house. Murmuring to him to stay put, he gathered Juliet into his arms again and strode to the back door.
Please don't answer the door, Meg, Erik prayed, knocking insistently. Thankfully, it was Antoinette. Her eyes widened a considerable degree. "Erik, is that—" she asked, her breath catching in her throat.
"Yes, she's been hurt quite badly, Nadir is getting Doctor Frederic," he said impatiently. "I'll explain more once the doctor has come and gone. I don't want him to see me." Going into the house, he gently laid Juliet down on a couch and disappeared out the back door to tie Caesar up properly.
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Nadir raced through the streets toward the doctor's office, heart thumping in his chest. Once on the doorstep, he raised his fist, panting heavily, and hammered at the door. Almost instantly, the doctor opened the door.
"Good evening, monsieur. How may I help you?" he asked pleasantly.
"Yes, a young woman was attacked by a man with a knife and she needs medical attention immediately," he said in a rush, eager to get going. The doctor, a young man with longish brown hair, inquisitive brown eyes, and a friendly demeanor, dashed inside to snatch up his bag and then the two leapt into his carriage. The doctor instructed the driver to go at top speed.
On the way, doctor Frederic asked questions. "How deep is the wound?"
"Quite, unfortunately," Nadir responded, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket nervously. His greatest fear was that they were going to be too late.
"Bleeding a lot?"
"Very much so."
"How did it happen?" Nadir flinched imperceptibly, but was spared from having to answer at the sight of the burning Opera House. Hungry orange and yellow flames licked at the building, consuming it.
"Mon dieu," the doctor breathed. Thankfully, the firemen had already gone to work on the inferno.
At Madame Giry's house, the doctor and Nadir jumped out of the carriage and ran to the front door. The ballet mistress was waiting for them. "Come in, please," she said, her mouth a thin, white line of worry. The doctor quickly located Juliet and examined the deadly wound. His face paled considerably, the color seeming to leach out of it like wringing water out of a cloth.
"This is bad," he said quietly, soft disbelief in his eyes. "But I think I can fix it."
"Please try, monsieur," Madame Giry beseeched him. "She's nearly family to me." Nadir watched in a sort of horrified fascination as the tough, wooden exterior she always wore came melting away in such a short amount of time.
The Persian man and M. Giry stepped out of the room when the doctor dismissed them and sat in the chairs in the front room. Nadir was glad they were somewhat uncomfortable; it gave his anxious mind something to try and focus on other than the fact that Juliet's life was in the hands of a doctor. A capable one, he was sure, but still only human. And humans made mistakes sometimes.
Terse silence reigned for the better part of an hour. Nadir interlaced his fingers tightly and cupped them over his knee, crossing his legs and rocking back and forth slowly. He knew Erik was pacing around outside with his fists so tightly clenched his knuckles were turning white.
After what seemed like an eternity the doctor reemerged, looking tired and worn. The pair sat up straight, leaning forward almost in unison. "She's fine," he said. "But very weak, She'll need bed rest for at least a week."
Madame Giry stood and kissed Doctor Frederic's cheeks. "Merci, monsieur, merci," she whispered, rushing into the sitting room to be with the girl.
The doctor approached Nadir. "An injury like the one she has is so deep and precise that it could have only been a determined attacker with murder in mind. You could take this to court, monsieur," he said softly.
"There is not much to report. Neither she nor I saw the attacker. I managed to fend him off," he said, feeling slightly guilty about the lie. Part of it was true; he hadn't seen the person that attacked Juliet. A look from the doctor prompted him to add, "She's a good friend of mine, I'm glad she came to no harm." He felt the need to stress that.
"I believe you," he said. "You seem to be a very kind friend as well. Goodnight, monsieur. I wish the mademoiselle Godspeed with her recovery." He tipped his hat and exited the house.
Nadir went to find Madame Giry and Juliet. The older woman was seated beside the girl, who laid beneath a blanket. Even from where he was standing, he could see the heavy bandaging on her abdomen.
Silently, he walked to the back door and opened it. His earlier assumption had been correct. Erik was pacing in the snow. His head snapped up when he heard the door.
"She's fine," Nadir hastened to say before Erik could begin asking questions. A long sigh of relief seemed to emanate from the very core of his being. "But she needs a bit of rest before she'll be back to normal."
Erik nodded, running a hand over his hair slowly. "I would imagine," he said.
"Madame Giry would like to speak with you," Nadir said, opening the door for Erik. He went inside without a word. Nadir, feeling he could offer no more to the situation, left to make his way home.
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Erik made his way into the spacious home of Madame Giry and was immediately met by her. "Come, we need to speak," she said quietly, taking his hand and leading him into the room where Juliet was resting. Her long hair had tumbled free of it's updo and had spread out onto the pillow in a messy halo around her head. They sat in a pair of armchairs, facing each other.
Antoinette was the first one to break the silence. "What happened, Erik?" she inquired, her voice low.
Erik decided it would be wise to start from the beginning. "After the performance, Nadir and I were in my home. It would seem as though the leading man you hired and one of his companions had some sort of a grudge against me. From what I gather, they found out about the mirror passageway and forced Mademoiselle Leroux to show them the way down. Somehow, they got the support of some of the stagehands, who managed to take Monsieur Khan and myself by surprise. They made the ultimatum of my life to ensure the safety of hers. Suffice to say I freed myself and Monsieur Khan and a fight ensued. A candle brushed one of the tapestries and a fire started. Monsieur Gaston's companion attacked Juliet, who I had previously thought was out of the way, and gave her the wound before I could get to her."
When he finished, Antoinette had a hand over her mouth. "How many dead?" she managed to ask. He'd been hoping she would avoid that question.
"As the fire was quickly getting out of hand when we managed to escape, I'd assume that they all are," Erik admitted, feeling a twinge or regret in the pit of his stomach. But just a twinge, mind you.
Antoinette was silent for a long time. He knew she didn't approve of the fact that he'd killed them, but he could also tell that she knew it had been the only thing he could do to save them both. Finally, she nodded and said, "It's very late, you should try to sleep, Erik. You may have the guest bedroom. It's the first door on your left."
"Thank you, Antoinette," he murmured. "Goodnight." He wandered into the room and rummaged around in the drawer for a spare pair of nightclothes. When he found them, he put them on and laid down in the pastel-colored sheets of the bed. Sleep evaded him and Erik tossed and turned until the sun rose, playing soft gray shadows across the white walls of the room like some shadow puppet show designed to remind him that he'd gone the entire night without a wink of sleep.
The next morning, Erik got up early and put his clothes on, feeling Ayesha wind around his ankles when he was ready. "Good morning," he said, his spirits rising ever so slightly. She purred in response, sensing his stressed nature.
Adjusting his mask, he made his way cautiously into the sitting room, on the lookout for anyone who wouldn't be sympathetic to him. Thankfully, the only person he encountered was Antoinette, who was in the kitchen. She looked up to see him and nodded in recognition.
"Bonjour, Erik," she said.
"Bonjour, Antoinette," he replied. "Is Juliet—" She knew what he was going to ask and sadly shook her head no.
"Not yet. She murmured in her sleep a few times, but she hasn't opened her eyes yet," she said regretfully. "Would you like some breakfast?"
Erik's heart had sunk right through the floorboards at her words, leaving him even less hungry than he would've been. "No, thank you," he muttered, going to sit beside Juliet and silently will her to wake up. He would never forgive himself if she didn't.
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When things had begun to burn in earnest, Gaston, weak though he was from loss of air, dragged himself into the lake just far enough to save himself and watched the lair of the Opera Ghost go up in flames. The pain of loss coupled with an anger that not only were the stagehands dead, but his only friend as well created a fiery knot in the pit of his stomach. The Phantom wasn't dead, though, and neither was Juliet. As he dusted the soot from his hair, Gaston Rosseau made a solemn oath that Juliet and the Phantom would pay with their lives for the fact that his brother and Phillipe de Chagny were no longer of this world.
Slowly picking his way through the burned rubble, Gaston found his way back up into the Opera House. Or what was left of it, anyway. Not to his surprise, he found it burned to the ground. People were scouring the ashes for anything salvageable. A policeman looked up from a pile of debris and his eyes grew wide.
"Monsieur Rosseau?" he stuttered, looking at the onetime leading man as though he were an apparition.
"Yes," he responded, walking toward the man.
"How are you—" he began.
"Not dead? It wasn't an easy thing, I can tell you," he said. "And the Opera House would still be standing if it weren't for the man known as the Phantom of the Opera." He clenched his fists and drew a shaky breath. "Six stagehands were killed last night, as was the Vicomte Phillipe de Chagny and—" he decided to throw a last minute curveball, "—Mademoiselle Juliet Leroux was also killed by this monster."
His last comment traveled to the ears of the rest of the people standing around, drawing several shocked gasps. The prima donna? Dead?
"Is this true?" a man asked, coming up to him.
Gaston willed a few tears to appear in his eyes, which wasn't difficult due to the smoke still heavy in the air. "Yes. It was what happened with Miss Daae all over again. He developed an obsession with her and attempted to drag her off to his lair. The Vicomte, the group of stagehands, and I tried to rescue her, but they were killed in the struggle, as was she. I narrowly managed to survive by hiding in the underground lake. You may find the bodies of my companions, but you will not find the one belonging to Mademoiselle Leroux. He took it with him." A small crowd had gathered around him as he spoke, growing more and more saddened and enraged by the minute.
They asked questions, but he waved them off. "I know you have questions, but if it is not too much trouble, I would very much like to be left alone at the moment." He strode way, trying to think of a way to get his revenge.
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Slowly, Juliet's eyes began to flutter open. She groaned quietly, a pain arcing through her right side. Her hand floated down to meet a bunch of bandages wrapped around her abdomen. What had happened? Why did she hurt so much and smell of smoke from a fire?
Her brain plodded along fuzzily as she turned her head to the side and tried to focus on the dark shape next to her. The outline of a man swam into view.
"Mademoiselle, can you hear me?" a familiar voice inquired, sounding like she was trying to hear him from underwater. Juliet strained to remember who it was.
Suddenly, it all came rushing back to her in a frightening deluge. Her eyes snapped open wide and she struggled upright in bed. Images of men dying and being hurt, strangled, and killed flashed through her mind, all shrouded in hungry red flames. Juliet's vision became razor sharp and focused in on the man beside her. Erik. The name, which nearly always comforted her, made her heart contract in fear.
She struggled to form words, and they came rushing out. "You k-k-killed them," she croaked. Deciding that it would be unwise to remain in the same room, she attempted to get out of bed and run. But her legs were weak and she pitched forward. Erik caught her in his arms and she struggled wildly, or as wildly as one can when one is still a little dizzy and disoriented from nearly bleeding out.
"Get away from me!" she shrieked. "You just stay away!"
"Juliet, it's just me," he pleaded. "Please don't—"
"Stay away! You'll kill me just like you killed all the others!" she cried, hysteria ruling her mind and body.
Using gentle force, all that was needed against her weak body, Erik lifted Juliet into the bed and laid her down. "I'm not going to hurt you, please believe me when I say that," he murmured quietly.
She remained unconvinced, still squirming away from him. "All of them dead, watched them die, and you didn't even care!" She took deep, shuddering breaths and wiped some tears from her face, searching for a measure of self-control.
"They would have killed both you and I, would you have preferred that that happened? Erik asked, a bit harshly. "I did what I had to do, but I'm not proud of it. I can assure you of that."
Juliet put her hands on her stomach and closed her eyes, biting her lip trying not to cry out as a deep pain wracked her body. When it subsided, she said in a small voice, "Erik, please leave." When it looked like he was going to protest, she repeated, "Please, just leave."
The tears began to flow as soon as he was out of the room. A murderer, she'd nursed a murderer back to health and befriended him. People had tried to warn her, but she hadn't believed them until now. And yet, he'd saved her life. She had some serious thinking to do.
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Erik bumped into Madame Giry as soon as he left the room. "Erik, what happened?" she asked sharply. "I heard raised voices."
He shook his head, feeling the weight of the world come crashing down on his shoulders. "She went mad when she saw me, Antoinette. Started screaming that I was a murderer."
She was silent for an extended period of time. "I don't really know what to say, Erik," she said at last. "Because as much as I want to tell you she's wrong, I don't think I can." She walked away, leaving Erik to his own thoughts which may not have been the best of things. He paced all over the house for hours until Ayesha convinced him to go back to the spare bedroom. Weary, he sat down and massaged his temples slowly.
Ayesha leapt onto his lap and gave a soft meow, her piercing blue eyes blinking up at him. She almost looked like she felt sorry for him. "I really messed this up, didn't I?" he asked, shaking his head with a bitter chuckle and rubbing her ears. She leaned into his touch, giving him a look that said, Yes, you did. It's not too late to fix it, though. You just need to find out how to do it.
"You, my feline friend, are so much more reasonable than nearly any human being I know," he told her with a grateful smile. She had a rather smug look on her whiskered face as her master began to hunt down a pen and parchment.
The finished product went something like this:
My dear Juliet,
I could never begin to explain how truly sorry I am that you had to witness the side of me that you saw last night. It's something I would never wish anyone to see, least of all someone I care about. My excuses are few and somewhat weak ,but I will stand by them.
I have a suspicion that the two men would not have been content to merely take my life, but yours as well if you were to give them any semblance of trouble whatsoever. It was never my intention that they would all die, but one of them accidentally set a fire and that I had no control over.
I understand fully if you no longer wish to have any association with me. I cannot say I would not do the same thing if I were in your shoes. Just know that I value our friendship, if one still remains, very much and I've never known someone whose company I've enjoyed this much. I remain, if you so choose it,
yours sincerely,
Erik
When he finished writing the letter Erik nearly tore it up, but he forced himself to fold it neatly and slip it under the closed door he knew the soprano resided behind. Now all there was to do was wait. Again.
A/N: The next chapter is nearly finished and I may post it tomorrow, depending on how much homework I have to do.
When I was much younger, I watched a show called Wishbone (major credit points to those of you who know what it is and remember it!) and I found out that there was one based on the book version of Phantom of the Opera. I located it on YouTube and started to watch it, only to realize (to my dismay) that Wishbone wasn't playing the Phantom, but Raoul! D: Much disappointment ensued.
No one answered my Bob Dylan question. :'( It was a paraphrased lyric from his song, "Pay in Blood" from his latest album, Tempest. Good song.