(Erik)
Pacing the floor of the library, his hands clasped tight behind his back, he strode back and forth upon the rug, wearing it thin. His eyes straying to the wide French windows, he saw that the day was drawing in, and the light was beginning to fade. Tugging his pocket-watch from the breast pocket of his jacket, he growled audibly in annoyance and anger; the time was now four o'clock and there was still no sign of Christine. It was not that he was angry at his Christine, far from it, for he could never blame her for anything. No, it was that boy. Benjamin. He growled at the thought of the boy, sickened at the thought that his Christine was out with him when she should be here with him. But he had allowed her to go out. He had to restrain himself from flinging his pocket watch into the empty fire place.
'Relax Erik, she will be alright. He cares deeply for her, and thus he will keep her safe. You have no need to fear for her safety.' He repeated the thought to himself like a mantra, to keep himself from going mad- or at least from descending further into the depths of insanity.
'I must do something, anything to take my mind off of this torment.' He growled in frustration, turning swiftly upon his heel and nearly slipping upon the Persian rug beneath his feet. Storming from the room, he padded through the house, his footsteps silent until he reached his sanctuary; his private music room. Seating himself within at his desk, he seized his quill and a piece of parchment and, dipping his pen into the pot of blood red ink, he sat with his hand poised above the paper. Nothing. The thoughts of melodies within his head had vanished. He could not concentrate when faced with the sketches of Christine that lay scattered upon his desk and pinned to the walls; when she lay asleep in his bed, sat unaware with a book in her hand, her smile, her wide eyes...There was no way that he could just sit and do nothing constructive. He needed to get out there and find them, bring her home where she belonged and tell that boy what he really thought of him. The thought that he did not know where they would be never crossed his mind.
xXx
(Christine)
The light hurt. Seeping through the slit of her eyelids, they slowly fluttered open. She shut them quickly at the intensity of the glare, her head pounding. Squeezing her lids shut tight, she opened them slowly, her eyes eventually adjusting to the sight before her. The ground, or more specifically soil and small chips of rock. With little feeling in her arms, she struggled to sit up slowly, her head throbbing. Raising her hand weakly, as if it were made of jelly, she pressed her fingertips to her temple and drew them back quickly. They were sticky with her blood, which had congealed and clung to her fingers. The sole thought that she had within her head was the need to get home, to be within Erik's arms.
On weak, shaky legs, she slowly raised herself to her feet, taking small, cautious steps, not knowing which direction to go in, her heart calling out to her beloved to guide her. It was then that she became conscious of the stickiness between her legs, and leaning heavily upon a tree trunk to support her, she looked down...and saw a bloodstain upon the cream skirt of her gown. She couldn't breathe. She knew that bleeding during pregnancy meant that something was seriously wrong. Struggling to regain her breath and calm her ragged breathing, the tears ran steadily and continuously down her cheeks as she pushed away from the tree, swaying upon her feet, knowing the she needed to get home.
She recalled the last memory that she held; walking in the woods with Benjamin and Aimée, talking with the former whilst the latter skipped and ran on ahead. So where were they? She pressed her hand to her pounding head, a wave of nausea overcoming her.
"Help me. Please, somebody, help me." She called, her voice a mere whisper through the throbbing in her head and the cramp in her lower stomach.
She couldn't see through the torrent of tears, and so failed to notice the exposed root. Catching her foot underneath it, she stumbled and fell flat upon her hands, feeling the stones and debris dig into the squishy flesh of her hand. She was lost, alone and for all she knew, she was about to lose their child.
xXx
(Erik)
"Christine? Christine?" He called urgently, cupping his hand to his porcelain lips. By now, the light was fading, and he had walked for miles. Finding himself in the depths of the forest, his eyes, which had grown accustomed to the dark from his many years of solitude, scanned his surrounding for any indication that his angel was nearby.
"Someone help me. Please, help me." His heightened sense of hearing caught the whisper of the plea, and with a gasp of realisation, he put a face to the desperate voice. Christine.
"Christine, my love. It is I, Erik. I am coming my love." He called, rambling, thankful that he had found her at last. But the urgency and desperation of her tone caused him to fear. Something terrible had happened, he could sense it.
Running through the trees to the origin of the voice, he saw before him a sight which made his heart pound and his face blanch beneath his mask in horror. Sprawled upon the floor, her arms crushed beneath her, his beloved lay, her hair spread about her head and knotted with leaves and dirt.
"Christine. Oh Christine. Whatever happened to you?" He cried, running to her and crouching by her side, he cupped the back of her head and rolled her gently so that she lay upon her back. Sliding his arms under her knees and beneath her shoulder blades, he raised her up into his arms, rising to his full height carefully.
"My God Christine, what happened?" He said, noting with horror the congealed wound upon her forehead crusted with dirt.
"I...I don't know. All I can remember is walking with Benjamin and Aimée and then...nothing. I...Erik I...I think I've lost our baby." She tried to raise her head weakly from his chest to see his comforting golden orbs, but it was too much for her weak body to stand the effort, and she collapsed back against him.
"Christine?" He breathed, overcome with emotion, his eyes settling upon the stain that had spread across the fine material of her gown, which was now ripped and dirtied, her blood prominent against the pale fabric. What had he done to her? He had allowed her to go out, knowing that the boy loved her, but never thinking that it could end like this.
"I...I've bled. And I such a bad cramp in my lower stomach...I'm so sorry Erik. I.." The tears choked her, and swallowing the lump in her throat, the tears continued to fall from her closed lids, smearing the dirt upon her cut cheeks, her wet lashes clumping
"Shhh my love. It will be alright. I'm sure that our child will be alright. I'll take you home, my angel, and we shall find a doctor." He said calmly to soothe her fears whilst he raged internally. If she had really lost their child, when he found that boy, he would make him pay for it with his own blood.
He strode quickly with his precious cargo clasped tight within his arms, his eyes trained upon her. They were soon back at their home, and transferring Christine from his arms into the small carriage, he bridled the horses with the speed of lightning, and seizing the reins, lashed them into action, their hooves pounding against the hard dirt.
"It will be alright Christine, it will be. I promise it." He whispered, caressing her dirty cheek as the horses thundered down the road on the way into town. She needed a midwife. The cut on her forehead would not kill her, but he knew very little about secrets of carrying a child and child-birth.
Her hands cupped tight around the swell of her stomach as if to soothe the baby inside, she whined in pain, leaning heavily against Erik's side, her upper body tucked beneath the comfort of his protective arm.
Last time they had been in town, they had found the midwife's residence in case of an emergency, and Erik thanked God that they had done so. Pulling tightly upon the reins, they ground to a halt and he leapt out, gathering Christine into his arms and storming into the house.
"My wife is losing her child. Please, help her." He said desperately to the stunned middle-aged woman who sat warming herself before her fire in her small, cosy living room.
"Follow me monsieur." She said, rising to her feet, and led him up a flight of small, creaky wooden stairs, raising her heavy skirts out of the way of her hurrying, frantic feet. She crossed the landing and beckoned for him to follow her. He strode into the room, laying her upon the wide double bed with sturdy ropes tied to the four posts to aid a woman in childbirth.
"What is your name, my dear?" She said, pressing her hands to the swelling of Christine's stomach and Christine groaned in pain, her head rolling upon the pillow.
"If you will kindly wait outside Monsieur, then I will care for her."
"No, I would rather..."
"I insist. I shall call you in when I have finished my examination."She said, stepping in front of him, and with all of her 5ft 2 frame, guided him to the door.
Again he paced. Backwards and forwards upon the creaking wooden floorboards, wringing his hands in desperation. What was taking so long? He feared the worst. She had lost their child.
The door slowly opened a fraction, and the midwife stepped out, wiping her hands upon her apron.
"Tell me. Please. Is she alright? And the baby, is the baby alright?"
