Author's Note: a few people have asked and I realized I never mentioned it - this story is set around 1918-1920ish. Big thanks to all my readers and those who commented! 3
"Are you ready for tonight?" Antoinette glanced at Erik as he sat at the desk.
"You already asked me that not even ten minutes ago," he mused, arching a hidden eyebrow.
Antoinette sighed. She knew Erik was more than capable, yet she couldn't help but fret over his wellbeing.
"You're taking your pistol and not just the lasso, correct?"
"Of course."
She nodded. If all went well, he wouldn't need either one at the masquerade, but it was a mistake to assume all would go well. Anything could happen.
"I'll be happy when this whole thing is over," she muttered.
"As will I... This whole case has absolutely dragged... I've never seen a trail go cold like this, especially not one with two districts looking into it!"
He felt a little guilty as he paused, looking over at Christine on the couch. For all the world she looked to be absorbed in her magazine, but he knew she was listening.
"Hopefully we'll pick up the trail once again," he finally finished.
Antoinette found reasons to linger around the office, even though her workday was technically done. Erik realized what was wrong. He stood and made his way over to stand next to her, reaching out to squeeze her arm.
"I promise I'll be careful," he said, his voice kind. "I'll be perfectly fine, and you'll see me safe and sound tomorrow."
She nodded, smiling just a little.
"It's times like these that make me think of retirement," she laughed lightly. "You and I are both getting too old for this kind of danger."
Erik scoffed.
"Retire? And leave the fate of innocent people up to the likes of the Daroga? I think not!"
It drew a chuckle out of her, her shoulders relaxing just a bit.
"Besides," he drew himself up to his full height. "You shan't be rid of me that easily, I assure you. Nothing terrible will happen tonight... Well, nothing terrible will happen to me at least - I make no such promises about what might befall the other partygoers."
Antoinette shook her head.
"Oh Erik. I'll see you tomorrow, then."
Christine was glancing over the edge of her magazine, watching the tender moment between her two caretakers. She was pretending her very best to not be interested in the masquerade that was taking place that very evening.
Erik noted that Christine was oddly quiet as they left. She hadn't even looked at him as he'd said goodbye to her, something that irked him more than it had any right to. But he tried to not take it personally - she was probably still miffed that he had banned her from coming with him to the party. No matter - he'd make it up to her tomorrow by finally having new information that would help them find her boy.
Christine hugged her large book bag to her chest as she walked back to the Girys' home with Antoinette. She felt a nagging sense of guilt in the back of her mind, as though she were lying to Erik somehow, and she didn't like it. But she was certain that this was the right course of action - she couldn't get over the feeling that Raoul going missing was her own fault somehow. She had to set that right, even if Erik didn't understand.
Back at the office, Erik whiled away the time until he could start getting ready. The bright red suit was laid out on his bed, the cape hanging up behind his door.
He set the costume mask on his dresser, glancing at the book he had sitting there - The Swedish Language For Beginners - and placed the hat next to it.
When he was fully dressed for the evening, he searched in Antoinette's desk drawer for the little mirror she kept there, pointedly ignoring the patch in the back of the drawer that was still covered in mold from the banana he had left there as a prank - a prank that had definitely backfired when, by some horrible stroke of luck, she hadn't found (or smelled) it until it was far, far too late. He had promised to build her a new drawer after that.
He found the little mirror and held it up in front of his face. It was the only mirror in the entire office, and his heart sank as it always did whenever he had to look in one. Sometimes it was easy to forget what he looked like, and it was difficult to be reminded that no matter how he felt he looked, other people would only see this.
He didn't look any longer than he needed to, ensuring that the black makeup he had put around his eyes had covered his skin correctly and the mask was fitting properly. He placed the mirror back in the drawer and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He didn't think there could be anything at the party that would require as much strength as looking in the mirror had.
The skull mask was eerily similar to his own face, and he hated it, but he had to admit that objectively it was a very good mask. It had the shape of a nose (because clearly it was made for people who had the privilege of having such things on their face) but the nose was painted black - causing the illusion of not having a nose at all when viewed from straight ahead. What a fun party trick, he mused bitterly.
His costume donned, he set off for the party.
Christine, likewise, was getting dressed. She pinned her hair back, slipped the wig on, and affixed her own mask. She had the brief curiosity of what it must be like to wear a mask every day. She knew it was serious, what she setting out to do tonight, but she couldn't deny her excitement at getting to wear the lovely gown she'd purchased just for this. At last she sat on the bed and put on the new purple heels she'd gotten not that long ago.
Meg came to the doorway, her brow furrowed as she watched her disguised friend.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked her softly.
Christine nodded.
"I'm sure. He's out there, somewhere, and I have to find him."
"Do you think it'll be that easy?"
"I can hope," she rose and hugged her friend. "And thank you for not telling your mother."
"Any time, Chrissy."
Christine snuck out the back door while Meg distracted her mother. Once outside she took a deep breath of the evening air then nervously glanced around her. She hadn't been out alone in so long, and it was a odd mixture of feelings - anxiety and freedom, jumpiness and excitement.
She set off down the road to get to her destination, and as she walked down the deserted streets she kept expecting someone to jump out from the shadows. She let her hand drift to the secret pocket she had sewn into her dress, and to the derringer she had hidden there. She hoped she wouldn't have to use it, but it's cold metal against her hand was a comfort.
She paused in the alleyway that Meg had told her about. A car drove up, and she swallowed hard. But it was only Liam - Meg's on-and-off boyfriend of several years - just as Meg has promised. He smiled and gave a little wave, and she got in the car.
"Thank you for driving me," she told him, and he shrugged good-naturedly.
"Anything for Meg."
He drove her until they were half a block away from the building where the party was being held, and they didn't talk very much on the way. He wasn't certain where she was going, or why, but Meg had asked the favor of him and he was more than happy to help. Christine was grateful that Meg had offered to ask him - while her heels were comfortable enough, she didn't relish the idea of walking so far in them.
"Meg said you might need me to pick you up as well," he glanced back at her. "Here's my number. I'll be up late, so I don't I mind."
"Thank you, Liam," she took the little note and put it in her pocket before she got out of the car.
Liam drove off, and Christine approached the old warehouse that the masquerade was supposedly being held in.
Right before she pushed on one the rusting doors, she was overcome with doubt and fear. Was this the right place? Was she doing the right thing? She almost wanted to run after Liam and have him drive her home. But she pushed ahead - on the door and on her plan.
She blinked in surprise at what was on the other side.
While from the outside the building looked very nearly abandoned, the inside was bustling with life. There were tables of all kinds spread about the middle of the large room - tables with elaborate games set up, tables with drinks and drunks, tables with deceptively simple card games spread across them. At the far end was what looked like a very well stocked bar with dozens of bottles of various alcohols. More than two hundred people were milling about.
She entered the building and lost herself in the buzz of shouts and cloud of cigar smoke.
It wasn't long after that the door opened again and Erik slunk in.
Erik looked out at the sea of faces in the room. While there were a number of people who had done the bare minimum to qualify as "masquerading", there were also a great many who had gone all out like Erik - there were women dressed as flowers and princess and fairies, some with fluffy wigs and faces painted to look like cats, birds, butterflies, there were men as jesters, as clowns, various animals, fancy suits and capes.
He entered the room cautiously, trying to blend in with the revelers, wondering if he would spot Philippe here, when suddenly he saw someone else instead, someone that surprised him.
Edwards.
He was standing near one of the pillars towards the edges of the room, observing the party just as Erik had come to do.
Erik wouldn't have even realized it was him had he not watched as he removed his mask - an imitation of a rat's face held on with a ribbon, it's painted fur the same shade of dark brown as his pinstripe suit - and wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief. Erik couldn't blame him - even with the low lighting, it was still rather hot in the building. He ended up standing next to him in a way that seemed entirely coincidental to any onlooker.
"We meet again, Monsieur," Erik said very quietly, trying to keep his tone courteous despite his lingering bitterness over the man wedging himself into his investigation.
Edwards glanced up, not recognizing him.
"Where did we meet before?"
"It's me, Erik - the private investigator, remember?"
Edwards stared at him a long time.
"Oh," was all he said.
"I'm glad to see you here, actually. For the life of me I couldn't remember if I'd included the memo about the masquerade in he case file, but it appears that I did, after all."
"Yes," he said in a measured tone. "It appears you did."
"Two sets of eyes are better than one, and all that," Erik murmured. "Have you seen Philippe yet? Or found anything suspect?"
Edwards looked out into the crowd and was quiet for a few moments.
"I did find someone, actually. They're about my height, and wearing a monkey costume - a full body suit and mask, just like a monkey..."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, but you see, I lost track of him. I've been following him for a handful of days now, and I'm pretty sure he's our guy. I was going to grab him tonight, but... Do me a favor, will you? You see this guy in the monkey costume - you follow him. Got it?"
Erik nodded.
"Of course. And you really think he's the guy?"
"I know so. No matter what happens - you follow him, okay? As soon as you see him."
Erik nodded again, just slightly peeved.
"Good man," Edwards acknowledged him with a nod of his own. "Now if you don't mind, I've got some business to take care of."
He left with a pat on Erik's shoulder, which Erik didn't know how to feel about.
Look for the monkey, look for Philippe. It seemed an easy enough task. He did wonder, for a moment, what exactly Edwards' other business was, but he realized he simply couldn't stand by the wall all night and instead began to mingle with the crowd.
The first order of business was the bar - nearly everyone had a drink in their hand, and if not, they had three empty ones sitting in front of them at their table.
Erik caught the bartenders attention and called him over to where there fewer people. He leaned in close to the man, as if he were talking him a secret.
"I'd like a glass of water, please," he said quietly.
"Water and whiskey?"
Erik's face turned red under his mask.
"No, just water. Except- ah, could you put an olive on a toothpick and put it in the water?"
The bartender stared at him, but Erik showed no signs of joking around. With a raised eyebrow, he poured a glass of water, put two olives on a toothpick, stuck it in the water, and handed him the glass.
"Here you go, you crazy bastard," he muttered under his breath and shook his head - who ordered water at a speakeasy?
Erik took his sham drink and picked a blackjack table to sit at first - a good table with a clear view of much of the room. It was an easy game he didn't have to pay much attention to, letting him save his focus for other things.
The men at the table nodded to him in greeting. It surprised Erik only momentarily - he wasn't used to such warm welcomes, but of course when every other man was wearing a mask, there was nothing to set him apart from the others.
He hadn't played blackjack in several years - not since Nadir had realized during one of their game nights that Erik was, in fact, counting the cards and ensuring he won almost every hand - but he found that he was able to pick it up with ease again... And that old habits died hard.
"Get a load of Mister Lucky over here," one of the men at the table laughed.
Erik blinked, realizing he had won the last three hands. He cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly.
"Ah, don't jinx me, now, friend," he replied.
He lost the next hand on purpose, to the disappointment of everyone at the table except the dealer.
"There, see-" Erik took a swig of his water. "Beginner's luck, it would seem."
Erik lost the next five hands, and the other men commiserated with him.
"Beginner's luck?" one of the men winced. "More like outta luck. That's rough, buddy."
"Seems to be a common problem at this table," another one grumbled, glancing at the dealer who remained impassive.
"Never know," said the third man. "We all still might get lucky before the night's over - look."
He nodded to a group of several women who were watching the blackjack table, talking and giggling behind their hands.
"Maybe the dames'll be easier than the cards!" he barked a laugh at his own joke.
It took Erik a moment to process what he meant.
"I got dibs on the little bluebird," the first man said, eyeing the women.
"That bunny's just my type," said the third man.
"That clown, though," murmured the second appreciatively, then he nodded to Erik. "How 'bout you? Which one catches your fancy?"
Erik looked up from his cards, dumbstruck.
"I don't- that's not- I don't think-"
The men laughed at his stuttering.
"Aw, don't be like that!" the first man chuckled. "You don't have to hold back here! It's just us men. And we know what makes a man a man."
"Yeah, ain't that what makes us human?" the second man chimed in.
Erik sullenly took a sip of his water. If that was what made a man - or even a human - then he was sorely out of luck all around. He felt like an overgrown child sitting there, pretending to drink alcohol, pretending to be an adult, as though maturity and normalcy were the true costume he was wearing.
He glanced miserably at the group of women, trying to remember who had already been mentioned - the very last thing he needed was to get in a sudden fist fight over the "right" to a certain "dame".
The bird, the rabbit, the clown - that left the flower, the ballerina, and the cat.
"The cat," he said gruffly, hoping there would be no follow up questions.
"The cat? Are you kidding me?"
The men burst out laughing again.
"Oh, buddy - you better get your eyes checked!"
Erik stared in dismay - what was wrong with the cat? He had picked nearly at random - he liked her fluffy wig, that was all. He really couldn't see any advantage the other women had over her, though clearly the other men did.
He won the next hand to make himself feel better, then bowed out of the game, not wanting to talk the other men any more.
He continued his search for Philippe, but Christine was the first to spot the Comte.
He slipped in the door, trying to remain unnoticed, but Christine, who was chatting to a women dressed as Little Red Riding Hood as they stood near one of the pillars, happened to see him come in. He had a thin black mask across his face, and a purple cape, but Christine couldn't tell what, exactly, his costume was supposed to be. She knew it was him, though. He had the same curly, messy blonde hair as Raoul. The sight made her heart twist.
She took her leave of the woman and inconspicuously followed behind Philippe. He seemed to know right where he was going, not even caring to stop and play a game or get a drink.
She followed him as he veered away from the party and towards the side of the building where there were rooms that used to be offices at the end of a hallway. She was nervous, but pleased that the layout of the hall seemed to block the offices from view of the party - someone was sure to notice her spying otherwise. Philippe went into the office on the left and closed the door, and Christine thanked her lucky stars that the rusting hinges and rotted doorknob caused the door to bounce off the frame and remain open just a crack.
She felt like she was taking her life into her own hands as she quietly approached as close as she dared and tried to look through the crack in the door.
There was Philippe, and he was facing the door, pulling a large envelope out of his jacket. There was another man there, too, but he was facing away from the door and while this meant he couldn't see her out in the hall, it also meant she couldn't get a look at his face.
"This is all I have right now."
Christine heard the rustle of papers, and peeking through she could see the large envelope being handed to the stranger. The man opened it, counted the money inside, then tossed it to the table with a huff.
"That's not even a third of what you owe."
Philippe looked like he was going to cry.
"I sold nearly all of my horses, I sold family heirlooms, irreplaceable items - please. I swear I will pay you back in full, but it's going to take time."
The stranger shrugged.
"That changes nothing."
"But I'm paying you back! Why do you have to keep him? Let him go - it's been long enough! I promise I'll keep paying, just let him go, please!"
"He'll be returned to you when you've paid in full."
"Do you know how long that will take?! I- I'd have to sell the mansion to make that kind of money all at once, and even then, who would buy it? People would get suspicious, start asking questions - is that what you want?"
The stranger took a step forwards and Philippe flinched back.
"What I want is my money, Philippe. And you better hope people never start looking my way, because that's a one way ticket to never seeing little brother again."
Philippe broke down into a sob.
"I'm trying my best," he cried. "I have to be slow to avoid attention, but at this rate it's going to be months-"
"I can wait."
"But Raoul can't! I cant!"
"That doesn't sound like my problem, now, does it?"
Philippe pressed his hands to his face, trying to not hyperventilate.
"Is he okay?" he swallowed thickly around the words. "Is he- is he alright?"
"He's alive," the stranger said after a long pause. "As for anything else, well - you'll just have to ask him when you see him. A little extra incentive, shall we say?"
The man lit a cigarette and took a long puff.
"You said it'll take a long time to get the rest of the cash - how long?" he asked suddenly.
"Five months," Philippe replied miserably.
"Did you factor in the interest?"
Philippe glared at him then looked away.
The man chuckled.
"Go enjoy my party, Philippe. I tell you what - you can have a drink, on the house. How does that sound?" he pulled a few notes of money out of the envelope and held them out to him. "Perhaps you'd like to keep a little to use tonight? Who knows, maybe you'll even win enough to get Raoul back!"
Philippe fumed at how the man laughed as though he'd just heard the funniest joke, and, brushing his offered cash aside, turned to leave.
Christine's heart leapt into her mouth and she hurried away from her hiding place, wishing desperately she could have seen even a glimpse of the other man's face.
She quickly rejoined the party but tried to keep her eye on the room to see if the other man was coming out or not. She wandered over to the bar, where she thought she could sit and not look too suspicious as she watched the room.
"What're you drinking, doll?" a man asked almost immediately.
She turned to look at him, a rather short man, balding, a cigar in his mouth, his eyes bright as he stared at her.
"Oh! Um-"
"They got anything you want here."
She glanced behind the bar and then out to the room before smiling politely at the man in front of her.
"Bee's Knees," she said.
He ordered the drink for her, and she sat on one of the tall stools, thankful that her heels helped to be able to reach the seat of it without much difficulty.
"Here you go," he handed her the drink. "A Bee's Knees for my new honey."
"What happened to your old honey?" she teased as she took the drink, and he laughed.
"What's your costume?" he nodded towards her.
"I'm a princess!" she took a sip, the honey syrup soothing the bite of the gin.
"I'll say you are," he chuckled.
She glanced up the ears attached to his half mask.
"Are you a cat?"
He leaned in close.
"Honey, I'm a wolf."
She giggled, bringing her hand coquettishly to her mouth, glancing away in what he would assume to be shyness but was actually an excuse to look for the man who had been with Philippe. Without having seen either his face or even a mask, it was a difficult task. Perhaps she could try a different approach.
"Say, this drink is swell. The host really went all out here," she began.
"He really did," the man raised his own drink in a toast.
"Have you seen him at all tonight? The host? I wanted to thank him for putting on such a great time."
The man shrugged.
"Haven't seen him."
Christine bit back her disappointment.
"Hey, you oughta come meet some friends of mine, how's that sound?"
She flashed the same smile she had practiced on stage so many times before at the man.
"Sure!"
From the other end of the room, Erik scanned the crowd. He spotted Philippe at the far end of the bar, his face red, slowly sipping on a drink. Erik strategically made his way closer to him, hoping to be able to keep a good eye on him.
On his way there he caught the sound of a woman's laugh that made his blood turn to ice. Was that-
He paused, looking for the source, and finally saw her there at a table with half a dozen men around her, all of them laughing and talking loudly.
He almost didn't recognize her - her golden curls had been traded for what he assumed was a wig of long auburn locks, and the silver mask she wore covered her face from forehead to the bottom of her nose. She was speaking French with an English accent, as though she wasn't a native speaker - and she wasn't, but her Swedish accent was well hidden.
He would never forget what her eyes looked like, however - he would recognize those eyes anywhere... Not to mention those ridiculous purple heels. He had to admit, they did look very nice with her pink and purple chiffon dress, but aesthetic appreciation aside, he was furious to find her here.
Especially considering she was sitting on the lap of some cad. They all looked like they were having a grand old time.
He felt a sharp ache in his chest as he recalled the words he'd heard not long ago, and was starkly reminded that Christine was not like him - she would never be like him. How easily she could flirt, how simple such things were to her, all of this only proved that she lived in a different world than him - he might learn, haltingly, the language of that world, might be allowed to visit, but he would never be fluent, never be a native. He felt a wave of despair as an entire sea of distance seemed to stretch between them before suddenly he remembered what the real problem was in the situation.
Any of those men might be the one who wrote her ransom note, the one who kidnapped Raoul. Any of the people at the party might.
Erik calmly took a seat at an empty table not very far from them and flagged down a waiter. Not five minutes later that same waiter was approaching the table Christine was at, placing a martini in front of her.
"This is from the gentleman in red," the waiter told her, motioning to Erik. "He said to say it's "from your Angel of Music"."
Erik watched the little exchange, his temples pounding as he saw her mouth drop in shock at his delivered message. It was her, there was no doubt now. She stared across at him, her eyes wide, her body frozen.
Christine, why?
She sprang into motion, grabbing the drink and wiggling away from the man dressed as a wolf.
"I'm sorry, boys! Someone needs me for just a moment!"
A round of "aw, no" went up from the men at the table, but they let her leave.
She could feel her hands trembling as she approached Erik. She hastily set her glass down on the table he was at, the men at her former table booing and hissing at him for stealing her away. He stood and came around to stand next to her.
Her eyes darted all over him, taking in his strange outfit and rather frightening mask, noting that he had apparently used makeup to cover the red marks that normally trailed down his jaw and neck. She took a deep breath and looked up at his ridiculous hat, trying to be brave.
"What's your costume supposed-"
"Excuse me, good messieurs," Erik said stiffly to the jeering table, grabbing Christine's arm and pulling her with him.
He stalked away with her until they came upon a hallway far from any other people. He released his grip on her and she backed up, rubbing at the white, finger-shaped marks on her arm. His eyes shone with a fiery spark that nearly frightened her.
"What the devil are you doing here?" he seethed, slowly inching forward even as she blacked away.
"I-I'm just-" she stuttered.
"I cannot believe you came here! I had assumed that you possessed the required brain cells to understand why you needed to keep away but apparently I was wrong! Do you care so little about the safety of your boy that you'd jeopardize him just for a chance to dress up and defy me?"
She crumpled in on herself, her breath hitching and her eyes filling with tears. His reprimands struck the very core of her.
His eyes softened, his posture relaxing. He hadn't meant to make her cry- if she started crying she'd smear her makeup- if her makeup ran she would have to remove her mask-
"Oh, Christine-" he breathed.
He needed to fix this, and quickly. He did the only thing that came to mind, the only thing that he thought might comfort her.
He stooped down and pulled her into a hug.
"I didn't mean to make you cry, poor dear," he whispered to her. "I'm angry that you're in danger, not angry at you."
She nodded and threw her little hands around his neck, finally returning the embrace. She hadn't realized just how much she cared about his opinion of her until she found herself being reproached by him.
Erik was indifferent to hugs on most occasions. He didn't particularly mind them, provided he knew and liked the person they were with, but they were something he almost never sought out on his own for his own benefit.
He was struck, then, by the realization that hugging Christine felt right. It wasn't that any previous hug with anyone had felt wrong, but he didn't think any of those other embraces could ever compare to the feeling of having her safe in his arms. He would keep her there always, if he could.
"I'm sorry I upset you," he murmured, then pulled away enough to look her in the eye. "But you are too important to me to risk you like that by having you here."
She stared into that pleading yellow gaze as she contemplated his choice of words.
to me
Not just too important, not too important to Meg and Antoinette, not too important of a talented singer, not too important to his case, his career - but to him.
"To you?" she asked in a trembling whisper, and he took a step back from her.
"You're going to have to stay with me the rest of the night," he went on as though he hadn't heard her question. "You are not to be out of my sight for a single second, do you hear me? I'm sorry if that ruins your plans with- with Monsieur Wolf," he waved a dismissive hand and sneered. "But that's just how it has to be."
Her lips quirked a little at the edges. Was he jealous?
"Oh, he didn't mean anything, really. He's-" she hesitated, then jutted her chin forward and said as coldly as she could muster - "he's a rube."
Erik stared at her.
"A rube?"
"Yes, that's what he is," she nodded primly. "I was trying to get information from them."
Erik wanted to slam his palm against his face.
"And I found something!"
He paused.
"What?"
"I overheard a conversation, and I heard Philippe say-"
"Oh, shit," Erik grabbed her arm again and tugged her with him as went out to look out at the party. "Philippe!"
He had forgotten that he was supposed to be watching Philippe. What if he had missed something critical?
And apparently, he had.
Philippe was gone.
Unbeknownst to Erik and Christine, Philippe had finished his free drink, moped a few minutes at the bar, and then left for his mansion. But all the two knew was that he was gone.
Erik took Christine's hand and they walked swiftly out into the party once more, looking up and down all the rows of games for Philippe, but he was nowhere to be found.
Erik stopped suddenly, Christine bumping into him with surprise.
"What is it?" she whispered. "Do you see him?"
Erik shook his head a little, his eyes not leaving his new prey - the man in the monkey costume.
"That man- I have to follow that man," Erik said under his breath, urgent.
He glanced down at Christine. He couldn't leave her here... It wasn't safe. It wasn't safe to take her with him, either, but...
"Come on," he pushed forwards, Christine in tow.
The monkey lingered by a table for a few moments, watching others play poker. As Erik approached, he began to move away from him, as though he were drawing him out.
It was a full costume, just as Edwards had said it would be. A large, shaggy jumpsuit that zipped up the back, a little red jacket, a large mask that covered his entire head. At the very top sat a little hat that matched the jacket.
Erik and Christine followed him through the party and, lagging behind as much as Erik felt was safe, they followed him outside as well.
Once outside the suspect began to pick up speed. Erik noted for a brief moment just how empty it was around them. Not a single person around to see them, or to hear them.
The man in the monkey suit knew this, too. No one to hear any gunshot, not once they were far enough away from the warehouse where the party was. He hadn't been expecting the girl to follow along too, just the skeleton man, but he had plenty of bullets and he could take care of both them just as his boss had told him to. He turned a corner - this was where he would do it. They'd come around the corner in a handful of seconds, and he'd be waiting, pistol ready to go.
Erik sped up as he watched the man disappear around the corner. He forgot, of course, of just how much height difference he had with Christine. She had to walk twice as fast as he did just to keep up, and his hold on her hand was unrelenting, even as his other hand reached into his jacket for his pistol.
Suddenly his arm was tugged down harshly as a small noise of anguish left Christine. His focus broken, he stopped and looked in confusion at her as she tried to get up off the ground.
She struggled to stand, and once she did her left foot wobbled and she winced.
"I'm fine, it's fine," her voice was quiet and it wavered, and he could see the tears filling her eyes and glinting silver in the dim cast-off light from the street lamps, just like her mask and tiara.
Despite her insistence, he knew she wasn't fine. She'd twisted her ankle - or worse. He knew those damn heels were too tall.
"Let's keep going, please," she pleaded and took a limping, cringing step forward.
Erik sighed deeply.
"No," he said quietly. "We're going home."