Whatever plans Erik had had for the day quickly evaporated when Meg and Sam found them in front of the fun house. Christine longed for the knowing kindness of her old friend but found too much distance in her eyes now. Meg gave no greeting, not even an acknowledging smile. It seemed she had not meant her kindness during opening night.

"I need to speak with you," she said to Erik, urgently grabbing his bent elbow and pulling him away. He dismissed her out of hand, releasing himself. "You know you should not have allowed the men to hold their meetings here," her words bit sharp from her mouth.

"I allow nothing."

"We all know that's horseshit." Mr. Y raised a careful eyebrow, coolly deeming her remark unworthy of response.

Sam, though, flushed a vibrant red, "There's men waiting for ya at the Colosseum, Mr. Y."

With a quickness Christine had forgotten, Erik rounded on Meg, "You let them into the Colosseum?"

"Where else was I supposed to put them?"

"You know better than to leave them there unattended."

"They are attended. Fleck and Squelch are with them."

Erik took Christine's hand in his. "Please take Miss Daaé on a tour today, Sam. I'll see you later." He pressed his lips and mask's edge to her gloved wrist, "My dear." He did not look back, nor toward Meg as he left them, his focus fully ahead.

"Should he go alone?" She asked Sam. The boy shrugged his shoulders and let his hands flap wide. "I suppose he is very good at taking care of himself," Christine said, answering her own question. Sam took her hand and led her farther into the amusement park, determined to entertain.

An hour ticked by. Then two. Now she counted minutes. Ten. Five. Three.

Terse conversations in French took less than an hour and Americans lacked all French formality. Something did not feel right. Something felt very wrong.

Sam had listened well to his boss and kept her far away from whatever was going on at the Colosseum, but it had taken great effort and he failed in the end. Christine snuck away in the direction they had gone, past the Hall of Mirrors and under something called The Wonder Wheel.

She remembered the venom in the men's words last night and her footsteps quickened.

Just like the miniature version of the Opera Garnier, the Colosseum must have been a miniature of that same great feat of architecture in Rome. Christine slowed her footsteps as the lower part of the building came into view. At least twenty men, all in suits stood at the attraction's entrance with their hands in their pockets. There were none of Erik's men in sight.

A nagging fear bit at Christine's chest. She knew Erik was formidable, but twenty men was excessive. Whoever wanted to meet with him came planning war.

There would be no way to just walk in and confirm his wellbeing. Why would he even enter alone? She knew her phantom well, though. Surely, he'd been prepared. He'd evaded more of the Gendarmerie at the Garnier multiple times; he'd built everything around them; he was not above murder.

Most likely he was playing with them. Still, her logic did not ease her fear. Her stomach twisted with worry.

Christine had to get in.

Knowing Erik, there would be some type of trapdoor or back entrance, she just had to look carefully for it. She doubled back around the Hall of Mirrors and came up behind the building. Christine didn't need to look carefully though – Sam was already at the false door, leaning against it and looking rather smug.

"I see your boss has taught you well." Christine whispered.

"He said to keep an eye on you. You don't disappoint Mr. Y."

"Well said." They entered silently into the darkness and she let Sam take the lead.

.

The crack Christine heard was heavy and strange. It was not a snap, exactly, but more like a thick, popping sound. Even still, the noise reverberated clearly through the enclosed space before her.

It was ungodly quiet.

And then she heard Erik moan. Muffled. As though he was trying to keep it within him. Sam pressed his hands against her stomach, shaking his head, pushing her back toward the door, but she would not let him stop her.

Something was horribly wrong.

Stilling his head between her hands, she pulled him close and whispered in his ear, "Go find help. Now." Sam refused to move at first, vigorously shaking his head against her hands. However, he did rush from her side when a sharp snap met their ears, Erik's sound of agony following immediately after.

The Colosseum was, in fact, a perfect replica in smaller scale. Erik had even recreated the elevated seating as though a section was destroyed. The result was a small, but cavernous feeling auditorium which carried the muted sound of men's shoes striking his ribcage directly to her ears, hidden in the darkness of an arch.

"We told you to keep them happy. Keep them quiet." She knew that monotone voice. It was lilting in glee. Sneaking closer, she saw Porter Cummings, his arm tight around Meg, his nose bloody. There were a number of still bodies near the standing circle of men, but nothing close in number to the gang outside.

Another large man lifted Erik up by his arm and wrenched it, resulting in a crisp pop as his shoulder reentered its socket. They tossed him to the floor.

Christine's fingers dug into the stone to keep her upright. Her face flushed, the blood rushing to the surface of her skin and roaring in her ears.

Erik's mask was gone and, though she was far from the scene of thugs, both sides of his face looked utterly deformed. He clutched at his arm and tried his best to stay still.

Her heart thundered in her chest.

An angry, prickling sensation gnawed at the center of her back. Even injured and bloody as he was, he reached out to her mind with his. He'd seen her in the darkness. The tension is his body coiled at the realization of her nearness. Her eyes caught the gaze of his own and they were vulnerable and afraid.

She had to go to him. She could stop this. At least stop the blows from hitting him.

Christine took steps toward the light when Porter's voice filled the room, "Enough." He hunched low near Erik's head, "I believe we've made our point boys." He took a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it in Erik's hand. "Remember our deal, old man. I'd hate to have to use your new songbird for collateral next time. God. You really are ugly under that mask."

Erik's eyes blazed like fire at Christine. As ever, his fears were for her. Yet Porter's warning ignited anger. How dare he threaten Erik – the Phantom of the Opera, the creator of Phantamsa, the monster – and think he would live to see its fruition. In that gaze, she saw his madness. Porter had meant to stifle Erik's rebelliousness with fear. Instead, all he'd done was kindle an all-consuming rage already smoldering within.

That gaze stopped Christine in her tracks. Before she could run into the light, a gunshot pierced the deafening silence of the room. Shouts filled the space and Porter's men ran like rats.

Meg struggled against Porter's embrace, searching wildly about the venue to see where the shots had come from, but it was futile. He was stronger and took her in his arms with him.

All Christine saw was Erik, lying broken in the middle of the dirt floor and she lifted her skirts and ran to him. He turned away from her, shielding his face before she fell to her knees at his side.

"Please don't do that." Hot tears clouded her vision. He would not look at her. "Someone get a doctor!" She placed her shaking hands on both sides of his neck and pulled his face to hers. His nose – what was left of his nose – was surely broken, his eye socket did not look right, his swollen lips were bloodied and mangled, and still he would not look at her.

No. It was not that he would not look at her. He could not. In trying to shield his face from her, he'd exacerbated his pain and fainted. Christine touched his forehead to hers and took a steadying breath. His own breathing was so very shallow. His chest barely rose. "You will not die," she whispered, "You cannot leave me yet, my love."

Sam had gotten help, but only a select few: Fleck, Squelch, and the strong man, Simon. They stood around her, waiting for her grief to quiet. She swallowed her sobs and found strange comfort in having a purpose. "We need a doctor."

"Sam went for him, Miss."

"Do we move him?" Squelch asked. "The spectacular tonight?" Simon followed. They shouldn't, Christine knew, but they needed to. No one could see the Master of Phantasma as he was. Her fingers gently grazed his hand, thin and limp in her own.

"Can we get him to the house without being seen?"

"Yes." Fleck answered, "But we need to be quick about it."

Remembering the fire in his eyes, Christine stole herself against how awful the walk would be. She hoped he would stay unconscious for it. "Then let's not waste any time."

Simon was able to hold Erik completely in his arms and strode easily through the hidden walkways of the park. Christine kept a careful hold at the nape of Erik's neck, trying to lessen the jostling of his head.

"You are not to tell anyone what happened here."

Fleck, who was perched on Squelch's shoulders answered for them, "As long as you don't say a word about the that ugly mug of his."

Christine's startled gaze traveled from one to the other. "We protect our own," Simon clarified. His voice was soft, gentle, as he spoke. It hurt her heart to realize that, of the company present, past history would say she was the least trustworthy with the secrets of Phantasma. She only hoped that when Erik woke, he would let her in enough to trust her with those secrets now.