She ran.
God help her, she ran.
His howl of anguish and violent posture burned into her mind, she ran, terrified of his rage and pain, of the sound he'd just made, and of the life he had lived to create it.
Manon took the stairs three at a time, hurtling around corners, desperate to escape those devastating eyes. Her ears were ringing and she had no notion of whether he followed right behind her or if he still stood motionless by the statue of Apollo.
She burst into the auditorium and tore up the aisle, mindless of the tears blurring her eyes or the burning in her lungs. She needed to leave. Now.
It took barely a moment to force herself through the broken entry, the night air slapping at her face, before the blinding realization of what she was doing struck her, and by then it was too late. She bounded like a deer through the night. The shouts of the gendarmes (who by the grace of God, were lounging boredly at the omnibus stand across the square) echoing after her as they scrambled to their feet and took chase.
Some blocks away, the fog of panic ebbed somewhat and Manon scanned her surroundings quickly, keenly aware of the stupid and dangerous position she had put herself in. Her secret safety of the opera, nearly a home, ruined by…everything.
Oh, Manon, what have you done? Oh Erik...what did they do…
Spotting the belltower of St Séverin Manon dashed for it. It was almost certainly locked, but it was worth a try. Reaching it she seized the heavy door handle which, as she feared, wouldn't open. She dashed around the side of the building through the rectory gate, wrapped her cloak around her fist and, with an uneasy glance toward the heavens, punched through a low window.
Manon could hear the boots of the gendarmes ringing against the pavement as they neared the square. Gripping the broken edge of the windowsill she hauled herself through headfirst, muscles screaming in protest. She tumbled inward into the darkness.
She landed among discarded hymnals and a toppled prie-dieu. St Séverin had been deconsecrated some months ago, its poor maintenance over the years finally condemning it to razing and rebuilding. In any case, it fortunately meant that no priest or night watchman was there to contend with.
The deep blackness of the church swallowed her up, and she flung herself into it gratefully. Though she could not see it, the sense of openness vaulted up above her and she knew that the graceful ribs of the gothic church's arches soared above her. Yet St Séverin had been hard done by; the more valuable artwork and furniture had been removed, leaving a chaotic mess of more humble remains strewn about.
Manon dashed as silently as she could towards the nave, stumbling on overturned pews. She groped her way in the milky predawn darkness that streamed through the grimy stained glass.
"Check the church!" came a muffled cry outside the walls. Damn. Manon rounded a corner into a transept and backed against a pillar, taking great sawing breaths. She glanced around for place to hide, blinking back angry tears and trying desperately to see through the gloom.
Suddenly, hands were on her, smothering her mouth and gripping her waist.
She was dragged roughly from her pillar. Manon had only time to register the merciless grip and superior height of her assailant before she was yanked sideways into a confessional, crushed in the dark confinement as the door swung silently closed.
She was hauled against a broad chest, a hand still firmly pressed to her mouth. Manon couldn't move a muscle. Shock, terror, and a sneaking relief coursed through her as, hardly daring, she flicked her eyes upward.
A white mask glowed above her.
Erik pressed a finger to his lips as their eyes collided, flashing gold with glittering brown.
Manon's blood ignited.
It was impossible to say who moved first. All she knew was that, suddenly, she was kissing him. And he was kissing her back. God help them.
Erik's hand fisted in her hair and he was gripping her face and she was crushing her mouth to his with arms snaked around his neck. They kissed one another with passion and desperation in a tangle of lips and teeth and tongue as if they could not consume one another fast enough.
His free hand rose to cup her face, jaw scraping hers as his mouth moved to devour her cheek, her chin, her throat, his hot shuddering breaths a symphony to her.
The confessional was barely large enough for one let alone two, and the hard wooden wainscotting bruised Manon's back as Erik gripped her hips and hefted her against it, grinding into her. With utter abandon she wrapped a leg around his hips as she slid her tongue urgently against his. He nearly lifted her off the ground in his passion and locked one hand around her thigh to press it closer and used his other still gripping her hair to angle her head and kiss her still deeper.
It was unbearably erotic to be forced to take such a kiss in total silence. Erik swallowed her little gasps even as his hot velvet tongue slid against hers eagerly, their mingling pants absorbed by the enclosed darkness.
A sudden clatter and the muffled curse of a gendarme snapped them back to reality. Their eyes flew open and they stared at one another, momentarily horrified at what they had done – or rather, where and when.
Even so Erik's hands had not left their purchase on Manon's body, and the heat of his glittering gaze scorched her through in the gloom even though she could barely see him. It caused her belly to flip as she strained to listen for the movements of the gendarmes outside their hiding place.
It was too much to hope that their furious grapple had been silent. Manon knew they had mere moments to escape.
Still breathing hard, eyes still locked, Erik's grip on her lessened and he slowly lowered her from the wall. He cocked his head to listen. Then he raised his chin and let out a low huff, throwing the sound towards the other transept. A moment later they were rewarded by the sound of quick footsteps moving away. Erik immediately eased open the door and stepped silently out.
He hadn't taken two steps before he was tackled sideways.
His hand was whipped from hers as he fell, surprise and the weight of the gendarme sending them crashing to the ground.
Manon flattened herself to the confessional door and tried to distinguish between their writhing shapes. The watery morning light was streaming more brightly through the windows, yet the church remained so deeply shadowed that she had difficulty distinguishing whose limbs were whose as they grappled mere feet from her.
The two men rolled, arms at each other's throats, strangely silent but for the sounds of their scuffling and harsh breath.
Erik's teeth were bared as he quickly gained the advantage and rolled atop his attacker, crushing his mouth with a forearm. The man clawed at Erik's face, and with his free hand Erik groped along the debris until he found a loose paver and brought it crashing upward against the base of the gendarme's skull.
Manon could hear the clump of his limbs dropping to the floor as the man abruptly ceased struggling. Erik rose, chest heaving and leaned against a pillar. His eyes met hers but in that same instant, the crack of a gunshot rang out, echoing through the vaulted ceiling. Erik jerked back, his hand flying to his left shoulder as he immediately slid around the pillar and out of sight.
Manon's gasp of rage was drowned out by his sudden roar as Erik sprang forward, tackling the gendarme who had shot him. The gun fired again but she heard a crunch as the bullet met stone. Erik wrenched the man's arm, causing the gun to clatter away, and punched him repeatedly in the face. Yet his advantage was short-lived – the gendarme had managed to pull out his truncheon and swing it forcefully into Erik's wounded shoulder. Using his pain and distraction the gendarme seized the opportunity and scrambled atop Erik, using the truncheon to crush his windpipe.
Horrified, Manon saw as his eyes glazed over in pain. The gendarme's face twisted in a sneer.
"Had enough, freak?" He hissed.
He was so focused on Erik that he didn't notice Manon move. She reached quietly for the dropped pistol, forgotten amidst the cracked tiles.
It was amazing how calmly it fit into her hand and the sight eased into her gaze, lining up precisely with the man's head as it leaned high over Erik's, highlighted now by a frankly lovely beam of dawn light streaming in through a window of Saint Martin.
The gendarme's head jerked back and the crack of the shot reverberated in the ensuing silence. He dropped, limbs splaying out inelegantly, and he died.
Dismissing him immediately Manon hurried to Erik, still prostrate. Her hands flew quickly over him and discerned, with mingled relief and terror, that he was still breathing , that he would not speak to her, and that he was losing quite a lot of blood.