Say you love me every waking moment.

Turn my head with talk of summertime.

Say you need me with you now and always.

Promise me that all you say is true.

That's all I ask of you.

Christine sings softly, her index finger touching each key of the melody as accompaniment. The normally bright aquamarine eyes are dark, her face heavy with a sorrow Erik has not seen in years – not since the loss of Belle.

Let me be your shelter.

Let me be your light.

You're safe, no one will find you.

Your fears are far behind you.

"Erik…"

"Are you alright?" he asks, coming up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

Relaxing against his body, she replies, "No…I do not know." Reaching up, she takes one of his hands, pressing her lips against the fine, long fingers. "You have beautiful hands. Have I ever told you that? Wonderful magical hands that create wonderful magical music and offer such solace to me when I need it most. Healing hands as well today…I assume…hope…"

"She is not dead if that is what you are asking."

Christine's body relaxes even more, whatever breathe she was holding released with a deep sigh.

"And even if she died, you did not kill her and have no responsibility for what happened."

"Easy for you to say."

"You think so?"

Taking a moment before answering, she moves over on the bench and pats the space next to her for him to sit. "I suppose not. Not anymore. You are so not a man who would kill…"

Taking the seat, he wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "But I did and there were times, even if I did not, I wanted to…you changed that."

"No. You changed that."

"Do you think speaking openly and honestly to Meg drove her to throw a bottle at a mirror, which just happened to send a shard flying into her neck?"

"Is that what happened?" she gasps.

"More or less," he replies, rubbing her back. "What did you think?"

"An accident of some sort – that mirror was a beast – I do not know what Adele was thinking when she bought it." Christine tsks. "I suppose I assumed she did something…we had only just spoken. Guilty I suppose. Talking to her is always so difficult. I see her so seldom, I wonder – was she imbibing again? Had I known, I might have waited."

"You went to help her."

"This is just a little much to handle if she was unbalanced or drunk or something…I wanted her to stop causing trouble for everyone – I went to see her to help myself and the rest of the family." Christine looks directly into his eyes. "I am not an angel, Erik. I wish she had died. There is never a time since she kidnapped Gustave and took him to the pier when I see her that I do not wish her to be gone. I just hate the idea she was vulnerable, under the influence of something keeping her from thinking clearly and I pushed her to do something to herself."

"Whatever state she was in has nothing to do with you and, more importantly, does not mean you wanted her dead."

"Dead is the best way for someone to be gone."

"Actually it is not. My mother is dead, but not gone. She still haunts me," he answers, kissing her on the forehead. "Your father, in particular, is always with you, in a different way. It would have been better if she and Raoul had never come back – started a new life for themselves."

"But they came back."

"And we are stuck with them."

Christine manages a light laugh. "So you and Gregory pulled her through?"

"With Yasmine and Gustave's help. Whatever she was taking – likely the codeine syrup – prevented more damage. A lack of total consciousness might have stopped her trying to pick out the slivers herself."

Christine's eyes meet his, before looking at his hand once more.

"They are just scars now."

"Memories can be scars," she says, kissing the lines of raised skin lacing his wrist. "I see what you mean about someone being dead does not mean they are gone."

"Even without any physical evidence." Moving his arm to her waist, he clears his throat. "I did not even know you were there until he told me. I must compliment you on your housekeeping skills, the waiting room is spotless."

"Actually, Helen saw the two of us making a mess of things and called in a crew to take care of the cleanup. The amusement in her voice changes, then tone darkens. "Gustave suggested I come here – Edward would be waiting."

"Why do I get the feeling this was not a good idea?"

"He was playing a song I did not recognize."

A burst of adrenalin rushes through Erik's body. "Meg's new solo."

Shifting on the bench to face him, she frowns. "I thought I knew all of your music."

Throwing his head back, he examines the mass of wires and catwalks overhead, tapping his fingers on his thighs. "The piece was very old – from a time before I even knew about the Palais Garnier – an opera I wrote as mockery of faith." Letting his breath out slowly, choosing his words carefully, he finally says. "The song suited her voice, and I was unable to create anything new for her, however hard I tried. I simply wanted to fulfill a promise."

"Did you think she would not associate the song with you – with what her feelings for you were."

"Unfortunately, no. Not until after she told me. You of all people know how little I understand people's emotions – Meg's in particular."

"Oh, Erik. What have we done?"

"Thank you for including yourself."

"I mean all of us," she says, rising from the bench. "Giving, giving, giving. Even poor Edward got caught up in her life of self-pity."

"Edward?"

"He took her to the infirmary when she likely stole the cough syrup – if that is indeed what she was taking," she says, pacing the floor. "She does not care who she hurts."

"I see. I must address that with him…if he knew…"

"No. Leave him be. He was only following her instructions," she says, cutting him off. "It is Meg. She has to leave here. I want her gone. As soon as she is able. Whatever it takes."

"She is alive then?"

"Yes. Do you feel better now?" Nadir asks Adele, wiping her forehead gently with a damp cloth. "I was beginning to worry. You were so distressed."

The relief he felt was palpable when Erik brought some good news about Meg's condition, he hoped it would bring his wife out of the stupor she fell into after finding Meg. The scene must have been horrific – the shock of the discovery was more than she could obviously bear. Not a word had been uttered since he arrived at the infirmary to comfort her.

"I am so glad you are here," Helen said. "I thought setting her up on the couch was the best. She has not moved – just stares at the ceiling."

"I was certain I pushed the glass deeper into her neck," Adele finally says, her dark gaze focused on his emerald green eyes. "I was certain it would kill her."

Nadir smiles softly, continuing with his ministrations, glad she is speaking, but concerned with her tone. "And now you find it did not. Good news, no? Erik said the carotid artery was missed entirely – the shard did pierce a neck muscle and might cause some stiffness or even paralysis – but blood loss was actually minimal, despite all appearances."

"So mostly superficial?"

"Apparently. Meg is quite resilient. Good genes, I suspect," he attempts a laugh. "You Girys are made of strong stuff."

"I need to see her," Adele removes the compress, pushing against him enabling her to sit up on the couch.

"Of course," he says, standing up to assist her. "Let me help you."

"No, I am fine – it is only a few feet." She offers him a faint twist of her lips, resembling a smile.

"Are you sure," he asks, frowning. "You were quite affected – I should not want you to become faint or upset. Erik did say she is bandaged quite extensively. Not to mock, he said she looks rather like those mummies at the museum. They put her in restraints so she would not hurt herself again, so do not be surprised at what you see."

Raising an eyebrow, she pats his hand. "I am fine. Please. I need to see her…alone."

"Very well. I shall just help you to the door."

"Thank you, my dear."

"Maman? Is that you?" Meg turns her head toward the sound of the door opening. "I cannot see. My eyes are covered. I am not blind, am I?"

Adele closes the door softly behind her, stopping momentarily to look at her daughter. A mass of white bandages covers her arms and most of her head and her face – as Nadir advised, Meg's arms, torso and legs are strapped to the bedrails. Erik's mildly gruesome comment proves to be true. Meg was not dead, however. The wrappings were for healing – not a burial. "There was a lot of glass."

"My eyes? My face?" She tries to lift a bandaged hand to touch the gauze. "I cannot move." Shifting her body from side to side, she cries, "Why am I tied down?"

"It is for your own safety. You do not remember?"

"No, not really…I remember Christine giving me orders about where I was to live and perform," Meg pouts. "I remember being angry."

"You drank two bottles of cough syrup." Adele's tone is cold. "It is a wonder you were conscious enough to be angry or anything else."

"Did I? I do not remember," she mutters. "Well, perhaps." Sucking in her breath, she cries out. "Oh, the mirror. I threw the bottle at the mirror. My face. Oh, God."

"Yes, your face was cut – Gregory, Erik, Gustave and Yasmine did their best to remove all the slivers."

"So I will be alright. My face will be alright?"

"There was a larger piece in your neck."

Struggling to raise her body, she falls back. "It does not hurt."

"Gregory gave you a stronger pain medication – otherwise you would be screaming right now," Adele says, finally moving to her bedside. "Stop moving around, you will disturb your bandages."

"I almost died – is that what you are saying?"

"Mmm," Adele says, tracing the area where the long sliver of glass had been. "In fact, I thought I pushed the shard further in."

"You might have killed me."

"Yes."

"I am glad you did not," Meg says. "They removed it – Erik…Gregory removed it, right?"

"They believe so."

"Believe?" She swallows deeply. "They do not know."

"Glass can travel," Adele says, leaving Meg's bedside, moving to the medicine cabinet. Opening the glass-paned door, she removes a bottle and a large gauze pad and places them on a small tray.

"You are scaring me – why are you trying to scare me?"

"Just stating the reality of things."

"I do not want reality. I do not like reality."

"Yes, my daughter, I know that." Tears form in her eyes as she carries the appropriated supplies back to Meg's bed, setting them on the overbed table.

"Hold my hand, Maman," Meg says, moving her fingers. "I am so frightened."

"In a minute – I must do something else first," Adele says with a dull voice. Removing the stopper from the bottle, she pours some of the clear liquid over the pad. "I do love you, Meg. I am sorry for the pain I have caused you."

"I love you, Maman." Meg catches her breath. "What is that smell?"

"You know – chloroform, like when you gave birth to Louisa. To help you sleep."

"But I do not want to sleep…Maman, what are you doing?"

"Relieving your pain."

Meg fights against the pressure of Adele's hand, but the chloroform takes effect taking whatever strength she had.

"Just breath, Meg, soon it will all be over. No more anger. No more jealousy. Just peace. For everyone."

A small guttural sound and an exhalation of breath, the release of her soul, perhaps, replaces any further pleas Meg might have made.

After waiting a moment longer, satisfied her daughter's heart has stopped, Adele removes the pad, disposing it in a waste container and returns the bottle to the cabinet. Washing her hands thoroughly, she wipes her face. There will be some residual odor, but she feels certain Gregory used the medicinal to sedate Meg when they were removing the glass. If anywhere one was certain to smell chloroform, it would be in an infirmary after a surgery.

Moving back to the bed, she stares at the bandaged body again. "Ironic." Kissing Meg lightly on the forehead, she squeezes her hand – keeping her promise. "I did love you. Perhaps not well enough, or in the way you needed me. But I did love you. Loving you has become so difficult though. I have nothing left."

Turning away, she opens the door to the waiting room. "I believe we can go home now, husband."

"She is sleeping?"

"Yes."

"Yasmine asked we tell her when we were leaving," Nadir says. "She said she would be keeping watch."

"Let her have her break. Meg is fine."

"You are certain?"

"She was very peaceful just now."

Nadir sighs. "I suppose a few minutes one way or the other will not matter. Yasmine will likely check on her shortly in any event."

"Not too soon, I hope. We can all benefit from not worrying about Meg."

"I know she is your daughter, and you love her, but I do agree."

"I wish you could have known her as a little girl..."

"Life is what it is. For the moment, let us enjoy the respite," he says, pressing a finger against her lips, ending the discussion. "Dinner?"

"Perhaps a walk on the pier first. I think a breath of fresh air would suit me."

"The pier it is. Where it all began for us."

"Yes, where this all began."