Chapter VII
I raced from that accursed cellar as if the Devil himself were at my heels…And for all I knew, he very much was! His words echoed through my mind as I fled up the countless dark stairs that seemed to push my desperate weight up into the world above. As long as I had known him, I had never before felt the absolute need to flee from Erik. I had seen him before in the blackest of tempers, but those moods, fueled by the blind heat of anger were nothing compared to the absolute clarity of hate I had just seen in his gleaming eyes.
Would Erik kill me? At that moment, I was assured that if he saw me in his subterranean labyrinth again, he most certainly would attempt to do so…Why he had not killed me at that moment, I did not fully understand. He was gone. Whatever good might have remained in him, whatever true love he had held for Christine before, it was gone. I could now see that over the past weeks what had once been heartfelt had deformed into a play of possession…A play he would win at all costs and one that I could not prevent alone. But he knew that…Even as what he had become, he knew that. And still…Still I held within me that what was lost could be regained. Not Erik…No. Even if he was not beyond all reach, he certainly was beyond mine. Such an effort would be useless. But Christine Daaé deserved her livelihood. Reason was out of the question! That path had taken me too far. But would he really kill me? This man who I had known as a friend? I could no longer be sure. I could no longer take the chance.
Would Erik kill Raoul? Yes. That answer was a much less complicated deduction. And it was with that thought in mind that I fled on Hermes' Wings back to where I had left the poor, misfortunate Viscount.
As I had left Erik at the lake, I exhibited no outward anxiety but now that I had emerged into the vast above ground chambers of the Opera, my highest priority was to get Raoul de Chagny out of this building and away to someplace where Erik could not find him and would not be able to threaten the boy's life.
The last time I had run this twisted course, half supporting, half dragging the wretched wounded Vicomte with me to safety, I could take him no further once we had reached the main level of the Opera. His faculties were leaving him quickly, being sapped by the fading rush of adrenaline that had provided the only means by which we had even made it that far. I knew the Opera housed a resident physician whose official capacity regularly encompassed the ballet's twisted ankles and stagehands' smashed fingers. I highly doubted he had ever treated a victim for second-degree burns combined with lungs damaged from nearly drowning.
The doctor, well past his middle-aged years, had nearly fallen out of his chair with shock when I dragged the half-conscious young man into the room lined with shelves of medical equipment that I guessed were more for show than actual use. Thankfully, this was a professional who took his job seriously and immediately recovered from his surprise, administering immediate aid to Raoul's quickly blistering skin. Where the boy had previously been soaked through with water, he was now radiating a repulsive heat as the doctor put me to work, marking the utmost importance of Raoul's need for fluids.
Raoul slipped into a completely unconscious, immobile state as he was treated. For this, I was thankful…The last thing he needed to be doing right now was attempting to hinder the doctor's progress with wild-sounding protestations or the insane desire to go after his afflicter.
The time flew by, unmarked, and I could not tell how long it was before the Viscount lay on a raised bed, his face and hands swathed in bandages, sleeping peacefully through the pain-relieving drugs that had been administered to him. During this whole time, the doctor, who so far had been the only other witness to the day's horrifying events, spoke no words to me more than medical orders, but then, as we both watched the boy sleep, exhausted beyond our years by this terror, he ventured to ask the questions I had been dreading.
"How did he come to receive such injuries?" The general curiosity of the question was not quite masked by the clinical professionalism of his tone.
I did not look into his spectacle-clad eyes as I wondered how to answer that. In the madness between Hell and this middle ground, I had not yet thought of what story I would give to the inevitable inquiries. To tell the truth? But would that aid our efforts? Or only unearth a grave that had been dug too long ago? An answer to one question would lead to others…Others that could not be answered…Not yet, anyhow. Perhaps, soon, this whole darkness would be brought into the light. But for now…For now, I needed to choose my paths carefully.
"Kerosene." I answered, simply, lifting my watch to see that he had almost become impatient with my delayed response.
He quirked a bushy grey eyebrow curiously, glancing over at Raoul's form and I was encouraged to continue.
"He was down in the third cellar belowground where the sets and flats are kept."
The doctor nodded in understanding, knowing the place I meant, waiting for me to continue.
"I…saw him there, carrying a lantern in the dark and called out to him, not certain who he was or of his business poking about in the cellar. Evidently…My call startled him, for as he turned to answer, he missed a step, falling between the rafters above the stone stairwell and crashed back into the leg of a high system of shelves, knocking over the barrel of kerosene…It soaked him as it caught the flame from his lantern and ignited his figure. I rushed to his aid as quickly as possible…But it was some time before we could effectively press out the fire and I could manage to bring him here."
Where such a fantastic story had come from in my imagination, I was too grateful to wonder. The doctor believed it and that was satisfactory enough. He nodded, turning to the paper where he had been making notes of his diagnosis.
"That would explain the markings of grime in his skin…Yet it is amazing how clean the burns are…As if he fell only into some scalding oil."
I looked away, not wishing to betray anything that might cause suspicion in him and was thankful when he continued to speak.
"He may stay here for the day as it would not be wise to move him now, but when the Opera is closed for the night, he will need to be taken home and cared for by a trained nurse. His skin as well as his body must be kept completely hydrated for he has lost much moisture. And, of course, his family will need to be notified."
His family? Would it not be better if you said 'What is left of them'? See, Erik, what you have done? First taken this young man's brother who I know was as a father is to him…And now his bride-to-be? No. This is not the end. When this is finished, Erik, you will be the one paying for all you have taken so freely!
I showed nothing of my inward thoughts to this kindly, aging physician and nodded in agreement to his instructions. Together, we had turned our eyes to Raoul watching his chest rise and fall with slow steadiness as he slept, and a question that had been burning at the back of my mind suddenly found its way to my lips.
"His face, Doctor…There will be scars?"
"Yes," he nodded slowly. "The scarring will be quite certain. But…If treated properly…And possibly through the right procedures…The marks will eventually fade and not be quite so noticeable…But I am afraid he will never be the same."
"No," I agreed, softly, "I do not think any of us will ever be the same…"
~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~
As I made my way now back to that scene with all possible haste, I thought desperately for a way to explain the urgent situation to all who might be concerned. When I had left earlier to return to the bowels of the underground cavern, I had given the doctor some plausible excuse for my temporary leave, but he would inevitably be suspicious at the state of my return. It had taken me some time to recover from the taxing excursion, but once I had built up my resolve to dive into the encounter, I had returned to the cellars with every intent and purpose to finish what the Vicomte had started. I do not know why I had ever thought I would be successful where he had failed…
He lay in the bed where I had left him, moaning in that delirious sedative-induced slumber. The doctor was nowhere to be seen! For this I was immensely grateful. Luck was on our side this time and I abandoned my concern for explanation and bolted the door behind me.
Wasting no time, I stood over him at his bedside and proceeded to attempt to shake him alert from his sleep making careful assurance not to harm his injuries. My efforts were only half successful as he stirred but did not emerge from his delirium, staying in a half-conscious, confused state. I began to panic. There was no way I could take this man to safety if he did not have enough of his senses about him to assist me in assisting him! Quickly, my eyes scanned the area, searching for something, anything that would help wake him.
My gaze fell on the pan of cold water that the doctor had used for soaking the compresses he had applied to Raoul's wounds. It was worth the attempt! Clutching the wide, shallow pan in both hands, I lifted it and turned it over, spilling the icy contents over his body.
Immediately, he thrashed into a seated position, gasping for air between bandages as his wrapped hands clenched the sides of the bed in shock. I saw the disorientation evaporate from his eyes with the jolt as he coughed out his words, leaning forward to regain his breath.
"What…What! What is it! Good God!" He lifted a hand to wipe the frigid water from his face and seemed confused to only come in contact with the soft, wet bandages.
I had no time for explanations and moved to help him rise from where he lay. "We must get you out of here!"
"…What?" He did not understand and resisted my attempts with weak, pained gestures. By Faith, what had I done! In my fast-fueled argument with Erik, I had revealed that Raoul still lived and now not only was the Vicomte no longer safe, whatever measure he took, but Erik would henceforth be on his guard against whatever plan of defense I could possibly concoct! In order to reach any measure of security, this boy would have to cooperate!
"He is coming! We must get you to safety."
"Who? What are you talking about?"
Did he not comprehend?!
"I am talking about Him!"
"Erik?"
"Yes."
Finally, what I was trying to convey struck some understanding with him as his eyes widened even further in enraged alarm. "He is coming? Now?"
"I don't know. But we must get you someplace where he cannot find you to kill you!"
"Why is he coming? My God! Christine! He must have her!"
"Yes, she is with him. He says she is with him willingly, but I do not believe him."
He straightened where he sat, gripping my shoulders with a fevered strength that I would not have expected from him in his condition. "What did he tell you?!"
"He said he would kill you."
His hands slid from my person as he seemed to be rendered shocked by my blunt statement. What else could he have expected? He had trouble finding his next words:
"What…What about Christine?"
"He says she wants to stay with him."
"I don't believe that!" Suddenly he was animated again and I began to fear that if he kept experiencing such bursts of energy, he would have none to complete our escape.
I tried to calm him as I spoke. "Neither do I…Though I still do not think he would force her to stay…"
"We have to get to her somehow…Why does he do this? Why does he continue to take her from me?"
"Because he thinks he is in love with her."
"Thinks?" I could sense the confusion written across his features even though they were masked from my eyes. Yes. Thinks. Though I did not except this young man to understand the level of madness to which Erik had been driven to believe that mindless controlling obsession could ever be considered Love.
"And he thinks he can make her love him."
This last statement made more sense to him as he sighed in despair and pain as I helped him stand from the bed and held him aloft until he gained balanced footing. I moved toward the door to unfasten the bolt.
"But we must get you someplace safe."
"Not without Christine!" He insisted from where he stood, regaining his breath as he leaned against the back of the doctor's chair. "We have to get to her…He frightens her so much…Don't you remember?"
I opened the door, spinning about to face him and snapped with all severity I could muster in this reckless state. "There is nothing we can do right now!…I do not think he would harm her, but he will kill you!"
"Then when can we actually do something?" He seemed to be regaining his strength as I moved back to aid him.
"Not now. Now come on!"
His reluctance to go was present in every step we took as I rushed him with all sensible haste from the building into the cold air of the night. He shivered from the chill of the water as his wet garments met the wind in the street and I hailed a passing carriage.
"We cannot take you to your home, he would find you there," I explained as I watched the shape of the Opera House recede from the closed windows of the coach.
"Where are we going?" He asked, impatiently.
"I cannot take you to my home, either, he would look there."
"You've thought this out well…" he answered with bitter resentment.
I turned to look at him and felt a wave of pity for the sad, disheveled young man who sat before me with every hope of regain in his eyes and the bent stiffness of pain in his entire being.
"For now, I will take you to a public hospital. He will not dare do anything there."
He sighed, turning to look away. I was glad he seemed to understand the logic of my instructions and was relieved to know that he was going to be compliant at least for now. I did not think he would agree to my next question but I ventured to ask anyway. Best to take all achievable precautions.
"But have you any house, preferably in another country…Where he would not be able to find you?"
He turned back, his stubborn jaw set beneath the thin layers of loosening gauze.
"I will not leave the country! I don't even want to leave the Opera!" His fingers tore agitatedly at the bandages, pulling them away from his lips and I could make out the dark marks of his injuries in the dim light of the coach. "Christine is down there with him! He is seducing my fiancée! Do you understand at all how that makes me feel!? And what sort of position that puts her in!"
Yes…I understand all too well…Erik, I hope you too understand the full consequences of what you are doing! You cannot destroy this man without destroying her as well! Do you think, as I watch the passionate tears of helplessness fall from this boy's eyes that I will stand by and let this happen? No. As I once swore to protect you, I have also sworn to protect the world from you! Do you understand, Erik? In the end, monster, you will answer to God, but for now, you will answer to me!
The Vicomte continued to moan as he began to slip back into that state of delirious pain and I ordered the driver to reroute the carriage to the hospital across town. My piteous attempts to comfort him were of no use. Once inside the walls of safety, I turned him over to the care of the doctors who followed similar procedures as the one at the Opera had administered. He was ordered to confined bed rest much to his distaste, but at that point he was too weak to argue.
As he slipped again into unconsciousness, his fading moans of self-accusation tore at unwilling ears.
"Oh, Christine…I'm so sorry…Why…Why did I say those things to you?…Why…"
I was beginning to feel the weight of the day press my frame also. It was well into the small hours of the morning as I sank wearily into a chair near the despairing Vicomte's bedside. As tired as I was, my mind could not rest. My thoughts were numbered in the thousands as I tried to concoct some sort of plan of action. There was nothing I could do alone…No, but with aid…With the help of others…Perhaps many others, there was a chance. But how? Erik's hidden castle was secreted away in a place where not even I, who had once been inside, could find. There were ways…If the whole wall were removed…But would that threaten the structure of the Opera's foundations? And that lake…I know he had it rigged with an alarm. After all, had not I almost been drowned by the siren's song that way myself? But then there was the torture chamber…That fated night when I had experienced the tortures of that mirrored asylum firsthand, Christine had spoken to us through the wall…So the house was directly adjacent.
But which wall? How to get in?
Break down all six of them.
If I were able to bring enough men, we could simply overpower Erik…He was a man, after all, not the dark God he would prefer many to believe…And certainly not a ghost. Yes, with enough strength of arms, he could be overpowered. I was sure about it. He was obviously lying to Christine if she thought she wanted to stay with him.
If he was never mad before, The Phantom of the Opera had now most certainly gone completely and undeniably insane.
