Nadir:
Erik wasn't at home when I walked in, nor was he on either side of the lake. This in itself wasn't an odd occurance - nowadays he was usually with Christine giving her voice lessons. But soon the minutes turned to hours and still he wasn't there. I thought nothing of it, though, and simply sat and waited.
It was only when Ayesha began clawing at the door like a dog that I began to worry. He should have been back by now. . .
After wandering around the opera house - if he saw me, he would surely inquire as to my presence, - I found myself at Christine's dressing room door, my hand hovering over the handle. It was late. Surely she would be at her flat already? I knocked briskly anyway, and was answered with silence. "Miss Daae?" I called softly in vain. As I turned to leave, I heard her wavering voice.
"Nadir? Is that you?" I said yes and heard the click of the door being unlocked. Suddenly she pulled me into the dark room and I stared at her incredulously.
"It's Erik," she told me frantically as she went on her knees beside him where he lay on his back on the floor. "He's so warm. . . I don't know what happened to him. . . Nadir, he just fainted!. . . he hit his head on the table and. . . and. . ."
She sobbed aloud and I came to stand beside her, inspecting Erik in the dim light of the lamp. The porcelain of his mask was shattered at the forehead, and pieces of it were imbedded in his skin. Timidly Christine tried to pick the shards with hands trembling in fear. Erik was as still as death and there were beads of sweat standing out on his upper lip. When I touched his bloodied forehead, I quickly pulled my fingers away from the heat that greeted them.
"Erik," Christine began to whisper, "Erik, please wake up. . . can you hear me? Are you listening? You have to wake up. . . Erik!. . ."
The scene playing out before me seemed so familiar, but at the time I didn't have the patience to remember where I had once seen it. "What are you doing?" she demanded almost hostilely as I took one of Erik's unnaturally warm arms and wrapped it around my soldiers.
"He can't stay here," I said simply; as if on cue, Erik groaned as I got him into a sitting position. Without questioning me further, Christine quickly took his other arm and wrapped it around her own small shoulders. Between us, we were able to get Erik to his feet; I pressed the switch that would tun the mirror on its pivot, and we walked into the passage. After groping around, I was able to find the lantern and light it. But despite that light, the darkness in that passage to the lake was still eerie and foreboding.
The many stairs proved most harrowing, and often we had to stop and rest. When finally we made it to the boat, we laid him in it gently; Christine surprised me greatly when, as she got into the boat, she rested Erik's head on her lap and wiped the blood from his forehead with a handkercheif, stroking his black hair almost lovingly. . . I had to avert my eyes when she looked up at me, for I knew she would have most likely been outraged by my candid gawking.
The small boat hit the shore of the opposite bank and, after a moment or two during which both Christine and I got our legs wet, we got Erik into his home and onto a divan. Ayesha's hissing was audible from where she rested on the mantle. Christine watched me expectantly as she kneeled beside Erik, grasping his warm hand.
"Should we put him in his room?" she suggested quietly, twining her fingers in a distant way with his. She flinched slightly at the unnatural heat his body emanated. I was immediately reminded of the two holes in the wall and shook my head. She then said instinctively, "Should we take him to my room?"
With a pang of amazement that she should still refer to the room as her own, I nodded and we took him into the Louis-Philippe room, took of his cloak, and laid him on the bed. I left Christine sitting beside him to get tweezers from his laboratory. Upon returning, I found that she had gotten a bowl of lukewarm water and was now gingerly dabbing at the congealed blood on his forehead with a towel. Wordlessly I handed her the tweezers and she immediately set about plucking the porcelain shards from his skin with a surprisingly steady hand. After leaving once more to get bandages, I watched as she gently pulled out the pieces of the mask, holding his hand against her cheek.
When she finished, I handed her the bandage; I lifted Erik's head slightly and she quickly, if not a little clumsily, wrapped and secured the gauze around his forehead. Christine wiped away the perspiration from his uncovered brow.
"Is he going to be all right?" she asked suddenly; the look in her eyes told me that she needed my utmost reassurance.
"He only has a fever," I told her, deciding against telling her that it was an oddly high one. . . She nodded slowly and lowered her eyes. I swore silently when her finger abruptly began to circle a spot of dried blood on the edge of the bed's covers. She continued to do this absently for several more seconds before her face fell from understanding.
"His. . . scratches?" she murmured. Her head lifted to stare at me; reluctantly I nodded, and she turned to look at Erik with a gaze full of pity and sadness.
It had been five minutes that we remained there - she, at his side; I, hovering near the bed - when he groaned softly. His eyes fluttered open and he looked around with a sort of paralyzed disorientation. He began to focus and slowly raised his hand to touch the bandage on his head.
"Erik. . ."
He started at her soft voice as his gaze finally fell on her. "Christine," he whispered, immediately attempting to sit-up. This proved to be a bad idea on his part apparently, for he fell back onto the bed, his eyes tightly shut, rubbing his temples. She felt his forehead gently and his eyes flew open once more. "What's wrong?" he croaked dazedly, flinching from either her mere touch or her relatively cool fingers.
"You're ill," was my simple reply, and he looked at me in slight bemusement. "You have a fever. . . Apparently you hit your head and we brought you down here."
He nodded slowly and sank into the pillows with a sigh; his hand shaking, he wiped away the perspiration from the exposed skin around the porcelain. His anger at his sudden vulnerability was obvious by how he clenched his fists briefly over the covers. "I'll be fine," he said and started to sit up again.
My hand on his shoulder secured him in place, not harshly. Incredulously, he stared at me, almost in amusement and somewhat aggravated. "Erik," I said gruffly, "you're going to stay in bed, or I'll be forced to tie you down. And. . ." I bit my lip before saying softly, "you'll have to take of your mask."
Suddenly he raised himself on his elbows, his eyes glazing over with enraged terror. Of course, he was too weak to truly do anything drastic and was soon annoyed when I pushed him back again. For a split second, I saw his eyes soften when he saw Christine, who silently watched these events unfold. "I can't," he muttered huskily, his hand resting protectively on the mask.
"I'm afraid it's necessary, my friend -"
"No!" he cried as loudly as he could. His shoulder tensed beneath my hand as he turned his face away. "I won't. . ."
"Please, Erik, you must. . ."
His shudder at her words was barely perceptible. He deliberately turned his head back to Christine. "I can't," he whispered; his dazed tone revealed to me that he wasn't aware of what he was saying. "I can't. . . you'll run away. . ."
"No, I won't. I promise you."
Erik remained tense for a while, but slowly relaxed with resignation, shutting his eyes tightly; silently, he gestured slightly for her to go ahead. She loosened the black ribbons and lifted away the broken porcelain, biting her lip as the mask came off to reveal his ravaged features. After a pause, she dipped a new washcloth into the bowl of water and dampened his right cheek. He trembled from the coolness of the water and was visibly surprised at her calm reaction to his face.
"I'll go get you some water, all right?"
She patted his hand affectionately before walking out of the room. We watched her leave and he sighed softly. "She came down of her own accord?" Erik asked weakly. I nodded, and the shadow of a smile played across his misshapen lips. "So she's not afraid to plunge into the labyrinth when the gruesome minotaur is unable to track its victim, is that right?. . ."
I was about to tell him otherwise - of how worried she was when I came to her in her dressing room; how she was on the verge of weeping from fear that he wouldn't awake - when Christine entered and sat on the bed beside him. "Here," she said softly, handing him a glass of water, "drink this."
He took a few obliging siips before returning the glass to her. She wrung the excess water from the cloth into the bowl and ran it on either of his cheeks. "Are you cold?" she asked softly in the sort of voice one would use with a child. Erik was too tired to be annoyed by this and he simply nodded. I picked-up his cloak from where it was left on the floor and handed it to Christine; she wrapped it around him with surprising tenderness. "Go to sleep, Erik, and you'll feel better in the morning. . ."