Wow! I'm glad you liked the last chapter so much! Raoul was quite happy with all of the reviews as well! I don't think he's ever gotten so many kind words in all his life. Lol.

This chapter isn't extremely exciting...more realistic than anything I suppose. It's not the last chapter. Unless you really want it to be...Kind of angsty, though.

Christine wearily looked up through her tears at Raoul, his earlier screams still ringing in her ears. The Vicomte continued to stand there and stare down at Erik with the traces of a satisfied smile upon his exhausted face. "Please leave him alone," she softly pled, burying her head into the divan cushion. "Just let him be..." She was slightly surprised when she felt Raoul's hand gently pull her up by her arm but didn't resist, only emitting a quiet sigh of protest.

She allowed him to half-carry her over to the blue sofa, a sickening despair filling her as she expected to see her husband's cold, lifeless body lying there. As they approached, she turned her head and averted her eyes. She couldn't look! "No, Raoul," she murmured. "I cannot...please."

"Turn around, Christine," he commanded softly. Reluctantly, she looked, blinking several times to confirm that her eyes were not playing a cruel trick upon her.

"Erik!" she mouthed, her face lighting up in blessed relief. "Thank you, God!" she hoarsely shouted. "Thank you so much! Erik!" Flinging herself next to his side, she laid a long kiss upon his cheek and gently held him against her, tears of joy falling from her eyes.

His yellow orbs blinked several times before finally remaining open. Vaguely he remembered seeing her running off into the distance in her flowing white gown, wondering if it would have been better if Christine's wedding night had been spent in the arms of the boy. Then the darkness had fallen very quickly, and a sharp pain had seared through his chest. He had soon found himself seeing every event of his wretched life at one time-a personal hell, so to speak.

Somewhere mixed in with the hateful words of his mother, the screams of frightened children at the gypsy carnival, and the blood red sun of Persia, he had heard her cries. He didn't know where he was really. Was he outside of her dressing room mirror to give her a voice lesson? Perhaps she was crying for her deceased father. No. Likely he was somehow the cause of her distress. He had probably screamed at her or frightened her in some way. Best to go and leave her now. Best to go into the darkness where all monsters belonged.

Then had come the screaming of a voice he knew all too well and learned to despise. That wretched boy had dared to insult him! Christine's angry shouts had followed. Was the Vicomte hurting her in some way? The last phrase he had heard, Look at Christine, had forced him back to the glaring light. Now he found himself upon the sofa, looking between his sobbing Angel and the loathsome half-wit that had been hurling insults at him. How the hell had the Vicomte gotten into the house? For that matter, how the hell had he gotten into the house!?

Erik started to move with the intent of bringing some type of control to the situation but felt a sharp pain surge like fire through his shoulder, likely where he had smacked the ground upon falling. A duller ache persisted inside of his chest, making even breathing moderately painful. He was forced to lie there motionlessly as Christine continued to kiss him. When he felt her fingers delicately stroke his ravaged cheek, he let out a weak groan of disgust. His entire profile was on display.

Christine clasped his cold hand tightly between her own and met his eyes. "Stay with me now, Erik," she said as firmly as she could manage. "I love you. For the love of God, do not leave me again."

"Christine," was all he could manage to murmur at that moment without feeling like his chest was going to explode. Slowly he felt his breath come back to him, but the pain refused to leave. She continued to whisper words of love, not daring to let his hand go. Raoul had moved back to the divan, out of Erik's sight, and was lying there looking exhausted.

After a little while, the Vicomte stood up and stretched. "I guess I should find the doctor," he said to her quietly. "He told us to get him if conditions changed."

Christine turned and smiled gratefully. Though dark circles shadowed her eyes, her face was aglow with pure happiness. "Yes. Perhaps he can at least bring something for the pain. Thank you so much."

"No, Christine," Erik choked out in protest at the thought of another gawking human entering his home. If only he could get up and put an end to this. All he had wanted was to start a life with his wife, with his Angel. Was it really too much to ask? Must he be damned to be so miserable!

Christine turned back to him. "The doctor has already been here once, Erik. Maybe he can help you." She looked on him with deep longing and desperation, her eyes begging him to stay alive. His only options were to die or continue to helplessly lie there. Death was looking more amiable at the moment. Feeling Christine softly kiss his forehead, though, he chose to continue his earthly existence.

After Raoul had departed, the couple continued to stay like that for some time. Christine leaned against the sofa, grasping his hand, and Erik continued to try and get his breath back, despising being bound to the couch like an invalid. Finally he managed to come out with a coherent sentence. "Christine—why do you not go? Leave me."

"No!" she said with a gasp. "Erik, I love you. You were there for me when my father died and you gave me my voice. And you saved me. Please do not talk that way. Do not leave me alone. I want to be your wife. I want to spend my life with you."

"I have made you miserable," he whispered.

She smiled weakly. "You can be quite difficult at times, but I love you anyhow. Stay with me." Christine brought her mouth next to his ear. "Stay with me, my Angel," she said softly. "Please."

They were silent for a moment until Erik glared in remembrance. "The boy was in my house all night?"

"The boy helped me dearly. If he had not been here...well..." she choked back a sob and squeezed his hand. "Then you would not be here."

"I still hate him."

"I know."


Several hours later found Raoul treading his way through the bramble with a very tired Doctor Lamark in tow. Neither man had gotten much sleep last night, and it was all they could do not to make out a bed in a pile of leaves. A cool gust of wind helped to wake them up some as did the glaring April sunlight.

"Doctor," began Raoul, being careful to choose his words. "I wish to warn you that this man can have quite a foul temper."

The doctor chuckled and yawned at the same time. "Well, any man who is forced off his feet is bound to be a bit cranky, Monsieur."

"That is not exactly what I meant." They were at the house now, though. As they approached the doorway, Christine came running outside, a tired smile lighting up her face. Doctor Lamark nodded at her in greeting.

"Hello, Madame. I must say that you are looking in better spirits this morning."

"I feel much better, doctor. Early this morning-I was so terrified! I thought..." she shook her head as if to rid herself of the memory. "But anyhow, he is awake now, thank God!"

"I am very happy for you, Madame." He then went inside to his patient. First, he noticed that a white mask had been placed on the right side of the man's face. The second thing he noticed was the look of extreme contempt he was currently being given. Had the man not been bound to the couch, Doctor Lamark would have been slightly nervous.

"Good morning, Monsieur," he began cautiously. "How are you feeling?"

"Absolutely wonderful, Monsieur," came back a choked reply.

The doctor ignored the sarcasm. "Are you in any discomfort?"

"If I were not, I would not be uselessly lying here."

Christine jumped in quickly, as the conversation was going nowhere. "I think that his heart still pains him, Doctor. And I think his shoulder was injured when he fell." The doctor nodded and turned to her.

"Well, I shall provide something for the pain, then. As far as everything else goes, the best advice I have is to stay down for quite some time. Anything that increases the heartbeat could be hazardous."

The doctor took out a small glass bottle of liquid and placed it upon the table. Sensing he was not quite welcome there, he made his way back to the door. Christine followed him outside with a distraught expression. "Will he be well soon, doctor? I am worried still. He seems so weak."

The doctor sighed. "It is difficult to say how long it will take for him to recover. He may never quite be the same. You will have to have a hand in ensuring that he does not overexert himself in any way. He is quite lucky to have you, Madame."

"I shall," replied Christine quietly. "Thank you for coming."

"It is not a problem, Madame. I am sorry that I could not do more. Have a good day."

Christine walked back into the house and looked up at her surroundings, wondering what she should do next. Raoul sat in a settee that was out of Erik's view and looked up at her. She quietly walked over to the sofa again and saw that Erik had fallen into a light doze. After checking to make sure that his breathing was normal, she turned and walked to the window, mindlessly looking out at the green spring landscape. Raoul came up beside her.

"Is everything well?" he asked. "Did the doctor tell you of anything else?"

She sighed. "No. He cannot do much. I suppose time can only tell."

"I plan on leaving soon, as I doubt that the...your husband will appreciate me here when he wakes up. But I am quite worried about you here in such isolation. How on earth do you plan to get your needs met? The nearest store is miles away." He stared at her intently, and she looked at the ground.

"I shall manage," she replied, attempting to sound strong. "We have a garden..."

"With two tomatoes? Christine, you should hire help of some kind. I would like to at least send my servants up here once or twice a week to check on you, bring you some food and other necessities. Make sure you have not starved to death..."

"No, Raoul," she interrupted. "I shall be fine...I..." her voice tapered off in realization of what lay ahead "At least let me pay you for it until I can find my own help."

"Christine," he protested. "I am not exactly struggling financially."

"No, I shall pay you for this." Quickly she ran to a desk drawer and took out several hundred francs. Counting them out, she handed them to him, ignoring the look of exasperation on his face. Quietly the Vicomte gathered up his coat and prepared to go. The doctor had brought his own transportation that day, and Raoul's driver was waiting out front. Christine walked with him to the door.

"Thank you for everything," she said softly. "I am sorry everything was such a mess in the past. But thank you so much for what you have done."

"I was...happy to help," he replied quietly, a vague sadness in his eyes. "Please take care, Christine. I shall inform Madame Giry of your situation. Perhaps she can be of help as well."

"Thank you," she replied. "I hope you are able to return to your old life and find some happiness after all of this."

"I wish you happiness as well, Lotte. Good luck to you." With a nod, he departed into the forest, and she watched him go for a moment. Turning around, she went back inside, checked on Erik again, and then went about daily household chores to keep herself occupied.

Taking an old rag, she dusted off the wooden furniture a bit and then picked up several stray items from the ground. Seeing nothing left to do downstairs, she ascended to the second floor. Coming into their bedroom, she carefully made up the bed from the last night that they had slept in it. She fluffed out the goose feather pillows, spread out the white cotton sheets over the mattress, and straightened the bed skirt. Finally, she smoothed out the bed spread until there was not a single crease left.

Looking in a hanging mirror that she kept in a far corner on her side of the room, she realized that she still continued to wear the bridal gown-or at least what was left of it. She had run around in it so much that it had become very torn and tattered, some of the lace hanging off in shreds. Quickly, Christine changed out of it and put on a plain blue housedress. After running a brush through her tangled curls, she left the little bedroom and went back downstairs. Her footsteps seemed to echo emptily against the wooden steps.

She stirred the fire several times to keep it going, as it was unseasonably chilly out that day. Her stomach growled twice, and Christine realized that the last thing she had eaten was a small sandwich right before her wedding. Taking several slices of bread and a jar of strawberry preserves, she made a quick breakfast. Last, she heated a cup of weak tea to wake herself up a little.

Settling herself upon the green divan, she diverted her eyes between the flames of the fire and her sleeping husband.