Chapter Summary: Annalise begins to discover just how dangerous her abductor can be. As the doctors tend to Gustave, tensions continue to take their toll on Raoul and Christine's marriage. And startling news is delivered by a visitor.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Annalise felt herself jolted about by the speeding coach, unable to move, to shrink away into the corner, her wrists held tightly by the man who had abducted her. She struggled to fight back the panic, fear and confusion that threatened to overwhelm her and tried to concentrate on the anger she felt. She was angry with this man - whom she was certain she loved - for not listening to her, for shooting her brother and dragging her away. More heartbreakingly, Annalise was angry with herself for not listening to the little doubts she had felt, for not heeding her parents' wishes, for getting herself into this position. She felt angry, frightened tears begin and did not fight against them, letting them fall; they were something real she could hold onto.

Oh, God," she thought, looking down at the hands holding her wrists, unwilling to look her captor in the eyes. "What am I going to do?" She heard the crack of a whip and flinched; it sounded too much like a gun shot. Annalise closed her eyes, trying unsuccessfully to block out the memory of her brother tumbling from his saddle, a bright, scarlet stain beginning to cover his white shirt. "Please, please, please, don't let him be dead, God! Not for me! Please, not for me!" She bargained with a Creator she was sure had forgotten her.

"You wanted to talk, my dear?" He addressed her.

The sound of his voice grated on her ears, drawing Annalise's attention away from a memory she had never wanted to have. "I have nothing to say to you," she said between clenched teeth, her eyes still averted.

"Surely someone who chatters as much as you do can find more to say than that."

"Why? Are you going to listen to me now?" Annalise raised her eyes hoping to see some human emotion in his face. She found none and tried pulling her hands away only to find that his grip tightened, making her wince in pain. "Let me go," she said.

"Where would you go?" he asked softly and with a smile that sent shivers up Annalise's spine.

"Stop the coach and take me home. Please. I won't say anything. I'll tell Gustave not to say anything. I'll tell them that you saved me and everything will be okay and then we can talk," Annalise's words nearly collided into each other as her fear heightened. "Please!" she pleaded. "Just take me home."

"I cannot do that," he told her. "Now I am going to remove one of my hands and you will not move."

There was something in his voice that made Annalise obey his orders. She watched as he pulled a bottle from his coat pocket, holding it up in front of her face.

"I need you to drink this," he told her.

"No," Annalise replied, shaking her head.

"Drink it," he ordered.

"Or what?" She shot back. "Or you'll shoot me like you shot my brother?" The anger she felt was giving Annalise a small amount of courage.

He leaned towards her. "Or I shall force it down your pretty little throat," he hissed.

Annalise studied his face, trying to gauge his intentions. She lowered her eyes, her mind racing. "Give it to me," she said softly.

"You will not try anything foolish?"

"No," Annalise lied as she raised her eyes, holding out her free hand for the small bottle. She took it and felt him release her other hand so that she could open the bottle herself. It was what she had hoped he would do. Annalise raised the bottle to her lips and as her captor began to smile, she flung the liquid at him, the bottle following.

"You little bitch!" he screamed at her, as the bottle caught him at the side of his eye.

Annalise was reaching for the door handle, thinking she would rather die in a heap alongside the road then spend another minute with this stranger, and never saw the back of his hand that connected with the right side of her face. His blow knocked her head into the side of the coach, stunning her momentarily, small dots of light swimming in front of her eyes. Before she could recover her wits, Annalise felt him grab her about the waist, pulling her towards him, placing something over her nose and mouth. It smelled sickly sweet and Annalise tried to claw at the hand pressing against her face, her feet kicking out at anything and everything. It was to no avail as she felt her strength begin to fade along with her vision. The last thing she remembered before the darkness claimed her was his voice, frighteningly calm, in her ears.

"That's a good little girl."

As he held the unconscious object of his desire in his lap, stroking her hair, there was a loud rap on the door in the roof and it opened. He glared at the man's face that appeared there.

"A rider following," the man said before disappearing, his attention needed by the four horses racing down the road.

"We cannot have that, now, can we?" he asked Annalise as he propped her against the side of the coach. He reached into a wooden box and pulled out a pistol identical to the one he had used to shoot Gustave earlier. He stood on the seat and turned towards the back of the coach, taking note of the rider fast closing the distance between them. "I have had enough of you," he said evenly as he aimed the pistol and pulled the trigger. He smiled as he noticed the rider jerk in his saddle, pulling on the reins, the horse slowing. He slipped back into the carriage, placing the gun on the opposite seat and drawing Annalise into his arms. He ran his finger over her lips and placed her arms around his neck. "Now it truly is just the two of us."

While his dark dreams had just begun, Annalise's parents were in the midst of their own dark nightmare.

Raoul paced nervously back and forth outside his son's bedroom; he did not know what else to do. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. He wanted to knock down the door to his son's room and shake the damn surgeon. He wanted to find his daughter and keep her in his arms forever. He wanted his wife to say something, one word, anything. He wanted to kill the bastard who had done all of this. He just wanted to turn the clock back so that none of this had ever happened. He wanted to wake up from the nightmare that had become his life. Raoul stopped pacing long enough to stare at the door to Gustave's room.

"What the hell is taking so long?" He looked at the grandfather clock that ticked at the end of the hall. "They have been in there for over an hour. That should be long enough!"

"Please, don't," Christine whispered softly and her husband turned around to look at her.

Christine sat on a chair opposite the door to her son's room, her hands folded in her lap, a daughter-in-law seated on either side. She had not said a word since Raoul had carried their son back to the house, sending for their private doctor and a surgeon; they had been afraid to move Gustave too much for he had been losing blood at what seemed a frightening pace. Raoul had sat by his son's side, his fingers never leaving the compress he held over the bullet wound, sending everyone scattering for doctors and surgeons and the gendarmes. Christine had cradled Gustave's head in her lap, stroking the damp curls from his forehead, lost in the memories that only mothers hold. She had cried silent tears and Raoul had had to almost drag her from their son's side when the surgeon had arrived and during the whole time, Christine had not uttered one single word.

"Don't what?" Raoul snapped, regretting it immediately.

"If you do not stop pacing back and forth, I shall start screaming." Christine did not blink. "And if I start screaming, I do not think that I shall be able to stop."

Whatever Raoul was going to reply was cut off by the sound of the door to Gustave's room opening. Christine slowly got to her feet, shrugging off Leonie's and Therese's support. Her hand reached out for her husband, Raoul took it and found it was as ice-cold as was his own. Dominic Nessilien, their private physician, stood there, a grim smile on his face.

"He's alive," he said simply.

Raoul found his wife burying her head in his shoulder, his arm going around her back in comfort.

"He has lost a good deal of blood but the bullet is out and the damage was nothing that could not be repaired."

Raoul could see what his wife could not, the expression on the doctor's face. "But ..."

"We must worry about infection and he should be in hospital. Yet I do not think it would be wise to move Gustave in his current condition. He is just too weak at the moment for any further jostling of that wound." Dominic knew his next words would be a bitter pill for the family to swallow. "And I am afraid he will be unconscious until the morning, at the earliest."

Raoul felt the woman in his arms shudder and then Christine was turning from him to look at the doctor.

"I need to be with him," she stated.

Dominic had delivered all of Raoul and Christine's children; he knew he would not be able to dissuade her. He nodded. "One moment, let me make sure the surgeon is ready." He turned to go back into the bedroom as Christine turned to her sons' wives.

"Go and see to your children," she told them, a sad, wistful look crossing her face. She accepted their quick kisses to her cheeks and watched as the two young women headed to the nursery to hug their own small babes. Christine turned her attention to her husband. "I know the gendarmes are downstairs with Jean-Paul and Richard." She fixed Raoul with an angry, haunted gaze. "I do not care if it takes all of Europe and everything we own but you tell them to find my daughter and bring her back to me."

Dominic opened the door, the surgeon stepping out, letting Christine go into Gustave's room. Dominic laid his hand on Raoul's arm as he followed his wife. "I know I will not be able to get her to rest but one of you must." He watched as Raoul shook his head. "I thought not. I want the surgeon and the nurse to spend the night. I am not anticipating problems but I do not wish to take the chance."

"I'll see that they get whatever they need," Raoul told him.

"Good." Dominic looked at his watch. "I must go back to Paris but I shall return later this evening to check on Gustave. Know that my prayers are with him and Annalise."

Raoul nodded his thanks, unsure of his voice, and closed the door behind Dominic. Christine was already seated in a chair by her son's bed, his hand in her own. A nurse waited discreetly in a shadowed corner. Raoul walked over, placing his hands on his wife's shoulders, his heart falling.

Gustave lay flat on his back, light summer sheets drawn up to his waist. His chest was swathed in white bandages that traveled up to his right shoulder, a small bit of red seeping through from where the surgeon had removed the bullet. His face, beaded with sweat, was nearly as white as the pillowcases upon which his head rested. Raoul had to look at his son's chest to be sure it was moving; Gustave's breathing was so shallow and soft.

Christine reached up to touch her son's cheek. "He always was my brave, foolish little boy," she whispered, "always getting into fights, falling out of trees, riding horses too big for him to manage, trying to keep up with his older brothers." Her voice broke. "Protecting his little sister."

"Christine," Raoul said softly, his heart breaking for her and for his whole family.

"Why would he do this to my children?" Gustave moaned lightly and Christine made a hushing noise, stroking his cheek. "Why would he do this to me?"

"I don't think it was Erik," Raoul had to admit. It was killing him to say that because if it was not Erik who had shot Gustave and taken Annalise, the other possibilities did not bear thinking about. "In spite of everything he did, one thing I know and that is that he loved you. At the end of it all, I believe he truly loved you." Raoul shook his head. "He could never hurt you like this."

"Find my daughter, Raoul," Christine told him. "Just find my baby."

Raoul turned to leave the room, taking one last look back. He saw Christine put both of her hands on her son's unbandaged arm and bend over it. He saw her shoulders began to shake and knew she was crying. Raoul fought back his own tears and closed the door. He composed himself as he walked down the stairs and into the main reception room. Jean-Paul and Richard had jumped at the sound of the opening doors.

"Gustave?" Richard blurted out.

"The bullet is out and Monsieur Nessilien thinks he will be fine." Raoul watched as his two eldest sons embraced each other. "Your mother is with him. You may go and look on in your brother for only a moment."

Jean-Paul nodded at his brother. "You go and I'll go when you get back."

"I'll be but a minute," Richard assured him and left the room, closing the double doors behind him.

"Sir," Jean-Paul began, "this is Inspector Georges Berube."

Raoul nodded at the tall man in the gray suit and sank wearily into the nearest chair. "Inspector, I pray you will forgive my lack of manners but ..."

The inspector held up a single hand. "No need for explanations, Monsieur le Vicomte, your sons have been telling me as much as they can. I need, now, to hear it from you."

Raoul told him as much as he could, of the strange gifts that had been arriving for his daughter; of the discovery - only that morning - of the drawing in her sketchbook; of hearing the gunshot and the screams and finding his son bleeding on the ground, his daughter missing. Raoul also told him that he did not think it was the infamous Opera Ghost returned to seek his vengeance.

"How can you be so sure?" the inspector wondered. "I was there that night. Does that surprise you? I was but a young officer at the time. I know the man is capable of murder."

"I am not a fool," Raoul said softly. "I am far more aware of what he is capable of doing than you will ever know but I do not think he is capable of this. The presents, yes; but not hurting our children. He would never do anything that would be so devastating to my wife. He would know that her children are everything to her." Raoul shook his head. "It terrifies me to admit it but I do not think he is responsible for this."

Jean-Paul ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, God," he breathed softly. "Then who is?"

"Where do we begin?" Inspector Berube asked. "Do you have any idea of who would want to take your daughter?"

Somewhere in the great house a clock tolled six pm.

Before Raoul could answer the question that was chilling his soul, the doors to the reception room opened. Richard stood there, a curious look on his face, Katherine at his side, her own look mirroring Richard's.

"Sir," Richard said. "You need to hear this." He laid a hand on Katherine's arm and nodded at her. "It will be all right. No one will hurt you, I promise."

Raoul slowly rose to his feet, the knot in his stomach tightening. "Why would you feel the need to reassure her of her safety in this home?"

Katherine looked at Richard, her eyes huge and frightened.

Richard looked at his father. "Sir, please," he asked.

"What do you need to say?" Raoul asked, suddenly feeling incredibly ill.

"Andrew," Katherine started and cleared her throat before beginning again. "Andrew left early this morning. He said he was coming out here to see Annalise and he would be back by dinner." Katherine laid a shaking hand over her heart. "And ... Oh Lord ... he has not come home yet."