Chapter Summary: The man who had been trying to save Annalise comes face-to-face with The Phantom. Raoul and Christine find themselves each alone in their grief. And Gustave awakes with news that gives Raoul a bit of hope and Christine a frightening revelation.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

He had ridden all night, barely able to stay in the saddle at times, the pain and dizziness in his head threatening to overwhelm him. Yet he had found the strength to hold onto the reins, to keep his tired horse moving through the dark, heading towards what he had hoped would be the salvation for both of them. He found he could do nothing else for every time he closed his eyes her face was there, not as he treasured it full of joy and life but the face of the horrified and frightened girl he had last seen. He wished he could close his ears so that he could block out her screams. He would carry these things with him for the rest of his life and knew that the only thing that would even begin to send them from his memory would be to have her safe in his arms again. So he had kept going forward for he could do no less for her.

As the morning sun began to turn the sky a soft shade of gold, chasing away the darkness of the long night, he lightly pulled back on the reins, giving exhausted horse and rider a moment to gather their bearings. Amazement began to dawn on his face as he looked around and realized how far he had come. He was so close! He closed his eyes trying to remember the snippets of conversation he had overheard.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, his memories being jumbled by the pain in his head. "Please," he pleaded to an unseen presence, "please. She needs my help." And as he sat in the saddle, head pounding, legs stiff and sore, it came to him, unbidden, an answer to his prayers. He opened his eyes, clicked his tongue, tapping the reins lightly on horse's shoulders. The tired animal slowly walked on.

It was another twenty minutes before he found that for which he had been searching - a small lane, long forgotten but maintained and passable. The entrance to the lane was still visible through the ancient beech trees and shrubs that stood guard. He gave a gentle tug on the rein in his right hand and the horse turned into the lane. He resisted the urge to push the horse into a gallop fearing the animal would collapse under the exertion. His agitated nerves began to get the better of him as the place he had been striving for all night long slowly came into view.

It did not take much control of the reins to get his horse to stop. He lifted one aching leg across the saddle and slowly slid off, almost falling as his numb feet connected with the hard ground. He leaned against the panting horse for a brief moment as the feeling returned to his lower body, stroking the horse's neck in grateful affection for a job well done. As little needles of pain began to dance through his legs, he stood up and willed his tired, aching body towards the front door of the building before him. He reached the door, leaning against it for a brief moment, his hand reaching for the handle and finding it unlocked. That was all it took.

He opened the lock, flinging the door open, bursting in to a huge entry hall where shadows clung to the walls and hovered in the corners. A middle-aged man was crossing the hall when he stopped, surprise written on his face, at the young man who burst through the front door.

"Where is he?" The man in the door managed to get out before the middle-aged man was across the hall, grabbing him, shoving him against the wall, fingers curling around his throat.

"What business do you have breaking into a private home?" the middle-aged man snarled, his fingers tightening on the throat beneath them, cutting off any answer.

"Let him go, Tomas," a strange voice said from the shadows.

Tomas looked at the young man, snarled again, but let him go. Tomas stood in front of the younger man, his eyes never leaving his face.

"What is it you want here, boy?" The shadows asked.

The young man coughed, as his breath came back to him. "Please," he began, coughing again. "I know who you are and I need your help."

"If you truly know who I am, which I doubt, you will know that asking for my help is a foolish thing, indeed," the shadows replied.

"Please," he tried again. "I have been riding since yesterday afternoon. I had not thought to make it this far so quickly. You must help me!"

"So you have said. Tomas, I grow weary of this exchange."

Tomas took one step towards the young man.

"Wait!" The man exclaimed. "I know you are a friend of Mademoiselle de Chagny." There was movement in the shadows; it emboldened him. "Yesterday afternoon," he reached up a hand to his throbbing head. "Yesterday, her brother was shot and she was taken. The man who took her shot at me and I lost them," he said quickly and was cut off by the sight of the man emerging from the shadows. He was too tired and too scared to react in any way but a confused stare as the man approached him, reaching out for his tattered jacket front.

"Repeat what you just said," the man holding onto his jacket said in a soft, deadly tone.

"Gustave was shot and Annalise was taken. I need your help."

"Is the boy alive?"

"I ... I don't know. He was alive when I left. It was Gustave who sent me after Annalise."

Erik studied the face of the boy he held onto. "Did she choose you?" he asked. "And watch you answer, boy, for I have killed men for less."

The young man swallowed, staring into the deformed face, wondering if this had all been a huge mistake. Wondering if he would end up dead and the woman he loved would be lost forever. "I don't know," he answered truthfully, "and it does not matter. I don't care about me. All that matters is Annalise!" He choked back his fear. "Oh, God! Can you not see? She needs our help!"

"That," Erik told him as he let go, "was the right answer." He turned to Tomas. "Your sources. Use them. Find out what you can."

"Oui," Tomas said simply as he left the room.

Erik laid his hand over his heart, feeling the locket that had only just arrived from Annalise. "Christine," he whispered softly, his heart breaking for her and the girl who had so touched his heart, "Oh, my little angel." A strange and frightening thought began to gnaw at the back of his mind and Erik willed it away; he would face that issue later.

"You," he addressed the young man who was barely managing to stand. "Come with me."

"We have to go after her!" he exclaimed.

Erik looked at him, an intense fire growing in the back of his eyes. "And where would you go? You do not even know where to begin to look. You will be of no use to anyone if you are dead from exhaustion." He touched the side of the young man's head. "Or die from this wound. It must be tended to."

"But, they will think .."

Erik fixed the boy with such a look as to chase all coherent thought from his mind. "I know they will think it is you. Not a very pleasant thought, is it?" Erik watched for a reaction and smiled inwardly when the boy blushed and lowered his eyes. "I know it is hard but you must rest, let me tend to your injury and allow Tomas to do what only he can." Erik extended his hand. "Now come!" he ordered.

The young man found there was nothing to do but follow that strange voice. He allowed Erik to lead him into a small parlor full of crimson roses, their scent making his head spin. He reached out and found a chair in which he sank. He winced as he felt something touch the crease in his scalp that the bullet had carved out. The last thing he remembered, as he stared out at the new morning, was the sound of that strange voice willing him to rest. He found he could not fight it.

Raoul stood by the window in his son's bedroom watching the same new morning. He reached up to rub the eyes he could not feel and thought better of it for he had no wish to close them. The images that played behind his closed eyelids terrified him beyond all thought. In the few moments throughout the night when sleep had finally claimed him, his fears translated themselves into nightmares that Raoul found he could not put into words. He kept seeing his son's coffin being lowered into the ground, his daughter a far-off shadowy figure, her cries echoing and pounding in his mind. He saw Christine lay the responsibility for all of this at his feet - because he had failed to guard her and their children - before turning and walking off into the arms of a waiting Erik. "Oh God," Raoul breathed as he turned from the window.

Christine, still sitting in the same chair by her son's beside, looked up at the sound of her husband's voice before turning her attention back to her child. She had not moved from the chair since sitting down in it the previous day. Nor had she spoken a single word since telling her husband to find her daughter and bring her home. Raoul had sat in the chair next to Christine all night long, watching as she held their son's hand, seeming to will Gustave to breathe, to live. At the least small moan or movement, Christine would reach out for Gustave's face, touching it lightly, a mother's kiss in the touch of her fingertips; it was the only thing that would quiet their son. Christine also refused to leave when the surgeon would come in to check on his patient and he had given up trying to get her to do so. The man was amazed when the Comtesse did not flinch from the sight of the stitches and bruising beneath the bandages.

Raoul knew that there had always been whispers that Christine was delicate and frail and would not thrive beyond the ordered discipline of the opera house. He had known they were lies and watching her throughout the night - strong, patient, determined - only reinforced his belief that his wife was the strongest woman he had ever known. Raoul could only pray that his daughter had the same strength. He walked over to the bed and laid a hand on Gustave's forehead and sighed, the skin was still warm and there was a slight flush beginning to color his cheeks. Raoul looked at his pocket watch and wondered when Dominic would arrive. The thought that an infection might be setting in to the bullet wound jarred Raoul's world further. He was not sure he could take much more. There was a gentle knock at the door and Raoul looked up as it opened, a brief smile crossing his face as Dominic entered with the surgeon.

"How is my patient?" Dominic asked as he reached the bed, taking Gustave's wrist in his own, feeling for a pulse.

"I think he is warm," Raoul replied.

Dominic laid a cool hand on Gustave's forehead. "A bit perhaps. It happens sometimes after these kind of injuries." He looked at Christine who had never removed her eyes from her son. "Did either of you get any rest last night?" He looked at Raoul who shook his head. "I cannot say that I am surprised." He lowered his voice. "Has there been any word on Annalise?" Dominic laid his hand on Raoul's arm at the shake of his head. "I am sorry my friend." He turned to the surgeon. "Shall we try to disinfect the wound?" The surgeon nodded. Dominic sighed, the next request would be hard for the Comtesse. "I am going to have to ask you both to leave for a few minutes so that we can treat Gustave."

Christine looked at the man who had delivered her children as if he had two heads. "No," she said; her first word in over twelve hours.

Raoul walked over and placed his hands on his wife's shoulders. "Christine ..." he started and was stunned as Christine shrugged his hands off.

"No," she repeated.

Raoul looked to their physician for assistance.

Dominic walked over to Christine and sat down in the chair next to her, laying his hand on her arm. "Madame," he began, "I know you are concerned for your children and I share your concerns. I helped you bring these wonderful people into this world and have never wanted anything but the best for them. I have taken care of them throughout their lives and now you must trust that I will have a care for your son in this time of need. Christine, please, let us do our work."

Christine looked at the man seated next to her and back at her son. She would have blinked away tears had there been any left but the only thing Christine could feel was the nothingness that had her wrapped in its grip. She kept hold of Gustave's hand as she slowly stood, leaning over him and touching her lips to his forehead. Christine rested a hand on her son's face before moving it to smooth the dark curls on the top of his head. She sighed and turned to her husband, taking the hand he extended. "I am waiting right outside this door," she told Dominic before allowing Raoul to lead her into the hallway, the door to Gustave's room clicking shut behind them.

"You should try and get something to eat," Raoul said absently.

"Do not tell me what I should do," Christine warned him.

"I only ..."

"Raoul, if you have ever loved me, you will not say another word."

"You do blame me," Raoul said almost to himself as he walked down the hall to stop the annoying ticking of the grandfather clock.

"I blame myself," Christine whispered, unable to say that to her husband for the fear of his reaction. She could not have borne it if Raoul were to turn away from her at this moment when she needed him most. She should have stayed with Erik that night, letting Raoul walk away from the both of them. It was her fault that his son was lying motionless in that room and that his daughter was in some unknown place with a man who had once declared war upon both of them. This was her payment for blindly allowing her mind and soul to be controlled by another and the one person she loved most in the world had been swept up in her punishment. Christine looked down the hall at her husband as the grandfather clock was silenced. "Raoul," she sighed, a sob in her voice, "please forgive me."

Raoul saw that his wife was looking at him as he turned from the now still clock. His heart dropped as she quickly looked away and he knew that she did blame him for what had happened. He had been the one who had talked her into letting their children have their lives back. He had been the one who had told her son it was perfectly fine to go riding that morning. He had been the one who sent her daughter to the stables. All of his promises to guard, to keep the shadows away, had all been in vain. Perhaps he should have killed Erik all those years ago in the cemetery when he had the chance and Christine's pleas be damned. It would have been far better to become the hunter that night then to have suffered through the last night, watching as the one person he loved most in the world turned into a hollow shell. "Christine," he said to himself, "please forgive me."

"No!" came a shout from behind the closed door of Gustave's bedroom.

Christine was on her feet in an instant, Raoul at her side a heartbeat later.

"Oh God," Christine cried, reaching out and finding her husband drawing her to his side, his arm about her waist a small comfort.

The door to Gustave's room and opened and the surgeon stood there. "You must come in," he said as he stood aside.

Dread was the only thing that Raoul and Christine could feel as they returned to their son's bedroom. They froze as they saw Dominic, his hands on Gustave's shoulders, trying to calm the now awake young man. Christine's hands flew to her mouth and Raoul closed his eyes in silent thanksgiving.

"I need to see my parents," Gustave was insisting as he struggled to sit up, his face flushed and drawn in pain.

"If you do not lay back down, you will destroy all the good work the surgeon has done," Dominic was telling him.

"I have to tell them," Gustave gasped in pain and collapsed onto his pillows, his eyes closing. "My sister ... I need to tell ..."

Christine and Raoul had rushed to their son's bedside as he gasped, both of them reaching out for his hand.

"My baby," Christine breathed and managed a small smile as her son looked at her. "Please lay still."

"You don't understand," Gustave said his voice strained.

Raoul laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "Lay still," he told Gustave.

Gustave closed his eyes, wincing in pain. "Annalise ..." he said and swallowed hard, his breath rapid and shallow. "I tried to stop ... I tried ..."

"We know," Christine told him. "It's alright, we know."

"No!" Gustave shouted, opening his eyes, taking a moment to catch his breath. "You don't know. I sent him ... I told him ... he went after them."

"What?" Raoul asked, a flicker of something very close to hope growing in his soul.

"I was riding ..." Gustave drew a breath, fighting past the pain that was gripping his chest. "And I saw ... there was a coach ... he grabbed her ... I tried to stop him ... I sent him after Annalise ..."

"Who has your sister?" Raoul wanted to know. "And slowly."

"I ..." Gustave stopped, breathing for a moment, the pain written across his face. "It was ... Oh God, Annalise ... it was Michaud Deschene."

Christine drew her breath in sharply. "Oh Lord," she thought, "the sketchbook!"

"What?" His father was stunned.

"I was riding ... Andrew ... I was riding with Andrew," Gustave arched his back against the growing pain.

"Lay still," Christine pleaded with her child. "Please, my baby, lay still."

Gustave tried to relax, easing his body back to the mattress. "I sent ... Andrew went after them," he said as he closed his eyes.