Helene ran down the sloping aisle and up the ramp onto the stage, her steps echoing.
The theatre was deserted and she realized how foolish it had been to come here. And for what? To tell the Opera Ghost that the woman he loved was alive…and married to her brother now?
There was no sign of the man…he was, after all, a man of flesh and blood…no true phantom.
"Are you there," she called into the shadows, "Monsieur?"
He watched her from high above, a silent shadow on an iron catwalk. He would not go down to her this time…
It didn't matter that she had come back again…it didn't matter why.
The ruined theatre was a dangerous place. She had no business being there…but if any harm came to this woman, he would not take the blame.
He turned to leave…he had better things to do than watch this inquisitive woman.
He looked down one last time and saw the old trap-door break open under her, heard the sound of cracking wood mix with her scream as she fell into the darkness.
She landed somewhere far beneath the stage, hitting the floor hard.
There was no light here, but she sensed that she was in a tiny room of some sort.
Carefully, she tried to stand…only to cry out in pain.
Her ankle…she'd felt it twist when the boards broke beneath her…
She sank back down…there was no way she could stand on it…or walk…she was trapped here.
This is exactly what I deserve for coming here…what did I expect…
She had fainted when he found her, lying crumpled in the crawl-space far below the stage.
I should walk away and leave her…forget that she is here…
Instead, he took off his cape and laid it over her. He lifted her into his arms and carried her down the narrow passage to the lake.
He laid her down in the boat and guided it across to his home.
Why am I doing this…I have left her there…let her die.
As he gathered her up again, he heard her whimper softly. She had been injured when she fell…
As he carried her up the steps, her hair fell free of the ebony comb and trailed over his arms…just brushing along the Persian carpet.
Where could he put her? Not in the swan bed…that had been Christine's…he still thought of it as hers.
Carefully, he ducked through the velvet hangings that separated his own bedchamber from the other rooms.
He laid her on his bed and arranged the cape over her.