A/N: Sorry, not much happens in this chapter. I mean, something important is revealed, but not much else. More later, I promise. But until then… evil cliffhangers of doom!

Avelera: Interesting point about Chapter 5. However, he most likely had her wedding dress custom made for her, and when he was getting clothes and supplies from the stores that morning, he was in a rush. :)

PhantomsHeart and Aravis Silvertree: Wow, you really cried::beams:

Blondie: I didn't mean to make Christine act like a lunatic. She's devastated, completely wrecked. That's how you act when you're as devastated as she was. Especially since she's so young and often childlike. I didn't want her to shed a few pretty tears, I wanted to show how completely grief-stricken she was.

Chapter 19

While the rest of the household ate dinner, Christine had crept quietly to Marie's room to find a cloak or coat of some kind. She found a suitable cloak, but felt guilty for taking it – she used the paper at the desk to scribble a quick word of apology and a promise for its return.

She now stood by the open window in her own room, eyeing the great oak tree, studying the thick branches that stretched up towards her. She took a deep breath, and carefully pulled herself up onto the windowsill, kneeling on it with her hands braced on the frame to steady herself. She stretched one tentative leg out into the night, placing her foot cautiously on a sturdy-looking branch. She reached out, flexing her fingers until she grabbed a higher branch and then heaved herself forward and fell hard against the trunk of the tree, frantically tightening her arms and knees around it, breathing hard.

She stayed unmoving for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the night, adrenaline needling through her veins. She slowly and awkwardly worked her way down the tree, her hair and clothes catching on the branches, her hands scraping along the rough bark, disoriented in the dark and unfamiliar surroundings.

The soft hoot of an owl startled her and she lost her foothold, sliding the rest of the way down to fall hard on her back with a thud, wind knocked out of her, head spinning and cloak wrapped around her neck.

She gasped in a breath and stared up at the night sky through the tree branches for a moment before pushing herself to her feet, grimacing at the scrapes on her palms. She untangled the cloak and shook out her skirts, picking twigs out of her hair and dropping them onto the neatly trimmed grass.

The budding flowers looked luminously pastel in the moonlight, the stretch of lawn like a gray ocean, the trees casting ominous shadows. She cast a worried glance at the brightly lit windows of the house.

When she found the gate to the garden she opened it and went through it quickly, wincing at the screeching creak.

She hurried away from the house and down the street, willing her feet to carry her swiftly. She had to get out of the wealthy district – there was little hope of hailing a cab here, where the rich and titled had their own.

The houses she passed soon grew less and less extravagant, the fine carvings and elegant gates disappearing and giving way to the respectable middle-class neighborhoods of the merchants and dressmakers, lawyers and doctors. Her feet were beginning to ache when she heard the sound of a coach behind her, and she whirled around, holding up her hand and heaving a sigh of relief when it slowed to a halt.

"The Hotel Dupont, please," Christine said loudly as she moved towards the door.

The driver coughed. "Young miss like yerself shouldn't be out so late all by yer lonesome," he said over his shoulder, grinning lecherously. A sliver of alarm slid through her but she ignored it, climbing into the dark carriage and slamming the door. She heard the driver laugh and slap the reins.

The carriage whisked through the streets of Paris, passing bright saloons, gambling dens and smoking parlors. The river gleamed like a lazy silver snake as they rattled across the bridge, the horse's hooves sounding abnormally loud on the cobblestones.

The carriage turned several sharp corners and her stomach lurched in apprehension as they slowed to a stop in front of a small, shadowy building. She opened the carriage door and stepped down onto the street, heart pounding anxiously.

She stood for a moment in tense silence before the driver's jarring voice cut into her thoughts. "You goin' to pay up, little lady?"

Christine whirled around to stare up at him, instinctively feeling in the cloak pocket for her little coin pouch, knowing it wasn't there.

"I… I…"

The driver raised his eyebrows and smirked toothily. "Wot? No money, eh?" He leered suggestively. "You know, you don't hafta pay that way…"

Christine shrank away and stumbled, tripping over the curb. Two strong hands grasped her arms and she whirled around with a little shriek.

The man was her height, dark and thin. "You are Christine," he said in a heavily accented voice. She swallowed and nodded quickly.

The man turned from her and produced several coins from his pocket, taking several great strides and handing them to the driver. "Go now." The driver eyed them for a moment then clucked to his horse, rattling away down the road, turning the corner out of sight.

Christine turned slowly back to the man. "I am Darius, the servant of Nadir," he said, taking her arm and leading her to the shadowy doorway of the little hotel.

They entered a simple yet tidy sitting room, where an elderly man reading a book and smoking a pipe glanced up at them and nodded in acknowledgment. Darius led her through the room and up the curving staircase, their feet thudding loudly on the wood, seemingly too loud for the quiet hotel. A narrow landing revealed a row of doors along one sight, and she hesitantly followed him down to the end of the row, blinking quickly to adjust her eyes to the dim light. At the last door, Darius stepped back and gestured gracefully towards it.

Christine stared at it for a moment – then, gulping down her trepidation, she reached for the knob and slowly opened it, taking several steps in through the doorway.

The room was plain yet clean, with a scrubbed wooden floor, a small washstand with a white porcelain bowl on it, and a narrow bed set up against the wall, with a still figure in it…

A cry rose in her throat and her hand flew to her mouth, and she sagged against the doorway as her knees weakened. She stared in numb disbelief, barely daring to hope… the cry broke free as she pushed away from the door, flinging herself across the room and falling to her knees at the bedside in a heap of skirts and cloak. "Erik," she whispered hoarsely.

His dark hair tumbled in a tangled mass across his forehead, his eyes closed, skin abnormally pale. His chest was bare except for the thick bandage around his entire lower abdomen, rising and falling so slowly with each shallow, ragged breath, the sheets twisted around his waist.

"My God," she choked, reaching out to touch his still face. She gasped – despite his ashen skin, it was burning to the touch. She grabbed his hand, pressing it against her cheek, tears slipping into his still palm.

"Christine," came a soft voice behind her. She shifted slowly off her knees, leaning her back to the bed, still grasping Erik's hand to her as if it were life itself.

Nadir was standing in the middle of the room, his sleeves rolled up, his black hair disheveled and his face worn and weary. He slowly walked towards her, sinking into the wooden chair by the bed that she hadn't noticed before.

"I am glad you arrived here safely," he said. Christine just stared at him, eyes huge and wide like a child's. He gave her a tired smile, and she whispered, "What happened?"

Nadir let out a long breath, folding his hands loosely in his lap. "He was taken to be executed," he said quietly. "But the policemen were young, inexperienced – incompetent. After they shot him, they did not check to be sure that…" he hesitated for a moment, and looked away. "It took Darius and I hours to find him; it was nearly night when we did. By that time, irreversible effects had set in. He was so cold from the ground, and had lost so much blood…" He raised his head slowly. "I am not a physician, but I have a basic medical knowledge. Enough to know that…" he paused again, and when he spoke it was with great difficulty. "The chances are… very slim."

Christine's hopeful face crumpled – she stared blankly for a moment before turning back to face the bed, rising up on her knees, working her arms around Erik's still body and pressing her head to his chest. "Erik, Erik," she whispered brokenly, tears sliding silently down her cheeks and onto his skin. His heartbeat was so weak against her ear, just the faintest pulse like a trapped butterfly. "Don't leave me… I need you…" she trailed off, heaving herself up onto the bed awkwardly, falling down beside him and tightening her arms around him. "Please, please…" she cried into his neck. "You don't know how much I love you…. Erik, you must hear me!"

"He can," Nadir's soft voice came from behind her. "I am sure he can."

"How do you know that?" Christine cried, her voice rising perilously close to a shriek. There was a long moment before Nadir answered. "He can hear you, child."

I'll do anything. She swallowed, wiping her eyes and sitting up, bracing herself on one hand and cradling his cheek with the other.

"Erik," she began tremulously. A wave of fresh tears threatened to break free, but she squeezed her eyes tightly for a moment before continuing. "Erik… you… you're strong, Erik… you can't die. You won't." She sucked in a ragged breath. "I love you, angel, more than my life, and if you die, I will too."

She hoped for a miracle, for her simple, childlike words to cause his eyes to open, his mouth to speak, his arms to return her embrace. But he remained as still as ever and she sank down next to him, huddling close and weeping again as if her tears could revive his silent soul.

A/N: If you haven't read the Kay book, then let me just say that what Nadir said about Erik hearing her will make sense later on. :)