Meg felt a hand on her shoulder, gently nudging her awake.
She blinked, dazed by the cramping of her limps in the chair, the strange surroundings. She saw the Persian looking down at her and she sat up, remembering the night…the blood…that face.
What if he had died? Had the Persian come in time?
"Is he…"
She didn't dare say it.
The Persian shook his head wearily.
"He will live, little one. Had he bled much more…it would have been too late."
She took one slow breath, letting it out before she could accept the truth.
He was alive…he hadn't died.
But what did it matter…he was the same man…the same Phantom who caused the chandelier to fall, who had extorted money from the managers, murdered Buquet and Piangi…who had kidnapped Christine…
And let her go…
"Darius was able to extract the bullet. I'm afraid he suffered a great deal," the Persian explained, "you saw he refused to take the drug I offered him. And, yet, he did not faint."
Meg looked at the older man with surprise as she reluctantly untwisted her tired body from the throne.
"Darius is…cleaning up the mess. I'm afraid there was a great deal more blood loss. And that is my one concern now. He is very weak and will need a great deal of care. I would stay, but I have been summoned back to Manzaderan. And Darius must come with me. We leave tomorrow afternoon. Still, he cannot remain alone and I do not know if your mother would…"
"I will stay with him."
Meg had risen and looked up at the Persian.
"I mean…I think I can nurse him. If you tell me what to do for the wound, that is."
The Persian frowned and rubbed him chin slowly.
"I don't know, Mademoiselle. He is not an easy man to deal with, even when he is well."
"That's just it, sir. He isn't well and there's no one but me. I will go home just long enough to find fresh clothes and then I will stay here."
She knew the Persian was caught of guard by her sudden resolution. She, too, had surprised herself.
Why am I doing this?
Because, if I don't, he will die here…alone.
At that moment, Darius rejoined them. He had buttoned his dark jacket to hide the blood on his own shirt.
"He is sleeping now, master, on his own."
"Very good, Darius. Mademoiselle Giry has volunteered to be his nurse. Will you let her know what must be done for him?"
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Before they departed, The Persian and Darius waited in that lair beyond the lake while Meg hurriedly made her way back up to the surface, to the ballet dormitory she shared with the other girls.
Her mother had an apartment in the Opera House, but she did not permit Meg to share it.
"You are a dancer," the ballet mistress said, "one of many. You will live as the others do."
It was late morning now. The rest of the dancers would be in rehearsals under her mother's demanding supervision.
Meg slipped into the sleeping quarters and took a basket from under her tiny iron bed. Opening the armoire she shared with another girl, Mariette, she took out her clothes.
Her wardrobe was quite small, her life limited to the Opera House and the little plaza around it.
She packed what she needed and then changed out of her bloodstained trousers and shirt. She wrapped the dirty costume carefully and added it to her bag.
She didn't want the laundress to see them. She didn't want anyone to know what had happened to him.
She put on one of her white practice frocks and slippers. If she met anyone on the way back down, she did not want to make them suspicious.
She then scampered downstairs to the commissary. She might not know how to remove a bullet from a man's shoulder, but she knew how to help him regain his strength.
She remember an incident the previous season.
A chorus girl named Jeromette had an affair with the son of of one of the theatre's patrons. She had hidden the fact that she was with child from Madame Giry and most of the company.
Until, one day, she collapsed backstage and lost the baby. She'd lost of a lot of blood, but it was Madame Giry herself who efficiently and impersonally helped her regain her strength.
When Meg reached the kitchens, she asked one of the attendants for some eggs and wine. The woman packed the items in a small basket for her and agreed to prepare some beef broth for the next day. Meg paid her from the little allowance she had and rushed back to the dormitory to collect her bag of clothes.
Carrying both the food and her own things, she made her way back down to the cellars.
"Take good care of him, Mademoiselle, the Persian said, as he picked up his coat and hate, "despite the past, I would hate to seem worse harm come to him."
Darius left the chest of bandages and medicines behind for her, assuring her that he would bring more supplies before they departed in the morning.
When they had gone, Meg crept quietly into the Phantom's room.