He awoke to find Meg Giry kneeling before him, her eyes wide with concern and fear.
He jerked his hand from between hers and pressed it to his throat, searching for the welt left by the rope.
It was not there. He was not dead. Christine had not killed him.
"Erik," Meg said, sounded quite out of breath, "you frightened me. I thought…"
"You thought I was dead, didn't you?"
She nodded slowly, obviously unwilling to say such a thing.
"Perhaps." he added coldly, "you were even hoping. Then you could hurry back to your mother, to your rehearsals."
"Don't talk like that, Erik," she said, her shawl falling as she stood, "you shouldn't have done this…you need to rest."
She certainly has her late father's temper…when she's provoked. And she obstinate…like her mother.
But he would not be bossed around like a hapless errand boy by this young woman.
Nor would he let her know how close to death he'd come again, how that dream had drained away what little strength he had left.
He gripped the arms of the chair and rose, towering over her.
"Mademoiselle Giry," he said, desperately resorting to formality, "help me to the organ."
She let him put his hand on her shoulder, let him use her for support.
He sat down before the instrument and she lit some candles for him.
He didn't seem to notice the dried blood as he laid his hands on the keys, trembling as if touching a long lost love…the way he would touch Christine if she came back to him now.
Meg reminded beside him, waiting, uncertain.
He did not play, but merely ghosted his long fingers over the ivory.
It's over now…the music of the night.
Can I still play…can I still compose?
He felt smooth keys against his skin and closed his eyes.
You did before Christine…before you ever heard that lonely girl in that shadowy chapel…it isn't something that comes and goes…she may have taken your heart and soul, but can she take this, too?
He open his eyes again and saw his own dried blood on the keys. He had been so sick with rage and grief and madness that he had no even realized one of those foolish gendarmes had wounded him.
To his own amazement, he felt tears running down both his cheeks, masked and unmasked.
A single salty drop fell on the keyboard, mingling with the blood.
He was even more startled when he felt Meg Giry gently wrap her arms around. Mindful of his injury, she held him close as he wept.