Fourteen

Christine hurried, stumbling and panting, along the Paris streets. The lamps were being lit, and panic was making her breath short. She had to get to Erik— she must find Erik—

She reached the Opera House and raced at once to the tunnel entrance where she had left him. He was not there— she had not really expected him to be there— she had hoped, of course—

Not pausing to catch her breath, she raced on.

She reached the lair and ran through the few rooms, calling him at the top of her voice—

"Erik! Erik!"

There was no answer but that which her echo returned to her. She stood in front of the abandoned organ, tears coming to her eyes, staring at the destruction which he had made when she denied his advances—

Only three days ago.

Three days!

A lifetime for Erik, poor, miserable, waiting Erik!

He was not there— she could not find him— there were hundreds of secret corridors where he could have hidden himself away— thousands! She could never find him on her own— she would never find him—

"I— I hid myself away. There was a place— a hole, really— dark— no-one could find me there. No-one knew of its existence— except me— and Nadir. The daroga— the daroga came for me."

Christine turned and ran back to the tunnel entrance.

There was a moment of vivid, vicious fear as she could not locate the lever that opened the tunnel, and then as she blundered in a blind panic she hit it by accident. Up the tunnel she went, running, stumbling, falling, picking herself up again and running on, desperately, as though the devil himself were behind her—

Erik—

She reached the opera house proper— she was through it all in the blink of an eye, feet pounding as she raced for the door.

Erik—

She made it onto the street and spent a precious few seconds trying to get a hansom cab. There were only a few, and the drivers ignored her. It was late, and surely she must look suspicious, dressed in a streaming white nightgown, her hair hanging loose and bedraggled over her shoulders, her face pale, eyes wide. Even the horses shied away from her.

They probably thought she was a ghost—

Erik!

She ran.

She ran in the direction of the house of Nadir Khan, which was a goodly distance away. She made it in twenty minutes and banged on the door so hard she bruised her fist. She concentrated on getting her breath back—

Erik!

—while she waited for the door to open— when finally it did, revealing the dressing-gown-swathed form of the bewildered daroga, she did not wait for him to invite her inside, but grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out with her.

"Mademoiselle Daae!"

"You found him once," she panted. "You must find him again. You must show me the hole where he hid himself, Nadir— I must find him right now."

"Mademoiselle Daae— please, I do not understand."

She dropped his arm and turned to face him. "I went to him!" she cried. "You tried to make me believe that he was dead, but you failed! I knew, I knew he could not be dead— not my Erik— he would have said goodbye, you see. And so I went, and I found him. And I told him I loved him, and he told me he loved me— he loves me! and I came to get you, to stand as witness for us— only Raoul was there— and he took me home— and I was gone for three days— three days, Nadir! And when I came back to myself and left to find Erik, he was gone— missing— I cannot find him, Nadir! And he said he is dying— he cannot be dead, he would say goodbye to me—"

Her breath caught in her throat and she nearly retched, there on the street.

As she had left—

"Dear heart," he said, clutching his arms to him. "Goodbye— dear heart!"

She screamed aloud, a heart-breaking sound, and raced on down the street. Nadir, utterly baffled but also utterly worried, chased after her, puffing.

He caught up to her at the corner— she was crying too hard to run very fast, she was out of breath— and took her arm.

"Don't cry," he said frantically, holding her. "Do not cry, Mademoiselle Daae— we will find him— we will—"

"Find him," she whispered, choking on her tears. "Find him now— daroga—"

He now led her at a stumbling run down the avenue that led to the Opera House. No longer weeping, she showed him the door that was open, and then the tunnel inside the cloakroom. He went down first, arriving in the main room of Erik's lair and sparing a brief glance for the grate, which was still irrevocably closed.

"Where, Nadir?"

She hadn't drawn breath since they entered the Opera House.

"Over here." He walked swiftly to the wall where the organ stood, running his hands over the paneling— underneath his fingers, a latch clicked, and another tunnel stood open before him.

"In there, Mademoiselle. Shall I—"

"No," she whispered, shouldering past him. "Let me."

It was a low tunnel, not nearly tall enough to stand in. Christine went to her knees and began to crawl. The air smelt stale, and was very cold— cold enough to keep a body from rotting for a short time—

Three days—

Christine swallowed, and breathed past the panic that threatened to choke her. She crawled on.

The floor of the tunnel left dirt on the palms of her hands, the front of her dress— she should have removed it before she entered, it only got in the way. No time for that now. She struggled on.

It was not a long tunnel, especially when compared with some of the ones Erik had built elsewhere— but in Christine's eyes it lengthened till she could not fathom there ever being an end—

It loomed up in front of her suddenly, a panel built to slide into the tunnel wall. She sat back on her feet and grasped the handle and thrust it to one side—

The utter stillness of the form that greeted her robbed her of breath.

She lurched forward and threw Erik's inert form onto his back, grabbing at his throat, feeling frantically for a pulse—

A quiet moment of blind fear—

A flutter under her fingertips—

She cried aloud her thanks to God and showered kisses on his sleeping face.

Erik lived!