The last thing he wanted was for her to come with him. He didn't really have errands, he just needed some time alone. Not that she had actually been awake for the past two days to bother him, but her presence made him uncomfortable. His mind, even as he tried to think of other things, would drift to her, lying in the bed upstairs. From there, he could not help but think of the other woman who had occupied the bed, however briefly.
Just thinking of Christine agitated him more than he would like. He preferred to think that he had sealed off that part of his heart, that he had erased her from his mind, and could live as if he had never laid eyes on her. His treacherous thoughts did not comply. His heart, that should have been cold by now, still ached when he remembered her lips on his, the pitying look in her eyes as she looked over her lover's shoulder at him, the boat drawing farther away. He had let her go, and she had gone. He had still kept the faintest hope, after he told her to leave, that she would ignore his command, and return to him. When she had dropped the ring into his hand, that hope died, leaving only a shell of a man behind. Now, whenever he thought of Christine, he had to leave his lair, because the memories their were too painful. Better to come here, to the darkness of her dressing room, or to the chapel where he had first come to her. There, at least, he could remember the time he had spent tutoring her, hearing her beautiful voice echoing in his ears.
Now he sat on the bed, facing the mirror he had taken her through, and contemplated his life. Four days ago, he had considered taking his own life. After all, what did he have left to live for? His artistic domain lay abandoned, he didn't even have managers to bully anymore, no shows to oversee, no magnificent operas to watch from his box. And no beautiful ingenues to teach. He couldn't even bring himself to play music, let alone write anything original. Everyone thought he was dead; he may as well make their belief a reality.
Then, the doors of the opera house had opened once more, this time only admitting a desperate woman and two pursuers. Somehow, he had become involved in the chase, and now he was playing nursemaid to a somewhat pathetic girl who seemed to have as many secrets as he did. He was sure now that she was not just a noblewoman; her manners were perfect, but she had a fire to her that well bred ladies did not generally display. Her offhand reference to the mirrors, and to her adoption by he grandfather convinced him that she was hiding something less than honorable about her past. Her story was sad by itself, but there was more that she was not telling him.
To kill himself now would seem like cowardice, especially when compared to her struggle for life. If life was so precious to her that she had gone through a purgatory of her own to keep it, he couldn't just leave her to die now. He felt a responsibility towards her, and could not just leave her alone by removing himself from his own wretched existence.
His solitude was broken by the sound of a softly hummed tune. At first, his fevered mind thought only of Christine; this was where he had first heard her voice, and now he heard it again. After a brief moment, he realized that it couldn't be Christine; this voice was lower and more than a little tuneless. He knew that it must be Remy; she was the only other person in the opera house. The tune caught his attention, and he knew that he had heard it before, in some long ago time and place. He tried to remember where and when, and shutting his eyes, it came to him. The gypsy camp, the women in the firelight, whose shadows he could see dancing across the walls of the tent that surrounded his cage. They were some of the best performers in France, he had heard it said, and their exotic dances drew crowds even larger than his own twisted face did.
How did she know that song? Born in a gypsy camp, and adopted by a rich nobleman, perhaps. It was improbable but not unheard of, and it made sense. She didn't have the gypsy look about her, but she could be someone's bastard child. His reasoning process was abruptly ended by the sound of Remy's scream coming from down the hall, followed by a cruel laugh.
Fumbling around in the darkness, Erik looked for something he could use as a weapon. He cursed himself for not bringing two candles, one for him and one for her. After what seemed like an eternity, his hands found a solid block of wood, a chair leg or something of the sort. It wasn't his ideal weapon, but it would have to do.
Silently, he opened the door, and looked around the corner. A lantern lit the hall dimly, and he could see Remy and two men in the darkness. One of them held her arm twisted behind her back, with one hand over her mouth. The other stood a few feet away, and held a gun pointed at her.
"You should have known we'd find you," the man with the gun taunted, while Remy struggled desperately in the other's grasp. "You should have run while you had the chance."
"Hurry up and kill the bitch, Henri. The sooner she dies, the sooner we can bring her back to Monsieur Villeforte and collect the money."
"Don't be such a prig, don't you want to have a little fun with the girl first?"
Suddenly, the man holding Remy drew his hand away with a sharp cry of pain, and released her. Erik watched as she ducked down and threw her meager weight into the man with the gun, her body knocking him to the floor, his gun flying from his grasp. Erik saw the man whose hand she had evidently bitten reach for it, his eyes lit with pain and rage, and knew that he must act quickly. As Remy tried to recover herself and run, the man with the gun made to punch her, but never made contact.
Erik came swiftly around the corner, knocking him down, then rolled to the side and got back on his feet, while Remy stared in shock. Henri, who had recovered from Remy's attack had regained his own footing, and now advanced on Erik holding a small blade.
"Run!" He yelled to Remy, who took a few steps, then stopped, seemingly transfixed by the scene before her.
He couldn't think of her now, he had to face his attacker. The blade cut swiftly through the air, almost catching him on the arm as he whirled away from it. While Henri tried to recover his balance, he struck him on the back of the head using the wooden block, knocking him out of the fight for the time being.
Remy was still standing there, why didn't she run, dammit? Now the man with the bleeding hand came at him again, wielding a knife of his own, having lost the gun. Erik searched around him for a weapon, and finding none, quickly removed his cloak, and flung it over his attacker when he ran at him, confusing him long enough to take his knife away from him, andslash athim at him with it. In the confusion, he only managed to catch his arm, and he moved in for a second slash when he felt a cold blade at his own neck.
"How precious, one monster trying to save another. You should thank me for ending your disgusting life!"
His mind ran through a hundred thoughts, but he was frozen in place. He was going to die. Strange how distasteful the idea seemed, now that he had no choice in the matter.
Then, he heard the crack of a gun going off, and the pressure of the knife was removed from his throat. When Henri dropped to the floor, he looked up to see Remy holding the dropped revolver, smoke issuing from its barrel. He heard the other man get to his feet and run, but Remy continued to stand still, eyes locked on his face.
That was when he felt the chill air on his face, his whole face, and realized that his mask was lying on the floor near Remy's feet.
A/N: Ominous music plays in background