A/N: I'm sorry the update took so long, I have been really busy. But here you have another chapter, so review and make me want to write anothr!

In my state, I scarcely noticed the dust and ash that covered the staircase and statues. Through the haze of romance that filled and clouded my vision, the whole ruined building seemed to glow and sparkle. The fact that I was coughing up lungs full of ash didn't do much to quell my enthusiasm; nor did the sharp cramp in my side or the fact that my injured ankle was beginning to hurt again.

Reaching the backstage didn't take long; finding the right hallway and the right wall sconce. I must have tried every single sconce to find the one the would move the wall, and open the door. When I finally found it, and dropped into the mirrored room, my heart was pounding in anticipation and more than a little exhaustion.

But once I reached the mirrored room, I had the sudden intuition that something was not right. When I flipped the switch to stop the mirrors from moving, I heard a voice outside the door. I moved slowly closer, trying to decide if the voice was Erik's. It definitely wasn't. It was familiar, though.

Leon's new method was to create a new wound with the letter opener, twist it around to deepen it, then ask him again. When he didn't answer, Leon would then seal the wound with the poker, to prevent any further blood loss.

Erik resolved not to let Leon know exactly how much the pain was affecting him, but after the first two wounds, he couldn't hold back a cry of agony. He felt like his whole body was on fire, and with every new incision another flame licked at his skin. Leon kept talking at him, never ceasing his harangue, never letting Erik have a moment of peace, a moment of quiet.

Leon. His voice made my knees shake, and sent cold sweat down my already soaked spine. Dear God, where had my courage gone? The song that had played in my heart since admitting that I was in love with Erik was cut off abruptly. I sank to the ground in a heap, my legs giving out beneath me. I wrapped my arms around my legs and shook, my blood turning to ice in my veins and chilling me to my bones.

I should have been able to stand up, to reach for my pistol and confront the man, but he had become so much more than a man; he was an embodiment of all my nightmares, the source of all my pain, the bête-noir that haunted my mind. His voice brought horrible memories flooding into my mind, memories of brutal beatings, harsh, jeering, words, things that I hadn't even had the courage to tell Erik about. I had given him the censored version of my story, the clean one that lacked gory, brutal details.

My mind groped in the darkness for some kind of courage, for some ability face my fears, but the bravery would not come. His presence just a few feet away sapped me of strength and robbed me of my soul, leaving a weakened shadow of a woman.

But then I heard Erik's cry cutting through the darkness, and setting my heart aflame with anger. Leon was hurting Erik, the way he had hurt me, and that I would not allow. With newfound strength, I rose to my feet and straightened my back. I felt for the gun, and found it tucked safely in my waistband alongside the knife. Three bullets should be plenty to kill one psychotic killer, and if not, I had a knife and the newly acquired skill to use it.

My heart hammered in my chest as I opened the door with shaking fingers, trying not to make noise; this would be a lot easier if I kept the element of surprise. I thanked God that the hallway was dark enough that I remained concealed, but could plainly almost the entire cave. When I peaked my head out, I almost lost my courage again: there were two men standing knee deep in the glistening water. Another was posted by the organ, and another by the staircase to my room. All had their backs turned so that their eyes were averted from the gory scene in the middle of the room.

Leon had apparently decided that the knife and poker routine was wearing thin, and had moved on to some new amusement; breaking Erik's fingers. The first break had ripped a cry from his unwilling chest, and he knew that Leon was getting ready to break another. He closed his eyes and envisioned Remy's face, the way she had felt in his arms when they danced on the rooftop, and soft hands on his when he had broken down and cried into her skirts.
My heart nearly broke when I saw Erik and Leon. My hands trembled with rage, and I was completely ready to charge into the room regardless of the long odds. Erik's hands were bound together and pulled above his head so that his arms were stretched out and his breathe was coming in harsh gasps. His hair hung limply over his face, and I realized that I had not even seen the extent of his deformity; the dark glossy hair must have been a wig, because his hair now was lighter brown and didn't cover his entire scalp. There were a good two inches of purple-tinged tissue that extended past his ear that I had not seen before. There were singed holes burned into his clothes, surrounded by dark splotches of blood. His eyes were closed, and his face was a picture of agony.

Three bullets, and one diminutive girl against five men. I had to make the bullets count before I did anything with the knife. From what I could see, only Leon had a gun, the pearl-handled revolver that he was always so proud of. The rest appeared unarmed except for knives in their boots.

I could do this; I had to do this. I wouldn't let Erik die, and I wouldn't give Leon the satisfaction of hurting me through Erik. I just had to figure out how to save him.

Erik didn't think that he would last much longer; the pain now permeated every inch of him, and he could feel the life slipping away. Strange, he hadn't lost much blood. It shouldn't be enough to kill him; perhaps he had just lost the will to live.
I moved slowly from my place in the shadows, gun in one hand, knife held the way Erik had taught me in the other. I steadied my trembling hands and fired. In a cloud of smoke, I saw Leon drop to the ground. I whirled and fired at the man standing by the organ, and saw him clutch a hand to his chest. My last bullet was sent in the direction of the man by the staircase, who likewise dropped to the ground. Two more men, no more bullets left. Leon had a gun... I ran to where he lay on the floor, and pulled it from his holster. Once I had it, I turned on the two men by the entrance, who were now advancing towards me with knives drawn. When they saw th gun in my hand, they turned and ran. I was too concerned over the fact that Erik looked to be on death's door to worry about letting them live. I dropped the gun in my mad rush to reach him, and frantically hacked at the rope that bound his hands together, while saying his name over and over, praying he could hear me.
He was dreaming: that was the only logical explanation. Through the darkness that was encroaching on his mind, he heard gunfire and saw smoke, and in the confusion, thought he saw Remy. But Remy was gone. Remy was safe on a train to Marseille. But then, where was the gunfire coming from? He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. The noise and smoke cleared, and he heard her voice repeating his name. He felt her delicate hands on his face, and then her breath on his neck as she reached up above him and cut him free. His legs would not hold his weight., and neither could Remy, so he dropped to the ground ungracefully, and lay in a heap at her feet. Soft fingers caressed his sore neck, and brushed his thin hair away from his face. They moved onto his shoulders, down his arms, then worked at the rope that was wound around his wrists. He felt her tears drop onto his disfigured skin as her hands moved soothingly over the harsh red lines the ropes left behind. With a shuddering breath, he opened his eyes, expecting to find staring into the emptiness of death. Instead, he saw only Remy's thin, scarred face and pale blue eyes looking back at him filled with concern and damp tears. And then he saw Satan himself rise up behind her silently, clutching a bleeding shoulder, eyes full of hate and murderous wrath.