Chapter 54- Chaos
Raoul stared.
His eyes were fixed to the room and what lay before him.
He wasn't expecting this.
His eyes drifted around the expanse of the room, the smoke from the oven had slowed to a wispy haze across the kitchen, the room was hot and reeked of blood, it's metallic stench attacking them as they walked in.
The blood he had expected.
It was everywhere.
From near to the door, to the walls, to the floor, to the kitchen. Its harsh red of all different shades was plastered to every part of the room, there was barely a section without a droplet.
In fairness, he hadn't expected quite this much.
Ahead of him the phantom, whose name he had now learned was Erik, lay propped against the wall, blood pouring from his left shoulder as he gripped it tightly. He was wincing with pain as Christine ignored everything else in the room and ran to his side.
The shocking part was the way the fire was blazing, red and oranges pouring out into the room, hot and angry.
It was blazing because of Philippe.
Raoul forced himself to look once more at his brother, lying by the fire.
His clothes were burned, they were charred and black and Raoul dragged his eyes up to Philippe's face.
Which was also burned.
No, that was wrong. it wasn't burned… it was mutilated. His skin was melted down the sides of his face, his eyes were closed and it was obvious that they would remain that way. What wasn't melted or angry red was almost gone completely, almost burned down to the bone. His nose was pushed in where the heat had obviously arrived first, it must have been pushed into the hot coals at the base of the fire and his lips were stretched and sore.
His arms were the same, They were scarlet in colour and pitted and taut across his visible bones, the hairs were singed away, included the hair on his head where now only remained a few clumps of brown fur. The clothes that weren't falling off, charred to the point where they could cling to nothing, were melted into his chest.
It was an awful, dreadful sight.
But more horrific than all of this was the fact that Philippe was still alive.
Christine fell to her knees next to Erik, who was lying with his back to the wall, hand on his chest. He groaned softly, his face washed to a deathly pale. She touched his forehead and felt his temperature. He was boiling hot, sweat poured from his brow, his face was glistening in the light of the blazing fire.
'Erik…' she whispered and he blinked his eyes open slowly.
'Christine,' he choked and she wanted to hold him.
'What happened?'
'He shot me…' he whispered as his eyes closed again.
'Erik!' she shouted and he forced his eyes open again, her heart thumped hard in her chest and she gripped his wrist. Antoinette scurried over with a think cloth covered in some sort of lotion, she knelt by his other side and applied the material to her wound. She leaned his forward and looked at his shoulder blade.
'The bullet hasn't exited,' she said simply, and pressed on the wound. Erik winced.
'What does that mean?' Christine asked, still holding tight to Erik's hot wrist.
'It means I need to help him,' Antoinette said, glancing up at Christine. For once her eyes were soft with sadness and her demeanour was apologetic. 'I… Christine, you have to know that …' she stopped, there really was no easy way to say this. 'He will probably die.'
Christine looked at her and swallowed hard, she closed her eyes and a tear squeezed out through her eye lashes. Antoinette reached out and rubbed her arm gently.
'Erik…' Christine said and again he forced his eyes open. 'What happened in here… talk to me… tell me…' she said, choking on her sobs. 'Stay with me…'
'I…' he murmured, his breathing was laboured and he was struggling to open his eyes. 'We were fighting… swords… Philippe drew a… a pistol and shot at me.' He coughed, spat blood. 'Hit me… came over… lying on my back… he looked down… going to shoot me…'
Christine ran her hand along his forearm, trying to make him well, praying that she could make him well, that he would just stand up and fool everyone again. But the blood was real. His pain was real.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
'I…' he spluttered, every movement a painful effort. 'Didn't want to die without…' he took in a sharp breath and coughed it back out again. 'I kicked him and he… he landed in the fire…I… I didn't want to die, Christine…'
'Shh,' she whispered, as she brought his hand to her lips.
'No…' he said, struggling to get his words out. His face was getting paler. 'I didn't want to die… without… telling you…. I love you.'
Christine stared at him, her eyes filled with tears as she dropped her face into her hands and allowed the sobs to shake her body. Her shoulders quivered as she cried, tears slipping through her fingers and running down her wrists.
'No,' she said softly.' You'll be fine…'
'Christine…' he said, his voice hoarse. 'I won't be fine… I'm sorry.'
'No… Erik…' she said. He managed to hold his arm up and touch her face before it became to heavy and fell back into his lap.
'Go…' he said softly, he was looking over her shoulder. She turned around. Erik had been looking at Raoul. 'Go…' he repeated.
'Erik…' she said, in an attempt to protest.
'Antoinette will stay with me,' he managed to say but his voice was getting gradually quieter. 'You must go… with your husband.'
She looked at Raoul, saw the grief washed over his beautiful face. He had stood there, seen his brother, he had watched as his wife comforted and cried for another man. But still he stood there. Waiting.
'Go…' he said again, pushing her hand away from his. Raoul stood still.
'Erik...' she whispered, heart broken. He closed his eyes and said nothing else. Christine stood, taking one look at Antoinette Giry before she turned and walked towards Raoul, who swallowed his hurt and his pride and held his hand out for her to take. She slipped her hand in his, his warmth felt comforting somehow and with a final look at Erik and Antoinette they left the house.
And in her heart Christine knew that she would never return.