Chapter 12—Escape!
Erik loved springtime in the Labyrinth. Every day, he found fresh flowers in vases all around, and though he did not know how, he suspected that Christine made many more night excursions than he knew of. She still gave him lessons, and he enjoyed them as much as ever. The lake became less frigid, and one could walk in it without being frozen. The two of them often swam together, laughing and splashing until they could hardly stand in their gaiety.
Christine privately mused at that—if anyone had said to her a year ago that this would happen, she would never have believed it. She, the Phantom of the Opera… who could have known such a change would take place?
One time, as they sat together, drying off from an hour of tumbling in the lake, she asked Erik if he thought of himself as a second Phantom, an additional Ghost.
"It hardly is fitting," he replied, "to call even you a Phantom still. You do not haunt the shadows of the Opera."
"Not often above the ground, but I do live here," she replied, indicating their surroundings, "and so do you."
"Of course," he said, "and yet, this place has changed as well."
"I have changed, Erik, and so have you. Such a change can only be expected."
In answer, he kissed her.
"I hope I am not interrupting…?"
The two sprang apart in surprise at the voice, although it was only Madame Giry. Christine had shown her a different way to the lair, a drier way, and she stood at that door now, her gaze lingering on Erik's face. Glancing up, Christine saw that his lips were smudged with what makeup had stayed on her face through their game in the water. Giggling slightly, she wiped it away and replied to the Madame, "Of course not, not a thing. Come in."
"There is very little time," Madame Giry said hastily, moving over to them quickly. "You must hear what I have to say."
Christine instantly became vibrantly aware as she sat up and gestured to another chair. The older woman sat down, and the young couple noticed how white her face was, and how her hands were shaking. Christine got up and knelt beside her, taking one of those hands, and was shocked at how cold she was.
"Dear Madame, what is it?"
"The managers were having a meeting with their patroness." She glanced quickly at Erik before she continued. "I was going by and heard you mentioned, so I stopped and hid to listen.
"You spend too much time with the Phantom," Christine said sardonically.
"Oddly enough, that is exactly what I thought," said Madame Giry, a quivering smile attempting to put itself on her face. "'You spend too much time around Christine, old girl,' I thought. I listened to the conversation within the office, and I found out…" She broke off, panting.
"What? You must tell us," Erik said urgently.
"Yes—of course. They, the managers, they are going to find Christine, and kill her!" The effort of this pronounced statement caused her to collapse back into the chair and put her hands to her heart.
Christine was not wearing her mask, and Erik saw her entire face blanch. She sat back, then, upon her heels, staring into the bare ground. After a moment of stillness, she looked back up at Erik and said, "So, that settles it."
"What?"
"We are going away," she replied stolidly.
"I would advise it, as soon as humanly—or Phantom-ly—possible," broke in Madame Giry, looking back to Christine with a slight glint in her eye. "I have a carriage, should you need one—ready to leave whenever you need it to."
"I think a carriage would be a fine idea," the Phantom said calmly, getting up. "Would ten minutes be sufficient, Madame?"
"The sooner, the better," she replied. "I shall ready my driver. Where would you think of going?"
Christine paused a moment, then said, "Somewhere far away."
"Do you think you are remembered by Ledoux?"
"Ledoux? How could he forget me?" Christine nodded. "Persia is quite sufficient. Ten minutes, then."
"Persia?" Erik said as Madame Giry left.
"Ledoux is part of the Secret Police of Persia. He saved my life, once. Oh, my dear," she said, catching his look, "there was nothing between us, trust me, other than companionship of comrades."
"I was not worried," he lied.
"Right. Now, help me. Pack some clothes, only an outfit, or two, into this bag. We can get more once we go to Persia. That is the best thing to do—it will be disguise." She tossed him a traveling bag of canvas and busied herself gathering up her music. There was little she wanted to take, really—her music, and her violin, and money to get them as far as Persia. She took a few of her favorite books and packed them as well. All this took less than five minutes, and she went into the bedroom to find Erik trying to fit half her wardrobe into the small sack.
"I said a few, Erik," she said kindly. "That does not mean six." She took out all but two of the dresses he'd packed, then put in two shirts and pairs of pants for him, as he stood by, looking sheepish. She made sure they were all very different and would not attract attention. The last thing, she retrieved her mask and cloak. She handed Erik a similar cloak.
"Pull the hood up when we get to the surface," she cautioned him before picking up one of the bags and her violin. "We must be unseen."
They waited a few moments in the shadows when they left the building for Madame Giry's cart to pull up. With their heads down and their eyes watching, they got in swiftly, and away they drove.
