Going home with blood all over me was not the brightest idea. My brother panicked and I really wasn't allowed to do more than get cleaned up and go to bed. Even as adults, he still rules my life.
It's been four days since I left, and there has still been no word from Madame Giry.
As I lay on my bed, my only thoughts are of dread. What if he has died? What if she forgot? What if she went back to him?
A knock at my door shakes me from my reverie.
Quickly smoothing out my hair, I open the door to see one of the maids, Sarah.
"Yes?" my tone much sharper than I meant.
She falters a moment and then responds, "This came for you, sir." She hands me an envelope and my heart leaps as I recognize Madame Giry's handwriting.
I quickly snatch the letter and open it:
Victome Raoul de Chagny,
You told me to tell you what I knew of Erik. Well, I must apologize, for I know nothing. He has blocked all the entrances and I can not reach him any other way. I was actually hoping that maybe you could get one open. It just takes the right placement of strength that age has stolen from me. I would ask Meg for her help, if I did not fear for her life. You have fought and lived before. Please, come immediately, Erik has been known to take drastic measures, which you know well.
Madame Giry
I look back to Sarah, "When did this arrive?"
"Just moments ago sir, I was told it was urgent and brought it to you right away," she wrings her hands nervously.
I nod, "Then inform my brother that I will be going out, and if he asks where, I didn't tell you, and you don't know."
She bows once and leaves, though I barely notice, since I have turned, looking for my traveling cloak. Finding it, and wrapping it around me, I rush to the stables and jump onto my prized horse bareback, taking off for the opera house as fast as I can.
Racing into the stables, I dismount and rush out, leaving the stable crew to tie up my horse, not really caring. Bursting through the front doors, I run to Madame Giry's room, not noticing or caring who sees me.
Reaching her door I knock, frantically. She answers the door within seconds and I finally stop my rush.
"Madame," I gasp, "I just got your letter."
She nods and moves to the side, "Then you know that I am truly sorry that I did not write sooner."
I take more gasps of air, out of breath, "Yes."
She moves to my side, "Oh, I am worried about Erik. He never locks me out, or never before, except the night that he took Christine down, and even then he left one of the entrances open. I understand he's upset, but if he did something drastic, oh God, I don't dare think of it!"
Her words pierce my heart. Would this man kill himself, just from losing his love. I remember the night that I saved him, and I know my answer: yes.
"Please, Madame Giry, show me how to open the entrance, I can do it," I try to encourage her with the last part.
She smiles, "I know you can. First, you must place one hand here," she places a hand toward the bottom of the mirror, and I put my hand where hers is. She then straightens and places her hand right about down the middle on the same side, "And your other hand here." I obey.
I sigh, finding the position quite uncomfortable.
She shrugs, "Then you just push in and slide it to the left."
I heave inwards on it, and it does not move. Again I start to push, and again nothing happens.
"Are you sure this is the only way, Madame?" I turn to her, and she nods.
I groan and start to push once more, this time allowing constant pressure. The mirror starts to give. I keeping pushing and move slightly to my left, pulling the mirror open until it's wide enough for us to squeeze through.
She smiles with relief and I allow myself to stop moving it.
"Thank you," she whispers.
I step back momentarily from the mirror, "You're welcome."
She moves toward the open mirror, "Stay close behind me."
"Wait," I stop, "You want me to follow?"
"Of course!" she yells incredulously, "We must get to Erik."
"But, Madame…" my voice trails.
"You do want to help him, do you not?" she turns to me, having now gone through the mirror.
"Of course," I answer truthfully.
She sighs, "Then stay close behind."
I move through the mirror and obey, staying only a step at the most behind her. The hall leading from her room is more direct then the others. I'm sure that this is not an accident, knowing myself how these two are bonded.
The hallway seems to last forever, showing no signs of the twists and turns that the last path I took down here had. Just when it seems that the path will never end, it stops abruptly at a different entrance to the lake. This one is far more hidden, and also easier to find once you know it is there. Taking a few tentative steps toward the lake, now ahead of Madame Giry, I feel her hand move to my shoulder.
I turn to her and she shakes her head, "Not that way."
I give her a look of unhidden confusion, "It's the only way."
"No," she answers, "It's not."
Not knowing what to say, I follow her to a small ledge beside the lake, almost completely hidden by the water from any other angle. I smile, knowing that only Erik could think up such a brilliant thing. Following her down the path, the only strange sign I notice, besides not seeing Erik himself, is that the gate remains open and unhidden.
We reach the shore and she walks up into what I assume is Erik's room and hear a terrified screech. I run to follow her and automatically recognize the reason for her terror: there is Erik, his pictures of Christine scattered around, and both him and his art in a pool of blood that seems to still be flowing from his arms.
A pained moan that reaches my ear affirms that he is still alive, but barely. I take her and try to steer her out of the room, but she won't let me. Seeing that I am fighting a losing battle trying to calm her, I quickly turn back to Erik and drop to his side. She follows and as I take one of his wrists, trying to stop the bleeding, she takes the other and does the same.
Nearly crying, I watch as the bleeding halts in the wrist that I hold, but I tear my cloak to make a makeshift tourniquet just in case. Thank God my brother forced me to join the Navy, without that I would have no knowledge of how to do any of this!
Letting his hand drop to rest in my lap, I reach up and lift his head out of the blood. He moans and jerks his head away from my touch, but I keep my hand under his head, and he stops fighting, whether from resolve or failing strength I can not tell. Though his head now rests in my arm, his muscles remain tense, as if unwilling to accept this generosity, that or not realizing that it is, in fact, just someone trying to help him.
But then it hits me. No one has helped him before, no one has cared before. No one that I know of has really ever stayed by this man's side and actually cared. No wonder he can't accept this help, he isn't used to it.
When I notice that Madame Giry has stopped the bleeding of Erik's other wrist, I tourniquet that one as well. Moving my right hand so that it is under his head, and the other so that I have support under his knees, I heave Erik off the ground. Once his limp body is in the air, I watch as blood drips back into the pool, having only absorbed slightly into his clothing.
"It's fresh," I comment.
Madame Giry turns to me, "What?"
"The blood," I motion toward the pool beneath my feet, "it's fresh. It hasn't had time to absorb into his clothes, it's dripping. That means the blood is still fresh."
She nods in numb understanding.
I look down to the pale man in my arms, "Is there anywhere that I can take him to lie down?"
She stands, "Yes, follow me."
She leads me into a room, and as we enter her hand moves to her mouth, but she shows no other signs of emotion. I don't see the big deal though, it's just a room with a small swan-shaped bed and some torn paper on the walls. Then I realize that the paper is the corner of drawings, works of art. This must be where those pictures of Christine came from.
Moving next to the bed, I gently pull the sheets away, remove Erik's bloodied coat, and lay him down on the seemingly comfortable bed. Keeping his arms out of the covers, I gently pull the covers to his neck.
"What can we do now?" I turn to her.
She shrugs, "Now, we can wait, and pray that he wakes up."
So we do, or we start to wait, minute by minute.
I let my eyes roam over Erik's body and find myself drawn to the uncovered half of his face. So handsome.
What am I saying? He is a man!
So? He's very handsome. That means nothing more than looks.
Or does it?
No, it can't, I mean, I can't like this man, I barely know him, besides, he would kill me first chance he gets.
Still, it's something to think about.
a/n: please review!