Raoul dared not open his eyes. He was sure every bone in his body was pulverized. His head thumped infernally. Once, as a teenager, he had been kicked by a horse. This reminded him very much of that time – only this felt like a much larger horse. First, he wiggled his toes. Good. Nothing there was broken. He then tried to bend his knees. His back screamed, his chest moaned, something in his neck caught, and he temporarily gave up the effort.

I'm badly hurt, lost, and alone, he thought, I hope Christine is faring better.

Raoul opened his eyes. It was dark, but over the wall he soft the soft glow of lights. I must be near. The lights swam and danced making him close his eyes again. Grimacing. he raised a tentative hand and felt his head. There was a respectable goose-egg where he had crashed into the stone wall. More alarming was the thundering pain in his ribs when he moved the arm. Broken? he wondered.

The spinning sensation ebbed slowly. When he opened his eyes again the light stayed still. He pushed himself to a sitting position, doing his level best not to faint from the pain. There was one broken rib, for certain; he could feel it grinding under his skin. His back was wrenched, but he could still move. His neck was badly damaged. He remembered the way his head suddenly snapped forward when the sandbag slammed the breath from his lungs.

Sprained, maybe, he thought. I've never even heard of a sprained neck before. When he was sitting fully he became aware of a strange full feeling in his stomach. Gingerly he ran his hand over his abdomen, which had taken the full force of the blow. It was distended and swollen. Raoul did not want to imagine what was causing such strange swelling.

"Erik, you kidnapper, you murderer…you monster." He growled low in his throat. "I am going to kill you for stealing her. But I would have been kind. A bullet through the heart. Fast, clean. But for what you have done to me, I am going to make you suffer." Low in the abdomen, he thought viciously, a shot in the belly. The most painful death…

Thoughts of his enemy's agonizing death to come gave Raoul the strength to stand slowly, slowly. He used the wall for support as well as guidance. He checked his revolver, enjoyed its weight, and the deadly grind and click as he cocked it.

"I'm close now, it's not far now…" Raoul panted from time to time, as the winding labyrinth walls led him back and forth in a maddening snake-walk. This maze was not original to the building. It was his work. It revealed the twisted mind of the builder. Raoul's hatred boiled higher. Even if Christine got away from the masked man, she'd probably faint from terror in this dreadful maze. Diabolical fiend!

Thoughts of Christine flooded his mind, spurring him on. She was so sweet, so serious. Mme. Giry said that she had grown up without a mother's guidance. That might explain her unfeminine interest in books and her insistence on public performances. Perhaps her excessive study had helped to drive her mad, so that she would fall under the sway of her 'teacher'. Raoul did not put such a nefarious plan one inch beneath the Ghost.

His maiden aunt could come stay with them for a while after their marriage to teach Christine how to be a proper wife and Lady. It would be sweet to watch her learn the delicate arts of cross-stitch and beading. Raoul wondered how Christine would look in a proper corset. She never wore one because of her singing, but if she were no longer constantly rehearsing and performing, she could begin to dress fashionably. Her waist was already small. He imagined encircling it with his hands. Yes, if only she could settle down and lighten her mood a little, she would make an adorable wife. His brother would never marry. Someday he would be the Vicompte and she would be his Lady. Hopefully, she would bear him many sons and daughters to carry on the family name.

Raoul's thoughts stuck to this theme as he wandered. To lose his fantasies for the briefest of moments would be to feel the terror, the welling panic. If that happened, he would be doomed. The fear would paralyze him and drive him insane in the weird, low light and the echoing corridors of the labyrinth.

Three hours later, Raoul stepped from the labyrinth onto the stone lakeshore. Before him lay an expanse of black water. He was an excellent swimmer under normal circumstances, but at this moment he was daunted. How could anyone as injured as he swim this much water? He had no way of knowing that a half starved, terribly wounded boy had done precisely that, less than twenty years before.

While he stood and pondered the feat that lay before him, he took time to admire the lights and silks. Pretty, he decided, pretty decorations to deceive a guileless young girl. Pretty decorations to mask a killer's heart.

Raoul stood by the edge of the water, resting. He lifted his gun and sighted down the barrel. Great care would have to be taken to avoid wetting the firing mechanism as he swam the lake. With trepidation, he put his foot in the water. Fortunately, it was summer; the water flowing through the grate was sun-warmed and pleasant. With a deep breath and prayer to the Virgin Mary, he waded out and began to swim.