Erik led the way out the door, with Christine following directly behind. Raoul was no longer lying face down on the stone. He had squirmed and writhed in pain so that he was now curled on his side several feet away, precariously close to the black lake water. Where he had been, there was a puddle of dark liquid. Erik turned to Christine when they were still several paces from Raoul and the dark puddle.
"Christine, we do not know what is wrong with the b…with Raoul. It may be that he is injured, but it may also be that he has some illness. I think you should stay here and let me see to him." The blood at Christine's throat and the aged look in her eyes represented all the injury he was willing to see her sustain.
"Erik, it is my fault he came here. If I hadn't called for you…" her voice was low and angry.
"If you hadn't called for me, we would not be engaged to be married right now." Erik smiled indulgently.
"Regardless. Let me go with you. Always, Angel, anywhere you go, let me go with you." She gave him a look that weakened both his resistance and his knees.
Ignoring the puddle, Christine went straight to Raoul's side. The gun was clutched in both hands against his stomach. His eyes were screwed tightly shut; once she was close enough, she could hear him moaning deep in his chest. She hooked a cautious finger around the stock of the gun and pulled. With an effort, she was able to free the deadly thing. His eyes fluttered and his moaning increased in pitch, but he never seemed to be aware of her presence. Christine gingerly put the gun on the ground and then pushed it away sharply so that it slid beyond reach. She heard Erik pick up the gun and felt him approach. It comforted her to know that he was near.
"Raoul? Raoul, can you hear me?" She tapped his shoulder and spoke close to his ear. After several repetitions, he stopped moaning and slitted his eyes enough to see her.
"Christine…" he whispered. "Where…demon…?"
"There's no demon. What's wrong? What happened? I cannot help you if I don't know what's wrong."
There was a long pause, during which Raoul struggled to uncurl enough to talk to her. She saw blood stains on his shirt and smears of blood on his lips and chin. There was an unpleasant smell about him that Christine did her best not to notice. "I…the passageways. Theatre tricks. Something from the ceiling. Kicked by a horse…"
It sounded like gibberish to Christine. There were no horses on the ceiling in the passageways. She turned to Erik. He was fully clothed and wearing his mask. She assumed this was for Raoul's comfort; Erik had cloaked himself out of consideration for a man who had tried to kill him.
In response to her confused look, Erik nodded. "He disarmed the alarm, but must have been caught by the sandbag trap. That means he was hit by a fifty pound sandbag about right here." Erik indicated his abdomen. "That he survived is amazing- and disturbing. I need to rethink the trap. Maybe a one-hundred pound bag…"
Christine's disbelieving stare brought him back to the present situation. Erik cleared his throat and went on, "He has taken a massive blow to his stomach. No doubt he has ruptured something inside. Without knowing how long he's been injured, there is little I can tell you. If he is bleeding inside, there is nothing I can do for him. We can try to take him up and hope they can help him, but the trip itself might prove fatal. I am sorry, Christine."
"We can't leave him on this cold stone." Christine looked back towards the house. "But the only place to put him is your…your coffin." A shudder trilled up and down her spine.
Raoul's hand, burning hot, found Christine's. "I don't want to die…not down here. There's a demon. He'll take me to Hell."
She took his hand and patted it. "There is no demon, Raoul. You won't die down here. You will be alright. Just…rest." He only gave a moan that rose to a low scream and curled tight again.
"We must take him back up, Erik. Even if it…even if it will be dangerous." She disengaged her hand from Raoul's burning grasp and stood near Erik. They watched the writhing man with intense concern.
"How would you have us do that, Christine? Shall we simply deposit him in the dining room for the dinner crowd to find? Or shall I walk up to our beloved managers and say, 'Hello, pleased to meet you. I am M. le Fantome. Please stop trembling. Here is your patron. I am sorry, but he's a bit worse for the wear.'?" Erik's voice was bitter and bitingly sarcastic.
Christine pressed her fists to her eyes. Of course they could not do those things. Was there no one in the Opera Populaire who would not scream and run at the sight of Erik? Her thoughts turned to her only friends. Meg and Mme Giry had known for years about her mysterious voice teacher. Perhaps it was time for them to meet him.
"Mme Giry might help us. She knows of you. Does one of your infamous passages lead to her quarters?"
"Oh yes, she knows of me. It is as good a solution as any." Erik exhaled slowly. He had controlled Mme Giry for years through letters and ghostly voice-tricks, but he found that the thought of meeting her face-to-face frightened him. "If you will stay here with him, I will get the boat on the water."
Christine saw the creeping dread in his eyes and puzzled over it a moment. She had grown used to being with her Angel of Music; in her mind, he had become exactly as she had labeled him to Raoul: a man like any other. But then she thought of his long, sad story.
Complete solitude, she thought. I am the only person he has been with in almost a score of years. The last people he was with tried to beat him to death. She watched him manhandle the boat out of the music room, and suddenly remembered the gaping wound in his leg. As she jumped from her seat to aid her fiancé, one last despairing thought flared across her mind. Not the only person…there was Raoul, and Raoul shot him without hesitation. Why is Erik helping him?
Unbeknownst to Christine, Erik was having an identical thought at that moment. The pain in his leg was enormous – the little bit of bitter white willow bark he was chewing did little to ease the throbbing. It was lucky the bullet had passed all the way through. Otherwise he would have slowly died of lead poisoning – there was no physician to cut the bullet out. . As it was, the wound still might become infected. But the wound was not why he questioned the wisdom of his determination to help the young blue-blood. Erik understood an implication of the boy's survival that had not crossed Christine's young and innocent mind.
If Raoul survived – and he would only survive with Erik's assistance – he would remember everything. He would know of the underground home and its monstrous inhabitant. He would know a path through the passageways. Raoul would remember that Christine had stood by Erik, and refused to leave. What was there to keep the boy from spilling everything he knew to the managers? The police would be brought in. They would find his home; they would drive him out and kill him if they caught him. They would destroy everything he'd built – everything he had ever been.
The Angel of Music wrestled with the boat and his resolve to help his enemy with equal ferocity. When Christine came in and worked to lift the boat, he smiled lovingly at her and thought, The boy may destroy me, but he will never know the bliss of having been loved by you. He would help Raoul out of pity for the Angel's touch he would never know; he would do it because Christine expected it of him. The boy would almost certainly die from the internal bleeding. The damage was low in the abdomen, the belly; if the boy did not survive, it would be a slow, agonizing death. If Erik had known that Raoul had wished exactly that fate on him, he would only have smiled.
Christine took a lantern from the music room wall. Together, they put the boat on the lake. Together, they carefully transferred Raoul from shore to boat. Erik poled the boat across the lake, while Christine balanced precariously in the bow. On the opposite shore, Erik lifted Raoul like a child. Raoul cried out for his mother in a delirium of pain. Tears started in Christine's eyes; Erik only stared straight ahead, ignoring his enemy's show of weakness. They passed the place where the floor had fallen away beneath Gerard's feet. Erik peered down into the pit, amazed to see the evidence of fire, but no bodies.
It was not long before the pain and weariness from his wound forced Erik to stop. To cover his weakness, he turned to Christine. "Sweet Angel, we have passed the worst of the traps. Run ahead with your light and find Mme. Giry. Bring her to your parlor. I will be along with him soon." Christine leaned in and kissed his forehead before walking off, taking the light with her and casting the men into darkness. When he could no longer see the lantern glow, Erik sank to the floor, exhaling heavily through clenched teeth. Christine's room was not far – in perfect health, it would be less than a two minute walk. Burdened with an injury and a full grown man, Erik wondered if he could make it at all. When he thought his leg would support him again, he struggled to his feet and carried on.
DeChagny moaned quietly, and opened his eyes. The murky depths of unconsciousness receded and he was aware of himself again. This pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was all-consuming. He looked for Christine, but she had abandoned him. Above him hovered the white-masked face of the Opera Ghost. Christine had left him to the tender mercies of a demon. She truly did not love him, then. He reached one trembling hand out and gripped the creature's shoulder. The blank mask turned down to regard him; eyes like glacial ice bore into him. Raoul prayed that Christine was right: that this was no demon. Maybe, if the creature was actually a man, he would grant one mercy.
"Kill me. Please."
