The request, spoken quietly with great effort and pain, was nevertheless clear. There could be no doubt what Raoul was asking of him, or whether he was entirely serious about the request. Erik stared down impassively at the dying man's face. In the murky light that was barely sufficient for the Phantom's eyes, the younger man's face looked pale and childlike. That's all he is, thought Erik, a child who thought he was on a great adventure, like a knight in fairytales. No one ever told him that some fairy tale monsters are real.

Again, Erik felt pity for this boy who had been his enemy. The smell that rose off him in sick waves and the startling distension of his lower abdomen told Erik that Raoul's chances of survival were small, indeed. If a very skilled surgeon were to get to the boy in a very short while those chances might grow a bit, but even then he was almost certainly doomed. If no surgeon could be found, his death would be grotesque. Erik could easily deliver a relatively gentle, painless death by pressing his hand over the boy's mouth and nose. Christine would never know that Erik had done the killing - that Raoul's death was due to his abdominal injury would never be questioned - but Erik would know. And he would know that he had lied to Christine.

"Death can be a mercy, Christine. Sometimes it's the only way to end suffering…" his own words from that morning. But then there was Christine's answering voice in his mind. "And sometimes it's not." There was a chance that Raoul could be saved. Erik sighed as he struggled to keep walking down the passageway with the heavy, writhing young man in his arms. His leg burned and felt weak.

The boy had done this to him with his damned revolver. I'd be dead now had he not collapsed. Even so, he could not stop feeling sorry for the poor, dying man. The boy had acted under the assumption that he was saving Christine. Erik knew that in a similar position, he would have done a similar thing. Except I would have done it intelligently, thought Erik. He sighed harshly.

"I…I cannot. She wants you to live." Erik found he could not meet Raoul's tearful gaze.

"She…Christine…" Raoul felt darkness trying to take him. He fought it. She wanted him to live?

Erik closed his eyes against the hope that bloomed in Raoul's face. "Yes. She has gone ahead to summon help for you."

"You are …taking me…" to her, he meant to finish, but there was too much pressure and not enough air

"To safety. Yes."

"But…shot you." In his pain, with death grinning not far ahead, Raoul experienced a clarity of thought that was entirely new to him.

"Be quiet, boy. You'll do yourself more harm. You shot me; I am trying to save you. We both did what we have done for the love of Christine." His own words lent him new strength. For the love of Christine he would risk his life, would risk losing everything.

"Love." Raoul pronounced the word slowly. Did I love her? His mind was clouding, darkening. Did I love her as he does? Darkness swallowed him then, mercifully.

Erik felt the writhing stop. Raoul was still breathing, still alive, but barely. He quickened his pace. If he was going to risk everything, he may as well do it with enthusiasm. The sooner they reached Christine's parlor, the sooner a surgeon could be summoned. Paris was home to many of the country's greatest doctors. Maybe the boy would live.

Christine ran down the passageway, holding the lantern out in front of her. She encountered no traps, no tripwires. Erik had told her that the worst was past. But he was wrong. When she came to the part of the passageway that led to her private apartments, she realized the hall was flooded with light. She quickly doused the lantern and slowed her pace. Why was there light?

Carefully, she poked her head around the corner and swallowed her gasp. The mirror was gone entirely, except for a few jagged pieces of glass remaining around the edges. Raoul must have done that to get into the passageway. The sight of her destroyed mirror was not what drew a gasp from her. Her parlor was also filled with light – and people. Police. Police with guns and lanterns, who were preparing to enter the passageway.

She felt as though she might soil her dress. How could she stop this? What had Raoul done? Her normally sharp mind was rendered numb and stupid with concern for Erik. If they found him, they would unmask him. If they unmasked him, they would kill him. And that would kill her.

She stepped out from her hiding place and walked slowly towards the opening. When they spotted her, two gendarmes rushed forward and grasped her upper arms, pulling her from the passageway. Meg burst through the crowd and flung her arms around her, weeping hysterically.

"Oh, thank God you are alright, Christine!" Meg stopped and critically examined her friend, seeing the blood that stained her arms and dress. "Oh, Mother Mary! That's blood! Whose blood is that Christine? You are alright, aren't you?"

"I'm alright, Meg. I am fine. It's… his blood. Raoul shot him." Christine looked around pointedly. "What are all these people doing in my apartment?"

Meg gushed the story, her relief guiding her tongue. Had the situation not been so dire, Christine would have laughed. As it was, the telling bought valuable time for thinking – the gendarmes stayed to see the young diva's reaction to the story, and to question her about the dangers in the passageways.

"Well, Raoul told the managers that you had run down a secret passage with the Ghost and they said that that was your business, not theirs. But you know Raoul. He decided he would go save you himself, no matter what mother told him. He got two of the men from the stage crew to go with him. You know Gerard and Jakob. Well, Jakob came out carrying Gerard. He'd been dropped in a hole and burned. Gerard died, Christine! The police asked Jakob how it happened, and now they are all here to find the Opera Ghost and drive him out, once and for all. And then you suddenly appear. Where is Raoul?"

"Yes, young woman, where is Raoul?" A tall, dark man stepped forward. He took Christine's arm and guided her to a chair. His voice was clam and soothing. "Where have you been, and whose blood is this?"

"Monsieur, Raoul is…" she looked down at her bloody hands. How could she prepare these people for Erik? "Raoul is on his way here now. He is…injured. If you summon a surgeon right away, he may be saved."

"He fell prey to another trap?" he gestured to one of his men, who rushed off to summon the surgeon.

"Yes. A man has a right to defend his home, hasn't he? Raoul was intruding."

"And that is where you have been? This…Opera Ghost's…home?"

"Yes. Of my own free will. This is his blood."

"He is dead then?" Sighs of relief spread through the gathered crowd. Rumors of the dreadful Phantom of the Opera were known throughout the city. None of these gendarmes wanted to deal with him.

"No. He is bringing Raoul. He is also wounded. Oh, Messieurs, please don't hurt him." Her eyes were huge with fear; tears streamed down her face.

"Our orders are to shoot him on sight, but you say he is bringing the Vicompte's younger brother?" Disbelief was evident in the older man's voice.

"He's trying to save him, monsieur."

"The Ghost is trying to save a man who shot him? A man who he has injured with his own traps? Pardon me, Mademoiselle, as a gentleman I would never accuse a lady of lying, but I find this very difficult to believe."

"Then wait, Monsieur. You will see." Christine rose from the chair and walked to the mirror. If Erik emerged to see himself surrounded by gendarmes, there was no way to tell what he would do. If only she could get to him first, shield him with her body…maybe they could escape.

"What do you think you are doing, Mademoiselle?"

"I am trying to save the innocent man you are trying to kill. I am trying to save my fiancé."

She could hear him now – heavy straggling footsteps in the passageway. Please, Erik, trust me. He appeared around the bend, eyes slitted in pain, dripping with sweat. Raoul dangled limply in his arms. He looked up and saw her, a smile of triumph formed on his lips. When he looked beyond her to the crowd of armed men, the smile dropped away. Christine rushed ahead of the gendarmes, blocking their view. Behind her, she heard the sound of guns being cocked.