Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay's Phantom, or Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical.
Turn of the Tide:
Raoul:
Our arrival to my estate was thankfully shrouded in darkness. We hastily unloaded Erik from my barouche and took him to what I prayed was the most secluded room in the establishment.
The ride from the Opera drew my nerves tight. I kept a sharp eye both on Christine and the wounded, bleeding mass at her feet. In the dark I could not tell if Erik was still losing blood at the rate he had been – I long wondered how he was alive at all given the extent of the damage. Thankfully, he was unconscious for the extent of the journey. I say "thankfully" because to endure the jostling of a carriage flying over stone streets at a brisk canter would have been utterly unbearable.
Not long after we exited my barouche, my physician, Doctor Renee De Lorme, arrived as well. I could tell by his face he was quite put out by my apparent state of good health and was about to inquire into the reason for his presence when we stepped into the light and he noticed the blood stains on my clothing.
"My God man, what the devil happened to you?" he demanded, putting a hand on my right arm.
"It is not mine," I started, assuring him that I was indeed perfectly well. "Renee, I have an odd favor to ask of you, my friend. I regret to say that it requires the utmost discretion…" Together we made our way in and up the stairs with Christine following Erik's lifeless body just in front of us. After the men placed Erik on the bed and retreated from the room – under direct orders not to speak a word of this to anyone – the doctor was no longer able to hide his reaction.
"Mary, mother of God," he whispered. His face was utterly pale and contorted in disgust at the dreadful scene before him, and I could not tell what was more horrific – Erik's face or his bleeding, beaten figure. "Raoul what occurred here?" asked quietly.
As I paused to reflect, I glanced to Christine. She was looking at me with a stern, pleading sort of look that begged me not to reveal the truth. I drew a hesitant breath, then turned back to my physician. "The poor wretch was attacked by thieves, so it seems. They ran off when they saw us approaching, I daresay he was quite lucky." I hated lying. It felt like a hot brand upon my soul. But that night it was a mark I was willing to bear for woman I would give my life to.
Renee nodded. After a brief moment of weakness he snapped to and gave his orders. "I will need towels, bandages, any supplies you can muster. We must remove the clothing to assess the damage. Mademoiselle, perhaps it would be best if you were not here to witness this," Renee suggested as he began stripping Erik of his tailcoat.
Christine shot a look at Renee and then at me, as if she were debating what to say. "I shall retrieve what you need and will return." When Christine left I made my way to Renee's side to assist in whatever way I could. When we had finally relieved Erik of his tailcoat, waistcoat, and shirt, we discovered more than the two wounds we were expecting.
Quickly the two of us applied pressure to his side and shoulder, both of which were bleeding significantly, but we were utterly taken back by the scarred frame before us. Old scars were scattered across Erik's chest and ribs – most of them appeared as whip marks or something of that nature. There was a sinking feeling in my gut as I knew he had not been born with such features. As much as I would have liked to hold onto it, my hatred for this man was quickly dissipating.
Renee saw through the charade as I feared he would. After cleaning and dressing the knife wound, he began work on Erik's shoulder and finally spoke quietly to Christine and I. "I'm quite happy to be of service to you, Raoul, and to Mademoiselle Daaé as well, but I can no longer pretend to hide my suspicion." Renee turned to look over his shoulder at the two of us. "This is not an unfortunate victim of a random attack, of that I am certain."
"And how are you so certain, Monsieur?" I demanded.
"If this truly was a random incident, you would have brought the man to a hospital or ordered for Gendarmes. You are a bright boy, Raoul, but you are a horrific liar. You would not have warned me to use great discretion; you would not have brought him to your home let alone wandered to the far corners of seclusion for me to treat him," Renee noted as he continued working.
"He is an acquaintance of mine," Christine explained suddenly, looking up to the doctor steadily.
"I see," Renee said as he paused and stared at Erik. "Might I ask what happened to his face? These do not appear to be wounds."
"He was born that way," she admitted, her voice just above a whisper. Renee only nodded and turned back to his work.
"And thus the need for my discretion."
"Yes."
Still Renee seemed unconvinced. He became very quiet as he worked to slow the bleeding and clean the wound. "I must inquire after the true cause of these wounds, Raoul. It would ease my mind some I must say," said Renee. I nodded and assured him that yes, Erik had indeed been attacked by armed men. I merely avoided the part about the mob and the entire saga of the Opera House. I was doing quite well with this revised truth until Renee asked how we had come across him in the first place.
"Raoul and I were on our way to visit him," Christine interrupted, thankfully saving me from complete humiliation. "I wanted to assure him that after the …recent events at the Opera that I was quite well and safe. He worries about me greatly, you see."
"How long have you known this man, Mademoiselle?" Renee inquired. He was obviously not completely taken with the story we were offering. News by now about the strange occurrences at the Opera Populaire had circled Paris.
Christine stiffened in her chair. "That is none of your concern, Monsieur."
"He is her voice instructor," I interjected, seeing an opportunity to smooth things over. "Christine has been seeing him for quite some time now. He was recommended through her late father as a tutor. This man has been developing Christine's voice for the Paris stage." A believable explanation. I prayed my words would not bring Christine more pain in an already emotional moment. Instead, she was quiet and reserved, sitting beside me looking on.
Shortly afterward there was a knock upon the door. I stepped aside and opened it just enough to see the Persian standing on the other side looking utterly run-down and worried. "Monsieur le Vicomte," he greeted flatly. "I was told to make haste."
"Indeed," I responded. There was nowhere to tell Monsieur Khan what had transpired without alerting either my household staff or my physician to the truth. Quickly I ushered him into an adjoining room and closed the door. I spoke swiftly and quietly. "I was to bring Christine to visit our Ghost this evening at the jail, but we discovered several men dead out in the alley. By the looks of it they removed this Erik from his cell and he managed to get away," I described, the disgust of the moment returning to me. "I tracked him down and found him gravely wounded, lying just inside the Rue Scribe entrance of the Opera. I thought he had died…I was mistaken. I sent a man for you and we brought him here. My physician is attending to him as we speak."
The Persian was solemn as he turned away from me, casually stroking his moustache. He suddenly turned back to me. "How badly is he wounded?" he asked.
"Gunshot wound to the shoulder and a deep knife wound to his side. Great loss of blood and he had a very difficult time breathing. You must understand that we are playing my physician false. He does not know of Erik's true identity."
"And it must stay that way," declared the Persian.
I nodded in agreement. "As of now he believes Erik is simply Christine's tutor – an innocent hermit who was caught in an unfortunate circumstance." The Persian glanced back at me with ice in his eyes.
"If only you knew."
The two of us returned to the room and stood at the foot of the bed watching Renee work. By the looks of it the bleeding had slowed to a mere trickle, but Erik's breaths were still ragged and disturbingly shallow. The prognosis was not favorable. Renee explained as he continued to work over the deathly frame lying on the bed. "Mademoiselle, I am afraid I must be the bearer of unwelcome news," he began slowly. "This man's condition has deteriorated so quickly that any treatment I offer may only be a moot point. He is terribly weak from blood loss and utterly exhausted. The wound on his side managed to miss his liver, but I fear there may be internal bleeding as well. Good news at this moment is that the bleeding has slowed, but I fear the damage is irreversible."
I looked down to the floor, emotions of a broad spectrum hitting me at the same moment. "Plainly spoken, Renee, please," I muttered.
"I am very sorry to say I doubt he will last the night my boy."
Immediately my eyes turned to Christine, who was sitting beside me with her hands folded in her lap. Her knuckles were pure white and to my shock, her face showed nothing. She merely stared ahead, focused intently ahead on whatever it was before her that she was afraid to look away from. The Persian, too, was motionless. While I admit I felt some sort of relief at the news, I could not deny my pity for Christine and this mysterious man who had known Erik for more than a monster.
Renee turned back to his bag and continued, "All we may manage is to pray. It is a waiting game now. Though this," he pointed to the gunshot wound. "This is particularly devastating. If by some miracle of God this man recovers, I should sincerely doubt he would regain much use of this shoulder. If he manages to survive, the wound in his side may heal well enough, but I suspect this shoulder wound would be troublesome. The bullet came so near to destroying a vessel that the man would have bled out before you could have laid a hand of assistance on him. I fear it may have damaged nerves and other structures; I considered amputation, to be true. But, like I said: a moot point if he cannot pull through."
"Enough," I said quietly. "Doctor is there anything I can do for you?"
Renee shook his head. "No my boy. I will return home to fetch more supplies and come back straight away to monitor him for the remainder of the night." I thanked Renee and saw him to the door. When I returned, I found the Persian sitting beside the bed and Christine staring out the window into the night. The silence was as if Death itself had taken residence in the room.
I walked up behind Christine and gently took her arms in support. The moon was now visible through the scattering cloud cover. Its soft light illuminated the courtyard below and the various stone figurines taking residence in the garden. The moon seemed to highlight everything in a soft glow, and in its light I saw the quiet tears streaming down Christine's face. I brushed one away and she turned to me and whispered, "Thank you."
Together we left the room and retreated to the parlor downstairs for a moment's respite. I helped Christine to her seat and then proceeded to fetch some tea for her.
"I cannot thank you enough, Raoul, for all that you are doing," she said quietly as she stared into the fire.
I shook my head. "Think nothing of it Christine. Please." I returned to her with her tea and offered it to her.
Christine looked as if she were trying to smile. "I do not know what to say besides 'thank you.' I feel as if I have a world to tell but cannot find the words." As gracefully as I could manage, I took a seat beside her placed an arm around her shoulders.
"You do not need to say anything for now," I soothed. "The last several days have been a sea of emotions, and then this evening…please try not to think of it." Christine sipped the hot drink before covering her mouth with her hand as she fought back more emotions. I took the tea from her and placed it on the table before us; as I did so, she began to weep. I had been worried for the past two days that she was not properly venting her emotions. God knows I had run the gamut of feeling myself, and could not possibly imagine what she was coping with. I hoped that Christine would feel comfortable enough in my presence to weep or rage. Thankfully this evening she was allowing it to come to the surface. She went on for several minutes as such before calm set in. I held her closely, and as I did so, I said, "Whenever you need to say anything, I shall always be here for you."
Christine slowly drew herself away from me, her expression looking more relieved and at ease. "I do not know what I feel," she began. "He is truly dying, is he not?" Slowly I nodded. Christine merely looked away for a moment and nodded once. I could see fresh tears welling in her eyes. "He is magical, Raoul, he truly is. All we have done together was all my father wished for me."
"Your father wished for you to be happy," I reminded her.
"Yes. And when my voice was raised in that auditorium and I sung as Erik taught me, my soul was soaring, Raoul. It was a magnificent feeling," she declared, a warm smile spreading across her features as she recalled her triumph. "He is the one behind my voice, not my father. I can no longer deny that. It feels as if I am losing my father all over again."
"He is not your father, you cannot allow that to weigh on you as his death did."
"No, Erik is not my father, Raoul. No one could ever replace Father. But in ways," Christine paused. "Erik is so much more. I only wish for once, somehow, he could be shown true beauty on this earth," she muttered.
"He has been. You showed him, Christine."
She flashed a tired smile and let it fade from her face. "I wish things were different."
Her words twisted within me. They suggested the one thing I feared most – that I did not possess Christine's heart. I hoped beyond all hope that was not the case, but I knew no matter what, that I would want to be close to her in whatever way she allowed. I swallowed my pride and mustered my courage before quietly declaring, "If I am only to be a friend to you, than that is what I shall be."
"No," she said with conviction, edging closer to me and placing to fingers on my lips. "I have been long confused about many things, Raoul, but of this I am certain: I love you."
Author's Notes:
Once again, I love you guys so much for reviewing and letting me know what you think. It really keeps me going, hopefully the following chapters will continue with the quality!
Thank you for the response to Raoul's characterization. I am trying to represent him so that you, the reader (whether a fan of the character or no) may appreciate him genuinely. Here's hoping it works. ;-)
Thanks very much for the encouragement! You're the best!