TRIGGER WARNINGS: Violence and death in this chapter.

Dear readers, I'm excited and nervous to present this next chapter to you. Saying any more would give too much away. Needless to say, I apologize for any grammar errors or word issues. I'll be editing again soon. It's a long chapter and I keep getting wrapped up in the story. Enjoy, my dears. I hope I've done our character development justice.

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'Bad things should not have had to happen to you to make you strong.'

'They didn't. I was strong from the beginning. Bad things happened because I did not think my words would make a difference. After all, I had been taught my voice only sounded beautiful. Not that the words mattered.'

Christine didn't feel her feet beneath her. She didn't feel much of anything in her body. It did feel good to run, though. Sam guided her at a relentless pace, Squelch and Simon close behind. They kept to the darkest parts of Phantasma, careful to not be seen. The amusements cracked and boomed about them in their familiar ways. She did not turn to look at the noises. No one knew what was coming. So many people would be hurt. Their faces blurred in her periphery.

They would be hurt, but nothing like her hurt.

She fought back her thoughts, determined to live for the next moment. The betrayal was too fresh and too deep. It didn't matter what her mind would logic away, her heart beat raw and heavy in her chest. She'd only ever asked one thing of him. One thing.

They made it to the schoolhouse, all its widows dark, the door left slightly ajar.

"Come on guys," Sam whispered. There were less children waiting for them than she had thought there would be. Only her trusty four, including Sam.

At the sight of Christine, Charlotte begged to be carried. It was a relief to feel the little girl holding her tight. Sam did not look back to make sure they were fallowing him. Instead, he continued on – leading them directly into the forest. The woods were different in the night and the children stopped several times to watch and listen like Mr. Y had taught them.

Their caution kept them safe. They were no more than a mile from the schoolhouse when Sam directed them deeper into a thicket, steering clear of several company men in the open meadow marking the regular trail.

It was at a small brook, not the important one, but a brook nonetheless, that Sam stopped and turned, a pocket watch in his hand. Simon held Elijah, who had already fallen asleep in his arms. And Sarah's wide eyes stared back at her, her violin case in her hand.

"What's goin-"

An explosion blasted through the forest, a large pillar of red smoke billowing from the lights of Phantasma. Christine's body retched at the concussion of energy, falling to her knees.

"No!" the word was ripped from her very core.

For all Erik's words, she'd never thought he was being literal about Phantasma falling down around them tonight.

"What building was that?"

"The Colosseum?" Squelch offered. No. That would be too many people. Too many innocent lives.

"The new theater," Simon answered. "I saw him rigging dynamite to the roof last night."

"The shattered glass was the deterrent at the colosseum. Shards in the lungs."

"Anything else he'd think to blow—" Another explosion burst from Phantasma, sending the Ferris wheel off its axis and to the ground. That answered her question. Lord help her, she hoped there were no people on it. And then the realization hit her.

Christine had told Erik countless times since her arrival in Maunch Chuck that she would leave him if he'd hypnotized her again. He did so tonight knowing full-well she may never forgive him, even if it had saved her performance and their lives. Now she knew. He never intended to see her again. He'd lied to her. He would not be right behind her.

All at once hate for the men of Maunch Chuck flushed over her. Those damn rich men and their rich schemes. Men who had no concept of human worth. Men who would take what they wanted no matter the cost. Because, of course, it cost them nothing. They would take everything from her love once more, and then they would take him away from her.

Damn him. He was not allowed to leave her. She would choose how they parted ways, and this was not it. He had to live long enough for her to be properly mad at him. A calm stillness overtook her as she made her choice.

Sam clutched his hands at Christine's shirt, pulling her attention from Phantasma. The children tried to silence their cries, but tears streamed down their faces. "Sam, where does Mr. Y's trail lead?"

"To a private train switch at the bottom of the gorge."

"And there will be a train there waiting for you, yes?"

"Yes."

She motioned the children close, huddling them together, "Now you all know what Mr. Y has said about this trail on our walks. It's magical."

"Miss. That's just –" Sarah started.

"It might just be stories, but Mr. Y can make everything magical. He is the most wonderful and horrible kind of wizard. Now, I believe, that he's covered you all with his magic. He loves you and wanted to make sure you are safe tonight. Let's not waste all his power. We must be brave."

"But I don't want to go without you," Charlotte spoke into her neck. Christine pulled her tighter to her.

At her words, the other children rallied. "Now I want you all to follow Sam and make it to the train on time. No stopping, and no looking back. Go. Go now." She pushed them from her arms and took steps back from them. Sam turned at looked at her one last time. She answered his silent question, "Mr. Y needs me, and I need to know you are safe so we can help him."

"You promised we'd leave together."

"And we will. I keep my promises."

He didn't like her answer, she knew, but he listened and turned and set a relentless pace for the children behind him.


The return to Phantasma was quicker than the leaving of it. She let Simon and Squelch worry about the company men and their silence. It was easier to let them lead. Her fury would only make her ignore all danger.

The moon waxed large above a clouded sky, illuminating their trail in high and ghostly relief. It allowed for them to see the handful of men in the meadow at a distance. Their gun barrels flickered light throughout the brush.

Simon braced his hand on Christine's shoulder, forcing her to still. Surprise was the only advantage they had.

"We could skirt the whole thing."

"That will take too much time."

"Maybe we could –"

"Go! Go back to Cummings!" Meg's voice shouted from the darkness. She entered the clearing, gun in her hand and Fleck at her side.

"Meggie, put the gun down. There's no one out here," a man hollered. Meg stilled at his tone, seeming to remember herself.

"Yes. We're safe out here. Go back to the park," another said.

"Mr. Cumming's orders are to wait here for the girl."

"Have you seen her yet?" Meg flung her arms wide. "Do you really think he would let her get caught so easily?"

The men adjusted their guns, unaccustomed to a woman's ire. Fleck's eyes found Christine's in the distance and went wide in surprise.

"They were supposed to come this way."

"And if you haven't found them yet, you've missed them. Get your asses back to Phantasma."

They waited only a moment longer, sulking at their submission to a woman, then listened and took up a jog back the way she'd come.

Meg watched them leave, keeping her eyes firmly on their backs until they were lost in the forest's budding greenery. It was in the next still moment, she took Fleck's hand and held it tight, falling to her knees on the meadow grass. Deep, thick coughs erupted from her chest.

"What's wrong with her?" Christine whispered.

The hidden trio sat in the underbrush and watched and another fit wracked her body.

"The shattered mirrors," Squelch realized. "Mr. Y made it puff back into the air during her song. She breathed in the shards." Thousands of tiny shards, Christine thought, tearing at her lungs. It was horribly cruel.

Had that really been Erik's plan? It was heartless. Cold. And Meg's only great trespass had been loving him; had been wanting to build and keep something with him; had been wanting to protect it at all costs. They were the same in that.

Christine rose and went to her, utterly mesmerized at the agony her heart felt for her. Meg rose from her crouch, eyes glassy, blood on her lips. When they saw each other, Meg's eyes flashed with defiant anger. So this would not be a concession of hearts.

Christine's footsteps halted when Meg lifted the gun in her hand and pointed it square in her direction.

"Stop where you are." She squeezed the trigger. Christine jumped at the crack, but the bullet hit no mark.

"Meg, please."

"Where is he?" Christine shook her head. Meg did not believe her. "By the time I began singing he was gone. He's with you. Call him out."

"He's not, Meg. He's not with me."

"Liar." She fired the gun, hitting Squelch in the arm. She didn't dare move to help him.

Another explosion peeled through the valley. "That would be the coaster," Meg whispered into the night. "He has to be with you. He can't still be there. He can't."

The gun glinted in the moonlight, a silvery thing with twisted etching ground deep in the barrel. A revolver. Raoul had had several in his collection. He had always said the ones with the most ornamentation were the most unreliable. She'd fired two shots. That meant three or four more. "Meg, I –"

"No. No! Tonight's not your night, Christine. Even if he made you fly. He has to get out of here. It's not safe!" She shot again, hitting a tree. Christine still continued to walk slowly forward. "All our hard work destroyed because you couldn't live your rich life. I'm the one that drew him out of his madness. I'm the one who molded it into something he could harness. I'm the one that collected every damn person in this place to make it run. Couldn't you have one great love and live with that?"

"Meggie this isn't you," Simon yelled from beside Squelch. "Come with me and we'll get out of here." Agony filled her eyes and for a moment, and Christine recognized the small ballet dancer from her childhood. The one who would help others and put herself in danger. She'd done it all her life. And here she was, doing it again.

"Does he know?" Meg returned her gaze to Christine, she lifted her arm again, leveling the barrel of the gun square at her chest. Christine continued in her low voice, "Does he know all that you've done for him? Did you tell him?"

What a fool she'd been. She should have hugged Meg tight, should have delighted in seeing her old friend from the beginning. But there had been too many years and too many unsaid words between them. There was Erik between then.

"Of course he knows. He should know. He…" Meg's voice went small. She did love Erik. Worse, she might love him as he'd once loved Christine. Driven to madness from the unrequited pain. Christine took Meg's hand, careful to angle herself away from the gun barrel.

"Men care very little for all the things we do for them. Most of the time, they don't even hear us when we do it."

"He loves you." And one day she would know if that was fair or not.

"And you came out here to make sure he was safe. But you know he's not here. He could never leave his masterpieces. He's still there. He's still in Phantasma. And it's yours as much as it is his. Let's go save it for you." She took the gun from her hands.

"It is mine."

"Yes, it is." Fleck agreed.

"But he loves you."

Christine knew she was already on the path to hell, and so the lie came easily to her lips, "You and I both know there is little reason in his mind. You've been by his side longer than I've ever known him. Let's save him first and then we can make him choose."

It would be no choice at all.


They left the trio in the meadow, demanding they follow back to the children and get them on the train. Where they were returning, they had to go alone.

Meg struggled with her breathing along the path and Christine was careful to meter her steps. They were taking too long. So much damage could already be done before they found Erik.

At the thought of him, the amusement park – glowing and ravenous – came into view. Most people had already fled. Those left were struggling with injuries or stealing what wasn't bolted down.

Christine refused the dwell on the utter sadness of the place, or the still shadows she could just make out in the darkness.

It was Meg who drew her attention, "We have to avoid Porter."

"I don't think that's possible."

"I can't see him."

"Where would they go Meg?" Christine asked. Surely, where one was, the other would be close.

"Porter was going to overtake him at the Colosseum."

"But Erik would have known that." The glass in your lungs says as much. "Where would they end up?"

"Porter wants the plans for the automatons. He knows Erik's workshop is above the Fun House. They would end up there." It made sense the minute Meg said it. They rushed together by way of the fallen Farris wheel.

Christine's eyes darted along the facades of empty shops and broken glass. There was no sign of Erik. Not even on the rooftops. The click of their boots thundered in her ears.

At the sight of the Fun House's entrance, she released the breath she was holding from her lungs. Still standing. Still intact.

And then it wasn't. The blast from the front doors of the building threw them back against the pavement, glass shattering everywhere around them. Flames licked the brick building as smoke billowed from Erik's workshop. Christine didn't notice the blood trailing down her arms and face. She fumbled to rise, her mouth agape in a silent scream.

They were too late.

She prayed silently that Erik's mind would call out to her. It didn't matter anymore if she was lost completely within him. As long as she was lost with him. She willed her soul into the darkness to search for him, but there was no answer. Only emptiness.

Angel my soul was weak, forgive me.

A broad hand grabbed a fistful of Christine's hair, wrenching her up from the ground. "So I see the little whore didn't run away after all." Porter Cummings spoke against her cheek. "Help up Meggie," he directed a man beside him. "Let's go find your corpse lover, shall we?"

What an idiot. He thought Erik was still alive.

But if her love was alive, she would feel him by now. He couldn't bare her sadness; he wouldn't leave her in the monstrous pain of it. And she didn't feel him. Which meant – which meant he had lied to her. He'd not been right behind her tonight. He would never stand behind her again.

"I always wondered what must be between your legs to bewitch a man like Mr. Y. And then I realized – he'd probably never been between any legs." Porter's voice whispered close against her ear, "You just like them wicked and ugly. I would have thought you could do better." He pressed the length of himself against her, careful to see if Meg was looking.

Christine kicked him in the shin.

He cursed and pulled her head back by her hair, quickening his pace. "Stupid woman."

He lifted her on to the unmoving carousel, carefully tying her hands to one of the outer poles. Another of his men took a heavy can and began pouring the contents over the platform on the other side. "Let's end this."

Hopping from the ride, Porter pulled the machine's lever and lit a cigar. When he was done, he held the matchstick in his hand, watching the fire dance at the tip. Soon she could no longer see him, the carousel revolving in its inevitable way.

She did, however, smell the ignition of the liquid as it touched the oil.

"Come out, come out wherever you are, Mr. Y. You'll want to save your dying little songbird." The screams from earlier had faded away, leaving in their wake a discordant silence and the unnatural sound of the melting band organ within the carousel. "You know your failure was when you started giving women everything they want. All they know is how to take and take and take. You used to be such a smart man. Smart and ugly. It worked for you. The little singer ruined you. Turned you into a love-sick puppy. I hope her credentials were worth it."

She lost sight of Porter, his arms tight around Meg's waste, her gun in his hand. The barrel had had five slots. The heat from the carousel burned Christine's back and she pulled against the ropes tying her in place.

"But Meggie is so smart. So smart. She knew she could do better than you. She knows how to listen to a man."

"Erik, I –" but Porter silenced her before she could say anything more.

Christine had to figure her own way out. No one was going to save her. She struggled against the ropes and wondered if the pole would break before she would catch on fire. She was back around again, Porter and Meg coming into view.

"Porter, Meg's hurt. She's bleeding! You have to get her to a doctor."

He took a quick look over her and, satisfied that she did not seem hurt, laughed. "Maybe you weren't that magical after all. Your man not gonna save you?"

Christine couldn't help herself – "You nasty son of a—"

And then they were gone again. She searched the ceiling above her, the flames licking between the boards.

Long fingers materialized at her wrists, cutting the rope with a sharp knife. Christine's head shot up to see Erik's fiery gaze. Blood dripped from his temple, smearing a brilliant red against his mask, but he was whole and breathing. Relief cascaded through her. She pressed her face forward into his and captured his lips in a quick kiss. And then her hands were free, and she wrapped them tightly around his waist. They rushed from the platform and crouched low to the ground.

"How many men?" he asked against her ear. She motioned two toward Porter, and two more to their left. His next actions warred within him. He did not want to leave her.

She pressed her hand to his chest, "Go take care of the others. I'll distract him." He closed his eyes in silent prayer. "Trust me." She lightly kissed his temple and then he was gone from her side. She rose and took a steading breath. She heard Porter curse. Meg screamed.

Christine took the final curve of the carousel slowly. The last thing she wanted was Porter shooting out of hand. He cocked the pistol at her appearance, aiming at her head.

"Where's your lover?" Christine's eyes took in the scene before her. One of Porter's guards was already on the floor several feet behind the display.

"Did you really think he would let you win?" She stood her ground, careful to look only at the man pointing a gun.

"No one lets me win anything."

"I've known Mr. Y for over fifteen years. I know that every single action tonight he'd planned for. Right down to your mistress over there running into the woods to follow him." At the mention of his lover, Porter looked down. Meg shook her head furiously at his questioning gaze. He turned back to Christine, even closer now, betrayal shimmering in his eyes.

"You lie." What were the chances that a revolver misfired? Erik was nearly done, but needed more time. The cruelty in her throat burned like acid.

"Tell him, Meg. Tell him how you love Erik."

Meg's eyes seared Christine with their own bitter betrayal. Yet there was no other way to make a distraction. He had to work with what she had. And, after all, nearly all the kindness had been wicked away within her.

She had to keep his attention. "They laugh at you, you know. I hear them in the dark, through the walls." He cocked the gun, halting her progress. "He lied to me too. That's how they keep us here. With their lies. Rich men do it so well."

Porter clutch to Meg tighter, his eyes glassy. He really did love her it seemed – as best he could.

"This could have been easy!" Porter yelled to the sky, "All I wanted were the damn plans! And I would have married you! Everything here belongs to me anyway!" The carousel popped and crashed behind her, the sweeps breaking in half. Porter's eyes burned black against the firelight. "I suppose taking the one thing he really wants will have to do."

Erik emerged from the darkness to cover her body with his. "Finally!" Porter laughed.

Christine pressed herself against his back, grabbing his left hand tightly in hers. The back of his white shirt was mottled in dirt and blood and clung wetly to his thin frame. Through the darkness she saw that it had begun to lightly snow. The flakes fell unhindered by the scene before them, yet melted when they touched the ground.

"No one believes me when I say I will burn a place to the ground to get what I want. Why is that?" Erik asked in a calm tone.

"Just give me the plans, man." Porter pulled a writhing Meg closer to his body and turned the gun on her.

"You've greatly overestimated my attachment to her."

"Really?" Palmer flicked his gaze sideways. A man sat on top the fallen pirate ship, gun aimed. "Make your choice. The Angel who built Phantasma with you, or the French whore. Either way, it won't save those dirty little brats of yours in the gorge. Did you really think I didn't know about that?"

The children.

A cold fury overtook Christine. The fear, the horror, the pain – everything else was frozen away at the depth of the chill in her heart.

Her children were in danger. Their children were in danger.

Erik's hand crushed Christine's in his.

"What a choice right? It speaks volumes that you hesitate at all."

"Erik, please. Just give him what he wants. We can start over. We could build it all again." Meg voice cracked on her words and then went silent. She knew. She knew there was no going back, but her happiest moments were behind her and she was determined to hold onto them.

Christine spoke into the center of his back, her lips moving against his body, "You have to stay alive tonight. Promise me."

"I have no intention of dying." He threw his voice in her ear.

"You said you would do anything I asked of you."

"Where you are concerned," he responded absently, continuing to assess the situation.

She could not see before her, but heard Meg struggling against Porter.

"This does." Christine took her hands and twisted them firmly in his, the seconds ticking in her mind with painful clarity. "I love you. I love you irrevocably. Your soul is mine? My soul is yours. You must stay alive tonight and come back to me."

She was glad he could not see the tears in her eyes, "I am a horribly selfish woman now, and I demand nothing less of you than your life. It belongs to me. No matter what happens, you will live it well."

He was brilliant and fast, but he could not outwit two guns. He had to make a choice. A choice that, really, was no choice at all. Neither would end well. Neither would prove anything. She knew what choices like this did to a person – how it would eat him up inside and sallow him whole. She planted a short kiss to his shoulder blade.

She would not force him to make it.

Christine released his hand and pushed both of hers firmly on his back, sending him tumbling forward. It was enough movement to catch Porter's man off guard.

A gun shot echoed over Christine's right side and struck her. She gasped and Erik bellowed. Palmer fired a second shot, and a scream tore from Meg's throat. Blood covered Christine's chest and she blinked through the agony, falling to her knees. She looked down and saw Meg's gun by her hand.

Just a graze. The bullet that had hit her had only grazed against her chest. It was bloody, but not deadly.

Porter howled before her, blood pooling through his fingers as he pressed his hands into Meg's stomach. She'd twisted just in time and blocked his shot.

A wicked smile tugged at Meg's lips. She pushed him away from her, a small knife lodged in his stomach.

Erik has moved to stop the shooter that struck Christine. The man would be dead in moments. But they did not have moments. She would not give Porter any more time. He deserved none. Give them time and rich men get away. Give them time and her children might end up dead before she could reach them. A stab to the stomach did not mean he would die. Staggering to stand, she took the gun in her hand.

One bullet left.

This man would kill everything she held dear. This man had tried. She would not hesitate. She would protect the ones she loved. No matter the cost.

Christine pressed the gun to the back of Porter's head, cocked the trigger, and squeezed.

The shot reverberated through her chest and rang in her ears.

And then there was silence.

She turned to Erik when the echo of the gun shot faded. Surprise and horror filled his features. He stopped mid-stride, astonished at the emotionless execution he'd just witnessed. See, she wanted to say, I told you. You cannot love me as I am now. The words danced in her head, but she found she had no breath to voice them.

Darkness danced in her periphery, but she willed it away and turned to sprint toward the forest. All that mattered was getting to her children, getting to Sam.

"Wait." Erik grabbed her arm. Glass from the Fun House tore further into her skin.

He checked her ripped flesh. After assuring himself she was harmed, but fine, he turned, took Meg in his arms, and ran back toward Main Street.

She did not know why she waited, but she did. She did not know why she trusted him to return, but she did. Christine heard the crash of glass in the distance.

Erik returned with his automaton mermaid in his arms. Her pale glass features mocked Christine in the moonlight.

"Meg?" she asked.

He did not reply, but set his shoulders and motioned his head behind her. "Now we run."

And he let her lead them into the darkness.