No matter how fast Ang ran, how many corners she turned, they were always right behind her. Impossibly long arms reached for her and fingers like talons ripped at her shirt and her arms, tearing into her skin as easily as a razor through cheap cotton. Hot pain blossomed in her back and she cried out, her knees buckling as burning agony shot through her. On hands and knees, she whimpered futile pleas for mercy as her skin sizzled. Tears streamed down her face while a menacing voice echoed through her head. "You're a naughty girl. Naughty girls get punished. You knew the rules."
Ang's entire body jerked awake and she surged forward, her upper body plowing into solid chest and waiting arms.
"C-c'est bien. Vous êtes en sécurité." The person against whom she'd flung herself went as still as a statue, even as she clung unabashedly to him. She had no idea what words were spoken, but they were comforting. Panting for breath, she focused her thoughts on the rapid thumping of a heart against her ear until her panic began to ebb.
"Mademoiselle? You are quite safe here, I assure you. No one can find their way. This I promise."
His lilting accent registered and she slowly lifted her head and loosened the death grip she had upon his torso. Fearful, almost shy eyes rose to his face, and upon seeing the masked persona, her brows furrowed, lower lip trembling as emotions threatened to overtake her. It wasn't a dream. Damn it, it was real!
"I may look frightening to you, but I vow I will not harm you." The again was implied in both minds and hung heavy in the air, though neither verbalized it.
Ang sucked in what was meant to be a calming breath; it sent a tremble through her frame instead. Wary gray eyes darted this way and that. Her erstwhile rescuer noticed.
"You are looking for something?" he queried.
Shaking her head once, she groaned at the throbbing it caused and went a little limp as things spun and her stomach lurched. Gloved hands were quick to catch her and lower her gently back against the pillows. "You have quite an injury to your head. I consulted my books and learned you may be concussed."
Concussed? "Um, wh-what? Why?" she managed to croak through dry lips and parched throat.
"When I brought you back, I found you had a large wound on the left side of your head. I have cleaned it, but you must stay still and rest for several days, I think." Once he was certain she would stay put, he rose from his place on the bed's edge and clasped his hands behind his back. "May I bring you anything? Some hot tea perhaps? Or some broth?"
Her eyes fluttered in rapid succession. "Yo- You are Erik, right?" came another hoarse question.
"Oui, mademoiselle," he answered slowly.
"You w-won't hurt me?"
With a sigh, he shook his head gently, almost sadly. "I vow it. On my music, I swear you are safe here."
That was enough to convince her, and she was in desperate need of something to drink. "Some tea would be awesome."
He paused and tipped his head to the side curiously, looking comically like a puppet – given the sculpted mask over his face – before he turned and left her where she was.
His words drifted back to her. Safe to her might mean something incredibly different to the Opera Ghost. She sat up again, very slowly this time, and swung her legs over the bed. Feet were placed to the floor and she stood up... only to waver off balance and fall back onto the bed. Looking down in confusion, her eyes widened at what they saw: she was missing a foot! Half your leg, actually!
Alarm surged to the surface and she looked furiously this way and that for her prosthetic. Had he taken it? Was it to keep her from running away again!? Smart man. Bastard, but smart man. How was she going to get home with one leg? What would she do once she got there? She couldn't just go out and buy another one; it would take months, perhaps longer, to save enough for a replacement.
She hugged him. The woman had actually hugged him! Granted, in her addled state she likely had no firm grasp of anything, but the fact that her arms had willingly circled him, however briefly, was held preciously within his heart. Not to mention she looked full into his masked face and, just like the first few times, she hadn't recoiled or even appeared surprised. Erik recalled the first conversation they'd shared, when she'd said she knew him. It was impossible, of course, but nonetheless, she wasn't afraid of him.
She attacked you, ran from you, his mind countered, reminding him darkly.
He banished the thought and finished preparing the tea. He had a guest, and he vowed to treat her far better than he had the first time around. She was injured, and she needed him.
She needs you.
No living creature had ever needed him before, and the epiphany stilled his movements. This woman is at my mercy. His hands flexed into fists before he shook them out. He had quite a decision to make.
Erik returned, a steaming teacup settled upon its matching saucer balanced between his hands. His steps slowed as he regarded her cautiously.
Her eyes burned bright with fury. "What have you done!?"
He halted, shoulders back in offense at her accusation. "Mademoiselle?"
Ang glared. "Don't play that innocent game with me! Where the hell did you put my prosthetic?" she demanded angrily, her gaze darting from one corner of the room to the other.
It took a moment before he moved again, and his steps carried him to her side where he set the teacup and saucer down on the small bed stand table. "I do not know of this pro-test-tique for which you search. You suffered a blow to your head; I think you might be confused."
"I'm not confused about part of my body missing," she spat. Her breathing came faster and the room set to spinning again. A hand came up and cupped her forehead as she bowed forward with a moan.
She felt the mattress shift and knew he was near, though physical contact was never made; she longed for it and feared it all at the same time. "I feel nauseous," Ang muttered, swaying where she sat.
His tongue clicked against his teeth. "Would you like a sip of tea?" He paused, weighing options. "I could help you if you feel you need it."
"Nuh-uh," she protested by way of answer. She slowly crumpled onto her side against the pillows, her face close to the edge of the bed in case she got sick; the way her stomach was rolling it was a very real possibility.
Erik watched her, fascinated, at a loss as to how to behave. The woman was miserable, that much was clear, but what did one to to alleviate said misery? He usually had visions of creating misery, not eradicating it. "What can I do, mademoiselle?"
"My head hurts; I don't suppose you have an aspirin," she mumbled against the pillow. The lack of response told her she had perplexed him, again. "Something for pain?"
Erik considered a moment before standing to his feet and leaving her without a word. Her ire was misplaced and Ang knew it; she couldn't rightly be angry with him. From what she pieced together, he'd saved her, and he hadn't put her back in that cage when he brought her down again. It might be short lived, but for the moment, she was dependent upon his generosity and hospitality.
She must had drifted off; the soft tink of metal against porcelain brought her from her daze. Cracking her eyes open revealed the man standing over the bedside table, stirring something into the tea. Worry crept into the forefront and she quailed. "What are you putting in that?"
"Valerian root," he answered. "And honey, to counter the bitterness. I am not a... uh... pharmacien, but perhaps this will help ease your discomfort." Ang shifted a bit further away from the bed's edge, from him. He turned to face her, frowning a little as he regarded her honestly. "You do not trust me?"
Ang bit her lower lip and glanced away.
Erik bit back a growl, everything in him wanting to forcibly pour the drink down her unwilling throat. But she didn't need his temper; anger would fix nothing. "I will not force you to drink; it is available should you wish it," he grumbled before, turning on a heel and striding from the chamber. The door banged shut, but as she strained her ears, she perceived that he left it unlocked. A show of faith, perhaps. And really, with one leg and a concussion, how far would she even get?
Steeling herself, she squirmed up against the pillows and slowly raised herself to sitting, waiting several moments before attempting movement again. No vomit, no migraine-pounding in her head; good signs. Ang reached and took careful hold of the teacup, leaving the saucer where it sat, and took a long drink. It was bitter, as he'd foretold, but the honey made it bearable, and she drank it down. The heat felt delicious on her throat.
As she snuggled deeper beneath the blanket and the valerian took effect, she let her thoughts wonder of the impossibility that was her new reality. How had she fallen into a book? She supposed it was possible that she'd fallen into the story of her script, but if that was so, there were some glaring details missing.
An equally terrifying thought struck her then, and her eyes snapped open. What if it wasn't a story at all, and she had somehow fallen through time – and space – and landed sometime in history. Was that even possible?! To literally defy logic and science and simply fall through some sort of hole in the tapestry of the universe? Everyone had discounted the Leroux novel as a work of fiction, but what if it was true, and she was right in the middle of it?
A/N: Thanks for sticking with me! And thank you to PhantomBove for being my sounding board as I puzzle out some of the potential plot holes. I'd like this not to be crap, you know. lol
R&R if you like - if you don't, then just keep lurking and enjoy the ride! Blessings, Nika
P.S. Have you ever tried picking out a beta reader?! Yikes! Any suggestions? Trying to choose isolate one that would be good for this story was harder than trying to pick a favorite ice cream!