A/N: Woah, I almost forgot to upload today! Anyways, I did some planning, and I intend to end this story around chapter 65. Hopefully I have enough content to fill up the chapters!
Masked Man 2: He was only shot in the arm, but he lost a whole lot of blood. Poor Erik. But I'm so glad you enjoyed that chapter, it was a really tough one to write!
TheBlackCardinal: Finally someone who enjoys cliffies! :D
marial0789: hehe don't worry she will tell!
E-man-dy-S: She will show up soon! We all miss our favourite heroine (:
Aria of Life: I'm SO GLAD you thought it was a good explanation! I struggled a lot with writing this plot, because it's so different from the original (:
RoseWayne1: Don't worry, Erik won't die!
Dani: I'm so glad you decided to give this fic a try! (: I know a lot of people don't like OC fics (and goodness knows I was one of them in the past) but it makes me really happy to know you're enjoying the story!
Guest: Erik's about 9-10 years older than her, give or take. Neither know their real ages, so it's really all an approximation (:
Thank you to all new followers! It is very much appreciated.
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Chapter 54: Lost
Paris, 1899
"He kidnapped her!" Raoul roared, slamming his hands on the table. "He took her away! I want the entire police force on the streets now, searching for that madman!"
"Monsieur le vicomte, please, we already have men searching on the streets," the police officer tried to placate him. "They will be found soon."
"Soon? They have not been found yet!"
"Monsieur, it's only been a half hour… I have men searching the opera house, and men searching the nearby streets. He was injured; he could not have gone far."
"It has been too long! Goodness knows what he might have done to her by then! He could have hurt her—"
There came a knock on the door and Firmin rushed to open it. "Maybe there is news now, monsieur."
When the door open, the room stared in shock, for there was the 'missing' soprano standing before them. Her hair was a mess, and her face was covered with smudges of makeup, a testament of the tears running silently down her cheeks. Her dress was slightly torn, and covered with a dried, rusty red substance.
"Blood!" Raoul whispered in horror. He rushed forward at once to grasp her hands. "Christine, are you hurt? Did he hurt you? What happened?"
She shook off his hands. "Hurt? I am not hurt. You hurt him!" Her eyes were wide and she was shaking uncontrollably.
"Christine, what are you saying? Where have you been?" Raoul tried to reach for her hands again, but she clenched her fists to her side.
"You hurt him! There was blood, so much blood!" She raised her hands, palms up, to stare at the dried blood crusting her fingernails. Then she screamed, crumpling to the floor and shaking in silent, uncontrollable sobs. Raoul stared at her, nonplussed.
"It is the shock, monsieur," said the police officer, rushing forward. "We see it a lot at the station. Is there anyone here who is familiar with her, someone who can help calm her down?"
Raoul rubbed a hand over his face. "The ballet mistress, perhaps. Send for Madame Giry," he gestured to Andre, who gave an exasperated moan before walking out of the room.
Madame Giry arrived with a steaming cup of cocoa, followed by Andre who was weighed down with a stack of large towels. Madame Giry wrapped the towels around the shivering girl on the floor, and pressed the warm cup to her hands. Christine looked up at her with wide, teary eyes.
"Oh, Madame. The blood…he…"
"Hush, child. It is alright. Come. Let us go to someplace quiet." Madame Giry helped her up, and ushered her toward the door.
"Wait—where are you going?" Raoul made to follow, but Madame Giry held up a hand sternly.
"We will be going to my rooms and we will not be disturbed, monsieur. Can you not see the state she is in right now?" With a haughty sniff, Madame Giry swept the trembling girl out of the room.
Christine followed Madame Giry back to her rooms, her feet moving like clockwork, and yet not feeling anything. Her hands clutched the warm mug of cocoa but she did not drink it. Madame Giry hustled her into the room, then locked the door behind them.
"Madame!" An anxious voice called, and Christine looked up from her mug of cocoa to see Amélie stand from where she had been sitting at the dining table. Amélie looked at Christine's blood-stained clothes, and her face dulled of all colour.
"Is he…" Her trembling hand crept up to cover her mouth. "He… where is he?"
"Calm down, Amélie," said Madame Giry sternly. "Give the girl a chance to take a breath first. Christine, sit down."
Slowly, Christine sat at the dining table, thinking. Tell her I love her. Her? Who? She looked at the bronze-haired ballerina sitting opposite her, with her colourless face and shaking hands, and she knew.
"He said he loved you," Christine mumbled softly. "He told me that you loved you."
"Where is he?" Amélie whispered, her eyes welling up with tears. "Is he… Is he alright?"
"I… I do not know." Christine admitted. "He ran off after telling me that. He told me to get back to the opera house."
She could see Amélie's fists clenching on the table, so hard that they were white. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears.
"He will be fine. He will be fine." Amélie repeated to herself. "He told me nothing would happen. Nothing."
Christine reached out slowly and placed her cold hand over Amélie's. "I'm sorry, I truly am. I did not wish for… if I could just…" A tear rolled down her cheek as she fought to hold back her feelings.
Amélie looked down at Christine's hand, small and fragile and stained with blood, his blood. She shook her head, her eye glistening. "It was not your fault, Christine. Erik was happy teaching you. And I was happy because Erik was happy. And whatever happened today… you had no idea."
"I should not have agreed to sing," Christine said tearfully. "If I had said no… If I had refused… he would not have had to sing with me, and Raoul would not have found out and…"
"Erik was happy that his opera was to be performed at last," Amélie said firmly. "If anything, you made his dream come true."
But her voice broke slightly at the last words, and Christine saw that she was shaking with sobs now. Christine edged forward cautiously, putting one arm around the other girl's shoulders in an awkward hug, and let her cry onto her shoulder.
And there, the two wept. One for the man she loved with all her heart, the man who had promised her a happy life ahead of them, the man who she was not sure would ever come back again. And the other for the teacher she had always admired and held in the highest of respects, for the teacher who had brought her voice to life and made her see in a whole new light, for the teacher who had taught her all he could despite her actions toward him.
Antoinette stood in the doorway of the small kitchen, watching the two, a hand pressed to her own mouth as she struggled to hold back her own tears.
Erik. Are you… will you ever be coming back this time?
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Antoinette rounded the corner with the strange man who had turned up at the opera house, claiming to know Amélie. She spied the girl sitting against a wall in a corridor in the opera house, her head leaning back against the wall, and staring into blank space. Antoinette's heart broke to see the same scene all over again, for it was like as if she had been catapulted into the past, into a time when Erik had just left the Palais Garnier to travel the world. Amélie did not look up even as Antoinette neared.
"Amélie," Antoinette cleared her throat. "Someone is here to see you."
Silently, slowly, Amélie turned, and when she saw the man, she jumped up immediately. "Nadir! Has Erik—"
"Shall we take a walk around the area, Amélie?" He asked pleasantly, holding out his arm. Amélie nodded her assurance toward Antoinette, and hastily hurried off with the man. Antoinette watched the two go with a heavy heart. She stepped forward and traced the cracks on the wall contemplatively. The young Amélie had used to sit before this very wall, waiting anxiously every day for her friend to appear after he had left, until it became clear that he was never coming back.
It had been a week since the incident of Don Juan. Piangi had woken up, and the gendarmes could neither charge Erik for murder, nor kidnapping of the soprano, but under the order of the vicomte, had no choice but to continue searching for the accused madman. There had been no word of Erik, not from the man himself, and not from the gendarmes searching the town for the man. They had forced Christine to reveal the location where she and Erik had parted ways, but upon investigation, had found that the blood trail stopped suddenly in the middle of a street. Yet it was unlikely that the wounded man could have gone anywhere far by himself. The gendarmes suspected that he could have had lost consciousness from the loss of blood, and were now searching for the body, the evidence that would free them all from the spectre of the Opera Ghost. They had found nothing.
That little piece of news was the only spark of hope Antoinette kept in her heart. The day after the performance, she had accompanied Amélie to Erik's underground house, only to find that every entrance had been sealed up completely, with no sign that it had ever existed. Relentlessly, Amélie had insisted on trying every single entrance that the pair knew of, but when they had reached the last entrance and found it similarly sealed, it had become clear that there was no way of entering the underground house, and that Erik could not be inside.
And just like before, Amélie returned to sit before the wall daily, ignoring the ballet rats who questioned her daily on her actions. She merely shrugged, and continued staring into blank space. And Antoinette's heart broke for her.
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"How have you been?" Nadir asked mildly as they walked through the bustling streets.
"A pointless question, do you not think?" She said dully. "No, do not tell me, for I can see it on your face. You have not heard from Erik."
"No, I have not." He admitted, sighing.
"His house is sealed up," she whispered, looking up at him. "He… he sealed every entrance."
Nadir nodded in agreement. "That was his plan. Should he fail to succeed on the night of Don Juan, nobody would ever be able to prove the existence of the Opera Ghost as a human man. Nobody would be able to enter his house and desecrate the place. But it also meant that Erik had no place to escape to on the night of the performance."
"You think it means that he's dead, don't you?"
"No, on the contrary," he said, stopping momentarily on the street to look at her wisely. "I have seen Erik go through far worse than a gunshot. He survived everything, simply because he had the will to live. Despite his bitter outlook on his life, and his belief that he would never be able to live a normal life, a small part of Erik still held onto the hope that perhaps one day this dream could come true—and this small part of him gave him the will to live through everything."
"Then why hasn't he come back? Why has he not sent word? Does he not know how sick with worry I am…?" She broke off, unable to continue without tearing up.
"I know, Amélie, I know. But perhaps Erik is unable to do so for the time being. If Erik is still alive, he will make it back here someday. I'm confident of that matter. And… if he is not… he would have wanted you to continue living your life happily. You know that."
"He has to be alive," she said shakily. "He has to be."
They had reached the doorstep of the opera house. He gently patted her on the shoulder. "And he will be. Have faith in Erik. I do not think that was the last the opera house has seen of him. And until then, Amélie, you must take care of yourself and live properly."
"I will try," she said sadly. "Please do come around sometime, Nadir. It would be nice to have an afternoon walk like this again."
"Yes, indeed, I will stop by again," he said solemnly, before bowing and leaving.
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"The gendarmes have given up on their search. They cannot find any evidence of your death, nor of you being alive, and they have called off the case, declaring you dead. The vicomte is understandably, quite furious, but there is nothing he can do about the matter."
"Is that so? That bodes well for us."
"Indeed it does. Perhaps soon, you can return. I know you are anxious to be back."
"Does the excitement show that much, my friend? Ah, but I cannot lie to you. I am counting down the days."
"We have to proceed cautiously; we have no idea how this will turn out, and it would be best to be safe rather than sorry. Your wound will have to heal completely first. And then… you can return."
"I await that day with anticipation."
"Soon, Erik, soon."
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A/N: Well I feel like Erik came back a little too fast, but I had to let you guys know he was still alive (; Til the next chapter, then! xx hazel