Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.
Summary: ErikRaoul slash.
Warning(s): homosexuality (that's what slash is people)
Pairing(s): ErikRaoul
Author Note: Still keeping on schedule. That's always good, right? Thanks for reviewers.
Story Note: This chapter has portions of very quick cuts in action.
o.o.o.o
Imaginary Friends
Chapter 21 – Step Back
o.o.o.o
By: Lucifer Rosemaunt
o.o.o.o
Last time: Chaos erupts in the opera house. Raoul gets Philippe home (supposedly, he's fine, but you know… who knows what will happen?). The Comte believes he is being sabotaged. Carlotta finds the ghost's mask and is eagerly setting up bigger ploys. One of the kidnappers is killed by Erik's horse and the second one is caught. Raoul is by Philippe's side.
o.o.o
Madame Giry held the note out, "There's another note."
Firmin and the Comte looked at each other.
"Give it here."
They both reached for it, but the Comte was faster.
Dear Managers,
This new patron leaves me unsatisfied. His attention on the Daae girl is reminiscent of the previous patron. Perhaps he is the same.
I expect the opera to continue, as it should tonight. Leave Box 5 empty and do not forget my salary.
Your obedient servant, OG
The Comte's grip on the note tightened, crumpling it slightly. Whoever was playing the ghost certainly knew how to anger him. He leaves the ghost unsatisfied? The gall of the man. Pierre was nothing like the Chagny boy. He wasn't an idiotic fop. Whoever was doing these things was going to pay. No one disturbed his plans and lived to tell about it.
Firmin gingerly extracted the note from his grip and read it. A sigh threatened to come out. Of course the Comte would have gotten to it first. As if the Comte hadn't looked angry enough before. Instead of getting angry himself, he forced himself to remain calm. He should have expected this to occur. Since when was the ghost appeased with a single note?
When Firmin didn't react, the Comte did for him. "Why are you so calm?" The Comte yelled. All eyes turned to them. Firmin could have told him that was part of the reason he hadn't reacted. They were still on stage. They were still in front of everyone. Getting angry would only worry them and make things that much more difficult.
Still, Firmin couldn't contain his ire at the Comte. He had wanted to keep the note from the ghost this morning a secret, but what was the point now? The ghost had revealed himself to everyone in the theatre. Surely, the Comte did not expect them to believe that he had managed to kill the ghost with proof such as this. So, he didn't check his initial reaction.
"What is there to worry about?" His voice lowered to a whisper so that only the Comte would be able to hear him, "You have dealt with the ghost. Have you not?"
The Comte's face flushed with anger. Firmin knew that he was about to yell again when the Comte's carriage driver came running onto the stage. He spared a look around at the mess.
"Sir, you will be late for your next appointment if we do not leave right now," he said. The Comte looked between Firmin and the messenger before taking a deep breath. It didn't look to have helped, but when he spoke, his voice sounded calm.
"We'll continue this conversation later."
He strode out of the opera house.
Andre arrived shortly after and Firmin was sitting down in the front row watching the crew clean up the stage. He was slumped in his seat, holding the note in his hand.
Andre sat down beside him. "The papers have been delivered to the ghost's box."
Firmin didn't acknowledge him.
"Firmin," Andre asked worriedly and reached out to take the note away from him. He read it and frowned.
Firmin finally spoke. "We have a performance tonight. Do we not, Andre?"
"Yes," Andre answered. He looked at the stage. It was a disaster. Several of the backdrops and props were completely ruined, not to mention the curtains. He knew what Firmin was thinking. It was impossible to have everything prepared in time for tonight's performance. Still, he tried to look on the bright side, "At least the actors do not need to really rehearse."
One of Carlotta's attendants came up to them at that moment. He stated, catching the managers' attention. "La Carlotta has fallen ill."
"How ill?" Firmin's head snapped up. He immediately asked. "Can she perform tonight?"
"She says that she wishes to be left alone for the day and she will see how well she feels for the performance." Without anything else to say, the attendant left.
Firmin groaned and buried his face into his hands. Andre stared at the spot the attendant had vacated, his mouth open in disbelief. Could anything else go wrong now? Andre searched the stage frantically. He wasn't quite ready for someone to come up and say that Mlle Daae was missing as well. He spotted her amongst the chorus girls. Firmin was thinking the same thing as he too searched her out.
"Place a guard to watch Mlle Daae." Firmin stood up. "We cannot lose our star."
o.o.o
La Carlotta dismissed her attendants. They lingered much too long and she wanted to put her plan into action sooner than later. She heard that the Comte had already left the opera house, but perhaps that was for the better. He would surely remember that he had left the ghost's mask in his jacket, but now that he was gone, she would hopefully be able to cover up the fact that she had in fact found the mask. It shouldn't be too difficult.
Finding a black cloak from deep in her closet, she draped it over herself. The hood fell over very low on her face, which was perfect. However, she had a feeling that she was simply too short to truly be that imposing, so that meant she would have to stay quite some distance away from her victims. She laughed maniacally. She was no longer the victim. Instead, it was she who terrorized the opera house. She smirked. These things do happen.
Grabbing the Comte's coat, she peeked outside her door looking left and right. No one.
Sliding out, she headed for the one place she was certain would be empty and the place where she would leave the Comte's coat, Box 5.
o.o.o
Erik dragged the unconscious kidnapper deeper into the woods and away from the house that was nearby. The Chagny horse followed calmly after them. Erik looked at the horse and thought of its owners.
He could only hope that Raoul had managed to get his brother home. At their estate, Erik was certain that they would be safe until he returned to him. He scoffed. Return to them. He had no right to be there, but then again, Raoul had made him promise, made him pinky swear. He could do nothing else but return to him.
But first, he glared at the man. He was a screamer, a shameless beggar, and Erik was surprised that no one had heard him. The man wasn't dead. Not yet. Erik had yet to be appeased. He had something better planned for the man who had taken Raoul away from him. Something that would be more painful than being trampled by a horse.
o.o.o
Raoul had been sitting by his brother silently holding his hand. A blanket had been draped over his shoulders and the towel was hung slightly askew on his head. His hair was still slightly damp. Sunlight was beginning to filter into the room. The fire crackled beside him. The servants came and went performing their daily duties. Only the butler and the old maid stayed in the room. Even then, they didn't speak to him. They spoke silently between themselves and every now and then, Raoul would feel their gazes on him. They were worried. A part of him knew that.
He wanted to tell them that he would be fine, but he wasn't sure if he was going to be fine. He didn't know how he felt at all actually. He just sat, stroking Philippe's hand and waiting for a reaction. He didn't speak. He didn't think. He could hardly feel. He was afraid that if he allowed even the smallest bit of emotion in that he would not be able to stop the flood of them. His worry for his brother seemed to want to consume him. He couldn't breathe when he thought about what could happen. His chest would seize in pain and his hands would begin to shake. This couldn't be happening to his brother.
Then, in addition, he had to worry about the opera ghost. God, the opera ghost simply confused him. He didn't know what to think. He didn't know whether he was worried for the ghost or for Erik or if the two were the same.
Yet, it felt like a betrayal to Philippe if he didn't focus only on him. It felt like a betrayal to both of them actually. There simply wasn't enough of him. Raoul frowned.
Raoul.
Raoul stared at Philippe's chest as it rose and fell.
Raoul. Listen to me.
There was nothing he could do for either of them. He was useless when they had done so much to save him.
Are you okay? Erik tried again. It felt like something was wrong. Perhaps he shouldn't have let Raoul remain as such for so long. He thought that the silence would have done him some good, but instead Raoul seemed worse off. Answer me.
Raoul swayed forward a bit. He suddenly felt really warm.
Seeing that small movement, the butler stood up and approached him. He held Raoul's shoulder, holding him steady. "Vicomte." No response. "Raoul. Perhaps you should rest."
It was that suggestion that made Raoul snap out of his trance. "I'm not leaving him."
"Don't worry," the butler took the extra blankets that the maid brought to him, "You won't have to. I'll make a bed right beside him."
"Is it okay to leave him here?" Raoul asked meekly as he reluctantly let go of Philippe's hand. Has he moved aside to let the butler prepare his makeshift bed.
The maid answered, "It is better to keep him still than to move him."
Bed finished, Raoul stretched himself out next to Philippe making sure not to jar his brother in any way. On his side, Raoul once again grabbed Philippe's hand and held it tightly. He didn't feel very tired. Only hot. When he tried to push the blanket away, the maid only brought it back up.
"The floor will give you a chill. You best keep this blanket on."
Raoul didn't have the strength to argue. He stared at Philippe's profile.
Come back, brother. He pleaded.
Raoul.
He finally responded. Erik? I… feel lost.
Erik didn't know how to respond to that. He tried to sound as reassuring as he could. How can you be lost, Raoul? You're home. Philippe's here. I'm here.
Raoul didn't answer.
Why don't you try to go to sleep? Erik suggested.
Raoul closed his eyes.
o.o.o
The managers had chosen to keep an eye on the stage just in case any other incident occurred. However, instead of staying by the orchestra, they moved to their box so that they could speak to each other comfortably without fear that one of the workers would hear them.
"What are we going to do about the Comte?" Andre asked.
"Well," Firmin shook his head, "he saw what happened and he read the letter."
Andre interjected, "He read the letter. The one the ghost sent to us?"
"Yes, well, he obtained it from Madame Giry first. I could do nothing to stop him," Firmin explained.
"And?"
"And, he was justifiably angry. What else do you expect from a note like that?"
Andre fidgeted in his seat. He so disliked confrontations. "What did you tell him?"
"I may have implied," Firmin thought of a good way to say this, but nothing but the truth would work, "that we didn't quite believe he dealt with the ghost."
"You didn't!"
"Not in so many words."
"What are we to do now?" Andre wrung his hands together. He glanced towards the stage. Progress was being made. Everyone was working diligently. It might even be enough for tonight's performance, but that didn't mean some 'accident' wouldn't befall them before then.
Firmin frowned, "What did he expect us to do? Just believe him when everything that's occurring is telling us otherwise."
"He did say something about sabotage," Andre suggested.
Firmin scoffed.
Screams broke out once more from the stage and the managers stood up to see what was wrong. The ballet girls, who had been practicing on the wing, were screaming and pointing at Box 5. From their vantage point, the managers easily saw the cause of their hysteria. The opera ghost had been watching them. The white porcelain mask easily caught the light of the theatre as it turned to stare directly at the managers.
The two froze in their spots. They expected something horrible to happen right now, but instead, the ghost lifted up the papers that Andre had left earlier before disappearing from the box.
Finally able to move, they raced to intercept the ghost in the hallway. They didn't actually believe they would find the ghost, but they knew they couldn't just remain sitting down as though nothing had happened.
o.o.o
Carlotta slipped out of Box 5 and tearing off her cloak and hiding the mask within its folds. If anyone caught her, she'd just be running away from the ghost. Luckily, everyone was still on the stage trying to clean up. She raced back towards her room. Her heart was racing and the papers' rustling sounded extremely loud to her ears. She really had no use for the papers since she already knew everything there was to know about the man. She had just taken them so that it would she would be convincing as the ghost.
Scaring those ballet rats had actually felt good. The power in that small act had made her understand why the ghost might actually scare them. It was fun. She had wanted to laugh at their expressions. She must have been very convincing.
In the hall, she heard footsteps approaching. Slipping into the nearest box, she sat down and tried to seem natural. There was nowhere to hide, but if they found her, she couldn't look too suspicious. The footsteps ran right past her however. She slipped through the curtains once more to return to her room with a new sense of pride.
She raced through the hallways, the new ghost of the opera house.
o.o.o
The kidnapper ran as fast as he could away from the opera ghost. The beating he had gotten from the ghost had been brutal. The swelling on his forehead making it impossible to see out of his right eye. He didn't know how his legs were still working. He had been certain that the ghost had broken his leg several times over in his punishment.
At the same time however, he knew that the ghost was simply playing with him. It had been part of the game for him to be able to walk still. It gave him a false hope that he could possibly get away. He laughed at himself. There was no getting away. There was only more running and pain.
He didn't know who he was more afraid of: the ghost or the Comte. He only knew that he had to get away while he still could. He had quite a distance to run to get to the opera house, but he knew that was the only place he would be able to go. There was nowhere else he knew to go to find the Comte and warn him.
He had to tell the Comte that the ghost was still alive. Had to. That was the only thing in his mind as he ran, ignoring the burning of his lungs and the sting of his wounds as they protested against the movement. A horse would have been nice, but there hadn't been any chance for a horse. The ghost had the horse, the only horse that he could have taken.
o.o.o
Raoul woke up slowly. His head felt heavy and his mind was groggy. A cool hand lay on his forehead and he leaned towards it.
"Raoul." A familiar voice called to him. It was a voice that made him happy for some reason. "Raoul," it called again.
Opening his eyes slowly, Raoul saw Philippe wince as he moved to face him. Raoul immediately shot up and regretted that choice. Ignoring his dizziness, he ordered Philippe to stay still.
"You can't strain your wound."
Philippe grinned, but he stilled. He held out an arm for Raoul to lie on. It was a sight that Raoul hadn't seen in years. He'd had problems sleeping alone. Erik might have comforted him against the monsters, but having Philippe physically near had calmed his mind.
Raoul hesitated for a moment, but his body ached. He laid down beside Philippe, using his brother's arm as a pillow.
"You're ill," Philippe pointed out, "the cold mustn't have been good for you."
Raoul snorted. How could his brother worry for him at a time like this?
He's your brother. He always worries about you. Erik pointed out.
"You're wounded," Raoul retorted, "the bullet mustn't have been good for you."
"Don't be difficult," Philippe replied though he sounded far from angry.
Raoul pulled the blanket higher on them. He shivered even though he knew it couldn't be that cold. The fire had been tended to. The sun was warming the room, though not directly on them. He simply felt sick. He wanted to close his eyes and just rest some more, but he wanted to talk to Philippe. He wanted to make sure that he was going to be okay.
"Are you alright?"
Philippe shifted painfully but pulled Raoul closer. "You're okay. Of course I'm alright."
Raoul rolled his eyes are the response, but let it slide without a comment.
"No really though."
Philippe was silent.
The butler responded. "He's lost a lot of blood." Raoul hadn't even realized he was still in the room. The butler continued, "It's a wonder he's still with us."
"A wonder indeed," Philippe commented. He was beginning to feel tired as well.
"Perhaps you both should sleep," the butler suggested, "When you wake next, a meal will be ready for you."
Philippe hm'd his agreement, too tired to speak. Raoul had already fallen asleep again, knowing that his brother was still with him.
o.o.o
Firmin and Andre threw the curtains aside for Box 5. However, the only thing that was inside was a jacket. Moving closer, Andre and Firmin looked at it. They doubted it was the ghost's. After all, what did a ghost need with a jacket. They looked around, but there was no sign that anyone was there.
"Well," Andre noted, "he took the papers. He didn't break anything else. It cannot be that bad."
Firmin didn't respond. The ghost had wanted to be seen. That didn't seem like his usual behaviour. Then again, Firmin was no ghost expert and it might be considered normal if the ghost wanted to prove a point about his place in the opera house.
Firmin was getting a headache. They needed to figure out what to do next.
Deal with the ghost. Deal with the Comte. They couldn't replace the Comte so soon, but they had to find a way to control him. This was actually a good opportunity. With the ghost still abound, the deal they had made initially was invalid. They could use the ghost as leverage against the ghost. However, they would need someone who understood the Comte better.
"Let's make sure La Carlotta is alright," Firmin suggested.
Andre looked at him in confusion, but followed Firmin out of the box seat.
o.o.o
The Comte hurried through all his appointments and quickly made his way back to the opera house. He had spent the whole time away just thinking about the opera house. The ghost, his saboteur. It had to be someone in the opera house. Someone who knew what he was doing. It all couldn't be a coincidence that the day the men he hired should have killed the ghost and the Vicomte would be the same day that the 'ghost' decided to attack the opera house.
There could be no more ghost. He had even gotten the mask as proof.
The mask.
He had forgotten all about it in his rush to leave. It had been in his jacket, which was still in Carlotta's room. Carlotta might have found it. He narrowed his eyes. Could Carlotta have been playing the opera ghost? Impossible. No one had even seen the ghost. It had only been the accidents and the notes. She was the jealous type, but to scheme in such a manner was impossible for a woman of her type. He would have to keep an eye on her though. It was possible that she knew of his attraction to Mlle Daae. What was the worse she could do though?
Walking up towards the entrance of the opera house, he flinched when a filthy man in rags accosted him. The man grabbed his arm. The Comte flung his arm out to strike him when the man spoke.
"Comte."
His title was gasped out by a harsh voice, one he recognized nonetheless. He took a second to look at the man closer. It was the kidnapper, barely recognizable with the dirt and blood covering his body. The Comte looked around to see if anyone had seen them. It seemed that no one had paid them any mind. He dragged the kidnapper to the side of the opera house. In the darkness provided by the building's shadow, they could speak a little more freely.
"What are you doing here? What happened?" The Comte asked furiously.
The kidnapper tried to catch his breath. He'd run all the way to the opera house. He'd been waiting for a short while and he'd still been barely able to catch his breath. He could taste blood in his throat. Every breath tasted like copper. Still he forced himself to answer. "The ghost."
The Comte frowned. "You killed him. Didn't you?"
The kidnapper shook his head. Between the ghost and the Comte, he knew for certain now that he was more frightened of the ghost. There was nothing the Comte could do to him to convince him otherwise. After what he'd survived with the ghost, he almost wished for death. He had wished for death many times actually and hadn't been given it.
The Comte grabbed the man's tattered shirt and yanked him close. "How could you not have killed him? He was trapped in a mausoleum for Christ's sake."
"He escaped."
"And the Vicomte?"
The kidnapper had expected him to ask about him. To protect himself though, he answered, "Dead. It was while we were killing him that the ghost escaped." The Vicomte was the least of the Comte's problems. It was the ghost that the man had reason to fear.
The Comte released him and began to pace. So, the ghost was still alive. Maybe it wasn't coincidence that the accidents had occurred today.
"Since when."
"He escaped from us this morning."
"Tell me," the Comte took in the man's appearance and his wounds, "exactly what happened."
"We killed the Vicomte," the man responded unhesitatingly, "The ghost escaped and killed my partner. I ran," the kidnapper took in a deep breath, "He chased me and… and tortured me. I barely was able to escape and even then only because he lowered his guard."
"What?"
"He caught me near a house and I think the residents heard me screaming," the kidnapper's eyes unfocused. "He turned towards the sound and I hit him. He fell unconscious and then I fled when I heard people approaching."
"Why didn't you kill him?" The Comte almost yelled but caught himself.
The kidnapper shook his head, "And be caught by those people? No," he added, "I do not think he can be killed, Msr."
"So he was with you since last evening?"
"Until I ran," the kidnapper replied. "Not long ago."
The Comte sighed. The ghost couldn't have been the culprit if he had been with the kidnapper all evening and morning. Unfortunately, it meant that there was still a saboteur. The ghost had been otherwise preoccupied, and with the Vicomte dead then that meant someone else was trying to ruin him. He walked away from the kidnapper intent to walk inside the opera house and find the culprit immediately.
The kidnapper grabbed the man's arm, stopping him. "What about me?"
"What about you?" The Comte sneered, "You failed. You're lucky that I'm letting you live."
He pushed the man aside and continued walking. He ignored the wail from the man behind him.
o.o.o
Arriving at Carlotta's room, they were stopped by one of her personal attendants.
"La Carlotta does not wish to be bothered."
Firmin glared at the man who cowered. "Move."
The man moved. Firmin opened the door and looked around the room. "Carlotta."
The lump on the bed moved. The blanket was pushed down a fraction and Carlotta popped her head out, "Firmin." She swooned dramatically. "I am not well."
The managers stepped inside her room. "So we have heard," Firmin replied.
"Are you feeling better?" Andre asked. He still had no idea what they were doing there.
"Better than this morning. Perhaps." Carlotta answered noncommittally.
Firmin didn't believe her for an instant. He decided that being direct was the only way to deal with her. "Do not pretend to be ill. I know what this is about." He was beginning to think he knew why she had suddenly fallen ill.
Carlotta stiffened in her bed and rolled over to hide her face. She wondered if she had somehow given herself away.
"I do not know what you are talking about."
Andre didn't know either. He looked at Firmin questioningly, but Firmin ignored him. He walked towards her bed.
"Did you hear about the accident this morning?"
Carlotta responded slowly. "What accident?"
Firmin laughed. "You must have heard about it. Perhaps you had even had a first hand experience of it."
She pulled the blanket over her head. This was bad. If the managers found out about her playing the opera ghost, then her ruse would be up. They would obviously side with the Comte once they realized that the man had actually killed the ghost.
"I don't know anything about it," Carlotta's voice came out muffled.
Firmin still pressed forward, "Perhaps you know something about the ghost's appearance in his box." He knew that her attendants were sure to tell her everything that was going on in the opera house. News traveled much too quickly for her not to have heard about it.
She couldn't stand it anymore. It was obvious that the man knew. Throwing off the blanket and sitting up, she confessed, "Alright. I know about the ghost."
Firmin nodded pleased with himself. "There's no need to be frightened of him. The ghost is only displeased with the Comte. It seems that we were mistaken."
Carlotta stared at him in confusion. "What?"
"It appears," Firmin explained, "that we were wrong about the connection between the ghost and the Vicomte."
She nodded dumbly. What was he talking about? The Come had killed the ghost. How else would he have gotten the mask?
"Now, we have come," he motioned for Andre to move forward and help Carlotta out of the bed, "so that you could help us figure a way to deal with the Comte ourselves."
Carlotta smirked. She just barely stifled the fit of laughter that was bubbling in her chest.
o.o.o
"The ghost is going to ruin everything," Christine's eyes teared as she spoke to Meg.
Meg pulled her aside away from her mother and the other ballet dancers. "What's the matter now, Christine? Do you feel ill?" She asked worriedly.
Even with all the reassurances that she had received about her angel, Christine had hoped to make absolute certain of her angel's acceptance by performing perfectly tonight. If the ghost continued to interrupt however, she would have to wait even longer. It was supposed to be perfect. Now there was no way that could ever happen.
Seeing that Christine was in no mood to answer her, she ushered Christine towards her room. "Why don't you go lie down and rest for a bit?" Meg suggested.
Christine nodded. She couldn't bear the see the stage go through any more disasters. "I can go by myself, Meg. Thank you though."
Meg hesitated, but she knew she had to return to her mother to tell her about Christine. Her mother would know what to do about it.
Christine continued to her room alone. She needed some space to think. How else could she confirm that her angel was pleased with her? Entering her room, she paused when she saw a rose on her bed with a black ribbon tied around it.
o.o.o
Raoul woke up and didn't know if he could possibly feel worse. His head was a little clearer, but he felt as though he was burning up. Raising a hand to his head, his forehead felt hot even to him. He closed his eyes hoping to fall asleep again, but the ache was simply too persistent. He felt restless.
Rolling away from Philippe, he realized that he had probably caused his brother some discomfort. Philippe was still asleep though. Raoul looked at him for a moment. He looked to be asleep, nothing more. Shaking his head, Raoul pushed himself up into a sitting position to look around the room. There was a platter nearby with some food on it.
He didn't feel very hungry.
But you should eat anyway. You haven't had a proper meal in almost a whole day.
Seeing as Erik seemed really concerned, Raoul decided to appease him by eating. He tried to get up but felt weak. His limbs weren't moving as he wanted them too. He felt sluggish. I don't think I can make it that far.
I don't think you get anywhere if you can't stand up, Erik commented wryly. I knew you'd become ill. All that cold could not have been good for you.
Raoul didn't respond. He closed his eyes and considered just going back to sleep. He looked down at Philippe and smiled. He's okay.
It looks that way. Erik replied. He's stronger than you thought, huh?
Raoul was tempted to reach out and touch him again – just to make sure he was really there. Yeah. Thank God.
The butler entered the room then. "Raoul?"
Raoul turned to face him. "I was going to eat," he explained, "but I couldn't…"
"Please," the butler brought a chair over closer to him, "have a seat and I'll bring the food to you."
He nodded and pulled himself up. It took so much effort that he was breathing hard by the time he was seated.
The butler pulled over a small side table to place the food on. Grabbing his blanket from the floor, the butler draped it over Raoul's shoulders.
"But I'm hot," Raoul complained.
The butler only smiled at him. Raoul kept the blanket around him. He had felt cold earlier. It was probably just the sickness.
Raoul whispered, "Is he really going to be okay?"
"He's fine for now. We need to watch him over the next few days, but he seems to be fine," the butler reassured him. "Is there anything else you need?"
Raoul shook his head. Watching as he left the room, Raoul picked at the food.
Where do you think the ghost is?
Erik replied. Probably killing those men.
Raoul flinched at the thought. He didn't know what he thought about killing anyone, but they were criminals. Raoul couldn't help but think that they deserved whatever the ghost did to them since they had almost killed Philippe.
That's quite a harsh punishment. Erik noted.
Do you think they don't deserve it?
Erik shrugged. I'm out there right now killing them. Who am I to talk?
Raoul rolled his eyes. I wish you'd stop doing that.
Doing what? He asked innocently.
Referring to yourself as him.
Erik was unfazed by his reply. You'll have to do so in the end anyway, right?
You're convinced he's you.
You're not?
Raoul shrugged this time. He didn't know why. His imaginary friend was convinced that he was the ghost. Who was Raoul to really argue? But, a whole part of his life was still missing. He couldn't just accept it because he didn't even understand what had happened. Shouldn't he have remembered by now? Shouldn't it all have just come together?
Erik replied, Who says your memory's supposed to do that?
It just should. Raoul argued.
"Raoul?"
Philippe tried pushing himself up, but the pain only worsened. He lay back down.
"Philippe don't do that," Raoul chastised. He struggled to stand up barely managing to do so. He grabbed the plate of food and sat beside Philippe.
Philippe's eyes had closed as he tried to focus on anything but the pain. "How am I supposed to eat if I'm lying down?"
He's right. Erik said.
Raoul looked around the room for any inspiration. He began to collect all of the blankets and pillows that had been brought to them.
Philippe was staring at him. "What are you doing?"
"Helping you so you don't have to strain yourself to eat," Raoul replied.
"I'm not really hungry."
"You still need to eat."
So, pillow by pillow and blanket by blanket, Raoul gently lifted Philippe forward so that he could place them beneath Philippe's back.
When he was halfway upright, Philippe told him to stop. "It's fine just how it is. You're getting tired."
Raoul couldn't argue. He was getting tired. He just thought that he had been doing a better job of hiding his fatigue. Raoul sat down beside Philippe just barely leaning on him and handed him the tray.
"Did you eat?" Philippe asked.
"Yes," Raoul nodded, "I'm not very hungry right now."
"Are you feeling any better?" Philippe wanted to check Raoul's temperature but raising his arms that high only hurt.
Raoul shrugged, "My body aches and everything's so hot."
"Maybe you should sleep more."
"No," Raoul replied. He knew that this was his opportunity to ask some questions finally. Philippe looked awake enough.
Good for you. Erik cheered him on. Tell him to reveal your past, our past.
"No?" Philippe asked.
"Don't stop eating," Raoul chastised immediately.
Philippe smirked, but did as he was told. He was hungry and this half-sitting position didn't hurt as much as he thought it would have.
"I want you to tell me about your comment."
"What comment?"
Raoul hesitated.
Come on, Raoul. We need to know.
I know that, but what if we're wrong?
He could hear the smirk in Erik's voice as he answered, So you think I'm him too, huh?
Shut up. Raoul took a deep breath and answered. "You said before that I was kidnapped again. What do you mean by 'again'?"
Philippe paused. He knew this question was coming. He had in fact expected it to have come sooner. He had even prepared the speech that came with it, but in this circumstance, the question made him worry. Erik was here, the devil child himself.
He'd been thinking repeatedly about what it would mean for Raoul that Erik had returned. He hadn't thought it would be that big of a change. Just a childhood friend, acquaintance really – maybe saviour. Philippe couldn't be certain. He'd assumed that Erik would stay with them and Raoul and he would become friends again – confidants even, so that Philippe would stop having to worry so much about Raoul being alone. Maybe Erik could even convince Raoul to find a woman to marry. He'd of course help the process along. All he'd known then was that they couldn't leave Erik behind again. Not a second time when the look in his eyes the first time still stuck in his memory. Not when he'd been the reason that expression had been there in the first place.
In that short time it took to save them, Philippe had seen the devotion that Erik had for Raoul. He saw Erik place himself between Raoul and the shooters. It was probably even just instinct, but Philippe hadn't been worried as much for Raoul, knowing that Erik had been behind him. He could focus ahead of them because Erik would focus on protecting Raoul from behind. It was that devotion, that instinctual action that had actually frightened Philippe. It came full force then, what it meant that Erik remembered Raoul all these years. Not just remembered him, but also kept him near enough to his heart that his immediate response to a threat on Raoul was to protect him. It couldn't have just been remnants from their last time together. That had been fifteen years ago. Whatever emotions from them would surely have died. They either died or evolved.
Philippe wasn't blind. He was a skeptic that probably read too much into things. As he knew it, Erik was the phantom of the opera. Raoul went missing for a night – supposedly with a woman since his clothes were in disarray, but it was the same night that Raoul had gone to see the opera and Christine Daae had gone missing.
Philippe remembered Christine. Raoul had asked to visit the Daae's during that one summer often. He didn't think that Raoul liked Christine very much since he would always return talking about the things they did as a family and her father. The pang of guilt still hit him when he thought about how much Raoul had missed as a child because of their parents' deaths and because of his inability to deal with it properly.
Then, there was Raoul's accident. A strange man brought him to the estate after having been accosted? Was that the story the man had told? There was the fight that Raoul had returned from and there was last night when Erik was caught trying to tackle Raoul at the entrance with some poor excuse of having his mask stolen. Furthermore, there was the determination the butler had reported to him when Raoul's 'ransom' note had been delivered.
They were all events connected to the phantom, to Erik. Raoul was drawn to Erik, drawn to the ghost because of his past even though he didn't know it. Erik was drawn to Raoul because… Philippe frowned. Because of the present. Because of the future that Philippe knew the ghost wished for, maybe for the past that he should have had. He just worried about how Raoul would react to that. They were living in different times and Philippe hated to think, with different intentions. Could he let Raoul be subjected to that?
Philippe bit his tongue. Raoul had the right to know about his own past though. He couldn't keep it from him and still say he trusted Raoul. He did trust Raoul, trusted him to decide on his own life. No matter how difficult it was for him.
He took a deep breath and started, "Raoul, when you were younger… you were kidnapped by a gypsy who owned the devil's child…"
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End Chapter 21
Word count: 6,508
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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Chapter review: I'm such a tease, aren't I? Bad cliffhangers all around. Raoul's going to find out the truth!11!
Author review: I admit. I could have edited it a bit better. But it was almost lunch time! I'm hungry.
Vote: Now that I think about it. This fic is actually coming to an end – sooner than later. However, that leaves you an option to think about. You guys get to vote whether or not I write the continuation for this fic (I have something sort of planned, very vague, since this one doesn't have any major E/R action, as in relationship-wise) or I could finally write the third installment of the Mask series. It's up to you guys which one you'd rather read. You have some time to think about it. I'll count votes at the end of this story of which one I should do (which technically means you can vote more than once).