Disclaimer: Nothing, nada, rien...nothing of this marvelous Phantom do I own originally...aye, there's the rub!
Chapter 3: The Truth in Scarlet
Silence, broken only by the soft nickering of the horses, blanketed the scene. Christine knelt by Erik's still form, too shocked to react. Raoul, leaving the horses, came to her side.
"Is he dead?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Christine looked up at him, her face wet with tears. Gone was the fierce, indomitable woman of a few moments before. Raoul caught, in her eyes, what seemed to him to be the beginnings of a mind's unhinging...Kneeling down quickly, he felt the pulse at Erik's throat.
"He lives, Christine," he said to her. She stared down at Erik, without replying. So much blood...
"Christine! Can you hear me? He lives!" Taking her by the shoulders, he shook her violently, once or twice.
She seemed to come out of the strange state of mind she had apparently fallen into, looking up into his eyes, as if coming back from very, very far away. Then her gaze returned to Erik.
"Raoul!" she suddenly screamed. "Erik is hurt! We must find a doctor! Oh, help me carry him to the coach! Oh, help me!"
Raoul was relieved, although her reaction to Erik's condition disturbed him. Would she have behaved thus if he, Raoul, had been similarly wounded? He pushed the question aside, attempting to see Erik as just another human being in need of medical attention. With this thought in mind, he put his arms under Erik's armpits, while Christine, kneeling, grasped his feet. They both stood at once, not without some struggle. Erik was a rather big-boned man. Raoul doubted that he would have been able to carry him, let alone lift him, without Christine's help. He idly wondered how such a big man could move about as stealthily and gracefully as he did.
Together, they carried the unconscious Erik to the coach, laying him carefully on the back seat. Christine's tears began to flow again as she looked upon his bloody clothes. She arranged his wounded arm carefully on top of his chest, and smoothed his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. Raoul noticed all this, and gritted his jaw forcefully, as his hands clenched into fists. He strove to control himself, looking away from the scene. Sighing, he made a silent decision, and took off his cravat. Christine gave him a bewildered look, then understood what his intention was. Lifting Erik's limp arm, Raoul felt around until he found the wound. Then he tied his cravat around the arm, above the wound, as a tourniquet. This would stop the bleeding. However, the bullet was probably still in the wound. He was sure that Erik would need surgery.
"You ride here with him, Christine," he now said, tightly. " I'll take charge of the horses."
Christine pulled her pain-filled eyes from Erik's face, and up to Raoul's. Her gratitude shone in them. "How far is the nearest town?" she whispered, almost inaudibly.
"Not too far," he replied, wanting to caress her cheek, but feeling as if he had lost the right to do such a thing. Turning, he said, over his shoulder, "Keep him as still as possible. I shall try to get us there as fast as I can without unduly disturbing him."
He climbed swiftly onto the roof of the coach, where he found a most unwelcome sight -- the coachman's blood-soaked body, sprawled over the seat. Raoul knew at once that the man was dead, but felt his pulse anyway. There was none. Raoul had no choice but to sit on that same seat, so, pushing the body over to make some room, he settled himself, shook the reins, and called out to the horses. The animals set out at a swift trot.
As they went along, Raoul took his bearings. He was not quite sure that they were moving in the right direction. Craning his neck, he attempted to see beyond the trees surrounding the road, to no avail. He could not discern much in the dim light from the moon, so resigned himself to watching the road as best he could. He had no lantern to light his way, as the one usually carried by the coachman had been knocked down somewhere.
Not long after they had started, the Vicomte heard the nearby sound of a horse's low whinny. Alarmed lest they be attacked again, he urged the horses on to greater speed, then, remembering Erik, slowed them down once more.
A horse now came out of nowhere, dashing right in front of the coach. The animal, Raoul noticed with horror, was dragging a man's body behind him. The feet of the body were caught in the horse's reins. The Vicomte brought the coach horses to a rather abrupt halt.
Raoul jumped down from his perch, and went to steady the horses' heads. Then he walked over to inspect the stranger's body, since the man's horse had stopped, not far from the coach.
The dead man's neck dangled at a rather unusual angle. He had a pistol, which apparently he had not been able to use, still tucked into the belt of his trousers. Another robber? Raoul mused. A soft nicker now came to his ears. His eyes followed the trail left by the horse, and he suddenly dimly saw the silhouettes of two other horses, not far from the side of the road. They were nearly hidden by trees. Raoul had no doubt that, if he cared to look, he would find the bodies of their dead owners, not too far away.
You have been quite busy, Erik! He had to grudgingly admit to himself that he and Christine owed their very lives to the nefarious Phantom...
Turning, Raoul walked over to the horse whose former owner's body lay on the ground. Taking the horse's bit in his hands, he slowly led the animal away from the road, dragging his terrible load after him. Then, satisfied that the way was clear, he returned to the coach.
"Raoul!" Christine sounded hysterical. "Why have we stopped?"
The Vicomte quickly ran over to the coach door, and flung it open. "Do not fear, Christine! I merely had to clear the road of... an obstacle that I had encountered. We shall soon be on our way again!"
She sighed, nodded her head, and turned her attention back to Erik. Raoul's heart skipped a beat as he saw her lovingly bring her mouth to Erik's forehead. He forced himself to turn away, climbing back up to the coachman's seat and its unwelcome passenger. Again he shook the reins, and the horses were soon trotting smartly down the road, as if they had never stopped. Raoul hoped they would be arriving at a town before too long.
Inside the coach, Christine, tears flowing freely, laid her head on Erik's chest, next to his bloody hand, not caring that her face, hair, hands and clothing would be stained with his blood. His blood...that he had shed for her...
"Erik," she sobbed, "Erik...You have come for me...you must not leave me now...We are going to find a doctor for you, my love...you will be well...Yes, you will!" She clung to him fiercely for a few minutes, then lifted her head to look down at him. She was snapping back to reality, slowly but surely. She realized that Erik's wound was probably not that serious. On the other hand, he had lost quite a bit of blood. He would not have fainted otherwise...
She felt a a knife thrust of longing stab through her...Her dreams came back to her, and she was no longer puzzled by them. She loved this man...She loved him. Her heart was irrevocably his. What had she been thinking, running off with Raoul?
Sighing, she now took up his unwounded arm in her two hands. Leaning over, her tears flowing anew, she kissed that hand, then let it slowly come to rest again next to his body.
"Erik," she whispered, his beloved face blurred through her tears. "Erik, my love, my own...come to me..." And she began to sing to him, very softly. She sang to him as he had many times sung to her, weaving melodies to enchant him back to her. No one but he could hear her. No one but he would feel the lilting beauty of her voice reach into the blackness in which he now lay. No other voice would have the power to pull him back from the edge...
So the coach moved on into the night, as Christine Daae sang to the true love of her heart, who slept now, enveloped in her cherubic voice...