Disclaimer: The Boufard family is all I own. That's it. Nothing else.

Hey. Ah, the opera is finally over! But of course, as soon as it ends, exams roll around. And this year the school board in my province said "Why don't we cut out mid-terms and have the jr. high students (and only the jr. high students) memorize the whole year so they have to write one big exam in June? Then we can watch them run about frantically to study groups and help sessions trying desperately to remember things from as long ago as September! That will be great fun!" In short, I will be busy filling my brain with information I will forget by the time school starts again in the fall, so I won't be able to update for a bit.

But I'm still really happy about the opera. I gotta tell you guys, as cheesy as this sounds, by the end of the last scene, when immediately the audience gave standing ovation, and we sang the national anthem, I wasn't a pathetic Mezzo chorus member at one of the cheapest theatres in the city, I was a Prima Donna at the Palais Garnier. It was like nothing ever before. It was closing night, but it was one of the happiest in my life. Once again I was in a world where music and sound was all there was, a world where one could sing, I could sing, without any voice problems or flaws mattering; a place I had been only once before.

You can tell I'm stalling, can't you?

Chapter 9:

"Erik!" Mme. Giry cried as she kneeled by the man's side. Carefully, she rolled him onto his back and looked at his face. It was pale, his eyes wide with surprise. He's dead. She thought. Oh Lord, he's dead!

Then, suddenly, his eyelids fluttered, and the woman saw he was only in shock. She looked down at his torso, not leaving herself any time to be relieved. It was hard to believe his shirt had ever been white. It was now a bright crimson. She ripped it off of him, but there was so much blood she couldn't see were the bullet hole actually was. First she just looked over the trunk of his body, and was relieved to discover that nothing essential had been hit. She found the hole a minute later, half-way up his right upper arm. It was deep and was bleeding badly. Quickly, she ripped off the hem of her dress, bunched it up and pressed it against the wound.

After a few moments of applying pressure, the dance mistress noticed Erik's eyes were open and flicking around franticly. He finally settled on her, staring, looking absolutely terrified. He had no idea what was going on. She knew he would go into a panic if she did try to comfort him. She spoke calmly and made slow movement so not to startle him.

"It's alright, Erik. You'll be fine. I'm just trying to slow down the bleeding. You've been shot, Erik. But it's only your arm. I can help you. You'll be fine. Look, see, the bleeding is slowing. You'll be fine, Erik. You are not going to die. You wouldn't lose your arm, either. Just try to relax. I'll take care of you. You'll be fine."

He closed his eyes again and rested his head on the stones. His breathing became regular again. Sighing with relief, Mme Giry tied the cloth to his arm and let go.

"Erik, I'm going to go look for your medical supplies. I won't be gone long. You stay here and rest, alright? I'll be back in a minute or two." Erik let out a quiet grunt in recognition and the woman hurried off. She searched the whole house, but couldn't find anything. She had just decided to use old rags for bandages when she tripped on an uneven place on the floor and put her hand on the wall for support. When she did this, though, her hand went through the wall, or rather, she pushed on the door of a secret compartment. When she regained her balance, she looked inside the little cubby hole. There was the box with medical supplies. Not wasting a moment, she grabbed the box and ran back to Erik.

Mme. Giry kneeled down again and put his arm on her lap. Gently, she removed the cloth and looked at the wound. Then she realized she was faced with another problem: she had to extract the bullet by herself. Erik probably knew how, but he wasn't going to be able to tell her at this particular moment. And she couldn't do it herself. But she had to. He would be at risk of an infection if she didn't.

She opened the box and shifted through its contents until she found a pair of tweezers and a cloth. She washed out the wound first. She knew that he was staring at her, but she tried to ignore it. Then, holding her breath, she reached in with the tweezers and pulled out a very bloody bullet with some difficulty. Erik made a little noise and closed his eyes. She let out her breath and spoke to Erik again.

"There. I've taken out the bullet. I'll just make sure your arm won't get infected now, and then I'll leave you alone to rest." Erik didn't respond. His eyes were still closed tightly. She couldn't blame him; his arm looked like it definitely hurt a lot. The woman bound his arm tightly and set it on the ground again.

Then she realized she couldn't leave him on the cold stone floor. There was blood all over it. And he would certainly catch a chill, staying there. The floor was also very hard: defiantly not the place for him to start recovery. She simply had to move him. But how? She had a slim built, and he was obviously heavier than her. She couldn't carry him. She would have to drag him.

Antoinette leaned forward and carefully tucked her hands under his arms. She stood up slowly until his shoulders were resting on her bent knees and his head was on her thighs. After checking her balance, she started to walk backward.

It was an awkward movement, but she managed. She looked back constantly, paranoid she would run into something. She was sure if anyone else had been there they would be laughing, for the scene was, she had to admit, rather comical. But, then again, if anyone else had been there, they would be helping her, whether they liked it or not.

Finally they reached the peacock bed. Mme. Giry lowered Erik to the floor and let go. She pulled back the warm red sheets first before turning back to him. Carefully she wrapped her hands around his torso and lifted him onto the bed. She pulled his legs up too and adjusted his position. Then she reached down and pulled the blanket up over his body. She stood there and watched him breathe for a moment. She wanted to make certain that he was going to be alright. He seemed fine, but she still stood there.

Looked at him, silent and helpless, made her think of Meg. A long time ago, when Meg had been seven or eight and they had first moved into the opera, the girl had fallen down the stairs and injured her shoulder. Her mother had not known how much damage had been done, so she had immediately called for the resident doctor. They learned that she suffered a shoulder separation. After the doctor had done the usual treatment, Meg had still been in quite a bit of pain. She had rested in bed for a few hours. She had tried to get to sleep, but if she moved she would shift her shoulder and the discomfort would wake her up. Mme. Giry had wanted to help but there was nothing she could do. Even though Meg had recovered quickly, those hours stayed in Antoinette's mind for a long time. Erik was completely defenseless, at least for now. He had lost a large amount of blood. But once again, she could do nothing to help. This was something Erik needed to do on his own.

But Mme. Giry did know how she could help a bit. After the chandelier incident, she had rented a small apartment and was living there. Meg now knew everything. She knew where her mother was and wasn't expecting her back for another twenty-three hours. That gave the woman time to clean up the lair a bit for Erik.

I haven't been here for so long, but I must do whatever I can.

---

Earlier that morning:

"He's gone!" whispered Genevieve, still staring at the letter. Henri and Madeline were staring in disbelief, too. Erik had become such a big part of their routine . . . and then he just disappeared.

"I don't understand." Henri said "Before he left, he said that no one cared about him, so he mustn't have family to go to, or any friends, or even a neighbor who was worried about him. Surly not everyone who met him hated him! Even if that was true, surly a landlord or something would show up looking for him! No one came for him!"

"Someone who had known him would try to track him down." Genevieve said.

"Exactly! If nobody did, that means he practically knows no other humans! Or everyone's just afraid of him, or something!"

"I know where he went." Madeline said quietly. "You remember how his face was so disfigured? I saw that face before that night I took off his mask. That's why I was mad."

Then she told them everything.

By the end of her story, her family was speechless.

"So you mean to tell me," said Henri slowly "That that rumor about a phantom of the opera in the newspaper . . ." his voice trailed off. His oldest daughter nodded.

"That's it. Erik was the one who cut down the chandelier. Erik was the one who drove that prima donna named La Carlotta from the opera house. Erik was the Phantom of the Opera."

Okay, I think I need to clear this up: Neither Henri nor Genevieve had any idea this was Erik's true identity. They knew he was disfigured, so they left it at that. Henri had found him in the burnt out opera and assumed he had just been forgotten in the confusion.

Madeline, on the other hand, was in the first row at the performance of Don Juan Triumphant!, so she got full view of his face and other features. When she came home from the hospital, she saw a man with the same hair and body structure as Don Juan and wore a mask. She put two and two together and figured out who he was. Madeline had seen the terrible things the disaster had done to people, including Armand and herself, so naturally she was mad. Her family did not understand why she had been so violent, but they knew what she was like when she was angry and left her be.

I hope that clears up any confusion. Sorry this chapter is short but there wasn't much to say. I'm also sorry if I made anyone who is incredibly squeamish uncomfortable. I think this chapter is part of the reason this story is rated K+ instead of just K! Graphic descriptions are always so much fun to write! (Everyone backs away slowly).

Review because I told you to. Obey me. Mauhaha.