Hi all! Wow, the school has started already! Ack . . . where did the summer go? Oh well . . . I got in a descent class this year, like a class that actually talks to me. Ya. Last year SUCKED.

Also, I watched the movie yesterday, so my memory has been refreshed. Yay! I now have a weird liking for the phantom's shoes. At the very end, when he steps through the mirror, you see his shoes. I don't know why, but I love them. They make me really happy.

There is some fencing in this chapter. I'm sorry if I use the wrong terminology, etc. If there are any fencers out there, please don't yell at me! I only took a 90 minute workshop! But I also give a reason for why they're not following some of the rules of the sport, so I ask you that you at least consider that.

Anyway, here's chapter 15!

Chapter 15: Preparation

"Armand, I really don't feel safe doing this . . ."

"Henri, for the past few days all I've been doing is showing you stances and telling you the rules, and you've been repeating them back. Now, see, we're actually going to practice."

Armand led Henri up the stairs and opened the door with more energy than he really needed. Henri felt the familiar sick feeling that came with being nervous. Over the three days since they had made their plan with Erik, Armand had been teaching Henri the basics of defending himself. Today, they were going to put the Henri's new fencing skills to practice; though Henri had serious doubts about whether he really had those skills at all. They had been doing basic moves together, but today was the first official bought.

The practice space was really a large flat part of the roof that would normally have been used for a garden. In wintertime, though, the plants were taken inside, so Armand used it as his fencing area. The ice and snow had been cleared off and a bin containing the swords sat in a corner.

"So, er . . . Armand, explain to me again why must we used sharpened swords. Wouldn't it be better to use blunt stage ones or foils, perhaps?"

"Well," Armand was shifting through the bin "I don't own any blunt weapons anyway. I used to have some foils, but they disappeared one night about a week or so ago when I returned from the hospital." Armand drew one blade from its scabbard and handed it to Henri "That same night, one of the stable hands ran off without a trace, save the few things he took with him, including my fencing equipment. Some of my sharpened swords were taken as well. Some of them family heirlooms." He sighed. "He was a funny man, that stable hand. He was older than me, and barely ever talked. He only stayed a few months, though. Can't quite recall his name . . . he wasn't French or English . . ."

Henri wasn't really listening. He was too busy wondering what would happen is he were to loose a limb. Would Genevieve be able to fix that?

Armand straightened up and turned to face Henri. He looked concerned.

"Are you feeling quite alright, Henri?"

"Y-yes, I am fine."

"Are you certain? You look petrified."

"Why don't we just get this over with? It's very close to supper time."

"I suppose."

Suddenly they were fighting. On the word "suppose", Armand had lunged at the other man. Henri jumped to the side just in time. Henri's mind wheeled. Armand, his good friend, was trying to kill him! He panicked for a moment. Armand lunged again, and Henri managed to avoid the blow again. He tried to gather his wits. This man is not trying to kill me. He is trying to help me by teaching me how to defend myself . . .

The bout did not really advance at all for a little while. It was just Henri dodging and trying to find a chance to catch Armand off guard. There were not many. Armand, on the other hand, seemed very enthusiastic about the whole thing.

Finally, Henri saw his chance. After every lunge, he noted, Armand would take a split second to readjust his position. If he made his timing just right . . .

He stepped forward stuck the sword out in front of him. He watched with fascination as it poked into the coat that was covering Armand's stomach. He stared in amazement as in sunk into the fabric and kept going, and going, until he saw red spill. Henri recognized he had won the fight . . . he had a chance . . . Madeline had a chance . . . he had defeated Armand with his own skill . . . he had stabbed Armand!

Henri snapped back to reality. He dropped the sword with a clatter. Armand's hands flew to his stomach and he doubled over.

"OH MY GOD! I'VE KILLED!" Henri panicked. He felt himself go lightheaded. He had stabbed one of his closest friends. He could see blood beneath Armand's fingers.

"No . . . oh, no, no . . ."

"Henri."

"Oh Lord, he's going to die!"

"Henri."

"I've stabbed my dearest friend!"

"Henri?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry Armand! Whatever can I do to be redeemed?"

"Henri! I am not going to die!" Armand was half laughing, half groaning in pain. Henri took a second to get a hold of himself, and then he walked up to his friend and helped him stand.

"I apologize. I don't know what happened . . . I just sort of . . . let my thoughts take me away. I was paying attention, but I wasn't, if you catch my meaning. How bad is it?"

"Not too, serious, I don't think." He sat down and leaned against the wall. Henri joined him. "I don't doubt I shall survive. It's mostly shock, really. I didn't believe you were capable of that kind of violence, is all. And it is painful." Armand chuckled.

"Well, I suppose this means that he will be able to help us in our undertaking. One could consider this a step forward."

Both men turn to see a familiar shadow jumping down from the roof and landing on the snow a few paces away.

"Erik!" they cried in unison. The masked man walked over and crouched in front of them.

"Yes, it is me, and yes, Henri, I do know of your daughter's whereabouts."

Henri froze. She was alive! Erik knew where she was! Relief poured into him.

"How is she?" he demanded.

There was a pause.

"You may not like the truth, Henri."

"How is she?"

"The word "traumatized" describes her current state disturbingly well."

"Oh." Henri was not really surprised. Still, though, the warmth of relief he had felt moments before disintegrated. Erik's face tensioned. Henri could tell he was trying to hide is emotions and was overdoing it. It seemed rather out of character.

"I told her eleven o'clock." Erik continued. This did not need an explanation. "It is six o'clock now."

"We should eat now, since we know we can be confident about Henri's skills." Armand chuckled.

---

Before they ate, Genevieve's father found her in the guest room she was using. She was sitting on the bed, reading.

"Genny, is it alright if I talk to you for a moment?"

"Yes, Papa." He closed the door quietly and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Erik came back."

"Oh! Where is he?" the girl said excitedly.

"You can see him at supper. He found Madeline." The room was very quite for a minute.

"How is she?"

"Erik . . ." Henri paused for a moment. "Erik said she was . . . wasn't in the best of conditions."

"Oh."

The silence dominated once again.

"At eleven o'clock Armand and Erik and I are going to try to rescue her."

"I'm coming to!"

"No."

"But Papa-"

"I said no, Genny." He said sternly. "I've lost too much already. You are not going to disappear too. Do you hear me?"

"I could-"

"For the love of Christ, Genevieve, no! You are not coming with me!" he yelled. Both of them were shocked. The man realized what he had said and was immediately feeling guilty. Genevieve looked at him tearfully. He barely ever shouted at her. He sighed.

"I'm sorry, Genny. I shouldn't have snapped, it's that just things have been so hard lately. I don't want you to get hurt, that's all." He stood up. "Well, It's time for dinner." He was halfway across the room when he heard a small voice calling him.

"Papa? I know it's been a while, but could you maybe give me a ride down, please?"

He couldn't help but to smile at that. He walked to the bed and crouched with his back to her. She wrapped her little arms around his neck. He grabbed her legs and stood up. She gave a tiny giggle in delight. He carried her all the way down to the dining room. He knew there had to be some etiquette thing that discouraged such behavior. I'm sure Armand will forgive me he thought.

---

Erik had always enjoyed snow. As a child he would watch other people doing all sort of things with it; snow angels, ice skating, snowmen, snowball fights. It always seemed to bring a happy feeling on the Earth, or a chance for people to be together. For the Phantom, it had always made him think, remember. He walked across Armand's vast property and let the gentle weather take its effect.

The meal had ended fifteen minutes ago. It had been so strange to Erik, eating with other people like that. Like they were family. True, they had eaten lunch together before, but they had been talking that whole time, planning how they were going to organize their rescue. Erik hadn't eaten anything that day. He had never been one for food. As a child he had been forced to go for days with only being fed some old burnt bread crusts, which over time had become habit. Most days he would eat once, but no more. He had no need for it. It kept him alive, and he needed nothing more. At the opera house, though, in his free time, he would practice in the kitchen and make very impressive dishes indeed, then Christine would sample them and . . .

Christine.

It had been so long since he had thought of her. He had been so caught up in the recent havoc of his life that he hadn't truly had a chance. He knew now he would never be with her. He also realized that he had never really known her. She had been more of a figurehead than a lover. She had represented everything he had ever yearned for: music, passion, beauty, hope . . . well, close to everything. She had been a child. No more than that. She lived in a world made of care and fairytales and promises. He had none of those. Those were not things Erik really needed. He wanted someone more powerful; someone whose world would mix well with Erik's, where neither of the two would really change much, and any dramatic change at all would be for the better. He did not want for someone naïve or childlike. He need someone who would laugh, comfort, help, and cry should the need arise. Someone who understood pain and was brave. Someone who spoke their opinion and had the wonderfully inconvenient habit of going against the grain.

Someone like Madeline.

---

Armand cleaned the sword over and over again. He didn't really need to anymore, but his mind was too far away to notice. He had been scrubbing at the metal for about forty minutes now. There were no traces of blood on it any longer, and there hadn't been for a while. It just kept his hands busy and gave him time to think.

Henri had been better at fighting than he had suspected. True, it had taken him some time to strike, but when he had it had been fairly effective. He had gone to Genevieve about the gash. As he had expected, it was not too serious. It would bleed a bit and cause a bit of discomfort, but that was all. It was a mystery, really, that child's knowledge of medicine. It was clear she was going on instinct alone. It was almost unbelievable, her power. It was like she was character from a very badly written children's novel, where everything worked to the protagonist's convenience even if the helping factors made no honest sense.

The fencing bout had felt so strange to Armand. In the real sport of fencing, one would never attack so relentlessly. But Armand didn't believe a bunch of kidnappers would go by the proper regulations. When this whole mess is done, I shall have to teach henri how to use a sword accurately.

That is, hoping we both some out alive.

Coming up next . . . the climatic battle! La gasp!