AN: We're back to the beginning, as it were.

Chapter 56- What I've Done

Laurent could see smoke billowing up into the air in huge, ominous plumes. The smoke was dark and blew sideways as the wind picked up, pushing it over the hills. He figured that the fire must be strong to keep going now that the rain was getting heavier and heavier.

Philippe stood to his right and they were now alone in the dark, looking forward at the vastness of outer Paris. He could see the glow of the fire clearly in the dark night, it hovered on the horizon sending the smoke outwards, signaling its existence.

'Where now?' Philippe asked, spluttering slightly on mouthfuls of rainwater.

'I think towards the fire,'

Philippe glanced at him. 'You think?'

'Well, I'm not a walking compass, Comte, but I'd say a burning building at this time in the morning is certainly worth checking,'

Philippe thought for a moment, his face was pale, wet and shiny, it was a stark contrast to his eyes, which seemed dull and almost lifeless. 'What if we're wrong?'

'Then we're wrong,'

There was a sigh. 'I feel as though this is my fault,'

'Wonderful,' Laurent scoffed. 'Self pity is exactly what we need at this moment in time,'

'Insolent,' Philippe spat, but there was no real authority in it.

'Just follow me,' Laurent nodded towards the burning building in the distance.

Laurent did not wait for a response and forged on through the increasing power of the wind, it pushed his shirt against him and he was constantly reminded of his wounded shoulder. The rain was starting to batter them as they moved along, there were trees swinging dangerously low, causing Laurent to jump sideways more than once.

The only part of his that was warm was the syrupy blood that was still oozing steadily from his injured shoulder.

To his credit, Philippe stayed only one step behind and trailed Laurent in relative silence. His earlier protests, though very well put, had fallen on deaf ears. Laurent was not interested in hearing him complain or watching him attempt to take control, it was obvious that there was not enough time for the Comte's foolish pride here.

Laurent's shoulder was throbbing and hot, burning even, and he was starting to feel sick. He knew, though, that he could not give up. There was no doubt in his mind that if Gabriele had captured Christine and Raoul then he would kill them both. He feared for Christine most of all. The only comfort was, that if the fire was where he believed it to be, then Erik was safe and probably in pursuit of Gabriele and the others himself.

His mind drifted to his sister and to Meg, and then it was as if the ground was crumbling. His legs became weak and he dropped to the floor on his knees, feeling the harsh wind sweep over him. Warm hands were on his unhurt arm in seconds and he looked up, through a blur of tears, at Philippe de Changy's concerned face.

It seemed that everything was spinning around him, the wind whistled around them as Philippe struggled to pull him back onto his feet.

'What happened?' Philippe asked, a little breathless. Laurent's heart ached and he could feel hot tear rolling down his cheeks.

'Scott,' he whispered, to Philippe and to no one at all.

Philippe looked puzzled. 'What?'

'Scott is dead,'

The older man sighed and looked down, as if he was upset, as if it was him that was full of sorrow. Laurent wasn't sure what had hit him. The minute he thought of Antoinette, the second Meg entered his mind, he saw only their future without Scott.

Without the man who had given Laurent his second chance.

'You're swaying,' Philippe said, his voice only just making it over the pitch of the loud wind. 'Are you going to pass out?'

Laurent blinked the tears from his eyes and stared at Philippe. 'No,' He answered but he wasn't sure if it was the truth.

'Are we going to keep going?'

Laurent nodded. 'Yes, yes, I'm fine,'

Not the time for self-pity.

They walked on in silence and it wasn't long before Laurent could feel the warmth of the fire filtering into the air through the rain. The smell was getting stronger, the air warmer... they were getting close to the source. They trekked through a small village and when they emerged from the other side Laurent could see the burning building barely half a mile ahead of them.

Without thinking about the pain or dizziness he began to sprint and when he heard Philippe's footsteps pounding the ground behind him, he felt somewhat comforted.

'They've been here,' Laurent said when they stopped running. He gulped in air but took in smoke at the same time and began to splutter. He felt Philippe put a hand on his head and push it down.

'Keep below the smoke,' Philippe nodded as the grey clouds wafted above them. They were both soaking wet from the vicious rain but at least it was warm here.

'I know this place,' Laurent let his eyes take in his surroundings, keeping his head low. 'This is where they used to keep...'

'Keep what?'

Laurent glanced at him and shook his head. 'Never mind,'

'What if this was an accident?' Philippe asked. 'What if they're inside... dead...'

Laurent shook his head. 'There are no horses around, none of their carriages, they were here but now they're not,'

Philippe nodded, understanding. 'So who set it on fire?'

Ash was falling down around them with the rain and fire was beginning to slow under the hammering rain. 'I don't know,' he said, but he suspected that it was Erik.

Or at least he hoped that it was.

'Where to now?' Philippe asked as he looked around in the darkness.

Laurent shrugged and then let his eyes scan the ground. 'That way,' He pointed north.

'Tracks?'

Laurent nodded his head. 'Footprints, running,'

'I don't know what you plan to do when you find them,' Philippe's voice was quiet. 'But all I want is my brother and his fiancée out alive and safe,'

'I know,'

'Can we succeed?'

'Yes,' Laurent said, trying to block out the throbbing pain in his arm.

Philippe's eyes drifted back to the smoking building. 'Do you think there was anyone in there?'

'I suspect there was,'

'Who?'

'No one that matters to us,'

Philippe seemed to think for a moment, his eyes flicking from the fire to the tracks in the mud and then back again, before a look of clarity covered his face.

'Lets go then,'

Antoinette sat with her head in her hands, tears rolling from her eyes and through her fingertips, finally resting on her dress. She was hunched in the corner of the corridor, looking down at the floor, too afraid to look at the door. Silence had filled the room for too long, the mob had been gone for well over an hour and so had Scott and Laurent.

A punch of pain ripped into her heart.

How could she let them go?

It was dangerous, she knew it was, anything that involved Erik was probably more danger than they should ever be involved in. It wasn't just that though, that wasn't the whole story and she knew it. Laurent had told her about Gabriele, about how he had planned to rid of Erik months ago.

Now she knew that Erik was not the only danger to her husband and brother, but Gabriele and his company were probably somewhere nearby too.

The two managers had scurried away like cowards, sometime earlier, and had yet to return. Police were occasionally walking through but she knew that they were hoping that the mob would deal with the Phantom, so that they wouldn't have to. What a farce the whole event had been.

She had tried to warn them, tried to tell them how intelligent he was, how devious he could be. God knows, they were already aware how willing he was to carry out his threats. Two more deaths at the Opera Populaire, maybe more before the sun rose in the morning.

The one person she had tried to stop from following the mob was Meg.

She had ignored her and Antoinette's hip was too painful to chase her through the narrow passageway. What an awful woman she was! She prayed that they were all come back safely. How she wanted to reassure Scott, to tell him that she loved him and that there was no one else for her. There was a time that she thought this might be a lie but now she knew.

Their marriage and Meg were the most important things in the world to her and she wasn't prepared to let that go now.

She wiped tears from under her eyes and waited patiently for her family to return in the hopes that someday things would be normal again.

It was not to be.

The light was getting closer and he simply could not decide.

Friend or foe?

Friend or foe?

He heard their voices; there were three of them, one woman and two men. Erik sighed, friend, he thought, at least for now. The company had no woman in it. He struggled to push himself up but it was no good, he was too weak.

'Quickly,' He heard someone say. A man.

'Good God,' the woman of the group, she was close, he could smell perfume.

'What happened to him?' Third voice, younger man.

There was a sudden quiet, all but the whistling of the violent wind over his head, and he started to get worried. They were next to him now, the light was over him, and they were staring. He managed to reach up and touch his face, checking his mask was there. It was a moment before he realised why they were staring and then, as if to confirm it, the woman gasped slightly and the young man said, 'He's covered in dry blood,'

Another moment of silence filled the air before the woman spoke again, 'Is it his own blood... or someone else's?'

Erik felt a hand on his shoulder and he tried to fight it but he was too weak, the older man rolled him onto his back and looked at him with a quiet concentration. He was almost gentle.

After what seemed like an eternity the older man sighed. 'It's his own blood,'

'Good grief,' the younger man said, as he bent down and lifted Erik to his feet. 'What's your name?'

'Erik...' He managed and then he began coughing again, violently, as he felt nausea wash him. The older man quickly stepped to the other side and hooked Erik's arm over his shoulder.

'Hold the light Marianne,'

The woman took the lantern from him and walked just ahead as the two men struggled to carry Erik's almost dead weight through the raging wind and rain. They walked for what seemed a long time before Erik spotted a small cottage not far away.

'We can see now,' The older man said, 'Go ahead, Marianne, and get some water warmed, some cloths and some warm tea,'

Marianne simply nodded and Erik watched the light get further away from him and closer to the building up ahead. The walk down to the cottage was short yet, to Erik's weary body, it seemed agonisingly long. He had one arm around each of the stranger's shoulders and he felt almost ashamed of the situation he was in.

Tired, battered, bruised, bloody and drugged, he was truly drained. He had no doubt that the sickness was his body's way of attempting to get rid of whatever toxin they had injected him with.

They struggled to get him through the front door and they lay him down carefully onto a settee sitting directly in front of a roaring log fire. Marianne was there, and he could see her now. She was young and blonde, round faced... even to Erik, she looked kind. He blinked his eyes and tried to refocus on the two men.

One simply looked like an older version of the other. They both had pale eyes and light hair, were tall and broad, but one was older. Father and son, Erik thought, as he felt a stabbing pain in his side.

'What happened to him?' Marianne asked, staring at the younger of the two men.

'I don't know,' he answered.

'My name is Michael,' the older man said, looking down at Erik, a bowl in one hand, a piece of damp material in the other.

Erik managed a nod.

'This is my daughter in law, Marianne, she has made you some hot tea... to get your strength up,' He tilted his head to the side as if to point the young woman out. 'This is Charles, my son,'

Erik nodded again, showing he understood.

'I'm going to clean the wounds on your face and chest, Erik,' Michael continued. 'I'll try not to hurt you but I can't be sure how bad your wounds are. I'm no doctor but I've lived out here all of my life and I've had to learn, so I can at least help you,'

'Tha...' Erik took a deep breath, as deep as his aching ribs would allow. 'Thank you,'

'What happened?' Michael asked, as he moved Erik's torn shirt to the side and began to clean the wounds that littered his chest.

Erik looked away from him, towards the window.

'It's fine, Erik,' Charles said, his voice was deep. 'You don't have to tell us, we don't need to know,'

He blinked, confused. Kindness... being treated with kindness was foreign to Erik and he was not sure how to deal with them. They seemed genuine, though his ever-suspicious mind was still working over all possibilities.

Marianne knelt down next to him and placed the cup to his lips, tilting it slightly as he sipped. It was good. The warmth in their home was good, the tea was helping.

'Marianne,' Michael looked at her. 'You know where I keep er... my...'

She nodded, she didn't make him finish what he was saying.

'Bring me a small vial,' He continued to wipe the cuts of Erik's chest. 'And one of my syringes,'

Marianne stood and walked from the room into a doorway behind the settee. He was left with the two men, he noted that Charles was looking at him with curiosity but Michael was simply working away, trying to help a man he didn't even know.

'I hope the other man looks worse than you,' Michael said, joking of course.

'He doesn't,' Erik said quietly. 'But he will,'

'I can understand that,' Michael nodded. 'I can understand why you would want revenge,'

There was a tone in the older man's voice that Erik couldn't place. He was feeling a little better, more awake at least, but his sides were almost unbearably painful.

Charles was next to speak, 'Revenge won't make this better,'

Erik glanced up at him and winced in pain.

'No, it won't,' Michael added. 'I don't condone it but... your injuries, they are... bad, I can understand,'

Erik closed his eyes and all he could see was the look of horror on Christine's face as she was dragged away from him. The sound of her tears, of her fear, the feel of her hair against his lips...

'They have her,' he whispered, to himself but also to the two men who were trying to heal him.

'Who?' Charles asked, turning away from the window.

'Christine,' Erik said, as if they should know who that was. As if everyone should know who that was.

Michael frowned. 'Who is Christine?'

Erik smiled and, oddly, felt the sting of tears in the back of his eyes. 'The love of my life,'

The two men looked at each other and then back at Erik.

'She is the love of my life,'