AN: Well, well, well; look what we have here. It appears to be another chapter! Oh my, and it's by this lazy person over here! What a miracle!
Me: I can hear that, you know.
AN: I know.
Me: Jerk.
Erik: Someone talking about me? Or perhaps the Daroga?
Nadir: EXCUSE ME?
AN: Heh heh... story pop up now please! Thanks...
Erik stood, panting, as he looked at the house that was in burning shambles. There were giant holes with fire bursting out of them, and all the windows had been smashed. The flames crackled, almost hiding a small sound, but the man heard it anyway. It was small and insignificant. He brushed it off as he tried to assess the situation.
First, he was standing in front of the Aucoin household (or at least what used to be the Aucoin household) which was currently on fire. One of the Aucoin boys – Erik – had run to the man's house to tell him about the disaster and was presently lying dead on the man's porch. Third, the rest of the family was probably still inside the house. Erik cursed his luck and searched the area for a way in to the building. There was still the chance he could save them.
The door was blocked, and most of the windows still had too much glass in them for the man to even consider crawling through them. The holes in the wall were a different matter, and though the path inside from those entrances took much maneuvering and skill, Erik finally found himself inside the living room of the house. He tried not to remember that the aflame couches had once been a shade of green, instead of the bright, blinding, burning yellow it now was, or that the white walls were now covered in splotches of black.
He hesitated. How could he have been so stupid? He, who had mastered every art there was, who was a genius among geniuses, had been so stupid as to rush into a burning building without a plan. It wasn't like he actually had a way to get anyone out alive – the entrance he had come in through had suddenly been blocked off by smoldering rubble.
So now he stood, staring into the depths of the fire, wondering what he should do. Perhaps, he thought, I can just end my miserable life here and now. I'll just burn to death, and nobody will know any better. It'll be better for all the rest of the world... I suppose Christine would be happy, too, even though I am dead to her...
Standing in the midst of the flames, he waited and waited for the end of his life to come. The real end of the Opera Ghost would come about in this fire. He braced himself, waiting for his death.
A sudden sound made his eyes widen in shock. The sound was familiar – he had heard it before, when he was outside. He hadn't paid any attention to it then, but now he realized just what it was.
Coming to his senses, he searched for an exit path of the room. There was none. The revelation made Erik freeze. How was he going to save the wailing infant just a room away?
The crying continued. The man stared at the wall barring his way from saving her. Soon, the sound became too much to bear and he slapped his hands over his ears. An exhausted and guilt-ridden shine came to his eyes – perhaps he wouldn't be able to save Clarice, and the two of them would simply die in that flaming house. The small baby girl had so much to live for, and her life would be taken away. Erik had stepped into the house without a plan, and it would cost both of them their lives. It would be all his fault that they died.
He came to his senses as a smoldering piece of ceiling came falling down from above. The attack came by surprise, thus allowing only a small amount of time to dodge it, and even still, it whacked against his left arm and leg. Brushing off the injuries as best he could, he limped over to the wall and shoved his arm through the burning wall. Removing his fist, he stared at the small hole he had made. A smile of hope graced his lips as he began to tear away the bits and pieces of debris separating him from Clarice.
Soon enough, the hole was big enough for Erik to climb through. Wiping away the dust that had gathered on his hands and under his nails, he surveyed his work. It had taken him lots of time, and by now he was coughing from the smoke inhalation. Clarice had stopped crying a while before he finished, and he prayed that she was still alive.
The heat in the room was becoming unbearable very quickly. From where he was standing, Erik could see that the flames in the other room were spread thickly throughout the room. He winced as he remembered that his whole "heroic deed" could have just been in vain. However, he felt a little more reassured as soon as he saw the crib was still untouched by the fire.
Crawling through the hole and into the baby's room, he saw with more detail exactly what the extent of the damage had been. The door to the hallway was open and currently being eaten by flames. Near the middle of the room was a pile of ashes, bones and pink fabric. Well, thought Erik, now I know where Madame Aucoin has gone. What a shame.
He blinked. Why was he getting so sidetracked? He turned his attention back to the crib and slowly approached it. Staring down at the baby inside, he cocked his head in amazement. She was sleeping peacefully, probably without an inch of knowledge of what was going on outside her crib.
Scooping her up, Clarice's eyes opened and stared with wonder at the man holding her. Erik spared a glance at her before looking around the room once more, and staring at the remains of Madame Aucoin, nodded his head as if to say, "I will take care of your daughter".
By now the fire had burned a hole in the outside wall large enough for him to fit easily through. He did so, and finally out of reach of the smoke and burning flames, turned around to see the house once more before it was to be completely demolished by the fire.
The house, once pristinely painted pure white, was now burned bold black. The windows and doors were nowhere to be seen, and half the roof had fallen in. Holes blotted the walls of the building, and from the holes spouted fierce orange fire.
Erik, now violently coughing, was bent over and holding his throat in an attempt to stop. His vision was becoming foggy and his head was pounding. Each one of his breaths were labored, and both his left arm and leg were hurting more intensely than before. A rush of white coated people – he couldn't see their faces – came hurrying towards him as he collapsed and blacked out.