A/N: Thank you for all your comments! I like to hear when things don't make sense. Because I have no bet, I am very liable to make awkward mistakes.
Chapter 23
By the time Nadir came, Erik had moved Émilie into her own bed and managed to extract all the glass shards from the wounds. Now he sat beside her hip and used clean cloths to sponge her blood and his tears from her skin. He could have stopped his crying no easier than he could have staunched her blood.
The first thing the Persian whispered was, "Stop, Erik, you're making it worse."
Erik withdrew his shaking hands, bowed his head, and gave into unrestrained sobs. They racked his bony frame.
"The Daroga is right," he said in a choked mutter. "Erik should not touch his child." He wailed and brought his forehead down to Émilie's shoulder with enough force to bruise. "Oh, oh! I hurt her! I scare her! Christine, I have broken my promise. Erik failed to love Christine's child."
When he straightened, he drew Émilie's unresisting form up with him and cradled her to his chest, her cheek smearing scarlet blood on his white shirt. She was too big to fit in his lap anymore and Erik began to cry afresh at that, as if realizing he had not held her in so long that he had not noticed she had grown. He held her now, rocking her gently, her chest peacefully rising and falling in his arms. It was calming, that movement, and Nadir saw Erik's own breathing slow in time. When he spoke again, his voice was even.
"Daroga."
"Yes, Erik?"
"You must take her. Somewhere far away where I cannot find her. Take her into the light. Give her everything. I will give you all I have and you must give it to her. She is not safe here." His voice broke. "She is not safe with me."
Nadir took a step forward then stopped. To go any further would be intruding. He would not leave Émilie alone with this broken man, but he could not rush his friend in this. The moment was the last note in a composition, resounding, echoing. Nadir would not end it. He would only watch as Erik drew his daughter closer and breathed into her hair, "A kiss, mon cœur." He pressed his ruined lips against her forehead and drew away, not bothering to wipe the blood from his mouth. "Erik is sorry, mon cœur."
Then he left.
Nadir packed the little girl's clothes and toys and the books Erik had made for her. He packed some of the sheets of music strewn about on the floor. Erik knew all his compositions by heart and would have no reservations about destroying these. Given that they were on the floor of his daughter's room, one already ripped in half, Nadir had no doubt that destruction was the next logical step in Erik's mind.
Briefly, Nadir debated taking some other things from the house, knowing that they too would be smashed to pieces as soon as he and Émilie were gone. All of Erik's beautiful trinkets, objects of a lifetime lived in the world. Christine's things, unmoved since her death…
But no. Émilie would have only memories, not reminders. Nadir left his home address on top of the trunks, knowing Erik would send them with the money for Émilie's care. By the time the trunks reached his house, though, Nadir and Émilie would be long gone.
He lifted the unconscious child into his arms – she was still thin enough to weigh almost nothing – and carried her out without a glance back at the opera basement. He was too concerned with recalling the address of a doctor to realize that neither of them would ever see the place again.