Chapter Thirty-one

"A false witness will not go unpunished, and he who breathes out lies will not escape." -Proverbs 19:5

Revelation

This isn't real. It's only a nightmare. Wake up! Wake up!

Erik's chest was on fire. His whole body was racked with pain as he lay facedown on the ground. Maybe I'm already dead, he thought. Maybe I've died and gone to hell. He looked up at the sky, and he distantly remembered pointing out the constellations to Alana not so long ago. No, he decided. I'm not dead. There are no stars in hell.

The laughter of the men cut through his pain-clouded thoughts. Slowly, painfully, he crawled around to face them, glaring blackly at Damien, who looked smugly pleased with himself. As he'd moved the men had grown silent, and Erik turned his gaze on Christine, who was wrapped tightly in the Vicomte's arms. He wanted to kill them. He wanted to see everyone in this place lying in the grass in agony, for them to be in his place, and for him to be in theirs. But he knew, without a shadow of doubt in his mind, that he deserved every single moment of torture he was experiencing. He had long believed a night like this would come.

Erik hurt too much to cry. He was filled with nothing but burning pain, rage, and sorrow. He took a deep breath, which turned out to be more of a gasp that sent a lance of pain coursing through his entire body.

Oh, Christine…

She was watching him, eyes full of tears. He looked up at her. "You betrayed me…again…why?"

"I'm sorry!" Christine sobbed. "I'm so sorry…I didn't want this to happen…"

"You…betrayed me…" Erik repeated, his mind plunging into despair.

Christine clung even tighter to her husband, who was staring at Erik with hatred.

There was nothing but sorrow. She'd led him into a trap once more, and this time, he did not think he would escape. I gave you my music…made your song take wing…and now, how you've repaid me, denied me and betrayed me…

"Please forgive me, Angel. Please," Christine said.

"There is no Angel." His hand went to the ring on the chain around his neck. "There is no…Phantom of the Opera." His gaze went to Emilian. "There is no Devil's Child." He looked back at Christine. "There is only Erik."

She tried to wipe some of the tears away. "Your name…"

Erik was tired, so tired, but sleep seemed a thousand miles away. "You never…asked me, for my name…"

Christine fell to her knees and wept harder, Raoul kneeling to comfort her. "Don't let him get to you, Christine. He's just trying to manipulate you, get you back on his side." He scowled darkly at Erik. "That's what he always does."

"You're wrong, Vicomte," Erik growled. Then, he tore the chain from his neck and let it go into the air. The ring landed in the grass at Christine's feet. He fell back onto the ground, trying not to lose himself in the pain. "It's over now…" he whispered.

"That's where you're wrong my friend," came Damien's voice. "Your punishment is only beginning."

Christine took the ring in her hands and rose, trembling, to her feet. Then, before anyone could stop her, she took off running into the woods. Raoul moved to run after her, but Damien grabbed hold of his arm. "Let her go," he said. "Besides, you won't want to miss this. Men?" He looked to Emilian, who grinned wickedly. "Do what you will."

Erik hardly felt the individual blows and kicks. He was descending into a world where pain was all that existed. He hardly knew where or who he was anymore. Was he a little boy, back at the fair, being beaten for trying to escape again? Why must every phase of my life be marked with torment? It will never end. I cannot survive this, and when I am dead there will be horrors worse than any I have ever faced before. I am made to suffer. That is all…

"Take his mask off!" someone shouted, and then he felt sweaty hands ripping it off his face. He heard a few men utter curses, while others murmured their disgust. Some laughed.

"He's ugly," he heard Emilian say, "but you know, I never thought he was as ugly as those at the circus claimed him to be. A freak, yes, but a demon's offspring? Perhaps not." He looked to the men and gave a low chuckle. "But when I'm done with him, he'll look like the devil's son, all right." He pulled his knife from his belt, and the men shouted ideas of ways to carve up their victim's face.

All Erik wanted to do was to get up and run for his life. To find Alana…Oh God, Alana. The world would be happy to see him gone, but would she? Maybe she will be, once everyone tells her what a monster I was. I told the lies, I murdered the people. I deserve this punishment now…

"Patience, patience," Emilian urged the others. "Artwork is a slow, slow process. You four, hold him down."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Alana lay awake beneath satin sheets in the enormous bed in her room, her head still spinning from the events of that night. Smiling up at the ceiling, she relived every moment of the ball over and over her mind. In spite of Seraphine's little jabs at her and Cerise, tonight had been a perfect night. She'd been able to spend time with Erik without having to sneak past patrolling soldiers in the middle of the night. And now she finally knew that he had feelings for her.

Oh no. She wasn't going to be sleeping tonight. Humming the tune of the song Erik had sung for her as they'd danced in the garden, she got out of bed and very nearly waltzed to the far side of the room. There was a window seat beneath a large pane of glass with an incredible view of the estate grounds. Alana sat down and pushed the window open, breathing in the cool night air with a sigh of contentment.

She didn't know it was possible to be as happy as she was now. Still, she felt a twinge of sympathy for the Comte de Bellamy. She hadn't been oblivious to the way he'd looked at Erik; she knew Damien had been jealous when she'd chosen to dance with Erik instead of him. Poor Damien, she thought. I know he won't be happy about Erik and I. But he knows so many women, and he could marry anyone he wanted. Just not me.

As she looked out across the estate, she realized that if Damien liked her as much as she suspected, then it would be reasonable to think about how one day, all this grandeur could be hers. She could be a socialite like Seraphine, and have everyone eating out of her hand. She could have one of the most desirable men in all of France and live in one of the country's most beautiful chateaus, in a life of unbelievable opulence and spectacular parties.

But in spite of all that, she couldn't help but also picture herself with Erik, in the place she'd first met him, in that little house just outside her small town. They'd have art, and music, and each other. That was all she needed.

As she looked through the open window at the night sky, Alana found the brightest star she could see and made a wish that what she longed for most of all would come true. Then she stifled a yawn. She was getting sleepy now, so she climbed down from the window seat to make her way back to bed.

But before she got there, she heard a loud crack. It came from outside and it sounded almost like a…gunshot. Immediately she ran back to the window. She didn't see anything or anyone, but what she'd heard was unquestionably the sound of a gun being fired. Her pulse picked up. Why would someone be shooting off a gun in the middle of the night? She'd thought it would be safe here.

Then, she spied a figure in white coming on fast from a grove of trees, running straight for the house. A ghost! Alana thought at first, but she quickly realized that the figure was far too unsteady on its feet to be a ghost, stumbling here and there along the way. When the figure came close enough, she saw that it was a woman in a dressing gown, who looked very distraught. Maybe she was the one who had fired the gun…or maybe she was the one who had been shot! Either way, something appeared very wrong.

The woman was heading directly for the wing of the house where Alana was staying, and she thought, Maybe I'm the only one awake…the only one to see her. Alana was curious, and also wanted to help this person if she could, so she hurried to put on her own dressing gown, seize a candle, and rush out of her room and down the stairs to meet the woman. When she'd reached the bottom of the staircase, the woman had not yet arrived, and seemed to be nowhere in sight. Perhaps she's still outside. Alana found a door and opened it slowly, cautiously, starting to have doubts as to whether she had made the right choice or not. She had no idea what would await her.

What awaited her was the woman, who had sunk down to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. One hand was holding something tightly, and the other one covered her face, her dark curls hanging down all around it.

Alana closed the door and moved closer. "Madame?"

No answer.

"Madame? What's troubling you? Why are you crying?" Alana knelt down beside the woman, not sure what to make of what was happening.

The other woman let her hand fall away from her face and looked helplessly, despairingly, at Alana.

Alana gasped. The dark hair, the brown eyes, the shape of the face. She recognized this woman. It was the woman from Erik's paintings and drawings. The woman Erik had seemingly given up on. Christine. "It's you," she whispered.

Christine looked at her in bewilderment amidst her tears.

"I know who you are," Alana continued. There's something strange going on here, she thought. What if Erik's involved? She didn't like this. "You're Christine."

The woman nodded dumbly. "How…how do you…" she stammered, struggling to speak in between sobs.

"I'm friends with Erik."

Christine closed her eyes, gasping for breath.

"Now I have an important question," Alana said. "Did you hear that gunshot? Do you know where it came from?"

At her words, Christine crumpled lower onto the ground and began to weep even harder.

"What happened to you?" Alana persisted. Something awful must have occurred. It was very likely that Christine had witnessed something terrible, something that could, she thought with horror, be a shooting. "I was in my room when I heard a gunshot. Then I saw you come running from over there where those trees are. Did someone shoot at you? Or did you see someone else be shot?"

Christine blinked through her tears, then looked down at her hand. Slowly, she unfolded it, revealing a sparkling diamond ring on a broken chain.

"Oh, no." Alana began to tremble, dread and horror filling her mind. "That's Erik's ring…"

"They shot him!" Christine cried out suddenly. "Oh my God, they shot him!"

Alana felt as if a bullet had pierced her own skin. Panic was taking over. Not my Erik. No. It couldn't be! He went to his room. He's there now. He's all right. Besides, no one here would want to hurt him.

Then she remembered what Madame Giry had told her weeks ago. "Monsieur Erik has many enemies."

Tears welled up in Alana's eyes. "No," she moaned. "No! Oh, Lord…" she turned on Christine, eyes blazing. "Where is he? Take me to him, now!"

"It's hopeless now, hopeless, you don't want to go there…" Christine began, still crying uncontrollably.

"No!" Hysteria was taking hold of Alana as well. "Tell me where he is! You know! Take me there! Now!" She seized Christine by the shoulders. She'd never felt like this before. When the other woman just continued weeping, she shook her roughly. "Tell me where he is!" she screamed. "I have to go to him!"

Finally, Christine rose to her feet, grabbed Alana's arm, and pulled the girl after her as she ran for the grove. "Oh, God…he's shot…my fault…I led him there…I didn't want to…all those men…said I had to…only way to be happy…free…what could I do?" She gasped as she ran and sobbed simultaneously.

Alana didn't answer, didn't even think about what Christine was trying to say. She was running as fast as she could, driven by her emotions and her urgent need to get to Erik if he was hurt. She had to help him. Oh, if he was shot…

Then they had burst through the trees into a clearing, and Alana saw a crowd of men gathered around something on the ground. They were laughing, and one of them was kneeling in the grass with a wicked looking knife in his hand that dripped with blood.

She screamed.

The men suddenly stopped what they were doing and stared at Alana and

Christine.

Then, hardly knowing what she was doing, Alana charged at the men, who moved quickly out of her way. And then she stifled another scream, because she saw what the men had been gathered around.

There was Erik, lying on the ground, his clothes bloody and torn, the holes in his shirt showing horrible bruises. And there was blood at the upper right side of his chest. A gunshot wound. He lay there on his back with his eyes half closed and his head turned to the side. It was then that she saw his white mask, lying on the ground next to him, crushed and broken.

And it was then he slowly turned his head to look at her.

She gasped.

In place of the mask was a strange, reddish scarred visage, made more horrifying by the hideous jagged lines across that side of his face, seeping blood that covered his cheek and trickled down his neck. That man had carved his face up with that knife, she realized with horror. The two sides of his face were so completely different she almost couldn't believe what she was seeing. Such ugliness with such beauty.

The broken bodied man on the ground looked up at her with such helpless despair and pain that Alana broke down and wept like Christine. She began to move closer to him but suddenly someone seized her by the arm. She tried frantically to free herself, but another arm grabbed her and held her still, and then she was spun around to come face to face with Damien.

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God! Damien, please, help him! Take him inside, call a doctor…"

"No, Alana," Damien said evenly.

She didn't understand. "He needs help! Help him!" Her voice cracked on the words. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Christine, who was now being carried away from the scene by the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. "Why…why won't you help him? What's wrong with you?" she screamed. "Just look at him!" She dared to glance down at Erik again, who was silently watching her from where he lay. Why are they doing this to you, Erik?

"No, Alana. You look at him. The man on the ground there, he's not the man you know. The man you think he is."

"What…what are you talking about?" Alana asked in anger and confusion.

"He lied to you, Alana. He's not a war hero with a battle scar, he's an escaped circus freak, and he's a liar, kidnapper, thief, and murderer. And he had you under his spell. Who knows what he would have done to you if he had the time…?"

"What? No! That's not true!" Alana cried, thrashing wildly in his grasp. "Let me go! Let me help him! Oh, somebody help him please!"

"We are helping him. We're giving him justice! He's a monster, he's a killer, Alana! Remember the story I told you about the madman who killed my brother? Well this is him, Alana! Erik is the one who killed Avery! And Avery's not the only one he's hurt! Each man here has been hurt by this man in some way, be it with fraud, blackmail, threats, or physical hurt to themselves or their loved ones!"

"No!" she screamed. "No! It's not true! I don't believe it! He wouldn't! Someone, please, help him!"

"It is true," came a voice. It belonged to a young gypsy man, and Alana realized that she recognized him.

"I know you!" Shock had completely taken over her. "You attacked us on the road! You tried to kill him then!"

"Because he murdered my uncle! Even as a child he was evil, full of dark magic and wickedness! He murdered my uncle when he wasn't even ten!" Emilian ran to Erik's side. "Tell her it's true!" He kicked Erik in the ribs, ignoring Alana's cries of protest.

"Tell her every word we've said is true!" He kicked him again, harder. Erik cringed at the blow, but did not cry out. "Tell her!"

Erik looked up at Alana, his blue-green eyes bloodshot and weary with pain. Her heart broke with his as she saw a single tear run slowly down his unmarred cheek. Then he opened his mouth and gasped, "It's…true…"

This can't be real. It's just a bad dream. Oh, wake up. Please wake up! Wake up to a warm bed in a beautiful room. Wake up and run to Erik's room. Go to him and see him there, and know that he's an honest, good man. Tell him that you love him.

Alana stared at him open-mouthed, the tears rushing down her face. It couldn't be true. The man who had saved her life couldn't possibly have taken the lives of others, outside the war he'd fought. But Damien had said he had not fought in the war at all.

Erik couldn't have lied to her! It wasn't possible! She'd seen truth in his eyes tonight, at the ball. She knew that she loved him, and it seemed certain that he loved her too. At the very least they were supposed to be friends. He was such a beautiful person, oh how she loved him. His music, his songs. His smile. How could he do these things?

Madame Giry's words haunted her again. Erik has many enemies.

It all made sense now. The strange behavior, the hiding, the secretiveness, the unanswered questions. In all the time she'd known him, it had seemed as though he were running from something, and now she knew. He'd been running from his past.

And an awful thing it was.

She shook her head slowly in disbelief, trembling all over. "No," she whispered.

"Erik, no. It can't be true." She looked back down at him, and this time, his eyes did not lie.

He was a murderer.

She'd fallen in love with a killer.

What man can I trust? The ones closest to me, their lives are poisoned by darkness and violence.

Alana backed away, still shaking her head. She made herself glare darkly at Erik, who seemed to shrink even lower into the ground. She made herself look at Damien and say, "I…I can't…be here. I can't, I don't know what to do…I have to go back to the chateau."

He nodded to her. "I'll be heading back too, very soon. And Alana? Don't grieve over this for too long. You were deceived. Many of us were. But it will be over soon. All the pain this man has caused will come to an end, and then we will be able to get through this together."

Alana tried to force a smile, but she could not. Instead, she willed herself to turn her back on the nightmarish scene and walk into the forest. She did not look back, and she did not falter, though a knifelike pain cut through her chest as she heard Damien say,

"Enough of this. Just look at him, he's not much longer for this world. Throw him into the river."

Her heart broke into a million pieces when she heard Erik, crying out her name.

Alana stopped, and leaned against the back of a tall, wide oak tree. She just stood there, eyes closed, hot tears streaming down her face and neck. She waited there for what seemed like a thousand years, until she heard many footsteps making their way through the trees nearby, until she could no longer hear them.

Then, she abandoned the tree and dashed for the clearing. She burst through the trees to find Erik gone. He must have been thrown in the river like Damien had said. She ran alongside the river, following the current and looking into the clear water, hoping and praying that Erik was still alive.

She was in shock, she was heartbroken, and she was livid.

But by God, I'm not going to let that man die.