Chapter Twenty

As Madame Giry knelt by Alison's prone body, stroking her hair, only one coherent thought was going through her mind. Erik needs to know about this. Erik needs to take care of her. She placed a kiss on Alison's forehead and strode to the mirror, pushed the screen aside, and pushed the catch that put her into the tunnels.

She walked slowly at first, not relishing the idea of what she was about to do, but then walked faster and began to run.

She ran all the way through the tunnels and arrived at Erik's house completely out of breath. She leaned against the side of the entrance, trying to catch her breath and looking around for Erik.

She saw him at his desk, drawing feverishly and humming under his breath. When she craned her neck to look at his drawings, she felt a sick lurch in her stomach. The image he was capturing on paper was Alison, looking beautiful, happy, and innocent. When Madame Giry compared his drawing to the Alison she had seen, she wanted to cry for everything that Alison had lost. But now there was no time.

"Erik." Her voice shattered the tranquility of the scene. His head whipped around and he saw her.

"Antoinette! What are you doing here so soon? She did come back to you, I am sorry if she was a little late. But I have so much to thank you for. Today was the most wonderful day in my entire existence! I could hardly believe that it was real. I–"

"Erik." She cut him off, and only then did he fully notice the look on her face. He frowned in confusion.

"What is it?"

"Erik, Alison has been hurt."

He froze. "What?" he asked quietly.

"You need to come quickly. She is unconscious, but she may wake up soon and need your support."

"What happened?"

Madame Giry pressed her lips together for a moment. "Erik," she said, barely getting the words out, "I think that she has been raped."

Erik's heart stopped. Every vein in his body went cold and frozen. "No…" he whispered, disbelieving. "Not her. Please God, not her." His voice was strangled.

After a moment, he looked up at Madame Giry. "Where is she? I need to be with her now," he said, his voice desperate.

"Come with me," said Antoinette. She turned and walked back into the tunnels.

Erik jumped up and walked quickly behind her, pushing her to go faster. Soon they arrived in the mirror and jumped out.

Erik's eyes landed on Alison's prone body. Madame Giry's eyes darted between Erik and Alison's body.

"I ought to go," she said, and ran from the room, trying to escape the terrible look on Erik's face.

Erik knelt down beside her softly, examining the bruises to try and be sure that she was all right. His face was blank, but his mind was screaming. Why? Why did this happen? What kind of son of a bitch would do this to her?

His eyes lighted on her closed fist. He reached slowly for it and tried to pull her fingers apart. They wouldn't go, for a moment, but finally they came apart. When Erik saw what she was holding, a bolt of pain shot through him.

The petals of the flower he had tucked in her hair less than an hour ago dripped from her hand, crumpled and broken. Erik stared for a moment then softly took Alison's body in his arms and began to cry.

"Oh, Angelique," he whispered brokenly. "I am so, so sorry."

He held her for a while, rocking her back and forth.

Alison's eyes shot open. She felt arms, imprisoning and stifling, holding her body close to someone else's. Patrick… She began to writhe and twist, trying to escape, to get help, to hurt him, anything. "No! Stop! Get off me!" Suddenly the arms let go and she jumped up, trying to run away. She found herself in a corner, hands pressed against the two walls. She searched the room quickly for a way out, for help, for something. Her breath was coming quickly as she tried to find her attacker.

There was only Erik, kneeling on the floor, looking bewildered and hurt. Only then did she realize that he was the one who had been holding her. Her breath still came in gasps, but they were shorter, quicker. Her eyes dropped to the floor for a moment as the events of the last half an hour hit her.

Patrick walking toward her… on top of her… hurting her… Erik's flower on the floor…grab it, it's his gift…screaming… but no one comes…the smell of alcohol…pain…blackness.

She looked up into Erik's eyes. "Angelique," he whispered, his voice laden with pain, hurt, and compassion.

"Erik." Her voice came out in a broken gasp. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Her legs couldn't hold her anymore and she slid down the wall. Her knees were pressed to her chest in the small space and she began to cry, shoulders shaking with the weight of her sobs.

Erik felt her pain in his chest like a physical wound. He slowly came closer to her, as if he were approaching a wounded bird.

"Angelique," he said softly, "I will not harm you in any way. I promise. Please allow me to help you. I cannot simply sit here while you suffer. Please."

She shook her head, burying her face deep into her hands. They stayed like that for a while; Alison crying and Erik awkwardly crouching near her. He saw her tears but was unable to hold her the way he wanted to because of her fear.

Finally her crying slowed. She looked up at Erik, shame and pain reflected in her eyes, and crawled out of the corner to face him. "Erik, I…"

"Shh." He put a finger over her lips, not touching her, just silencing her. "You do not need to be ashamed, or sorry with me. I love you, Angelique, and I will be here for you no matter what happens." He opened his arms.

She looked at him, the desire to believe shining through.

"Please," he said softly. "Let me hold you. Let me help you."

She saw the sincerity in his eyes and scooted over, carefully placing herself in his arms. They curled around her, pulling her close to him. Her head drooped on his shoulder and he buried his face in her hair, giving himself comfort from her presence.

Then he shifted his position, getting one of his arms under her knees. "I am going to take you to my house, if that is all right with you. I believe you are not in any condition to see people at this moment, yes?"

She nodded her acquiescence. He scooped her into his arms and carried her all the way down to his lair. She pressed herself against his chest, breathing in his scent and his very presence. She felt safe and loved in his arms. But a small part of her mind was yelling at him, ranting and raving. I screamed for you, I called for you, I needed you. The one time I needed you and you weren't there. She mentally shook herself. How would he be able to hear you? He would have had no idea that something was wrong and even if he did, he wouldn't have been able to get there in time to stop it happening. Just let go of whatever it is that's making you resent him, because he's going to be essential to your recovery.

They arrived at his home and he laid her gently down on the bed. He touched her cheek softly, eyes full of concern. "This seems an inane question, but are you all right? Is there anything I can do to help you?"

She thought about it. "Yes, actually," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Is there any way that I can have a bath?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes. There is a bathtub behind the door next to the kitchen. I will fetch water and fill it for you." He walked off quickly.

She sat unmoving in the bed, staring into space. She was fighting with her mind, trying desperately not to remember, not to feel, not to think at all. Her skin crawled with the memory of Patrick's touch, and the bruises all over her arms would not allow her to forget it. She felt dirty, as if she were contaminating the very air she breathed.

Erik was back soon with a dress, a towel, and a cake of soap. He handed all three articles to her and said, "There is water in the bathtub. I will leave you alone. If you need me, call out and I will be there, I promise you." There was a dark look in his eyes and she saw the self-blame deep inside them. Blame for what had happened to her, for not hearing her, for not being there. A ripple of tenderness swept her heart for a moment. She fit her hand to the contours of his unmasked cheek.

"Erik, none of this was your fault," she told him softly, answering the words he hadn't said. "You shouldn't blame yourself: if it was anyone's fault, it's his."

He placed his hand over hers. "Whose fault is it then? Who was it who did this to you?"

A spark of fear shot through her at his question. Patrick's words echoed through her head: "It'll show him how worthless you truly are. When he finds out, he'll get on up and walk away." The small measure of peace she had regained was lost with the thought of him. She involuntarily pulled her hand back.

Erik saw the panic in her eyes as she turned away from him and folded her arms tightly across her chest. "It doesn't matter. May I please be alone?"

He was slightly hurt, but knew that it would be best not to push her. "Of course."

As soon as Erik was out of earshot, she ran to the bathtub, stripped off what was left of her dress, and plunged herself into the water. It was scalding, but she didn't care. She took the soap that he had given her and began dragging it roughly across her body, trying to erase every memory of Patrick's touch. Every time she touched one of her bruises, she let out a gasp of pain, but kept on going. Finally her skin was pink and burning, but she felt cleaner than she had before. She sunk her entire body into the rapidly cooling bath, trying to let her mind go blank, but it was no use. Knowing that she wasn't going to get anything out of staying longer, she pulled herself out of the bath and dried herself off with the towel, being as gentle with her skin as possible. Once she was dry, she picked up the dress and almost dropped it as a wave of emotions swept through her. It was one of the dresses she had bought yesterday, a twin to the dress she had worn this morning with Erik.

Looking at the dress, she could hardly believe that it had only been this morning that she had been so happy and blissfully in love. It felt like years ago. She felt so old, and the pain overwhelmed her as she sank to the floor, sobbing.

That was how Erik found her when he came back to check on her. The towel was wrapped around her and she was clutching the dress, crying and rocking back and forth. He didn't say anything, simply taking her into his arms and holding her close. Finally, by force of will, she made herself stop crying and shooed Erik away so she could get dressed. She pulled on the dress without looking at it again and made her way through the lair towards the sound of the music floating around the space.

Erik was sitting at his organ. Music flowed from his fingers, melodies shifting and changing effortlessly from one to another. She stood behind him, immersing herself in the music, forgetting everything but the notes that wound insidiously through her ears and into her heart. It relaxed her every muscle and calmed her down, pushing lingering traces of tears from her eyes. She sat down quietly on the bench next to him, wanting to get closer to him, to the music, to peace. He didn't notice her presence until her arm accidentally brushed against his. He jumped with surprise, but kept playing. Eventually, he ended the melody and let the notes trail off into silence.

"Thank you," she said softly.

His mouth quirked in a small smile. "I see no reason for you to thank me. I was simply doing what I love best. Would you like to have dinner now or would you rather go to sleep?" he asked, changing topics abruptly.

"I would rather sleep, if you don't mind. It's kind of been a long day."

He nodded, understanding.

She hesitated. "Should I… I mean…where do you want me to sleep? I'm good anywhere as long as–"

"You are sleeping in the bed," he said firmly. "As you said, you have had a long day and you need a better rest than I do."

"Thanks again." She leaned close and ghosted her lips across his cheek. "Good night."

"Good night, Angelique." He smiled tenderly at her as she went to the bed.

She pulled herself under the covers and fell asleep to the lullaby he had written the first night they had met.

She slept peacefully through most of the night.

And then the nightmares began.

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