Meg decided she might as well follow everyone else out through the Rue Scribe gate. The journey was longer that way but a straighter shot, and far more difficult to get lost down. After all, Meg reasoned it would make far more sense if she appeared to join the mob in the hunt, given that she was the one who directed them this way.
Luckily by the time she jumped in the water and started wading toward the gate, all that were left behind were the drunker members of the party. They swayed and shouted in the water, laughing throatily, and most importantly, not noticing Meg in the least.
This was very fortunate, because at the moment, Meg's mind was too full for her to speak.
She couldn't quite believe all that had happened was real. She…she actually met the Phantom! She'd been the one to find him, to confront him, to threaten him, to – heavens! – to actually take him by the shoulder and shake him!
Had he been what she expected? His lair certainly had been, and so had the twisting dark maze down to that lair.
But what of the man himself?
And he was a man. He was not some evil spirit sent from hell, or any of the lies Joseph Buquet or the superstitious ballet rats had spread over the years.
He was a mad killer, yes, but above all a broken man.
A chill ran down her spine again that had nothing to do with the water she was wading through.
Broken, yes, mad, yes – but his eyes.
There had been a weary spark in them: full of love, full of pain.
A look of more humanity than Meg had ever seen before.
She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the image. All right, so he had sad eyes. But did those sad eyes watch as Christine and Raoul left him, like he said, or did they watch the two as…as….
Meg could not let herself finish the fatal thought.
After what seemed like hours wading her damp way through dark, cool water, with nothing but drunken carousing as her companions, Meg at last reached the Rue Scribe gate, the dim light from outside signalling the end.
The roars from the mob reached her again as she squeezed her way out between her swaying companions, who had given up their enraged oaths and curses in exchange for sea chanties.
She ducked one of their hands that had been thrown out to give the one about the peg-legged woman and blind man a theatrical flourish. She barely saw where she was going. She could still see only the Phantom's haunted eyes, so mystical and removed compared to the garish street lights and hustling crowd around her.
This distraction is probably what caused her to scream so loudly – releasing what she'd bottled up in front of the Phantom – as two strong hands reached out from the hubbub and grabbed her.
She whirled around to face the blazing, frantic eyes of her mother.
Meg had little time to take her in before the enraged ballet mistress shook her violently. "You foolish, reckless girl! Do you know what you put me through? Do you have the slightest idea? I came back to find you gone without a trace! If I hadn't chanced to see someone coming back for reinforcements, saying 'Little Giry said she saw the Phantom heading out the Rue Scribe gate' I would have gone mad with worry! How dare you, mademoiselle! How dare you!"
"I" –
Just as suddenly as she had shaken her, Madame Giry crushed Meg to her chest. She rocked her back and forth. "Foolish, foolish girl," she murmured in Meg's hair.
Ordinarily Meg would have been shaking and stricken seeing her usually sedate mother transform into first a furious stormfront and then a soothing cradle. However, tonight her mother's actions only jolted her back to reality.
Instead of justifying her actions or comforting Giry in turn, Meg instead took her mother by her shoulders and wrenched away, her green-gray eyes boring into the ballet mistress. "Mother, I've seen him. Spoken to him. He's down below in some sort of basement that wasn't on the map."
"What map?"
"…Never mind. Look, the important thing is he said he released Raoul and Christine. I…I don't know whether I should believe him or not, but, well, I sort of do. A little. There was no trace of either of them, so I have to try to believe…anyway, where should I look for them?"
Meg spoke hurriedly, and as such she missed the subtle shades in her mother's expression as she listened. First there was indignation that Meg should presume not to excuse her actions, then surprise at this new level in Erik's lair, and then a melancholy hope that Erik might have finally seen reason enough to grant Christine and Raoul their freedom…and finally dark resignation that whether or not Erik was lying, Meg had seen too much to go back now.
Madame Giry was suddenly too exhausted to try to punish her, to censure her – to shield her.
She wearily released the grip she'd still had on her daughter's arms. "If they're smart, they'll leave Paris. Tonight."
"Tonight," Meg thought aloud. Realization dawned and she brightened. "Perros! That's where they'd try to go! Perros! They'd probably rent a carriage!"
"That's not an unreasonable assumption…MEG!"
But it was too late. Her pet rabbit hopped away from her once more, disappearing into the crowd, possessed by purpose.
Two figures, man and woman, sat alone at the brougham depot. The man stood with his back to the street in front of the woman, shielding her from view.
Except for an old porter snoring intermittently at his post, they were alone.
They spoke in low voices, composing aloud the telegrams they would send – when and where to send their luggage, what was to be done with Mme. Valerius, where she would live with them, if she could even be moved.
The woman slipped a quiet hand into the man's in front of her.
"Raoul," she whispered.
He quickly bent down and kissed her forehead. He leaned his against hers for a moment. "My love."
They would have made an odd sight had anyone conscious been there to see them. Raoul was without a jacket, his pants soaked. Christine still wore the wedding gown. After arriving at a bank far from the growing mob, Raoul and Christine had headed directly to the depot after leaving the Phantom's boat, stopping only briefly at the servant's entrance at Raoul's home, quietly collecting money from the befuddled but reliably silent valet.
"You…you were so brave, Raoul."
"No," he took the hand she'd given him and kissed it passionately. "I won't have that. You were the brave one. You saved us both. All I accomplished was almost getting my stupid neck broken." He gave her a warm half-smile. "The nightmare's over, darling, and it's all thanks to you. You're a wonder."
Christine's eyes glowed as they took in his features, enjoying the warm timbre of his voice more than she paid heed to any of his words. Sweet, foolish boy…what he called bravery she called desperation. It had been fear that drove her, really – her greatest fear realized, that she might have to watch Raoul die. Everything she had done she had done to keep Raoul safe.
The instant she had seen him in the Phantom's noose, a crazed animal unleashed itself inside of her, and for the first time she truly hated her fallen Angel of Music.
Yet the crazed animal gave way to an eerie sort of calm, almost a kind of dull madness – yet in this madness, a clarity. For as she gazed at the Phantom, she saw in him the same frenzy she felt. A frenzy borne from love.
And in the midst of her hate for the man, compassion reawakened.
Yet it was still with Raoul's image in her heart that in a trancelike state she approached the Angel. When she took his head in her trembling hands and pressed her lips against his, her heart bloomed for her Raoul.
Her comfort, her salvation. Here, now, at the station, she felt her heart bloom again as she looked at him. Raoul, with the sun in his hair and the sea in his eyes.
Her Raoul.
Yet her heart was broken for the pitiful man she left behind. She had seen true love in his eyes for the first time as she left him – true love and death. She had a terrible presentiment her Angel might do something very foolish to himself…and she felt for him still such a confusing mix of emotions: gratitude, pity, compassion, frustration, and yes, love.
Almost…and this thought was so ludicrous she felt like dismissing it…almost like the love a mother has for a favorite son. She, who had always trembled and obeyed this strikingly authoritative figure, now felt oddly protective, as if she were the strong one and he the weak.
In a way, it was appropriate. She had given him tonight what his mother never had deigned to: compassion, affection, a kiss.
And just like a mother fears for her son, Christine feared greatly for the Angel's safety.
Still, she would do as her Angel had commanded. She would leave Paris behind and find sanctuary with Raoul. Always with Raoul.
Yet her soul was haunted. A part of her would probably always see his eyes, hear his voice….
They heard a rumble of wheels down the road that was thankfully empty, the majority of Paris's citizenry mobbing the opera house. Oh god, Angel, please elude them! Christine prayed desperately.
"I'll make sure this gets us to Perros tonight," Raoul said as the brougham turned the corner. Raoul fished in his pockets for his change, readying himself to make their quick transaction.
Through her befuddled wave of grief and love, Christine felt relief. Raoul may go on and on about her internal strength, but she was glad to cede some of these real-world problems to him. She couldn't cope right now.
Just as the carriage was about to approach, a cry of "Christine!" from down the depot caused Raoul and Christine's heart to stop.
It was difficult to make out the figure in the dark, but it was easy for the couple to recognize the quick little steps and small size of the girl running toward them.
Meg reached them at the same time the brougham did, the pretty girl out of breath.
"Meg?" Christine asked softly, taking in her friend's unusual boyish attire that was sopping wet from the waist down. Christine gave Raoul a quick glance that he immediately interpreted.
As he spoke to the driver, asking him to wait, Christine turned to her friend.
"How did...how did you find us?"
Meg squeezed her hands, beaming. "Oh, I'm so glad you're all right! When he said he let you go, I so wanted to believe him, but I had to see with my own eyes!"
At that Christine's eyes widened and like Meg's mother, she grabbed Meg roughly by the arms. "Good god…you spoke to him? Does that mean…he's been caught?"
"No…" Meg swallowed uneasily. Here was the difficult part. How could she explain to her dearest friend that she had actually saved her captor's life? "I…Christine, please don't be angry with me…I found him before anyone else and I…well…I sort of hid him."
At Christine's quizzical look, she hurried on. "He's hiding in an extra floor beneath his lair. I told him that if I found you safe like he said, I wouldn't turn him in. I figured if you were alive, you and Raoul would go to Perros-Guirec, so I came here." Her eyes shone directly into Christine's. "Christine, I'm sorry what I said to him. If you want, I'll still take the police there. I'm so stupid, but the way he spoke made me in the moment think" –
Christine's pressure on Meg's arms only increased. Her dark eyes were stormy and desperate. Her face was very white but determined. "Meg, listen to me. Protect him. Watch over him. Make sure he's all right. Please, please promise me!"
Meg's own hands dropped to her sides limp like a rag doll's, astonished. "…What?"
"Make sure he doesn't do anything rash, that he takes care of himself! He'll listen to you, you're Madame Giry's daughter and my friend!"
Meg recognized the look on Christine's face. It conveyed the sympathy and concern that Meg herself had felt watching the Phantom sob and give up. But still…of all people, Christine should logically be the last one who would want to see him safe! "I…I know he let you go, Christine, but after everything he's done..."
Christine closed her eyes and nodded. "I know, I know. But believe me, he's not evil or beyond redemption. He's…he's led a terrible life without any love, any compassion. But he is capable himself of great compassion, I know! If you can, show him mercy, and he'll be as gentle a soul as you've ever met, I swear it!"
Meg knew now that the Phantom had indeed been telling the truth, and Christine had kissed him. Meg felt nothing but awe for her friend, for her profound kindness.
"Please, please promise me you'll look after him!" Christine repeated.
Meg thought of Buquet. She thought of Piangi. She thought of Carlotta's despair and heartbreak. She recalled the sound of the chandelier crashing into the audience and the resulting screams. She thought of her own weakness compared to the towering Phantom.
But what she saw now was the face of Christine Daae looking at her with frenzied hope. Christine Daae, who aside from Madame Giry, Meg loved more than anyone else in the world.
Lastly she saw the Phantom's eyes, lost and in pain.
Meg laid a hand over Christine's. "All right," she said at last. "I promise."
Christine embraced her, sobbing quietly.
Over Christine's shoulder, Meg saw Raoul's sober face. "It's time to go," he said quietly.
Meg nodded and removed herself gently from Christine's arms. "We'll see each other again, won't we, Christine?"
Unable to speak, tears running down her face, Christine nodded rapidly. She managed one small smile before disappearing into the carriage.
Raoul kissed Meg's cheek and tugged lightly on one of her curls. "Take care of yourself too, Flibbertigibbet."
Meg returned his wink. "I will. Just as you'll look after Christine."
As the carriage pulled away, Christine thrust her head out the window and called out to Meg through her tears. "Remember your promise, Meg! And remember how much I love you!"
Meg waved with the enthusiasm of a puppy wagging its tail. "You too, Christine! I'll remember!"
They were gone through the mist of Paris's night, now almost morning.
Meg stood watching the path they'd taken for many minutes afterward, fighting with her own tears.
Then she took a deep breath and turned back toward her path home. To her new responsibility.
She almost trembled at the weight of what laid before her. In her rattled brain she could form no real plan to…to actually take care of the Phantom.
The idea itself was ludicrous: she, tiny, shy, and jumpy, looking after this almost mythical, wily figure whose very existence had haunted her childhood more than any bogeyman of old.
But she would look after him. She must.
She'd promised Christine.
She took it as an encouraging sign when she felt the first sun's rays of the morning at her back as she headed home.
A/N: Don't worry, this is far from the last time you'll see Raoul and Christine! And there are more Erik and Meg interactions coming next chapter. Thanks for all the great feedback for last chapter!