Erik sat beside Mia who was curled up in bed, her head in her lap. After her bath and changing into dry clothes, Mia had sat down and collapsed. He began to stroke her hair, humming softly. He didn't know the last time she had slept, but he didn't think it was recently.
Mia whimpered softly in her sleep, probably from her injury. Erik hated that he couldn't do anything to help her. There wasn't anything besides time that could heal a broken rib, and he didn't have anything that could ease her pain until then. He might be able to conjure up some morphine, but any place that sold it would be closed until morning, and he knew the drug was highly addictive and that was the last thing Mia needed right now.
He gently brushed his fingers across her face. Her sunken cheeks frightened him. Had she not been eating? Then another thought struck him. She had said she was sick. Surely it wasn't that. Erik didn't think he could bear to watch her waste away. Whatever it was, he could only hope Mia got over it quickly.
Her eyes fluttered open at his touch. "Erik," she murmured. "What is it?"
"When was the last time you ate?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I'm not hungry." Her stomach growled just then, proving that that wasn't the case.
"That's it, I'm getting something for you to eat."
"No, Erik. Please, I'm fine," she insisted as she sat up. When he started to protest, she continued with, "Really, it's nothing. I've just been putting on weight despite everything, and I need to lose it before it gets out of control. Besides, every time I eat, I get sick. I couldn't even if I wanted to."
"Goddammit Mia, this is ridiculous! Look at you! You're starving yourself! I am going to make you something to eat and you're going to, even if I have to feed you myself!"
A few hours later, Mia whimpered at the sight of Erik approaching her with a bowl in his hands. He had tried getting her to eat earlier, but when she did, she had gotten sick again and with a broken rib, it had been an excruciating experience. "Mia, I know it hurts, but if you don't eat something, you'll die," Erik pleaded. "It's just some soup. It'll hopefully stay down better. We'll take it slow okay?" She reluctantly nodded, knowing he wouldn't give up until he had his way.
Luckily, Erik was right and Mia didn't get sick again. He had her nibble off and on all day to avoid eating too much at once and getting sick, but by dinnertime, she was ravenous and was able keep a small plate of food down.
"What?" she asked, realizing he had spoken to her. Erik had insisted she try and get as much sleep as possible to make up for her recent lack of, but Mia found she couldn't and had been silently staring out at the lake lost in her own thoughts instead.
"I asked what's wrong."
"That is an excellent question," Mia replied softly. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I can barely eat, I can barely sleep, I seem to be sick all the time, and on top of it all, I don't know why."
Erik pulled her into his arms, careful to mind her broken rib. "I'm sure it's just stress. Gaston and I have put you through a lot lately, and you said Amelia's back. Not a single one of those would be good, but all together, it's a very rough situation to be in. I'm sure you'll be better once things have calmed down. And if you don't, or if you get any worse, I'll find you a doctor, one who doesn't know you or your family to help you."
"Thank you," Mia murmured into his chest. "You're more than I deserve." He stood and rummaged through a cabinet before pulling out a bottle. "What's that?"
"It's laudanum. It'll help you sleep." Mia watched him pour a spoonful and he held it out. "I promise, no dreams, no nightmares, just sleep." She nodded and obediently opened her mouth. The next thing she knew, Erik was helping her lie down against the pillows then everything went black.
"That's it! I don't know what she's been doing all day, but the whole house is freezing!" Gaston shouted. He shoved the door to Amelia's room open, despite her heavy wooden desk blocking it. The window was wide open, the source of the cold air, but that wasn't the only thing he found. Amelia's room had been absolutely trashed, and his wife was absolutely nowhere to be found. "Amelia!" he screamed. "AMELIA!"
"Monsieur?" He turned and saw Hazel standing there.
"You!" he roared. "Where's my wife? Where did she go?"
"She's in her room Mons-" Hazel's eyes widened when she saw the ravaged room and the open window. "Oh my God," she cried in horror. "She's been taken!"
"Or maybe she just wants us to think that," Gaston growled. "Fetch the gens d'armes. They'll figure out where she's run off to this time."
Within the hour, there were half a dozen gens de'armes combing through Amelia's room, scouring the lawn, and rummaging through the rest of the house, looking for any clues as to where the missing woman could be. "Monsieur, is there anything missing?" the superior officer asked.
"There's only one way to tell." Gaston turned to the maid, who had just finished being questioned. "If the Messieurs have finished with their search, I want you to put everything back and I expect to be notified if anything is lost."
"Monsieur, if the people who took her wanted her to be found, don't you think they would have left a note or some other sign?"
"You seem so certain she was kidnapped and didn't run away."
"Forgive me Monsieur for being frank," Hazel said. "But the desk couldn't have moved itself to block the door with her on the outside, and a lady like Madame seems hardly the type that knows how to climb trees."
"Just do what you're instructed to do and leave the detective work to the professionals," he snarled. "Or I'll make sure you lose your job and so much more."
Hours passed, and Hazel was still cleaning. Gaston downed another glass of brandy as he listened to the superior officer's report on what his men had discovered. "Nothing?!" he repeated in disbelief. "You've been here practically all night and you've found nothing?!"
"Believe me, Monsieur, we're doing everything we can, but we've found no fingerprints and any foot prints we might have found have long since been trampled over by your servants. Right now our best bet is to wait and see if we receive any ransom demands or find anything missing that might tell us where she might have gone or who might have taken her."
The sun was rising before they received any sort of answer. Gaston's brandy decanter was getting closer and closer to empty and only a couple gens de'armes left. The rest had been sent home while the remaining ones waited for news. "Messieurs?" They turned and saw the maid standing there, a piece of paper in her hands. She was absolutely white as a sheet. "This fell out of one of the books when I was putting away." Gaston snatched the paper from her hands and began to read.
Raoul woke to a loud commotion downstairs. "What on earth?" Christine murmured as she stirred beside him.
"VICOMTE!"
Christine's eyes widened in fear. "What was that?"
"Not good," Raoul replied as he haphazardly dressed. His wife pulled on her dressing gown so she would be somewhat decent before following him out of the room.
"Where is she?!" Raoul pushed Christine behind him as none other than Gaston Barineau charged at them. He could smell the alcohol long before his brother-in-law got in his face. "You filthy little opera whore!" he shouted, trying to get at Christine, who screamed. "This is all your fault!"
"Monsieur, you're drunk," Raoul snapped, shoving Gaston backwards. "And you're unwelcome here. Now leave before I have to have you forcibly removed." He motioned to two servants who grabbed the man and started to pull him from the room.
Gaston struggled against them and continued to shout at the couple. "This is your fault!"
"What's our fault?" Christine couldn't help but ask.
He threw a crumpled piece of paper at them. A skeptical Raoul picked it up, but as soon as he saw the handwriting, his blood ran cold. "Mia," he gasped.
Mia walked up to the organ, wrapped her arms around Erik's neck, and kissed his good cheek. He brought her into his lap, taking care to avoid hurting her. "Good morning," he said with a smile. "How are you feeling?"
"Better. Much better."
"And you're looking it to," Erik agreed. "If you give me a moment, I'll go fetch you some breakfast."
"Not that much better." She sighed at the look he gave her. "Erik, I promise, I'll eat later. It's just worse in the morning and I really don't want to be sick again."
"I expect you to eat in a few hours then without protest."
She nodded in agreement, before letting out a heavy sigh, standing up and beginning to pace. "We shouldn't stay here Erik."
Erik stood before her and put comforting hands on her shoulders. "Mia, I promise you as soon as you're better we'll go, but with you hurt and sick, it's the last thing you need. Once you're healed, I swear I will take you wherever you desire, but we have to get you better first."
"Promise me Erik!"
He smiled gently, putting her a little more at ease. "I thought I just did, but if you want me to say it again, I will. I promise you, Mia."
"Thank you," she whispered. Erik kissed her and the next thing Mia knew, her back was against the mirror. He paused for a moment to take a breath and suddenly everything changed. His arms were tight around her, threatening to put pressure on her aching rib. It was getting too close to being painful for her liking. "Stop it," Mia tried to say, but Erik cut her off with his lips. She tried to push him away to tell him that he was going to hurt her, but he wouldn't allow it.
Suddenly Erik spun her around and threw her into the swan bed. Mia screamed in pain as she landed on her injured side. "Stop!" she screamed. "Please!" He rolled her onto her back, making her cry out again, before straddling her hips. Erik looked on the verge of crying and his lips were forming the words 'I'm sorry' over and over again, but he reached for the strings on her nightgown anyway. "What are you doing?!"
"Let her go!"
Mia looked past Erik and saw what he must have seen reflected in the mirror right before he started getting rough with her. The only reason he was treating her like this was to put on a show. Erik was protecting her, because no one could know she loved the Opera Ghost. And when she saw the pistol, Mia could only hope she could protect Erik in return. "Raoul!" she screamed.