Author's Note: Wait! Before you read, you may want to Check out Chapter 10 of Diary of Heartache. It is a companion to this fic for fair reason, and gives more backstory if you want more.
Grave Implications
Traversing water was both a blessing and a curse. Its steady flow washed away scent and trackable trails left by hoof-falls, but for as beneficial as these aspects were, that flow of water slowed the progression of those very same hooves. Their mount marched through cold liquid with sloshes piercing the air in percussive discourse. Perhaps it was not as loud as a pistol's clap, but it did not dissipate in the same veracity. It continued, lingering in the air with a every stride of the horse.
Strange instruction for a Phantom to give them. However, Christine knew his full reason was not so much about creating sound, but rather leaving a lasting trail. All she could do now was trust him, and his doubtless knowledge of just where they were. Afterall, Erik was not the one who fled into the wilderness without maintaining some measure of direction.
Even over the sound of icy water spraying the air, she heard the screams. Faint and distant, but there none the less. As gunshots rumbled through still air and blackening night, Christine prayed none of them would find purchase in him.
Please not Erik too. Erik who she had not seen in a decade. Erik who so willingly came to her aide, even if he believed he had every reason to abandon her.
"I love you, Christine. I always will," his last words to her back then still rang true now.
Come back to me, Christine willed the thought into the universe as she and Charles turned a sharp bend, deeper into the woods.
Erik bought them time, but as she caught the sight of two mounted figures reaching the creek from the corner of her eye, Christine knew it was not enough. It was only a fleeting second of a sightline between her and the others before trees cut between them. But it was enough for them to catch sight of her and turn down the passage in pursuit alongside the creek.
The pair had no reason try to conceal their presence with water, and easily began closing the distance.
Fear rose again, blossoming within her chest and gripped her core in a too familiar chill. Too many times had she felt this anxiety welling within her, today worst of all. As she followed the winding creek, trying to follow his instructions, the others continued to draw closer. It was coming down point where Christine would have to steer them from the creek-bed just to slow their progress on her and Charles. Until she saw it.
A full-bodied conifer lay over the creek and blocked her from continuing onward. Christine had no choice but to sit back and pull on the reigns until they came to an abrupt halt. Although much of the conifer's foliage was browned and dead, there was enough green left to believe this was a fresh fall.
What horrible timing.
She scanned either side of it and neighboring fauna, finding it too dense to travel on horse.
"Maman?" Charles's small voice reflected her own growing panic.
Keeping her head clear was getting ever harder.
Christine glanced back to see the men closing, each with a raise hand towards her. Her eyes widen from implication, taking Charles down with her as she slipped off the side of the horse just before shots thundered again.
Their horse screamed and Christine stumbled back towards the tree, holding Charles to her as current of the water pushed the back of her knees towards the equine as it reared up and fell back towards them. They did not have chance to completely evade the fall of a dying horse but at least they would not be crushed.
With every ounce strength the she had with meager purchase on sharp wet gravel beneath her bare feet, she threw herself and Charles back into the branches of the tree and fully submerged under water for a few second. Pain tore through her right leg as the horse's shoulder landed on her, pinning her foreleg beneath its weight.
A cry barely escaped Christine as she managed to sit up enough to break surface and gasp for air. But the cold of the water was a shock to the system and made it harder.
Charles squirmed beside her, "Maman!" His voice was blessedly clear of any ailment apart from abject fear.
Christine continued straining for sufficient breath, and tried to pull herself free only to succumb to pain with another cry.
Sweet Charles managed to find footing and hooked his arm with hers and pulled. Together, they struggled to break free. To no avail. They were trembling as the cold of water and night sank deep into their bones. "Go…hide Angel, under the tree. Run if you have too. Erik will find you." If he was still alive…
Charles shook his head, glancing back to the men, their laughter echoing off the trees. Instead, he sat behind her, helping her keep her head above the water.
Then, as if by magic, he appeared.
Upon his majestic horse as black as the night around them, Erik broke from the forest to become the wall between mother and child, and those who would harm them.
"You!" one of the men exclaimed as horses skid to an abrupt halt. "How–?"
"You cannot be rid of me so easily, Monsieur!" Erik's sonorous voice echoed around them. "Your companions extent their grave invitations to you!"
"We have no qualms with you! Be gone and we'll spare your life!"
Erik allowed his voice to come just from him. "You speak as though you are not my prey," came that growl in a voice that marked him as the Angel of Death.
Both men leveled their pistols towards Erik and he flicked his arm towards them. Sparks and smoke dazzled the air in brilliant radiance that was blinding to the unprepared. The guns went off while the garish display shattered the night vision of all who were not expecting it. Even Christine could not discern what happened next as all she could do was listen to the ensuring scuffle of men and horses. Then, the guttural cry of one, then soon, the gasping of another.
Neither voice was Erik's.
Thank God.
As her vision began to return, she saw Erik sprinting towards her with two facedown bodies floating his wake. He led one of the men's horses by the reigns to them, and quickly discarded his cloak and jacket on dry land before he joined her and Charles in the water. "Christine." She struggled to focus on him as he called her name.
So…tired.
"Christine, where?" Erik coaxed.
"L–leg," she shivered, and felt his hands unapologetically slide down her body. When he found where she was pinned, she dimly felt him paw at the debris around her.
As consciousness began pulling at her eyelids, she became less aware of what transpired around her. Only their voices hovering over her, just out of reach. She heard Erik's throaty cry of determination as the weight was lifted from her leg, and Charles pulled her back. The pain was blinding and darkness quickly consumed her.
~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~
Erik's home was not far. A mere fifteen minutes at a rapid pace. He held Christine tight against him for the journey. The boy, Charles, kept pace on a horse that just lost its last owner. They the rode in silence, and remained that way up until they reached the confines of his home. Inside, Erik laid Christine out on the floor before the hearth of his music room that served as the parlor.
He started fire and fed numerous logs for it to consume and generate ample heat quickly. "Sit here," he directed the boy, who was viciously shivering although he was wrapped in Erik's coat.
Charles numbly obeyed, sitting on the bricks by the fire with eyes remaining down cast.
Satisfied that soon the boy and Christine would start warming, Erik ensured his doors to the outside were bolted before ascending the stairs two at time to fetch supplies. Clothing, bandages, medicine, and the few blankets he owned— he did live alone after all.
When he returned, he handed Charles a night shirt that would shallow him as there were no other options. "Go strip of everything that is wet, and put this on. If you have cuts and open wounds, you show me. Understood?"
A small nod. "Wh–where?" he shivered.
"Anywhere. Right there if you wish," Erik glanced to Christine with thinning lips a moment. "Just keep your back turned until I say otherwise."
The boy remained compliant as he turned and began striping down.
Turning his attention to Christine fully, he unwrapped her from his now soaked cloak and began striping her of every wet thing as well. Not that there was much to take off…
Oh, Christine, he thought not daring to utter a word in the presence of her son. His eyes only saw her grisly bruises, especially those in concerning placement and coloring. Then there were the cuts, some of them deep and strategically placed for pain.
Why would someone hurt her so… hurt them? Glances toward the boy revealed similar injuries and cuts across his body.
But to bring such harm and tortures to a woman and her child was abhorrent. Yet the world considered him the monster while normal men did this? It was enough to make Erik's blood boil as brief fantasies came to mind of just how he would make the culprit bleed. It did not matter if it were one, or many.
After he stripped Christine bare, he pulled a blanket over her chest and another over her abdomen. There was no point of dressing her now. Not until he tended the wounds he could. Especially the wreck of her leg where much of the skin was marred with cuts and abrasions from the creek bed. It would not be a surprise if her leg was broken, if not shattered.
With Charles now permitted to turn back around, Erik set to work in treating each injury on mother and son over the next several hours. Time was a blur as he went about cleaning, stitching, applying salves and bandaging. It was only when the worse of the cuts were addressed that Erik succumbed to his own chills of being soaked through and took a few minutes up on the second floor to change into dry garments.
When he returned and found Charles remaining unmoved while staring blankly at his mother, Erik had to swallow a dry hard lump in his throat. The boy was young. Very young. Eight or nine at best. But the child was staring at the growing bruise on his mother's side. He might not grasp every implication of that bruising, but he knew.
They both knew.
Worst of all, there was absolutely nothing Erik could do to stop what was coming. Only to hope, and in this rare instance,pray for a different outcome.
If it happened before the incident at the creek, they might have a day, perhaps two. But if it occurred at the creek, or it worsened there; they would only have hours.
Erik knew nothing of children. Soothing any mental torment was not something Erik was especially good at, even with himself. There as only music to calm him. But this boy? He needed comfort and consolation, but Erik had no real experience with either subject until a brief respite with Christine a lifetime ago. Those weeks were bliss, until they ended in torment, again.
As was life. His life.
Erik made his way to the kitchen where he opened cupboard and withdrew a jar of broth and another jar of mixed vegetables of beans and starchy tubers. Of course, it would be better with fresher vegetables, which he did have, but it would take longer to cook them down. He combined them in a pot with a few dried herbs.
By the time the quick soup was sufficiently hot, Erik added a special tincture to the cup before he poured the broth. If the boy truly suspected what misery was coming, eating was likely not something he wanted. Broth would be a simpler method of getting some sustenance in him, with the tincture.
It took convincing to get the boy drink it, and once he did, Charles soon fell asleep. Lulled to oblivion by numbed pain and a calmed mind. It was not enough to keep him completely sedated by any measure, but just to allow him some rest, assuming the mental and physical exhaustion that the day spat at the child.
Come one o'clock in the morning, Erik finished treating every external wound and dressed Christine in a fresh set of his night clothes. Only then did he sit back with his spine against the façade of the fireplace to watch both of his guests and fight the gravity of the tears welling in his eyes.
He glanced heavenward, sucking back the sob that wanted to come out. You cannot take her like this. You cannot make her son an orphan.
Author's Note: Okay, okay... they last two deaths might not be as satisfying as the first five(Which were VERY fun), but in truth, I spent three or four days trying to work out an interesting pair of kills. None worked or seemed too...clumsy. This was the best of what I came up considering Erik really has no weapons on him beyond the rope that's been used(not the Lasso mind you! Later, I promise!) and at maximum, two knives. However, he tells me he would only have One on him unless he's expecting more trouble than normal.
If you do enjoy this story, please leave a comment or some indication that you do like this and want more. Just a few words of likes, dislikes, or constructive critiques are immensely welcome and very motivating.
My favorite bit? Another tie between Christine being so protective of Charles, her still having a good sense of what Erik will do, and Erik putting himself between the woman he will forever love and those men who would harm her and boy. No Question.
