Lost Love: Chapter 7- Healing Hands

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The first shot was instantly followed by two more, the loud cracks breaking the beautiful aura that had encompassed the theatre. The momentous sounds crashed against the walls like thunder.

Erik had not even comprehended the first shot until he heard the frantic screams of the audience. Instinctively his hands flew around Christine's waist turning her so his body would be a barrier to keep her from harm. She trembled under his hands, her face clouded with concern. Letting out an oath, he threw a small hand full of beads onto the stage. As clouds of smoke engulfed them, he propelled Christine into the wings. Only when she was safely out of danger's reach did he feel the burning pain racking two points of his torso. He gasped as the fire intensified his knuckles white as his hands fisted.

"Angel," Christine reached out to him tentatively.

"L-leave me, surely it is not you they are after." His tone was cutting, hoping to drive her away. All the while he fought to keep his voice steady, as he felt dizzy. Gathering his stubborn strength, he bolted for the side door, cape flying as he ran into the alley.

Christine did not register his words, for his actions had her full attention. Forgotten were those who would worry for her, even Raoul faded in her mind. Dashing into the street she hoped blindly that the dark spots on his chest were only imagined. Oh God, she prayed silently, please let him be alright. Running madly she chased after his shadow. It frightened her, for in her dream she could never keep his pace. She realized his wounds must be slowing him, for once he gained a distance from the opera, he altered running to an inconspicuous stalking in the side streets, trying desperately not to be noticed. To anyone else, he would be invisible, but Christine was looking for a ghost.

Following as close as she dared, she trailed his footsteps. She knew if he noticed, he could easily disappear all together. Carefully she matched her pace, looking down to try and blend in as he did. What she perceived on the pavement almost made her cry out. Small drops of crimson dotted every few feet of the cement. They seemed to be increasing in size. When she glanced up to find him again, he had vanished.

"No," she whispered desperately. No, no, no! She couldn't lose him. He could die from those bullets that she might as well have shot into his broad chest. No, I can't lose you, she silently screamed. Not again. Think Christine, how can you find him. She almost laughed at her own ignorance. Bending her head, she followed the drops of scarlet through the city.

After some time, she finally turned into a residency. The street was dark and ominous. Under any other circumstances she would have never dared down the path. But she knew her salvation must be awaiting her at the end of the road. She felt horror stricken when she ran into a dead end. There were brick and stone walls on every side but the way she entered in. The gray sky made the alley seem even more oppressive and threatening. Forcing her breath to slow as she exhaled, she examined her surroundings. Though her Angel always seemed to vanish with no trace, she knew of his tricks and intelligence that allowed him to disappear. She traced the trail of red with her eyes, stepping lightly to the final point. She felt along the rough stone with her fingertips, pressing each one carefully. Finally a small black stone shrank beneath the pressure; a barely audible click reached Christine's ears.

The concealed door swung inward on its hinges, no creaks or groans indicating its opening. What had seemed a rock wall, now revealed a passageway. Quietly she stepped over the thresh hold, into a new yet familiar space. The door closed instantaneously behind her. She scarcely held back a screech being trapped inside. The room she entered was large and tall, every wall covered in stone. The floor was covered in thick black and red Persian carpets. A fireplace held barely glowing embers, casting harsh illumination on the surroundings. The leather couch and velvet chairs were vacant. Searching each empty shadow filled her with anxiety. Hastily entering the connected room; she barely caught her breath when a harsh voice filled her ears.

"Whoever you are to dare and enter my home, I swear, if you do not remove yourself from this house immediately, you will regret your ignorance." He seemed to be speaking from behind her. When she spun around no one was there.

Gathering her courage she spoke. "It-it's Christine, oh mon ange, please come out. Reveal yourself to me."

"Christine?" She barely discerned the whisper. Then suddenly he was before her, a look so furious, so absolutely terrifying flashing in his eyes, she cringed before him. "You devious little cheat! You conniving temptress! To think I trusted you enough to appear again only to be shot for my trouble. Oh I do applaud you mademoiselle for the excellent performance you gave. I always thought you a terrible liar, congratulations on proving me wrong. You had me right in the crosshairs with yourself as the bait. How I didn't see it heaven only knows." His rant broke off abruptly as he gasped. His knees buckled and he fell clasping a hand to his side. "At least your Viscount will get some satisfaction out of knowing he killed me." He spit through clenched teeth.

"No! How could you even think that? I never meant for this to…"

"Oh spare me your useless, empty excuses! Your life would be so simple with me out of the way. No pitiful shadow watching your every step, no desperate monster dying of love for you. All the guilt would be gone. And since it wasn't technically you who pulled the-"

"STOP!" Christine yelled with a conviction so heavy that Erik became silent. Finally looking up at her, he saw the reflective silver tears running their course down her fine porcelain cheeks. Her control shattered and she sobbed under the sorrow his words had released. In a broken voice she murmured, "I see you after no word for months, no single note to tell me you're alright. I thought you were dead. And you think- you think I tried to have you…" she trailed off.

"Murdered," he finished softly, still unable to form any coherent thoughts of his own. He pulled his hand away from his coat, staring at the deep red staining his palm. He suppressed a groan. "Why should I believe you?" he demanded, his green eyes staring icily into her.

"Because I came to save you." As soon as he registered the blessed explanation, Erik blacked out.
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The theatre buzzed with outrage and horror. The shots hung frighteningly in the air. Raoul screamed, yelling out Christine's name over and over, trying to obtain her notice. No sooner had the final shot been fired when she and her Phantom disappeared in a burst of flame and smoke. He had no knowledge of her wellbeing. His heart stuttered as he realized she could have been hit.

"No!" Running onto the stage and deep into the wings he searched for any sign of her. There were none. Marching back out onto the stage he searched the crowd. Nothing.

Immediately a high pitched keening reached him. Looking toward the voice he glimpsed Carlotta, wailing in the arms of two men. "No, you do not understand. It was for Piangi! He killed him! My dear loved Piangi, "She screamed. At first he thought she had fainted into them. Only when he saw the revolver pried roughly out of her shaking hands did he comprehend. She clawed at her captors, shrieking and sobbing as they bore her away.

Shaking with anger he followed, stopping the men. Seeing the Viscount they acquiesced. "Are you mad with jealousy? What were you thinking, you could have killed Christine!" He was a foot away from her, accusing eyes matching La Carlotta's cold stare.

She let out an insane laugh, "All the better if I killed them both and sent the monster and his mistress to hell where they belong. For all I care, you can follow." With that she kicked him viciously in the shin, laughing again as he grimaced. The guards took her away, apologizing as they descended the stairs.

"Damn you!" Raoul wasn't sure if it was Carlotta or the Phantom he was condemning. It may have well have been himself.
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Christine felt so overwhelmingly useless. Her Angel was collapsed at her feet, his precious life's blood spilling onto the carpet. She knew that he couldn't lose more; so much had already left his paling body. His long form rested on his side, the unmasked side of his face upturned.

Cautiously she lifted his shoulder, attempting to turn him so he was on his back. He was heavier than she thought, but eventually she had him positioned satisfactorily. She knew she had to address his wounds before anything else. Suppressing her natural anxiety at the thought, she began to unclothe him. She unlocked the silver skull shaped clasp of his cape to let the black material slide past his shoulders to settle around him. Then with deliberate haste she removed his silk cravat and unbuttoned his dress coat. Pulling his arms from the sleeves of his vest, she noted how heavy and muscular they felt beneath her hands. Pushing immodest thoughts away she struggled to hold back her cries. His white shirt molded to his chest, stained with deep red. There seemed to be so much. How could he have even returned home in this condition?

Tears fell without her permission as she unbuttoned the last barrier remaining between his skin and her eyes. His torso was thick with sticky blood, the deep holes in his abdomen and shoulder still flowing with it.

Rage consumed Christine in the instant she glimpsed the harm that had befallen her Angel. And if he hadn't tried to protect me, it may not have happened, she accused herself. A small groan escaped his lips.

"Oh do not leave me now," she begged. Rising to her feet, she decided to search for some kind of water and bandage. Trying several doors, she finally succeeded in finding his bathroom. The white tile contrasted sharply with the gilded bath tub and golden counters and cabinets. Searching through his drawers she located rubbing alcohol. Carrying that, washcloths, a roll of bandages, and a small bowl of water, she hurried back to her Phantom.

Kneeling by his side, she gingerly pressed a wet cloth to his abdomen, brushing away the evidence of violence slowly. The last thing she wanted to do was cause him more unnecessary pain. A blush crept into her cheeks as more and more of his chest was skin bare before her. He was beautiful. Hard muscles made glorious indents in his torso. The lines of his shoulders spoke plainly of masculine power. Such pleasant natural grace so harshly overlooked because of a face deemed unworthy.

Christine was not frightened of his face. Every original line and scar decorating its striking features was a beloved mark to her. She thought of removing his mask, but dared not give into such temptation without his permission. Instead she allowed herself to caress his chest lightly with the cloth, wishing fervently that her hands could experience such bliss. Heat stole up her spine and her heart quickened at the thought.

Erik felt dizzy, his head pounded, he guessed from blood loss. Something or someone was touching him, pulling his mind up through the thick layers of hazy reality. He suppressed a hiss as the touch ran over one injury. Instinct begged to flinch from this alien touch, to flee from this unknown. But curiosity factored too heavily in his judgment. Barely peeking from beneath his lids, he warily glimpsed at a scene that almost made him gasp. Christine was at his side, tending to his damaged body with obvious care. He watched in mute awe as she cleaned his chest and torso. He had an illogical urge to ask her to stop. Surely he was unworthy. No one had ever cared about him enough for it to matter if he lived or died. Now she was attempting to save him.

The flaming pink filling her cheeks caught his attention and made his eyes flicker to her face. Her brown irises followed the trail of her hands, her pupils dilating in restrained… that couldn't be desire. Yet her eyes smoldered with every look upon him. Suddenly all his pain was forgotten as tongues of flame licked through his body. The passion in her reflected in intense longing. As his muscles tensed the agony came back with a vengeance.

His breath came out in a huff. He cursed himself as Christine's eyes wandered up to his. Just her gaze sent waves of tension running through him.

"You may want to remove the bullets, lead poisoning is quite uncomfortable or so I'm told." He tried to break the gravity of their stare with his voice. She blanched under his suggestion.

"Sorry, I was only jesting. I've tended to this kind of injury before. It shall not be hard to do so again." He mentally frowned at the idea. He could hardly hold his hands steady in his present state.

"No-no I will do it." She said softly.

"Christine, with all respect, you are not familiar with such things." He saw her resolve strengthen.

"Yes. However you have and can easily instruct me on what to do."

"I will not-"

"Yes you will allow me to help you. Are you really going to argue about this while your bleeding out? Stop being so stubborn and let me help you!" The desperation in her voice hinted at her true emotional condition. He realized he couldn't convince her otherwise, especially when he heard the reason in her plea.

"Fine," he growled begrudgingly. "Go back to my medicine cabinet and find the emerald green box. Bring it here and I'll tell you what to do."

While she was gone he was overcome with his ironic situation. Christine came for him, came to 'help' him. Such a pity that she followed when he could very easily be dying. Even know it was hard to think around the pain and unconsciousness that kept trying to claim him. He was only holding it at bay with tremendous effort. So tired, if only he could close his eyes for just a moment…

"Oh no you don't!" Christine ran to his side, shaking his shoulder lightly. "You must stay awake and aware."

"Why?" He questioned angrily. Could he not rest his aching body?

"I forbid you to die on me now." She whispered turning her eyes away from his beseeching gaze. More directly she continued, "Now instruct me my mentor."

The word brought back hundreds of memories. Pushing them all away he told her how to insert the probe and remove the two bullets. "Have you no painkillers for this?" She asked looking inquiringly into the box.

"No," he answered, his voice weaker. "Don't worry; I have endured far worse I assure you." Her lids lowered, trying to disguise the pity she knew he would abhor to see.

"Is there nothing I can do to help?" She begged, not wanting him to suffer at her hands.

"No Christine, please just do it so I can sleep." And you can run out of my life again, he finished silently. You might as well let me die, for that alone will kill me.

"Will you…" she trailed off, unsure of finishing her bizarre request.

"I have no patience for this, will I what?"

"Will you let me hold your hand?"

"I…" What was he supposed to say now? Erik stared at her, speechless. Finally he muttered, "I suppose you may if it will ease your grief." He tried to sound indifferent. However trying and succeeding are two different things.

Hesitantly, she molded her left hand to his, her grip gentle. Looking down at her Angel, she saw his incredulous expression before he had time to conceal it. It was amazing how that small point of contact would affect him so.

She then proceeded to move their joined hands next to his shoulder, pressing the back of her hand softly into his skin for balance. He grunted in pain when the probe entered the wound, fighting back cries of torture. His hand crushed hers. She bit her lip watching his eyes close tightly in agony. The second bullet in his abdomen did not want to come out cleanly. He winced as the probe traveled deeper into him.

Erik never imagined how comforting a simple hand could be. Grasping to the steady touch of her skin on his was the only thing keeping him in the present.

"I'm so sorry." Christine whispered every time he groaned.
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Finally both bullets were out, and Christine sighed in relief. Bandaging his shoulder and waist she tried helping him to bed. As soon as he saw her intent he resisted vehemently.

"I've no guest bedroom, you will sleep there."

"No, it's your bed, Angel. You will sleep there."

"I refuse to do so and allow you to occupy a couch." Christine thought hastily. There was one hope.

"Fine, if I agree to spend the night in your bed, you have to as well." He was leaning against her shoulder, her arm around his waist, his over and around her neck. She felt his body stiffen in shock.

"Very well," he answered.

He lay back on the soft bed when she helped him. Looking up at her in her heavy dress and constricting laces, he felt only mildly inappropriate when asking, "Would you like to perhaps change into something more, erm, comfortable?" Her cheeks blazed at the suggestion, but fingering her heavy satin skirt she nodded. "Go check in that chest of drawers, the top should hold something suitable, if not far too big." Moments later she emerged from the hallway wearing a deep blue silk night shirt, her lace pantalets peeking from beneath. Erik's eyes grew wide seeing the loose silk slipping over her feminine shape. She stared at her toes as she approached the bed.

Keeping her promise she immediately slipped beneath the coverlet next to him. The thick comforter did little to disguise her curved shape. Erik wanted to sleep, yet he fought to stay awake through the fog. He desired to feel her warm body beside his. He never thought to experience such a dream. She was on her side, staring at him as though he might vanish. She had lit a candle on his bedside table. The flickering glow in her eyes was intoxicating.

"Talk to me," she asked. "I admit I am terrified to let you sleep." Her gaze was wide and honest.

"What do you want to know?" He inquired his voice hoarse. She hesitated. "I promise I will answer, you must simply provide the questions." He attempted to smile encouragingly at her. His anger was forgotten for the time being.

She bit her lip nervously, "Was I- was I dreaming that night?"

He had not expected that to come up so quickly. As the silence lengthened she chided, "You promised."

"Then you will have to be more specific. There have been many nights you could be speaking of." He hedged.

"The night you sang to me. You were so real."

"So were you," he answered in response. A heartbreaking smile parted her lips. His heart flew within his chest. To distract himself he murmured, "Next question."

She gazed thoughtfully into his eyes for a moment. A playful smirk lit her features. "How is it that I can hear you in my ears but cannot see you?"

"Oh that is simple. I am a ventriloquist."

"A-a what?"

He chuckled, wincing when the movement irritated his shoulder. "I can… throw my voice so to speak. I can place the sound of my voice anywhere I please, within a reasonable distance." His mouth suddenly stopped moving, his lips perfectly still. "It helps ever so much when you are supposed to be an omnipotent Opera Ghost." The sound came from the other side of the room. Her eyes flickered to the corner in surprise and he laughed again.

"Quite a talent," she commented.

"Just another one of those things I learned out of insatiable curiosity. Alright next, I am rather enjoying this."

"One more question and I will let you rest."

"Continue," he encouraged.

"What is your name? Your real name, surely you must have one."

He panicked. To reveal his name felt so wrong. A name could be a weapon used to unravel his aliases of Opera Ghost and Phantom. But Christine, an angel, was asking him.

"Erik." He searched her intently. Would such a mortal name disappoint the woman who had believed him a god for so long?

She only grinned in delight, "Erik," she repeated savoring the feel of it on her tongue.

"Mm." His eyes darkened with desire upon hearing the delicious sound of his name on her lips. How could one word be so bewitching?

Her eyes flickered to his hands lying atop his waist. She looked at them shyly; he was still bare from the waist up. Cautiously, she lifted her fingers to intertwine them again.

He remembered himself and jerked his hands away from her touch. All his fury and resentment were rekindled. He realized what folly it was to have engaged as they had. Such pleasantries would only cut away at him when she left him once again. "Please Christine; stop torturing yourself by touching me. I do not want your sympathy. Pity has ceased to hold meaning for me. What a loathsome emotion it is. So for goodness sake stop pretending I do not disgust you. I would almost prefer to be feared and hated. At least if you hated me it would be easier to let you go."

"But, Erik." The hurt in her voice was hard to combat, but his will was strong. He wished to end this torment of seeing her but unable to have her.

He turned with some difficulty to face the wall, turning his back on her. "Go to sleep Christine. I couldn't go anywhere if I wanted to."

Containing her sobs she faced away from him. Tears rested on both their cheeks as they drifted to sleep.
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Raoul stood outside the opera house on the top of the large stairs. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, unsure of what sort of action to take. What was one expected to do when their fiancée was suddenly abducted by a masked freak whom, to make things more unbearably complicated, she cares for? A soft tap on his shoulder made him whirl around in irritation.

"What in the name of heaven do you want?" He shouted. He felt instantly abashed staring at tiny Meg Giry's frightened white face.

"I am so sorry Monsieur de Chagny. I only wanted to set your worrying at ease." She paused before continuing. "She is going to be perfectly fine you know, physically at least."

"How are you so confidant? Did you not hear the bullets? How am I supposed to be calm when Christine was standing in the middle of that?" He demanded, his earlier frustration returning with ease.

"Well, I know you hate him sir, but the Phantom would never let anything bad befall her. She is my best friend, yet somehow I never worry when they are together. I do not know much about our Opera Ghost, but I do know he would rather die than harm Christine."

"Oh really? Yes surely he was only thinking of her wellbeing when he forced her to choose my life or his love."

Meg stood silently for a moment, letting his temper pass before she responded. "Perhaps you do not recall Monsieur, but he allowed her to go free so she could be happy. That man scares me with all the blood and violence on his hands, and his face is a horror to behold. But I do not fear him in the slightest where Christine is concerned."

"Not about anything?" he questioned harshly.

"Only that she may fall in love with him again," She replied looking anywhere but at Raoul's expression.

"Can I not go a week without hearing from somebody that my soon to be wife love's a heartless murdering corpse! She does not love that-that thing!"

"I have never claimed to be the wisest or smartest of girls. I know I am rather silly and naïve. But each time Christine spoke of her Angel or her teacher, I saw nothing but love in her eyes. You do not have to be intelligent to see that, you only have to look close enough." Seeing his face flush red in anger she quickly continued. "Do not misunderstand me sir, I truly wish she favored you. You who are so handsome and safe would be such a match for her. But it isn't your choice, or mine, or even his. Christine must choose, we cannot force her decision."

"What if she does not return?" he asked. Dejection hung in his words.

"Then her choice has been made clear."
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