Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom; isn't it shocking? Author's Note: Sorry about the slight delay; I thought it prudent to do my English and Politics homework. I have nothing of great note to say, except that this is the second to last chapter, and you must read it carefully. I am being ambiguous for a reason, but if I say anymore I'll give my finale away. . . :) Much love and many thanks to my very, very animated reviewers! Feedback: You know you want to review! His voice carried to me softly from under a nearby tree and I ran towards it without hesitation. He was sitting up against the tree trunk; his breathing was heavy and labored as he ended a trembling hand up towards me. I fell to my knees before him, seizing his hand and pressing it into mine. There was blood on the ground, on his jacket. . . There was blood everywhere, and this time, I did not know if my angel's wings could be mended. He looked at me sadly, and he began to speak with a voice that lacked almost every trace of the music I so loved, "I'm sorry, Christine. . ." "For what?" I asked softly, raising my free hand to his face. He looked up with an incredulity that seemed oddly out of place. Hastily, he began to rationalize, "I had to kill him, Christine. I never intended. . ." "You never intended for this to happen: you have nothing to be sorry for," I interrupted reassuringly before my mind turned to the more pressing, plaguing questions that begged asking, "Dear God, Erik, what did he do to you?" He took a few difficult, onerous breaths, and said, "He shot me, Christine. Once in the left shoulder, and once in the stomach, to be precise. . ." "Oh God," I muttered helplessly, desperately, "Erik, what do I do? Tell me what to do, there must be something. . ." His hand squeezed mine, and he whispered, "Just stay with me; when you are with me, all is right in the world. You'll never know how much I love you. . ." "And that's why you can't leave me!" I exclaimed, pulling him gently into my arms, "Please, fight this, Erik. You must, you simply must. . ." "Christine," he interrupted despondently, "I don't want to leave you; I will fight as hard as I can to stay with you, but my darling, death is a persistent fellow, and he doesn't take no for an answer when. . ." "No!" I interrupted forcefully, my words tumbling out in a mad rush, "You aren't going to die, you simply can't die: I won't allow it! I shall send the carriage driver to fetch a doctor, yes. . it isn't too late my love, it isn't too late. . ." "If you must," he bade wearily, "go quickly, and return to me with all possible haste. Otherwise, we may not have time. . ." "Time?" I interjected determinedly as I stood, "There shall always be more time, Erik!" I made my way quickly to the carriage that still awaited us in the street, waiting to take us onward to our new home. I dispatched the driver with the understanding he was to proceed with all possible alacrity, and that whatever he wished as his reward for his services would be rendered without question. He raced off into the night, and I was quickly back at Erik's side. "See, my love," I said, sitting beside him and embracing him once more, "see? The doctor shall arrive shortly and he will surely fix everything. . ." "Angel," he said with an aloof tone that worried me immensely, "it is growing colder, is it not?" "Erik. . ." I said warningly, "you can't leave me now. You can't give in, you must try, you must. . ." "You know I love you, yes, you must know that," he said dreamily, detached and distant. "I do, and I love you," I said, burying my face into his shoulder. A silent eternity passed between us before the doctor finally arrived, and ushered me away as he began his ministrations. There was a look of restrained horror on his face as he tended to the wounds that I had dared not see. He was so intent that I doubt he noticed the body of the Vicomte that lay cold and languid behind him. Quickly, he ushered me away, and said, "There must be some place we can take him, somewhere I can tend to him." Not knowing what else to do, I said, "Yes, we can take him to the home of a friend, a Persian who lives in the Rue de Rivoli." The doctor nodded, and I helped him carry Erik back to the carriage before we spirited Erik of towards his last chance at life. When we arrived at Nadir's, the tired daroga answered the door and let us in without explanation. The doctor began his work in the bedroom, and I remember Nadir offering some mollified words of comfort before I lost consciousness. *To be continued. . . |
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