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Forget Me Not	By : spikesbint Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > AU/AR Views: 12354 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
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- 17
Chapter 15
Picking up the pieces

“Stay here Meg, I will go see what this is all about,” said Tom, as he ran across the road.

Meg watched him as he went, irritated. She was certainly not going to stay here when Christine may need her. She waited until he had turned the corner and she marched straight after him.

A narrow passageway had been cleared of debris and the fire fighters had managed to squeeze through it to the rear of the property. It was there that Tom found Erik and Christine, the latter half-frozen, as she had draped her jacket over Erik in an attempt to keep him warm. Tears fell down her face as she saw Tom. One of the fire fighters returned with a couple of blankets and handed them to Christine. She put them carefully over Erik, tenderly kissing his soot stained cheek.

“Is he…?”

“He’s alive, but barely. He has lost a lot of blood,” Christine pointed to the dark stain on the ground.

She lifted the blanket to show Tom, Erik’s injury. He sucked in a breath.

“The doctor has been sent for,”

“This is all my fault, if he dies I will be to blame,” she said dully.

“Christine!” called out Meg.

Both heads turned. Tom shook his head. “What is it with you women? Can’t obey a simple order? What if there had been something truly terrible back here?”

Meg glared at Tom. “I was willing to take my chances,”

“Oh Meg, he is hurt so bad,” Christine looked up at her friend.

Meg knelt down and wrapped her arms around Christine. “He is strong, he will live. It might look worse than it actually is. A doctor has been sent for. What about you? You feel half frozen,”

“I do not care about me,” said Christine.

“Yes, but he does,” Meg motioned towards the inert figure on the mattress. “He risked his life for you, is this how you want to repay him?”

Christine’s cheeks reddened with shame. Tom took a blanket from another firefighter and placed it round Christine’s shoulders.

“I’ll see if I can beg a cup of hot sweet tea from someone,” he turned and left the women on their own.

“I thought I was going to die Meg, how did he know where to find me?”

“Frank grew a conscience, at knife point, I might add,”

“That ghastly man with the wandering hands?” asked Christine.

Meg arched a brow. “You too?”

They both heard a low moan and turned to look at Erik. He opened his eyes and looked around him.

“Christine?” he asked weakly.

She knelt beside him and smiled down at him, taking his hand in hers.

“I am here. A doctor is on his way. Everything is going to fine,” her voice trembled over the last words.

“You always were bad at lying,” he smiled, closing his eyes again.

Tom returned with a chipped cup, the steam rising from it in the early morning air. Christine raised Erik’s head a little. He sighed and opened his eyes again. With her free hand, she took the tea from Tom, and sipped at it to make sure; it was not too hot for him.

“Will you drink a little?” she asked Erik.

He opened his mouth; his lips were cracked and dry. Christine dearly hoped it was not the advent of some fever or other. Erik took a mouthful of the brew, before holding his hand up. She was satisfied that he had at least taken a little. The doctor arrived minutes later, his black Gladstone bag in hand.

“What is the problem?”

“He fell onto a shard of glass, its lodged in his side,” said Christine.

“Did you remove it?” he asked.

“No, I was afraid to in case I caused further injury. Was that wrong?” Christine asked anxiously.

“No, you did the right thing miss,”

The doctor lifted the blankets to examine Erik’s wound, before covering him up again.

“Now if you will all give me a little room please?” he asked impatiently. He took a stethoscope and unbuttoned Erik’s shirt.

He was about to remove Erik’s mask, when Christine put a hand on his to stop him. “Please Monsieur, he would not like it. Leave him his dignity at least. He has had a deformity since birth. Nothing will be achieved by exposing it,”

“Very well,” The doctor began to pack away his instruments.

“Please doctor what is the verdict?” asked Christine.

“He will need to be taken into hospital. Obviously, the glass needs removing. I will send for an ambulance to take him,”

Erik opened his eyes at the man’s words. “I will not be taken to some place, which will most likely end in my leaving in a wooden box. I would rather take my chances at home, with my personal physician,”

“Monsieur Devereux is a man of means. What he says is true,” said Tom, proudly.

“Very well, but on your own heads be it. I will get an ambulance sent from St Margaret’s to take you home at least,” replied the doctor, as he got up to leave.

Tom handed him a few coins for his trouble, the old man grumbled under his breath as he took his leave. It was not more than half an hour before two men appeared with a stretcher to take Erik to the glorified horse and cart. He winced in pain as the movement jarred his side. Christine sat beside him in the cart, holding his hand. She felt every rut in the road, along with him on the journey home. He paled, but did not complain.

Finally, they arrived back at Orchard St and Tom was the first to get down from the cart to alert the servants. Patty came rushing out, her hair still in rag curlers and wrapped in a dressing gown.

“What have you been up to Mr Devereux,” she tutted, as the men got him down from the cart.

“Don’t fuss Patty, never had a mother who gave a sou. Don’t need one now,” he snapped. His housekeeper’s face fell and he sighed wearily. “Not at my best right now. Maybe you could send one of the servants for Doctor Evans?” he asked, closing his eyes.

She smiled again, at the thought of being useful. She trotted off to send out one of the serving boys and prepare Erik’s bed for him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Erik had been deposited none too gently on the bed, by the men from the ambulance. Patty and Christine set about removing his shabby, torn clothes of the evening before. The earlier had produced a pair of sharp scissors, declaring with disgust that the garments were unsuitable for a man of his position. As Patty cut away the material of his shirt, the faded white scars that marred his back only served to remind her of the pain he had already suffered in his life. Pain and hurt he had never shared with her, when she had asked him about them on a previous occasion he had become withdrawn and uncommunicative.

It sickened her to the stomach to think she had been the author of more suffering for him. He had told her of his poor excuse for a mother and his very first gift from her, a mask, but nothing of the life that had followed. That night in the depths of the Opera house, when he had released her after her kiss, she could only guess at the horrors that had led him to his actions. He was not that man any more, neither was she that naïve girl.

If Erik had had an ounce of strength he would have protested at being manhandled by two women, but he had slipped into unconsciousness, making their task a lot easier.

Christine was surprised that Patty had allowed her to stay, as she bathed and dressed Erik carefully. The wound was left exposed and the covers pulled up to his hips. Single women of no relation were rarely allowed to stay in the sickroom, but it seemed that Patty had guessed the intimate nature of their relationship and had made no protest in the circumstances. Both of them waited in tense silence for the arrival of the doctor.

Erik, with his mask now removed looked pale, as he rested against the pillows. Christine sat by his bedside and held his hand. It was not long before the doctor arrived. Christine had expected someone at his last prayers like the doctor from five points, but he was a fresh faced man of no more than thirty years, with a charming smile.

Erik opened his eyes at the doctor’s arrival. Judging by the man’s reaction to seeing Erik unmasked, this was not the first occasion he had seen him so. Patty got up and left, signalling to Christine that she should follow suit. However, Erik had other ideas as he put a restraining hand on Christine’s arm.

“Stay?”

Christine nodded. She knew she owed him that much, including her life and a whole lot more. The doctor went over to the washbasin, removed his jacket, and rolled up his shirtsleeves before soaping his hands and drying them with a towel. He opened his case of instruments. He clucked at the sight of the seeping wound.

He shook his head at Erik. “What have you been up to this time?” he asked.

“The usual Charles, rescuing the damsel in distress,” Erik replied, drawing in a sharp breath as the doctor prodded at the wound.

“Well, the good news is that it looks a lot worse than it is. No major organs damaged, but we have to get that bit of glass out of you,”

“I knew that old sawbones who first attended me was exaggerating. Is it going to hurt?” asked Erik.

“Like the devil,” Charles replied. He opened a bottle and dabbed alcohol around the wound, before taking something from his case. “Now I am going to do this quick, best to get it over with. Would you like a shot of morphine for the pain?”

“No,” Came the curt response.

“I thought not. Okay on three….”

Christine looked at Erik, she bit her lip trying not to cry, and knowing all he now suffered was because of her own stupidity. Tears would be the last thing he would need to see at this moment.

“Ready?” asked the doctor.

Erik nodded.

“Three,”

“Mon Dieu!”

“Never said I played fair,” The doctor pressed fresh gauze to the wound, to stem the blood flow. “A couple of stitches and some bed rest will have you as good as new. No strenuous activities for at least a week,” He glanced at Christine, amused to see her blush at his implications.

“Madame, could you fetch me some hot water, please?” asked the doctor.

Christine nodded and left the room.

“Well, finally found someone to take you on?” asked the doctor, now they were left alone. “You managed to move on?”

“She is Christine Daae, or was,” Erik replied.

“Ah, I see and what of her husband?” replied the doctor.

“Recently Widowed and under my protection,”

The doctor raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Jesus, Erik I heard you sustained your injury at five points. What the hell were you doing there?”

“Like I said, saving the damsel, it just turned out there was two of them,” he sighed wearily.

“Let me guess, she followed you, when you told her to wait here? Women will want the vote next! Imagine that! This world is changing. They used to be happy to sit at home and take care of their men folk. If that were my Elise, I would be as mad as Hades right now,”

“There will be reparation for tonight’s little adventure, but for now I am too tired to care,” replied Erik.

“A couple of stitches and you will be right as rain,”

The doctor removed the needle and thread from his case, sewing up the ugly gash in Erik’s side. He just finished off the last stitch, when Christine re-entered the room. She placed the bowl of hot water on the side and sat back down at Erik’s bedside. As the doctor packed away his instruments, she quickly realised that it had been a ruse of the doctor’s to get her out of the room while he worked on Erik’s wound, uninterrupted.

He pulled the covers up over the sleeping man and nodded to Christine, before leaving the room. She followed him out.

“What can I do for him doctor?” she asked.

“Plenty of rest and fluids Madame, let nature take its course. Bathe the wound with salt water. However, any sign of infection, then send for me at once,” he turned to leave, before glancing back to look at her. “I am sorry to hear of your loss,” added, before walking off down the hall, whistling to himself.

Christine wasn’t sure if it was her exhausted mind or not, but his parting words had sounded like a criticism to her. She knew she would be the butt of censure from some who knew she was a widow, and certainly one not of the required twelve months mourning. Well it was her business, hers and Erik’s. However, she could only guess that Erik had informed him of her status, that he would reveal that so openly to another hurt her a little. Christine returned to the bedroom and Erik’s side, his even breathing told her that he was now asleep.

She curled up into the bedside chair and wrapped a blanket over herself, and closed her eyes, but try as she might, sleep would not come.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At some point, she must have finally fallen asleep, as she had vague recollections of Patty leaving her a tray of food, before seeing to Erik’s needs. It was now full night and the room was dark except for one lamp on the bedside table. The curtains were drawn, but still little slivers of moonlight managed to streak in. It was several moments before she became aware that Erik was watching her from where he lay in the bed.

“How are you feeling?” her voice came out thin and reedy. She was glad the gloominess concealed the shame written in the blush of her face as she looked at him.

“Like someone ran me through with a piece of glass,” he replied dryly.

“Would you like a spoonful of laudanum for the pain?”

“No, I can endure it. There are worse hurts, ones that run deeper than the flesh,” Erik said, looking at her intently.

She could not mistake the meaning of his words; tears sparkled in her eyes and threatened to fall. He was right, there were worse hurts, her following him to the brothel had been a betrayal of sorts, and a mistake of such magnitude they had both almost paid for it with their lives.

“Do you want me to go?” she asked.

“What do you mean by go?”

“Leave here…all I have ever done is cause you pain. I am destructive…poison. Maybe you would be better without me. I can see you have made a life for yourself, with people you trust. Which is something that I can obviously not be…I almost got you killed last night!” her voice cracked on her last words.

“You still do not understand, do you,” he said quietly. “All this you see about you, it’s an illusion. I live among these people, I even have affection for them, but it is not really living. For the past thirteen years I have done little more than exist,”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“No, you wouldn’t would you,” he sighed wearily. “You were too busy being a rich man’s wife to give me more than a passing thought,”

“That’s not true! There wasn’t a day when you were not in my thoughts!”

“Like a stray dog, something to be pitied! You obviously think so little of me, that you thought me unable to save your friend. If you think that removing yourself from my life would be a kindness then I have no more words,” He turned his face away from her as if unable to look on her any longer.

His action cut her to the core.

“I will send Patty to watch over you. If you need me, you can let me know through her,”

Christine hated leaving him like this, and she knew his anger towards her was justly deserved. Nothing could be achieved while he was in this dark mood. Hopefully he would sleep most of the night away and they could continue their discussion on the morrow. She closed the door on him and walked down the stairs, only to be intercepted by Meg. She looked much improved from their last encounter, her blonde hair pinned atop her head and a fresh gown. A slight bruise marred the perfection of her skin, but no other outward appearance gave hint to her recent ordeal.

“Christine, I was just coming to find you,”

“Well here I am,” said Christine, shortly. She still had had no explanation for what she had witnessed at the McKinley’s and in a way a part of her was not sure that she wanted to know. She knew she had been untowardly hostile towards her best friend, and her cheeks warmed with shame. “I am sorry Meg; I am a little tired,”

Meg reached out a hand to touch a tender spot on Christine’s face. The dark bruise highlighted on her cheekbone in stark contrast to the paleness of her face. It was almost the twin of her own. “Aren’t we all? Frank was a bit too ready with his hands wasn’t he,” Meg stated. She quickly changed the subject as if unable to dwell on it. “Have you eaten? That Patty fusses like a mother hen. She has some soup in the kitchen if you are hungry,”

“Fine, I need to speak with Patty anyway,”

The women locked arms and walked down the stairs together in companionable silence.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Christine lay on the bed in her and Meg’s apartments. The moon was high in the sky and it was close to midnight, but still sleep eluded her. Meg was already fast asleep in the next room, which she knew because she had already looked in on her. The guiltless always did sleep soundly. She restlessly paced the polished floorboards.

She went to her valise, which was stored under the brass bedstead. She took it out and put it on her bed. Opening it Christine took out the cameo of herself, the one that Erik had dropped in the library back at her old home in France. Opportunity had still not presented itself for her to return it to him. She shivered, so much had happened since Erik had come back into her life. Raoul and all the memories they had shared seemed like they had been lived by another person.

An urgent knock at the door, jolted her from her reverie and had her racing to open it, her heart in her mouth. A young serving girl stood there, shivering in the cold of the hallway.

“Is it….”

“The master has been having nightmares…he called for you,”

Christine was so taken with relief for a moment, before her mind registered the girl’s words. She reached for her wrap and followed the young maid out of the room. They hurried down the darkened corridors, only the girl’s lamp to light their way. They reached the door to Erik’s bedchamber, the girl knocked before opening the door, allowing Christine to enter the room first. She set the lamp down on a dresser and bobbed a curtsey before leaving.

“What is it Patty?”

“I am not sure, but I think he may be running a fever,” She placed a hand against his forehead.

Christine walked over to the bed and felt his face. It was damp with perspiration. “He does seem a little warm. The doctor said if there were any sign of fever, then we should call for him at once,”

Patty got up from her chair. “I will send one of the grooms out at once,” The older woman hesitated. “He has been rambling, such strange things, I cannot make head nor tail of them,”

She frowned as Christine pulled back the bedcovers.

“What are you doing girl? He needs to be kept warm so that we can sweat the fever out of him,” said Patty.

“I nursed a sick husband for several months before I came here. The sweating never helped. Neither did such outdated remedies such as bleeding,” said Christine, bitterly. “We need to get his temperature down,”

Patty mumbled something under her breath before leaving the room to locate someone to go for the doctor. Christine started as a strong hand shot out to grasp her wrist.

“Christine?”

She looked at him; his eyes were wide and wild.

“I am here,” she tenderly touched his face.

“You are not leaving me?” he asked.

“No,”

“It is just that Raoul…I saw you kissing him on the rooftop. You do not love me anymore,”

Christine frowned. “You are not making any sense Erik, rest, do not speak. You will tire yourself out needlessly,”

She sat next to him and continued to hold his hand. The fever must have taken hold quicker than she thought, as she listened to his almost incoherent ramblings of events that had happened long ago. Patty had warned her that he had been talking of things…

“Please do not beat me anymore….I promise to be a good boy….please Vosho, I will make the crowd happy and make you lots of money,”

Christine paled. “What do you mean?”

“I am the devil’s child. The gypsies fear me and hate me. I show my face and the people give Vosho money, but I am bad, I have the devil in me,”

Christine pressed on, wanting to understand, afraid he would never tell her otherwise.

“Who is Vosho?”

Tears formed in her eyes as she waited for his reply.

“The first man I killed, so that I could live. It was so easy; I slipped the rope around his neck. Then a girl with the name of an angel saved me,”

Christine could only guess to the identity of his saviour.

“Angelique Giry,” she whispered. She had always wondered at their connection and Madame Giry’s tendency to protect him. “Where did the angel take you?”

“She hid me in the dark where no one could see me, unless I wanted to be seen,”

A cough wracked his chest and he spoke no more, as he drifted off to sleep. Christine took out her rosary beads, knelt by the side of his bed, and said a silent prayer for him, as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

TBC
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Forget Me Not