The choices we made

Chapter 4

* Erik

 I easily found an old passage inside the opera house that had not been used for years. It was located in the wall, right next to the grand staircase. The wall was decorated with a statue of the head of one of the great musicians of the previous century.

 It's probably a miracle that this section of the opera hasn't been completely consumed by fire yet.

 Adjusting Christine in my arms, I positioned her so that I could easily open the tunnel with one hand. After two attempts, I came across an almost invisible protrusion on the wall opening a passage. 

 I went inside and closed the passage behind me. I tightened my grip on Christine. The corridors were dark. At such moments I was glad that I had lived underground for many years. While a normal person wouldn't be able to see anything in front of them, I could see all the details.

 I headed towards the stairs in front of me.

 Still holding the unconscious woman in my arms, I started walking down the stairs.

 **** 

 When we finally descended the stairs, I heard the calm sound of running water nearby. I quickened my pace when I saw the boat left on the shore, which I usually used to get home. This is the boat where Christine and Raoul left when I told them to leave. 

 I looked at the woman resting in my arms.

 She was still unconscious, but I could still hear her gasping for air. This sound grabbed my heart every time. I was sure that sound would haunt my nightmares. Her face was still left contorted in pain. 

" Hold on for a moment. Everything will be fine" I whispered to her

 Once at the boat, I carefully placed Christine on it. I adjusted the pillows that were lying on the boat and placed them comfortably under her head. 

 I moved a bit away from the boat, looking around for an oar. I cursed under my breath when my eyes caught sight of an oar broken in half, abandoned some distance away. This fool must have hit a rock just off the shore and broken the oar. 

 I returned to the boat. There was no other option, I had to wade through the lake and push the boat to the other side to my house.

 I pushed the boat gently until the entire bottom was in the water.As the boat moved forward, I went deeper into the water. The underwater lake wasn't very deep, at its deepest point the water reached up to my neck. 

 The icy water made my body shiver involuntarily every now and then. Still, I kept pushing forward.

 Every now and then my eyes wandered to Christine. 

 No signs of improvement or worsening. 

 At one point, my sole hit a small stone. It was so unexpected that I lost my balance, pushing the boat forward. For a split second I submerged myself in the water. I immediately popped my head out of the water, quickly coughing the water out of my mouth. Although my eyes were stinging from contact with water, I didn't wipe them.

 Without waiting a moment longer, I desperately rushed towards the boat, which was gently drifting sideways. I couldn't let the boat get too far away. I grabbed one of the edges tightly, gradually stopping her. 

 After making sure Christine was okay, I resumed my hike.

 I was relieved to see the large metal bars that served as the entrance door to my underground kingdom. Having pushed the boat to the shore, I got out of the water. Ignoring the water dripping from me, I walked over to Christine and carefully picked her up. Holding her in my arms, I began to climb the dungeon stairs.

 I carried Christine into the room I had created with her in mind, for her, when I had still naively hoped that this pure being could love a monster like me. 

 I carefully placed Christine on the bed, gently brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen onto her face. 

 Wasting no time, I practically ran out of the room. 

 The unpleasant squelching sound from my leather shoes made me take off my soaked shoes on the way to the kitchen, leaving me in short ankle-length stockings.

 While in the kitchen, I chaotically started searching for the products I needed. After a while, having everything, I returned to Christine. 

 I put a bowl of water and a bottle of chamomile on the table next to the bed. I looked at Christine and froze.

 Earlier, fearing for her life, something as obvious as what I had to do next had never crossed my mind. Namely, I had to wash her and bandage her burnt skin, and to do this I had to take off her dress.

 "No. I can not do that. "She will never forgive me for this," I frantically tried to think of an alternative. But I knew in the back of my mind that every moment counted, "I have to do this for her sake."

 With a heavy heart, I walked over to the bed, carefully turned her on her side, and began to unlace the bodice of her dress.

 I felt like the worst criminal. What I was doing was unacceptable. I shouldn't have done it, I had no right to do it, and yet I had to take off another layer of clothes over and over again. Only the knowledge that I was doing it to save her helped me survive.

I was afraid of what her reaction would be when she found out that I had to change her clothes. I'm sure she'll be furious and terrified. 

 When she was left in just the corset, petticoat and stockings, I felt even more awkward.

 Reluctantly, I started taking off the corset. When I took it off, something fell out. Upon picking up the object, it turned out to be a photo of Christine's father, Gustave Daae.

 I put the photo on the table, promising myself that I would move it to another place later.

 Christine's porcelain skin was covered in dirt and grime. She was also partially burned. Her face, neck and chest were covered with various sizes of redness and blisters. There were splinters sticking out of Christine's right arm. First, having found the tweezers, I gently began to pull the splinters out of the arm.

 Then I soaked a cloth in a bowl, wrung it out thoroughly and gently began to wash Christine's skin with cool water. As much as possible, I avoided looking at her body and looked at her face.

 After washing Christine with water, I reached for a bottle of chamomile which I had prepared myself some time ago. I gently rubbed it on the burnt areas. I then began to gently smear chamomile on Christine's face, neck, chest, hands and calf.

 I waited until it absorbed a bit and bandaged the larger burns, which were on her right calf and chest.

 When I was finished, I took a clean nightgown from the closet intended for Christine and carefully put it on her.

 Pulling back the covers, I placed Christine on the mattress, then covered her with the covers and sat on the corner of the bed.

 I listened to her breathing for some time. It was still uneven, but not as hoarse as when I found her.

 Suddenly I felt a surge of tiredness. I rubbed my face with my hands. I felt a burning sensation on my hands. Looking at them, I saw that both the outside and the inside of my hand were red from touching the large beam that had crushed Christine. I should have washed my hands and put chamomile on them, but I didn't have the strength or desire to do so.

 I didn't care. My hands could have been burned. I could even have burn scars. All I could think about now was Christine. I had to be with her and watch over her. The only thing that mattered was that Christine lived.

*****

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