Beneath the Porcelain Mask

44. Your Love Redeems Me

If I shall be saved, it will be because your love redeems me.

~ The Phantom, 1925.

(Trigger warning: mentions of blood from the start)

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Erik coughed weakly as I rolled him onto his back, his unmasked face contorting further. Dribbles of blood oozed from his mouth where a deep gash ran over his lips, and down from his temple. I pulled my hands from his side, ignoring the stains his clothes left on my skin, and drew my handkerchief from my pocket.

He groaned as I cleaned his face, eyes flickering open. Licking his lips, he mouthed my name.

"Don't move," I muttered, cleaning what I could. He sighed, his head rolling in my lap. I thought for a moment he'd fallen unconscious once more, but then:

"Where's Christine?"

"Gone."

"Ah, yes..." He turned to look at the ceiling of mirror. "Erik remembers now. Erik let her go."

My cleaning faltered. "Let her go?"

"With the Vicomte..." He spluttered, sides heaving. I caught him, holding him still. "And then... then they came for me... yes, all those people, in Erik's home... And the little Giry. She was the boldest, I think. Yes, wouldn't let Christine look back when they got her Erik...."

I swallowed. "They'll be back."

He coughed. "Indeed. Perhaps Erik should make them some tea..."

I wasn't all too sure if he was being sarcastic or not, but I slapped his shoulder all the same. "When they do, they'll kill you, for real this time!"

He went quiet at that, his body perfectly still in my lap, only the gentle, wispy breaths proving he was still alive.

"I'm getting you out," I resolved, picking myself up and tugging his arm. Erik sighed and winced, but pushed himself to his feet, his clothes dripping. He leaned on my shoulders; I grimaced at the stench, but wrapped my arm around his slender back and led him to the door.

"Where's Jeremy?" he muttered in my ear, stooped with the effort of walking. His bony hand gripped my arm tight, clenching with every step. The mention of his name put a bolt of anguish through me. I didn't know where he was, if he'd managed to escape, if he was looking for me or not. It was a thought that set my heart pounding.

"Not sure." I helped him up into the Louis-Philippe room, out into the hallway. "I think he got out."

"Erik is-"

"Save it," I snarled, trying to rid myself of the worry. "I'll get you out, but I won't hear your pity-begging. Not another word, you understand?"

He buttoned his lips and nodded, eyes fixed on the ground until we reached César's little stable. I helped Erik into the saddle and climbed up behind him, kicking the animal's sides when I found my balance.

True to his word, Erik didn't speak once as César clipped and clopped his way onto the deserted Paris streets, unnoticed in the shadows by the few stragglers gawking at the inferno that swallowed the Opera House, towards the Bois de Boulogne.

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At long last, surrounded by a hundred trees and the darkness of the night, I had Erik pull César to a halt. Twigs broke beneath my feet as I landed. César whickered, tossing his head about at the movement my dress made.