Ciao everyone! :)
Erik lifted Christine’s small body into his arms. She needed a proper place to rest. With one last glance at the darkened room, he took her down the passageway leading towards his home.
Raoul started to ride slowly down the road, trying his best to see in the dark. He stopped frequently to see if there were any more clues to where Christine might be. But there was none. It never occurred to Raoul until he passed a river that Christine might have fallen in and drowned. ‘She couldn’t have…’ Raoul thought to himself in disbelief, getting off his horse quickly and running down to the stream. He peered along the river bank, but there was nothing in sight.
“Where could she have run off to, Mama?” Meg asked, traveling along the dark hallways with her mother.
“Quiet, Meg. She might run away again if she hears us coming.”
They walked silently until they reached Carlotta’s old dressing room that Christine had used before. They looked inside, but didn’t see anything. Madame Giry sighed, closing the door behind her.
“Mama? Is there a reason Christine is acting so strange? Why doesn’t she remember us?” Meg asked.
Madame Giry thought back to how Christine had acted earlier. The blank look in her eyes. Her pale cheeks. The large gash on her forehead. Madame Giry put her hand to her mouth as she gasped.
“Meg,” She said “I believe Christine has lost her memory.”
He placed Christine down on the velvet sheets covering the swan bed. What was left of the swan bed, actually. The mob had torn the pillows apart. Erik felt her forehead. It was burning up. He quickly fetched a towel and some cool water. After wiping away a sweaty curl that was plastered to her forehead, he started to gently dab the wound right above her eyebrow. Christine stirred once or twice, but remained asleep. After Erik had finished he got up, pacing around the room. What was wrong with Christine? Who could he turn to for help? Who would know how to help her? He needed to talk to someone who not only knew Christine well, but who would also understand him.
Madame Giry awoke to a cloaked figure standing over her. She gasped, lighting a candle. A white mask appeared as she held the candle up to the dark.
“Good evening, Madame.” Erik whispered, taking her hand and kissing it politely.
“It’s…it’s you.You...you are supposed to be dead.” Madame Giry whispered, moving away from him.
“Please excuse me for frightening you so. Have you been well since we last met?” He asked.
Madame Giry nodded stiffly. Erik scowled, trying to control his rising temper.
“Madame, I have come here to ask you a simple question. It’s about Christine. What is wrong with her? She acts as if she doesn’t remember who I am.”
Madame Giry sighed, feeling relieved. At least she knew where Christine was now.
“Monsieur, Christine’s behavior has come to my attention as well. It is my belief that...she has lost her memory.”
Erik felt his heart drop. He felt tears come into his eyes. So that was why she had not remembered him. That was why she asked him who he was.
“How did you find out?” Erik asked weakly, bowing his head.
“An officer found her today along the road. He said she had been robbed-” Madame Giry stopped, not wanting to continue, “And raped.”
The tears that had been building up in his eyes disappeared. He felt fury rising inside him. Erik started to breathe in fast, angry breaths. Robbed? Raped?
“The fucking bastards!” He screamed, kicking a chair that was in the way. Madame Giry tried to quiet him.
“Monsieur! Please calm down and control yourself.” She whispered.
Erik lunged forward, grabbing her shoulders furiously.
“Who did it? Who?” He demanded.
“Monsieur! If you do not stop, I have every right to call the police on you! You are a wanted murderer!” Madame Giry whispered hoarsely, peeling his hands off her. “I do not know who hurt Christine. Gypsies along the road, most likely.”
Erik kicked Madame Giry’s furniture in his rage. “I’ll find them! I’ll find the fucking bastards who did this to her! I’ll strangle them in their sleep! In the deepest pits of hell they will rot when I am finished with them!” He screamed.
“Enough, Monsieur!” Madame Giry yelled back at him, getting up from her bed and slapping him in the face. Erik’s eyes widened in shock.
“Do not raise your temper or voice around me! Now please listen to me, Erik. The last thing Christine needs right now is for you to be angry. She needs guidance. Help her, do not worry about killing whoever hurt her. She needs your love you once gave to her.” Madame Giry said.
He bowed his head. How could he help her if she did not know who he was? It was like trying to make a stranger feel comfortable and at home.
“Fine. I shall need some food and clothes for her, though. She cannot survive on stale bread and wine.” He snapped, still angry and bitter.
Madame Giry nodded. Erik bowed hastily, and then stamped his way out of her room. He ran down the hallways and passageways until he reached his home. He sat down at his organ, playing a song. He let his fingers pound down hard on the keys. The song was full of sadness and anger. To hell with anyone who heard him. He didn’t care. The Phantom was back.