Chapter
Ten
"Jenny!"
"Is she breathing?"
"Jenny, wake up!"
"Come on, girl. Wake up!"
Jenny could hear Meg's voice
vaguely, it sounded miles away. She
struggled against the ocean of black waves that seemed intent on drowning her,
swallowing her up without a trace into nothingness.
Not... this... time!
"Meg?" her own voice sounded weak in her own
ears. Her eyes fluttered open for a
second, then immediately shut tight.
"Jenny, what happened?"
"Are you all right?"
"Where's the Phantom?"
"And what happened to Christine
and the Vicomte?"
Voices from all directions bombarded
her with questions. Too much... too
fast... and that damn light! Her
confused and fuzzy brain refused to concentrate on any one thing. That is, except for the brightness of
someone's light shining directly at her like an interrogation light.
"The light..." she whispered
hoarsely. "Turn off..."
"Pierre! Stop shining the light in her eyes!"
Meg barked at the baritone.
"Sorry." he quickly
apologized, fumbling to turn his lantern down.
"Jenny, can you sit up?"
"No... cooler down here... want
to stay..."
"Can you tell us what
happened?"
Jenny took a deep breath, trying to
remember the story she'd concocted minutes before falling unconscious. "Raoul and Christine are fine... they
escaped in the boat."
"And the Phantom?"
"The Phantom... he's
dead." Jenny whispered, holding out the bloodstained mask as proof. "Shot himself... suicide... the
lake. He was in love with Christine...
couldn't handle her leaving... with Raoul." she managed before breaking
into a fit of well-timed coughing.
"That's enough, dear. Don't wear yourself out." Madame Giry
consoled her.
The mob began to drift away in twos
and threes, satisfied that the infamous Opera Ghost was no more. Soon, only the two Giry women and the two
managers remained, concerned for Jenny's well being.
"I'm all right... really."
Jenny insisted, fighting nausea to sit up.
"That's a deep wound,
Jenny." one manager observed.
"We should get you to a hospital."
"No!" was her
panicky reply. "I have no money
for treatment... and no use. I just
need... a needle and some thread... to sew it up."
"Are you sure, dear?"
Madame Giry asked gently. "I have
a sewing needle in my bag, but are you sure you can do it yourself?"
"Quite sure... I've done it
before." Jenny nodded, though not on herself, she added
silently. She took the supplies from
Madame Giry and rose unsteadily to stagger over to the couch. "Leave me... please. I'd prefer to do this alone."
"Now, mademoiselle... be
reasonable. The Opera can certainly pay
for treatment, if money is the problem.
Now that Carlotta and Christine are both indisposed, shall we say...
that would make you our prima donna for the time being. We're obligated to help you." Andre
protested.
"I'm quite sure of your
concern, Monsieur Andre." Jenny continued inexorably. "But I really would rather stay here
for now. This may be difficult to
believe, but... the Phantom was my friend and despite his crimes, he deserves
more than to just be left floating in a lagoon. Since Christine is no longer here and he had no other kin, it's
up to me to take care of matters here.
Understand?"
Firmin nodded, ever the stickler for
propriety and well acquainted with the duties of death. "Very well, mademoiselle... as
you wish. Andre, ladies, come along...
let's leave her to her obligations."
****
Erik sat inside the dark cell,
listening to the conversation going on outside, the design of the torture
chamber allowing him to hear them but not the other way around. Jenny needed a doctor, he knew... why in
God's name wasn't she going with them?
After what he'd done, why didn't she just lock him in the torture
chamber forever and forget he ever existed?
He sighed, that wasn't her nature
and he knew it. The girl had risked a
lot for Christine and now was doing the same for him. If the managers found that she'd been concealing him they'd
report her to the Surtete with no regret, hoping to be rid of both
gander and goose in the same call.
However, if any such thing happened, Erik didn't doubt that she'd be
smuggling him out of France as the next step.
The child was amazing! She'd not
only survived his temper yet again, but she'd bested it with her own rage! He had been powerless to escape her
lightning-quick fists and had backed right into his own trap. Child or no, he'd apparently met his match.
The
heavy door to the torture chamber creaked open slowly, the light from the other
room creating a white crescent of reflecting lights off of the mirrors. Erik tensed momentarily, cautious that it
could be an enemy inspecting for him.
"Erik?" Jenny's voice
called softly into the cool darkness of the mirrored room.
"Remind me to install a secret
escape door in this confounded contraption." Erik mumbled, sagging with
relief despite his gruff words. As much
as he cared for her, he was still angry.
"I'll do that..." Jenny
smiled, swaying slightly as Erik stalked out.
"Have you lost your mind?"
he demanded. "Why didn't you leave
with the rest of them? You need a
doctor's care."
"No money to pay a
doctor." Jenny tried to keep her voice steady and failed miserably.
"My God..." Erik swore
under his breath. He picked her up as
though she were as light as a feather and carried her into her room, ignoring
the blood that fell onto the carpet and stained his white shirt. After laying her on the bed, he ripped off
her blood-soaked sleeve and visually determined the extent of the damage he'd
inflicted.
"You're very lucky that I
lacked the presence of mind to strike a fatal blow." he whispered.
"I guess." she
shrugged. "I wasn't exactly in the
best frame of mind either, if I recall."
"It's very deep." he said
softly, remorse replacing his previous anger.
"I'll have to clean and sew it for you."
"Do you know how to do
that?" she asked, watching the blood seep into the sheets.
"Yes... I have had to sew up my
own wounds from time to time." he answered matter-of-factly.
"Oh."
"Hold still." he ordered, cleaning the
gaping wound as gently as he could.
Once the blood was wiped away from the surrounding skin, he threaded
Madame Giry's needle and held its tip in a flame for sterilization.
"Do you have any brandy or
rum?" she asked.
"A strange question coming from
a lady." he smiled briefly.
"Are you in a great deal of pain, mon ange?"
"No... but I will be
once you start stitching me up, monsieur docteur." she grinned.
"Indeed... I'll get you some
brandy and lace it with a little laudanum." he agreed.
"Thank you."
The combined liquor and tranquilizer
worked wonders, Jenny barely felt the prick of the needle as Erik sewed her
wound with the dexterity of an accomplished surgeon. Thirty stitches to close it, ten extra to be safe, then Erik
cleaned the area again and wrapped it in a pristine white cloth. That done, he merely sat on the edge of her
bed, staring at the floor.
"Thank you, Erik." she
sighed.
"For what... stabbing
you?" he replied listlessly.
"For sewing me up." she
said, wondering why he looked so lost and child-like.
"It was the least I could
do." he shrugged. "Forgive
me, mademoiselle... not just for stabbing you, but for everything... I don't
know what I would've done, tonight."
"Erik, I'm your friend... it's
my job to protect you from yourself." Jenny smiled.
He didn't reply, but Jenny could see
that his soulful eyes were glistening with tears.
"Erik... what's wrong?"
she asked, resting a hand on his back.
"I loved Christine..." he
breathed raggedly. "I wouldn't
have hurt her for the world. Even if
she had agreed to be my wife, I would never have forced her to... to my bed...
or anything like that."
"I know how you loved
her." Jenny nodded her head in complete sympathy, her heart nearly
bursting for this man she was in love with.
"But it wasn't enough... was
it?" he shook his head sadly.
"She still left and worse yet, now she's frightened of me."
He was fighting against his tears,
Jenny knew, and he was losing the battle.
He would undoubtedly flee her room if his tears threatened to take over
and she feared for his safety. In this
state of mind, he was liable to kill himself.
Determined to comfort him, she gently drew him towards her, not caring
that she was reclining on the bed and practically pulling him down beside her,
a truly scandalous act.
"Come here, Erik." she
whispered. "Let me hold you and
comfort you as you once held and comforted me."
He didn't resist, but laid next to
her, his head buried against her neck.
She rested her arms around him, ignoring the returning pain in her
arm. She closed her eyes, luxuriating
in his total trust in her, absently stroking his hair. The hot drops of wetness against her skin
told her that he was weeping at last, but still holding it back.
"Go ahead and cry, Erik."
she said softly. "It will do you
good to cleanse your soul."
With that, he gripped her tightly,
holding her as desperately as a drowning man.
Tears flowed freely now, his sobs heart-wrenching in their intensity,
his strong frame shuddering under the weight of his misery. He took comfort in Jenny's touch, her
warmth, her voice, her very presence.
In the past, both recent and long, Erik had always dealt with his
anguish alone. Being in Jenny's
embrace, experiencing her touch in his moment of total vulnerability was
intoxicating and at the same time... disconcerting. As a result of his forced isolation from all human contact, he
was completely self-reliant and often viewed dependency as a fault. He generally hated feeling weak, emotionally
or physically; but this was far too pleasant to resist... the embrace of his
guardian angel, his conscience, and his only confidante in the world... his
sweet Jennifer. She could never replace
his beloved Christine but Jenny was like... like... he wasn't certain; more
than a friend or family...
But this was not the time to examine
his bewildered feelings to any depth.
For now, he wanted only to cry himself to sleep in her arms. She was rocking to and fro, like a mother
lulling a child to sleep. Heaven,
he mused through his receding tears, I've died and gone to Heaven. Too exhausted physically to continue his
outward misery, his mind suddenly became strangely clear. He became acutely aware of his compromising
position. As if merely lying next to
her on the bed weren't enough, he was virtually on top of the girl! One of his legs rested between hers, the
still-hard bulge of his sex pressing into her soft thigh. The heat of her skin radiated to his hands
through the thin cloth of her blouse, loose against her back. Her heavy breast cushioned his chest, an
erect little nipple like a pebble through the silk of his shirt. His bare cheek rested against her neck, the
skin smooth and supple. Her hair
caressed him, soft and silky and thick like that of a lion's mane. He breathed in her scent; the faint perfume
of roses, jasmine, and gardenia blossoms mingled with the aroma of her own
skin. God, she was the very epitome of
womanly beauty; soft, subtle... breath-taking if you looked at her in just the
right way. He fought off the new surge
of desire with difficulty.
"Thank you..." he
whispered, his voice more like velvet than ever before. "This means a great deal to me."
"To me as well." she
responded, her cheek resting against the warm softness of his hair.
"Does it? Why?" he inquired, raising his head to
look at her. Lord, she looked so
unhappy, so hopeless, so like...
So like himself.
"That's a story for another
time." she shook her head.
"We both need some sleep, now."
"May I..?" he began,
uncertain if he should dare continue.
"Yes?"
"May I stay in here with you...
like this?" he asked with all of the timidity of a small boy. "I- I think I need this... this sort of
solace tonight."
"Of course, Erik." she
smiled, nestling against him.
She couldn't have asked for a better
idea herself.