It struck Grace very quickly on her way back to the theatre. The discovery hit her hard, emotionally, and she felt as if ahe would fall over, physically. There was but one man whom she knew had great wealth, and would not blink an eye at helping someone in need - though he pretended to be an old grouch. There had been a reason Erik sent her outside that day when he was talking to the Monsieur. Why he had told her she needn't go back there this week. Erik had bought the women. She quite doubted he had bought them for himself - he was not that sort of man - and she knew he would never do it to mock her in such a way, but then... she couldn't find another reason for him to do such a thing. Even if he knew who she was, he probably wouldn't... would he?

  Oh, if only he had known what he had taken from her by buying them! Now she was indebted to him. And he had not let her prove to herself that she was capable of getting things on her own. Yes, it was fantastic that they were free all the sooner. That was the goal and she felt selfish for her disapointment... but he had thrown her into a grave, and stolen her self reliance and belief in her abilities. It was crazy, she thought, to be so upset, and she was being a little dramatic. But to have worked so hard, all her life, all the lies she told Nora and George, all the tight spots she got herself and Rodger into over the years... it was all for nought.

      No, it was for them. For Felicette, for Catherine, for Mai. For Fleur. 

    Grace stalked up the stairs to her room and proceeded to change for bed. It wasn't very quick though. She'd get halfway through unbuttoning or untying something then she'd stop and start pacing or stare at herself in the mirror, or sit down.

   She couldn't explain to him - couldn't even explain it to herself - unless she revisited her past. Everything that she tried to forget, had spent years forgetting, was kept in a box in the back of her mind. She could always see it and be reminded of its presence, but she never opened the lid. If she were to understand or make any sense, she'd have to lift that lid.

    Ignoring the fact she was half dressed, she slid into her bed and lay on her back, staring up at the wall, trying to figure out the mad, indifferent man who had done such a great deed, and her own thoughts.

    She drifted into a daze for a while. Then she became cold and sat up, reaching for the nightgown lying over a chair.

     Did Erik not think she was able to -

    As she was caught up in the white fabric of the gown, she heard a bit of a commotion in the walls. She freed her head, eyes darting to the brick wall of her room, and shoving her arms through she sleeves, got to her feet.

   It sounded faintly like someone staggering around, drunkenly running into everything. She wondered who it could be. Erik certainly never made a sound, and she knew he used the passageway by her room often.

    A loud crash echoed and she immediately raced over to the wall, running her thin hands over the dark bricks in an attempt to find the loose one that hid the hand lever to open the wall. She located it, gave a sharp tug, and stepped back.

    It opened, and the sight before her surprised her, then infuriated her.

   Erik was stooped against the opposite wall, a large candlelabra lie at his feet, and he apparently was having difficulties standing.

   So he is drunk. Never would have though it of him.

   They stared at each other a minute. And then she started yelling at him.

    "I hate you! Did you think me incapable if working, to earn their freedom as well as pay for it? Am I so weak in your eyes? I who you pay to play you so that you can run around having fun with Christina? Not many other people would have been able to pull off or even think of that trick with the sandbag! Or recreate your imposing presence! You did not need to do that. I am so mad I could kill you! Did you ever stop to think there are some things that I need to do? How dare you leave me indebted..."

   She had been making her way to him as she talked. Now fully in front of him, she realized something wasn't right, and it wasn't his drunkeness. She wasn't sure he was drunk now. She did not smell alcohol.

    "Well... you can just go see Christina with out me helping. Do it yourself if... I'm sorry, but what are you doing under that cloak?" And why aren't you screaming at me?

  "Go away," he choked out. Now she knew something was very badly wrong. Never, under any circumstances was his voice ever anything other than strong. Now though, his voice broke and it was raspy. He could barely speak.

    "I will not. I have to see what's wrong with you."

   She stepped closer, and all her could do was shuffle back. Under his cloak, his arms were not hanging at his sides, no, and given the bumps and movements, they look crossed, or  like he was holding something.

    She reached out a hand, wrapping it around his cloaked arm, and as she suspected, he winced.

  "You didn't break any arm?"

  "Nor any other bones... please, I must go."

    But her fingers trailed upwards and she watched their journey. There was something wet on his bicep. Thick and warm and wet. With this drafty corridor, if he had spilled anything on himself, it would have turned cold. Grace knew what she was going to see before she saw it.

    She tore at his throat, ripping the knot free and tore his cloak free. It fell to the damp, dirty floor as she gasped.

    He wasn't wearing his overcoat, just his waistcoat and white shirt, and she could see why. Blood was soaking the arm and shoulder of his shirt.

"See? Now excuse me."

   But he couldn't push past her, and nearly tripped when she removed herself from his past.

  "You're hurt."

   "Yes, because sometimes people who are perfectly healthily randomly start bleeding." He leaned against the wall again. "Please leave me alone."

   "Let me help."

   "I thought you just wanted to kill me?"

   "Yeah well... we all realize what we take for granted once it's gone."

     "So you took me for granted?"

   "Are you going to let me help?" He remained silent. She pleaded now. "The longer you stay here the larger the chance you'll die. Please, Erik, just be vulnerable for once and let me help."

   "Fine," he croaked.

    "Good."

    She stepped to his other side. "Now get off the wall and use me for a prop."

   "Are you crazy? I'll crush you."

   "I didn't say I was going to carry you, I said use me for a prop!"

    Barely keeping his balance he leaned away a bit, giving her room to slip under his good arm.
    "Good. Leo!" She screeced suddenly.

     Her dog came bounding out of the room.

   "He'll alert us to any incoming candlelabras and steps. Does it all the time for me," she said brightly as they began the long walk to his lair.

    "That's nice would you mind moving your arm lower? That -ow!"

   "Sorry. Maybe keep your eyes closed too if you don't like blood." Goodness knows he was getting it all over her.

    His arm tightened over her shoulders as they came to the stairs, which in turn made her think he was trying to keep a better grip on her, and that she should do the same. Sadly, her arm sat more under his ribs than waist in an attempt to help his painful posture. She had been too close to his wound, wherever it was. She moved her arm down to his waist, still apologizing as he slumped further.

        So this was short. Probably because the next one is quite long.