Unmasqued

The blade was cool and sharp against her skin, and he drew it slowly, so slowly she thought she would scream… but she dared not move, dared hardly to breathe… as he drew it slowly down between her breasts, down, down past her ribs and over the slight swell of her belly, nicking the edge of her navel, down, down to the rise of her mound and the fluff of sensitive hair that grew there… down and around, dipping between her legs, so close there to her most sensitive part, just a breath away, and then, a sudden fast, sharp rending as he sliced from there to the hem.

She heard him drop the knife, felt the parting of the chemise as it fell away, leaving her naked, bare, spread, with only one useless limb to cover herself.

His hands were on her then, everywhere. Shoulder to arm, down over the rise of her breasts, along her ribs and waist, cupping her buttocks, lifting her hips, they swarmed everywhere as she tried to cover herself, to push them away, to scratch and hit and punch. He remained always just out of reach, his hands heavy and hot, damp and groping, grasping, grabbing, probing, pinching.

At last he lifted them, grasped her free wrist, and snapped it into its place beyond her head. And now she had nothing with which to cover herself.

Nothing.

Down, down… the steps were agonizing to Carlotta's injured legs and sprained wrist. She wasn't certain how far beneath the ground the prisoner was kept, but she knew to keep going until there were no more stairs. There were spiders and cobwebs, rat turds, and, more than once, the skitter of tiny feet on the stone, the quick dart of little shadows at her feet. Carlotta gritted her teeth and kept going. It had been a long time since she'd been so low that she must make her way through such filth, but she'd not come so far that she'd forgotten it.

At last she came to the bottom of the steps and turned to follow a crude passageway. Just around the first corner she was startled by a figure crumpled on the floor, too small to be Erik, but she paused to look anyway.

The ballet mistress! So that was what happened to her. She appeared to be unconscious, but was breathing steadily, and would be of no assistance to Carlotta, so she hurried past.

When she came around the next corner, she knew she'd found her quarry.

He sagged between two iron rings set in the wall above his head, which was bowed in abject defeat. His knees buckled, his clothes filthy, torn, and streaked with blood. He didn't move when she approached; perhaps he was unconscious too. But then-it must have been when her feet came into the view of his bowed head-he raised his face.

Her breath caught at the sight of his mangled flesh, but she did not hesitate. She had seen worse. Carlotta met his eyes, dark ones, weary but still filled with challenge, and held up the key.

"Where did you get that?" the man called Erik breathed, his eyes widening as she stepped toward him.

"Before he did this to me," she gestured toward her arm, "I saw where he kept the key ring. In a place separate from his private chambers, in a room he used to spy on others like the Daae girl." Her voice came out warped, raspy, ruined, and devastating to her ears. It was the first time she'd spoken aloud to someone. Her hand went to her throat, and for a moment, she saw pity and then understanding flare in his eyes.

"Thank you."

But when she reached up, she realized she would never reach his manacled wrists, and in that moment, she remembered the Giry woman.

Without explanation to Erik, she hurried back to where she was crumpled on the floor. "You! Wake up!" Her voice came out again, rougher than the pebble-strewn floor on which she knelt. She crouched next to the bag of bones, shaking it until it stirred.

With a groan, the woman opened her eyes. Carlotta had to give the woman credit: She recognized her right away and as soon as Carlotta figured out how to unlock her, she staggered to her feet.

Swaying, she grabbed the wall. "Erik?" she managed to say. "Christine?"

"Come," Carlotta rasped.

Erik was watching as they came around the corner, and hope lit his face as they rushed toward him. Giry took the keys from Carlotta after watching her fumble with the fingers of her useless arm and had his ankles unlocked in a trice. But now they had to reach his wrists, high above their heads.

Carlotta fell to her hands and knees, propped up on her good arm, and leaned against the wall next to his leg for support, making of herself a stool on which Giry could stand. The other woman did not need to be told; she was smaller and slighter than Carlotta.

Erik groaned in pain and relief when his first wrist was released, and Carlotta crawled to the other side, sweat beading her forehead, pain screaming throughout her body as she steadied herself, ready for Giry to climb on her again. This one seemed to take longer; it was agony for all of them… but at last, she heard the clink of freedom, and felt the sudden lurch of Erik's body next to hers.