The Infamous Plot Point 15 - halfway.

[igenlode]

Right, I've *finally* finished rewriting the first half of Plot Point Fifteen; Stefan and Raoul are both far less seriously injured by Erik than was previously implied (in particular, Raoul still has full use of his previously-wounded arm as and when it suits me), nobody fires a gun, I've gone back to the old plot where the two of them are in a Male Conspiracy to keep Christine out of danger instead of having her kept occupied by trying to resuscitate Stefan, and as a last-minute decision Erik *does* assault Raoul after all, but only very briefly, so I don't have to worry about keeping it quiet. Stefan immediately moves to drag Erik off Raoul, thus unblocking the door and allowing Christine to burst in on schedule -- it's implied that she was occupied outside dealing with the cow, so probably didn't realise that her delicate sensibilities were being nobly protected in the first place :-p I was able to reuse most of the last page dealing with the Ghastly Gangrene pretty much verbatim (apart from the minor problem that Stefan is now under orders to stand back and keep Erik covered, so can't be the one to do the big reveal as previously, and Erik is now lying in a heap on the floor instead of having the bedclothes conveniently covering his injury -- I've established that it's dim in there, so I think it's reasonable that nobody actually sees that his leg is in a mess until Raoul attempts to turn over the body...)

I'm slightly puzzled to discover that the replacement text is almost exactly the same length as the previous version, despite the fact that I thought I'd omitted a considerable number of complications and didn't think I'd added anything significant! Possibly a factor of the large number of deleted/abandoned paragraphs; I hate, hate *hate* rewriting :-( It has always been my observation that retelling events once adds greater depth to them, but every subsequent rehash just makes them staler and staler, and experience has done nothing to dissuade me of that.

Anyway, I assumed that I'd shortened the chapter sufficiently to get the whole of Plot Point Fifteen into it, but apparently I haven't, so I'll be splitting it precisely as previously planned. And retaining the previous opening sentence of the subsequent abandoned part-chapter, but precious little else of it, including my research into wood-burning stoves and the etiquette of ladies giving blanket-baths to gentlemen :-p At least I'm finally writing *new* material, which is an inexpressible relief. I can actually feel the ideas bubbling up and chaining on to the anticipated plot in advance, which is precisely how it's supposed to work, instead of desperately trying to hack out stale stuff.

The rewritten version is an improvement, though. It gets rid of the plot elements I was increasingly unhappy about and gets back to the originally intended feel of the scene -- there were a few character moments I'm a little sorry to lose, but they weren't worth the plot machinations required to lead to them.

(Plot Point Fifteen is practically worthy of a tag of its own by this point...)

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'Deleted scenes':

He fired, convulsively, and knew in the moment of the muzzle-flash that he had missed. Knew also that Erik, half-fallen ghastly across the edge of the sick-bed, was no further threat. Not any more.

Even in that moment he registered that she had run towards the gunshot rather than away from it, and did not know whether to feel exasperation or pride.

Suddenly suspicious — he was not sure he believed in any collapse as complete as that— Raoul closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, reaching out clumsily with his good hand to check the pulse beneath Erik's jaw. The reek was worse here. He hesitated an instant, overcoming revulsion. And icy fingers shot out to clamp, viper-swift, about the wrist that held the gun.

With his free hand he scrabbled desperately for the gun, but Erik had his right arm forced down across the edge of the bedframe, and he could not break free. He bit his lip against waves of pain, fighting in frantic silence. Any outcry would bring Christine — Christine, of whose presence among the intruders Erik had, it seemed, as yet not the slightest suspicion, caught up as he was in this unforeseen chance of a deathbed vengeance, and the knowledge of whom must be kept from him at all costs for as long as Raoul could manage it.

Erik's fingers tightened their icy grip around half-healed bone and twisted with a drowning strength that drew a hoarse groan from Raoul against his will. Held pinned and off-balance, he clawed one-handed for Erik's eyes, nails scraping over nightmare flesh. From some great distance, he heard Christine cry out. Watched that monstrous face beneath him yield to realisation, like the dawning of sunlight. For what seemed like an endless moment their eyes met, Erik's gaze softened by wonder looking up straight into his own. And then — afterwards, looking back, he was more certain than ever that it had been by conscious choice — he was released, suddenly and completely, staggering to his feet.

[...] He'd been sure that Erik intended to cripple him — if he could. But he had not done so, and Raoul did not think that either strength of will or of body had failed him.

"He was raving when I got here." The half-truth slipped out almost without thought, and he was not sure if he was shielding Christine or, in an odd unsought solidarity, Erik. "He caught hold of me, that's all. It's nothing.... He's all but helpless with fever, and half out of his mind. He said he was dead — he said you were dead —"

"I heard," Christine said quietly. "He believed he'd driven me to my death in the mountains — poor Erik." But those last words were added almost under her breath, as if Raoul had not been intended to hear them.

"And just how is poor Stefan?" It came out rather more sharply than he had intended. He had not welcomed the tug of sympathy that had betrayed him earlier. He found he enjoyed still less watching his wife gaze down with that look of grave pity on the monster who had hunted them both, and who killed without a moment's qualm.

"I think he has—" The words clearly eluded Stefan, and with a sound half-apology, half-frustration, he pressed past Raoul, setting Christine courteously aside, and lifted the covers to bare the rest of Erik's body to the daylight. Raoul choked.

"My God."

Christine came closer and leaned up to drop a gentle, very precise kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Dearest, did you know there's a little line that shows just here"—she set another kiss upon the spot—"when your arm is paining you? [...]

Raoul bit his lip on an indrawn breath of his own at her exploring touch, and pulled away. "Leave it! I'm all right—"

She had to know that was not true, just as he knew that she was right, and that he could not aid Stefan effectively to lift or turn an unresponsive body. But if he had been fool enough to let his guard down around Erik, then the fault was his, and his only... and those final moments in which Erik had chosen to leave him unmaimed were, somehow, a thing between the two of them alone.