A thousand years ago, he'd been onstage, singing himself hoarse, the noise from the audience temporarily taking the place of his heartbeat, though the clock on the bedside table informed him that it had only been a few hours. Maybe time passed differently in hell.

Erik was sprawled face-down on the bed, his feet on the pillow. He raised his head and tried to make sense of what he saw before him. A slim brunette angel stood at the foot of the bed, looking at him worriedly. How could that be? There were no angels in hell. And only an angel would ever be concerned for him.

He remembered riding up in the elevator with her, where she had let him kiss her. He remembered taking her into the hotel room, where they had kissed again. He remembered pulling away from her and falling onto the bed. He couldn't remember if introductions had been made, so he asked, "What's your name again?"

"Christine," she answered.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

Was she telling the truth? He couldn't tell. It didn't really matter if she had lied; age was little more than a number, and there were far more important things to worry about. He was already in hell, anyway. "Bring me the mirror, Christine."

"What?"

"There's a hand mirror in the bathroom. Bring it to me."

Christine complied, and Erik gazed into the mirror. Plastic surgery had long since erased the scars that his entry into this world had left on his face, but he still liked to remind himself that they were gone every now and then. He looked from his reflection to Christine's face. Her brown eyes watched him with surprising tenderness.

"Are you ready?" His question was pleading and hopeful, hopeful that she could save him from damnation, at least for tonight.

That angelic mouth curved up into a smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

While Erik got out of his concert outfit and under the covers, Christine whisked off her red dress and everything underneath it. She posed for a moment to let him admire the view, then climbed into bed next to him.

Once the angel was in Erik's arms, she became a serpent, striking when he least expected and showing no mercy. He did his best to match her, and judging by her cries of pleasure, his best was more than adequate. It was over far too soon, and Christine rested her head on Erik's chest, both of them breathing hard and covered in sweat. Maybe he wasn't in hell after all.

Erik found himself wondering what Christine's life was like: where she lived, if she was working or going to school, whether her family was nice to her (she was lucky, if they were). He pictured her on his arm, walking into a fancy party somewhere, and almost laughed. They were both party types, but not fancy by any stretch of the imagination.

"What are you thinking about?" Christine asked.

"You," Erik answered. "I want to know about you. Who you are, where you're from, what you do. You interest me."

She yawned. "I'm glad I interest you, but I'm a little too tired to answer personal questions right now. Sorry."

"Will you tell me in the morning?"

"I don't have anywhere special to be, so yeah. Sure. Anything you want to know."

Erik smiled. She would leave him tomorrow, and they would likely never see each other again, but he wouldn't have to spend the night alone. "Do you believe in angels, Christine?"

She considered. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it before. Do you?"

"Sometimes."

Christine made a sound of contentment, and Erik could tell she understood. He relaxed and let his eyes drift shut. He was probably still destined for hell, all things considered, but he wasn't quite there yet.