Here we go. And please be patient with poor Christine for a little while. Her mind has been pretty scrambled. I'm actually hoping to make her one of the stronger Christines I've written, but it will take some time to get her there.

Read and Review!

"A bomb exploded in a northeast gated neighborhood last night. Officials think it was possibly an attack against the wealthy residents of the area. Citizens Against Classism are denying responsibility on their website, but officials appear to believe that the more militant sect of CAC may be involved. This morning, their Baltimore headquarters were raided, leading to protests in twelve cities against increasing government intervention. The streets had quieted by early afternoon, but authorities are still on edge as tensions continue to rise. Please stay tuned for more news and your local weather."


"So she just disappeared?"

"Just like that." Raoul looked down into his soda. "There was an explosion of smoke. By the time I recovered, she was gone." The café was also gone, nothing but a pile of smoldering rubble now. A day later, he and Meg were sitting outside of a rundown hamburger joint and staring down at overcooked food.

"Do you think she ran away?"

"No."

Meg's voice lowered to a whisper. "So you think she was kidnapped?"

"Yeah," Raoul muttered as he nibbled on a blackened French fry. "I know someone took her."

"Wow. Do you think CAC is holding her hostage or something?"

Raoul grunted. "That's just more BS from the media because it makes a good story. The poor verses the rich thing. Me and Phillip are pretty sure it wasn't them."

"How come?"

"Phillip says that CAC always leaves a symbol, like a burnt up hundred dollar bill or a coin with a hole in it. Something like that. But we only found a short note at the scene."

"Ooh. What'd it say?" Meg leaned in.

"It just said: 'She is safe and where she belongs. Make no attempt to see her again. Interference will be met with retaliation.'"

"Did you show it to the police?"

"Here's the part you won't believe." Raoul could feel his heart still jump at the memory. "Five minutes after we unfolded the letter, it disintegrated into practically dust."

"That's creepy! What's Phillip going to do?"

"He's going to launch a complaint and make some threats. It's obvious the community is involved, but we don't have any real proof." Raoul sighed. "Phil thinks she didn't want to be here anyway. He thinks I need to let it go and focus on the whole community. Let Christine go. He wants to destroy Cameron politically instead."

Meg rested a hand on his bare arm. "Is that what you're going to do? Let her go?"

"Do you think I should?" Raoul asked, looking into her dark eyes.

"I dunno. I didn't get to know her well enough to know what she was thinking. But she really believed in the Spirit; I could see that."

"Yeah, that's what pisses me off. That's the only reason she wanted to go back. That stupid Spirit, which isn't even real." Raoul hesitated. "But she did want to go back. I can't deny that. If I find her there, I can't take her against her will again; she'll hate me forever." He shook his head.

"Yeah."

"Things are getting bad, you know? I have a feeling that things are going to get worse before they get better."

Meg nodded. "I feel it, too. Sometimes I wonder if I could get me and my mom out of here, but we don't have the money."

"That's something I do have," said Raoul with a weary smile. "Tell you what. Give me some time to see if anything can be fixed. If Cameron can be stopped. If anything in this country can be salvaged. If not, I'll get both of us out of here. Me, you, and our moms. We'll go live somewhere awesome. Like Paris."

"Oh, that would be awesome," murmured Meg. "Fresh croissants and brie and wine every day. Anything to leave here. Everything and everyone is a mess…."

"You seemed to turn out okay."

She shrugged and poked at her hamburger before tossing it aside. "I remember when things were really good, when my parents had money. And then my aunt was kind of strict but really smart and interesting. It was probably good that I got to stay with her for so long. She moved to Melbourne to teach, and I was going to go with her. But then I had to take care of my mom."

"I know how that goes. My mom was never the same after my dad died. I think both our moms grew up during such good times that, when the bad times came, they didn't really know how to deal. We were the ones that had to pick up the pieces, huh?" Meg nodded. He put an arm around her in friendship, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. At some level, he felt like they were the only sane ones in the world. Or at least in the country.

Well, Chris, I hope I see you again someday. I'm not ready to stop fighting Cameron and making you see what a psycho he is. And that the Spirit is a giant hoax. But, for now, I hope you're happy, wherever you are. I hope you're safe.


She felt a nest of warmth and softness all around her and nestled her cheek against it. A soft hum of contentment escaped the back of her throat. What day was it? Time to get up and go to services, she supposed. Oh, but the bed was sooo comfortable. Maybe she would wait for Mrs. Valerius to come in, open her curtains, and say, "Come along, Sleeping Beauty. The prince won't get here before worship services."

Christine lay there half-asleep and wrapped in comfort for another hour or so. I wonder why Mrs. Valerius hasn't come in yet. Surely, it's late morning by now. The only sounds she heard were a steady hum and then once a rustling noise in the distance. Something didn't feel quite right.

Suddenly, a memory returned. And then another. Raoul!

The fire. The smoke.

The Spirit. The Shadow!

Christine opened her eyes, rolled onto her back, and sat straight up. Immediately, her heart jumped up into her throat, and she gasped. Where am I?!

The room was rather beautiful, even lovelier than the guest room at Raoul's house. The walls and ceiling were painted a pure snow white, and a lavender bedspread with white lace on the edges covered her. Flowers had been placed in vases along two dark oak dressers, purple and white irises and red roses, although she couldn't tell whether they were real or fake. The headboard and footboard of the bed were semicircles filled with gold bars. The carpet was cream, and there were two oil paintings on the wall, one of the seashore and one of the forest. There were no windows and no clocks.

One white door with a gold knob was at the front of the room, and it was completely closed. There were two similar doors to her right that were cracked open. After taking several seconds to recover from her shock, she slowly pushed the covers off of her and stood, heart continuing to hammer. The carpet was soft against her bare feet.

She was still wearing her nightgown, although dark dirt and soot now stained the white cotton. Christine tiptoed to the first open door and peeked inside. It was a bathroom with lavender rugs that matched the bedspread and a pine green shower curtain. A small square mirror was fixated on the wall above the marble sink, but the glass was tilted downward and reflecting the counter. She adjusted it back up to take a glance at her reflection. "I look like a mess." The vain stray thought passed through her panicked mind as she stared at her stringy hair and blotchy, dirty face.

With a shaky sigh, Christine gazed into the second open room. It was a walk-in closet, filled with at least twenty dresses, each one a different color. They were similar to the ones she'd always worn in the community except a little more elaborate, decorated with various pockets and buttons and patterns. All were probably handmade. She backed up, finding the room a little disturbing, the carpet squishing beneath her toes.

She now stared at the closed door, sensing it led to a lot more than a closet and a bathroom. Trembling, she put her ear to the cool wood but heard nothing but the electrical hum. Her clammy fingers brushed against the doorknob.

Christine backed away from the door and paced across the room for several moments. I can't stay in here forever. But why am I here? I don't understand. Spirit, where am I?

Finally, she stopped in her footsteps and stared at the knob again. Okay, just a glance out. I have to. Maybe I'm in the community again. Yes! Maybe Cameron had just put her in a safe house within the community so that she could recover from her ordeal. Here she was being completely silly when she was probably safe and sound. Maybe Mrs. Valerius was even waiting outside to take her home! "Calm down, Christine," she whispered to herself. "You're acting crazy. Put your trust in the Spirit."

Who could blame her behavior, though? The last couple of days had been very traumatic. All she wanted was to go back to the safety of the community with dear Mrs. Valerius and resume her music lessons with the Spirit. The Outside had been overwhelming, and she simply wanted everything to be normal again.

I just need to get out of this stupid room.. It nearly reminded her of a dollhouse she'd had when she was four.

With a deep breath, Christine approached the door again.

But then the knob began to turn on its own, slowly twisting clockwise with a soft squeak.

Her heart nearly stopped as she realized that someone on the other side was opening the door. Christine backed up and ran into the bed, falling over the footboard and onto the covers, hands reaching out behind her for support. She stared as the door slowly opened, praying for Mrs. Valerius or Raoul or even Cameron. Any familiar face.

Her prayers went terribly unanswered.

The shadow from the smoke loomed in the doorway, one gloved hand still on the doorknob. Only now she had a full view of it! Black from head to toe. Black shoes. Black suit and gloves and hat and mask. It was well over six feet tall, standing there and watching her with its two yellow eyes. Her mouth fell open, a scream threatening to emerge from the back of her dry throat. Her heart pounded in her ears as she attempted to scoot even further backward and finally ran into the headboard. A soft groan of pain escaped her lips and then lengthened into a short sob of terror. As the shadow stepped into the bedroom, Christine started to attempt another scream.

But then it spoke.

"I had thought I heard you awake. And here you are, still in bed. Rest if you are tired, of course. You had a rather long night. But then you must dress and come out. This room is only for sleep, Christine. You will grow bored if you remain in it too long."

Her mouth closed as the familiar voice came from behind the mask of the figure, the sound of heaven coming from the sight of horror. The memories of the previous night became clearer. And, suddenly, she understood. Her mind would no longer protect her from the truth.

The Shadow was the Spirit.

"Sp-spirit?" she stuttered, clutching the covers with her hand.

"Yes, my beauty. I am. Your dear Spirit." He gestured to himself with his right hand. "For reasons that you will understand in time, these new circumstances were necessary. You will remain here for a while, perfecting your voice and gaining wisdom that is far beyond the knowledge of those in the community. Your destiny begins here. We have spoken of it many times, no?"

She still didn't trust this, her eyes continuously running up and down the wraithlike figure. He was so skinny that the suit seemed to hang off of him. It took her several seconds to speak. "But…. I-I don't understand…. You…You're…You've taken that form?"

He hesitated and then, with a short nod, said, "Yes, Christine. A more tangible form to finish my work on earth, no? A mere voice cannot accomplish much, can it? But now I am able to walk around like any other mortal."

She slowly nodded. It made sense. It did. "Is-Is that the only form you can take?"

"Yes," he curtly replied. "Were you expecting something else?"

The question had a coolness to it that made her nervous. "Well, I-I thought maybe you might…look like-like an Angel. With white light around you. I thought that in my mind for so long…."

"Perhaps you were read too many fairy tales?"

"Perhaps," she whispered, looking downward.

"I have disappointed you, my beauty?" he softly asked. His arms were down at his sides now, and he made no more motions to come toward her.

Christine lied with a shake of her head, her mind still trying to make sense of it all. "Does Cameron know you look like this?"

"Yes." She glanced up back up, and they merely stared at each other for several seconds, neither blinking. "It is as it is, no?" he finally asked.

She nodded again.

"I will give you some time to adapt. To wash and dress. And then we have much to discuss. Much to do." He gestured toward the outside of the room. "You may come out when you wish. You may use any room that isn't locked."

"Are we in the community?" she dared to ask.

"No."

"Then where are we?"

"My earthly home," he replied. "Away from all distractions."

Her heart fell even further. He didn't want her to know where she was. "Can I see Mrs. Valerius?"

"Not for some time, Christine. You will stay here. And you will learn and you will make music with your Spirit and you will soon be very happy. You will. My vision for you is the grandest of all. I will leave you now to prepare yourself."

He left her there, closing the door behind him, and she nearly started to cry. This was her Spirit. It was; the voice was exactly the same. Yet it had been so much easier to deal with the voice when it came from heaven than to deal with this.

A moment of panic gripped her entire body. Her breathing was so rapid and her heart beat so quickly that she had to lie down again before she fainted, curling up into a ball on the bed. For a second, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to escape this nightmare. Opening her lids, she saw that she was still there. Still trapped.

The Spirit won't hurt me. He is the Spirit. The same Spirit he's always been. He just looks very different, not what you imagined. But he's the Spirit.

If she could convince her mind to believe this, she wouldn't go into hysterics. Yes, the Spirit was out there. Her Spirit who had taught her to sing and been her guardian for two years. Her Spirit.

Christine convinced herself of this enough to finally get up and use the bathroom. She couldn't convince herself enough to completely undress and take a shower, but she smeared a soft washcloth with soap and water, scrubbing it over her skin to remove the layers of sweat and grime. She wet her hair under the shower with her nightgown still on and rubbed a little shampoo into the tangled tresses. Still, she looked like a mess in the mirror.

Shutting the door of the closet behind her and noticing with dismay that it couldn't be locked, Christine hesitated and then quickly removed her nightgown. It briefly occurred to her that there might be fresh undergarments in the outside dresser drawers, but she didn't want to ponder the thought for more than a moment. She put on a soft cotton slip and then a velvety midnight blue dress that buttoned all the way up to her neck and reached out to her wrists, loosely falling all the way to her ankles. The blessed Spirit would prefer the most modest dress, she told herself. Yet it was really a form of protection from those two yellow eyes….

No. It's the Spirit. It's the Spirit. From God himself. He's out there, Christine. You mustn't think ill of Him, or He will know, right?

She glanced at herself one last time in the mirror, struggling to appear calm and not the panicked mess that was bubbling on the inside. Maybe she could tell the Spirit that she wanted their previous arrangement of voice lessons in the little room-that this was too much for a poor mortal girl such as herself. Maybe.

When she emerged, the living room she gazed into was empty. It looked surprisingly modern, more like the living room in Raoul's house than any of the simple homes in the community. The most notable object was a shiny black grand piano; it was the most beautiful instrument she'd ever seen. Two black leather sofas and a grey coffee table sat in the middle of the room. There was also a very large television with several other complex machines attached to it and enormous speakers that nearly reached the ceiling. The walls were bare except for a single painting of a bright sun over a barren dessert. It was too quiet. Lifeless. And there were no windows or any indication of a door that might lead to the outside.

After glancing around for any sign of the Spirit, Christine shakily walked to the entrance of a small windowless room that was attached to the living area. Immediately, she was faced with shelves and shelves of books and movies. Hundreds or thousands of them. On her right, there was a blue screen with only the white words: "Press for song selection." Beside the screen were two speakers.

With wide eyes, she touched the screen.

"Please choose a category: 1960's, 1970's, 1980's, 1990's, 00's, 10's, 20's, Blues, Classical, Contemporary, Country, Jazz, Opera, Pop, R&B, Rap, Reggae, Rock…."

She stared at the choices and then she looked over the rest of the contents in the room, most of it completely foreign to her.

"Listen to whatever you like. This was an unlocked room, no?"

Christine jumped and turned around. The Spirit was standing behind her in the entryway, arms behind his back and head tilted. Now that she was standing as well, he seemed even taller. She would barely come up to his shoulders. Christine resisted the urge to back up into the nearest corner. "What is it?" she softly asked, gesturing toward the blue screen.

"My song collection," he replied. "All digital and of the highest auditory quality. I dislike ninety percent of it, but it is a very complete collection."

"But these are all forbidden," she whispered. "These books and the music and the movies are all from the Outside."

"I am the Spirit," he said with a shrug. "I must have all knowledge, good and evil, right?"

She hesitated and then nodded. "I guess so." Perhaps the Spirit couldn't be corrupted by the Outside like the rest of them.

"And you must have this knowledge as well."

"What do you mean?"

He nodded toward his collection. "You are welcome to look at or listen to whatever you like. There are no restrictions. There is nothing there that will harm you." He paused. "The Spirit gives you permission."

Christine gaped, knowing it would take her years to get through all of it. Yet, if she hadn't been so terrified, she might have been up to the task. There was so much to see and read and listen to. But the Spirit was also now blocking the doorway, and this made her forget the collection altogether as her heart began to pound again.

"Before you begin your musical journey, would you enjoy something to eat?" He stepped out of the room, no longer preventing her from leaving. Still, her stomach was hurting, and she shook her head in reply. "Is there anything you want? I have spent months considering you might eventually arrive, as you can tell. Still, I may have been shortsighted when it comes to certain necessities. As a Spirit, I sometimes forget what a mortal might need."

"Can I leave?" she asked more eagerly than she meant to. "I mean just to take a walk in the community or something like that. I promise I would come back."

"No. Not yet."

"Why?" she whispered, and then her voice grew in volume. "Why can't I return to my community? Is it because Raoul took me? I promise nothing sinful happened."

"Oh, I realize that, Christine." The Spirit's tone made her shiver. "That boy has no idea what is in store for all of them. He is in far over his little head. But, no, his actions only rushed these circumstances. You did nothing wrong."

"Then why can't things be as they were? I would have come to you for my lessons every week. I don't need to be here. I want to see Mrs. Valerius."

"You know too much now, dear Christine. About the world. About everything. And you should know more. You are far above those in the community and will always be. I have chosen you for greater things. Now it is time to go forward and leave that pointless little life behind you."

She rapidly shook her head back and forth, hair flying in both directions, no longer able to contain her panic, even in front of the Spirit. "No, no, no! I want to leave here. I want you to be the Voice again."

"You will be allowed out in time. Calm yourself."

"Please."

"No. Not yet."

But she couldn't stop the tears from falling as she raced out of the little room. She ran left and tried another door, but it was locked. She sprinted to a door on her right, and that only led to a closet with folded towels, blankets, and sheets. She ran forward and into a simple kitchen; she raced backwards and encountered another locked door. The Spirit merely watched as she finally collapsed onto one of the black couches and buried her face in her hands, shaking and crying. "I want things back as they were," she said between sobs. "Please! Please just be the Spirit again! Please don't make me stay here! This doesn't make any sense!"

After allowing her to cry for several moments, he slowly knelt beside her. Christine tensed but kept her face buried. His voice was gentle when he spoke. "Do not cry, my beauty. Calm down. Do not cry. It is me. Your Spirit. I am still your Spirit. Who has guided you for two entire years? Has your Spirit ever failed you, Christine? Have I ever been late to a lesson or disappointed you? Have I, my dear?"

"No," she whispered, finally gazing into those two strange eyes. "No, you haven't, Spirit."

"Then I will not disappoint you now. You will be very happy."

She looked away and wiped a hand over her sticky cheek. "I'm just…confused."

"Do you remember when I sang for you?"

"Oh, yes." She nodded. "I do. When I was so sad about my father one night, you sang for me."

"Would you like me to do so now?"

She nodded again. Anything to numb the horrible confusion.

He played the piano and sang an unfamiliar foreign song in that tenor voice, and it was just as beautiful as it had been the first time. Hypnotizing and heavenly. Spirit. The music calmed her beating heart. When she closed her eyes and could just hear the voice, Christine could almost pretend that she was back in the magic room-that the Spirit was speaking to her from high above and that she wasn't where she was. And, when the music stopped, the silence was almost painful.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked. She nodded with her eyes still closed. "It was from Faust. You should listen to opera while you are here. It would truly suit your voice."

She was about to ask if opera was forbidden but remembered his earlier words. There were new and bewildering rules to this world—no longer allowed outside but permitted to listen to anything she wanted. How could she understand any of it?

Christine finally dared to open her eyes. The Spirit had left the piano and was standing very near to her. A black gloved hand reached out to touch her cheek. With a cry, she hopped up and ran away into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Because, deep down, she knew. Despite her lack of education, she was too smart not to know.

Even if her conscious mind wouldn't yet admit it, her subconscious was raging at her. Her subconscious was rattling the bars of its prison and screaming in alarm.

A man! Not a Spirit! He's a man! A masked man, and you're trapped here and all alone with him!

Still, thirty minutes later, when he softly knocked on the door and asked, "Do you require anything, my beauty? Anything at all?"

She only replied, "No, Spirit. I just want to be alone for a bit. I'm very tired."

A pause. "Then I will let you rest."

As she pressed her cheek to the pillow, not knowing whether it was morning, afternoon, or night, Christine knew nothing would ever be normal again.


"So you have her now."

"Yes."

"You are alone there with her."

"No, Mr. Lourdes. My wide circle of friends and family live there as well." The sarcasm was more biting than usual. The Spirit shifted from foot to foot, obviously agitated.

Cameron sighed and was, as always, careful with his words. Especially tonight, it seemed that his mercenary was on the edge. "It is an improper arrangement before marriage, as you are aware."

The Spirit chuckled. "Ah. Do you suggest I drag her kicking and screaming down the aisle? That would certainly be the Community event of the year."

"No. But there must be a better way to go about it. We must be very careful with our women. As you know, little Abby's mother, my daughter-in-law, was a promiscuous and unholy woman. And look at where that got everyone." His son had killed himself; his daughter-in-law was no more. Little Abigail would grow up right, though. Cameron would see to that. Cameron would see that all little boys and girls grew up right.

"I have been nothing but a voice to the child for the past two years," the Spirit snapped. "She's terrified as it is without you meddling into the situation. I need time with her. I need her to…understand." His tone was strange on the last word. There was more put into that word than Cameron dared to interpret.

"I trust you will ensure she continues with our teachings. I could get someone from morning services to assist in making sure that she remembers the principles of the community. He would, of course, be paid a large sum to remain silent about the situation."

The yellow eyes glared. "Cameron, I am going to give you half this horrid country to do as you like with. Leave the girl to me."

Cameron shifted. "I suppose that will be the case. What else can be done with her now? She knows you aren't just a voice. That she has that knowledge is a rather frightening thought; women are terrible about secrets."

"She will be kept isolated until her silence is assured."

"You do intend to make the arrangement proper eventually?"

"Yes, when it is time."

"Then we will consider the matter resolved." Cameron turned to stare out the window that faced the closest part of the community, the most important part, the part with families and children. The glass was tinted so that he could see out, but no one could see inside. A golden sun shown down on identical brick homes with bright green yards now that spring had arrived. A mother and a daughter in identical yellow dresses were outside tending to a flower garden. It was godly perfection. A stark contrast to the frightening man standing behind him-who was ironically the only one that could turn the country into Cameron's perfect vision.

"And now to talk about your little show in that wealthy neighborhood," Cameron continued, turning around again. "At first, I was angry that you'd gone so far. Yet you didn't take any lives, and it created a perfect amount of chaos to send things over the edge. The feds are blaming some other group. I think it was a very smart strategy."

"I thought you might, Mr. Lourdes. It is a trend I plan to continue."

Cameron nodded, unable to keep himself from turning back to the beautiful view again. In the garden with the mother and daughter, there were several butterflies fluttering around the flowers-two simple yellow ones, a black swallowtail, and a monarch. He squinted, unable to tell if any of them were real.

The spying devices perfectly resembled butterflies, hummingbirds, bees, and all sorts of little creatures, and the community was filled with thousands of them. The military had created the concept long ago. How the Spirit had managed to get his hands on the technology and perfect it even further—Cameron never asked. But they blended into the perfection and serenity of the community and kept him aware of any problems.

"Well, Erik, after that horrid affair with Christine and the Chagny family, I was worried. But everything seems to be back in order. Perfect, really. You are an odd blessing to have around."

The Spirit didn't reply. He left soon after, and Cameron sat down at his desk and rubbed his temples. It was still a concern of his as to how he would keep everything in place once the Spirit was gone. And so that was why the idea of giving Erik a wife had become more and more enticing.

Like a goat placed with an edgy horse, Cameron hoped having a godly, young, and attractive wife would keep the Spirit calmed and satisfied. Women could be very powerful motivators.

Still, as he watched the mother and daughter work, Cameron was also well aware that the fairer sex could be extremely destructive.

And so he would have to keep a careful eye on this situation.