Thanks to everyone for your feedback! For those who enjoyed the theater setting in Chapter 10, I encourage you to do a Google Image search for abandoned theaters. They really are haunting.

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Light raindrops tapped against the windows of Raoul's living room, and the air was warm and sticky. While the weather created a more putrid odor than usual, the rain was also a good thing. More people stayed inside, keeping the crime rates and violence lower. Raoul and his two friends were sitting on the couches with glasses of lime soda, all leaning forward as he described the latest news.

"Wait, wait," said Anthony. He spilled a little of his soda on the coffee table. "Sorry. So there was actually some kind of magic show?"

"That's the rumor," said Raoul. "And now some people are saying that Cameron might have at least thirty percent of the state's support. Thirty frikin' percent!"

Meg wrinkled her nose. "How did that stuff even happen?"

"I'm sure it's not so hard to fake an earthquake," Raoul replied, although he wasn't certain. Still, how the hell was a nut like Cameron Lourdes getting away with this? The guy didn't even seem that bright.

The only positive aspect was that Christine supposedly sang at the event, though the rumors hadn't given much description concerning her performance. At least she was alive and healthy. And probably still believing in the stupid Spirit.

"Chagny? Earth to Chagny?"

"Sorry," murmured Raoul. "Just thinking about stuff."

Anthony chuckled. "So what's next?"

"Well, a bunch of people, including Phil, are going to give uplifting speeches soon. Even the president might be involved."

"That's a nice…err…start," Meg said, looking down at her worn jeans and t-shirt. "Then maybe they could fix everything else, too?"

"Midterm elections are soon," added Anthony. "We can vote some of them out." He probably saw Raoul's expression. "What's wrong? Are you bitter because Phil's going to put you to work?"

"Uh, nothing. Yeah, just thinking about all the phone calls I'll have to make for him." That wasn't the truth, but Raoul didn't want to alarm his friends yet. Phillip wasn't sure how the state of the country was going to be by November. He was still giving speeches and venturing into the more dangerous areas for support. Sometimes Raoul and their mother worried about his safety. But a lot of people simply didn't care anymore—didn't think it mattered who won. In the west and northern parts of the country, the state governments had finally stepped in to try to create order. The federal government was allowing the intervention while it focused on bringing some semblance of control to the growing chaos in the south and northeast.

The only person with enthusiastic supporters was the honorable Cameron Lourdes, and he wasn't even running for office. Some of his supporters were, but the rioting and explosive violence posed a much greater threat than those guys did.

"Well," said Meg. "At least they're finally going to try to address Cameron."

"Yeah, but it gives him more legitimacy," Raoul replied.

"He already has legitimacy," Meg argued in a gentle voice. "I don't think they can pretend he doesn't anymore."

"I know," Raoul murmured. "But they're going to have to do more than give a bunch of speeches. It looks pathetic."

"What do you think they should do?" asked Anthony.

Raoul hesitated. "I don't know. Take a bulldozer and a couple of tanks to his home?"

Meg giggled nervously. "Nice to see you want to take a more measured approach."

"Ugh," Raoul muttered. "It's ridiculous. Why do people think this stuff is real? C'mon. A one minute thunderstorm? Someone needs to expose him for the fraud that he is!"

"How?" asked Anthony.

"We could go to one of these events and figure out where all this is coming from. You know, expose the man behind the curtain, right?"

"That sounds dangerous," Meg murmured. "I mean, you got away last time. But things are a little different now."

"What else are we going to do?" Raoul asked, holding out open palms.

"Leave?" Anthony softly replied. "That's what I'm doing soon."

"You're right. That's probably what we should do. I told Phillip that the other day. But do you guys really want to look back knowing you never tried?" Both of his friends glanced down and said nothing. "One try, and then we can leave. That's it. Please."

Meg looked at the floor and sighed. "Okay. I can ask my mom if she knows anything else that would be useful."

Anthony shrugged. "I'm a good getaway driver." He paused. "And I think I know how some of those tricks might have been done. It's not too hard to make an earthquake simulator, anyway. But, ya know, these people probably aren't looking for a science lesson, Raoul. What if they don't care if it's fake? They want security."

Raoul clenched his jaw with determination. "First, we prove Cameron's a fraud. Then we'll give them hope."

Meg's forehead crinkled as she frowned. "I just hope these people aren't too far gone already. Christine, she seemed so out of it."

"I know," Raoul replied, glancing at the raindrops sliding down the window like tears. "That's why, if nothing else, I want her to know that the Spirit's not real."

"And, if it doesn't work, we leave?" Meg asked, unable to keep the eagerness from her voice. "The three of us and my mom?"

"And my mom. We leave," Raoul agreed.

Deep down, he knew that's probably what they would end up doing. But he had to try. He had to be more than a coward. Phillip was right; his dad would have wanted it.

No words could describe the terror she felt as the black car pulled up beside them, jolting as it stopped in the grass. The top of her arm was still clasped in Erik's long, thin fingers, and she was too frightened to look up into those angry yellow eyes. Her heart was pounding, and she desperately searched for an escape that didn't exist.

"Get in," Erik commanded, throwing the door open.

She stood there frozen, mind combing through her few options.

"I will sedate you. Is that what you want?"

"No," she whispered. She didn't want to lose consciousness and become completely vulnerable. Christine climbed into the car, praying for a miracle.

"Leaving a little earlier than thought?" the driver asked.

"Yes," Erik replied. "She is tired."

"Ah, yes. Women do tire easily. My wife always needs her afternoon nap." He smiled and then turned back around

Erik would tell the driver that she was being hysterical if she begged for help, and Christine was sure the driver would be on his side. And that would also give Erik an excuse to drug her just as he had done when kidnapping her from Raoul's home. I should have believed you, old friend. God, I was so stupid and naïve.

Hugging her arms to her chest, Christine practically curled into a ball in the backseat. At least with the driver present, she didn't think anything too horrible would happen to her. But then what? She glanced at Erik, but his masked face was turned toward the window. Was Erik capable of hurting her? Even killing her? Her heart jumped into her throat. No, she couldn't think like that right now. She had to survive.

The long drive went by faster than she would have liked, and she could see the dilapidated buildings quickly come into view in the darkness. Erik said nothing the entire time, not even sparing her a glance. A shudder traveled through her when the vehicle came to a sudden stop.

"Have a pleasant evening," said the driver with another smile.

"You, too," Christine sickly whispered before climbing out of the car. Without a word, Erik walked directly behind her as they traveled through the back alleyway. Christine briefly glanced around for any sign of help, but there was only one other man leaning against a building. One of his eyes was missing, and he was holding a translucent green bottle to his lips. Her odds with him wouldn't have been any better, if not worse.

The elevator ride was silent, her eyes focused on the descending floor. Still, when the doors slid open, she made no move to escape into the tunnels. They climbed down the ceiling stairs to Erik's home, and she quickly walked out of the dreary room. Erik shut the door and locked it with a sharp click. She held her breath, backed against the nearest wall, and waited.

She prepared herself for anything-screaming…objects crashing against the walls…physical pain. Her thoughts wavered between yelling back at him in a final confrontation or falling to her knees and begging for her life. Slowly, he turned toward her, fingers curled at his sides.

I don't want to die…. As she stared up into those yellow eyes, Christine realized with certainty that she wanted to live. Even though the world was falling apart, she wasn't ready to let go of it yet. And so she fully prepared herself to beg and plead for mercy, if that's what it took to survive the night.

But, after staring down at her for several seconds, Erik only said, "Perhaps it is time for you to go to bed."

Her mouth fell open. Realizing that she was going to be spared for at least a little while longer, though, Christine nodded her head and ran into the room without a glance back. She shut the door and then flung herself onto the bed. A soft sob of both horror and relief escaped her lips as she clutched the covers and buried her face in the pillows. She had tried to save those people in the only way she knew how. Really, it had been more of an impulse than a conscious decision. A very stupid impulse that had fixed nothing.

Sometimes she heard creaking noises that night and prepared for him to come in and do…whatever punishment he had planned. But Erik never did. Then the waiting itself became awful as the hours ticked by.

Suddenly, the familiar sound of the piano reached her ears and caused her to sit up straight, still grasping the covers as though they would protect her. A loud song in a minor key was playing, the staccato notes sounding as though they were yelling at her. She shielded her ears with the pillow, trying to make the noise go away before it made her crazy. Finally, Christine sat up and made her way to the door. The music pushed back against her. Was this her punishment? Insanity by music?

She said a little prayer before she left the room, her own prayer and nothing that Mr. Lourdes had ever taught her. Staring at his back as he pounded his fingers against the keys, she resisted the urge to run back to her room. Erik sharply and silently glanced at her. They stared at each other for several moments before she finally dared to speak.

"Erik. I…." She took a deep breath, but her voice still trembled. "I…I know you're very angry with me. I'm sorry for that. And I hope you can understand that I just didn't think it was fair. All those people being lied to by you and Cameron. And I had to be a part of that. I got really angry. But I shouldn't have done that. So. I'm sorry." He said nothing. "I know I won't be let out of here for a long time. But I hope…I hope…." I hope you won't do something worse….

Erik looked away and sighed. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "I had hoped to spare you certain sights—at least until later. But I should not have done so. Then you would have understood."

"What sights?" she nervously asked.

"That boy, Chagny." Erik said the name with clear disgust. "He showed you the World, did he?"

"Y-yes."

"Only the pretty parts, I am sure."

"No. I saw some kind of bad neighborhoods with old buildings."

"Old buildings?" He chuckled. " Darling, you do not know what bad is."

She wasn't sure if she wanted to know. "What are you saying, Erik?"

"We will go on another drive late this afternoon, my dear. That is what we are going to do."

He was letting her out? Was it some sort of trap? She was unsure of how to react to his unexpected response.

"Until then," he continued, "resume your academics. We will take a break from your vocal lessons today. I believe we could both use a rest from that troublesome voice of yours." He almost sounded amused. Almost.

Christine nodded as it began to dawn on her that she wasn't utterly doomed. He didn't even seem that angry now. "Okay," she said before going to the kitchen and giving him no time to change his mind.

As promised, Erik called her later that day as she was reading a sad fictional novel about horses in the bedroom. They hadn't interacted often, mostly because she avoided him out of the fear this was all going to be a terrible trick. Still, Christine came out when he said her name. "It would be wise for you to put on the pants now," he stated, his eyes calm. "And a very plain shirt. We do not want you to stand out any more than your hygiene and health already will already cause you to do so."

While confused, she didn't argue, returning to the closet and slowly slipping on the jeans. They were a little tight but still comfortable. It made her feel strange to wear them after all these years, the curves of her legs and hips now framed instead of hidden. The button down sky-blue shirt also outlined her body in a way she'd never seen. Christine took a band and wrapped her hair into a ponytail before glancing at herself in the mirror. For the first time, she kind of looked like she was part of the World.

"Christine?" he asked impatiently. "I hope you are not dressing up for this occasion." She rushed out of the room, feeling a little strange to be clothed like this in front of someone, especially a man. But Erik only glanced at her and nodded once. "As good as possible without pulling some of your teeth." Her stomach turned. Where on earth were they going?

They took the same underground walk that they had when meeting the car that brought them to the community. This time, though, there was a smaller car waiting, an ugly brown one that wasn't nearly as luxurious. The leather seats were somewhat worn, and the driver was completely unfamiliar, younger with short, unkempt hair. When they were seated inside, Erik spoke to him in another language. The man glanced at her and then seemed a little upset, his green eyes widening as he turned back to Erik and said several frantic sentences. Erik spoke again, though, and the driver calmed and nodded. Christine looked between them, sensing that that they knew each other from a world that had little to do with Cameron.

"What happened?" she dared to ask. These were not Community affairs; maybe curious women were more tolerated.

Erik glanced at her. "Ah? He was confused. That is all."

"Tell me. Please." She paused. "If you want me to understand things…."

"You want to know? Then you shall." His tone was harsh. "I told him where to take us. He thought I might be abandoning you there and offered to take you off my hands because you are so obviously not from our destination. I explained that it was only a brief visit-that you are my permanent companion."

"Why would he take me in?" she whispered.

"There is very little that can be bought at a high price these days. But there are exceptions."

It took her a second, but then she shivered violently.

"I told you I meant to spare you that conversation. But you are right; it is time you understand why things are as they are." Her head drooped, and he must have taken pity. "Still, you are safe with me. Do not doubt that. There is no place that you are safer than with me."

When the car finally stopped, Christine immediately sensed an utter wrongness to their surroundings. There were no streetlights, just the occasional dim porch light or glow from a window. The air smelled like a mixture of garbage and sewer, and even a touch of death made its way through the vents. "Come, Christine." Erik opened his door.

She hesitated.

"Come," he repeated. "You want to understand? Now you will."

Taking a deep breath of awful air, she opened the door. The sounds of crunching and scraping and banging assaulted her ears. The air was too warm, and perspiration gathered on her forehead. "Walk close to me," said Erik. She did as he said without question. "There was quite the riot here yesterday," he continued. Broken glass and metal crunched beneath their feet.

"Over what?"

"Lack of work. Lack of food and security."

"Why don't these people have those things?" she whispered.

"They cease to exist."

"I know, but Cameron says it's because of sin. And Phillip, Raoul's brother, said no one knows why. But what do you—" A moan interrupted her, and Christine sharply glanced toward the other side of the street. A girl in her mid-twenties, although she appeared much older in some ways, was lying on the edge of the sidewalk. Her skin was sallow and thinly stretched over her cheekbones, and her teeth were half-rotted. It sounded as though she was muttering obscenities beneath her breath. "What happened to her?" Christine asked, walking even closer to Erik.

"She is obviously malnourished. But the people in these areas have also turned to a very cheap methamphetamine market to make the world disappear."

Christine watched in horror as the girl raised her head, her matted blonde hair falling into her vacant eyes. The girl stared right at her, and Christine turned away, a chill running down her spine. "Should we help her?" It seemed like such a natural thing to do. When Christine was a little girl, her mother always nursed her when she was sick. In the Community, people brought food over and helped with childcare when someone was ill.

"There are millions like her," Erik replied, continuing to walk without a glance at the girl. "You father joined the community because he was depressed. People join now to survive. To avoid turning into that." He looked to the side and gestured with his hand. "Or that." Two men with eyes and teeth like the girl were sitting in a cardboard box, a small fire burning in front of them.

No. Not just two. If she squinted in the dim lighting, Christine could see dozens of people throughout the streets and alleyways. Hundreds, maybe. It looked like all the people had attempted to cram into the crumbling apartments and then spilled out onto the steps and sidewalks. A baby was hoarsely crying. Two little boys were huddled beneath a torn quilt, watching her with wide eyes as she walked by, their mother lying next to them with a dirty shirt but no pants. Radios played from here and there, a medley of music that she had learned of over the past weeks. Every so often, someone yelled or a door slammed. And twice she heard gunshots and screams in the far off distance. Erik never flinched.

"Why won't someone help them?" she shakily whispered. "I don't understand."

"As I have said, there are diminished resources."

"But how about another country? Couldn't they help?"

He chuckled and glanced at her. "You think a foreign invasion to be the solution?"

"Not an invasion. Just help."

"It would turn into an invasion," he replied. "It always does."

Before she could reply with some other solution, Christine heard a soft cry near her feet. She jumped back and looked down, focusing on a black object scuttling around near a cardboard box. A shorthaired black kitten with green eyes was staring up at her and pawing at the leg of her pants. After checking to make sure the mother and any siblings were nowhere in sight, she picked the creature up and held it against her chest. It swiped at her several times with a little claw and then settled down in her arms.

Erik glanced at them. "Put that down. It is likely diseased."

"No, it's not," she desperately replied. "Please, Erik. I have to help somehow. We have to help!" She spun in a frantic circle, kitten still in her arms. "It doesn't have to be like this. How about Raoul? He doesn't live like this."

"Chagny is a member of the high upper class. And they are fleeing in droves before they are slaughtered for their opulence." She cringed at the thought of Raoul being hurt. "Many sections of the cities are like this now. And it will only become worse in the next year." The kitten mewed as though protesting Erik's words. "Now put that down, and we will return soon. I believe you have nearly seen enough."

"I want to take it home." Christine checked the gender. "I want to take her home." She had to save something—anything.

"I do not think—" Erik suddenly paused as though considering the situation. "You want to take it to our home?"

"Yes," she replied before noticing that he'd placed emphasis on a certain word. Still, she bit her lip and held firm.

"Fine. But if it shows any sign of sickness, the creature is gone."

Christine rapidly nodded, clutching the kitten against her shirt. As she walked forward past an alley, though, her right foot caught on something, and she tripped. The kitten squealed at the sudden movement and struggled to get away. It finally clawed her hand and dove out of her arms the second her grip loosened, jumping onto the street and fleeing with a hiss. Christine glanced down and saw that she had tripped over a leg. In the light from a nearby window, she could also see the face of the leg's owner, and he was definitely not alive. And neither was the child lying next to him.

She started to scream. Erik's hand clamped over her mouth. "Do not draw attention to us," he whispered. "Do you understand?" Heart pounding, she nodded, and he removed his hand. "You have seen enough. We will go now."

"But my cat…." Heart breaking, she searched for it, the scratch on her hand beginning to bleed. The black kitten had blended into the night.

"We will find you a new animal companion someday."

"But…." There was nothing she could do. As a tear trickled down her cheek, she only followed Erik, eyes fixed on the concrete so she couldn't see anything else. Christine climbed into the car as soon as it arrived and didn't say a word throughout the journey. Thoughts of escape vanished. Erik's home was heaven compared to this. Maybe a fast death would have even been better than this slow misery that devoured everyone alive.

"I'm very tired," she explained once they had returned, nearly running toward her bedroom.

She desperately wanted to be alone, and Erik allowed her to go with only, "Wash your hands."

She pressed the thoughts of what she'd witnessed out of her mind, afraid they would take over and make her hysterical. They remained on the outside of her consciousness throughout the night, threatening to overtake her already troubled dreams.

The next morning, she grabbed several history books from the closet and desperately flipped through to the end, hoping to find some type of answer. Like all the others, they finished too soon to tell her anything. She searched through magazines and newspapers from years ago, but they gave her no information either. Christine threw everything aside and placed her forehead in her hands.

"Good morning," Erik greeted.

"Morning," she softly replied.

"Do you want breakfast?" He sounded the same as he always did, calm and amiable. How could he be so indifferent after that?

"Not right now."

"Very well. Let me know when you are hungry. We will begin your voice lesson in an hour."

"Okay."

He stared at her. "Unless you are too tired?"

"No," she whispered. "I'm okay."

But she wasn't okay. Christine could barely sing that afternoon, her voice a shaky mess, and Erik noticed immediately. He pounded the piano harshly during warm-ups and looked at her. "This is wretched."

"I'm trying."

"No, you are not. What is wrong with you?" She slowly sunk to her knees and stared down at the spotless carpet. "What is wrong with you?" he asked again, standing up. "Are you ill?"

"How can you ask me what's wrong?" she replied. "After what you showed me yesterday…."

"Ah." His voice softened. "So you understand now. Why all of this is necessary? Good."

"Good? It's such a sad mess out there. And the only options are Cameron or that? I don't know what to do."

"You will stay right here with me. That is what you will do." He slowly crouched beside her. "It will all be fine, my beauty. You will see. This time is the darkest."

"But all those people with Cameron are so empty. I hated it there."

"It is preferable to starve to death in the middle of the street?"

"No," she whispered. "That's the thing. It's not. But isn't there a middle? There has to be a better way than making them believe you're like some sort of God. Can't you and Cameron help them without doing that?"

He shrugged. "Eventually that component will no longer be necessary. I am wary of the role. For now, these people require a supernatural sort of entity."

"But why can't things be like they were before? When I was little?" she asked, looking up at him. "Everything was so wonderful then."

"Yes. So wonderful." There was a touch of sarcasm in his voice, and she was momentarily confused. Hadn't things been good before? "Those times are gone now, Christine. They will not return, and it is best that you forget them. But there is a better future prepared for you than you can imagine."

"But just for me?"

"The rest will receive what they deserve," he replied. He quickly added, "There will be a middle ground, to some extent. Cameron's zealotry will only take him so far before more practical measures are necessary. And I am very practical, my Christine."

She swallowed and asked the question that was supposed to make everything okay. "So Erik…you're really trying to-to help everyone then?"

"Of course, my beauty. Why ever else would I be involved in this affair?" He paused. "And you will help everyone, too, won't you?" She nodded, her hair falling into her face. He rose back to his full height. "We will rest now. You are not in the right mood to sing."

She didn't know if she believed him. She didn't know anything anymore.

But Christine could now only see two choices that made any sense. She could run away to another country. Or stay with Erik until she figured out his true intentions. The last few days had taught her that she couldn't save anyone—not the people of the World or the Community. She didn't know which people needed to be saved more, but either was an impossibility. She couldn't even save a measly kitten.

Christine still missed that kitten.

If she did ever want to escape, it was going to take weeks or months to gain Erik's trust enough to do so. And so, either way, she would be compliant. The path was laid out before her. And there was almost relief in the fact that the answer was wrapped up with a bright red bow and handed to her like a gift.

Late that afternoon, as she curled up with a book, Erik sat in a chair near her scribbling something onto paper with a red pen. "Yes," he murmured to himself. "This piece will be perfect with the necessary adjustments. Cameron will accept it; it is much better than that banal material he requests you to sing."

She hesitated before asking, "Does Cameron know that I tried to reveal you?"

"No. I made certain of that. But I will not protect you from his rules if you betray me again."

She fully believed his dark words and quickly changed the subject. "Erik, where did you learn all that magic at the assembly?"

"It is not magic. It is science. Merely sound waves and other illusions. I can show you later. I can show you many tricks." She nodded and gazed down at her book again. Several minutes later, Erik suddenly stood over her, and she nervously glanced back up. "A walk to the theater?"

She quickly stood to put on shoes. "Yes, I'd like that."

But, when they were upstairs, instead of allowing her to explore, Erik said, "Follow me."

"Where are we going?" she asked. He pulled back a tattered red curtain and gestured to a set of wooden stairs. "Are they safe?"

"They are," he replied. "I have tested them on numerous occasions."

She followed behind him, watching her step as the old stairs creaked beneath her feet. He motioned for her to come forward, and suddenly she saw they were on one of the balconies, looking down over the stage and lower audience. The setting sun shown into the room, lighting it up through the windows like multiple spotlights. "Wow," she murmured, carefully leaning forward. "It would have been so beautiful to be up here back when there were still performances."

"One day, you will look down from a place much higher than this," he whispered beside her ear. She shuddered. "You will sing from high above, and the masses will look upon you with awe." He softly began to sing a Spanish aria that he had taught her in the beginning. So close to her ear, the tenor voice from heaven nearly hypnotized her, the stage below blurring in front of her eyes. "Now you, Christine. Sing. Sing."

Entranced, she began the song at his order, and then Erik joined her. The duet was painfully beautiful, echoing through the room in all its perfection. And she could suddenly see the theater as it should have been—full plush red seats, a polished stage, a golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling with crystal adornments, women in long, elegant dress and men in black suits. When the song finished, she stood there breathing heavily, the dream fading away with the last note. A hand brushed against her waist and hip. A frenzied warmth in the center of her stomach radiated outward, vibrating through her veins. The sensation made her nervous, and she stepped to the side and away from him.

"Is something wrong?" he softly asked.

"No." She looked up and outward again, the room tilting. "But Erik. I just…don't know about any of this. I understand. But I don't know."

"You do not have to know now. You simply have to sing." She turned to face him, never-ending questions on the tip of her tongue. His right gloved hand cautiously moved toward her face, and he placed his thumb and index finger around her chin, guiding her gaze upwards so that she stared into his eyes. "Just look at you," he whispered. "You were meant to be a queen."

She turned her head away and stepped back. "Erik, I think we should go back down now."

To her relief, he agreed.