I remember drifting in and out of consciousness for the longest time. I dreamt the same dream over and over again, but I could never recall what it was about – merely cold - the endless cold. It was the shivering that woke me. This was wrong. Mexico was warm – wasn't it? I was lying against a body. It was cold. This was wrong. Raoul was warm. It didn't make any sense. My skin burned. My bones were cold. This was wrong. Where was I? It was too much effort to open my eyes. I wish I could move – move away from whatever was holding me. I didn't have the will to. So I sat in its bony, cold embrace, shivering and burning.

Erik. The word floated into my mind. I tried to grasp it, but it slid away, slippery as a politician evading an answer.

Erik. Who was Erik? Angel of Music. Strange name for an angel... Rafael, Ariel, Michael, Erik? No. He wasn't an angel. Then who was he? I could feel a torrent of emotions, threatening my peace. I shoved it away. No. This was the most peaceful I had felt since... since he came into my life. Who was he? Erik.

Why couldn't I think? Why didn't I want to? Where had I been? I was singing. It was... never mind. I was singing on the stage. The college stage. Yes. I was going to leave. We were going to Mexico. Raoul and I were going. We were going to be free. Free of what? What were we running from?

Erik. He had known. He had known since when? Maybe... maybe he had gotten done early. He had been at the club. He knew that I was planning on running away. He knew that I had drank that horrible hard liquor. He had known that I took my ring off.

He was angry, then. He had kidnapped me again. I would never be free again. I absently wondered if Raoul was still alive. If he had been in that auditorium with Erik... in the dark... no one would have heard or paid any attention to one small crack of a breaking neck bone in the middle of a round of applause.

Where were we going? I summoned up the energy to open my eyes. A lot of good that did me – it was dark. Pitch black. The only thing that was not swallowed up by the blackness was Erik's eyes. They glowed with an unrecognizable emotion. A barely controlled passion.

"Where are we?" I croaked.

"Shh... my dear. You mustn't speak so soon after waking."

I struggled bit to get out of Erik's grasp. It was a futile effort. He was stronger than I could ever hope to be.

"Now, now. You should have told me you wanted to see Mexico. I would have acquiesced to your request much sooner."

"We're in Mexico?"

"No better place to hide, is there? In the middle of a crowd?"

"Hide from what?"

He didn't answer, merely shifting me in his grasp. "Are you cold? I feel I must apologise. I am not as warm as your boy."

"Please, Erik. I -"

"You what? Were planning to leave me forever? Were planning on marrying that puny little miscreant that dare think about what is mine? You are mine. Forever. Do you hear me?" his voice made Antarctica sound warm.

He was squeezed me too tightly. I was going to break. I cried out. He held me a little looser.

"Why?" he asked, sounding like he was already burning in the fires of Hell. "I guess this is my punishment – to love. To love and never know if my love is returned. Coming back every day hoping for some kind of affection... some kind of love and never receiving it. To hope forever and never let go. Never give up. I love you, Christine. Forever."

He sounded so sad. No person could hear him speak his love and not have their heart melted by his pain.

I felt like I did not deserve to crawl at his shoes. I was so horrible. What more could I have done to destroy him? Here was a man that ruled ruthlessly, brought down only by me – a pathetic loser. I was the evil one. I had trampled all over his poor heart, dragged it through the mud. I was ashamed of myself.

"I'm sorry." Pathetic, I know, but what else do you say in a situation like this. I am no orator – I failed Speech. I didn't know what else I could say. I touched Erik's neck. "I'm sorry." He tensed under my touch and jerked his head. His skin was so cold, yet it burned. I could feel his pulse under my fingers, the only real proof that he was actually, alive.

He sighed, trying to relax. "I love you, Christine."

"Thank you."

He held me close, trying to share what little warmth my body had left. Finally, he shifted and set me down on the still-cold couch. "Give me a moment. I know you are cold."

I nodded and he disappeared silently into the darkness. My body was too sore to shiver anymore. It was pointless anyways. Suddenly, sparks appeared before me and Erik was illuminated, nursing a small fire in what looked like a normal fireplace. I stumbled off the couch and crouched closer to the fire searching desperately for warmth.

Have you ever been cold for a long period of time? After you feel that chill set in to your very flesh, you cannot help yourself. It is impossible not to reach for any source of heat there is. Even when it burns, you can't pull away for fear of being cold again.

"Erik, what did you do to Raoul?"

"Do what, dear?"

"Did you kill him?" I was dangerously calm – standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down, disinterestedly at my death.

"What is it that you wish to hear, Christine? That I killed him in cold blood? That I tortured your lover until he begged for me to wrap my noose around his neck? That I was merciful and spared him the pain I felt?"

"Erik! Did you or did you not kill him?" I was starting to lose my hard-earned patience.

"Why should I tell you, my wife? Hmmm? Why is my darling wife so concerned with another man?"

"Erik," I said through my teeth, "Answer the question. Did you kill the man I love?"

"No, I am right here, beside you. Why ever would I kill myself?"

"Did you kill Raoul?"

"And what if I did? What would you do? Report me to the police? Attend his funeral? Weep over his goddamn corpse!" He turned until his face was completely cloaked in shadows. His voice was soft – deadly. "And what if I didn't? What difference would it be to you? You would never see him again anyways. No. Never again shall you see him. You are mine, Christine, mine. For forever and a day. Nevermore shall you see Raoul."

"So he is dead?"

"Yes."

"Did you murder him?"

"Stop speaking to me as if I was a child! Of course, I killed him! Why deny myself that beautiful pleasure of hearing his neck crack? Or of the delicacy of hearing his pathetic little whimper as my noose closed around his throat?

"No. I killed Raoul de Chagny. You shall never have to deal with him again. He will never bother us, my darling wife. Never again."

What do you say when someone confesses to murder not a foot away from you? I certainly did not know. Should I have yelled at him? I was in so much pain though, that I could say nothing. Tears tracked down my face as I dragged myself out of the room.

I was amazed that he let me go. I walked on and on, unfamiliar with this new house. I just wanted to get as far away from him as I could. How could he have done this to me? I had known Raoul forever. We loved each other, I know we did. We would have been happy together, but not like this. I realized that we would not have been happy, running all of the time. It would have slowly corroded our relationship. If I hadn't been so stupid and weak-willed, this would have never have happened. I should have just reported Erik to the police, to the school, anybody. I should have told someone. It was all my fault. It was my fault that I was in Mexico. It was my fault that I had been kidnapped. It was my fault that Raoul was dead. I curled up in the end of the hallway and cried. It was all my fault.

-((0))

Thank you for your review, AngelPhantom777. I guess I really don't see myself as very funny. My idea of hilarious is one of those foppish, hormonal Geriks tripping in his man cave being strangled by his own cravat.

Anyways... PHLover213 and I are compelling YOU to review. That's right – you. (a.k.a. My beta will use her amazing boomerang to get you if you don't.) By my calculations (puts on coke bottle glasses and grabs ancient calculator and chewed-up pencil) only one in three hundred people who have read this story have actually reviewed. It's O.K. if you're shy (I am too - it took me more than a year to post my first fanfiction). I don't bite, I promise (not very hard, anyways).

How do people come up with those numbers after their name, anyways? Like Katie (a good friend, read Dreams) has this name that is something like keegdnab487 (bandgeek backwards). I don't get it.