A/N: First, I have to apologise for the chapter title. I just couldn't resist...!

Secondly, I have now updated all 3 of my fan-fics. Well, for SYLM (Say you Love Me) I really only posted an alternate chapter 5...

But whatever.

I have updated.

(this is the bit when everyone claps...oh, forget it.)

Thirdly, I'd like to apologise for the utter bizarreness of the first half of this chapter.

Fourthly, I'd like to apologise for MY excessive use of sarcasm.

Fifthly, I'd likt to apologise...err...um...I don't know, for the world?

Sixthly, this number thing is odd.

And FINALLY, Enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 11 - Excessive Use of Technology in All its Horribleness

From a prior-ly unnoticed pocket, Erik withdrew a cell phone. This place has reception? I wondered – considering the size of his house it was either underground or in 18th century England – as he barked something in an Arabic-sounding language.

While I was still trying to figure out how exactly anyone could receive any sort of signal here, he hung up.

"Erik?" I asked uncertainly. As he turned to me, I was suddenly glad to not be standing – as it was, I was unconsciously pressed back as far against the hard wood of the chair as I could be.

"Go to your room, Christine." The tone was detached, cold, even, and seemed to brook no argument.

I found myself standing at the doorway before I finally broke free from Erik's…hypnosis (?) to realise something.

"But – I don't know the way!"

His eyes glinted with dark anger before he seemed to recollect himself.

"Very well." Reaching into another before-unnoticed pocket (he seemed to be in possession of an over-abundance of those) he withdrew a small, black…thing.

"Come here."

Tentatively, I stepped towards him, and he held the thing out to me.

"What is this…?" I looked curiously at the object.

"GPS."

There was silence for a long moment.

"What?!"

"Global Positioning System," Erik said impatiently, "first made available for civilian use in 1983-"

"Are you joking?"

"Your room, Christine. Now."

I was halfway down some corridor – and according to the ridiculous device, "only" 100 metres away from my room – when his goddamned voice finally wore off.

What am I doing?! Pocketing the GPS with disgust – who the hell had GPS devices for the interior of their house? – I turned back to run the way I had come.

Needless to say, I got lost.

As I walked aimlessly through the house (/mansion/underground military base/…underground city, maybe?) the hope that had welled up within me at that one phone-call…the hope that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't going to be stuck in this place with that person for the rest of my life; or till he killed me, anyway.

Though, I thought ruefully, as far as a kidnapper goes, he's not too bad…

Let's see – he hadn't killed me, raped me, caused me any bodily harm, and he'd only mentally abused me to a certain extent. The food had been excellent, and considering the amount of money he had to have spent on my clothing, and lingerie, and hair products and other female necessities – though I was half-afraid that he might have forgotten pads/tampons – and shoes, and the whole room in general, especially the fact that it looked eerily like what I'd imagined my dream bedroom to look like, and…

Wait…where on earth is this stupid sentence even going?

My sheepish laughter was cut off abruptly, as I realised that one of the doors was actually recognisable.

The smile faded from my lips as I quickly walked – almost ran, really – past that door.

That room, surprisingly, was another reason to make me almost believe that he wasn't going to kill me.

After all, who'd spend so much effort on a room like that for someone they planned to murder…?

"Erik..."

I stopped walking, and my head whipped around to face the direction from where the frustrated voice had emerged – to see a slightly opened door.

"Nadir," came the calmly unmistakeable voice of 'Mr I-Like-Black', "why in your god's name are you even bothering?"

"That's what I'd like to know!"

Cautiously, trying not to feel like a child, I knelt, peeping through the small gap between door and wall.

Erik was seated on a large, black couch, sipping with apparent unconcern something that looked like wine.

A man was pacing angrily before Erik. Looking more closely at the stranger, I had to cover my mouth to muffle my gasp.

A Middle-Easterner? In England?!

What with the war, having an Asian, Indian or Middle-Eastern appearance and/or name almost always earned on a one-way ticket to Israel – where they were expected to make their own way back to whatever country they were from.

Almost half of them died.

"I don't like this, Erik," the stranger declared.

"Really? How devastating," Erik replied dryly. "If I were one to cry, Nadir, your disapproval would have me wailing for forgiveness. Truly, it would."

"Erik…!"

The black-clothed man sighed.

"Very well, Nadir. I beg with all my non-existent heart for your explanation as to this inexplicable disapproval you seem to be harbouring."

Funny. So Erik didn't just get a kick out of picking on me. I felt a sudden rush of sympathy for the frustrated looking "Nadir".

"You can't expect to kidnap the girl and not have anyone notice!"

Oh, so they were talking about me (unless Erik made a habit of kidnapping girls). My interest grew, and I tried to adjust my position so I could see more clearly.

"She is an orphan, Nadir – even if anyone noticed, no one would care."

That hurt…it was true, but it still hurt.

"Surely she has friends?"

Erik smiled coolly.

"One – and the young lady is an…employee…of mine."

Well, I suppose spies count as employees.

"No one will notice," he continued, taking another sip.

'Nadir' sighed.

"Well, what is this girl's name?"

Another sip, and a throat cleared.

"Christine. Christine Daaé."

There was a pause, pregnant with tension.

"Christine. Daaé."

My kidnapper nodded calmly.

"You kidnapped Christine Daaé?!"

GPS...just a note, Erik has it exclusively for the very limited amount of people that visit his house/mansion/underground city. He never gets lost, since not only does he have an extremely good sense of direction, but he also built it.

So...how was it? Yes, you should get ready for this question every chapter :)

As always, I accept suggestions, protestations of how much you love my work (which I understand would probably never happen) critical pieces of analysis, comments on anything - so yes.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and...until next time?

Cheers,

Arcèlia