So, I decided not to do my homework just to spend the time on the fic. Don't tell my professors…glances over her shoulder expecting to see angry professors ready to bludgeon her with text books

I'm sure you all know the spiel by now, I don't own Phantom, fic takes place in present day, blah blah blah, REVIEW…

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Erik gently placed Lenore in the bed, then removed the blood-stained kimono. He was tempted to feel guilty about staining her with the blood of his murder, but he reminded himself it had been her own fault. Had she just stood off to the side and let him deal with Felix in his own way, she wouldn't have had to suffer being drenched in blood. And I wouldn't have been shot in the back…

As he washed the make up and blood from her face, he wondered what had possessed her to become so violent with him. He fully admitted he had frightened her by telling her that she was just a plaything, but surely that didn't justify physical violence.

When he finished cleaning her off, Erik pulled the new black velvet sheet and crimson comforter up to her shoulders, brushing a few strands of hair back into place before taking his leave. Out in the drawing room, he began tending to his own wound. Of course, it was in an awkward position, so he would need Lenore to stitch it up for him when she was awake and firmly back in control of her faculties (obviously she was slightly insane, probably from spending so much time with that damned Deville). The most he could do for his injury right now was bandage it to the best of his ability and have a brandy or two.

Two hours later, Erik was in his chair before the fireplace, considering a severe increase in the amount of brandies when he heard the door to his bedroom open, just a crack. I didn't expect her up this early. "Please, feel free to join me, mademoiselle," he invited, gesturing to the sofa. "You are not restricted to one room in my home." He had made sure to make a point of saying his home, as he wasn't sure she was quite stable enough to be reminded it was hers as well.

Lenore slowly picked her way into the drawing room, finally perching on the end of the sofa farthest from him, looking ready to stand up and bolt at any moment. "I'm not giving you any money for mass production of your drugs, and I won't let you experiment on me anymore," she said firmly after a few moments of silence.

"I beg your pardon?" Erik responded after a moment. Had he heard her correctly?

"Don't play innocent with me! I know the truth now. You were testing a new hallucinogen on me before selling it to the public," she snapped. "You're just a mortal man, like anyone else, and you tricked me. But I know the truth now, and I'm not going to let you use me anymore."

Erik began to chuckle, but stopped quickly; it hurt to laugh. "Forgive me, but wherever did you come up with that ridiculous story?"

"The doctors told me," Lenore said loftily, as though that automatically proved her right. "They did scans, you know. And when my brain scans came back distorted, they realized it had to be your new drug. I had to take all sorts of meds in the psych ward before they were sure I was safe enough to be in normal society."

"They put you in an institution for mad people?" he asked softly, his temper flaring.

"I was ranting about you being the Phantom of the Opera, of course they put me in there! White padded room and all. Thank God they did, or else I'd still blindly believe you," she retorted.

His hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly. Those damn fucking bastards, locking away his beautiful Lenore, shoving drugs down her throat to keep her pacific, so that she was floating through reality on drug-induced highs. "What was the doctor's name?" he inquired. As soon as he got the name of that knave, he would rid the earth of the slime.

"What do you care?" Lenore shot back. "I demand that you return my clothes and anxiety pills at once."

Trying to change the subject, I see. Erik just now realized that she had come out of the room wrapped in the blanket. As if I haven't seen you in your underthings… "I will do no such thing. Firstly, the kimono is badly stained and will require a good cleaning before it is presentable again. Secondly, I will not have you taking drugs to make yourself blissfully unaware of reality."

"Stop trying to trick me!" Lenore shouted. "Return my things and let me go or I'll…I'll…I'll kill you!"

"If anything, I'll die laughing," he remarked, smiling at her absurd threat. Lenore chose that moment to jump up, rushing towards the front door. She reached it and began pushing and pulling on the handle, trying frantically to get out. "It doesn't open unless you unlock it, and I'm quite sure you don't know how to operate the mechanism that serves as my lock." She began searching for the mechanism, but unless she was well acquainted with his inventions, she'd never find it, much less figure out how it worked. "Please, have a seat. And do sit closer this time; I won't bite you." Once again, she perched on the edge of the sofa, only an inch closer than she had been before. "Unless, of course, you ask me to." That took her further away by an inch and a half.

Lenore sat there, tightly holding the blanket around her frame and he realized she was genuinely afraid of him. She had seen him kill now; knowing he killed people and seeing it right before her eyes were two separate things entirely.

"Would you say that you're in a stable state of mind, ma petite?" Erik inquired.

"Well, I'm probably suffering a slight anxiety attack, but for the most part, yes," she replied, spitting out the words reluctantly.

He slipped into her mind easily. They lied to you, ma petite.

"No," she murmured, grabbing her head with her hands.

You're not a victim of a hallucinogen.

"No," she said, more firmly this time, giving her head a little shake.

I am who you once believed me to be, and everything that transpired between us truly happened.

"NO!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face before she collapsed on her side on the sofa. "I'm not crazy, I'm not. The scans"-

"Only natural, for I've been in your mind many times. It does have effects, you know," Erik said, pulling himself up out of the chair with a wince for the pain in his shoulder.

"But they told me I was getting better, that the drugs were helping," she argued, still crying as he came to kneel beside her.

"It was being separated from me that changed those scans, nothing else. Your mind returned to its normal state, if you will, because it wasn't being manipulated every day," he explained. "I'm sure you experienced a good deal of headaches the first week?"

She nodded, sniffling as her tears continued to soak the sofa. He stroked her hair gently, and Lenore lifted her head and looked at him for a brief moment before throwing herself against him, burying her face in his right shoulder to continue crying. Erik grunted softly; of course she'd pick the wounded shoulder.

Erik needed to calm her down; he needed her to pull herself together so she could sew up his shoulder. Remembering the day he'd turned on her laptop and listened to her music (he had hoped to ease the ache he felt in her absence), he began to sing.

Oh, my love, my darling,
I've hungered for your touch
a long, lonely time.
And time goes by so slowly
and time can do so much,
are you still mine?

Rather than slipping into her mind to relax her, he used his voice for that purpose. He hadn't used his voice to manipulate anyone after Christine, and he was surprised how easy it was. Lenore's tears had stopped, and her breathing was slowing. If he didn't stop now, she'd be asleep before he finished the next line.

"Lenore, will you do something for me?" he inquired, breaking the trance his singing had slid her into.

"What?" she asked, pulling back a bit.

"I need you to…tend the wound in my shoulder," he replied, not sure how to mention it without making her feel guilty.

"Okay," she consented. Erik removed the leather coat and the green shirt as he retrieved a needle and proper thread. When he sat on the couch, she unwound the bandages he'd used to stop the bleeding.

"Make sure you pull the thread tight," he instructed, placing the needle and thread in her hands and turning his back to her.

"What?"

"Pull the thread tight," he repeated.

"I can't!" Lenore protested.

"You do know how to sew, do you not?" Erik sighed. Good Lord, if the woman didn't know how to sew…Women always knew how to sew, she had to have learned at some point.

"Yes, but I've never stitched skin before!" She took a deep breath. "I never played doctor as a kid, never entertained the idea as a career possibility, and there's no way in Hell I'm sewing your skin back together."

"Do you know how to treat infection, then? Because if you don't close the wound, it will get infected," Erik pointed out. "And if you are incapable of treating the infection, I'll end up running a rather high fever until the infection is finally treated, which could be quite some time, as Darius is going on holiday and won't be back to visit until Christmas."

"I could go for help," she suggested.

"By the time you realize I require medical assistance, I won't be coherent enough to tell you how to open the door, ma petite," he informed her.

"Well, why don't you just go to the hospital and have a professional take care of it right now?" Lenore proposed, desperately looking for a way out.

"Surely I don't have to remind you that I just committed a murder?" Erik nearly snarled. How could she even suggest a hospital when he was wanted for homicide?

"Oh," she muttered softly. Apparently she hadn't thought of that. "Well…I've got money, we could buy their silence…"

"So you would bribe someone to do this for me instead of doing it yourself?" Erik scolded. "You caused it in the first place, if you can recall, and now you must take responsibility for your actions."

"But…I don't want to," she whispered.

"We don't always do things because we want to do them, but because we have to do them," Erik said patiently. "And you have to do this."

Lenore whimpered occasionally as she threaded the needle and tied a knot on the end of the thread. She had the needle about an inch from his skin, then closed her eyes with a grimace, turning her head and preparing to begin work.

"I would appreciate it if you actually looked at what you're doing instead of sewing blindly," he requested. Slowly she opened her eyes. When the needle pierced his flesh, she made a pained squeak, as if she'd stuck herself instead.

"I'm sorry," she repeated endlessly as she continued to close the wound. "I hate stitches!" she declared as she bandaged the wound. "I'm never doing that again! If you get yourself hurt in any way, I'll let you bleed to death first!"

"I'll take great pains to avoid another injury then," he replied sarcastically.

"You should be in bed," Lenore said.

"Whatever for?"

"I just performed surgery, thank you very much, and you should be resting now! Go to bed," she commanded.

Erik just shook his head; he didn't take orders from her. He stood, determined to sit in his chair before the fire rather than go to bed. She was sure to want to sleep tonight, and he was sure she wouldn't feel safe lying next to a murderer.

Lenore leapt to her feet and grabbed his left arm. She gave a slight tug in the direction of the bedroom door, a determined fire in her eyes. Erik, somewhat weaker from blood loss and pain, (not to mention somewhat exhausted from the whole evening in general; it wasn't every day he participated in a duel) felt himself budge an inch in the direction she wished him to go.

"Alright," he said as if it was a terrible inconvenience on his part to do as she wished, trying to make sure she didn't realize that she could have dragged him to bed at the moment.

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Lenore saw him to bed, tucking him in for once. She blew out the candles and returned to the drawing room, determined to have another look at that door. Perhaps in her panic, she had missed something obvious and in plain sight. Or perhaps that was how he chose to hid it; who would look for a hidden mechanism right before their very eyes?

An hour later, she was sprawled out over the black sofa, admitting quite ruefully that the door had defeated her. Damn him, whoever he is. I just can't be sure. Is he a man who's just drugged me? Or is he an immortal who's taken me as his own, who can get into my head and mess around with me?

Does it really matter? If you do figure it out, will it change how you feel about him? Will it keep you from wanting his arms around you? Will it satiate your need for his kiss? Will it stop your body from lusting after him? Admit it; you're already thinking of going in there and lying next to him.

No, I'm not. And even if I was, I know I can't. He's got a wound, I don't want to jar his shoulder in my sleep and hurt him.

Whoever said you had snuggle up against him?

If that's all the help you're gonna be, you can just shut up...I don't want to hear that logic crap, I get enough of it from him.

It's not my fault that you don't use your common sense.

Didn't I tell you to shut up?

No, you said I could shut up, which I assumed made it optional.

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"Erik," Lenore's voice whispered in the darkness. "Erik, are you awake?"

"No, I'm sound asleep," he replied sarcastically. She had woken him in the process of opening the door and walking over to the bed; she just made so much noise with every single movement. "What do you require?" He sat up in the bed, wincing slightly as his shoulder reminded him that it was injured.

"I heard a noise," she said nervously. "Coming from the wall the fireplace is on, in the living room."

It took him a moment to piece things together. Someone had surely called the police, and now one of them must have had the terrible luck of falling into his torture chamber. It was connected to the guest bedroom that Christine had slept in, that Erik refused to let Lenore into except in an absolute emergency. "Well, if you hear the noises again, yell at them to be quiet," he informed her, easing himself back down in the bed. He had never been quite as exhausted in his entire life as he was now. At least, that's how it felt.

"But…but…what if it's a ghost and it comes out of the wall and attacks me?" she inquired, stringing all her questions together in one, run-on sentence.

"If it comes out of the wall, sternly inform it that Erik will have no nonsense from any ghosts in his house and that it'd best leave you alone, in peace, if it wishes to remain down here," Erik said, holding back a yawn.

"What if it's an animal?" Lenore persisted. "An animal isn't going to listen to that."

"Quite frankly, I'd be surprised if a ghost listened to that," he murmured. "Whatever the source of the noise, I assure you it won't bother you. If that was the thing's intention, it would have done so already."

"But what if"-

"If anything jumps out of the wall to attack you, Lenore, I trust you'll have the good sense to run from it."

"What good does running do? You locked the damn front door, I won't be able to get away!"

"You could always come into here," he pointed out tiredly. "The door has the traditional form of a lock, as you may have noticed, and you could lock the door on your assailant if you merely turn that little brass key in the lock."

"That won't do any good if it's a ghost," she muttered.

"Erik is the only ghost under this building, he promises you that," he sighed. "You sent me to bed, but I can't very well get much rest with you pestering me."

"Oh, my bad," she whispered, apparently just now realizing her mistake. "Um…I'll just…sit out there…and wait…for whatever it is to attack me and leave my bloody carcass on that nice carpet of yours."

"I'm much obliged," Erik replied. "After all, if my carpet must be stained with something, at least it's your blood instead of a fine wine."

"Just for that, I'm pouring all the wine out onto the carpet," Lenore grumbled, already halfway to the door.

"I hope you are prepared to drink brandy with the evening meal then."

"Smartass," she insulted him as she pulled the door shut behind her, leaving him in blessed silence once again.

She's difficult, that one. And strong. She'll be alright for a day or so on her own. Erik knew right now that he was far too exhausted to even think of getting up for the next twenty four hours. It would be surprising if he didn't sleep the clock around two or three times. And by the time I'm up, anyone in that chamber will be dead. I'll have to be discreet in disposing of the body; it wouldn't do to have her finding out about my little…forest. She's just too delicate right now. He drifted off to sleep moments later.

When he awoke to the sound of the door swinging open, Erik groaned inwardly. He would probably have to go out there and hold her hand to reassure her everything was alright. She crept over to the bed, managing to make enough noise to effectively rid him of any lingering remnants of sleep. Of course, she was trying to be very quiet, but his cursed exceptional sense of hearing made sure that he heard anyone coming a mile away.

"Erik?" Lenore inquired softly. "Are you awake?" Maybe if he didn't reply, she'd go away. "Good," she whispered. He felt the bed shift and knew she was climbing in.

"So if I were awake, you wouldn't sleep in this bed with me?" he inquired casually.

Lenore jumped about a mile, propelling herself off the bed quickly. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," she mumbled apologetically, quickly running from the room and pulling the door closed behind her.

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Why did he have to be awake! And why did he have to ask that question? Bloody man! Lenore stalked the length of the living room repeatedly, trying to figure out what to do now. She couldn't sleep in the same bed as him. Not because of her uncertainty as to who or what he really was, but because she had witnessed him murder someone. No one in their right mind would get in bed with a murderer. Well, technically, since you're right-handed, you're in your left mind. So that means you can get in bed with him.

There had to be another room to this house, or how else could she possibly be hearing sounds from the wall? It could be that rat…come to think of it, I haven't seen him since returning… Lenore began running her hands along the wall opposite Erik's room, hoping to find a hidden crack, hinge, or knob for a door to this other room that she felt had to exist. Why does it have to exist? This is Erik's house; it's got a drawing room, with a small kitchen and dining area at the back of that room, a bedroom, and adjoining bath. What else could he possibly need? Certainly not a guest room.

Finally, Lenore's fingers stumbled across an invisible handle (at least, it was to her eyes). She tried to open the door, but found it wouldn't budge. Shit, Erik must have locked it. Of course, he wants me to sleep in that bed with him. Maybe I could find the key… Looking around the room, Lenore decided that the most likely place to put a key was in one of the two boxes on either end of the mantelpiece. She snatched up the first one she came to, and pulled on the lid. But it too was locked. No sense trying the other one, he'll have locked it for sure.

The bookcase seemed as good a place as any to continue her search. Lenore began replacing the casket when she noticed the knickknacks on the mantel for the first time since being down here. My things…why did he put up my things after I ran away? Why didn't he smash them into pieces? Wasn't he furious with me? Why are they set up here? Why not just on random surfaces between this room and the bedroom? They're the center of his mantel, which means he found them important. But why?

Closer inspection of the mantel showed it to be coated with a layer of dust. Even the caskets had a thin blanket of it. But her little collectibles lacked any dust entirely, as if they had been frequently handled in her absence. He's obsessed with me. That thought seemed to come out of nowhere, a terrified whisper. The half of her that argued anything against Erik was silent, for once. It was probably too stunned to reply. He's obsessed with me, her mind echoed dully.

It had all been an elaborate plan from the very start. From the very first time she had heard the whispered word 'Lenore', Erik had wanted her down here with him. Reflecting on the moment she entered the Opera House after purchasing it, when he first called her name, she realized now that he had said her name with a lover's caress. She hadn't known at the time, hadn't believe she'd heard anything but a voice her imagination conjured up because she was alone in a large building. It had been innocent at first; the first night, he had probably only entertained the thought of seeing her. The second night, it had escalated into a desire to touch her, just a simple touch and nothing more. But it continued to grow, urges to make her dresses, wonderfully convenient reasons to meet with her secretly, and finally that perfect situation that would justify keeping her underground with him.

Ember and Rosalyn…he must have bullied them into having that party and inviting me. Somehow, he knew I'd come for the ball, even if I didn't have any intention of moving back into the Opera House. And he knew he could easily spirit me away to his house on the lake if I just showed up for the ball.

Lenore sank to her knees before the fire. Was this how you felt, Christine? This instinctive fear of a man who's so possessed with the thought of having you and your love that he'll do anything, no matter how sick or perverted that course of action may be? But…if you felt the fear, then…did you feel the lust, the greed? To have a lover who would literally do anything to please you…it's so tempting. I know that if I told him I would marry him, I could have anything I wanted. He would stop at nothing to fulfill every little wish if I so much as hinted at it.

It's wrong! Wrong! That's pure selfishness right there, and greed. Because the more you get, the more you'll want. And greed leads to envy for what others have and wrath towards any who might take your treasures from you. Couple those two with greed and lust, and you'll have covered four of the Seven Deadly Sins. Sloth might even come into the picture; why should you bother to do anything if your husband will do it for you?

I'm a horrible, wicked creature. How can I lust after a murderer? How can I even think of using his affections for my own personal gain? I'm a despicable, disgusting, sinful little creature!

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"I'm back with Erik," Lenore crowed happily. She quickly changed her tune after she saw the authoress' glare. "Um, I mean, uh, Erik…confusing me…bad idea all around."

"That's better," the authoress said with an approving smile. "Can't have you getting out of character."

"I happen to like her first comment much more," Erik coldly informed the authoress.

"Who asked you?" the authoress grumbled.

"Well, anyway, we're getting away from the point of this little scene," Lenore reminded the other two. "Our authoress would absolutely love it if you left her a review."

"Maybe she'd finally stop feeling depressed about the lack of audience feedback and quit stuffing her face with chocolate," Erik added.

"Silly Erik, chocolate's euphoric. It increases sexual appetite and can lead to higher elation during orgasm," the authoress explained.

Perfectly interpreting the authoress' meaning (and sinful intent), Erik took a wary step away from her. "Don't come anywhere near me, woman," he snarled, preparing a Punjab lasso should the authoress move so much as an inch.

"Those two are just weird," Lenore muttered worriedly. "But yeah, please leave reviews, it'll make us all so much happier."