Damn it. Damn, damn, damn, damn it.

Why hadn't I counted on a shared bathroom? I designed the blasted place!

Christine was in a towel.

Now everything was ruined. She was going to want to know what happened… and if that wasn't a no-win situation if I'd ever heard one. If I lied, she'd know I was lying (really, what kind of viable excuse could you come up with to cover up this sort of awkwardness?), and then she wouldn't trust me anymore. But, if I told her the truth… she'd go back to being afraid of me.

And she was in a towel.

Damn it, Christine! Go put on some clothes, girl, so I can think!

On second though… don't.

Wait… that's not right either…

Blast!

She kept staring at me.

I, sure as heck, couldn't keep my eyes off of her.

I don't know what she was thinking, but I was in a bad way. Something would have to give.

"Christine—"

"Are you hurt?" Her soft voice was completely unreadable. That, in itself, was disturbing. Her eyes were dead, which made me shudder.

And she was in a towel… which made me shudder differently.

"No." I choked, finally aware that she had been waiting for my answer.

I thought I might have detected a hint of emotion then, but her face was blank. She nodded slowly and left.

--

I scrubbed too hard in the shower; I dug through my bags for some lotion or antibiotic for the raw patches of skin mottling my face and neck.

Christine asked if I was hurt. Should I be overjoyed or upset? I my cynical, love-struck brain could not decide if the flicker of emotion I either saw or imagined was a sign of relief or disappointment.

You can imagine my confusion.

"You are hurt," came a small voice from the doorway.

I cursed softly and groped around for my mask. Then I cursed again—I hadn't cleaned the inside of my mask yet, only the bloodstained front, and the sweat stung something terrible as it touched the open wounds on my face.

"It's fine. I am fine… I… I am sorry for disturbing you. Go back to your room. Or, the shower is free if you like."

I spared a glance in her direction. Her skin was pink and her hair was wet; she must have already made use of the bath.

I shut my eyes and scolded my brain for taking that thought a step further.

Either she misunderstood my reaction—which was altogether possible since my mask only reveals my chin and my eyes are invisible when the light's on—or decided to ignore my words, because she stepped further into the room.

"Did you kill someone today?"

"Never mind, my darling. You needn't concern yourself with such things."

Her eyes widened impossibly large and she looked sick. Her eyes darted from me, to the bloody clothes on the floor, and back to me again. She made a little sound—like a moan or a whine—and then rushed back into the bathroom.

And then she was sick.

I hurried after her. Luckily, she hadn't had the presence of mind to lock or even shut the door, so there was no hindrance to me being by her side… which was fortunate… because, the way I was feeling right then, I was liable to break the door down. And then where would we be?

I'll be honest. I had absolute no idea what to do. I'd never been there for someone who was vomiting before… and, heaven knows nobody was ever there for me when I was sick. If there's one thing that can make an ugly man more unsightly, it's that. But I was never one to sit around when Christine was suffering… so I knelt down beside her, held back her hair and rubbed on her back.

"Shh, Christine… it will be okay."

Eventually, when I thought it was safe, I fetched her some water and a wet washcloth. She tried to push me away, but she was in no condition to fight me. So she broke down sobbing, instead.

I was at a loss. Was she crying because she was sick… or sad… or what? By the way she had tried to shrug me off, I gathered that I must be doing something wrong… but I had no idea what or how to fix it.

I kept whispering platitudes as I waited for her to say something.

When she did, she was nearly hysterical. "I… I can't believe you!" she shrieked.

Honestly I had no idea what I'd done to offend her, but I was not stupid enough to ask so I stayed silent and waited for her to enlighten me further.

"You… killed someone! You… murdered a person. What… why… how could you do such a thing?"

Ah, yes. That.

Christine is so innocent. She is an angel. So I can imagine why something like that would cause her such distress.

"Oh, my darling child! Erik has not killed anyone." Well, Erik has not killed anyone yet… or recently… depending on how you wanted to look at it. But she did not need to know that.

She paused and looked at me curiously. "But you said…"

"I said that it was nothing you needed to concern yourself with." Which was absolutely true. Not that I think husbands and wives should not know about each other's lives, don't get me wrong. It's just that I know that certain things might have the tendency to upset such a delicate young thing. And I do try so hard to keep that pretty brow unfurrowed.

"But you have, haven't you? Have you… do you… kill people?" She whispered.

These questions were tough. Although, I suspect that fits since my wife was asking if her husband was a murderer. That kind of thing is no picnic even in the best of situations.

Her eyes were pleading… begging me to tell her that it was all a misunderstanding… or self defense… or one of many other excuses that would make me less of a murderer. But I had a feeling that she wouldn't believe me if I lied. I debated with myself, what to say and how to phrase it. I guess I took too long because she started sobbing anew.

"There was blood on your shirt, Erik. And your mask… so much blood…"

"Christine, Christine… you don't understand. There are so many evils in this world… so many things I have tried to shelter you from."

"What were you doing, then… today… if you didn't kill someone?"

Another tough question… and I knew without a doubt that she wouldn't approve of the answer. I am not completely daft when it comes to women. Deciding I'd had enough of this conversation by the toilet, I helped her to her feet and led her to a chair in her room.

"Why did you bring me here? Does this… whatever you did… does it have to do with me?"

Oh that poor girl! She thought that I would intentionally drag her into…

"No, my darling… no, this has nothing to do with you. It is not your fault and nothing you need to worry yourself with. Erik… merely needed Christine's company. I love you."

"But you are a murderer!"

"And are murderers incapable of love?" I asked, more forcefully than I intended. I was becoming more frantic with each second. She was afraid of me. All I wanted was to love her.

Suddenly overcome with fear, I grasped both of her hands, folded between my own, and pressed them to my lips. I needed to feel her… to know that she would not leave me. I was crying. In my confused brain I thought that, if I held her hands tight enough, she would have to understand my feelings.

She was quiet for some time and I rested my forehead on our forcefully joined hands. Under my breath I murmured whatever words I could come up with the express my devotion to her.

"No more, Erik."

I looked up, confused.

"No more killing. Please… promise me. I don't know what you have been doing… whose blood that is… but promise me you won't kill them."

"I promise. I would not do anything to cause you distress, Christine. Erik loves his wife very much."

"If you don't mind… I think I should lie down now."

--

While Christine rested in her room, I was pacing in mine.

What should I do?

Technically, I hadn't promised to stop killing completely… just to spare the man I had downstairs. And, to be fair, she would have no way of knowing if I kept that promise or not. It was only a fluke mistake that she had any inclination of what I was doing in the first place. If I was careful…

But what was that strange feeling I had?

I couldn't place it then, but now I recognize it as guilt. Yes, for the first time since I could remember, I felt guilt.

Not for ridding the world of another member of the human race that I loathed so passionately. But, rather, for upsetting the woman I love.

I had upset Christine before, surely. But those times I had only been acting on her best interest. But this… this was different. Christine had nothing to do with this… and yet, it had distressed her very much. And I care more about her than anything.

I don't think a man like me can change… not for good anyway. But, I could do this for Christine. I would die for her and thank her for the privilege. I would kill for her without a second thought. So it stands to reason that I could… not kill… for her as well, right? At least this once?

She is very innocent… a very good and compassionate girl who is afraid to see anyone hurt… even if it is a complete stranger. But what of her poor Erik who loves her so passionately? Would she feel the same compassion for me if it was my blood she saw?

I still don't know why Christine cared so much that I spare a man that she'd never met, but I decided that, if it made her happy, then I would do it. Maybe then she could love me.

--

After I'd made my decision, I didn't waste any time carrying it out. I unlocked the small closet where I had been keeping my… ah… victim, for lack of a better word. I had given him enough of a sedative to keep him out—or at least groggy—until I returned the next morning, so I was fairly confident that he would still be in no shape to offer any resistance.

I covered myself with gloves and a jacket that I could dispose of and removed my mask so it wouldn't get dirty. No sense in repeating those oversights. Then I made short work of carving my signature into his fact, like I did the others. I used to delight in the screams this would coax from a man just before I killed him, but no longer. All I could think about was Christine and the weary groans I was hearing just irritated me.

I was glad when he passed out again.

Without further ceremony, I heaved him up over my shoulder and carried him out a secret exit. Then I chose an acceptable street corner and left him there to be found.

I knew I could not be linked to the crime; the name I use in my less-than-legitimate business transactions is unique and completely unrelated to any of the pseudonyms I use to conduct above-board activities. Furthermore, my would-be competitor was currently in no position to talk… and, when he was, I sincerely doubted he'd have anything helpful to say.

The authorities would investigate, of course, but they were not as thorough here as they are in other places. The media would have a field-day with this, though. It is the first an only time the Phantom has left a victim alive.

All in all, I'd say it was a pretty successful operation. I had rid myself of my competition. I had effectively sent a message to the people who needed message sending. And, best of all, Christine would stop being mad at me. And all this, a few days ahead of schedule.

Maybe Christine had a point, after all.