Thank you all for the kind reviews. Glad to see a few other "Little Shop of Horrors" fans. Lol. A big thanks to Kelly who continues to look over my chapters. Still estimating around 20 chapters total, definitely under 25 - just to reassure you that, when the angst starts, this isn't going to be like 100 chapters of endless angst. Hope you all continue to enjoy!

Once Erik had shown her the campus, they mostly frequented two places. The theater, where she watched the rehearsals. And the piano room, where Erik gave her lessons or she listened to him play.

There was more Chopin and all his difficult works, along with Vivaldi, Beethoven, Rachmaninoff and any modern pieces she could convince him to attempt. She asked him to play Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 a couple of times, just because it was so fun to watch him perform the middle part, maybe because the music was so cheerful. He was extraordinary. Like a living, breathing classical jukebox. She admitted, "Sometimes I don't want to have the lesson. I want to listen to you the entire time."

"Flattery will not get you out of your lesson, my dear," he told her, although he sounded pleased. She would watch his fingers, his concentration. And sometimes she would want to approach him – without knowing why or what she planned to do if she got there.

Rehearsals at the theater continued, and the cast became better and better. However, Christine eventually realized that the musical had a darker ending. Mainly, that made her sad for the female character. The girl had sung a nice song about wanting a normal life. After all the abuse she had suffered, she wouldn't get it.

When she complained, Erik told her, "You know, I think there is a film adaptation that may improve your mood."

She sat and watched it when they got home. He was right.

But which was the real ending?

Erik laughed when she asked him this. "Whatever you want it to be, Christine."

She liked his laugh. Not the colder chuckles or chortles of disdain. But his real rich laughter when he was happy. He seemed like someone who had not done a lot of laughing. And his voice was so…pleasant that she couldn't help but ask once, "Did you ever sing?"

He tensed slightly. "My uncle said my voice disturbed him. Sometimes I would use it to put my father to sleep if he was particularly agitated."

She poked her head up from the couch. "Now I have to hear it."

"Why?"

"How can a voice be disturbing?"

"Mine apparently was." He hesitated. "It's been too long. I don't think so."

"What if I find a duet? Would you sing that with me?"

"What kind of godawful duet would you find?" he asked, amused. "It had better not be one of those Disney songs you asked me to play."

"I promise I won't ask you to sing "A Whole New World." I'll have to find something that fits you."

Erik scoffed. "Nothing will." He disappeared for a moment. Then he returned carrying an armful of books. "Onto more important things."

"What is that?" she asked, standing up, nervous.

"Study materials. You want to do well on your tests, don't you?"

She slowly walked closer. "Well, that is…ambitious." She poked the stack of paperback study guides with her index finger.

"Yes. Well, you will obtain an excellent score. So that you will be successful."

"My dad would have some harsh words for you right now," she stated.

He crossed his arms. "Such as?"

"He would say, 'Now listen, Erik! There is more to life than studying all the time just so you can be in the rat race and work for some bloodsucking corporation.' Something like that."

Erik chuckled. "I cannot say I completely disagree with the antiestablishment sentiments of your dear father. But there is a point to an education far beyond working for parasitic companies."

"I do need to study," she said, reluctantly. "God. Where to start?" She thumbed through one of the guides. "I feel pretty confident about reading and writing. When I was in school, I never felt behind. I read a lot as a kid. Um. Social studies. Shouldn't be too awful. My dad liked history and would give me books about it. Science is hit and miss. And, ugh, math. I don't think my dad liked it. Sometimes it seemed like he really couldn't do it at all. It made no sense to him."

"Dyscalculia?"

"Oh, there's a word for it. I never really felt like I couldn't learn it. It made sense when I did understand it. But he couldn't help. And we moved so much."

"Then that is what we will focus on immediately."

"Great," she replied with gentle sarcasm. "What was your worst subject?"

"Mine? Ah, academics was never a struggle for me."

"Well, I know it wasn't music."

"I certainly would not have done well in penmanship, had it been an official subject. Everyone hated my handwriting. Eh. I am not much of a creative drawer, I suppose. I can design buildings. And models. But, if you asked me to draw a landscape or a human being, it would not be a great work of art. Painting – I never really felt adequate enough to pursue it."

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm not much of a painter either. Drawing – sometimes I'll do it to relax. I drew Raoul's father once, from memory, and Raoul said it looked like Richard Gere. You know – that actor from awhile back? And I was like, 'Well, maybe that's because your father looks like Richard Gere.' Raoul didn't agree." Erik merely stared at her. He did that a lot. She cleared her throat and dug her way through the stack. She picked up a trigonometry book. "I'm pretty sure this isn't on the test. There is geometry."

"You should know it anyway. You might as well be ahead."

She took a slow seat and felt a little annoyed. Again, why was this his business? On the other hand, she might as well make use of her time down here. At least it wouldn't be time wasted. Christine studied for a little while, feeling more confident as she went through the practice questions. Maybe she had retained some information from all those high schools.

And - time began to pass quickly in the midst of voice lessons, studying, reading, and walks. Two weeks were already gone. Then three weeks passed. She was creeping through the fourth. She counted down the days with fear and anticipation.

She was afraid of something.

Something hard to define. Something on the other side of this.

Something lost.

"This place is creepy," said Raoul.

"Even more so now," Saeed agreed.

Weeds grew everywhere. Metallic structures, about the sizes of trailers, sat here and there, rusted and collapsing. They were about thirty miles outside the city, in a rural area. Trucks passed on the highway in the distance. That was the only sign of life. Raoul had been a little worried about Saeed's car as it tumbled over a dirt road toward their destination. They had survived, though.

"Are we trespassing?" asked Raoul.

"No one will care. There's nothing here to steal."

"Okay."

"Let me look around first, make sure everything's okay. At least snakes shouldn't be a problem this time of year." Saeed climbed out and disappeared. Raoul sat there nervously. This place looked like where a horror movie might happen. Like someone could pop up with a chainsaw at any moment.

Saeed returned soon. "It's okay, Raoul. There's nothing dangerous here."

"This was where he lived?"

"If he really wanted to get away. It doesn't look like anyone's been here for a long time, though."

Saeed led him to one of the metal structures and twisted the rusted doorknob. The door opened with a groan. Raoul peeked inside. All the small room contained was a dirty mattress on a long rectangle of torn brown carpet. It looked like rodents were beginning to chew through both of them.

"What was this place again?" asked Raoul. He tried not to breathe through his nose. The interior smelled moldy and sour.

"Decades ago, I think it was all used for an auto shop. Someone turned it into an unsuccessful diner after that. Now it's nothing. Erik only came here if he was afraid of something."

"What would someone like that have to be afraid of?"

"Heh. Sometimes he would scam the person who was employing him to do the scamming. So he would be in trouble."

"Sounds like a great guy."

"Yes. Well. I really thought he was getting better. He was searching for jobs. Even sounded like he had one ready to go. And then-"

"You're a little protective of him," Raoul commented with a tone that contained more confusion than accusations. He just hoped Saeed would remain on his side. Saeed was his only hope.

"I suppose it's still hard for me to process how he changed so much. Don't misunderstand. I know what Erik is now, Raoul. That's why I'm helping you."

Raoul watched as Saeed knelt and began to set something up beneath a corner of the gross mattress. "What are you doing?"

"It's a tiny camera. I'll leave it here with a cellphone that has network access so that I can monitor this place. If Erik stops by, I'll know. Only problem is there isn't any electricity, so I'll have to keep an eye on the battery."

After setting everything up, making sure the camera was hidden, Saeed lowered himself to the ground with a sigh.

"You okay?" Raoul asked.

"Yes. Just…wondering if Raymond has us on a wild goose chase. Wondering if it's pointless. The Erik who hid here was a different man."

"Maybe I know what it was," said Raoul after a moment.

Saeed glanced up. "What?"

"Why Erik changed."

"Why?"

"Drugs. Maybe he got on drugs. I knew a guy last year. Good grades. Basketball team. Was probably going to get scholarships. He got really screwed up on heroin. Now he's at a rehab facility somewhere. I bet Erik was on drugs."

"Heh. You know, I actually considered that. Even if Erik were taking drugs, the change in him was still very drastic. Who knows? Still doesn't excuse what he tried to do to me."

"Yeah, I stay away from that stuff." Raoul lowered his voice. "Although sometimes my friends will find some beers. Don't tell my dad, though."

Saeed chuckled. "I won't. You think I wasn't young once?" He dusted off his hands on his jeans and slowly stood back up. "Guess it's time to get out of here."

"Where are the other places we have to go?"

"The next is a little cabin. One of my favorites. I assumed Erik wouldn't go there because the area is more heavily trafficked by hikers, but it's worth a shot. I'll set up another camera. Then all we can do is watch, I'm afraid, unless I remember another hiding place."

"Okay. Thanks for your help."

"I hope I am help, Raoul. I haven't felt like much help over the years. Except for finding wealthy people their dream homes – I have gotten good at that."

"Well, yeah. You'd better have, or that slogan would be false advertising."

They laughed together. In the middle of nowhere, of abandoned buildings and patchy, brown grass and nothingness – all they could do was laugh at how sad and ridiculous it all was.

The drive back home was quiet.

"I realized that people have been celebrating holidays. And you have missed them!"

Startled, Christine looked up from her study guide. "Oh…that's okay, Erik. I didn't care much anyway." The Chagnys were having a bunch of holiday gatherings with families that they knew. Raoul had friends that went back years. Some of them were really nice. Some of them were kind of rude and stared at her as though she were an oddity. Some incessantly talked about themselves. But she didn't know any of them well enough to feel very comfortable. She had been planning to sneak into her room and hide during all the celebrations.

Holidays with her father were always very simple. She would receive some books and games. When she was older, he had actually tried to give her more grownup things like gift cards to retail clothing stores. Then they would eat at an open chain restaurant that was otherwise out of their price range. Maybe Cracker Barrel. She liked looking at the antiques in there.

"I brought you food that people eat at this time. At least I assume they still do." Erik suddenly produced a ham and a bunch of sides, probably from a more upscale caterer. Mashed potatoes with brown gravy. Squash casserole. Green bean casserole. Apple pie. "I hope that will be adequate."

"You didn't have to do this," she said, slightly shocked. "But thanks so much. That was thoughtful. Um, why don't you eat some, too?"

"Perhaps later. Whatever you don't want."

Because of the mask, she realized. "I'll make sure to leave you some."

"Do not be concerned about that." A pause. "I do have a gift for you as well. I will give it to you before you leave."

She blinked. "Leave as in…?"

"Leave. When my side of the deal is complete, of course."

"Oh." She suddenly wondered how that final day would go. Would Erik knock on her door, announce that it was done, and then let her go. Would she call Raoul to pick her up? Or the police? Then they would never see each other again?

She wanted her freedom back. She wanted choice back. But beyond those less tangible concepts, she wasn't sure what would come next, and that bothered her. It made her afraid. Would she move into a homeless shelter? Maybe…maybe she could convince Raoul's father to give her the five thousand dollars back so she would at least have a start. Then she could find a job. Like at a clothing store maybe? How much would she need to survive?

There was only one month to go, and she definitely needed to figure this out. After eating the delicious dinner, Christine asked, "Erik, can I please have the computer?"

She hated having to ask. At least he usually didn't ask why. He would merely watch.

"Here." He placed the laptop on the table at an angle that would permit her to work while still allowing him to see the screen. Then Erik took a seat to her side, keeping distance between them.

She typed in "salary of salesclerk at clothing store."

Okay. So the lower end of that range times…what? Work days were like eight hours. Let's say five days a week. And about four weeks in a month. She found the calculator on the computer and did some math.

Then she looked up the cheapest apartments.

If she got lucky with hours, she could maybe afford a one-bedroom. Not in a great spot probably, when it came to crime. But, hey, once she didn't live with the Chagnys, no one would be interested in kidnapping her for a ransom. There was also the option of finding a roommate.

She looked up other jobs like fast food worker and grocery store cashier. It'd be a dream to find something like an administrative assistant position. Most of those required at least a year of experience in an office. Some even wanted a degree.

Then there was assistance like welfare and food stamps. Those would have been more helpful if she had children. And she…was very, very far away from that.

She became so invested in her research, desperately wanting to figure it out, that she forgot Erik was watching the whole thing. Until he softly said, "I did those exact same calculations when I was about your age."

She looked up in surprise. "Oh! When?"

"Right before I ran away."

"When did you leave your family?"

"When I was seventeen. My uncle was very angry, as he would no longer be able to use me in his experiments. He cut me off financially, left me nothing when he died, but I didn't care. I could not be his lab rat any longer."

"Geez, Erik. That's awful. Did he expect you to stay forever?"

"At least until he died. His health was already failing at that point, cardiac issues from a lifetime of stress and disappointment. I escaped him. But I had nothing. I was educated, but I had few other skills or connections. No one would hire me for any sort of customer service job."

"Why?"

"I lacked people skills," he replied, wryly.

"…What did you do?"

"I was homeless for a while, lucky if I could rent a room in the city's most revolting motels. And then I became involved in less ethical activities, I'm afraid. But that's nothing you don't know, is it?"

"I…"

"Nothing horribly sinister initially. As lowly as grabbing purses when the owners weren't looking. Stealing credit card information. Scams."

She shifted, uncomfortable but not uncomfortable enough to end the conversation. "Well, if Raoul hadn't helped me, I would have gotten pretty desperate, too." She paused. "So you've been in crime ever since then? How old are you?"

He looked away. With disgust in his voice, he replied, "Thirty-four now, I guess."

That was maybe a little younger than she had thought, with his body and thinning hair. "But you went to school?"

"Yes. I eventually used my activities to fund my education. Afterwards, it was still initially difficult for me in the normal world. I was not good at interviews. I would land contractual work where I could easily be terminated. But - I was usually not terminated. Once employers saw what I could do for them, the situation began to improve. And then it…well, it did not matter either way."

"What do you mean it didn't matter? What happened?"

"I…What happened is that I failed very horribly, Christine. You think what happened with your videos was the greatest mistake? I believe I surpassed it."

"What did you do?" she asked, gently, her attention completely upon him. She had never heard him sound quite so weakened.

He stared down, unable to meet her eyes. His bare right hand was curled up and resting on the table. It was an instinct, a need to comfort. She touched the back of his hand, near his knuckles, with her fingertips.

She started. "You're cold."

He began to withdraw his hand. "I am aware."

"No. I mean, are you uncomfortable? Are you cold?"

"No. I simply am that way. I am not uncomfortable."

"Oh."

He kept his hand in place. She rested the fingertips of her left hand against the back of his bony right hand. Erik stared at the interaction, eyes unreadable.

"What did you do?" she asked again. "I won't judge you. I'm certainly in no place to do that."

A long pause. "When I was about twenty-five, someone was willing to pay me for my deceased uncle's research, which I still had access to. As I told you, my uncle had failed in his goals. I studied his work for many hours and found no way to accomplish what he had desired, no path to immortality. I thought it was worthless. And that particular year was a desperate and disappointing time for me. So I sold the research at a price which was far above what I believed it to be worth. But - I was very wrong. It was not worthless."

She frowned. "So you didn't get as much money as you should have for the research? I can see why that'd be disappointing. But it's not the end of the world. There's still so much you can do."

"…I do not think you understand what I sold," he said in a low voice.

"Um." He was right. She didn't. She pictured him selling a computer and some files. "Maybe not?"

"Maybe not," he repeated in a strange monotone.

"Can't you explain it to me?"

He didn't answer, only stared down at their touching hands.

"Anyway, Erik, you're only in your thirties. You might have more than half your life left."

"Do I?" he muttered in a tone that went beyond skepticism.

"This life obviously doesn't make you happy. You're hiding in all these weird places. You don't have any friends. Or girlfriends." That one got a violent flinch and very severe glare from him, so much so that she withdrew her hand, looked down, and softly continued, "And you have all these talents. And I-"

He also withdrew his hand, hiding it beneath the table. "Yes, you understand my life so well, Christine. Why didn't I think of all this? I am an idiot, I guess. Thankfully, I have an eighteen-year-old here to explain it to me."

"You're obviously not an idiot! That's the point."

He leaned forward. She pressed back in the chair. "How about if you assume that you have no idea what you are talking about? That will be best for you. Because you really, really do not." He stood up and moved away from her. "I think it is time to look at geometry. You have a long way to go. Best that you start now."

"But-" One more glower from him, and she quickly exited that conversation. "Geometry. Great." Then she took a deep breath, ran her hand up her forehead and into her hair, and tried to calm down. What was she doing anyway, saying those things to someone like him? Had she forgotten who he was, what he was, how she had met him in the first place? Maybe she had started to become too comfortable, too at home here. The tips of her fingers still tingled from where she had touched his cold skin… "Okay. Let me finish up what I was doing."

They stopped talking. The temperature slowly cooled. She entered some final calculations and looked for other types of assistance. Erik watched from behind her. She was thinking that another slice of that apple pie sounded good. Then geometry. Then maybe she would go to bed.

…

Movement at the corner of her eye, on the floor. She turned. Erik looked, too. A rather large, reddish roach was scurrying along, heading right toward them. "Oh!" She cried out and lifted her feet, then giggled at herself.

"Disgusting! I apologize, my dear. This place really is falling apart, despite my best efforts. I believe there is some poison in a nearby closet." She turned away so she didn't have to watch him kill it. "I will return in a couple of minutes." He left the home.

And he left her with the computer.

As she was still distracted by the roach incident, it took a whole minute for that realization to sink in. Her thoughts raced. How much time did she have? She wasn't going to recklessly contact anyone. Like what – write a quick e-mail to the police? Which police? Erik could be back at any moment. She didn't even know what she wanted to do now. If he were really going to release her in a month, maybe nothing.

But…maybe she did have time to look up what Erik had been writing lately. She went into the word processor and searched for newer documents. The most recent one was simply called Doc2. She clicked it. And was pretty sure she had succeeded.

Unfortunately, it was all kind of nonsense.

Saeed

Winter. December? January? Strong winds. Moon – crescent. Nearby brick building, three stories. Some type of office complex. Glanced back. He called out. He said my name. Two.

Unknown

Summer. Humid. July? Alleyway. Near a restaurant? There was the smell of Italian cooking. Called me a monster. Quick. One.

There was more, but -

The doorknob turned. Erik was coming back.

She quickly closed the program, hoping there was no way he would know.

As soon as he saw her, Christine was pretty sure Erik realized his mistake. He approached quickly, eyes on the computer. She was on an innocuous screen regarding employment opportunities in the state. He looked back toward her.

"Hey," she said as cheerfully as possible. "Did you find it?"

"No. I am going to have to visit a store. I will do so later. Again, I apologize for that repulsive situation."

She could hear the tinge of failure in his voice. She could hear self-loathing and sensed that it was coming from many different directions. The past. Their argument. The roach. His failure to protect the computer.

Christine smiled. "It's fine." She tried to meet his eyes. "Not a big deal at all, okay? Just a bug. I saw lots of them growing up." She slowly stood, and he quickly collected the computer. "Time for more pie."

"Do you want me to heat it up for you?" he eagerly asked, trying to fix everything with that question.

She let him fix it. "That'd be great. Thank you, Erik."