Thank you everyone for reading! I appreciate all of the reviews!

A couple people mentioned their anticipation for Erik to have his punjab lasso - this will not make an appearance, guys, sorry. Remember this Erik leans on the side of nonviolence and never went to Persia, so he would likely not have trained himself to use it.

Enjoy!

Chapter 51

Christine

My hands were tied behind my back only as long as it took us to get to the door of the theatre. Then Firmin remembered that it was in bad taste to escort a lady into a waiting coach with her wrists bound, so he reminded me of his threat and set my hands free.

I was perfectly docile as Firmin gave the coachman quiet instructions, didn't say a word as he put a blindfold over my eyes.

It was only when the carriage began to move that I opened my mouth again.

"Where is Madame Giry?"

"Safe in...well, you'll see where we are going soon enough."

The carriage rolled over a bit of bumpy road; having my sight taken from me made me less than coordinated, and I needed to put my hands on the seat to steady myself. "Why...if you've-" I swallowed. "If you've killed Isabelle and Emma, why keep Madame Giry alive?"

"Leverage," came his voice. "Isabelle refused to play my little game for more than a couple of days. She gave up - and that was so incredibly boring. So when Emma came into my possession, I at first claimed that I had her sister. She didn't believe me. Then, when Madame Giry discovered some very damning evidence against me, I took a chance and, once the ballet instructor was within my grasp, I told Emma that she could participate properly, or the Madame would be killed. It was quite effective."

I had questions - so many.

Firmin answered one of them unprompted. "Madame Giry was sticking her nose where it didn't belong. She apparently smelled something on me that she didn't like. Well, I left my little black notebook at the theatre without intending to. I only noticed the following morning when I went to go write in it and found it not within my possession. Madame had apparently noticed I'd left it - she'd gone back for it, found it's contents - and ran into me as she left the theatre and I entered it. Then I went inside to look for the book, found it missing...and you can probably fill in the rest." I heard a rustling of leather and paper and fabric. "Luckily, I have it with me again." A pause. "Would you like to know what's inside?"

I didn't want to know. Curiosity wasn't enough to turn my dread.

"I'll tell you," he said, not waiting for my reply. "I have documented the details of my nightly game. My thoughts and movements, any clues I find. And then I write what I do to them when I finally hunt them down. I keep it on me at all times - it's a source of comfort; a reminder that I have power."

"You're a monster," I whispered.

"No." His voice was sharp. "I'm not. Do you know what is monstrous? Women who refuse to give good men the chance to prove themselves as lovers or husbands. Women who betray their faithful spouses by gifting their bodies to other men. Women who act as though they are anything more than what God intended them to be - pleasant additions to men's lives. I am not a monster. I am doing God's work by punishing bad women."

The carriage turned. I think it had turned a few times before. I frowned, cursing myself inwardly. I wished I'd been paying attention to where we were headed.

"Isabelle," he continued, "repeatedly turned down St. Juste. And the man finally accepted that - but I felt she needed to be punished for breaking his heart when all he wanted was to love her. Emma thought she was better than men; thirty, unmarried and chose to be. She had a body perfectly capable of bearing children, but chose to take that gift from a potential husband. That had to be punished as well."

My breathing had accelerated. "And me?"

"You? Well, Christine, it's quite simple: you make me angry. I think that something went wrong in your childhood, that the docile nature natural to good women was never instilled in you. The moment I heard that there was a Ballet Wraith, I knew it had to be you - somehow. That you were working with whatever man paraded as the Phantom. So I waited; every night, I visited the theatre hoping to see some proof; I finally found it tonight - a good costume, by the way; I only realized it was you because I was looking for you. But what made you this way? So bold and vicious as to try and strike fear into the likes of Buquet? Perhaps it was Madame Giry that tainted you, or perhaps that father of yours was too weak to raise a girl right. Whatever the case, I will certainly have fun playing with you. Ah." The carriage came to a stop. "Here we are. Quiet now. I will remove the blindfold, but keep your eyes closed. I will know if you open your eyes, and we do want Madame Giry to stay alive, yes?"

"Yes," I whispered. I kept my head high as he removed the fabric and escorted me to the ground. He left my side, and though I knew he was likely faced away, I didn't dare open my eyes. I heard him thank the driver, pay him, and then his hands were on my arm. I wondered if the driver was in on this plot, or if Firmin was betting the man wouldn't think twice or pay too much attention. He led me forward, up some stairs, I heard a door unlock and open, and then I was escorted through. The door clicked closed behind. It was locked again as well.

"All right," he said, "you may open your eyes."

I did.

Darkness - darker than the theatre - was all I saw. For a moment, I wondered if I still had the blindfold on; but no. There was nothing covering my eyes.

"Dear me. One moment," he said, as though he hadn't noticed the darkness at all. "I forgot the lanterns."

He stepped away from me, and seconds later, two lanterns were lit, both sitting on a dusty wooden table to my right. Next to them was a dull butter-knife and a spool of thread peeking out of a small brown satchel.

He picked one of the lanterns. "Take the bag and the other lantern. I will lead you to our destination. Come, Christine." He walked forward, and I saw the rest of the space - a large foyer with a desk and dozens of chairs on either side, and in the middle, a spiral staircase that spun upward. Everything looked full of dust, cobwebs - unkempt. A hotel, I realized. I had a vague memory of Firmin mentioning the fact that he was rehabilitating a hotel; I'd barely listened. I hadn't thought of it until now. "Now, Christine, don't dawdle."

I did as he said. I followed him to the staircase, watched him as he ascended. The thing looked surprisingly sturdy.

He glanced back. "I said follow."

Heart thundering, I put the satchel around my shoulder, lifted my skirt, and followed him up.

"I will tell you how this works," he said. "This hotel is as tall as it is wide. Four floors, and twenty rooms to a floor. Each room has a bed and wardrobe. Wardrobes, I do advise to hide in. I make it a rule to only check ten wardrobes a night, to give my victim a fighting chance."

My mind was racing. "What-"

"Oh, I haven't explained the game yet, have I?" We were ascending past the second floor. "Consider this like a game of cat and mouse. Hide and seek. I am 'it', if you will. Every night, I count down - sixty seconds. You run and hide. I check every room, every floor. And, as I said, I check ten wardrobes a night. I will search for two full hours. If I don't find you, I reward you with food and water in the foyer - or, since this is a hotel, I suppose I should call it the lobby. I make sure that your lantern is working. I give you your pick of the beds - I recommend room 412. It's a wedding suite."

"And if I lose?" I whispered.

"If you lose?" We were approaching the very top. "If you lose, your body is mine, and so is your life."

A wave of sickness made me nearly trip over my own feet. I looked down to keep my bearings.

"We will start in room 401. The last room - on the right at the very end of the hall."

He took me there. My feet were leaden, and each closed door we passed seemed to whisper that death lay beyond them. I didn't dare look up.

"Isabelle, like I said, gave up. She made herself known to me so that I'd kill her immediately. She refused to play my game. It was sorely disappointing." We passed room 412. "Now Emma...there was a challenge. As soon as she learned that another human life - Madame Giry - was at stake, she became quite the strategist. Or just lucky. I didn't find her for days. Weeks."

"Madame Giry." I finally looked up. "Where is she?"

"Make it through the night and you will find out. I will reunite you. That will be your reward along with bread and water."

"Is she in the hotel?"

"Perhaps." A pause as he opened the door to 401 and closed it behind us. The darkness in this room was crushing, even with the lanterns. In the dim yellow light, I realized that the windows were boarded up. "Oh! And one more thing." He turned to me. "I will be wielding a gun. I haven't yet had to use it - thus far, suffocation mid-coitus has done the trick. But the knowledge that I'm armed keeps me at ease in these dark halls. I'm sure you can understand." Firmin walked past, toward a dresser. Upon it, I saw with a stab of ice to my chest, was a rifle. He picked it up. "I've supplied you with two weapons as well, in that satchel. A butter knife to stab me with, and a spool of thread to hang yourself with - should this all prove too much."

I stared at him. "I hardly think either will be effective in its purpose."

His answering smile made me reach for the knife regardless.

He closed his eyes. "Since it is your first night, I will give you ten minutes. I will count to sixty ten times." Firmin cleared his throat. "One. Two. Three-"

"Wait," I said. Panic gripped me.

His smile grew. "Four. Five-"

"M. Firmin...please. Please, see reason. Please, I don't want-"

He opened one eye. "You need to hide, Christine. That's how the game works." He closed it again. "Six. Seven. Eight."

Feeling as though a sob would surely rip itself free, I fumbled for the door, hand shaking, and bolted from the room.

Think.

I had to think.

I had to use what I had. A butter knife.

I could...I could perhaps pry the boards free, use the knife as a prybar...

No. No. Stupid. It would take too much time. And it wouldn't solve the problem of Madame Giry.

I walked through the hall, feeling the walls closing in.

Think, Christine. Think.

What did I have? The butter knife and spool of thread. A butter knife. A spool of thread.

I could wait behind a door for him to come in. I could stab him in the neck-

But what if I missed? What if I didn't use enough strength to make the dull blade break flesh?

The sob did wrench itself free, and I shook my head and grunted. No. Not the time. Not the time. No time.

So the spool of thread. What could I do with a spool of thread?

I made it to the stairs, forced myself to watch my feet so that I didn't trip.

And I nearly gasped at the idea that sprang to my mind.

It...could work. It could. If I did it right, it very well may be the key to both hurting him and buying myself time to find Madame.

I kneeled by the top step, set down the lantern, went into my satchel - forcing my hands and breath to steady - and set to work.