To all my readers and reviewers: I love you, guys!

Thanks to sbkar for the correction of that nasty vocabulary fault:)

And now, for your pleasure:

-Chapter Fourteen - Circling the Prey-

The moon has risen to it's zenith and the branches and twigs of the trees cast their black shadows in strange patterns on the paths.

Patiently, Erik walks beside Carla, who holds her arms folded in front of her chest, one hand massaging her shoulder, while she tells him about Leah's and her punk project as if one moment of silence would cost her life. He listens half-heartedly, nods in the right moments, gives a smile every now and then... but his thoughts are with Christine. She would know what to do in this awkward situation, she would know how to soothe Carla's fears, how to show her his love. But her grave is far away, and as his patience is melted by his own fear of losing Carla, he gets more and more convinced, that he should just rely on his instincts...

When his hand touches her upper arm, Carla's utter frame freezes, but she keeps on talking about her guitar riff in Leah's newest song 'White Rose Vertigo'. Gently, his fingers cross Carla's lips and cause her to fall silent, greeting the skin contact with an ambivalent shiver.

"Carla..." his eyes hold her view, while he slowly tilts his head "Carla..." hesitantly, as if he were afraid that she could scream, he withdraws his hand from her mouth and traces the outline of her chin "You have to losen your jaw and hold up your head a little higher... Now sing for me. Sing 'White Rose Vertigo' so that I learn the melody and the lyric and can teach you when you do the da capo."

But Carla remains tensely silent; his touch seems to have hushed even her thoughts. A frown darkens his look.

"Then sing whatever you want, Carla, but sing."

Stirred by the menace that is barely hidden behind Erik's friendly tone, her thoughts begin to race again. 'White Rose Vertigo' is Kay-Christine's song about the tale of the rose and the nightingale that Erik told her. She can not possibly sing this. Not here, not with Erik listening. No, she will choose the pain that she already knows.

But when Erik breathes his first 'turn around', Carla feels that she knew nothing about his voice, that she couldn't even imagine the amount, the intensity of desire it can lay into one simple sentence. She wants to back out of this, she wants to run, but her voice is already trying to please it's new master.

"Turn around..."

Slowly Erik creeps away from her, begins to circle her like a shark would circle it's prey, while at the same time Carla feels him closer than ever.

"Turn around..."

Her mind starts a desperate struggle to suppress the feelings that his velvet voice evokes in her, to break the spell that he cast so rapidly on her. She wants to fall silent and press her hands to her ears, but her heart shouts at her not to rebel; do as he demands or he will hurt you, do as he demands or he will leave you!

"Turn around..."

One last time her fears try to support her sense for the rational. Ugly and electrifying do they boil up around her indecesive treacherous heart and cause her voice to slip badly; but this is just the last breath that she takes before she dares to let herself be dragged down into the the dark waters of what promises to be Erik's love for her.

"Turn around, bright eyes..."

When Carla regains consciousness, she finds herself in the carriage, wrapped into Erik's arms. With one determined movement, she frees herself and stumbles onto the opposite bench, where she coweres into the farthest edge and hides her face.

Erik gives no word of protest, no sigh, not even an emanation of anger or threat, but Carla isn't interested in how and where he looks, she doesn't want to know if her flight hurt him, if he dreaded or expected it. She just wants to go home tomorrow, off this rollercoaster, forget everything and never return.

Back at the house, she hurries into her room without saying a word.

She remembers what happened when she sang with Erik...

He finally embraced her from behind and followed the outlines of her torso ever so slowly, gently and determined, ran his warm hands over her shoulders, her breasts, her belly, her thighs, while her fingers clawed into his jacket and his neck to hinder him from ever stopping, from ever leaving her alone with her aching body. There was no more room for fear, shame or doubt between the lovers, no more sound exept their powerful voices that stirred the air like shockwaves of raging lust and beauty.

He didn't sleep with her out there on the bank of the lake, he didn't even kiss her. But that makes no difference.

The next morning the whole world seems to be damped down, like someone had pressed the mute button on everything. Slowly but steadily she stuffs her clothes into her backpack that she found in the wardrobe behind her clothes. She feels numb. Eternally sad. And she doesn't want to think about anything; she already knows that there are no answers to her questions.

When a dark blur appears beside her and offers to carry her bag, she doesn't even bat an eye-lash; it's only when the cool air from the lake hits her face and the highpitched sounds of slowly rowing oars echo through the catacombs, that she finds back to something that resembles a clear consciousness.

She's going home! She will return into reality! The fifteen days are finally over!

When the boat eventually docks at the kay below Rue Scribe, she disembarks with an air of determination, and as silently as Erik, who remains standing in the boat, she hastens to the wall where the gate should appear.

She waits, moving from one foot to the other and trying to hush the sudden realization, that Erik will open no gate for her, no matter how long she stands here.

Her hand touches the cold stones, presses them, beats against them, claws into the rough surface, while she grows more and more desperate. Tears burn in her eyes, sobs start to shake her, she begins to scream, attacking the unfeeling stone like a madwoman until her fingernails are torn, her knuckles bleed and an unbearable pain creeps up her arms. With a last cry of despair she lets herself slide down the wall and curls up on the floor, where she remains, sobbing softly.

Then a draft hits the side of her body.

Unbelieving she lifts her head and wipes the tears from her face. There are black bars... A gate with no lock... Carfully her hands stretch out to touch the cool iron. It's real. It's actually real! And it moves slightly when she supports herself on one bar to get up. The gate is open! He lets her go! This time she sobs with relief.

When she bends down to grab her backpack, her look strikes Erik who is still standing in the boat, an unmoved black cloaked figure, whose yellow eyes behind the eerie white mask are cold and unfeeling once again.

Slowly, Carla pulls the bagpack onto her sholder, her eyes locked to Erik's white mask. She will leave him alone. She will leave him to an eternity of loneliness, imprisoned in the absolute darkness of the underground.

"Will you ever return?" The wind carries his whisper to her, so softly that she isn't sure if she really heard or just imagined it.

And she doesn't answer. Her lips tightly shut, she just continues to stare helplessly into his petrified, gleaming eyes until her sight blurs. With one incredible effort she finally rips lose and steps out on Rue Scribe, never turning back to see the gate disappear.