Well, it sounds like you've all been enjoying the last few chapters. I'm glad! I know it started out rather slow, but I hopt you're all liking it now!

I'm listening to "Point of No Return" while I'm writing this. Honestly, could Gerard Butler's voice be sexier? Especially in those Don Juan pants...

Anyways...

Oh, by the way... we spell "fetal" as "foetal" in Canada. Don't ask me why. I know it doesn't sound like that. It's just how we spell it. I only bring it up because someone questioned me about it in a review after reading that last chapter. I actually do spell decently! Just not by American standards, I suppose. :D

Well then... how about that next chapter, eh?

XxXxX

Amarie walked down the narrow street. It was very dark out, but Amarie wasn't afraid. The dark didn't scare her at all anymore. Erik was right. The darkness was peaceful.

Amarie swung her evening bag in a carefree manner. Tomorrow was opening night, and she had thrived under Erik's instruction. On stage, their voices blended together like hers and Miguel's never would have. The performance was guaranteed to be a success. Nothing could go wrong now.

Suddenly, a rough hand grabbed Amarie around the waist while another clapped over her mouth to keep her from screaming. Amarie was dragged into the shadows and pinned up against a brick wall, where no one could see her. She was faced with three seedy-looking men. They all smiled ugly, rotten smiles at her. Her heart rate sped. Amarie's thoughts went back to a conversation she had had with Erik a few nights after Raoul De Chagney's death. He was very sick and pale, lying in his bed as she watched over him. He had taken her hand and looked at her with a very serious expression on his face. "If ever you are assaulted on the streets," he had said, "do whatever you are told to do. Don't resist. Nothing is worth more than your life…"

"Here!" she cried, shoving her evening bag at them. "Take it! It's yours!"

"We don't want your money, my pretty," one of them said, fingering her fiery-red locks. "We have a few questions for you."

"Who's your little friend in the mask?" another asked. Fear clutched at Amarie's heart. She didn't trust these men… and she didn't care what Erik said, she was not going to give into these men and tell them about him!

"Who?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"You know who! The masked man! Do you know who he is? Do you know what he is? Surely you've heard of the Phantom of the Opera from Paris?"

Amarie shrugged. "Maybe…"

"Your friend is a murderer!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The first man backhanded her across the face. "You lying whore! You know something!"

Amarie clenched her mouth shut. She wouldn't tell anyone about Erik. She had made a promise…

"Very well," the first man said. "We're not leaving until you tell us what you know…"

XxXxX

Perhaps it had only been hours… Amarie felt like it had been an eternity. The men tried to beat her into submission, but she would not relent. They must have thought they had killed her, because they eventually gave up and left her there.

Amarie struggled painfully to her feet, limping back to the theatre… back to the dorms… back to her room…

She glanced at her image in the mirror. She certainly was a sight. She removed her torn dress and threw it away. It was beyond repair. She slipped into a dressing gown and sat at her dresser, examining her face in the mirror… Split lip, black eye, bruised cheek… Amarie hoped she could conceal these injuries with make-up for the show tomorrow night.

Amarie nearly laughed at herself. Here she was, thinking about the performance and what she looked like, after those men had… had… after what they did to her!

Tears filled Amarie's eyes. She had to go to someone… To the one person who would listen and not be alarmed by her appearance…

XxXxX

Amarie limped to his door and knocked softly.

"Come in, Amarie," he called. She opened the door. Erik was busy arranging things in his room.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked, stepping into his room.

"Who else would be knocking on my door at this time of night?" He paused. "Did you hurt yourself, child?"

"What?"

"Your gait is uneven. Sounds like a limp. Are you hurt?"

"Um…" Amarie sat on the edge of his bed. "I… fell."

"You fell?" he said, plainly.

"Yes. I fell."

Erik sighed and sat beside her. "I don't believe you, Amarie."

"What?"

"You hesitated. You sound distressed. You didn't fall, did you?"

"No… no…" Amarie said in a choked whisper. "I swear… I fell…"

Erik gently took her face into one large hand, allowing his thumb to brush her cheek. As he did so, he felt the wetness of her tears.

"A simple accident has you in such a state?" he said, dubiously. "I can hear the fear and tension in your voice. Don't lie to me, Amarie. You didn't fall."

Amarie did not answer.

"Someone hurt you, didn't they?"

Amarie was shaking her head. "Please… please…"

"Didn't they!" His sharp tone made her jump.

"Erik… please…"

"Was it your father?"

Amarie's eyes flew wide with disbelief. "What? No! My father would never hurt me! He may have a hard time showing it, but he loves me!"

"If he loved you so much, why would he try to force you to do something on stage that you clearly did not want to do?" he asked, reminding her of that day at rehearsals, a few weeks earlier.

"Stop it, Erik! Stop it!"

"Why are you defending him?"

Amarie got right up into his face. "And why do you assume that I didn't want you to… touch me… on stage? How do you know that that wasn't exactly what I wanted?"

"Amarie, you told him flat out that you didn't want to!"

"Perhaps I was being immature! Maybe this is what I've wanted all along!" With that, she grabbed his face and pulled him down into a passionate kiss. Erik was surprised by the feeling of her warm body pressed up against him,little tongue pushing its way into his mouth andentwining eagerlywith his. Erik momentarily forgot what he was doing and, unable to stop himself,let his hands slide down her back, fingers tracing a line down her spine, and pulled her up to him, deepening the kiss. She tasted so sweet. He felt her tugging at his trousers and, with much effort, broke the embrace and grabbed her hands.

"Amarie… you don't want this… you don't feel that way about me…"

"What does it matter what I feel!" She was sobbing uncontrollably. "I'm just a thing, aren't I? An object for male pleasure!"

Erik stood up, turning away from her. Amarie instantly regretted the words that had just come out of her mouth. She didn't even want to think about the damage that this statement inflicted. Erik had his back to her. Why wouldn't he face her! He said nothing for a very long time.

Finally he spoke. "Amarie… why did I taste blood on your lips?"

Amarie raised her hand to her lips… her split lip! It was still bleeding!

"Oh… Erik…"

She could see his whole body going rigid. His hands were clenched into tight fists. She wished he would turn to her, so she could see the expression on his face… perhaps understand what he was thinking…

"Where… where else are you hurt?"

"I… I have a black eye… and my cheek is bruised…"

"But… there's more, isn't there, Amarie?" He finally turned to her, and she gasped. Erik was fighting to keep his face from twisting in rage, but his green eyes betrayed a murderous flare, heavily laced with hatred. "You called yourself a thing. What happened that made you believe that? What makes you think you're so unworthy of love?"

Amarie rushed forward, threw her arms around his waist, buried her face into his chest and sobbed. He gently put his arms around her, holding her while the sobs wracked her little body. "Shh…" he whispered, stroking her back. "It's alright. I'm here."

"Erik," she cried into his chest. "Th-th-th-they… they…"

"They took you…" Erik finished for her, turning from her once again. He turned and faced the wall. In a sudden, violent rage, he slammed both fists against it, screaming a mixture of anger, pain, grief, and guilt. Amarie put a hand on his shoulder. His shoulder was so tense. His whole body was tense!

He spun on her, grabbing her wrist. "Who did this to you? Who!"

"I-I-I-I… I d-don't know who th-they were!"

Erik's breathing was coming out in quick gasps. "How… how many?"

"Three…"

Erik shook his head and groaned sadly. He reached out with both hands, taking her face and pulling it against his chest. "My little angel…" he murmured into her ear. "My little angel…" He stood there cradling her against himself for a long time.

"Erik," she said, finally. "They… they were looking for you."

"Me?"

"They wanted me to tell them everything I knew about you."

Erik pulled away from her. "How much did you tell them?"

"N-nothing, Erik."

"Y-you didn't? Amarie! What did I tell you? You shouldn't have resisted! Do you know what could have happened!"

"Yes… I could have told them about you, I might have escaped with my dignity, but I would have left you with a broken promise…"

She put her arms around him again, hugging him tightly. Erik returned the embrace and silently thanked whatever angel who had been watching over Amarie for not letting anything worse happen to her.

But a part of Erik's heart remained the murderous Phantom of the Opera, and that part of him was raging to be unleashed. The Phantom would avenge Amarie's stolen innocence. This was his solemn vow…

XxXxX

Firmin and Andre met with Réale and his gang later that night.

"What did the girl tell you about the Phantom?"

"A big fat nothing!" Réale spat. "We were at her for an hour! She wouldn't give up a thing!"

"Well… perhaps she might open up if someone took a more gentle approach…" Andre glanced at Firmin. "Like you, Richard…"

"That'll be difficult," Réale snorted. "She's dead!"

"What!" Firmin bellowed. "No! I told you to just scare her! No one else was supposed to die on his account!" He stalked away from the men, stopping a few feet away. "And," he said, running a hand through his hair, "she was our only lead!"

"Perhaps not," Andre murmured, picking up a newspaper. "Look at this: La Soleil Rogue proudly announces their upcoming performance of Don Juan Triumphant… and look… they're boasting of a blind star…"

"Blind?" Firmin repeated, putting two and two together. "So… our Phantom has decided to star in his own opera again! Very well." He turned to Réale. "You and your men will be there and be ready. And this time… only one man dies!"

XxXxX

Oh no! Scary!

Poor Amarie... We all feel sorry for her, I'm sure...

Alright, maybe that kissing scene was a little disturbing... We do have a gaping age difference here... But I think it ended OK!

Please review and let me know what you think.