I was so angry, so furious with myself. God, what had I been doing here? All this time! Without one word of wanting out, without saying that he had no right to keep me here! Looking back on my actions now, I couldn't even fathom them. I'd gotten a letter to Raoul, and that was pretty much all. I'd taken a note from him, as well. But I hadn't taken advantage of any of the opportunities I'd had to just run from him in the street, screaming for help. I'd known enough French, that hadn't been the problem.

Where had I gone wrong? I balled up my fist and slammed it into the pounded pillow.

I'd gone wrong, I cursed myself, because I had started to pity that…that…bastard! Because I'd started to care about him! Because I'd believed him when he said that he loved me…because I started to think…because I had thought…

My mind turned around and around on itself like a cornered animal. I cried out and started to cry afresh. Oh, God, it was so hopeless!

Like Persephone imprisoned in hell, I'd had my chance to escape. Unfortunately, like that doomed girl, I'd grown hungry. Not for food, but for companionship and love in a hostile environment, and I'd taken it from my captor, no matter that he had denied me what I craved in the first place. What a helpless idiot!

Now, I was alone. So what if Raoul were looking for me? How could he ever find me, especially if Erik had his way and we did leave Paris? Hopeless, hopeless.

I was frustrated enough that I stuffed a pillow in my mouth so that I could scream. But I'd screamed so much before that my throat was cracked and parched, and I could barely get the sound out.

Eventually though, I stopped screaming, kicking, and crying. I felt purged and exhausted…and filthy.

Stepping into the bathroom, I ran a wet washcloth over my face, letting the cool water soak into my eyelids. I sighed, filling a glass and drinking deep. It wasn't enough to actually heal my parched throat, but it was a start.

I sat myself down firmly on the bed and tried to think. There were so many desperate resolutions and half-formed plans in my head that trying to think of them all at once was actually giving me a migraine.

No matter what I thought, what I felt about Erik…I had to get away from him. If I didn't, and soon, then I would be in even deeper trouble. Somehow, he could take all of my resolutions and make me forget about them, with the merest twitch of his smile or a touch of his finger on the piano. No, it wasn't just his music. It was his presence, his being, that so entranced me.

I shook my head. This was not the way to think! But I had to, before I made the wrong decision. I wasn't quite as stupid as I'd been telling myself. If all I wanted to do was make a fast decision, then I really could screw myself over later. My mind right now was screaming for safety. It was telling me to get out, as soon as possible. And it was probably right.

Still, my heart…my heart was sending me a very different message. Erik was alone…so alone. He thought that I could save him, that I could love him. And, if I did leave him, what would that do to him? I cursed myself for it, but I had no desire to see him hurt, I had no wish to see him pay for what he had done to me.

I knew, deep down, that if I left, it would wound him deeply, perhaps even irrevocably. And yet, my mind said, isn't that what he deserves? He stole you, let your father die alone, committed all these crimes against you…

But he has done so much for me, too! The book, the advice, the music…all of these show a great and generous heart beneath the exterior of darkness! I can help him, I can save him…

I knew that it was that very potential that made me so afraid. Not that I could hurt him, but that I might be the one thing that stood between his soul and further darkness. I was seventeen years old; surely that job couldn't fall to me? Was I ready to become a sacrifice, live the rest of my life with those eyes, that voice? Was I ready to risk all that I was on the off chance that I could save a very compelling man?

I knew I could. I knew that I wanted to. But I knew I couldn't do it, at all, without knowing what lay beneath the mask.

Now was the time.

Servants had been in and out of my room all day, packing my clothes. I sat on the bed, aimlessly flipping through the pages of the complete fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. Finally, activity died down, and the whole house settled under the shadow of brooding anticipation.

Despite the bright sunlight of a beautiful afternoon, I was chilled and frightened. How would he react, when I pulled it from his face? What would he say and do?

I thought and planned a thousand different ways to say it. I thought and imagined a hundred thousand ways he could respond to it. Most of them made me shudder. I felt my palms grow sweaty. Soon, soon, he would come for me soon.

The click of the key in the lock made me want to be sick. I climbed anxiously from the bed and stood, with the end bench between me and the door. I rubbed my hand on my jeans, hoping that they would behave and stop shaking so much. No luck.

He looked terrifying. Not that his aspect had changed much from the stiff-lipped solemnity of yesterday, but his manner had grown more imposing, more frightening. I knew both sides of him, but I was still terrified.

There were niggling doubts in my head. Could I spend the rest of my life with this man and his dark, unpredictable temper?

We stood at odds, for what seemed to be hours. I wanted to speak…I really did. But his manner…was just so cold. He seemed to be a different person than the one I had come to know these past few days, when our relationship seemed to have so much promise, save for the fact that it was constructed on a federal crime.

"I hope you are ready," he said firmly, not meeting my eyes, "you may take any books that you wish with you."

"Erik," I swallowed, nearly choking on my tongue, "do you love me?"

That…was not the question I'd intended to ask. It was too late to take it back now though. I swallowed again and forced myself onward. When he did not answer, but looked away from my eyes, I asked again.

"Erik…do you love me?" I cried. "I want to know! I'm this close," I measured with my forefinger and thumb, "to making the biggest decision of my life, and I want to know the truth. Swear to me, say it to my face!"

He was silent. I was about to burst into tears, but I controlled them and ran forward, grasping his hands with my own, hardly noticing that they trembled in my grasp. When he refused to meet my gaze, I lifted one hand to the side of his face, feeling the contrast of smooth skin and leather-like mask.

Suddenly, as a wave of anger gripped me, I slipped my thumb underneath the edge of his mask and yanked it upwards. It came off easily enough in my hands, for I had snapped the string that lay concealed under his hair. The sight that met my eyes…well…

His skin looked like it had actually withered on the bone. It was as yellow as a sheet of aged parchment, with blue veins criss-crossing it like errant dabbles of ink. His eyes, always deeply shadowed by his overhanging brows, looked, without the light contrast of the mask, to be sunk in like a corpse's empty stare. I did not flinch backwards, but I was unable to stop the gasp from coming from my mouth.

It was the gasp that actually undid him.

He cried aloud, in shock, and the sound of it went straight to my heart. I reached out a hand to pacify him, but he swung out at me, unseeing, for he had buried his face in one of his hands. His strong blow made contact with my wrist and knocked it against the bedpost. I fell back, holding it to my chest, for I was sure that I'd heard something crack, and I sank to the bench at the edge of the bed from both alarm and pain.

There was no sound in the room. Everything had happened so fast that I was not entirely sure that anything had happened at all. But though he did not dare look at me, I knew that the horror of his face was resting in the palm of his beautiful hand.

I held my wrist, and listened to his groans, and realized…the image might be burned into my eyes, but it caused me nothing but a passing shock. After all the anticipation, it almost seemed like an anticlimax. But I had to act now, before he had any impression to the contrary.

He had gone to his knees beside the bed, and I crawled towards him. Sitting on my knees beside him, not sure if he was actually aware of my presence, I considered the best thing to say.

"Erik," I said firmly.

He did not, or could not, look up.

"Erik," I repeated, "look at me."

The firm tone of my voice, which worked so often with children, also worked with him. His hand actually fell away from his face and he brought his eyes up to meet mine for the first time during our interview. I smiled at him, a real, genuine smile that he regarded with more wonder than relief. I put one hand to the painfully dry skin of his face, and leaned in close.

"It doesn't matter," I whispered. "It doesn't matter at all."

He stared at me, hands completely away from his face, as if he couldn't actually understand what I had just said to him. But the smile on my face could only convince him more. And I made sure that my eyes never left his.

"You…you gasped…" he murmured, eyes drifting from mine again.

I sat back on my heels in a huff. "Well, it might not matter to me, but you will forgive me if I say it was bloody shocking all the same!"

His face snapped back towards mine, and I laughed then, putting my hands on his shoulders and bringing his mouth up to mine. After an earth-shattering kiss, we broke apart, on both sides wondering and amazed. I know that I was amazed because I was never one to initiate intimate physical contact. And I couldn't say was astounded him, but I think it had something to do with my reactions.

"Erik," I murmured, "you should have told me." I wanted him to know that I could have faced him at any time, on equal ground, if only he had let me know.

He shook his head fervently. "How could I?" his voice was ragged and fear-stricken. "You would have been repulsed…disgusted…"

"You should have let me be the judge of that." I said, gently, caressing the side of his face once again.

He finally cracked a weak smile. "I suppose," he said thickly, almost as though speaking through tears, "I did not trust you enough…to not be afraid."

"Well," I smiled, feeling the return of my cynical humor, "I would have been afraid regardless. You did kidnap me, remember."

He lowered his head, bowing to me in repentance. I heaved a dramatic sigh.

"But," I continued magnanimously, "I guess that doesn't matter anymore. I'm truly caught. I think…" all of a sudden, I was terribly shy, "I think I'm in love with you."

There. It was awkward and shy and uncertain, but at least it was out there. And, like most of the things I had said today, I'd not known it to be true except for the moment before I'd said it.

Now it was I who couldn't meet his eyes. There was a long silence, and then…

"Do you really mean that?"

The question was so quiet, I might not have heard it had I not been focusing my whole being on it. With my head down, I nodded.

A strong hand hooked under my chin and brought my eyes up to a piercing green gaze. Right there, next to the bed, with the corner post sticking in my back, we kissed as if the only way we could stay alive was to be as close to each other as possible. And, for the longest time after, I actually thought that maybe it was.

I might have made it over the hardest hurdle by making this final plunge. But I knew that there were two loose ends that I just had to tie up before I began to start over with Erik. I told him that right after we broke for air.

"I need to talk to Meg and Raoul." I said, stroking his soft chestnut hair. "Meg is probably worried about me, back home, and Raoul…I could never forgive myself if I just left without saying goodbye to him."

I felt him stiffen. Immediately, I was afraid again, without knowing why. No, damn straight I knew why. What had he done to him?

I determined not to sound angry when I asked, but it needed to be said. "Do you know where they are?"

It was a neutral enough question, and I certainly expected an answer. What I received was the following: "Christine, do you trust me?"

Now, this was a double-edged sword. I could say 'yes', but then that would be selling myself short on any explanation that I could hope to get. If I said 'no', then I could say farewell to all the hopes of a future together with him. I wrestled with this while looking into his earnest, yet…frightened…eyes, and finally decided to err on the side of caution.

"Erik, I trust you now. But I need to know the truth." I stared into his eyes as earnestly as I could. "We cannot begin to live together on a foundation of lies."

He sighed, and for a long, terrible moment, I thought that he was actually not going to answer me. Eventually, however, he gave in. Sighing deeply, he took my hands in his, and again, I felt that tremor, almost as if he were horrified at the idea of never feeling them again.

"Speaking truthfully, Christine," he looked right at me when he spoke, a quality I found beautiful, "I cannot tell you about de Chagny. Meg, I know, is perfectly well."

I had been expecting more, and, reluctant as I was to press questions, I simply had to. "Why," my voice was shaking, "why don't you know if Raoul's all right?"

"I…I attacked him, Christine," my heart almost stopped in my chest, "I was afraid," he rushed on, "so afraid to lose you to him!" He brought my hands up to his lips, and kissed them again and again, so much so that I actually started to be afraid of his violence.

"Can we find out," I said, keeping my voice confidently level, "if he is all right?"

He stilled. "Nadir would know."

I was confused. "Nadir?"

Erik waved aside any questions I had, looking suddenly distracted. "One of my employees. He would know…"

Suddenly, Erik pulled me to my feet, taking the mask from where it had fallen on the edge of the bed and replacing it on his face, holding it there for there was no longer a string to attach it. Then, he turned to me, his manner distracted and businesslike.

"Christine, would you mind very much waiting here? I must find out where he has gone. He will know of de Chagny's condition, and your friend Meg is also almost certainly to be with him." He turned hurriedly towards the door and seemed likely to forget all about me. But then, gentleman that he was, he turned back and smiled at me, the expression partially masked by the hand that held his mask in place.

"I will return soon, my love."

When he was gone, my entire being thrilled with those two wonderful syllables. For the first time, I realized what a magnificent thing it was to love and to be loved in return.

How I had dozed off didn't matter. That the emotional turmoil in my mind hadn't been enough to keep me awake was also not the issue. What did matter was that he had taken advantage of my sleeping state and was using an age-old technique to wake me up.

And if he kissed me like that again, I might not actually open my eyes. I'd just let my fairy-tale prince keep trying for all eternity…

But eventually, his efforts brought me to myself—all right, so he resorted to tickling—and I opened my eyes.

"I have found him, Christine," he murmured, his mouth partially buried by my hair, "he actually beat us to Tehran, clever man. But then, he always did serve me well. I suppose he serves himself well, too."

I moved my mouth over to his cheek and pressed a firm kiss there. "I'm glad."

I had meant to say more, but his lips moved over mine, and I couldn't force myself to continue. What frightened me in his touch was the sense I had of his being afraid. I didn't know what to make of that. I had told him that I was his…in entirety. Could he not believe me after all? Or maybe, he suspected that what I would find out soon would make me hate him. It frightened me that I could not deny that suspicion. The future was still unbelievably uncertain, and I wasn't quite sure that I wanted to find out.

But duty drove me forward. I had to speak to Meg. And Raoul…I had to tell him…I just had to. I grimaced mentally about how it would sound…

"Hey, Raoul! Ha, ha, I know you think that I had a thing for you, but it turns out I really didn't and, oh yeah! I'm going to date the guy who murdered your brother!"

I sighed, breaking away from Erik's kiss and looking at him with eyes that felt like expressing everything in that one moment.

"When do we leave?"

He sighed, taking my face in his hands and studying me intently. "As soon as you want to." There seemed to be a quiet resignation in his tone, and it made me instinctively reach out to him.

I wanted to reassure him. "I'll just say goodbye," I promised, gently holding his face in my hands, "and then…it'll all be over."

The slight shake of his head didn't help the twisting feeling in my stomach.

Tehran was loud, busy, and dirty. I really didn't like it. But at least I was able to watch it from the comparable safety of a taxicab as we belted down little dirty alleys filled with the dregs of humanity. I closed my eyes and leaned my head on Erik's shoulder, breathing in his comforting smell, thinking of the ordeal that I still had coming to me. I wondered if I would be able to look into both pairs of eyes and keep going.

Erik's arm came around me, strengthening and calming me. There were so many reasons to be afraid of him, but at the same time I just couldn't hold any of those reasons against him. The hardships of his life—for there must have been many—justified quite a bit in my eyes. And I wanted so badly to believe that he would change for me. If he loved me, then there would be no need for death in his life anymore.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, but really, according to my watch, was only twenty minutes, we pulled up to the front of a very tidy house somewhere in a suburb of the roiling city.

My legs almost gave way under me when I stepped out of the car; they had been cramped so long that a natural standing position was almost out of my power.

The house seemed ominously forbidding, but I knew that was just because I was dreading the confrontation that lay within. Erik had to help me up the stairs, and just before he knocked on the door, I gripped his hand so tightly that I thought I was going to break something. My heart pounded wilding, my face turning pale and all instincts inside of me just telling me to run.

But I couldn't. How terrible would that be?

The door swung open, pushed by the hand of…a servant. I nearly fainted as we were shown into a small side parlor, there to await the arrival of the master of the house. Erik gave our names, and we both sat down in the airless little room. Great. Now I was going to start to sweat like a pig.

From upstairs, I heard a muffled shriek. Two seconds later, footsteps barreled down the stairs, and Meg was in the room, hanging on to my neck with all the strength in her deceptively wiry little arms.

"My God…" she cried, burying her face in my shoulder, "my God, Christine!"

I clung to her as hard as I could, and for a moment, nothing else mattered but staying that way. I didn't realize how much I had missed her.

And then her head was up, and she was staring at Erik with undisguised animosity.

"What the fuck," she said slowly, "is he doing here?"