Author's Note: Thank you to my reviewers! I can't say how much your reviews meant to me. I hope this chapter soothes your need for angst. And there is plenty more where this came from.

I outlined all of TAC a couple days ago and it's going to be long. I'm planning on separating it into three parts, of which we are on the first of. And yes, I am planning to have both RC and EC.

This chapter is dedicated to Paula for being awesome and giving me Hugh clips!

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I was jolted from my musings when I realized the water had grown cold. I quickly washed my hair, and got out.

Wrapping my hair up in one towel, and my body with another, I went to my closet and quickly got dressed in a pair of jeans, a cotton shirt, and a white hoodie that I found. It wasn't a costume that would impress anyone, but the familiarity of the outfit made me a bit more comfortable with my surroundings. By this point I wasn't about to turn down any amount of comfort, small as it was.

I went to the bathroom to find a brush and a blow dryer to fix my hair with, and discovered that there was no mirror in the apartment. I couldn't help but think this was strange. Shrugging mentally, I fixed my hair as best as I could.

I went to the door, thinking to wander about the house for a bit, and discovered it was locked. Slightly panicked, I pounded on the door as hard as I could, waiting for Erik to come and let me out. He never came.

Upon further inspection I found a note situated on my bed, written in red ink.

My Dear Christine,

You need not concern yourself as to your fate. You have no better or more respectful friend in the world than myself. You are alone at present, in this home which is yours. I have gone shopping to fetch you all the things you may need.

As I finished reading the letter, my hands were shaking so bad that I dropped the piece of paper, hardly heeding as it fluttered to the floor. I knelt down and steadied myself against the bed. All the things you may need. I retrieved the letter from the ground and read it again, hoping I had misread. Although I had thought I was resigned to staying with him, the reality of it had just now set in.

I was to live in an underground home with a corpse.

He wouldn't let me go. He might as well have said it in the letter. All the things you may need. If I was to need things, I would be staying here. The thought terrified me. I could feel my fear rising, bordering on hysterics even now. I was a prisoner. And the jailer had the face of the devil himself.

What about my job? How was I to keep that when I didn't show up for work? That job was the only thing that had kept me afloat for the past three years.

And my friends! What would they think of my disappearance? Meg would brood herself into hysterics, wondering where I was. And Robert would worry himself ragged.

Even as hysterical tears began to run down my face, a part of me relaxed. He wouldn't go through all of this trouble if he planned to simply rape me. The letter had said I have no more respectful friend in the world. Surely he had put that in to ease my fears.

I got up again, to pound on the door. When several minutes of pounding, shouting profanities, and sobbing led to no result I started to run frantically about my room, searching for an escape route that simply wasn't there.

Some part of me couldn't help but jeer at my naïveté. Poor, stupid Christine. Believing in the Angel of Music at age twenty one, and she had suffered the consequences for her ridiculous innocence. How could I have ever been so stupid?

As I thought of my stupidity I started to laugh. It started out as a giggle in between tears. But soon it turned into an all-out laugh, while I was crying at the same time.

About an hour later, I was curled up on the floor near the bed, still sobbing. I heard three taps on the door, and in walked Erik.

The first thing I noticed was that he had discarded his cloak from last night. Instead he wore a black dress shirt, paired with black slacks. He had also discarded the leather gloves from last night. His fingers were unusually long and bony, his knuckles standing out plainly. He walked over to the bed, where he started to arrange the packages at a leisurely pace.

Noticing the open door, I stood up and tried to make a run for it. He caught me before I had gone three steps, with an arm around my waist.

I jumped back away from him immediately. His hands were cold. And not a normal cold, where you know that the person in question has been out in the snow for too long. His hands were as cold as death.

Erik moaned, "Oh, forgive me!"

I just stared at him, watching his posture. I could literally see him turn from the warm person who claimed he loved me, into a colder, more civilized persona. The mask on his face wasn't the only one that he wore.

There was a pause for a few moments, both of us trying to collect ourselves. Neither of us spoke; the only sound was that of our breathing. We only watched each other, trying to figure out who would make the next move.

Erik finally spoke, as he briskly shut the door. "My dear, you really should wash up. It is," he paused to look at his left wrist, where I'm assuming there was a watch, "two o'clock in the afternoon."

At his words I realized what a sight I must be, after about an hour of crying. Suddenly I was transported back in time, to the first foster home I had ever been to.

I had been crying in my room, the pain of my father's death was so fresh that it cut me like a knife, even three months later. My foster-mother, Mrs. Valerius, walked in. With a concerned expression she sat on the edge of my bed. "Christine, I'm going to give you some advice. I hope you remember this for as long as you live, for I'm only going to say it once.

"Don't let other people see your pain. They'll only see it as weakness, and try to take advantage of it. Be strong, Little One, be strong."

My tears slowed to a trickle, then stopped completely. This frame of mind had carried me through eleven years of my life. I doubted that it was going to fail me now.

Erik spoke again, once I had regained my lost composure. "If it would so please you, I would be honored if you would dine with me after you wash up."

There was no command in Erik's voice. I could refuse, should I wish to. This is exactly why I accepted; I appreciated that he gave me a choice.

"I would love to dine with you," I said, with as genuine of a smile as I could muster at the moment.

I was glad that I could see his lips under his mask, for they turned up in one of the most radiant smiles I had ever witnessed. His eyes became aglow with happiness, and for that small moment in time I felt as though I would give anything to keep him smiling like that, for just one moment more.

But the moment faded, as all moments must. Telling me that he would come to collect me in half an hour, he left me in the room, alone again.

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Monj: I'm glad you like my Christine! You might get to like her less and less though. Though she's smart, she's stubborn as a mule.

Ahomelesspirate: Do you have a nifty nickname that I could call you? Or could I make one up for you? Anywhoo, Christine has gone through her whole life being rational. But once her mask starts to crack, it falls apart. Mrs. Valerius is partly to blame for this, as she was the one who first told Christine she needed a mask in today's society. But we can't blame her, as she was trying to prevent Christine from being hurt. I put the first crack in her mask in this chapter. And don't worry; we'll see plenty of Mrs. Valerius before the end of the story.

Hari: I like nick names. It makes it see more personal, like I really know you. Or at least in my opinion it is. Glad you liked the chapter!