New chapter. Hope you guys enjoy it... give me reviews and/or constructive criticism, pretty please.

Disclaimer: You know what I'm going to say, so I won't bother.

Chapter 1

The unpacking was left mostly up to me and Paula, since my father had begun his new job pretty much from the moment we set foot in Rome. And obviously little Joseph wasn't capable of lending us his assistance. As a result, my room still contained a few boxes (although most of them were empty by now), and the house in general was little better than a rubbish tip, with toys, clothing and empty boxes scattered around all the rooms.

Any time when I wasn't unpacking I ventured out into the city. At first Paula, Joseph and I would go together, in case we got lost (which we did on one occasion). We went around the markets, which sold everything from food to tacky-looking souvenirs and even ventured into the Ancient Roman ruins and visited some of the famous sites, including St. Peter's Cathedral. In the beaming sun, the glaring, white marble made my eyes and head hurt and it was always a relief to go back to the cool, air-conditioned house.

In spite of myself, I began to feel quite comfortable there.

One Saturday, a week or so after our arrival, my father was invited to a very important reception dinner, partly to welcome his arrival to the orchestra. Obviously, Paula was invited to go with him but she couldn't exactly take Joseph along with her... and the consequence was, I was asked to play baby-sitter.

Not that this bothered me too much. It wasn't as if I had anything better to do... or people to go out with for the night. I wasn't much of a party animal anyway, and rather enjoyed just sitting quietly at home with a good book or, in this case "Italian for Dummies". I was stuck here, so I guessed I might as well get started on learning the language properly, and since my dad had so thoughtfully bought me the book (I still remembered his teasing smile when he handed it to me), it seemed a pity to waste it. So I was currently sitting at my desk, in the swivel chair, reading through a conversation about ordering pizza. I had a pair of headphones on, playing soft piano music. It was quiet enough for me to hear background noises, in case Joseph started crying. He'd been quiet as a mouse so far.

An unexpected sound interrupted the peace. It was the front door. Frowning, I lifted the headphones from my ears and stood up. I could hear the sound of keys locking the door again. I glanced at my watch. My father and Paula weren't due back for at least another two hours... so my first assumption was that they'd come home early. I stepped out of my room and walked up to the railings at the top of the stairs.

"You're back early," I said as I leaned over to look down into the hallway.

I froze.

It was not the faces of my father and step-mother that were turned up to me. Instead, it was only one person who stood in the hallway, and it wasn't even a face that jerked upwards at the sound of my voice. It was a blank-white mask that covered the entire face of the person, except for their eyes and mouth, which was slightly open, as if in surprise. I suspected that our expressions would have mirrored each other in that instant. He (I assumed it was a man) stood tall and straight, an imposing figure in black who did not belong in the bright comfort of the house.

My first impulse was to scream at the intruder, in fear or perhaps to tell him to get out. But before I could even make a sound he was moving, and not backwards and out of the house as I might have expected, or even up the stairs towards me. Instead, he moved quickly down the hallway, deeper into the house. I lost sight of him as he passed beneath me, and at that point I reacted. Looking around me, I ran down the stairs, thinking that I had to somehow get this man out of the house, safely away from me and Joseph. As I reached the ground level, I picked up the cordless phone on the hall table, along with an empty china vase that, I hoped, would prove an effective enough weapon.

Stepping cautiously down the hallway, I noticed instantly that the door to the basement was ajar. It seemed stupid of the intruder to head for the one place where I could corner him, so, quietly as possible, I opened the door and made my way down the steps, holding the vase as steadily as I could. As I went I began punching in a number on the phone. I had no idea what number you called in an emergency here, but dialled 999 anyway, reasoning that at this point anything was worth a try.

When I felt my bare feet on the cold stone of the basement floor, I reached up the darkness and eventually felt the cord of the light against my fingers. I tugged at it, and the single bulb emitted its dim glow around me. I returned the phone to me ear, and heard, to my dismay, the sound of an Italian woman at the other end. And, even worse, it seemed from her droning manner of speaking that it was an automated voice. Certainly not something I could rely on. Stepping towards the centre of the room, I tried to make out any shape in the darkness still present in the corners of the room, but there were none. I kept the phone pressed to my ear, hoping that just maybe the voice would start speaking English.

Suddenly, something caught my eye. Frowning, I stepped towards the far corner of the basement where, curiously, a part of the wall appeared to be slightly askew, as if it had been partially rotated on an axis. In confusion, I lowered the phone and the vase to my side.

Behind me, the light went out, and the sudden descent into pitch darkness was followed by the tinkling of glass on stone. I didn't even have time to turn around before both phone and vase were knocked from my hands, and I was engulfed in a pair of unstoppably powerful arms that pinned both of mine to my sides. I opened my mouth to scream, in the vain hope that I would be heard, but a hand, covered by a leather glove, clamped roughly over it. The only sound was the breaking of the vase as it hit the floor by my feet.

In the darkness I could see nothing as my captor dragged me forward. There was a sound... the scraping of stone against stone, and then my whole body, clad in nothing but sweatpants and a little white vest-top, was enveloped in an icy cold breeze. I shivered and tried to back away, but only succeeded in pressing myself against the man who held me in that merciless grip.

My captor strode on into that coldness, and I found myself being half-dragged, half-carried with him. I tried to struggle, but his grip on me only tightened painfully, until I could feel the bruising rise on my flesh. He actually did lift me bodily at some point, carrying down what felt like a long flight of stone steps. When we reached the bottom I was once again set on my feet and was dragged onward. In desperation I tried to make out our surroundings, but all I could make out was that the corridor was stone, and the only reason I knew this was because I kept scraping my arms on the walls, and stubbing my toes on the uneven ground. I could feel a warm wetness dripping down left arm, which I had bumped painfully as we went around a corner. But I refused to cry out, or even allow my tears to fall.

Finally, I saw light up ahead. Dim, flickering light, but still welcomed light. We moved towards it, and eventually emerged into a circular chamber, lit by torches. It was as if we had descended into some kind of medieval dungeon. All that was missing was the the prisoners in chains hanging from the stone walls.

I was flung against one wall, jarring my shoulder and causing all my other sore limbs further pain. As I slid to the ground, I clasped my elbow, gritting my teeth against the stinging pain and trying to stop the flow of blood that dripped on the dusty floor. When I looked up, the man who had dragged me down here was pacing up and down the chamber with all the ferocity of a wild animal in a cage. His whole body radiated a kind of angry power, that I knew would be dangerous to mess with. I knew I had no hope of overpowering him... when he dragged me down here his strength had been frightening, in spite of his lean frame.

Looking around, I noticed that there were several other openings in the chamber, leading into dark corridors and felt a tiny surge of hope that I might be able to escape down one of them. Even if I got lost, at least I wouldn't be the prisoner of this man. Besides, the moment I tried to rise to my feet, he turned on me, the flickering light from the torches casting eerie shadows across the mask, giving it an almost skull-like appearance. I froze when I looked down and saw a knife clutched in one gloved hand. The glinting blade was pointed directly at me.

In a warning tone, the man said something to me in Italian that I could not understand. In spite of the incredibly menacing tone he used, I couldn't help noticing the rich sound of his voice, the effortless beauty with which he spoke. The Italian accent only added to the sensual nature of the sound he produced. But it still sounded threatening enough to make me crouch back against the wall, wary of making the slightest movement in case I found that blade pressed against my throat.

Once he saw that I was suitably intimidated, the man went back to pacing. He was talking angrily to himself, but in such a low voice I couldn't even distinguish the words. Feeling my breath coming in ragged gasps, I resigned myself to waiting, either for him to make up his mind about what to do with me, or for an opportunity to escape.

Unfortunately, the former happened first.

He turned on me suddenly and addressed me in Italian again. When I only frowned at him in confusion, he took a step closer, raising the knife menacingly, and repeated himself in a low voice. In desperation, I resorted to one of the few phrases I knew.

"Parla inglese?"

For a moment there was silence, and then, to my surprise and relief, the knife was lowered a fraction.

"So, you're English, are you?"

I looked up at him in astonishment. As relieved as I was that he spoke English, I would never have expected him to sound so... fluent. In fact, I was tempted to believe he was English himself but for an incredibly subtle accent that convinced me otherwise. And when he spoke in my own language, the beauty of his voice was even clearer to me, almost to the point where it frightened me, although that might just have been the current situation I found myself in.

Eventually I nodded in reply, swallowing the bile collecting in my throat.

"And perhaps you would like to explain what exactly you were doing in that house?"

My confusion intensified. "Well... it's my house," I said. "My family's house, anyway."

He laughed coldly. "'Your house'?" I nodded again. He uttered a loud curse and began pacing the room again, if possible with even angrier steps than before. I watched him, and listened in astonishment as he spoke to himself, this time in English.

"... I gave strict instructions... that untrustworthy bastard... mon dieu..."

'Mon dieu'? Wasn't that...

"You're French?" I asked before I could stop myself.

He stopped his pacing to give me a cold stare from behind the mask. In the depths of his eyes I could see the flicker of the fire lending them an almost supernatural appearance. I averted my gaze, realising this wasn't the best time for discussions about nationality. After a few seconds, he began pacing again, still talking quietly to himself. I listened intently to his words, now that I could understand them. From what I could gather, he had given instructions that no house was to be sold without his express permission. Supposedly he had some kind of say in the matter, and I couldn't help wondering if this was the 'eccentric' architect that Mr Versi had mentioned when we first arrived. It would certainly explain a lot.

"Now..." he said, in a clearer voice that was plainly intended for me to hear. "I have the problem of what to do with you."

I felt my heart do an unhealthy little jump. The tone of his voice was... wrong.

When I didn't respond, he went on speaking. He had stopped pacing and was now staring at me, eerily calm and collected. "The options I have... none of them seem particularly appropriate. I could keep you down here... but the idea of playing gaoler to a teenage girl is not particularly appealing. I could," and here he began to play thoughtfully with the blade in his hands, "dispose of you here and now... but that would be such an inconvenience..."

I swallowed audibly. Anyone who referred to the 'disposal' of another person as a mere inconvenience couldn't be all there. The word 'eccentric' was starting to sound a little too mild to describe this man.

"You could just let me go," I suggested in as reasonable a voice as I could manage.

He laughed, loudly and genuinely... as if I had just told the funniest joke in the world. My heart sank even further.

"Well... that is not really a viable option either. How can I guarantee that you will keep your mouth closed about what has happened here?"

"I could give you my word," I said, though without much conviction.

There was no laugh this time. He only stared at me, and it was as if the temperature in that little chamber had suddenly dropped about ten degrees. "Your word means nothing to me." His voice was so icy it made me shiver and I had to look away from him again. I was beginning to despair of what would become of me in this hell-hole. Was I going to be killed and left to rot? Would I disappear off the face of the earth, leaving behind my family, who would never know what had happened to me? I hated to think of the pain it would cause my father... who had been devastated when my mother had died, almost to the point of suicide.

"Then... what are you going to do with me?" I asked, and I could hear the despair in every single word. Perhaps my captor heard it too, because he tilted his head to one side, eyeing me curiously. The mask obscured his expression from me almost completely, and I didn't dare hope he might be looking at me pityingly. As I watched, he folded his arms carefully across his chest, the hand holding the knife raised up so that the glittering blade rested against his bottom lip.

"Perhaps," he said quietly, "there is a way... to ensure you will not reveal anything."

A little candle of hope lit up inside of me. "There is?"

He nodded, and at the same time a little smile began to play across his exposed mouth. But rather than giving me comfort, the expression made me tremble inwardly.

"It's amazing what people will do... or not do, when given the proper incentive."

Already I could see what he was implying. The malicious gleam in his eyes was more than enough, but also, as he was speaking, he had begun to twist and turn the knife in his gloved fingers once again, as if he ached to stick it in something... or someone. I felt a sick feeling in my stomach begin to grow rapidly as I imagined that knife gliding smoothly across my throat...

"I think you understand my meaning. Don't you."

It wasn't a real question, and I nodded without even having to consider. The situation was plain as could be: if I talked I was dead. And right now I didn't doubt that this man was perfectly capable of doing such a thing. I could feel tears pricking at my eyes and tried desperately to hold them back. My head was lowered to the ground in a gesture of defeat, since I knew there was no other way to get out of this situation other than agreeing to go along with this man's demands.

Abruptly, a found myself taken by the arm and pulled to my feet. I felt weak and numb all over from what was happening, so I almost fell back down to the ground instantly. But I collected myself together and followed behind the masked man, who kept a tight grip on my arm as he pulled me down one of the dark corridors, presumably the one that would take us back up to the basement of our house. My mind was still trying to adjust to what exactly was happening. It didn't seem real... it was impossible that I was being dragged around underneath the city of Rome, in what looked like some ancient, undiscovered catacombs, by a masked man who was threatening to kill me. The whole thing was too surreal.

I fell behind a little too far, and the grip on my arm tightened as I was pulled a little more roughly forward.

"Keep up," he told me bluntly. I obeyed like a mindless zombie. Anything to get out of this pitch blackness.

Eventually I was pulled up some stairs, which comforted me only because it meant we were close to our destination. I had to bend down slightly to feel for each step as he ascended, trying unsuccessfully not to catch my already damaged toes on the stone. By contrast, the man who led me seemed none the worse for moving about in the dark. He didn't even seemed to care that I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, and took the stairs swiftly, pulling me along behind him.

When we arrived at the top, I heard once again the scraping of stone against stone. Beyond the opening I saw a faint light where the basement door had been left open. I was pushed unceremoniously in its direction.

"Good bye," said the soft voice behind me. "And don't forget..."

The voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken threat hanging in the air. I felt a breeze of cold air against my back and heard the stone moving back into position behind me. After a few seconds of silence, I finally allowed my trembling to overtake me, and I bent down on my knees, fighting to keep myself from being sick. Two tears escaped and dripped down my face, but I didn't allow myself to sob. Instead I drew a shuddering breath and began pushing myself to my feet. As I did, I felt my fingers brush against a piece of broken china.

Miserably, I reached into the darkness and tried to pick up the shattered pieces.

Erik's first appearance. He's a little dark and not very nice at the moment, but that's the way it goes (for now). Hope you enjoyed.