Christine stared soul-lessly ahead, numbing aware that her body was wracking back and forth with a man's shaft chaffing in and out of her unloving passage. She had fought at first, as usual, but by now, she had unlocked the tricks of the trade- if a trade was what it was to be called. Fight in the beginning, get them, excited, then let them have their way and don't get in the way. Don't be submitting from start to finish. That brought more beatings to attempting to rile you up. But don't fight the entire time either- it distracts them and then it takes longer. Unfortunately, this knowledge had raised her in the favor of the men a few, long, agonizing weeks. Raoul.

In the past few days she had found that if she melted into daydreams of Raoul making love to her, rather then whoever the brute upon her was, it numbed the pain slightly. If things held out too long for her to continue envisioning such an act, she would fade into pleasant memories of her happy, stress free days with Raoul. A thin memory of the day she had first seen Raoul after so many years in the opera flitted into her mind. She thought of how he had greeted her in her room and hugged her ad told her how well she had done. Oh how she did miss singing! She had hoped to start after returning to Raoul some day but…

Returned to Raoul from Erik… Erik… and little Margareite. She had found herself missing the girl desperately, just as much as she missed Erik. She hated the fact that she found Erik and Raoul rivaling for whom her heart ached. She did not love Erik as she loved Raoul. It was a different love. One she did not understand. A love that-

The man grasped her by a fistful of hair, disengaging himself from her uncomfortably and rising, jerking her to a stand beside him with a sharp pull on her hair. Her knees quaked, and threatened to buckle, but she forced them to obey her mind, steeling herself for the walk back.

….Raoul…Erik…somebody….please get me out of here or let me die…let me die…

Erik, Margareite, and Raoul, unhappy group as they were managed the next few days without extreme happenings. Slight annoyances and the occasional snap occurred, but otherwise, Raoul remained distant from Erik and Margareite who all but happily ignored him but to give the man food; and even then, Erik refused to let Margareite near the man again to no protest of hers; she trusted the man as much ashes he would trust and angry serpent not to bite.

Anxious as they all were to find Christine, Erik had wrestled arguments with Raoul, who fought for the prospect of rushing in and taking Christine away. Erik had argued back, forcing Raoul to listen to his point. Who knew what kind of defenses the place had? Margareite's scars proved that they carried knives if not more, and without knowledge of the number of men there at one time, they could easily be out number and killed, Margareite taken back into service.

"Why don't you ask her then?" Raoul had bitten out, throwing his arm in Margareite's direction. Erik's eyes had flamed momentarily.

"Because she is not ready to talk about it yet, Viscount," he had snapped.

"But Christine is ready to be rescued!" the Viscount countered.

"Do not try to force things you know nothing about Viscount!" Erik had snaked out. "You've no idea the horrors she has endured. I do not blame her for not wanting to come within fifty feet of that place."

"And we do not know what horrors Christine faces!" Erik closed his eyes tightly at these words, forcing out visions of Christine's precious body being beaten viciously. Gods knew he wanted to make Margareite talk, to save Christine but logic drove above all other things; it must, lest he allow madness to once again swamp him. He could not allow that. If madness were to overcome him again, he would have no way to ensure Margareite's safety. No...No… keep the madness away…logic first.

"I will not," Erik had nearly shouted the last to words, "force her to talk. So stay your arguments or leave this place and find her yourself." Raoul had stayed silent since then, never speaking, hardly glancing at either Margareite or Erik.

Now Erik gazed upon Margareite s she composed her music stiffly, snatching warily looks at Raoul every few bars, his threatening action earlier that week had cut deeply into her. Erik doubted that there was ever going to be a way for her trust him now. Watching her with love and concern shining in his eyes, Erik debated is latest idea. There was no knowing when she would be ready to talk. HE knew she was trying; there were many time when the girl had fought to speak, but nothing would come out. It was as though her voice would literally shut down and render her a mute until she found a different subject to speak upon. But any other subject was a rarity now, so the girl remained mostly silent. So until she was ready to talk, Erik could receive no information about these men; he had to find some other way. Now he contemplated leaving and searching out information on his own. The dilemma was weather or not to take Margareite. He dare not leave her- the child feared DeChangey far too much. She would most likely permently fuse herself to his side before allowing him to leave her with the fop. But he would not leave Raoul alone in his home. Gods knew what he would possibly find there without Erik to guard him…his coffin; his old sketches and paintings of Christine…no he could not allow so much of his private life, the darker side of his mind, to be left open to Raoul's prying eyes. However taking the both of them with him would slow him down utterly. He sat back, sighing. Margareite snaked another look at Raoul, who sat dejectedly in the chair, staring into the lake. It never failed to amaze Erik that he held the Viscount in his grasp and yet did not hang the boy.

But what do with Margareite? He feared that bringing her into his little investigation could jeopardize her life and his chances of discovering any information. And Raoul…well Raoul he could send away back to his home until he had the information he needed… but then, who needed the Viscount fumbling in the way? It would be easier to leave the man waiting in his home. That was perhaps all his rich breeding was good for. But Margareite… who could he leave her with? Nadir perhaps? He had not heard from the man in ages; he was not sure his old companion still lingered in Paris. But no, even it the man did, Margareite would be uncomfortable with a man… who then…who? It would need to be a woman…one he could trust…was Madame Giry still alive? Or did her death rest upon his shoulder in the fire?

"Viscount," Erik snapped, watching Raoul jump with surprise, turning disgruntled eyes upon him. "Does Madame Giry still live?" Raoul's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yes," he answered. "Christine talked with her often." Erik looked away from him, nodding.

"Margareite," he called. The girl looked up from her music and stood, striding over to him. Her eyes were already apologizing. He shook his head. "I am not going to ask you to speak of them, do not worry Ma Chere," he assured her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He felt her relax beneath his fatherly touch. "Until you are ready to speak of them- no, no, no," the girl had tipped her head again in apology, and he turned it back up with two fingers. "I do not blame you. But until you are ready I need to see if I can discover any information outside of you. I am going to leave you with a dear woman I knew very well. She is kind and will care for you while I am gone." Margareit's eyes became frantic and she shook her head violently.

"No, Erik," her genius voice sounding her age for once. "I don't want to leave you. I want to be with you." Erik stroked her cheek lovingly, his clear blue eyes warm.

"It will only be for a short while," he said. "I promise to come back to you every night while you are staying with her, but I can not have a child once in the trade tagging along- it will arouse suspicion." The girl's eyes turned cold.

"And perhaps something else," she said in her midnight velvet tone. Erik shivered slightly. That tone never ceased to make him uncomfortable, reminding him that she could snap at any point; he knew that madness curled in the back of her mind as it did his, smaller, but it was there. He could see it when she smiled those sickening grins that were more grimaces. He looked at her with a confused look. She simply stared at him, refusing to answer any farther. He sighed.

"I promise to come to you every night, Ma Chere," he promised her again, kissing her forehead. He looked again to the Viscount who stared at them with utter confusion.

How was it that a child trusted that thing so completely? He had only known the creature as a murderer and a kidnapper; now he was a father. Or masqueraded o be. He was still at a loss of explanation of how Erik had come to care for a child such as this, but he did not ask for explanation; he doubted that he would receive an answer.

"Viscount," the thing addressed him coldly. "You are to return to your home until further notice."

"What?" Raoul objected. "No! I am going with you!"

"No," the Creature snapped back, "you are not. I do not need a young fop in my way." The two men locked eyes dangerously, anger snapping between he two. "You will stay until I tell you that I have discovered what I need. You are going to tell me how to find Madame Giry, and then you are going to leave. That is the end of this conversation Viscount," he spit the last sentence viciously, cutting Raoul's arguments short. There was no use in arguing and he knew it; grudgingly, he told the Thing of Madame Giry's whereabouts, then stood to leave, glaring at the Creature. He strode over to the edge of the lake, heading for the long staff used to propel the gondola.

"You are not to use my gondola, Viscount," the Creature ordered. "You can swim well enough; that has been proven. Now make like the fish that you are and swim."