A/N: Thanks to all reviewers. I hope to become a better and better writer.

Disclaimer: Own nothing... :(


He'd remained in the den until eleven o'clock waiting for her to come out of her room, but Christine remained where she was. Erik had nearly opened her door a few times, but had thought better of it at the last minute. What would I say to her? In all honesty, he couldn't apologize. If he were now to apologize and grovel it would be all the more difficult to coexist with the girl. Apologies would give her power of him, more than she already had, and the thought made his blood boil.

After scribbling a quick note to her and leaving it on the table, Erik picked up his black coat and car keys and headed to the Daroga's home. It was Saturday, and an excellent opportunity to make a few purchases and drop off his payment to the detective. He gripped the violin case and headed out.


Christine woke up with a headache. Sleeping on the tile floor will do that, I guess. She picked herself up and heard the door close. Has he returned from somewhere? Or has he left? Gently she opened the bathroom door and tiptoed to the door. Putting an ear to it, she listened for any movements. Since everything was stone-still, she opened her room's door and ventured out. Christine knew he was gone when she saw the note on the table. Gingerly she picked it up and read.

Christine,

I have more errands to run and might be back late. If you're hungry, the kitchen's open to you. Feel free to eat what you like, since I might not be back for dinner.

Make yourself comfortable, and be sure to practice your piano. I'd suggest practicing melody composition. Fresh music sheets and a pen are on the piano, waiting for use. I await your new piece eagerly.

Erik

She shouldn't have been surprised at the lack of content in his note, but there was a disappointment in her after reading it. He'd run out of his home after all, so he wouldn't have to deal with her. After last night Christine should have felt relieved that he was gone, and a big part of her was, but it bothered her at the same time. He hadn't mentioned last night in the note, much less apologized. Instead he'd cut himself off from her, going out the heavy front door where she couldn't follow. His act was a painful reminder of what she'd lost as well as his cold personality. "But why should it surprise me? Since when do I expect a murderer to have a soul?" She sighed. Since you heard him sing, Christine. And those eyes-

"Food," she said to no one in particular. She tapped her stomach with one hand as it grumbled. "I think tea would be nice, too."


The patio was small, but inviting. Erik shifted uncomfortably his chair, one of a match set of green outdoor furniture. He watched as his Daroga came back out with decorative glasses of lemonade. Taking up the violin, Erik placed it on the table. "I just came by to drop this off."

"The engraved one?" The Persian man set a glass in front of Erik, then sat down with his own.

"Of course, Daroga. It was a deal." Erik folded his hands in front of him. "Has everything been taken care of?" A gentle nod of the older man's head was enough to confirm this, so Erik began to get up. "Then we're done here."

"What did this girl do to you, Erik?" The older man looked up to Erik, and his expression was not amused.

"Since when have you ever wanted the details of my affairs?" Erik was cool, unwilling to open up this subject.

"Since when do you kill women?" The Persian man leaned in. "What danger was she to you?"

"I'm a monster, Daroga," Erik said, unflinching, "don't make the mistake of thinking otherwise." There was irritation in his voice, and the older man was willing to drop it for the moment. They stared at each other for a moment, one standing and hovering and the other sitting comfortably, as a third person joined their group.

"Hello again, Erik. I haven't seen you for a very long time." The older woman smiled warmly at Erik, and he nodded in response.

"Hello, Mrs. Giry."

The couple looked at each other and smiled. "Erik," she laughed, "I've remarried this strapping man. I've mourned my husband long enough. My name's not Giry anymore."

"He knows, Antoinette," The older man patted his wife's hand. "He's just never going to call you by any name other than 'Mrs. Giry'."

"You know me so well, Daroga," Erik said humorlessly. He looked at Mrs. Giry in her yellow dress and noted, as if it were a third head, the bulge that was beginning to develop. She noticed his fascination and placed a hand on her stomach.

"She'll be due soon. Meg's so excited she wants to fly back from London when she's born." Her eyes twinkled. "But she's studying ballet. She must be more strict with herself." The Daroga placed his hand on hers.

"You can say that because you were a prima ballerina in your day. Now..."

"And who says I couldn't be now?" She huffed slightly. "True, it would have to be after the baby was born, but ..."

Erik watched this display between them with mounting discomfort. Normal. Wife and mother. Normal. Husband pulling a 9-to-5 to pay for the patio furniture. Normal Girl trapped forever in my apartment. Not normal, he acknowledged. He realized he was still standing, and cleared his throat.

"I've got to run, Mrs. Giry. I only came to give my dear Daroga my present for the baby." Erik moved the case closer to them. Mrs. Giry smiled and wanted to hug him as he passed to leave, but he placed a hand on her arm. "I'll see myself out. It was good to see you again." He walked past without a response.

"That boy," She sighed as she heard the door close, "he's still so alone. After all of this time, instead of recovering he's just stagnating." The knowledge was heavy on her, and she slumped into her chair. The Daroga handed her the untouched lemonade. She drank gratefully as she heard Erik's car pulling out of their driveway. "I wonder if he'll ever find someone who'll help him." She rubbed her hand over her swell, and the Daroga didn't have the heart to tell his wife that Erik might have murdered someone who'd tried.

"Perhaps someone's trying," he responded. He wondered if she believed him but didn't want to ask.


Looking over at the piano, Christine noted the blank sheets that waited for her. She tapped a key and listened to the note. Even though it was very old, Christine was surprised at how in-tune the piano was. The piano must be very valuable to him, to keep it in such wonderful condition. She sat at the piano and played a few notes together. Liking the sound of it, she jotted them down on paper. Is this what you do all day? Another series of notes were hit, and they were exactly what Christine had wanted. Like magic, the music she wanted was being transfigured from thought to notes she could set down on paper. Is this what you feel? There was an excitement in her she hadn't felt for a very long time as she blotted out and replaced notes again and again. Is this how you sing?


Erik had long since returned to his own driveway and parked his car, but he remained within it in deep thought. Is she there forever? Are you stuck with her until she dies, or just until you kill her? Erik tapped the steering wheel. It's so uncomfortable with her in there. My control goes out the damn window, and for what? A whimpering girl with a pretty voice. He looked at his pale hands. I wonder why I coveted her voice so much...it needs so much training, and she's not receptive to my help. So why keep her? He struck the wheel once, and opened the door. Picking up some packages, Erik made his way to the apartment. Noiselessly he unlocked the door and stepped in. He picked up the piano melody being played in the den, and moved closer to listen. He heard her scribble down something, and when she was in sight noted that she'd used the sheets he'd provided her.

"From the beginning," she declared. With a breath she began to play. Erik could have snickered at such a simple melody. It was nothing but an easy, repetitious pattern of notes. Still, there was something beautiful in it. Haunting, like some memory. Like a children's song. His concentration on the pattern broke as he heard her hum to the melody. It wasn't finished, but it sounded so sweet. Christine's eyes were closed, trying to feel out the notes. From time to time she replaced the humming with a word or two. He let the packages drop and walked to her.

"Do you have a name for it?"

She stopped playing and turned the moment she'd heard him speak. Christine fumbled with her fingers, still sitting on the bench. "It's not- I don't have lyrics for it and-"

"I wasn't asking that, Christine." He ambled over and took a look at the sheets. He played the beginning bars while she watched nervously. "It's good," he looked at her, "and I wanted to know what you'd call it." As he watched her bite her lip he fought not to shake an answer out of her. "What were you thinking when you worked on it?" His eyes were trained now on the sheet, where he could make out a few words here and there over the notes. She looked down, fighting any instinct to blush as he complimented her.

"Think of Me," she murmured. She didn't look up to catch him staring at her. "I want to call it Think of Me."

A/N: Dun dun dun. No, Erik and Christine haven't made up. No, they still don't understand each other. We'll just have to see if they ever will. Oh, and I bet you never guessed the Daroga's wife would be Mme Giry. SURPRISE! Please stay tuned for further updates. It'd make me ever so happy if you would.