School is finally over for the semester, so I can now devote my time to more important things. Like fan fiction :) Once again, thanks to everyone who reviewed. I will try to make it a habit of replying to several of you each time because I do love your feedback.

Like the last chapter, this one will also closely follow the book. It's one of the few chapters that is entirely E/C, mostly because I thought that their current relationship needed to be developed before the story moved along. After that, I'll start some more original twists. As it says in my story summary, this has Leroux undertones, but it's not a perfect reflection of the book. And I don't think that the majority of you would want a perfect reflection of the book, anyway. ;)

Read and Review!

Christine at first believed herself to be staring at a second mask-a horrible, lifelike piece of plaster in the shape of a gray skull. No human face could look like this. Not unless it was in the process of decay.

Like everyone else, she had seen disfigurements on the news and in magazines, people with cleft lips and severe scarring. A boy in her fourth grade class had once been burned in an automobile accident, leaving his face red, swollen, and peeling.

But nothing she had seen had ever looked like this.

As Christine stared into those two dark eye sockets and the void where a nose should have been, she wasn't even aware of the mask slipping from between her fingers. The thin white lips formed into a twisted snarl, and a sound between a growl and a moan suddenly suppressed the clamor of the shattering porcelain.

Letting out a choked gasp of horror, Christine took a step backwards, realizing she was staring into an actual human face. The cheekbones that protruded from the thin, sallow flesh were real. In a moment, he had risen from the piano bench, and she could see the glow of fire in the two eye sockets. His hands tightened into claws as he approached her. His distorted expression grew angrier as he saw the look of terror upon her pallid face.

She could hear the crunch of the black porcelain beneath her feet as she continued to back away. Her captor was now standing over her at his full height, his long arms reaching out toward her in a menacing fashion.

"I'm sorry," she attempted to say, only to have the words come out as another choke.

Before she could even blink, he tightly grabbed her by the wrists and drew her up to his face. "Christine," he hissed with venom, as she attempted to wriggle away from him. "Does this delight you? Was this what you wanted?" His snarl formed into a twisted smile. "I'm sure you're happy now, Christine. You will never forget this face, will you? You never will be able to! You will see it every day for the rest of your life! And then it will haunt every one of your dreams!"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. Her wrists ached from his tight, cold grip, and to have that corpse face so near to her own was terrifying. She again attempted to struggle away and was surprised as he released her. After stumbling backward several feet, she whirled around and dashed into her room.

With a shaking hand, she turned around to shut the door behind her, only to see that he was closely following behind. Christine gasped and went all the way in, diving toward her pillow to find the sole defense she had against him. His yellow eyes were filled with murderous anguish and rage, and she wondered if everything would end right there.

Throwing back the pillow, she ran her hand over the sheet and bedspread, desperately looking for the sharp instrument. Her fingers turned up empty. Nothing was there. Had she put it somewhere else?

"Christine."

She turned to see him standing in her doorway. A shiver ran through her at the calm way he said her name.

"Were you looking for this, my dear child?" To her horror, Erik held the shiny letter opener up in the air. "What? Did you think you could do any more damage to Erik's poor face?"

He took a step toward her.

"No!" She shook her head and drew back. "Please. I-Don't. I'm sorry. I didn't know! I didn't know!"

He walked so that he stood directly in front of her, and she suddenly thought that he was going to use her own weapon against her. Instead, he bent down to her eye level and held the point up to his own flesh. "Really, Christine! Why not try and see what more you can do, child?" Letting out a horrible laugh, he ran the sharp edge over his cheek.

"Don't!" she gasped. "Please don't!"

No blood came, though. The tip ran smoothly through the dead skin, making a harmless groove in the shriveled flesh. He chuckled again. "See! I do not even bleed! I am already dead, Christine! You are in the company of Death!"

Before she could run away again, he stuck the letter opener into his pocket. Taking his two bony hands, he gripped her shoulders roughly, forcing her up against the wall. She gaped as the skull face came closer, wondering if he were going to kiss her. Instead, he remained at a foot's distance, his slender fingers digging into her shoulder bones.

"Poor, Christine," he hissed. "Now you can never leave!" The two hands moved toward each other and stopped at the base of her neck.

"I'm sorry!" she choked out. "I didn't know! Please! I'm so sorry! Don't! I'll stay! I promise I'll stay!"

The fury in his eyes suddenly calmed, and he loosened his grip on her shoulders. "Yes, Christine," he said softly. "You will stay."

She swallowed and nodded rapidly. "I will. I will."

"You see," he began with eerie calmness. "If you had controlled your curiosity, you would know nothing. Nothing! But now...I disgust you. A corpse loves you, dear Christine. You won't come back now. So I must keep you here, mustn't I?"

Christine numbly stared back at him.

"Yes," he said. "I will keep you here with me. And then you will stay." A smile of relief crossed his lips. "Then, you will have to stay," he whispered.

He removed his hands from her shoulders and softly brushed her blonde hair with the tips of his fingers. The look of fury vanished, leaving a strange sense of peace on his withered face. Christine continued to look at him in shock, watching as he finally turned and quickly strode out of the room.

After staring at the place where he had stood for several seconds, Christine raced over and slammed the door. For a moment, she wondered if he would return. Throwing herself onto the bed, she buried her face into the thick covers and began to heave with sobs.

She had never seen such horror, the gaping holes and twisted lips lingering in her mind. She had never heard such hatred and desperation and madness in anyone's voice. Nothing could compare to what she had just witnessed!

When she finally became too exhausted to shed any more tears, Christine lay motionlessly on the bed for hours upon hours. A feeling of hopelessness began to engulf her. The fiery fury in her captor's eyes confirmed that he would not let her go. Erik meant to keep her there forever.

Finally, she sat up on the bed and hugged her knees to her chest. Her stomach moaned in protest, and her entire body was weak from hunger and exhaustion. It suddenly occurred to her that she could become sick from lack of food or water. She could die there even if he didn't kill her.

Taking a breath, she got up and looked around the room as if to find a solution to the hopeless situation. There were no windows or visible ways to escape, and her eyes finally settled on the door she had not opened yet. Christine wearily walked over to it, flipped on a light switch, and found herself to be looking inside of a walk-in closet.

It certainly wasn't a means of escape, but the contents did surprise her. A large variety of clothes and accessories lay inside. Sweaters, shirts, dresses, pajamas, hats and coats were all folded on shelves or strung up on hangers. Looking at one of the unremoved tags on a turquoise turtleneck, she saw that it was exactly her size. She had no doubt that all of the clothes would be perfect fits. Erik knew every detail about her. He had been memorizing her habits and purchases for some time. For a moment, she was again horrified that she had allowed herself to get into this situation.

And then it occurred to her that she might have at least one ounce of hope left.

Although she was completely at his mercy, Erik had gone to severe extremes to make her comfortable. In his greatest moment of anger, he had announced that he loved her. His sole fear was that she would leave and not return. If she became agreeable and unafraid, maybe he would release her. If he truly loved her, would he keep her trapped in there forever?

Maybe he would. Just hours ago, she was sure that he was going to kill her. But what other choice did she have now? The only available option was to gain his trust. She would have to make him believe that she would not attempt to run away or disappear. That face...she would have to show no fear toward it. As long as Erik thought she was afraid of him, he would never let her leave.

Very late that evening, after many hours of lying on the bed lost in dark thoughts, Christine decided to emerge. Hunger pangs were attacking her stomach, and her throat was parched and sore from lack of fluids. Staying in the bedroom and praying for a miracle was not increasing her chances of surviving this.

She opened the door and shakily made her way into the sitting room. Her eyes wandered to the sole exit for a moment, but she quickly brushed the thought away. If he were to catch her trying to escape, no hope would be left. Besides, it was still locked.

He was in front of her in an instant. Forcing herself not to step back, Christine warily looked up to see that a grayish mask now covered his face. It was similar to the first, except for sitting lower on his head, thereby revealing thin, dark wisps of hair. The steely glare he cast upon her made her want to turn around and run back into her room. Instead, she took a breath, keeping her gaze below his eye level.

"I...was hungry," she said softly.

A moment of tense silence passed.

"Then come into the kitchen," was his toneless reply. She followed him and took a seat at the rectangular table. A plate, silverware, and cloth napkin had already been laid out in anticipation of her presence. He sat three silver pots in front of her with serving spoons and stepped back. After glancing up nervously, she opened the lids and drew back her head as clouds of steam rushed into the air. One contained a foreign grain, similar to couscous. The other two were mixtures of meats and vegetables and also looked to be either Middle Eastern or Oriental cuisines.

After serving herself, she again looked up to see him watching her. It dawned on her that, if Erik were to eat with her, he would have to remove the mask. She would have to show no reaction.

Erik did not join her. While she ate, he left the room. Still in shock from the ordeal, Christine couldn't even taste the food, but it was warm and soothing to her empty stomach.

As she finished the last bites, her captor stepped back into the kitchen. He seemed somewhat calmer when he saw that she had eaten most of the food. "Do you want something to drink?" he enquired, retaining his cold composure.

"Water is fine," she replied.

He nodded and set a glass in front of her before leaving again. After drinking the cold liquid and relieving her parched throat, she stood up to go to her bedroom. The tense, formal atmosphere was exhausting her. Every moment, she was waiting for something unexpected and terrible to happen. What if he decided she was of no use to him? What if he grew tired of her?

She headed for her bedroom, desperate to lie down and sleep. "Christine." His voice commanded her to turn around.

"Yes...Erik?"

"You do not need to wear those clothes every day. There are clean ones in your closet."

She nodded in complete compliance. "Okay."

He disappeared again, and she returned to her room. Without undressing, she collapsed onto the bed, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Whatever happened, happened. Like a soldier on the night after a battle, she was too tired to care.

The following morning, Christine's heart jumped as she gazed at her surroundings and remembered all that had happened. Although a part of her desired to lie back down and sleep forever, she knew such actions would bring her no closer to freedom. She got up and ran her greasy hair under the hot shower, rubbing shampoo over the matted tangles. After washing as best she could, she went to the closet and looked for something modest and unrevealing, finally putting on a blue wool sweater and loose pair of khakis.

After brushing her hair and glancing in the hand mirror, she left the room and headed directly for the kitchen. To her slight surprise, Erik was not there. Several varieties of cereal and a bowl of fruit were set out on the kitchen table. Picking up the box of Cornflakes and an orange, she sat down and ate. The feeling of anxiety remained, but she did feel less hopeless than she had the previous evening. Her food even had some flavor.

Erik came out as she finished, and she shifted as he gazed over her entire frame. A look of satisfaction came into his eyes at seeing her clean and dressed. Perhaps he had truly believed she would remain permanently shut up in her bedroom after seeing his face. "You rarely eat much for breakfast, so I did not go to extremes. Was everything to your liking?"

She nodded and looked directly at him. "Everything was fine. Thank you."

He nodded once. Biting her lip, Christine habitually started to take her dish to the sink. "No, Christine," he stated. "You are a guest here. Leave it."

An unwilling guest she thought wearily. "Okay, Erik. Thanks, then." She walked into the living room, looking around for something to do-something to keep her mind occupied. After gazing over the strange figurines again, she saw several leather-bound books on a shelf. Picking up a copy of Orwell's 1984, she looked over the first few pages. Already deeply disturbed by the contents of the first chapter, she quickly set the book back on the shelf. Lord of the Flies was directly below it.

The soft laughter behind her caused her to jump. Erik stood watching her. "If you want something with a happy ending, Christine, I would avoid those books. Maybe you would enjoy a collection of fairy tales instead?" His tone seemed amused. "But then again, those can be extremely gruesome as well. The originals, anyway."

"I..." She swallowed, keeping herself steady. "I was looking for something to read...something to do for a while."

"I see." He reached over and set another book in front of her, very careful to make sure she would not brush fingers with him again. "This one shouldn't give you nightmares."

Taking her eyes off of him for a moment, she looked to see a book of short stories by Anton Chekhov. "Thanks. I'll try reading it. I think I saw a play by him once."

The rest of the day was spent either in her room or on the sofa, immersing herself in daydreams or books. Only during meals would she force herself to come back to reality. Many times, she caught Erik watching her with an unreadable expression. Even when she couldn't see him, she knew that his yellow eyes were following her.

Toward the evening, she heard the piano begin to play a slow, somber tune from the bedroom. Putting down her book, Christine tiredly leaned her head back onto the headrest of the sofa, closed her eyes, and listened to the flowing melody. At least she now knew why such talent was kept so isolated. Even after everything, the haunting music still swept her mind away from her.

The third day of her stay started much the same. Christine washed, dressed, and spent the morning reading in her bedroom. He owned several colorful photographic books of foreign countries, and she lost herself in Egyptian and Japanese culture for several hours. Erik continued to watch her, asking her simple questions here and there. Although he remained composed, every so often she thought she caught a hint of desperation in his voice.

Late that afternoon, after dinner, he finally came up and stood silently in front of her. She looked up from her book and swallowed nervously.

"I wish you to sing for me," he stated. "As I have said, that is why you are here."

Her heart thudded as she remembered their last encounter at the piano, but she slowly nodded. Maybe her voice would be the key to her freedom. "Okay. I'll sing. What would you like?"

"Whatever you want, Christine. I want to hear your divine voice." His tone was gentler, giving her the needed courage to follow him back into the eerie bedroom. She avoided looking at the six-sided bed and walked directly to the piano. "I know you are familiar with this one." The first notes of her audition song, "Someone to Watch Over Me," sounded out. "We could also try a piece from your recent performance."

"Those are both fine," she quickly replied, still unnerved by how much he knew about her. "Whenever you're ready."

Taking a deep breath, she began to sing for him, sounding very shaky and off key. Erik didn't stop to correct her, as if knowing her lack of concentration was something that could not be helped. After a while, she began to improve. All of her terrible tension and fear was put into her voice, giving her a strange, new energy. Perhaps it was not the best she had ever sung, but more power emanated from her voice than ever before. At some crescendos, she feared that she would accidently scream out a note, but she managed to keep her composure. Erik seemed content with her effort.

The last note of their third song faded, and silence engulfed the room. He sat with his fingers still poised over the keys and his gaze still focused upon the piano.

Christine stood there uneasily, wishing she knew what someone like him could be thinking. A feeling of pity washed over her as she stared as the back of his suit and the protruding shoulder bones underneath the dark material. He was both terrifying and tragic...a powerful presence in an emaciated body...breathtaking talent concealed under the face of a cadaver.

When he turned around, Christine nearly stepped away, for the look in his eyes was unmistakable. He was staring at her with utter adoration. No one had ever looked at her with such longing. It terrified her.

But with his next words, she felt her fear fade and her heart give a jump of hope.

"Come, Christine. We will go for a short ride this evening."