A/N This chapter mostly deals with Christine recalling the details of her rape, not in detail. But fear not! All will be explained later, when Christine speaks to Meg. Congrats to Erik's Chris and AngeMusique who have earned an honorable mention! YAHOO! Ok, so I think what Erik's Chris is trying to say for the time line is like this:

Chapter 4: Same

Chapter 5:Same

Chapter 6:Same:Mostly filler

Chapter 7:Sorry, but I had to keep some form of E/C meeting, because that is the reason for chapter 8. I will, however, do this. Same, except no past information, little hints...Recall night of rape to Meg

Chapter 8: E/C meet...again! More hints.

How does that sound? Ok, if anyone else has any changes to that, but I think it sounds pretty good so far. Thank you all for supporting me for my first phic. I do not own POTO, characters, plot, anything. It all belongs to all of those rich people who live in fancy houses. Damn.

Chapter 4: Memories of the Future

Stopper

Walking home was a blur.

A surreal, multicolored blur. It was perfectly silent, yet it was so noisy Christine thought her head would explode. Her house was just 3 blocks away, or was it 5? She didn't know anymore. Once the pain in her head began to settle down, she came face to face with the police. There had to be 8 police cars and an ambulance, but Christine wasn't sure, she was too lost in her own world to count.

"What happened?" Christine asked one of the policemen. 'God I hope he doesn't realize I just took drugs...' she thought.

"Private information, sorry." the officer informed. Christine felt weak, she checked her pulse, but she could feel nothing. Just thinking it was the drugs, she continued her walk, staring at the wrecked car, until she noticed it was her car. Quickly, she checked to make sure the licence plate was right, then ran over to the police officer again.

"Excuse me, I think that is my car. Who was driving it?" she asked.

"Can't tell you. Private." Defeated, she walked over to the park, sat on a bench, and called Meg's cell.

Ring. Nothing one the other line. I'm crazy, ever since that night...I will always be crazy.

Ring. Perfect stillness, nothing more. Crazy, I will surely be sent somewhere. There must be a place for crazy people like me

Ring. A...sound?

"Hello?" the cheery voice of Meg, Christine's lifelong friend, answered.

"Meg, is your mother there?" Christine asked.

"Christine, yes, she wants you to come over right away, your mother is dead.

"My mother is...De-ad?" Christine echoed the words. Oh, she wished Erik wasn't right all the time. He was right all 3 times they have met. Tonight, that night, and...realization struck her. He was actually the one who has been telling her all along it was her fault. Making her heavy with guilt. Maybe he liked the see his victims fall under the weight of the pressure. Maybe he liked the way they squirmed, kicked, yelled and pleaded when he began his experiment.

Maybe he liked it when they turned over in their graves.

"Christine, I am not going to hurt you, I am a therapist. I am here to help you" the man who called himself her therapist reassured. For a whole week, Christine had been too frightened to leave the house, and when she did leave for school, she made sure Meg was with her. She was the only one that knew, not even her parents. Finally, Christine decided to find a therapist to tell her story to. Now, here she was, in the small, grey room that she was to find herself in fo 3 days a week, 3rd period.

"Well-I...it is very hard, you see. I was at a club with my boyfriend and my best friend, and we were just sitting there. This strange man with a mask over his face approached up and asked me to dance. When things became too overwhelming, I tried to get away."

"Did you succeed?"

"No, well, he began kissing me. I decided I found this man nice, and I wanted to know more about him, so I asked him if we could talk somewhere...private. Then...he pushed me to the bed and began to kiss and touch me. Oh god, I was so scared. I told him to stop, but it just seemed to make him more eager. He pulled out a rubber-so considerate-and well..."

"Who do you blame for this, Christine?"

"Myself, of course! I should never have agreed to dance with him, and-" the therapist, Mr. Silkeua, stared at the you girl, no more than 17, sitting close to him. He came close to her ear and whispered with a silky voice, "Yes Christine, all your fault. You made him think you wanted him, he was having some fun, get on with your life."

Christie stared silently into space for a while. Finally, realizing his words were true, scattered to collect her things as she dashed for her period 4 class.

Sexual victims were treated like crap. No, worse, the dirt one their shoes. Yes, all of us, treated no better than the dirt on these single minded people's shoes. And what was worse? She had to live with it.

Christine hadn't gone back to therapy, but now, she realized how close Erik had been, even without that. In her own school, mingling mot more than a mere 10 yards from her. He scared her to death, and it seems he has for so many others...

But what was that feeling she had got in the pit of her stomach? Love/ No, far from it, more like the flickering hopes of love, something they both needed. What lay behind the mask? She needed answers. She needed a way she could help him...thus setting them both free.