Well, there have already been warnings for language, and if you're still here, that means you're good with it. ;)

Enjoy our latest part in Christine and Erik's story!

Her Imagination - Chapter 8

Her fingers ran over the grass, with the soft tinkling of the wind chimes around her. She called it the Chime Garden – an area where chimes adorned branches – and she had found it after bypassing the brook and to the east of the trees. Still all his land, of which she dubbed a 'Hundred Acre Woods'. It would take her months to even wander half of it, she knew with despair. The next day, she decided to set out early and reach the perimeter. In a comfortable outfit (she had worn jeans for the safety of her legs from the stinging nettles), she crept down the stairs and snuck into the kitchen. There matronly woman who was bustling around the room, of which she recognised from before on her tour. The kitchen shone in beige with black veins and otherwise dark in colouring, subtle but modern. The fridge had an ice maker and kettle installed into it. If she pressed the wrong button, she wondered if it would release a poisoned dart.

Erik would chortle and claim she had watched far too many nonsensical intelligence programmes. However, she would bet her dinner that he would not deny there wasn't a method of defence lurking somewhere inside.

The woman however gaped in surprise to regard her standing there before her, before giving her a graceful curtsy despite her size. Her grey eyes gazed at her questioningly.

"It's alright, Ma'am, I was just coming here to get lunch. Lunch for later." Christine winced, wondering if her communication skills were rusting due to being around mutes and Erik, "I mean I will be outside and I was wondering if I'd be able to take a packed lunch with me. If that's no trouble." At this the lady's eyes brightened and she started to pull out the makings of a sandwich.

"I-I can help?" she offered helplessly. She hadn't been intending for the lady to start making it for her, she had only wanted permission to use the space to make a lunch.

At this the matron shook her head adamantly and even rose a hand to her to stop her going to the fridge. Christine squeezed her eyes in frustration. She didn't want to be waited on hand and foot! She wanted to make a sandwich herself, with her cheap bought ham and her useless knives and be drink tea from her chipped mug. She wanted home. Home with her own things and her own space. She lived on borrowed space and borrowed peace and borrowed ideals. Why couldn't she make her own damn sandwich herself?

But Christine could say nothing. She asked for ham and feta (she admittedly had grown to like Erik's various cheeses), when the woman – Miss Heather, she recalled Erik mentioning – gave her an inquisitive look. Christine waited for her to gather crisps; vegetable ones at that, a freshly baked cinnamon swirl, a healthy-looking ruby apple and a couple of brownies for pudding. The woman obviously had a love of baking, it seemed. Christine watched with curiosity as she produced a knapsack from a hook and started to load the various bits into it.

It looked new.

Thanking the woman, she swiftly escaped the room, just missing the pity that lay within the depths of the woman's eyes.

Christine left quickly, using the gate from the enclosed gardens that lead directly into the forest. Even after seeing the house from far away the first time, the sight still filled her with awe - and dread. Once more it rose above her as she backed away, a watching beacon wherever she went. Christine hated to admit that it held a stunning regal-ness - as if to match the wildness of the planes that surrounded it - along with the majestic architecture that built it up. Ivy vines climbed and soared up the granite walls and pewter arches, windows beckoning to be opened for a breath of sunlight. She was forced to admire its sheer beauty.

Christine always breathed easier once she was out of it.

It was then she could pretend that she was able to choose and abandon it to the night. That for just for a short while, she was free.

She headed 'north', well, she dubbed it north for lack of information regarding things otherwise, from where the forest stopped. It lead to the grassy mound where she had stopped on the first day of freedom on his territory. His kingdom. On one side lay the Lavender fields. This then lead to a weeping willow, marking the stream that appeared like magic beside it. The clear water then widened into a large body of water; Christine had already christened it the Lagoon. On the east lay the Chime Garden of which she had discovered yesterday. In the north east lay the Orchards. In her knapsack she rummaged through now, out of curiosity, she found a piece of leftover paper and pencil (why it was in there she had no idea) and a filled water bottle. Taking the paper and pencil out she drew a rough map, resting it against a tree stump at the edge of the forest as she sketched. She started at the bottom of the page, not knowing how far north it would take to get to the border. But she had the morning to kill and she doubted she be back before lunch. She did not register guilt at the thought of missing lunch with Erik. Christine did however, pity the soul to tell him that she had already ventured into his world. The lights had been off upstairs when she crept out, so there was no chance of him knowing she was out here already. Originally, she had been often going out in the afternoons where the sun was at its apex and guaranteed nice walking conditions. However, since she wanted a head start, the morning seemed like the logical option.

Her flower adorned top with slight ruffles at the sleeves she had instantly disliked but had chosen out of it being lightweight in the hazy heat of the sun. Soon it would be summer; with a dreadful realisation, she knew it would turn July while she remained in Erik's care – it would have been a year ago when all this chaos had started. Oh, if only she had never sung, she never would have garnered the attention of his shadow. Joe would not be in the earth and heavens. Raoul and herself would be making plans to stay somewhere together for the summer, maybe go on a road trip for a week and she'd be back to finish her Major. They'd become closer and closer and at some point, after discussions of the future, of children and pets, careers and medical measures, he'd propose, (or she'd propose if he was making no moves at that point) and they'd live in a nice house and a golden retriever. They'd kayak on the lake, chase the dawn and the sun. Raoul would love his job but be there to spend his life with her. She'd pursue the writing in her soul, unwittingly singing with a pure untrained voice that made anyone smile. But there would be freedom. No bonds. No debt. No deranged poor poor man who depended on her like she was his lifeline. Who would kill and kill again in her name.

Even though she had been walking for a few hours everyday since she had struck the deal with Erik, her feet still started to ache. Forging a path in the open fields, rickety gates, patches of forests, she eventually came to a paved road that followed the lines of fields. Where was the perimeter of his great expanse of land? The orchards had fallen behind her, along with the steadily lowering amount of the water in her canteen. The knapsack became heavier with each step. Sweat slicked her neck and strands of hair curled outside its confinement, while the sun blazed in the spring afternoon. Just a bare whisper of breeze came to relive her before it sighed and dropped once again. Hiking, though it soon became trudging, up a slope allowed her to view the lands Erik owned. In the middle seemed to lay Erik's lair, a patchwork of fields spider-webbing across his realm -all seized to be his to control. Swallowing, unease swam through her.

Was Erik waiting for her, pacing in his home? Would it grow dark and he could come and collect her? Would he blame this attempt as an escape? A way of her avoiding his presence. No. It wasn't that. As much as her complex feelings prevented her from wanting to spend time with him, she desired company.

Christine snorted, well that was the premise of his entire plan. The only company she would be given was his and at some point, he vowed it would turn to love! Love! The way she felt for Raoul compared to nothing that bastard had destroyed and remade. No. She shook her head as if to rid that terrible idea. He was not her saviour and she was not his. Christine would not be bound by those persuasive ideas, the ideas of souls and 'meant to be'. He had shattered her illusions long ago.

Yet, it had irked her to acknowledge that after one of his grand speeches, he had prompted her to mull the soul-mate idea over. Who were you destined to be with? Perhaps the world was cruel enough to provide no one. At least, cruel enough to create a man such as Erik. The havoc he brewed and unleashed…no that was nothing to what the world created. It had been the people on it.

Well. That's what she felt and had gathered anyway. Why else did he hate humanity with such a burning passion? Yet – why was she exempt from his loathing? Clarice he tolerated, Heather he barked at and so far, she had seen no others. Maybe, maybe she would find someone out in this world, away from the cold foreboding manor?

Her fingers plucked at the grass again, a habit she had found herself doing whenever she sat down and rested. She could barely count the amount of grass stains on the skirts and dresses she wore. Turning a stone in her hand, she rolled it around in her fingers.

Christine had shed so many tears. It could probably fill an entire bucket over the last months. Looking out to the rolling lands beyond – so far from civilisation - it took a moment to remember how to breathe. Where was the end? Had she truly not reached it? Points dug into her hand and she opened her fingers in surprise, not realising she had been clenching the stone. Red marks soiled her hands and for a moment, she was brought to the day where she had been so unhinged to deliberately cause herself harm. Her head had suffered and it took several days for nausea to pass when she stood. Erik had been furious; it took a week for her to redeem herself into his good graces. Christine had also dismissed Clarice entirely from her life, ignoring her and her commands. Until she realised, she could not go on without some fragile peace between her captors and tormentors. Another piece of herself lost, she came crawling back like the wretch she was.

Funny thing was, she had been used to loneliness. The loneliness of the soul, the gradual isolation Erik painstakingly installed into her life. Yet in this place, it was different. There was no rest for her, her mind grew weary with each day looking for threats, seen and unseen. Constantly, she had to be wary of Erik and his ways to befriend her. He who was trying to regain her once so easily given trust. That with one demonstration of his voice, he had wormed his way to an inner part of her, she could never find the opening to. If she could rid herself of that mania when Erik used his Voice, if she could stop the smallest part wanting to embrace the music and all that came with it, there was a way. For if she could detach the part that made her soul soar and her voice be untainted by his hand, she knew there would be freedom to be had. That there was a road of recovery to be travelled.

But he had changed her. It made her angry, so terribly angry! How dare he touch her, touch her with his own pain. Pain she never wanted to feel sympathy for. Those eyes that were just doorways to his soul. He wore his soul in his eyes and there was no way of disguising the anguish she felt emanating from him. His music was part of that too.

She should have never dared initiated that embrace, damn her for ever feeling the remotest thing of compassion to him.

"Damn you!" and the stone went flying from the hilltop. She watched it fly over the crest of the hill and start to descend when there was a shock-wave and the stone pinged back.

What in god's name?

She blinked. No, she was tired and imagined that. Right?

Her fingers slowly reached for a hard piece of dirt to throw. With her arm raised, she slowly moved it back, before sending it flying fast into the air.

It came apart as she threw it, but some of it managed to reach the barrier because just as swiftly there was another shock wave. Soil ricocheted off it.

She flinched, peering over the curve of the hill to see the steaming ashes of scattered pieces of dirt and she yelped, crawling back from the barrier.

To think she could have walked just over this hill and discovered that! Why hadn't Erik warned her?

Until a memory came back to when they made the deal.

"The perimeter is not to be touched for it is heavily electrified and I do not wish for you to singe your fingers,"

Christine could only stare in horror as the true meaning clicked into place.

Christine refused to return. In all manner of things, she sought twigs, branches then sharper twigs and branches, to throw at the wall. It was truly invisible, nothing seemed to mark the barrier. However, Christine did realise that it was obviously some high-tech force field. Maybe stolen from the government – her mind added. The barrier seemed to haze just moments after the object hit it, like the air above a fire that shimmered. Smoke would appear when the object was larger than a pebble. It destroyed the loose brick from a cobbled wall she had passed into several chunks and she had to duck to avoid the spray.

Tiring of the activity that proved fruitless, she numbly opened the wrapped sandwich and took a bite. She tasted nothing. She wasn't hungry. But if she did not eat and returned with food, she knew it would be reported back to Erik and she would have to make up for it with that evening's meal. The cinnamon swirl was gone quicker and the brownies followed, leaving her to pick up the crumbs at the bottom of the container. The crisps and apple she left, the idea of eating something healthy rather unappealing.

The heat of the spring stayed throughout the day and she spent the rest of the afternoon on her back on top of the hill. Her bag served as a pillow and her eyes scanned the sky, cloud spotting. When the activity got boring she left the hilltop briefly to find a patch of daisies, she returned with an armful. She sat there, weaving stalks together and trying to make a passable bracelet, necklace and crown to match. Using a technique that Clarice had taught her, she practised in weaving the daisies within a braid, while failing miserably. Christine hadn't done this activity since she was a little girl.

She hadn't done a lot of things since she had been a child, with Erik.

Throw temper tantrums, cry herself to sleep, breath on glass and draw with the condensation, wear socks with flowers on them, believe in angels, play the day away outside, make daisy chains…

Christine froze as a single butterfly flew overhead, watching with curiosity as it landed on one of the daisy piles next to her. She blinked. It was a monarch butterfly, like the one she had in her room in the picture.

"You must be a rare one," she murmured quietly, as not to disturb it. It's wings opened slowly and shut, antenna twitching, the little creature staring at the human that gazed back.

"You are beautiful though," she whispered, wanting to have a camera so she took take a picture of it and be able to replicate on canvas. Her heart hammered as she watched it flutter almost experimentally and landed a few paces away, before fluttering further on a buttercup.

Forgetting the daisy chains, she crawled slowly to the bright flower with the utmost care not to scare it away. When she got within a few meters, she yelped as it took off and launched to her feet, chasing after it.

"Wait, don't go!" she called, following the butterfly down and away from the hill. It brushed past a dozen flowers in the tall grass and she found herself scattering other butterflies as she went. But she could see the orange flashing in the afternoon sun. "Wait for me!" she called again as it fluttered into the trees beside the field and ducked under a branch.

But by the time she brushed the hair from her eyes the orange winged creature had disappeared.

"No, no, no." she groaned, leaning against a tree trunk.

She stayed for a good ten minutes in hopes it would be return, searching around the area twice, before giving up and trudging back to the hilltop where she left her rucksack.

However, she still remained outside until the sky was beginning to darken. It was an act of rebellion since she discovered the wall, but also a vain hope for the butterfly to come back. Though she knew butterflies only came out in sunlight, she did not move from her spot. Raoul lay there with her, even though when she opened her eyes he was gone.

"What a wonderful day." she sighed, "I know you didn't see the butterfly from earlier, but it was beautiful Raoul," she murmured, imagining it was his fingers brushing through her hair instead of the breeze.

"I want home; but here beside you, I can imagine it," she rolled over and pretended that it was his arms she felt wrapping around her, instead of the grass brushing the her bare midriff from where her light top had risen.

"I know he can take you away from me physically, but he can never take you away from my mind," she vowed to him, his smile soft in the thin air and she gazed at him while all by herself on the hilltop. Raoul was merely her illusion, but it was what had kept her company on her ventures outside. She could hear his warm voice in her ears, light chaste kisses trailing down her neck. Daytime was when they were most affectionate. Lazy afternoons in each other's arms, love that was simply good. It wouldn't be perfect, for couples would have always bumps in the road, but it was good. It was pure, love requited and martial bliss. God, she could see it. Marrying Raoul. Maybe not having kids when they were so young, but at least ten years or so of bliss before little ones came along. The porch would always be bathed in sunlight and there'd be a national park next door. They'd rescue a golden retriever and she'd watch his tennis matches, cheering him on. They'd go scuba diving in the Bahamas for their honeymoon and limbo in Hawaii for their anniversary. She'd have a daughter with her curls along with an older son with Raoul's sparkling blue eyes and golden tan.

"You know, I was going to propose," Raoul's voice whispered to her, if she imagined it well enough, she could almost hear the emotion in his voice.

She sat up, looking into his eyes, "I know," she whispered, a hand wistfully imagining she was brushing a strand of his hair from his eyes, "I saw a velvet box in your underwear draw when I was trying to find you a pair of warmer socks."

"I was going to do it on our last day, but I saw how fearful you were. Why didn't you tell me about him? I begged you to the night we left." His voice tortured her; it had been the question she had heard in her dreams over and over.

"I wanted to tell you, I wanted to tell you so much I was beside myself," her head dropped into her hands, "I told myself I was going to do it when I got back. The very next day even – after we got back; I was going to arrange for us to meet." Her eyes rose to the empty hill, but only saw Raoul kneeling with her.

His eyes looked at her pleadingly, "Why didn't you?"

"Because he got to me first." She whispered hoarsely, remembering how her coffee had tasted ever so bitter. Christine was going to throw it out, poor it down the drain and make a new one. However, her need to not waste things was something her father had drilled into her as a child; when he had died, she made sure his words had never been in vain – from that day forth of his death, it had been something she had always adhered to. To make her Papa proud.

Her lip trembled, "He knew. He knew I would drink it. He took my last honour-bearing principle and twisted it." Her arms came to wrap around herself, "He took my last piece of my father and tainted it with his deeds." She spat.

"I would have told you! I couldn't bear his grip on me any longer and I wanted to run, damn the consequences. Nothing is irreplaceable." She raised her head to him, imagining that their foreheads were resting together in silent support, "We would have made it Raoul," she breathed desperately, "I know it. The man can't control all of America. We would have stayed with your cousin in Italy. We would have lodged there for a few months before moving somewhere else together. Not America of course, but somewhere like France, maybe even Sweden. Or New Zealand, I know it's always been on your bucket list to go there."

"I could have told the police," he whispered tortuously.

She chuckled bitterly, "I know and that's why I couldn't tell you." Her smile became numbly melancholic as she thought of the complications as she stated, "You would have told them and he would have killed you, the police and everyone in his way."

"You sound like you know him," Raoul agreed and she knew for a moment, that would not be what Raoul would say. He would have been disbelieving of such a statement, possibly outraged. Until he saw him murder for himself, he would have not believed her.

A stalker, yes. A murderer, no. A good optimist when it suited him.

Raoul was not without flaws, yet compared to her current living conditions, she knew that he was possibly the least incriminated by what he had done or believed.

"Go away now, I'll see you tomorrow," she whispered and the image of Raoul in her mind disintegrated. Christine watched as the breeze whipped his essence away. She sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples and doing her best to alleviate an oncoming headache.

The afternoon faded into evening, passed with an average sunset. Darkness crept as a purplish bruise until it was steadily growing chillier. She knew that when the sky was speckled with stars, it was time for her to leave. No doubt she would have to pay up with an extra-long singing session the next day. Christine estimated it was nearing eleven when he found her trudging back. His sleek dark car rolled up, purring on the road beside the field she was in. A door slid open.

"Get in," his voice was cool and angry, that matched the chill of the air, leaving no room for argument.

She gave a roll of her eyes at his dramatics, he was acting as if she was an errant child, before climbing over the wall and slipping onto the road. Her steps echoed as she made out the twinkling beacon of his manor in the distance. She wasn't that far away.

The door closed behind her as she ducked inside. While she slumped in the seat, she could not deny the weariness that overcame her. The shoes had started rubbing hours ago. She stifled a moan of pleasure when she kicked them off unceremoniously in his car.

"It looks like I will have to install a curfew," this was punctuated with a sharp rap on the door and the car made a U-turn.

Christine sighed, an elbow resting on the car's door frame, "Was it so bad that I stayed out to see the stars?"

"I do not like you outside at night alone," he snapped, voice low and gravelly.

She gave him an incredulous look, "You were worried about me?" she laughed, though it tasted dry and bitter, "Well that's just dandy,"

His luminescent eyes stopped all mirth, "There are dangers out there you have no inkling of. I thought you were sensible enough to realise that being back before sundown was expected." His eyes flashed and she could feel herself shrinking back. The words 'I'm sorry' were ready to spring from her lips before she bit her lip hard enough for her to snap out of it, shaking her head like a befuddled dog.

"I am not going to apologise to you," she retaliated. There was a dark chuckle and when there was no verbal reply she looked up to see his attention was elsewhere, as if his mind was lost in a haze of memories. It was almost worse than if he had been blatantly ignoring her.

If she hadn't been so unsure of what he could observe, she would have mouthed 'Bastard'.

"Did you enjoy yourself today, my dear?" his sudden politeness throwing her for a moment.

This man could be bi-polar, she thought in disbelief. Her gaze looked out of the tinted black windows and had Erik been in a better mood, she would have opened the window.

"My day was good thank you." she replied shortly, still agitated over his earlier behaviour.

She missed the quirk of his lips, "Ah, but since you have been out for so long, you simply must tell me where you have been. Poor Erik spent the entire day without his Christine. It would not be prudent if you didn't tell him of your hours spent alone in the wilderness."

Christine shivered at the threat, hands coming to clutch together, though she almost wished to put her hands up in surrender.

"I saw a monarch butterfly," she offered timidly, fingers fiddling with the material of her shirt, "I was wondering how I would be able to see it again. I didn't know if it liked certain flowers, or something…" she trailed off hopefully, relying on his intellect to guide her in this issue. If he was good for anything, it was information.

"I do believe that they frequent hilly areas, if that is of use to you," he replied benevolently, voice as silky as the satin pyjamas he bought her, "If you saw one today, it would most likely come back to where it has already been. They are creatures of habit, you know."

She nodded, processing the information, "Thank you," she murmured.

"It is no hindrance," the shadows moved faintly and she could detect a nonchalant hand movement, "If you need anymore information on the matter, I will be available to provide it. I would advise against searching in the library for information, the majority of the ones I have are out of date and are unreliable." he sighed, "You can never trust what you read these days,"

She shrugged, "There's a reason why fiction is a popular thing. Pretty lies are what people want," Her heart froze, this was the wrong thing to say and all she could feel was terror as she tried to catch herself, "Please, I didn't mean to say that – oh it came out wrong, I'm sorry-"

"No need to apologise my dear," he soothed, amber eyes calm belaying no hint of the storm underneath, "I know that you did not intend to offend." he paused as his voice sent warmth into her, "You do like pretty lies; there's a reason why I picked you." he chuckled at her expression before sobering, eyes glancing downward, "Yet even pretty lies do not conquer your curiosity;" his head tilted towards her, eyes peering at her within the darkness of the car, as he added, "It is rather exciting to see it bloom," at this he gave another chuckle, as if he was keyed into his own secret. Christine guessed he probably was.

Christine tried not to feel offended at those words, the slightly patronising tone making her defences rise, before realising her anger to him was only cause for amusement.

"Sometimes the truth is ugly," she whispered, fight leaving her, "Sometimes it can leave you reeling from it. But if you don't find out then, you will find out later, perhaps on a worse situation." She winced, "I don't know how I feel anymore." Her fist clenched unknowingly, "Is ignorance bliss? Or would it be better knowing the truth from the start?" she scoffed, "How do you know which one is right? When ignorance and truth can be so intermingled with reality, it makes me feel so lost," in the space of the car, her words felt safe.

"You needn't worry about such things anymore, my dear. This sphere of my protection will never leave you harmed." his voice betrayed nothing but pure longing comfort.

His longing reached her and incited within her a need to reach out and huddle closer to that warmth was so prominent. Christine felt herself submitting of the dream of being held in an embrace that would surely never betray her. His love, an entity so devoted, she would never be alone. There would be never something that would call him away bar music. However, if she needed him, if she called out to him, he would be there for her to bury herself into him. He would be there to embrace her, unlimited, unconditional love. The fact that it resided in the form of her confidante, someone who had already embraced her flaws, accepted her as his own – God, it felt so tempting. Just for a moment, just for a car ride, just for a brief undisciplined second, to just forget everything.

Forget that he murdered. Forget the body swinging from the rafters. Those bright spotlights so hot in her face as she stared down at the body and it was festering, blue, grey – in the stages of rigor mortis – in it's open coffin.

Her thoughts came to a crashing halt as she felt the unsteadiness of her stomach. It was rebelling.

"I'm going to be sick." she rasped and Erik's full attention snapped to her. There was a curt order to stop the car, but her mind barely registered it.

Her stomach was rolling, like a wave of an oncoming tsunami and she was unbearably sticky, even her hair was plastered to her neck. Her clothes stuck on the leather as the vehicle lurched to a halt. Panicking fingers barely managed the seat-belt before her hand grasped the lever and the door was swinging open. Then she was scrambling to the side of the road, to a bit of dirt before the wall. Her knees hit the ground, her world jarring as burning up her throat took over and she was heaving onto the sickly green grass. That day's lunch was in a heap of a barely digested mess and she groaned as it dripped from her mouth in a trail of saliva. How mortifying, her mind moaned as she felt Erik's presence beside her, his quick fingers doing wonders as they came to hold her hair back, the cooling pressure that made her want to press those gloriously frigid fingers to her cheeks, her forehead, her neck.

She just was going to tell him another wave was coming - but then she was already retching again. She could hear soothing noises, slight pressure of his fingers rubbing her back through her shirt and the hate of him doing it only added to her nausea.

But then there was an icepack pressed to her neck and she sighed in utter relief. "More," she whispered hoarsely, "I am so so hot right now."

There was hesitation but then there was a handkerchief wiping her lips, brushing her forehead lightly to sweep away the beads of sweat. She groaned, "No I need cold," she pressed her eyes shut as the world swam around her, "There was an ice pack a minute ago, where'd it go?"

"Keep your eyes closed, my sweet dove, keep your eyes closed and there will be cold," the voice soothed. It sounded so heavenly, that voice. She would have done anything to hear it sing.

"Promise. Cold please," she whimpered. There was an odd sigh and then she found herself slowly being wrapped in ice. Two bands of ice came to gently scoop her up and feeling nothing other than laziness, allowed it to carry her to wherever it wanted, even as it tipped slightly and the ice grew tighter. So deliciously cold, her mind thought contentedly, dazedly.

"You will be alright, my dear. Hold onto me and you will be alright," the voice cooed gently and she felt herself pressing against the icebox he must had made for her. It was uncomfortable, but ice was hard anyway, even if two shards lay beneath her. Her head came onto the main ice shard and she resisted the urge to collapse onto it completely, there was a sort of rocking of force as held onto the ice.

"So cold," she mumbled under her breath, going closer to the ice which held her. There was a moment where she heard a hiss and the ice underneath her shifted, rolling her away slightly.

"Not there, angel, not in the middle," the voice was almost hoarse as it issued a warning.

She shrugged, well she thought she did, "Night night," she gave a farewell to the talking icebox.

"Goodnight, my dear." And deathly cold lips pressed themselves onto her forehead, but she was only aware of the icebox and her calling dreams.

She almost screamed as she woke, feeling the sensation of those deathly cold lips against her forehead. Once again she was saturated in sweat, panting as the fever dream faded and a hand vigorously rubbing the tingling off her skin.

Nope, nada, no. That could not have happened, surely it had been a dream. Dream of those soft cool lips a gentle caress on her skin, that stirred a dozen butterflies inside. But the tingling on her forehead did not fade as she tried to tell herself it had been her imagination.

It felt one too many times she had been sick, held and now molested. Sexually assaulted, her mind growled. God, how had she mistaken his hand to ice pack? How had she basically invited him to touch her? She was an idiot. A delirious, sick, feverish idiot which had spent too long outside and then thought of a scenario to only heighten that. She had to stop thinking about Joe. It was making her go insane – yet it was also her saving grace. Had she not thought of him then, what would have happened?

She had the seat-belt to catch herself that time. She had the brains to lurch away before from his hand on her cheek.

What was her defence next time – no! There would be no 'next time'.

Yet the knowing feeling of dread told her that it would only get harder from here. Once she had submitted to his voice, after he tirelessly picked away at her defences, it had been only too easy to fall into that beautiful trance he instigated. And how his eyes lit up when she fell, for she fell hard. Thankfully, it had been months since she had truly taken leave of her senses from that voice. He had sang her to sleep, he had serenaded her, but each time though inherently beautiful, there was a modicum of control on her part. Those evenings when she heard his playing from the music room, though his music called for her, she was able to read on; though she knew that she had processed no words when she had reached upstairs and set the book down on her desk. The entire time she sat there had been spent on keeping her soul inside her body, when she pulled off her clothes to change, red marks that turned into light bruises the next day were to be seen on her arms and legs.

Pain was an effective tool.

Christine warily peered at the darkened street through the windshield of her car. It was night time; past the opening hours of the Leroux restaurant she used to work at. Furrowing her brow, she mulled over the pro's and con's of this terribly spontaneous and stupid predicament.

The man promised music, alluring music. And Christine wanted it. There was something about that aura, that mystical promise behind that black façade. The angel car freshener swung like a pendulum as her fingers gave it a tap, unable to decide if she left her car, how long would she have to wait until it was stolen or damaged. Yet, she knew if she stood up this man, he would leave her life or pop up immensely infuriated after she had stupidly agreed. Even after a day to reflect, she still didn't know how she came to say yes. It was absurd, simply absurd; it as if his voice had encouraged her to say it at his whim. And that was another reason to run. His presence couldn't simply be a coincidence, he had walked into the bookstore with that sole purpose and walked out with her discombobulated agreement. Not many could persuade her that easily and it sent another shudder down her nerves.

Christine knew what to do. She would listen to his music, thank him and leave, praying fervently that they'd never cross paths again. In a year, she would have forgotten him entirely. It sounded perfect.

Sure with this plan of action, the door swung shut and blipped when locked. A can of pepper spray was in her pocket and a chopstick placed carefully in her hair.

It took a few minutes of standing there gaining courage until she forced herself to move.

Listen to music. Say thank you. Run like hell.

"I'm all set," she whispered, fingers grazing the frozen handle of the door and stepping inside to the darkened restaurant.

A draft murmured around her and she took a moment to observe her surroundings. With the darkness, she could see the shadows of the tables moved into the corners and chairs stocked beside them, the bar was polished to a shine and the necks of the bottles watched her as she gazed at them. There was a sort of eerie peace, one that unsettled as well as soothed. Christine had never been here at the dead of night before, nearing the witching hour. It was after closing hours and on a Friday, it closed at eleven. Her retro watch told her in the dim lighting (the lamplight outside shone into the restaurant), that it was ticking near twelve, some thought of it being a terribly mean prank crossing her mind.

An alarm of a siren made her jump as it disturbed the silence of the night – it seemed that the entire street was dead asleep – and it had been the first sign of life she had seen since she had parked her car. Christine could feel a small disturbance in the air, something that told her she wasn't alone, like a pair of eyes that was watching her unseen. She dared not to close her eyes to pinpoint the source, too fearful of the dark and what lurked in it. Yet, she played a game feigning her ignorance, peering around the darkened restaurant. She should have been shaking with fear, too terrified to even consider the idea of trespassing on private property to meet a creepy stranger and his musical ability – yet only desire to discover this mystery and adrenaline pumped through her body.

Yes, the circumstances was terribly dangerous for her. But somehow the fear had been tucked into a remote part of brain that she couldn't seem to access. Her footsteps crept further into the abandoned business revenue, her phone becoming into her torch as she scanned for any suspicious activity. Though her ears could not detect sound, it didn't stop the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Nose twitching, she smelt a faint musk she hadn't encountered before and knew, knew her suspicions were correct. The man was here – and was hiding in the shadows as she had known him to do.

"You can come out now," she warned, eyes casually flickering towards the door in an indication of her intent should he not.

And in lieu of a verbal answer, an intricate melody quietly began. The nostalgia of the pure sound of the violin enraptured her heart, while music swirled around her, white gleaming notes pure with untapped genius. Breath-taking. Her body swayed with it, even as her mind searched of where the music originated, only to fall back in confusion, the music seemed to belong everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"That's – that's the Resurrection of Lazarus." she breathed, fingers dancing in the air with the melody. God, he wasn't just an ordinary violinist – his music, dare she admit, had the similar ability to enrapture as had her father's had. Igniting memories by the dozen, slowly she sank to her knees, unable to hold herself up when her legs turned to liquid.

The music slowly disarmed her defences and she sank into the melody – before she felt a presence creep closer and with great effort she disentangled herself from the alluring music – unsteadily rising to her feet and ready to scramble away. Her heartbeat increased in fear when she saw the shadow of the man under a suddenly working light. His shadow moved with grace with the bow, beautiful cadence in the soft amber glow and polished wood of the wall beside him. The sleek bow was one of the most finely crafted she had ever laid eyes on and her curiosity at the maker plagued her thoughts. Entrancing it was to see him play, his soft moving like the coaxing of a silent lullaby. Honeyed notes rose, the song reaching a beautiful crescendo enthralling her once more and she fell victim to it's commanding beauty. Conflict warred her, fighting with logic and emotion summoned. And it was that conflict that at the end of his song that made her leaden legs move.

His music had left her breathless and her pants filled the air as the music came to a halt, she needed to go. Go, go, go.

"Leaving already?" came the soft melodic voice that matched his musical prowess, leaving thoughts of escape grinding to a halt. Too many questions clouded her brain. How did he know that song? Why did he pick it? What was that bow? Where did this man come from? Could she be so callous to leave without saying thank you?

"Beautiful. It was beautiful sir, though I am sure you are aware of it." she closed her eyes, "Thank you. I need to go now," she added quickly.

"And you do not wish to know more?" his voice held a taunt.

Her hands clenched, "I will not be Eve in this temptation. Go away sir, for I do not want whatever you're selling," she prided herself in figuring out his game.

The man chuckled behind her, "I am not selling you anything, Mademoiselle Daae. I merely wish to enhance your instrument with my teachings; you could have the world at your feet. When your voice blossoms with my aid, you could live and want for nothing." A shudder crawled down her spine as she bristled from his arrogance.

Spinning around she glared at him, "As much as your spontaneous concert was delightful," she drawled to his dark cloaked figure, "I am not bought with lies or petty words. Go find another victim to pursue. If you make a habit of inviting me to places I don't want to go to, I'll file a report to the police. They'll charge you with badgering." she said firmly, shrugging on her fallen coat and wrapping her fingers around her pepper spray.

"The police will do nothing, surely you know what you say is a bluff." He flashed a dangerous smile – only his lips came in view since he wore the mask to hide his identity – as his voice dropped into a hiss, "If I do not see you here again in two days' time, the bookstore where you work will fall into financial ruin within the week. The nice old lady who runs it will encounter a mile worth of debt." Those startlingly luminescent eyes narrowed into slits.

She gaped, "You're actually blackmailing me?" she shook her head in disbelief, "You can't prove any of this – any of this!" she exclaimed, turning around and storming through to the front of the shop.

His voice regained it's beauty when she heard him from behind, "You will make your situation worse if you do not comply with my instructions, my dear Mademoiselle. That kind guardian of yours will forever be in my debt if you do not arrive here in two days' time," he growled. Christine's hands vibrated from how much that voice made her shake and strike fear into her heart. Facing the glass of the door, she felt almost as if this was the start of a very long and terrible journey.

"Do not make me unleash a terrible disaster; for if you do, the consequences will be dire. There will be no chances that your life will remain the same ever again." His voice brushed past her ear, velvety and soft. His last warning.

The door squealed as she bolted out from it, to her car down the street which had been left untouched by the street's vermin. The masked shadow watched as she disappeared in the darkness of the night.

Soon, he thought, soon she would come crawling back to him.

Then all things would be right again.

Erik had found his new instrument to ensnare.

DUN DUN DUNNNN…

Have'ta love the dramatics, no? I do. It's fun. Anyway, I've noticed that most fics have at least one cliff-hanger by now, so I do think you're lucky I don't naturally end them like that haha. Honestly, I am thoroughly enjoying writing this. Still unsure on how long it's going to turn out to be, but ah well, we'll see when we get there.

Any events you're waiting to happen? Like a good ol' masquerade? What about a graveyard? Welp, fun stuff is on the way for sure. I'm not at all cackling over here.

Any predictions about what Christine is gonna do with his blackmailing? Do you think she'll truly tell the police?

I will tell you that you've had one hint prior to this as to what she might do… But that's all imma gonna say.

Did you like the fact that I've named his restaurant by our beloved reporter? (I know it's mentioned before this but forgot to comment haha)

By now, who's thinking that Erik likes her, or just likes the idea of taming her voice? Hehe, we'll find out soon.

And, if all goes well, Christine's unsettled stomach will quiet down. Poor girl, upchucking every minute.

Should we name our dear butterfly friend? He's a special fella, I tell you ;P

Also, my reference to Winnie the Pooh hopefully went noticed...

My thoughts are disjointed today, thank goodness I've written the bulk of this previously. Once again, a special thank you for my reviewers, (TheTenthMuseSappho, Chevesic, Batty Dings and Laurenvbellado), you all are wonderful! I am very grateful any support you give! Thank you to my new followers/favourite-ties, welcome to the story.

To Laurenvbellado

Aw, I wouldn't say perfect lol but I'm grateful you think so! I'm hilarious? Well thank you, I do try to be a little bit entertaining - what else do people come for? Free food? (Nope I don't share food if I can help it...XD) But I'm over the moon to hear that though, and thank you for your lovely reviews! ^^

Anyway, while I'm panicking about life, exam results and more craziness, I'm gonna hit the hay!

Merci,

Enigma