MJ MOD: I know, I know, it's sad…however, all good things must come to an end! And, it's not like he had the greatest life ever. (

Jbwriter: I had Elizabeth Smart running through my mind after I wrote that chapter. Stockholm syndrome…I didn't realize it had it's own category. I looked it up after receiving your review. I definitely had heard of it before though, but, not as an actual…phrase. Anyway… I'm glad you thought it was a twist! I was afraid the whole thing was terribly predictable.

Invaderoperaghost: pauvre Erik!

We're close to the end, dearhearts! Please read and review!

We sat in silence for hours, I felt myself wake and succumb again to sleep. When I did wake, I had to concentrate to keep breathing constantly. Adelaide sat diligently, her eyes piercing the foot of the bed, I could see her mind wandering with new revelations and memories. Had thought of her decision to stay before she had said it? I knew it could not be more then a week…I knew the end was approaching. I welcomed it.

I turned and stared at her face more closely, as I never had before. I took advantage of her wandering mind and sleepiness. Her lips, usually thin and pursed, now appeared fuller then before and quite red from being bit upon as a nervous habit. Her eyes were not visible to me, as she had cupped her face in her hands, pressing her temples with an extended hand, catching her thick, darkening hair in her other fingers. I had seen her as such many times before, and more so recently.

"Do you have a headache, Adelaide?" I realized immediately after I had spoken that that had been the first time I had used her Christian name in front of her.

Bringing her hand from her face, her eyes still closed, a faint smile crossed her face. "Déjà vu," she whispered, hardly audible to me and I'm sure to her. She nodded her head at me, her eyes fluttering open. Silence pressed again.

"Are you afraid of death?" she asked timidly, it burst from her as if it was question she had thought of asking for quite a while.

I took a deep breath, and willed myself to answer concisely and without a slur of my heavy tongue.

"What is there to fear? Once I die, I will be nothing but dust and ashes in a matter of years. There is nothing beyond that."

"Blasphemy," she exclaimed, sliding off the chair, and kneeling at my bedside. Her eyes round with surprise, yet, I sensed false.

"Blasphemy," I repeated cynically, "My dear, I do not believe in a God." She continued to stare at me, her eyes trying not to criticize. "You believe?" I asked pointedly, shorter sentences had a better chance of making it out of my mind and mouth more clearly.

"Of course I do," she answered quickly, "I'm Catholic."

"I asked if you believe in God, not if you were Catholic."

She continued to stare at me, her eyes flicking back and forth, searching for an answer and then trying to figure out how to say it so it would project the image she wanted for herself. It came as a surprise to me how well I had come to know her.

"Well," she said, determined to come out of this conversation above me, "you can't expect us to be living here without direction…at random…"

"That would be science."

She glared at my sharp answer. "I suppose," she said, her voice truly reflecting thought, "I've never thought about it in depth….I was raised to simply believe…blindly…" She paused, yet I did not relieve her of the awkward silence she had created. I was genuinely curious as to what she would come up with next. She looked away from me and began to concentrate on the rug. "You have to believe," her tone had softened, "that someone else has some say in your life's direction." She looked up at me, suddenly and felt her way back into the chair. "Can someone manage their life independently?"

"No, some people can not," I thought of Christine, indirectly. "Those who can not handle the responsibility find others to depend on."

I could tell that struck a chord in her mind, for she straightened and looked in her lap. She was truly a woman ahead of her times. Christine would never have puzzled over these ideas.

"What a…what a weak person, then!" she exclaimed, disgusted.

"I will let you say that, yes."

She smiled at the banter that had passed, and looked back at the ground again.

"I suppose," she began voluntarily, "I do fear death. Death in childbirth, particularly," her voice cracked and her eyes flushed with tears. She could not bring herself to say she had also at one point feared death at my hand. I could see she was overwhelmed by more then the idea of death, many things were hitting her suddenly. For the first time, I pitied her and felt a new level of guilt for what I had done to her life; I had been blind to her life and her condition, knowing only of what I desired.

"When?" I asked, the word hardly coming out, more as a blunder as I suddenly felt dizzy and disorientated.

"April," she responded without looking back at me, trying to gain control of her self again, clearly frustrated by her own weakness and mood swing.

I knew it was March. I simply made a motion to nod, but then felt a haze across my eyes and the last thing I saw was her anxious face pulling at her fingers in her lap. I felt my mind go, and my body seizes again, and I faintly heard the Vicomtess – Adelaide – jump up and cry out for help.