The following night, Christine heard the siren.

She was advised to remain in her room and away from any impending danger that may follow. The crazed, frantic, blaze alight in Erik's eyes was enough for her to obey his command without a second thought, yet curiosity always managed to sway her judgement, and soon she was skulking through the corridors, silently surveying her surroundings for any dangers.

With one foot in front of the other, she continued to walk blindly through the incessant darkness. Her palms were flat out as sweat began to gather on her skin, making her hands stick to the peeling walls, rather than glide across them.

Living with a ghost, one could say that she had picked up certain habits. Though she was able to remain unseen at the best of times, that did not mean that she had the temperance to match. Lacking precision and stealth, she found it difficult to master the navigation of the darkened passageways by herself and especially when her heart was beating so quickly that she was able to hear it in the awful silence which followed her.

Her eyes slammed shut as she pressed herself securely against the cold surface behind her. What would she do if she walked but a little farther and happened upon a body? She could not live here knowing that innocent blood had been spilt within these walls.

That thought, however, was quickly dispelled from her mind. Erik wanted a redeemer—he needed one. To him, she was his saviour, his guiding light, and she would do all that was in her power to maintain that image, to keep him from doing wrong.

A sudden cry pulled her from her musings and her soft footing commenced again, much more hesitantly than before. As she advanced, the muffled noise which had startled her grew and began to shape itself into two voices, each one gruff and low and enraged. Everything about this situation forbade her from intervening, but feeling as though she could not just stand back any longer, she strode ahead, wary of the voices becoming louder and more aggressive. But it was not until she heard a faint thump that she gathered her dress skirt into her hands and quickened her pace, speedily rounding a corner and freezing at the sight that greeted her.

In a desperate struggle against one another, two figures danced to a violent rhythm as syncopated beats and hits ran through the otherwise silent room. They evaded, stalked, weaved and grunted as blows were landed and dodged. Though both kept their balance, there were times when one body would stray too close to an open flame, teasing the small candles or extinguishing them completely—smoke would then float through the air like a descending fog and shroud them even more in a raging haze.

For a long while, the two figures were indistinguishable to Christine, who only saw them as brawling shadows, but then she saw it—the unmistakable flash of white which parted though the smoke, and a pair of pale hands materialising to fiercely drag the other man back into the darkness. A need to intervene, to stop this madness from continuing overcame her, but her feet would not move from her rooted spot, nor would her voice rise above a stifled squeak.

And then, without warning, the two men appeared out of the black vacuum again, and Christine watched rigidly as one was slammed hard up against a wall. The skeletal white hand which was wrapped around the other man's neck, holding him in place, was painfully visible and almost translucent—the hand of a ghost. The victim clawed at the fingers which held him, his efforts weakening with each haggard breath, but it was when his eyes flashed to Christine that he stilled his movements. A second passed and he was falling to the floor, coughing and wheezing, as the bony hand which had both held and released him still hung frozen in the air.

When the opposing figure, with his curling fingers, finally lowered them to his side, his attention did not turn to the noisy victim lying at his feet. No, all he was focused on was their mute intruder, the one person he had wanted to shield from all of this. "Why Christine, what a surprise. I thought you were in your room, my dear."

Erik's words only barely registered in her mind for her focus was centred elsewhere, on a far more pressing matter. Not even giving her dark companion a second glance, Christine ran to the poor man at his feet, wringing her hands in worry as she tried to determine his welfare despite his hunched posture. Mere moments passed before the room was filled with light and, upon looking up, Christine breathed a sigh of relief when Erik was nowhere to be seen.

"Monsieur?" she said, turning back to the man on his knees. "Are you all right? Are you in need of anything? Should I..." Her words tapered off as his face was revealed to her. "Monsieur Khan!" she exclaimed, leaning back. "Heavens, are you all right? What are you doing down here? Why on earth did Erik attack you?"

Before he could say a single word, however, he had erupted into another coughing fit. His body lurched and his hand went instinctively to rest upon his constricted throat, rubbing it, not quite believing that his airways were free of that frightening grip.

"Water," Christine murmured, finally coming to her senses. "You must have water. Stay still and try not to speak. I shall be back as soon as I can," she said quietly before fetching the much needed beverage.

She was loathe to leave him alone for more time than necessary, considering his current condition and the unknown whereabouts of his attacker. Though hesitant and unwilling to face his wrath, a small part of Christine wished that Erik would show himself so that she could speak her mind.

When she returned, she hurried over, careful not to spill the cold liquid, and handed the glass over with a less than steady hand.

While Nadir drank, lapping up the water like a parched animal, Christine wearily watched him, sympathy and rage building gradually within her. Once the glass had been set down, she bent and slowly wrapped her hands around his upper arms. "Here," she said softly, "allow me help you over to the settee."

The kind glint in his eyes reinforced his unspoken gratitude as he hobbled forward. With her arms supporting him, she allowed her eyes to drop dangerously to the purple brand which was beginning to appear across his neck, an unpleasantness stirring within her stomach at the sight of it.

"Monsieur Khan," she spoke carefully, for though she saw no one but the man in front of her, she was aware of a pair of black eyes pressing against her back. "Shall I fetch you some more water?" When he did nothing but shake his head and position himself on the settee, she continued, "I am sorry, so terribly sorry. This seems to be becoming a regular occurrence and I cannot apologise enough—I know he will not, after all." A sigh escaped her mouth as she wearily pushed her hair out of her face. "I do not understand why he has done this. He has been so good as of late! You must believe me, Monsieur Khan."

Rubbing his neck and swallowing thickly, Nadir listened to her rambles, but when he raised his head to speak, the tightness returned to his throat and his body convulsed with more coughs. He was once again grateful when a small hand came to rub and pat his shuddering back in soothing motions, easing his tremors slowly.

"Are you sure you do not want any more—"

He extended an arm towards her, shaking his hand repeatedly. "No," he eventually rasped. "Thank you."

At the sound of his voice, scratchy and hoarse, Christine winced, dropped her hand to her side and dared to ask the question she was most dreading. "Why were you attacked?"

"When you have kn-known Erik for as long as I have, you find yourself th-thrown into the same situations now and again."

Her hand flew to her neck in disgust, as if she could feel the burn within her own throat and his brand upon her skin. "You mean to say that this has happened before?"

"Well, n-no, but—" His poor attempts at explaining left him with a bitter after taste as he saw tears shimmering in those soft brown eyes. "Christine, I am sorry. You should not have be-been witness to th-that."

"But I was," she said, exasperated. Oh, how she wished that she was not looked down upon as meek and gentile. How she wished that her sex was not belittled by the men who only wished to hold a veil over their eyes, to shield them from the violent happenings in the world. As if she was unaware of such things! She did not understand why everyone sought to hide the truth from her! "Tell me, please," she urged gently.

With a trembling hand, Nadir smoothed down his hair and glanced at the woman sitting beside him. "Well," he began, "You see—"

"The Daroga learned long ago that it is best if he keeps his mouth shut," a menacing voice said from behind them. "Isn't that right?"

Christine looked up and shuddered, not liking the way Erik was now walking towards them—like a hunter approaching its prey, weak and wounded and—no. No! She did not feel weak. She would not feel inferior. She would not back down. She would stand her ground. "Why would you do this, Erik?" she asked, standing up to minimise the nauseating height difference.

Feigned hurt sparkled in his eyes. "Why would I do what? Oh! You are annoyed. Christine is annoyed! What has Erik done to deserve such wrath?"

"Be quiet," she snapped uncharacteristically before thrusting her arm out to the side, indicating the man beside her. "This, Erik. This very much deserves my wrath, don't you think?"

"Ah," he said, keeping his eyes locked with hers. "The Daroga and I had a small argument, 'tis all! Nothing to worry your pretty little head over." His tainted fingers reached for her cheek but she moved her head away at the last second.

"A small argument, you say? Is that how you solve all your arguments, Erik? With violence?"

"Christine—"

"No!" she shouted. "How dare... how dare you attack him, Erik! Is this how you treat your friends?"

"I see no friend. I have no friends," he replied flatly. "I see only an intruder who was met with the hospitality that he deserved.

Huffing, Christine ran her hands over her hair in a calming motion before stealing a glance down at Nadir, who was sitting rigidly on the settee, his eyes burning. "Before we go any further, I think you owe Monsieur Khan an apology."

"Come now," Erik retorted, "don't you think you are overreacting?"

"Overreacting? You think I am the one overre—Oh!" she cried, throwing her arms up in frustration. "Erik! You cannot treat people like this! To... To attack him like that, with no justification whatsoever—even with justification, it is wrong, but to see how you—"

"I am afraid to disappoint you, Christine," he interrupted, staring down at her breathlessly. "But I do have an excuse for my behaviour."

"A poor one," Nadir interjected, not daring to move from his secure position, knowing that the young woman's presence was a Godsend, that he would not be harmed so long as she remained as a barrier between them. "God damn it, man! Why do you act this way towards me, even after everything I have done for you?"

A deep, animalistic growl emanated from Erik's throat and, with all the stealth of a panther, he began to manoeuvre his way around Christine and towards the perspiring man behind her. He would have pounced effectively and swiftly were it not for the light pressure of a hand against his chest which stopped him in his tracks. The tiniest touch from Christine's little fingers was all it took to render him as still as stone. His anger began to melt away as he tore his eyes away from Nadir's and met hers.

An awful silence then befell them and all three shared in its terribleness. Taking advantage of Erik's sense to finally keep a hold on his tongue and, more importantly, his temper, Christine slowly reached out with both hands to encase one of his quivering fists. Startled by her gesture, yet unafraid of it, his eyes softened, his head tilting in sorrow as she began shaking her own. "Why must you make it so difficult for everyone?" she whispered as she leaned closer to him, hoping it was enough to calm him, that her touch, with its quiet power, was able to take away some of his rage. "Why must you make it so hard for me? Why must you make it so hard for me to... to..."

"To what?" he murmured, his mask nudging the top of her head curiously as the man on the settee now sat forgotten to both of them.

For me to...

The unspoken words stayed within her mind, as if trapped within a labyrinth of her own devising, a dark conglomerate of denied truths and secret longings. And they terrified her.

"I am so confused," she uttered finally. "Sometimes I did not know what to think, and when I do, it only confuses me more." She turned her face timidly towards his, speaking quietly into his ear. "It does not make any sense, and I want to understand, Erik, I do, but you will have to help me."

"My mind is a muddled thing," he murmured so quietly that Christine had to lean in even closer to hear him and, as he spoke, she could feel his fist slowly start to loosen and unfurl, his fingers becoming limp and pliable in her hands. "Why would you want to understand?"

His silence only watered her determination, encouraging it to bloom. "Trust, Erik. Trust." It was all she could say right now, but it was enough. "Tell me what happened."

She could feel the light shake of his head as his hand slipped from hers. "Christine will be angry with her Erik. He does not want that. No, he does not want that."

"I will not be angry," she told him, though she knew it was a lie. "I only wish to know."

"The Daroga," he eventually said, stepping away from both of them but keeping his focus on his beloved. "He has brought something for you."

"He has?" she asked, bewildered. "What is it?"

"I do not know," Erik suddenly muttered, his eyes pinning the other man to his seat with their intensity. "He would not tell me."

After glancing back and forth between the two men, Christine bravely put herself between them again, standing directly in front of Nadir, her back absorbing Erik's glare.

"What have you brought me, Monsieur Khan?" she asked him politely, making sure her body shielded him completely. Yes, she, too, knew her presence was valuable.

"A letter," he rasped uneasily.

"From whom?" she inquired, already wary of the answer.

"No, he would not say, would he?" Erik snapped from behind them when no answer was given. "You are all conspiring against Erik!"

"No one is conspiring against you," Christine groaned, speaking to him from over her shoulder before Nadir could most likely call him a name he would regret. "May I see the letter?" she asked, turning her attention back to the Persian and stretching her arm out slightly in front of her.

Nadir peered down at her hand and sighed, as if weighing the consequences of his decision. Finally, he slowly reached into the deep folds of his jacket and pulled out a crumpled envelope. Gently, Christine took it and thanked him for his cooperation.

Eager to return home as soon as possible, Nadir flexed his fingers and stood, suddenly craving his armchair by the hearth. "I th-think it would be best if I were to t-take my leave n-now."

"Please do," Erik snarled curtly.

"Are you certain?" Christine said, stepping back to allow him his own space. "Would you not stay and rest awhile? You have been through a lot." She felt guilty allowing him to go without being properly seen to; she would never make a good hostess.

"N-no," he replied, rubbing his neck, easing a short cough out. "I have overstayed my welcome."

"Allow me to walk you to the door, then," Christine offered. It was the least she could do.

"Thank you," he replied, grateful for her protection.

As they stood on the steps leading up to the door, Christine smiled apologetically at him and shuffled her feet, knowing that she would have to speak for Erik again. "I am sure he did not mean it," she told him pathetically. "And I know that you must not believe me, but he has not done anything like this—"

"I know."

"What?" She certainly had not been expecting an agreement.

Swallowing thickly down his bruised throat, Nadir turned to where Erik skulked, noticing how he kept his eyes to the ground, brooding, waiting. "There's a ch-change in him. I can see it. It is you," he said, turning back to look at the young woman in wonder. "You are the cause."

"Perhaps someone should tell him that." Christine's sigh echoed around the silent room. "I only wish that he could see it himself."

"In time..." Nadir's words trailed off and he shook his head, knowing too well not to assume anything with Erik.

"Why do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You tolerate his behaviour as if it were... normal," she whispered, leaning closer to him.

"Ah," Nadir sighed, pressing one hand against the door handle behind him, needing to feel the security of the cold latch that would soon give him his freedom. "I do not justify his actions, but if you knew his past—the horrors he has seen—then perhaps you would understand. I care—about what he is capable of, and, I suppose in a strange way, I care for him. I would n-not concern myself with him after all these years if I didn't." He then raised one hand and tapped the envelope still clutched within her hands. "Be wary of that, Mademoiselle. It will perhaps bring more ha-harm than good."

Christine did not have time to figure out his meaning for he left immediately after uttering a short farewell.

Descending the steps slowly, she gripped the envelope tighter and made her way over to Erik. "Why would you strangle Nadir, your friend, over a silly letter?" she asked him, perplexed.

"You do not know of its contents, Christine."

"Neither do you!" she cried, restraining herself from hurling the letter towards him.

"You are angry," he grumbled, and though his shoulders held no tension, she could see his hands beginning to curl up into tight balls again.

"No, I am not."

"Yes, you are!" he shouted. "You lied! You promised you would not be angry with Erik."

"And so I am not," she said wearily, her patience wearing thin but not completely deserting her. "However," she continued, "I do not see how you could react this way over something so trivial as a letter." She sighed again, remembering Nadir's explanation before making her way past him. "Allow me to read this alone and in peace. If you cannot admit that what you did was wrong then at least give me this moment to myself. Perhaps you, too, could benefit from a moment's reflection."

Without another word or a look back in his direction, Christine walked away.