It had been a week since she had come to his house by the lake. Never in his life had Erik met anyone with such joy for life, such a disregard for his obvious depression; he hated it. It was a wonder she had ever killed someone, she didn't seem the type. She did the strangest things.

One evening as he sat in his room deep in thought, the lake alarm went off and when he had gone to see who was on it, he had found the girl swimming in the water. At first he had thought she was trying to escape, but as he went to untie the boat he noticed that she wasn't really going anywhere, in stead she seemed to be swimming back and forth close to the shore. She was swimming for recreation. He stared puzzled, wondering if he ought to go back inside or watch her just to make sure she didn't get away. "I'm not going anywhere, monsieur phantom. I just needed something to do, you may return inside to sulk." He had not liked it that she should speak to him in this way, but it was just so amusing to see her playing in the water like a child that he ignored her insult. As long as she stayed to herself, what did he care? Once he had woken up from a nap in his chair to find a pair of almond eyes staring at him with awe from only a foot away.

"You're awake. You scared me. You sleep like the dead."

"Were that it was so."

"Are you always so depressed?"

"Are you always so cheerful?"

"No, but I bet I know how I can cheer you up." and she had grabbed three candle sticks and began to juggle them like a circus act. She stopped and balanced one on her nose. "Impressed?" she asked looking at him from the corner of her eye as she kept the candle balanced.

"Not really." Erik said as he got up and made for his room, which he entered and then quickly shut the door.

When he emerged again a few days later he found her sitting on the floor next to his bookcase. She had up righted it from where the mob had thrown it and it seemed she had also began to organize the books on the shelves, although by color as far as he could tell. She was thumbing through a fairy tale book he had saved from a rubbish bin some years earlier. She would pause, study a page, and then move on until she had found another page of interest to stop at.

"What are you reading" he asked without thinking.

"I'm not, I can't read. There are some nice pictures in here though. I think I like this one, where this girl is asleep in a coffin. How odd, don't you think, to sleep in a coffin."

"Well if one has a preference-"

"It's absolutely morbid." She said sounding appalled; Erik winced. "I think its fascinating."

"Do you?"

"And why shouldn't I?" she laughed as she stood to place the book in the "purple" section.

"I think it's a rather odd thing for anyone to find 'fascinating'."

At this she merely shrugged and went back to doing what she had been doing; picking up another book and placing it on the shelf in another section without looking at. And no wonder, it was obviously a volume without pictures.

Erik spent more and more time in his room wishing he were dead or with Christine. Even if she never touched him or wanted him he thought somehow that simply having her around would be better than not being able to see her at all. Of course he knew this wasn't true, but the hand of despair covered his eyes and made him blind to reality.

Every time he emerged from his room, something else seemed to be put away, put together, adjusted and moved about, although he rarely caught her in the act he knew the girl was slowly rearranging his house to make it what she considered "livable." At least it kept her mostly quiet. She never troubled him at all and everything she needed she seemed to find herself. Except for her habit of tidying up. He didn't like that at all. Having his house in a state of disorder had served to remind him of the day Christine had walked out of his life forever. He liked that memory and the pain that came with it, for love was pain, and with every once of pain he felt he knew it meant he loved her that much more. That he needed her truly, and she would never come back for the love of another. That pain was especially sweet, the fact that he could live through it but not overcome it proved that his love was true. Love is pain. Pain is sweet.

It is said that some people crave this kind of thing. It is like a drug that goes to one's brain and gives them a feeling of euphoria. It is a release from a world they cannot explain to themselves, and so seek to Escape it. If anyone on this earth needed that sort of thing, it was definitely Erik.

One day when he emerged from his room, he nearly stepped on the girl. She was sitting on the floor in front of his door with a tray of food beside her.

"Finally." she said sounding a bit agitated, "I noticed you haven't eaten in a few days longer than usual and I realized if you die, well I just don't want to be responsible for the corpse. Here. Eat. Now." She stood and handed the tray to him before turning and leaving him alone. It seemed as though she had made him everything she could think off.

Quite a feat considering the lack of shopping he had done in the last few weeks. Everything looked good, but he wasn't sure if he was hungry or not. Still better not to cause any trouble. All he wanted was to be left alone and if eating breakfast would bring that about than so be it. He ate until he was full, set the tray on the table and hastily retreated to the safety of his room before he was offered dessert.

There came a day when Erik noticed that the cleaning of his house had ceased. And just in time as there seemed to be nothing left to clean. His books appeared color coded and in rainbow order (he didn't like that so much) the wood for his fire place was neatly stacked, the fireplace cleaned out, the furniture arranged and rearranged (save his fireside chair, she had enough sense to leave that alone), and everything had been dusted and cleaned to perfection. Even his organ his once prized possession had been restored to its former glory.

There was even a sheet of music, randomly selected from his collection he supposed), placed above the keys. He felt his fingers itch. How long had it been since he had visited his precious love; music? It was tempting. The girl was not around, surely one page of music played out would do no harm, it may even do him some good.

Erik closed his eyes and soon lost himself in the music, a piece he had long since memorized. He had promised himself just one piece, but before he had noticed he began playing another, Beethoven's ninth, Mozart, Tchechovsky, Faust, on and on and on till he was sure that he could not remember anymore. The last note of the organ hummed through his house as he lowered his head, eyes closed fingers still placed lovingly on the keys, as in reverence for what he had just done.

"Bravo." Erik turned to see the girl sitting on the floor not too far behind him. "That is the thing to say, isn't it?"

"I'd rather you not say anything at all." Erik moved to retreat into his room again.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Erik asked distractedly not really wanting or expecting an answer.

"Run back to your room as soon as I try to begin a civilized conversation with you?" Those eyes stared at him from behind the mask. "You realize we have been, well… living together for almost a month now. You know, I don't even know your name? I do consider it rather rude of you."

Erik made a mock bow. "I do apologize mademoiselle, but what would you have me do? Sip tea with you and discuss the weather? Comment on your fine redecorating skills? I'm afraid you have forgotten our current situation. You are my prisoner. I, your jailer. And this," he gestured to the room in which they stood, "your prison, no matter how much you tidy it up."

For once she seemed to be speechless, she stood looking at him from behind her mask, studying him. For a moment he thought that he had made her cry.

"I'm leaving, then. I think I'd rather take my chances up there than down here shut away from the world with a sulking ghost of a ghost who won't even leave his room long enough to eat. Besides, we are running out of food. Did you ever think of that? What will happen when the food runs out?"

"I suppose we'll starve."

"I'm not prepared to die down her like that with you. You who won't even acknowledge my presence except when you have to, when I force you to."

"Really? And where will you go? Do you really believe they have stopped searching for you? Perhaps if you where a man, but a female murderess? That is something that won't soon be forgotten. Especially one who wears such a distinctive mask."

"I really don't see why you would care, monsieur Phantom." She moved to retrieve her cloak from a stand in the corner of the room. Erik moved swiftly and trapped her there.

"I care, Mademoiselle," he hissed not two inches away from her face, "because I can't have you running around wherever you please. You are the only one who knows I'm still living down here. Do you realize what they will do to me if they find me?"

Her eyes narrowed beneath the mask. "It can't be much worse than what you are doing to yourself" she spat. "Go ahead; wallow in self pity till you dieBut don't think for a moment that I will allow myself to stay here and suffer the same fate. Whatever thing you have done to deserve this, I have not." She moved to walk out the door, fastening her cloak around her neck.

"You've killed a man." he said to her back. Her shoulders fell just a little. "Murdered him in cold blood. How can you say you don't deserve the same fate?"

"I am nothing like you!" She whirled around, making her cloak swirl around her imperiously. "You know nothing of it! Nothing! How dare you condemn me, for a crime you know nothing about!" And she did start to cry then, uncontrollably and with such force that she had to sit down on Erik's black leather couch.

Erik was a little bit amazed. It had been ages since had seen a girl cry, actually cry with no self restraint. She looked like such a child. He was at a loss at what to do.

"I didn't mean…"

"We do need food though. I don't want to starve to death down here. I do need food." She sniffled and tried to regain her composure. She turned her back towards Erik and removed her mask, presumably to dry her tears. Erik found himself wondering what she looked like and he understood that this was how Christine must have felt the night she stripped him of his mask.

"Alright. Yes I suppose we do need food, that is a fact I have neglected. Even the worst prisons provide the basic staples of life for their prisoners. I apologize, mademoiselle." For the first time since she had met him, Erik sounded sincere, and perhaps a little ashamed. "We will go together. Is that acceptable."

Her mask replaced, she turned back to face her jailer and nodded. He walked around the couch and held out his hand to help her up. "My name is Erik."

She took his hand and rose to her feet. "I am Angelique."

"Enchanté , Mademoiselle."