A/N: Thanks so much for all of the reviews! This chapter is a bit unusual…but I want you all to know that I did my best with it…I can't do anything but stay true to my vision of the story. I hope that you like it. If you hate it, please don't throw rocks at me:)

Chapter Eleven

"Have you seen my blue shawl?" Christine asked her maid anxiously. "I have looked everywhere for it and it seems to have grown legs and walked away!" She sat down on her bed, exasperated.

"Mademoiselle, is this the one you are looking for?" the maid answered, holding up the very item in question.

"That's it!" Christine jumped up and snatched the shawl from the maid, smiling. "Oh, thank you! It must have been right under my nose the whole time! Now, would you mind helping me to sort through all of these clothes and choose the ones I would most likely need for my stay? I really could use another woman's opinion."

The maid looked slightly surprised. "Of course, Mademoiselle, if you insist."

Christine frowned. "Well, you don't have to help me if you would rather be doing other things, I suppose." I don't even want to go on this silly trip, she thought. I know of someplace else I would rather be…her heart nearly leapt at the thought, and she felt ashamed of herself.

"Oh, no, Mademoiselle, I didn't mean it that way. I should be glad to help."

"Good." Christine smiled at the young maid. "I should also like it if you could accompany me on this trip…I do not know anyone at the Laurent house, and I would rather not ask a stranger to help me lace my corset every day!" she said, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, I understand. After I finish with your packing, I shall attend to my own," the maid answered her.

"Oh, Helene, I hope that we will enjoy ourselves there. Raoul says that they own horses!"

"I do not ride horses, Mademoiselle. I did not grow up with them as perhaps you and le Vicomte did…they frighten me a little," Helene replied honestly.

Christine furrowed her eyebrows and sighed. "Well, perhaps I shall have to find another riding partner for the duration of our stay." She folded a few garments and laid them gently into her luggage. "Now…only about twenty more frocks to go," she giggled.

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The evening meal with the Laurents had come and gone, and Erik had enjoyed the conversation around the table. Young Amêlie had asked Erik a myriad of questions about musical compositions he had written, and he had even played a few simple songs for her on the piano after supper had ended.

However, most of the conversation had revolved around Erik and his new job. The Laurents were thrilled that everything had gone so well for Erik, and they had made it known with their smiles and encouraging words. Never before had Erik felt so welcomed and so much like part of a family. There was a large part of him, however, that he guarded very closely…he had been hurt too much in the past and did not want to expose his vulnerabilities before these people. They had been nothing but kind to him, and yet, trusting others was something that Erik feared he may never fully learn.

He retired to the guest house and expected to have a restful sleep, as everything in his life seemed to be going well for a change. He put out the light and lay down in the lumpy bed. Well, at least it is a sturdy bed…not at all like the one at the church. He sighed. How can people sleep in these uncomfortable contraptions? Then again…my sleeping arrangements in the past were never exactly…normal. He closed his eyes and soon his breathing became slow and regular as he drifted off.

Screams….fire…a smell of burning flesh…a wave of nausea…the crack of a whip. Searing pain upon his back…the sound of his own screaming. His hands in chains...his feet in shackles…stripped naked and bare before an unseen tormentor. Roaring laughter coming from every direction. "Come! Come and see the devil's child!" Loud roaring like that of thousands of animals in unison--"We have you now! There is no escape for you! No hope! You will always be the devil's child!" Hot scratches upon his chest and face…claws digging into his neck. No! NO! HELP ME, PLEASE!

"Help me!" Erik shouted aloud and sat bolt upright in bed. Shaking and sweating, he realized he was experiencing another nightmare. It was so real, he thought. Oh, God…so real. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his legs so wobbly that he had to grip the bedpost to steady himself. He practically hobbled to the lavatory and splashed some water on his face. He stood for what seemed like several minutes, just trying to rid himself of the terrified, foreboding feeling that his nightmare had evoked in him. Finally he made his way down the hall to the kitchen. Finding a bottle of wine and a glass, he seated himself at the small table and proceeded to drink until he could no longer see, smell, or feel any remnants of his dream. Erik returned to bed well over an hour later, quite intoxicated and ill at ease, and fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

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About mid-morning, Erik awoke to the sound of someone pounding on his front door. By the time he managed to drag himself from the bed, the insistent knocker was gone, leaving only a large envelope on the doorstep. Erik knew at once that this must be some work from his new employer. So soon? he thought. Ah, well, I shall see about starting on this at a later time. After all, it is nearly the week's end and God knows I could use some rest.

Erik laid the package on the kitchen table and walked slowly to the back of the house. He was thoroughly drained from such lack of sleep over the past several days, as well as being rather hung over, and he had decided on going back to bed. He hoped that he would not be awakened again, as he heard the sound of rain begin to splatter upon the roof. His eyes grew heavier and he rolled onto his side, giving in to his body's needs.

But it was not to be. Erik jerked violently in his sleep as another nightmare overtook him. This one was even more vivid than the last…disembodiedfaces in agony…faces that looked familiar to him…young girls…old men…torture chambers…a black cloaked figure…a Punjab lasso…a stage hand at the Opera…Piangi…disturbing images from Erik's horrendous past surrounded him…Erik knew them all too well. In his nightmare, he was standing upright, as a large, black, clawed hand reached into his chest and violently grasped his heart. A searing pain shot through his chest and he found that he could not breathe, as the hand gripped more and more tightly, until he thought that he would surely die within seconds. He knew he could not even scream for help. Panic overtook him. Help me! he cried out in his mind. Oh, God, help me! God…God…J-Jesus! Help me! Suddenly a light began to infiltrate his vision…he felt the clawed hand begin to weaken…the light grew in its intensity…his breath began to return to his lungs…the clawed hand shook as though it were attempting to hold on to Erik's heart for dear life…the light continued to grow until Erik could no longer keep his eyes open…Help me! The hand released its grip and an unearthly shriek pierced Erik's ears…and still the light shone, even through his closed eyelids. Suddenly, he felt free from the dark grip and the horrific images from his past began to fade slowly…but the light remained there, all around him, and he felt as though it were penetrating through every pore of his body. He shook and fell to his knees, as if pulled down by an unseen hand. The light was almost painful now, and he placed his forehead to the ground and covered his head with his hands, still trembling violently. And then…a Voice…one like he had never heard before…was it even a voice? It sounded almost like…roaring waters…like a thunderstorm…like a powerful rumbling noise all at once, Erik thought. It frightened him beyond words and he could no longer think—he believed that he was surely dead when the Voice spoke.

"I have come."

Erik did not understand what was happening. He began to weep and shake violently, and fear nearly paralyzed his heart. He tried to ask the Voice, "Who? Who are you?" but he could not find his own voice, let alone his own breath.

And as suddenly as the Voice had come, it left…the light faded, and Erik woke up in his bed, still trembling and weeping.

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Erik sat for several moments, recalling his dream…but it did not even feel like a dream. It felt like it had actually occurred…the darkness of the gripping hand on his heart, the light that came when he had called out for help…the Voice that did not even sound like a voice…it felt more real than anything Erik had ever experienced. His chest still ached from the lack of breath and the pressure upon his heart.

The next thing Erik realized was that he had dropped to the floor beside his bed…had he been trying to stand? He couldn't remember. He placed his forehead on the floor, as he had done in his dream, and wept. Those faces…all those faces…all that I have done…I cannot bear it! "Oh, God, I cannot bear this pain! Give me peace!" he shouted and sobbed at once. Rocking back and forth in agony with his arms wrapped around him, Erik began to emit a guttural wail that shook him to his very core. It was as if years of pain came gushing forth from his heart in that moment. "I hate what I am! I hate what I have done! Oh, God! Help me! Save me from what I have become!" And then Erik remembered what he had thought in his sleep…while he was yet unconscious…he had spoken that name…. "Jesus! Rescue me from this monster that I have become! Oh, God, oh, God!" he wailed uncontrollably. Pent up rage, anger and regret began to well up inside him and he pounded his fists against the floor. "No! NO! There is no hope for me! God help me! I have done too much! I have killed too many!"

Erik now sobbed painfully. He wept for what seemed like hours, his unmasked face drenched with tears…but the longer he wept, the lighter he felt. He finally felt himself begin to lift up off of the rough wooden floor and he straightened his back and shoulders—he had never felt so utterly…weightless…before. It was as if someone had removed a heavy anvil from his back…he could not even fully comprehend the sensation. And suddenly, he thought he heard something…it wasn't a sound in the room, but it seemed like a voice…a thought, perhaps? But the thought had not originated from his own mind…it was a thought completely foreign to him: "Erik, I have forgiven you…and you are Mine."

A/N: Well, if you're reading this, you've survived! Congratulations! This was a heavy one, I know. My vision of it was based upon my own thoughts as well as testimony from real people, as well as Scripture.

Thank you to poetzproblem, holly, J, Haley Macrae, and Mlle.Fox for reviewing! Keep 'em comin'! –hugs-

To Mlle. Fox: Your concerns are duly noted. Erik's "deal" with God was my way of illustrating his immaturity in spiritual matters, but also illustrates how God often "meets us where we are." Don't worry—he'll grow. –wink- Um…about the E/C thing…all I can say is that they both will have a lot of growing to do…sorry if my particular vision for this story disappoints you. Thanks for reviewing.