Readers,

This chapter has proven the hardest to write yet. Forgive the length; another chapter should be posted as soon as I can get it typed (after homework). I'm also sorry for how long it has taken me to post this. Again, I hope to make amends for it soon. Thank you for your reviews and for the awesome readership. There are no better readers in the world than you.

Until next time,

S.R.

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She didn't know what happened to him that night; all she knew was the fear that gripped her chest like a vice, making it feel as though her heart would burst. That night proved to be one of the longest she ever experienced. The adrenaline that surged through my veins has blurred her thoughts as she cried. She cried until she thought no more tears could possibly come, and then tried to stifle her sobs.

What had become of Erik? Who was the madman whose face she had seen? Surely Erik, the man who had saved her life and treated her so well, would not suddenly try to kill her! But those eyes! She knew the look in them, the look that men with no conscience had about them.

But when she squeaked out his name, it had passed. He backed away from her as if she was poisonous. What sort of madness was this? Had she given her trust too early? "Erik," she sobbed, trying to understand this new side of the man. "Erik…"

He had fled after she had left him. What had he done? His hands were burning as if held in a fire. He had tried to kill her! "Cecily! What a mad beast am I! I have let you stay too long! Oh, mad Erik! Thinking that I could finally have her trust, perhaps her companionship! And I have killed it! Assassin! You were trained for it and it overcame your mind, you beast! Cecily! Oh, little cat! This wretched face…" He slipped down into a tunnel he hadn't used in years. He leaned against the wall, trying to dull the burning sensation in his hands.

He had tried to strangle her with the very hands she had bandaged! What sort of monster was he? Hours passed, doing little to soothe his wretched soul. Despite his reservations, he knew that he had to return, he had to show her back to the surface. Back to the world with people who would laugh with her and dance and eat and sleep. Not with one who would try to kill her. He had to get her away! She was driving him mad!

He entered his lair and waited just outside her door. He heard her sobs, and the painful constriction in his torso grew worse. He heard her utter his name. It did not hold the same trust, the same care that it had held. It was a name in a graveyard, cold and gray and dead.

When he could stand it no longer, he called to her. "Cecily…"

"Stay away from me! I did nothing to deserve the last, and have done nothing to deserve it now! Stay away from me, you fiend!"

He closed his eyes and sighed. What had he expected? Give her a few hours and she'd welcome him back with open arms? "Mademoiselle, I thought perhaps you might wish to return to the surface. As there is little chance of you finding your way out alone, I was going to offer to take you to the steps."

He heard her shuffle around, then saw her through the doorway. She stood back, brandishing the knife like one experienced with such things. "You will take me back? You will not hurt me?"

The knot in his stomach filled with an aching tension. "No. No, I will not hurt you," he whispered.

She came out, still holding the knife toward him. "Then let's go."

"You're in your nightgown, mademoiselle. Perhaps you'd wish to change."

Her eyes narrowed. "I cannot very well stay on my guard and change my clothing all at once, can I? This nightgown will do. Let's go. And if you lead me into a trap, may it be on your head forever!"

His face settled into a cold mask, as ironic as that seemed. "Very well, mademoiselle. Follow me."

---

She followed behind him for what seemed like hours. At first, she held her knife tightly, making sure the point was always ready. She watched him like a hawk. She wanted him to seem evil, the demon that she had seen the night before. Anger was easy. She could hang onto it, keep it for as long as she wanted to hold the grudge. Anger led to revenge, and at least that gave an easy direction to things. Before her eyes, though, the fiendish brute of hours before was replaced by a tired, empty man.

To renew her anger, that potent opiate, she tried to picture him leading her into some dark, abandoned tunnel and killing her. Unfortunately, logic took over. It wasn't as if he couldn't have killed her in his lair, and it was much less walking for him. Damn it! She felt the anger slipping away, confusion and pity replacing it.

The man in front of her was not the monster he had been, nor was he the friend he had been. He seemed slumped, if not in posture, then in spirit. He held the torch dangerously close to him, and Cecily fought the urge to run over and tip it away from him. She had seen the guilt in his eyes, but that had betrayed her before. She could not believe that he was so easily a man in the mask and a monster without. It wasn't possible to be so divided. Was it?