It was turning out to be a balmy evening, and Christine half-jogged along, trying to hurry. Rehearsals had just gotten out, and Erik was expecting her. Yet when she had made to head down, she realized that she had left her toiletries bag sitting on the counter in her apartment. She panted a little as she quickened her step. The faster she got this done, the less suspicious Erik would be. And she didn't want to give him any reason to be so, especially after Raoul's sudden appearance the other night. Erik hadn't mentioned it at all, but he had been incredibly distracted and snappish during her last lesson, making her worried that somehow he had just found out. Not wanting him angry at her, she had kept silent about it, praying that everything would just blow over.

But still…he had acted oddly that last lesson. More so than usual, anyway. In it, he had reminded her no less than three times that she was supposed to stay with him.

"I know," she had said patiently every time. "I'll be there."

With a little huff, Christine waited at a streetlight, glancing behind her. The top of the Opera House's iconic roof could still be seen. She had never been up there, though Meg had once told her that sometimes small groups of performers would sneak up there to drink and watch the sunset.

She remembered her previous conversation with Meg. It had been the day before yesterday. The company was running through some of the finer bits of the blocking, and Carlotta had taken it upon herself to begin telling the stage manager how to do his job, who himself was red in the face and began shouting. The rest of the cast had started to chat idly amongst themselves and the musicians were taking the time to stretch and rest their aching fingers.

"I hate this opera," Meg had said plainly. "I hate the music. It's not pretty." Since the show was coming together, the dancers were with them instead of practicing elsewhere.

"Not really," Christine agreed. "But it has some nice parts to it, I think."

"But I bet it's exciting, right? To get to sing in a show finally!"

"If I'm not arrested first," Christine had said, somewhat glumly.

Meg frowned. "I dunno, Christine. I haven't heard my mom say anything. Maybe they're just going to let you be in it. You're good, so I don't know why they'd take you out."

"Hmm." Christine felt skeptical. They'd done it before.

"You'll be fine," Meg then assured her confidently. "And think of the good things! It's almost the weekend. Hey—me and a couple friends are going out Saturday night, to blow off some steam before opening night. Come with us!"

Why did Meg always have to invite her on the weekends she was instructed to stay with Erik? It made her feel like a bad friend, because she knew she was. After inventing a lame excuse as to why she wouldn't be able to go, Meg had looked offended. Christine wondered if such an invitation would be given ever again.

"Oh, bummer," Meg had said, though her voice had lost that cheerful enthusiasm. "Well, there's always the closing night party, then, right?"

Yeah. Right. Christine brushed her hair out of her face and walked across the street. Erik would go berserk if she told him she wanted to go out and have fun with other people. He'd probably ask if other men would be there, and why would she want to go, and she just wanted to run away from him and go back to Raoul, after everything he'd done for her, and…

She still wasn't sure about her feelings toward Erik. So many things had happened between them, and so many emotions regarding him had already filtered in and out of her heart. Right now it was…confusion, plain and simple. She wasn't sure what to feel. Gratitude? Anxiety? Horror? It was perfectly obvious how he felt about her, but he had never demanded that she love him back. He had never told her that she needed to feel the same way—and of course that was a good thing. She wasn't sure if she would be able to handle it if he did. She wasn't as afraid of him anymore, but she didn't have those warm, blissful feelings of happy ignorance that she had started to feel in his house, so she was left in some murky, grayish area, mixed feelings flooding her when she looked at him or thought of him. She was resigned to remain in this limbo until a catalyst forced her out.

After she entered her apartment and grabbed her bag, she turned right back around and stepped out onto the warm sidewalks, heading straight for the Opera House.

However, she hadn't made it two blocks before she saw a familiar face approaching her. For a moment, she stopped dead, looking around, wondering if she could hide somewhere, but Mr. Khan had seen her and was hurrying toward her purposefully. Resigned, she waited for him.

When he got closer, she gasped a little to see that he had an ugly-looking welt on his forehead. It looked relatively fresh and painful.

"What happened?" she asked as a greeting, pointing rudely at his head.

"Nothing," he said, waving it away. "Accident. I'm glad to see you. I was afraid you'd gone down before I could catch you."

"I'm on my way there now," she said. "Erik says he has a surprise for me."

A grimace crossed his face. "Yes, well…" He coughed a little and looked around, as if expecting Erik to come leaping up at him any moment. "I was wondering if you'd like to walk with me a bit."

She frowned. "I—I have to go. I'm sorry. I should be there already…"

"It won't take long," he said. "I'd like to speak to you about some things."

"Can't it wait?" she said, shifting her weight from foot to foot, feeling anxious already.

"Unfortunately, it can't," he said, sounding grim. "I've been working this out for a long while, and I'd like you to be there."

"Be where? What's going on?"

Mr. Khan sighed a little and said, "Ever since our last conversation, I've been trying to find out more about Erik's past. When you said that he discussed his mother with you, I got very interested. And it so happens that—that I'm getting more information. Tonight."

"What kind of information?" she asked.

"Information about his past," Mr. Khan replied. "I have some old friends in France that I contacted, and they did a bit of digging. They're sending me some information tonight—his birthplace, his parents' names, his childhood home..."

"Really?" She was feeling more curious by the moment, as well as a little excited.

"Yes. And I think if anyone deserves to be there and know these things, it's you."

She had actually taken a few steps closer to him, willing and eager to go, and then her ring caught a bit of sunlight and glinted at her, a reminder. She paused. "I don't know, Mr. Khan..."

"It really won't take all that long," he said again. "Tonight is my only opportunity. Who knows when we'll get another chance like this? I'm afraid that if I wait, Erik will find out and destroy any concrete evidence that I try to give to you."

He posed a fair problem. With Erik as secretive as he was, Christine didn't put it past him to ruin any chance she had of finding out more.

For a long moment, she glanced back and forth between him and the Opera House, wondering.

"You promise it won't take long?" she asked at last.

"Yes," he said.

"Well…Okay."

Mr. Khan's expression didn't clear. On the contrary, it darkened a bit, and he turned and began walking. She followed obediently. They walked along, not quite side-by-side, as he was leading. He led her away from the Opera House, and she continued to glance over her shoulder until its roof faded from view. Somewhere down there, Erik was waiting for her, maybe pacing, wondering what was taking her so long.

If he'd just stop being so stupid about it all, I wouldn't have to sneak around him like this, she told herself defiantly. This would be good for them. Knowing more about Erik was always a bit of a challenge, but the fact still remained that she knew so little about him.

After they crossed yet another street, Mr. Khan motioned to her over his shoulder, and he began to jog a bit. She resisted emitting a sigh in frustration and did the same to keep up. They continued on this way for such a long time that a stitch began to form in her side.

"Why—are—we—running?" she panted, hurrying to catch up with him.

He stopped for a moment, looking around, gasping a little himself. "Erik has been having me followed for several weeks now. I don't really want him to know…"

Somehow, the idea didn't surprise her at all, and she accepted it easily. Her heart was racing, and it was not just because of the physical exertion. Adrenaline and excitement and a gnawing, horrible worry were pumping through her.

It was getting late. The streets were mostly empty, save for the bar at the corner of the block. Loud music and light spilled from the open doors, and people stood outside, smoking and laughing and drinking, clearly enjoying the late summer night. Christine could feel the emotions building up. She glanced around occasionally, wondering if she would be able to see who was supposedly following Mr. Khan. However, she saw no one suspicious; maybe their hurrying had thrown them off the trail.

They continued along for what felt like almost half an hour at least. Christine was beginning to become very anxious and incredibly nervous. Where exactly were they going? What place would keep information on someone such as Erik? Who would have information? And why couldn't they simply send it in a letter or an email? The whole thing was taking so much longer than she had anticipated. Erik was going to be very upset…

The buildings were becoming progressively run-down. She was getting nervous, and she kept close to Mr. Khan, trying not to stray too close to the shadows and alleyways.

"Mr. Khan?" she tried to say once, as they waited at another street for a car to zoom past them.

He only shook his head and again motioned with his fingers for her to follow.

She couldn't help but think of Erik. He was going to wonder where she was. He was going to go looking for her. It was late—she was usually in his home by now. And if he found out that she had gone somewhere with Mr. Khan…Christine swallowed, a lump of fear forming in her throat. Erik was not an easy-going person. He was going to be angry.

As they jogged, she tried to think up a story Erik would believe—something like she had gone back to her apartment to get some things…and then she had…fallen asleep. Or something like that. Maybe he would be suspicious, but hopefully he would just be so relieved at having her back that his anger would disappear.

At last, Mr. Khan stopped and held up his hand. The building they were by was derelict and had the unpleasant sensation of being a spot where bad things had happened. In the dim streetlamp light, she could see a peeling, faded sign near the door: FOR SALE. The brick was old and crumbly, and there were many different types, all mish-mashed together in sloppy, varying patterns.

Mr. Khan approached a door, old and metal and rusting. He pulled a key out of his pocket and inserted it into the handle. There was a dull, reluctant-sounding clunk, and then the door opened with a loud squeal.

"Where are we?" Christine asked, looking around them, her voice much higher than normal. The buildings next to them were similar in appearance and feeling, and she was getting spooked.

"Come on inside," Mr. Khan said anxiously. "You shouldn't stand out there like that. Come on. Hurry in."

She didn't really want to, but being with him was better than standing on this scary street alone, so she did as he said and walked into the building.

The room was small, and she looked around, shivering slightly in spite of the warm temperature. A single bulb was hanging down, flickering feebly and creating deep shadows whenever it was strong enough to persist for more than a few seconds. The concrete walls were covered in cracks, holes, and a thick layer of grime. An old, moldy-looking desk was sitting in the corner, and a moth-eaten office chair was sitting behind it. Both were covered in dust. It appeared to be some kind of old office. There was a window in one of the walls, but it didn't look outside. She peered through it and could faintly see huge, hulking black shapes. After a moment, she realized that it must be some type of broken-down, unused warehouse, and they were in the office of it.

She wasn't sure what was going on, and she looked at Mr. Khan, who kept checking his watch and pacing.

"He's late," Mr. Khan muttered, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "Of all the days…"

"What's going on?" she finally asked, unsure if she could stand being left in the dark anymore. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"What? Yes," he said hurriedly, distractedly. He went to peer out of the doorway again, and Christine carefully walked around the desk. Maybe the files were in there somewhere. However, it looked completely bare, save a couple of withered old papers with no writing on them at all.

"Um—Mr. Khan," she called. "I don't want to bug you, but I dunno if this is the right place. I don't see anything here. It's kind of creepy, actually…"

"No, this is where we need to be," Mr. Khan said.

"I don't see any papers or files or anything," she said, gingerly opening one of the drawers. Inside were a few dead cockroaches. She shuddered and closed it quickly before walking back around to the front of it. Mr. Khan looked extremely agitated. He pulled out his phone, tapped it a few times, and then held it to his ear. Christine listened carefully, though she tried to pretend she wasn't.

"Where are you?" Mr. Khan said immediately, angrily. "Well, you should have planned for that! Don't you realize—yes. Yes. Yes, right here! No, of course not, but that's why you need to get here right now."

He listened for a few moments, snapped, "Fine. Hurry," and then hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket.

"What's going on?" she said. "Maybe I should go back. Erik is waiting for me…"

"No, just hold on another ten minutes," Mr. Khan pleaded. "Don't worry. I have—the papers, I mean. They're coming right now."

Christine took a step backward. "I don't think they are," she said. Her stomach was beginning to churn. "Why are we in this creepy room at night? I want to go. I'm going."

"Wait!" Mr. Khan said. He sighed heavily and then pulled something else out of his pocket. An envelope. Christine's heart leapt—he had been telling the truth! He held it out to her, and she took it hurriedly, ripping open the seal and pulling out the contents.

They were…pictures. But not what she had been expecting.

They were pictures of wedding dresses.

She frowned, deeply confused, and rifled through them. Almost all were wedding dresses. A few were pictures of bouquets of flowers, and she saw one picture of a set of diamond earrings, but there were nearly a dozen pictures of different gowns.

"Is this some joke?" she demanded.

"I wish it was," Mr. Khan said. "I found them in Erik's house."

Her stomach seized up, as well as her heart. There was hardly any room for imagination in this…The dresses and the flowers and the jewelry…

"What?" she said blankly. "You're lying."

But she turned the pictures over and saw Erik's unmistakable handwriting, scrawled over with details such as fabrics, cut, pricing, and other things. On one she saw a set of three figures which she realized were her measurements.

"Where did you—why," she mumbled, looking back at the dresses. They were all exquisite in every way, and she knew that each dress was absurdly-expensive.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Khan said quietly. "I didn't want to have to show you. I found them a couple days ago, when you two were practicing."

"He didn't notice they were gone?" she said.

"Of course he did," Mr. Khan said grimly. He gestured to the welt on his forehead. "I'm guessing by your reaction you had no idea…"

"No—no, of course not," she said, clutching the pictures tightly in her shaking hands.

"He's already ordered one," Mr. Khan said. "It's clear that he was going to force you to marry him as soon as it arrived—which was to be tonight."

Sickness was rising in her throat. "No, he wouldn't…do that," she whispered. "He wouldn't—I…" But words were failing her. Erik's voice was whispering in her ear. I have a surprise for you…

"That's why I have to get you out of here, as soon as I can," Mr. Khan said. "You'll be well taken care of. I made sure that Erik was distracted tonight. You'll have plenty of time to get away, I promise."

"But…" She trailed off, looking at the dresses again. Vaguely, she wondered which one he had ordered. She found herself favoring the one with the lace sleeves and embroidered waistline—and the flowers in the second picture were perfect…

When she looked up, she literally gasped—loudly.

Erik was standing there, watching her, his eyes eerily calm.

Mr. Khan whirled around as well, and he stumbled back quickly, the color draining from his face.

"Do you like them?" Erik suddenly asked her, and she noted that his hair, usually carefully combed away from his face, was unkempt and messy, some of it brushing over his mask, and his clothing was wrinkled and dusty-looking.

A long, long, long moment of silence followed. Christine stared at him, unsure of the reason for her pounding heart, and he watched her, his head tilted slightly, as if he was raising an eyebrow at her.

Mr. Khan finally said, "Erik, I'm not letting you—"

"Hold your tongue, you foul Iranian," Erik snapped. "You will be dealt with later."

"This has gone far enough!" Mr. Khan shouted suddenly. "It's sick! I'm not letting you play games with her life!"

Erik cackled, and his laugh made her hair stand on end. "You're not letting me?" he said, his tone mocking. "Are you under some delusion that you are my caretaker, Nadir?"

"Look at her! Look at what you've driven her to! She looks dead, for heaven's sake! She's terrified of you, she's—!"

"SHUT UP!" Erik suddenly screamed. "Don't speak about things you don't understand!"

"I understand enough to have to do this," Mr. Khan said. "I—I should have known…What disgusts me is that I thought you didn't, but I see it now. I guess fifteen years haven't changed you…And I thought you innocent, Erik. I saved you when I shouldn't have."

Erik looked like he was going to spit fire. In two short strides, he was over by Mr. Khan, and the back of his hand suddenly collided with Mr. Khan's face. There was a horrible sound of flesh hitting flesh, and Mr. Khan fell heavily to the ground.

Christine's hands were over her mouth, and tears were in her eyes. She had no idea what they were talking about, but she knew enough to realize that Erik was dangerous right now and was not in a mood to be reasoned with, so she kept completely silent, wanting to disappear in the corner of the dim room.

Mr. Khan quickly scrambled to his feet, surprisingly-quick for an older man. In a moment, a gun appeared in his hands, and he pointed it at Erik, his hand shaking slightly.

A bizarre minute of surreal silence fell. Christine thought she might pass out. The only thing she could feel was a horrible sensation in her gut—one that was of dread. Please don't pull the trigger. Please.

Then, to her shock, they both moved simultaneously—but not toward each other. Toward her.

She did several things very quickly. With a scared squeak, she turned, attempting to get away from them, afraid they would grab her. But she turned too fast, and she tripped over her own feet. Then she realized that there was no way to get out of the room except the door past the two men, so she tried to turn again, but she was already so entangled by her own feet that it only propelled her forward, straight toward the concrete wall.

An agonizing explosion of pain ripped across her head. She could hear her own skull smacking against the wall, and she slid to the floor, dazed and in blinding pain. Her vision was swimming—she couldn't keep her eyes open. She could just make out faint pain in her wrist as well, meaning she had probably landed on it oddly and had twisted it, but the pain in her head was so overpowering.

Something pulled her over and onto her back. She groaned loudly, and her voice seemed muffled to her ears.

"Look what you've done!" someone—Mr. Khan—said. His voice, too, was distant, as though through a window.

"Get away!" Erik said. "I will kill you if you do not leave."

"No—I told you, this isn't how this is going to end, Erik. This has gotten out of control. I'm taking her. I'm sorry."

There was sudden, blessed silence, and Christine breathed deeply, although each breath seemed to bring a fresh new wave of agony down her spine. She wanted to clutch at her forehead, but her wrist hurt too much to move, and her other hand was trapped under her own body.

The silence lasted for what felt like an eternity. Then there was sudden scrambling next to her, and—

BANG.

An ear-splitting, house-shaking explosion next to her. It rattled her bones, made her teeth chatter, drove a nail of torture right through her skull. She wanted to pass out just to get away from it.

There was a sudden gasping noise. And then—

BANG.

Another. Christine made a horrible, pathetic mewling noise of pain, and she felt something clutch at her ankle. For a moment, she tried to open her eyes, but they were heavy and were covered in something warm, thick, and wet.

She was suddenly shifted, and she felt hands slip under her. Her ankle had not been freed.

"No…" She heard low moaning. "Please…"

"I'm sorry, Erik. I'm sorry."

"Nadir…Please…I would die…"

Her mind was fading in and out now. She could feel unconsciousness creeping in on her, and yet Erik's moans of pain were beginning to make an alarming feeling spread in her chest. Christine felt the hand being pried from her ankle—the long, cold, thin hand of the masked man.

"Christine..." It sounded like he was crying.

"I'm so sorry."

When she was shifted in Mr. Khan's arms, the pain in her head exploded to an unbearable level, and when he began to walk, she felt herself slip away.