A/N: Now that I have the luxury of spring break, I'm writing as fast as I can!

I dreamt of Danny…

Saw his pudgy little cheeks…

Heard his mischievous if rather devilish laughter…

He was running along the banks of the lake near the house. It was summer. His pants rolled up to his knees. Jo and I were playing tag with him. Then he was attempting to skip rocks across the water, which he was never very good at. I watched the stone hit the water only it wasn't water anymore. It was ice. Winter had smothered Ireland. The stone skidded across the frozen lake and dropped into a hole that had recently been broken in the ice. I cautiously stepped towards it, afraid of what I would surely see.

The water was pitch black, I could see my reflection as clearly as if I were looking into glass. Suddenly, I fell in. Black water enclosed me in its hostile, frigid embrace. Then I woke to cold water dripping on my face.

I sputtered and twisted away from it. My vision was hazy; light and dark colliding and spinning like a kaleidoscope, a kaleidoscope in black and white.

"Oh good, you're awake," came the terse familiar voice, not sounding at all enthused. The spinning ceased and my eyes focused on the two glowing eyes belonging to that voice.

"What the hell did you do to me?" My throat was bone-dry and burning, making my voice hoarse and scratchy.

"What do you mean? You fell down the stairs." He pressed—none too gently—something wet to my bloodied cheek.

"The hell I did!" I rasped, not able to even raise my voice above a groggy whisper, "I was pulled."

He sighed in surrender. "Yes, that was my doing or rather the Punjab Lasso's.

"The pun-what?"

"Punjab lasso," he repeated mechanically, "a thin strong rope made of catgut. A quick, silent, reliable weapon."

"So, you meant to kill me, only now you're here—wherever that is—kneeling over me, dumping glacial water on my face. You are, without a doubt, the most bipolar human being I've ever known."

"You're acquainted with many, then?"

I ignored him, instead referring to my former analysis of the situation. "Why?"

He paused, as if thinking this through for the first time. "I've never killed a woman before. Though sorely tempted, it would hardly do to start with you."

"Well, I wouldn't want to mar your perfect record."

He gave me that odd look again; that look that tried to see through me, root through every feeling, every possible meaning behind my words. Everywhere I looked it was dark, except for a faint glow of bluish light emanating from an unseen source.

"Where did you take me, exactly…the black hole of Calcutta?"

"A place most people have forgotten. There's a well in these cellars. Seeing as you were unconscious, it was the only place I saw fit to bring you."

"It's close to your home, isn't it?" At his expression I briefly explained the stagehands know everything.

"Perhaps I ought to kill the lot of them, bring an end to this aggravation."

I gave a small pathetic snort, which resulted in a small pathetic coughing fit. He pressed something to my lips and not caring whether the water in it was sanitary or not, I gratefully choked it down.

"What good would that do you?"

"I could live my life in peace."

"Well, I'm not running the show by myself, so you'll just have to grin and bear it." Which reminded me… "Are you going to tell me where Christine is or not?"

His body instantly turned rigid and he averted my eyes. "Not."

"Please? You're going to drive us all mad with worry."

"It's none of your damn business!" He shouted.

Silence. "Perhaps it's best I take you back."

He took my arms and heaved me off the ground. I was a bit shaky and he had to steady me, but my pride pushed me to walk on my own, battered and bruised as I was. He was in front of me in two easy strides, leading the way. We didn't go far. I froze, shaking immensely now, upon seeing a small boat fit for two on a black unforgiving lake that stretched out before us. He noticed the palpable change in my demeanor and asked what the matter was. Finding what little voice I had, I pointed to the boat.

"Y-you took me…across the w-water…in that?"

"Of course. How else?"

Those god-awful images flashed before my eyes, recognizing a similar scene. A boat…fit for two. A lake…a pitch black, icy lake. My hands flew to my horror-stricken eyes, unable to wipe the vision away.

"Why did you do that?" I gasped. He eyed me strangely but I didn't notice through the blurry build-up of tears. "What have you done?" I said a bit louder.

I knew he couldn't fathom the reason for my abrupt panic attack.

"You put me, unconscious, into a rickety miniscule boat, and took me across the—," I couldn't finish and clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle some incoherent sound.

"What is wrong with you?" He began to look almost concerned if it wasn't for the wary expression in his eyes that practically shouted "should I fetch a straitjacket?"

I couldn't answer him, because the tell-tale signs of dizziness washed over my entire body again, and I vaguely remember swearing before falling into that familiar, empty, lonely darkness. The next time I awoke, there was substantially more light than there was at the well. I rested on something more comfortable than a stone floor, and when my hand flinched, my fingers brushed against a thick blanket. Strangely enough, the light came from above. I began to realize that smooth dark walls were closing in, confining me. I started to panic, believing I was trapped in another nightmare. My racket summoned the opera ghost and he immediately rushed to my side.

"What kind of bloody joke is this?" I shouted, sitting up, my voice slowly but surely on the mend.

"Quiet!" He shushed me.

"No, I will not be quiet! You dumped me in a coffin! Just what kind of—," He walked up behind me and covered my mouth.

"You will bite your tongue or lose it," he commanded. "The coffin is not meant to be a sick joke. It just so happens that's where I sleep." He removed his hand.

This took me aback, and I glanced at the rest of my surroundings. "This is where you live?"

"Yes."

The bedroom was dark, cold, stony—much like its occupant. "Trust me, it wasn't my first choice." He replied bitterly.

I'd heard the rumors of him making his home deep in the cellars, but I had never really imagined what it would look like. I guess I had pictured something more simple: A few belongings and stolen food tucked in a convenient corner somewhere. So, I was rather surprised to see an actually built structure with walls—dark walls—and a closet, and a desk, and…well, the coffin.

"How long have you lived down here?"

"Before we start poring over my alternative lifestyle, I think it only fair that you answer a few of my questions, starting with what the hell happened back at the well."

Oh, that's right. Dammit. I had to give some reasonable excuse, I couldn't tell him the truth. Unfortunately, I wasn't near quick enough.

"No need to concoct a mediocre story, the truth will be just fine." He leaned against a door, arms folded, waiting.

"I'm not that good a swimmer," I lied, climbing out of the morbid bed. He narrowed his eyes and I felt certain he didn't buy it.

"I wasn't planning to dump your immobile carcass in the lake, you know. You were perfectly safe."

"Says you," I muttered.

He remained silent a minute before calling my bluff as I knew he would.

"What's the real reason?"

I sighed in frustration. "None of your damn business, that's what it is."

I made for the door, the same one he was blocking, intent on leaving this gothic monstrosity. However, he didn't budge. I gritted my teeth, biting back an oath, sensing my temper was quick on the rise, one I would have no control over should he try to provoke it.

"Please move."

"You haven't answered my question."

"Yes, I believe I said it wasn't your goddamned business!"

He stood up straight, his imposing height causing my head to tilt back slightly. "You will lower your voice." He hissed.

"Why should I? What gives you the right to invade my personal affairs?"

"Quiet, woman!" He barked. Suddenly, another—quite unexpected—voice cut through our banter.

"Erik?" It was a woman's voice, one I instantly recognized.

"Christine is here?" I asked, though I didn't need confirmation.

His eyes betrayed him anyway, as he closed them in a sense of utter hopelessness. Or perhaps frustration. When he opened them again, he regarded me as if I were a pit viper or something equally dangerous that had intruded upon his territory.

"Wait here. If you utter a single sound…if you cough, sniffle, if you breathe too loudly…you will never leave this place again."

I believed him. As much as I didn't want to, I kept my mouth shut, and he left me there, the click of the lock served as an echo of his former warning.