Another long chapter today! I hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season (and for those of you finishing up semesters, that you are surviving finals!). I'm actually considering taking a week off (for the first time ever!) so I can enjoy my own Christmas celebrations with fewer distractions and less self-inflicted guilt should I miss a writing day. I'm not entirely certain how this will affect posting, so it will be a surprise for all of us!

But anyway, onward!

XVI

She tried to get him to explain—to tell her of what this new trial might mean, but he only waggled a long, gloved finger at her. "You shall have to wait, my dear. Erik needs time to think."

That was precisely what terrified her.

A part of her wondered if he meant to be arrested again. Perhaps he would deliver some evidence of Mr. Sorelli and the trial would begin anew. But how would he ensure that she was again on the jury? She supposed he could demand she remain in the audience, ever watchful as new testimony and old was given before the court. And it meant she could go home…

She brightened at that, but did not wish to seem too eager, so she mentioned one of the other elements that was pressing on her mind. "They'll be looking for me at the restaurant. I'll get fired and then whenever… well… when this," she glanced about the windowless dining room, "is over, I'll have to find work somewhere else. I like that job…"

But far from being moved by her plea, Erik gave a mild derisive laugh. "You liked waiting on ingrates and wasting your talents on untrained ears?"

She frowned and sat back in her chair. "It's not like that."

He stared at her pointedly.

"Okay, it isn't always like that. Some of the diners are very appreciative of my efforts and my singing! In fact, some even wrote to Carlotta and specifically requested I be put back on the roster."

Even as she spoke the words, with Erik's gaze never wavering from hers, she realized.

"You did that."

He inclined his head ever so slightly.

"You seemed an angel in the courthouse. One sent just for me. I admit my curiosity, and I wanted to know if you had a voice to match. You did not disappoint," he praised.

Christine sat there numbly. She liked the idea that she had touched one of the diners so thoroughly that they had taken the time from their otherwise busy schedules to ensure management knew of their appreciation. But instead it was Erik, exerting his will and providing more evidence that while the question of his status as a murderer might yet be unconfirmed, his profession as an extortionist seemed more than likely.

"You… you…" She could not even find the words to express how he had hurt her, so she trailed off with a whimper before shoving aside the bowl of untouched milk and burying her head in her arms.

If you can't see him, then he can't see you…

"Christine? Christine, what is wrong? The milk was fresh so you cannot have been poisoned…"

She almost rolled her eyes at that. No, she had not been tainted by sour milk. He had done that. He was the one who had entered her home and given her a potion or an injection or… something that had made her sleep too long and made her head fuzzy and her legs sore. And then he acted as if everything could be all right again…

It was all too much. Communicating with him seemed impossible, as his thoughts and reasoning were wholly disconnected from hers—especially when he hardly seemed interested in answering her questions. He could see her upset but instead of realizing her troubles stemmed from his own thoughtless actions, he firmly relegated it to a possibility he was more comfortable with. And as of yet, she had not found the courage to correct him.

Until now.

Her head jerked upward and she knew she must look rather demented with her flushed cheeks and overly bright eyes. "Why did you have to do this? You made me think that people cared about me… that they…" She had to swallow the lump in her throat in order to continue. "Did you also bribe the woman in the grocery store when I was shopping for Boo's things? Am I that pathetic to you?"

Erik's eyes were darting about the room, and she was left with the impression that he would like nothing more than to flee from her.

She understood the feeling well.

It filled her with a sense of power that she could make him feel nervous, if only for a moment.

"I… it was never my intention to make you believe I viewed you in so low a manner…" he finally managed, although she noted that he could not bring himself to look at her.

"You say that often. Yet when I ask what your intentions actually are, you evade, or tell me to wait, or dismiss it entirely!"

He was silent, and she noted with some bemusement that his shoulders had tensed and he grew slightly hunched, as if to ward off the sting of her words.

She was torn between feeling vindicated that something had finally reached him, and horror that she had wounded an already tortured soul.

"What is… what would you like to know?"

Everything was the reply she wanted to give, but instead she went with the question that she had only just thought to ask. "How did you drug me?"

It seemed most relevant to her current predicament. If she was uncooperative, or did something to displease him, would he do it again? Perhaps if she knew how he had done it before, she could circumvent it in future—at least, if he was truthful.

But as she regarded him, she thought that at least for now, he would be honest with her.

And there was little else for her to use beyond her instincts when dealing with this man.

His lips thinned and it was obvious he would prefer not to answer, but after picking away a piece of lint from his fine suit, he managed a response. "It was a mild sedative to make the journey here more comfortable for you."

She did roll her eyes at that.

"I asked how."

He shifted uneasily in his seat and when at last he spoke his tone was flat, devoid of emotion. "An injection. In your left foot. I peeled back only enough of the bedclothes to uncover your appendage, before inserting a prepared syringe between your first and second phalanges. It was a sterile needle, and the solution was one I am quite familiar with, so you were in no danger and will suffer no furthering complications."

"Other than a headache and legs that might not want to cooperate."

He grimaced. "Perhaps. Although I am more inclined to believe that any lingering discomfort would be from sleeping such duration, and not necessarily because of my intervention."

She sighed. "You don't like to take responsibility, do you?"

Erik flinched. "I do not like to think that I have caused you pain. It was never my inten…" he halted abruptly as he glanced at her, and evidently thought better of using that word again. "I didn't want this."

She leaned forward slightly. "You didn't want what? For me to be angry? For me to be wary of you?"

He shook his head firmly. "Of course not. I only wanted…"

He hesitated, and his entire posture made it perfectly plain that he was about to bolt. So she softened her tone and forced down her exasperation, and remembered the compassion she had felt for him.

"What did you want, Erik? Maybe if you just explain I can start to feel more comfortable here."

It was a vague sort of hope, and not one that she put much stock in, but it was true enough.

He stood so quickly she jumped. "You were so lonely. Lonely and so perfectly lovely, and no one appreciated you! No one saw. But I did! I saw and I took and you weren't mine. And you would never be mine, not after…"

"After…"

He lurched away from her and strode from the room, and she barely caught his whispered response. "After you found someone else."

There was something so wounded about him as he fled the room, and despite her lingering annoyance, something in her tugged in sympathy at having been the cause.

Did he truly do all this because of Joe?

When at last she vacated the dining room, taking her tepid milk and soiled bowl with her to the kitchen, there was no sign of Erik—not that she tried very hard to find him.

He had promised a tour after her breakfast, and since he no longer seemed interested in being her escort, she wandered through rooms, finding most locked and she did not try very hard to get into them. They had to be barred for a reason, and the last thing she wanted was for him to finally appear and catch her somewhere she was not supposed to be.

Christine scoffed at herself.

She wasn't supposed to be anywhere here. She was meant to be in her apartment, or the restaurant or…

There wasn't really somewhere else.

And that made her feel all the more pathetic.

She was an adult in possession of all… well… most of her faculties, and yet she barely made enough to scrape a life from.

And as she made her way back to the bedroom, she realized that she had no one to blame for that but herself.

She had been a mere ghost of herself since her papa died, doing only what was necessary but little more. There had been no joy, no relationships, and she recognized now that her father would have been so disappointed.

Erik was right on one score. She had been lonely.

But as she thought of the face he now so carefully concealed behind a mask, he must be lonely too. Yet unlike her own self-inflicted isolation, his had likely been because of something far more tangible.

And the little prickles of compassion that had become so pronounced during the trial returned. It most certainly did not make his reaction okay—but it seemed a better solution to reason with him and convince him to let her go of his own accord than to sulk and cry and look for escape.

She did not wish to see him angry.

But she also realized she did not wish to see him hurt either.

And after the way she'd spoken to him…

There was no denying that she had hurt him.

Christine wandered back through the house, noting the strange architecture of the place as she looked around for more signs of Erik. There was no movement, no sign of another presence within the house, but the more she looked, the more she started to notice strange details that seemed entirely unique to this particular dwelling. There were no signs of electrical sockets, and even upon closer inspection, she still couldn't find any light switches or knobs to work the lamps. Heavy velvet draperies hung grandly upon the walls, but when she went closer to admire them, she realized that no window lay beneath.

Odd.

But for the moment she pushed away her curiosity, determined now to see Erik and find some kind of resolution to their little… problem.

Yet time dragged on and there was no sign of her… kidnapper? Acquaintance? And there weren't any clocks that could inform her how much time had passed.

Unsure of what else she was supposed to do, she curled up in the leather chair Erik had utilized, picking up the heavy book still sitting on the arm. It was a beautiful tome, one that belonged in a fine library, and she felt rather unqualified to flip through the pages. It seemed to be an anthology of various fiction; and while she hoped she wasn't doing anything she shouldn't, she settled more comfortably into the cushions of the chair, focusing on the words before her.

Eventually however her stomach reminded her that breakfast had long since ended, and she was forced to halt her readings. It was surprisingly engrossing, and she realized how little time she devoted to her once favored pastime.

Except that like so many things in her life, it hadn't been solely hers.

And that too she had ignored, preferring to abandon what gave her pain.

Boo had plopped in front of the fire in the living room, placidly washing his face as he enjoyed the heat of the flames. She rose and walked toward him, crouching down and giving him a stroke which he accepted readily—although she noted with a chuckle that as soon as her hand left his side, he washed the area clean again.

"I'm sorry, Boo. I didn't mean to taint you. Have you seen Erik? I'm getting rather hungry and I don't know if I'm allowed to make use of the kitchen."

Large golden green eyes blinked at her mildly, but he made no further move to help in her search.

"Big help you are."

She kissed the top of his head, relishing this temporary peace. After her breakfast her head had begun to stop throbbing so terribly, and her body seemed to protest her movement less the more she walked about the house… if it could even be called such with no windows and strange forms of electricity.

A bunker perhaps?

If it was, it was the finest shelter she had ever seen.

Everything appeared terribly expensive. The walls were mostly covered in finely crafted wallpapers, each very pleasing and welcoming if not for the foreboding shadows that clung about the edges of every room.

It seemed that no matter the amount of light, the very air itself was stagnant—too still and cloying and utterly silent.

"Erik?" she finally called, although she felt rather stupid while doing it. If she was alone it seemed far more prudent to figure out means of escape, despite her earlier decision not to contemplate such things. It wouldn't hurt to understand the layout, regardless of her resolution toward a more diplomatic mode of release.

She yelped when a seemingly solid bookcase slid to the side, Erik's tall figure filling most of the darkened recess as he walked through the opening.

He blinked at her before looking pointedly away, rigidly divesting himself of a long wool overcoat and hat and placing them neatly on hooks evidently intended for that purpose.

"Where did you go?"

The bookcase closed, apparently of its own accord, and she watched carefully for any sign of tracks or rollers that might suggest its construction.

There weren't any.

"Was there something you require?"

His tone was stiff and formal, and she realized with some discomfort that she hated it.

It shouldn't matter how he spoke to her, other than as a means of self-preservation, and yet his cool demeanor troubled her—and she couldn't quite say why.

"I didn't… I don't like how we left things."

He waved his hand dismissively. "You are allowed to speak to Erik however you wish."

He said it so casually, so perfectly sincerely that she flinched.

For it did not seem all right. No matter what he had done, it was not right to inflict pain upon another simply to soothe some part of herself.

Before she could convince him to talk with her, Boo abandoned his fireside spot in favor of using Erik's pant leg as a scratching post, his front paws barely reaching his knee.

Erik frowned and glanced down before shaking his head with a sigh.

She didn't know what she expected. That he'd scold little Boo for the misuse of his fine suit, or perhaps even shake him away before avoiding her presence once again.

But instead he leaned down and scooped him up. "Come along, little fellow. I was remiss in providing you another feast."

Christine followed as he led the way back to the kitchen, Boo offering encouraging meows along the way.

She watched silently in the doorway as Erik opened a can and arranged a generous helping of food upon a dish and placed Boo and his bowl upon a low stool—who then promptly began eating his meal with vigor.

"Why don't you feed him on the floor?"

Erik gave a grunt as he rinsed the silverware he had used. "Would you like to eat all your meals upon the ground?"

She smiled, despite herself. His tone was almost petulant—defensive.

And for some unexplained reason, it was endearing to her.

"You really saved him, didn't you?"

It wasn't that she hadn't believed him; not exactly. But she had expected him to be colder, more callous about the whole thing. Perhaps he had really stumbled upon a kitten on his way to her house to…. to watch her, but she had supposed it was an impulsive decision, such as with the rose. Something that might please her but that he felt nothing for.

But watching him as he stared down at their happy little companion, she could readily see that her assumptions had been wrong.

"I told you that."

She nodded, haltingly. "I guess you did. But I suppose I wasn't really listening."

He glanced at her peculiarly, as though she was some bizarre object that had suddenly appeared in his kitchen. "Then what did you think I said?"

Christine nibbled her lip, contemplating how honest to make her answer. She finally decided that truthfulness was important, especially if they were going to begin communicating more effectively in future.

"I didn't doubt that you'd brought him to me. I just… I didn't think that you'd cared much about him."

He frowned at that. "You do not think highly of me, that much is clear."

She sighed, tugging at her sleeve before whispering, "Give me a reason to."

Erik shook his head. "I have tried. But still you are angry with me!"

It was her turn to frown. "What do you mean?"

He turned to her, his eyes filled with pain thinly veiled by vexation. "I tried to make things better for you. You seem to be under the misapprehension that I did these things to trick you, to manipulate you. That I bribed individuals into caring for you. Why would I want you to bestow your affection upon them? I acted, my dear Christine, because I care for you. You were unappreciated at your place of work, and I intervened. Things improved, no?"

She was too stunned by his outpouring to even nod. But in reality, they had. Her tips were far greater, and when added to the money she received from the trial, for the first time she had breathed a little easier—that everything would no longer fall apart if she was not exceedingly careful.

"Do you not understand?" He sighed deeply and when next he spoke his voice had dropped in decibel and he sounded incredibly worn. "I wanted to help you, to be your friend. You had seen me, as unfortunate as that might have been. You knew of what people so readily accused me of, and yet you defended me. I thought…"

She swallowed, nervousness causing a low ache in her belly. "Thought what?"

He looked at her then, truly looked at her. And the magnitude of misery she saw in his colorless eyes took her breath away. "How is a monster to approach an angel without her recoiling away?"

"I don't think you're a monster," she replied with slightly more force than she'd intended.

Perhaps she should, after all he'd done. Maybe there was some faulty wire in her brain that made her want to excuse his actions, but when he looked at her that way—so full of hurt and sorrow and loneliness…

She saw a piece of herself.

A piece that had only recently begun to mend.

And while she had thought it was because she was finally waking up to the world around her, that she was noticing the good, kind people who had always been there, it was with some quiet acknowledgment that she realized that it had also been because of him.

But that didn't change how wrong this entire situation was.

"I don't want to dismiss how… difficult this must have been for you. I've never really tried to approach anybody either."

This felt ridiculous. This wasn't some schoolyard squabble where a boy had pulled her hair because he couldn't find the words to express how he felt. He had knowingly drugged her, and brought her to this… place.

"Erik, you have to talk to me. I… if I'm going to stay here, I need to understand how things will work or else I'll go crazy!"

His eyes narrowed. "What part of 'work'?"

She groaned in exasperation. "The light switches for one! Or what the locked rooms are for, or if I'm allowed to get food out of the refrigerator, or where you'll…"

Christine stopped herself before she made a fool of herself and asked where he slept. It was clear from the bathroom fixtures—the entire construction of the house really—that everything was perfectly suited to Erik's needs, and if he expected to share a bed with her…

He stared at her. "Why would you question your access to my food stores? Have I not made my opinion on your abysmal eating habits plain?"

She shrugged, suddenly feeling silly. "I just… I wanted to make sure."

Yet from the way she avoided his gaze, the unspoken addition that she wasn't sure of his reaction hung thickly between them.

"You do not trust me." He sighed deeply. "While I know it to be true, I admit that I had expected it to sting somewhat less the more I was faced with it."

Christine didn't have a response.

"Very well, I shall make my views as clear as possible. If you are thirsty, you should drink. If you are hungry, you should eat. If you would like to make use of the facilities, by all means, you should do so. You most certainly do not need to ask my permission for such matters. As for the lights…"

Erik walked past her and she presumed she should follow, so she hurried after him.

He stopped just within the bedroom, facing the wall to the right of the door. "I do not care much for the aesthetics of modernity. While the convenience is of course appreciated, having plastic additions to every wall I find to be… distracting."

He held out his gloved hand, and looked at her expectantly. "If you will permit me, this is much easier to understand if you experience it for yourself."

"Um…" Christine stared at him before hesitantly placing her hand in his.

It was for the sake of having light whenever she wanted, she told herself firmly.

But that didn't stop her heart from beating faster as his hand gripped hers and he eased her pointer finger forward, gently guiding it over a portion of the wallpaper.

It had a slightly raised texture, and as he moved her hand up and down, light emitted and dimmed in turn.

"There are sensors embedded in the wall coverings. I will show you where."

She nodded, and watched somewhat detachedly as Erik carefully stroked his thumb over her knuckles before he released her altogether.

"As for the locked rooms, I have been remiss in opening those that are welcome to you. There is a library that might be of interest, as well as a music room; although the latter would require an escort." He paused, his voice hesitant but firm. "However, I must ask that you remain out of my personal bedroom."

Christine instantly relaxed, incredibly grateful that she would not have to broach that particular subject on her own. "Of course. Privacy is important."

She hadn't meant for her comment to be so pointed, but Erik smiled grimly all the same. "Indeed."

"Now, is there anything else that can make your stay with me more… comfortable?"

Christine glanced about the room, finally able to appreciate its subtle elegance now that it was illuminated properly. She already knew that the bedding was excellent, and the clothes within the wardrobe were far nicer than anything she owned.

But still it troubled her to think of all her things, scant though they might be, wasting away in an apartment without her.

She fidgeted, not certain how to ask, but knowing that she must. "What will happen to all of my things? If I'm not there to pay the rent then my landlord will get rid of everything…"

Erik was quick to reassure her. "If you would like me to continue leasing the apartment, I shall do so. While the neighborhood is appalling and the building itself a disgrace, if it should please you I would do so."

Baby steps.

Rational conversations.

Gentle reminders that she had a home and would soon need to return to it.

"I'd like that."

He nodded. "Fine. Anything else?"

She eyed the bed again. Maybe it was foolish, but it was one of her greatest comforts, and now of all times she wanted it near.

"My mother's quilt—the one on the foot of my bed. If it's okay with you, or wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd really like to have it with me."

There must have been something in her tone, a hint of the sad wistfulness she always felt when she thought of her mother, for Erik stood a little taller, his voice sure.

"I would give you anything you wished, Christine. Anything at all."

She smiled thinly, knowing that he was incapable, or perhaps simply unwilling, to give her what she needed most.

Her freedom.

"Not yet, you won't. But maybe someday."

Erik made no reply.

Sooo... Their first fight! Where do you think Erik went off to? Think he was up to something or just giving her some time alone? I wonder...

My hope is to still have an update for you (I hate disappointing people!) but if things are different this week, know that nothing has happened to me (at least, I certainly hope not!), and I have in no way abandoned this story. That's just... yeah, that's never going to happen.

Anyway, do you think Erik should let Christine go? Or are you enjoying them being together, no matter the... uh... dubious circumstances...