Hi, guys. I'm all graduated with my Master's now. It's a strange feeling. I'm not quite sure what happens next. Hopefully, someone will want to hire a "quiet" accountant.

As always, thank you for your kind words on these vignettes. Thanks to MadLizzy for editing and for always having my Erik's best interests at heart.

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"So we got four tickets to the baseball game next Friday."

"Wow. That's great." Christine tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and squinted at the flat panel computer screen. She'd received an error message telling her that the required customer information hadn't been inputted and was desperately trying to find the mistake in the database.

"I don't even like baseball that much," her coworker continued. "But my friend's aunt died, and she and her husband and two kids are going to the funeral. So they couldn't go to the game and had four extra tickets. My fiancé wants to go so I'll go, but I don't want him taking his two stupid friends along with us."

"I see." Christine rubbed her eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache in the front of her skull.

"You should see these two dumb guys. They'll make stupid, gross comments throughout the entire game. So I told George that since they're my tickets, I get to decide who's coming."

" Sounds fair." She finally found the error and typed in a customer's social security number. With much contentment, Christine checked the clock and saw that only twenty minutes were left in her workday. She mentally reminded herself to stop by the store on the way home.

"Anyway, I wanted another couple. We should start doing stuff with other couples—not his stupid college friends!"

"Right."

"So I told him I knew this married girl at work who was about my age. And you seem mature, what with all the stuff you've been through. So it seemed perfect."

"That's nice to--what?" Christine's head snapped up. Her vision momentarily blurred as her eyes adjusted to not staring at the screen.

Her coworker smiled widely. "Well, yeah! If you're up for it. The four of us could go together. George gets along with anyone so you'll be fine. And if it gets boring, we'll talk while the guys watch the game."

Christine blinked several times as a list of excuses processed in her mind. "I can't," she replied. "My husband doesn't really like baseball." She cringed at her explanation, knowing it was better to use excuses that never opened up room for another invitation.

Her coworker pursed her lips. "Oh. What does he like?"

Music and cheesecake...and sometimes lassos. "He doesn't really like any sports." Her coworker's mouth dropped open, and Christine quickly added, "He's the isolated artistic type. He doesn't really socialize." She kept her tone even and blunt; sometimes being a little frigid was unavoidable.

"Oh. One of those. Yeah…." Her coworker shrugged and turned away. "Well…if you change your mind, the offer is still open."

"Thanks." Christine took a quiet but deep breath as she returned to her computer screen.

Sometimes it felt as though she existed in two realities. There was work and grocery shopping and visits to ATMs and all the other wifely daytime activities. And then there was her stranger but most precious reality that existed behind the walls of her apartment and outside after sunset. For the most part, the two worlds stayed separated, mostly because Erik insisted on keeping it that way. On occasion, though, the two realities came dangerously close to colliding.

Maybe the simplest solution would have been to take off her wedding ring in public. Then people wouldn't ask about her husband. But that was something she would never do.

Christine escaped work without any more questions from her coworker. After stopping by the store for a carton of milk and some toothpaste (which, to her delight, Erik was also using), she arrived at her apartment. There was always relief in coming home, in knowing that unconditional love would greet her and burn away the stresses of the day. She set down her purse and bags on the table before embracing him.

If Erik didn't demand darkness for intimacy, she sometimes might have requested all of him at these moments. But there were still certain steps that he couldn't be forced to take.

"What did you do today?" she asked.

"I continued to work on my current piece. The hours pass very quickly with it. Just as they did with my masterpiece, save for the fact that I do not break objects in the process. At least not yet." His mouth showed the hints of his half-smile smile.

She smiled back. "I can't wait to hear it. Did you even stop to eat lunch, though?"

"No. I was not hungry. My inspiration kept me full, and food is an inferior substitute."

Christine shook her head. At least he'd gained a couple of pounds since they'd been married. "I'll get something big for dinner. Maybe I should get you a sixteen ounce steak."

"A waste of bovine," he replied. His fingertips ran up and down her back, possessive yet affectionate. She couldn't remember the point where he'd found a happy medium between never touching her and roughly grabbing her. Like everything with Erik, it had been gradual.

"Mr. Lewis called and left a message," Erik began, disdain in his voice. "I did not wish to answer the phone. If someone ever attempts to sell me revolting skin care products again, I will decapitate him."

Christine suppressed a nervous laugh as she recalled the incident. Before she'd been able to intervene, Erik had thoroughly insulted and threatened the telemarketer in both French and English. It hadn't helped that the salesman's opening line was: Do you look in the mirror each day and wish your skin had the glow and texture of Hollywood's greatest stars?

"It's fine if you don't answer the phone," she stated, squeezing his shoulder. Christine turned toward the answering machine and pushed play.

"Hey, guys. It's Gavin. I…was wondering if Christine would give me a call. I…uh…need to talk to her. Thanks."

The hesitance in his tone made her nervous. "Hm."

"I do not know what he would want," muttered Erik. "He saw you merely three weeks ago. He really does not need to see you again."

"I don't know," she replied. "But I guess I'd better call him back and make sure nothing is wrong."

"He had better not have given our location away."

"Gavin wouldn't do that." She was a little worried, though. If she and Erik had to pack up and disappear again, where would they go? Erik's suggestions about building a home underground would start to sound logical. With a swallow, she returned Gavin's call.

"Hey!" Her friend sounded relieved but still cautious. "I needed to talk to you."

"Okay. What about?"

"I don't really want to do it over the phone. Could you meet me somewhere over the next few days?"

Her stomach somersaulted. "Is something wrong?"

"No. No. It's nothing bad. It's…well, let's get together and discuss it."

"All right. I get off work tomorrow at five." Erik muttered something, and she gave him a helpless shrug.

"Great. We could meet somewhere. A restaurant, maybe."

"All right." They quickly arranged the details to meet at an inexpensive diner that apparently served great pie and had a pinball machine. As soon as she hung up, still feeling a little strange, she was met with Erik's expectant and irritated eyes. "Gavin wants to meet with me. And talk."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Erik crossed his arms. "Surely you must have some idea."

She looked up at him, letting him read her eyes. "I don't, Erik. I have no idea." Christine hesitated, guessing that Gavin didn't want Erik to hear the conversation. Frankly, though, she didn't want to play that potentially lethal game. "You can come with me to the diner. Maybe it won't be that crowded."

Erik drew back. "No. I will not do that. You will return and tell me what he is so eager to speak with you about."

"I will," she replied. "It's not like I keep secrets from you."

A slight tension hung in the air for the rest of the night. Erik stayed at her side, and she could practically feel his paranoia, despite her physical and verbal attempts to keep him calm. He tapped his feet, twisted his hands together, and twitched during sleep. The regression saddened her, and she had to make an effort not to blame Gavin for it.

The following morning, she finally took her husband's hands and made him listen to her. "Erik," she calmly began. "The absolute worst that Gavin could say is that someone knows you're here. And then you and I would only have to go somewhere else. Together. That would be it."

"What if he tries to…." Erik tapered off and waved his hand to the side. "To ruin everything?"

"Do you really think Gavin would do that?"

"No. He knows what I would do to him." Erik bent his head. "You will come back to your husband. I know that. And everyone must know that."

She spent several more minutes making sure that his mind was stable, kissed him goodbye, and left for work.

After what felt like a long and annoying day behind her computer, she met Gavin. They took a seat in a wooden booth that was a good distance away from the other customers. The smell of hamburgers and mustard made her a little queasy. Gavin shuffled his feet and kept his gaze on the green striped tablecloth. An elderly waitress took their order, and Christine made a mental note to get a slice of chocolate pie with whipped cream for Erik. Desserts seemed to be one of the few high calorie foods he would eat.

Gavin finally looked directly at her and chuckled. "Heh. I remember sitting across from you when we were in school last year, trying to figure out why you were acting so weird."

She laughed. "I bet you're sorry you ever asked."

"It's been interesting."

"Is it about to get more interesting?"

Gavin hesitated and looked down again. "I'm not sure how to begin this…."

"You're making me nervous. No one…found out about us, did they?"

"No. Nothing bad." He leaned forward slightly. "I'll just say it. There is this…this sort of fund for Falcon's victims. It's kind of separated from what's going to be distributed from the lawsuits soon."

"Oh. I hadn't heard about it."

"Yeah." Gavin shifted. "It's not well known. Anyway, I think I can get you some of the money from it. For Erik, I mean."

Her eyes widened. "How can you do that? What do you have to do with it?"

"Well, I have connections, you know. And I sort of hinted that there was someone who needed help but couldn't come forward."

"No one knows where Erik is, do they?"

"No. I promise; it's completely safe."

Their food came, and they both murmured a thank you. Christine took a sip of water and decided that her chicken sandwich looked unappetizing. "So…Erik and I can just have money?" she asked when the waitress was gone.

"Pretty much." Gavin studied her. "You don't seem too happy about it."

"I'm-I'm surprised," she murmured. "You were able to get money. I mean, I don't know much about how all of that works. But I guess I thought it would be more complicated."

"It's not complex," he replied. He was still having a hard time maintaining eye contact. "Like a sort of donation thing. Very private. Safe. You believe me, right? I wouldn't do anything to expose you guys."

"No. I believe you. It's…I don't know…."

"It's what?"

She wrung her cloth napkin in her hands. "I've always been so grateful to have escaped London alive with Erik. It hurts, knowing what's been done to him and…what he's done to other people. I finally gave up trying to decide right from wrong and who deserved what, and I…I loved him. Even though all the courts in the world probably would have convicted him, I wanted him to survive. And I got what I wanted."

"I don't understand what you're getting at…."

Christine swallowed back a lump. "It was kind of like a bargain, I guess. As long as Erik survived and wasn't arrested, we didn't need anything else. Not even the lawsuit money."

"A bargain with who?"

"Um…."

"With like…God?"

"I don't know." The expression on his face made her turn a little red. Between Gavin and her agnostic husband, it was a wonder that she had any spirituality left. "I know it doesn't make any sense to you."

"Well," Gavin began, clearly trying not to offend her. "If you don't need all the money, you could give what's left to charity." She cocked her head to the side. He sighed. "Look, wouldn't you agree that Erik was denied everything growing up?"

"Of course." Even thinking about it made her angry. "He didn't get an elementary education because his mother was crazy. Everything after that was ten times worse."

"Right. So maybe this halfway makes up for some of that."

"Maybe." She timidly smiled. "I keep thinking that once he's on his feet, Erik might create something wonderful. He's working on his music again, and I can't wait to hear what he's come up with. Maybe this would help us move forward a little faster." She picked at her cup of pasta salad and pondered it. "How much is there?"

"Three hundred thousand right now."

"Holy…."

"Don't think only about Erik for this decision," said Gavin, lowering his voice. "You made some sacrifices."

"But those were my decisions," she replied. "I don't regret them."

"What's your point? You don't have to be a damned martyr, Christine."

She dropped her fork and sharply drew back. "I'm not trying to be! I only found out about this today. Thousands of dollars suddenly came out of nowhere. Why shouldn't I be a little suspicious?"

Gavin looked down. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It's been a rough couple of weeks. You're right—it does seem a little suspicious. But, believe me, it's only there to help you guys."

"It's all right. Maybe it is a blessing. After the money runs out from selling my old house, our finances are going to be tight. Work barely covers all the bills. If there were an emergency, we'd be in trouble. And…there are some things that I really want to do for Erik."

"Good," said Gavin. "Look. I'm not going to force you to take it. That's your guys' decision. I'm telling you that it's there if you want it."

"Thanks. I'll talk to him. And I'm sorry to be so…."

"Cynical and paranoid?" Grinning, he dodged the balled up napkin she threw at him.

"Erik was a little upset about our meeting."

Gavin's grin faded. "That's not good."

"I'm sure he'll be okay after I explain."

Gavin didn't appear entirely consoled.


While he normally only tucked the lasso into his suit when they left the apartment, he had kept it with him all that day. He wanted to be fully prepared in the case something did try to ruin his bliss. Let it be said that he had a broad definition of 'self-defense.'

Christine's return calmed him. She had a close-lipped smile on her face when she walked through the doorway, and her eyes held no fear. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him on the corner of his twisted mouth. She took his hands and led him to the sofa before gently pulling him down beside her. He resisted the urge to hop back up and demand she tell him everything.

"Well…Gavin had some news," she began. He was grateful that she did not avoid the issue by asking him how his day was or other such nonsense.

"What did he want?"

Tucking herself in the crook of his arm, Christine told him of their conversation, her voice soft and uncertain. He wasn't sure how he felt by the time she was finished. Annoyed? Suspicious? Relieved? Confused?

"So…" she continued, looking into his eyes. "That's about it. Do you…do you want to take it?"

He stared at the carpet. Of all things, his mind had not prepared for this. "I do not know."

She released a clipped laugh. "That's how I felt. It's a little strange. But maybe Gavin's right. Maybe we deserve it…or at least have a right to it. It'll be a start for us."

"I do not know," he repeated. Suddenly, he was very suspicious. He knew the world far too well to believe that money sprang up from the ground. Even the current victims in the lawsuit were likely going through hell to get their restitution.

Christine nodded. "Well, we'll think about it. There's no reason to be upset over it."

"Indeed." He felt momentarily resentful toward her, as though she had decided that he was incapable of supporting her. But no; his angel was innocent. He then resented Mr. Lewis for telling her about it. And he also wondered if….

"I brought you some chocolate pie," she began, holding up a Styrofoam carton.

"I am sure that I will enjoy it." He took it with a slightly trembling hand, trying to avoid doing or saying anything that would make her question his state of mind.

After they sat in silence for several minutes, Christine excused herself to retrieve clothing from the dryer. He pondered the situation awhile longer before rising from the sofa and pulling the phonebook from a kitchen drawer. He then examined a map of the city that they kept handy. When all was memorized, he went into their bedroom to find Christine matching black socks.

The room was filled with her fragrance, and it was still one of the few scents that he was clearly able to smell. It made him want her. "I believe I need a walk," he stated. "I must think on these matters in solitude." He noticed her immediate expression. "I will not steal anything."

"I know that. Are you sure you don't want company?" Her forehead was creased with worry. "I didn't mean to upset you. But you didn't want me to lie to you about what Gavin told me…."

"No. No." He gently kissed her temple before putting on his mask. "You have done nothing, my love. It is a very confusing matter. One that must be thoroughly explored." He moved to leave the room.

"Be careful," she called after him.

"I am always careful. I will return soon." Before leaving, he ensured that he had cash in his pockets. The cool night air signified that autumn was near. He looked forward to more cloudy days. She was anticipating the holidays.

He had not lied to his wife that evening. He was walking, and he was not going to steal anything.

He simply had not told her that he was also going to visit Mr. Lewis. But she hadn't asked, had she? He called a cab from a payphone and then dialed Mr. Lewis' number. "I am coming to your home," he said into the receiver. "Be out within fifteen minutes, or I will knock. And then I will break into your home." He hung up the phone as Mr. Lewis made a choked protest.

He had been vaguely aware of the location due to his 'background check' on the young man from months ago. He'd used a map to figure out the precise street; this type of activity was second nature now. Keeping his head low so that his mask was not visible, he crawled into the back of the taxi when it arrived. Fortunately, cab drivers seemed accustomed to having strange passengers at night. This one even made comments about the weather and sporting events. He merely grunted in response.

Once near his destination, he paid the fare and walked the short distance to Mr. Lewis' apartment. Although he did not think the young man was stupid enough to call the police or Christine, he kept an eye on his surroundings. After about two minutes, the front door creaked open and clicked close. There was the sound of rapid footsteps clicking across the pavement and toward the edge of the complex.

He heightened himself as Mr. Lewis stepped forward and began to look behind some of the landscaped bushes. After a minute of watching him with slight amusement, he spoke. "Good evening."

Mr. Lewis jumped and turned around. "Erik," he stated. "What the--" He closed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"You offered my wife money today. Why?"

A look of agitated understanding crossed his face. "It wasn't my money. It was from a fund."

His fingers curled. "Where did you get it?"

"It's just a fund…."

"You are lying." A snarl crept into his voice. "That is very unwise."

"I'm not lying! You can look at the accounts if you want."

"Now you are merely avoiding the truth. Do you really think I will not get it out of you?"

"You're not going to kill me," said Mr. Lewis with a scowl. "It would upset Christine."

"I do not need to kill you," he replied."Breaking a finger or two will not kill you." He realized at that moment that he was still sane of mind. He was angry and irritated and slightly murderous. But his thoughts were strangely clear.

"Gavin? Are you speaking to someone?" A woman's voice echoed into the night, causing them both to glance up.

The young man whispered a curse. "No, sweetheart!" he called. "I was singing to myself."

He ducked behind the corner as light footsteps approached, still keeping one eye on Mr. Lewis. A dark-haired woman appeared in a long white nightgown, barefoot and rather round. "I swore I heard someone else."

"I said 'hi' to the neighbor," Mr. Lewis choked out, whirling to face her. "That's probably what you heard." He walked toward his wife and took her slender hand. "Sweetheart, let's get you back inside. It's getting cool out here." They disappeared behind the corner. "I'll be in soon."

"What are you doing out here?" she asked.

"Getting some fresh air and…uh, checking some cracks in the bricks. We want to make sure everything's patched up before winter, right?"

"Why are you doing that at night?"

"Honey, please. Give me a moment. I'll be right in."

"Fine," she muttered. "Why don't you check the cracks in the roof while you're at it?"

The door closed, and Mr. Lewis quickly returned. "Look," he began, his voice strained with desperation. "Don't take the money. I don't care. I can't talk about this right now…please…."

"I want to know where this fund came from," he repeated with less hostility.

"Why does it matter?" Mr. Lewis rubbed both hands over his face. "No one is coming to find you. Or her. It's money. It's there for your benefit. It doesn't matter how it got there."

"It does matter, you idiot!" A wave of frustration overtook him. "Why can I not be left alone?"

"I don't know," Mr. Lewis replied, backing up a step. "I don't know. Because life sucks. And I'm going inside now." He turned around, walked several steps, and then paused.

He stared at the back of Mr. Lewis' neck.

They both waited to see if the lasso would come slithering out to make its move.

It didn't. Mr. Lewis walked to the door, opened it, and disappeared inside the apartment.

He stood there and stared at nothing. Because life sucks. He didn't even know how to respond or react, partly because he could not really argue with the declaration. It was an informal, vernacular interpretation of his own philosophy, wasn't it? It was the truth.

Or was it? Was life one giant disaster that constantly threatened him with ghastly surprises behind every corner?

No. Not always. Not this last year. For once, he'd been happy to be alive. Not once in these last few months had he wished for his life to end.

As he thought back on the souls he had encountered during his lifetime, he came to the comforting conclusion that he was probably no longer the most miserable, wretched man on earth. Oh, he was still wretched. But he was not the most wretched, and that was his victory. There were people wanting to kill themselves all across the planet—people who hated life and had nothing to live for--and he was no longer one of them. He was not homeless or alone, and he had a wife who was much better than everyone else's wife. He did! Erik did.

Of course, he would always be too ugly to give her everything she deserved. He still hated daylight, and he hated anyone but Christine to be near him. Crowds and deafening excuses for music sent off a ticking sound in his mind that still threatened his sanity. It was even difficult for him to part with his current composition because he did not think mankind deserved to hear and judge it.

But even if he was not yet capable of giving her everything she deserved, at least…at least he could allow her to have what she deserved. He no longer had to fight for her or prove that he was not the worst creature on earth; he could simply love her. And perhaps do what was best for her at the brief expense of his pride.

This time, for her sake, they would take the money. Despite his suspicions, they would take it.

Perhaps she would use it to return to school. She had left her studies to drag him out of London's sewers.

He picked chrysanthemums, asters, and pansies from someone's front yard and formed a small bouquet for her. He placed ten dollars on the ground and held it in place with a large rock. Christine would not like it if he stole the flowers.

As he carried the bouquet down the street, he slightly lifted his mask and attempted to sniff the blooms with his non-existent nose. He might have caught a faint whiff, but it was difficult to tell.

He was sure they would smell better after Christine had touched them.