Hi, guys! Thank you for all your lovely comments about the last chapter. I saw some new readers, too, which is always encouraging.

My beta is missing in action. That leaves you all with one of two choices. You can either go find her and drag her back here to edit this chapter. Or you can simply read this chapter without betaing. I'm up for either, but the first option does sound more fun…. ;)

Read and Review!!

Christine stood by the front door and admired her husband.

There he stood in his new mask and hat. Erik had painted the mask an extremely pale peach so that it didn't greatly contrast with his hands. He'd added a few light shades of red and shadows as well, using her face as a model for his design. While shopping in a department store, she'd found a black hat that darkened his face. It was something of a cross between an olden day fedora and a wide-brimmed Australian outdoors hat. The suit was still too large; it was impossible to find clothing that fit his frame.

But her pride didn't come from the fact that he was more appealing to the eye. She was proud that he was making at least a slight attempt to become part of society.

Erik stared at himself in a hand mirror, shifting from one foot to the other and wiggling his fingers. "Perhaps…only a short walk," he stated. It was the first time that he was going outside in his new mask.

"Yeah. Maybe around the block or something," she agreed. She'd been trying not to make a huge deal about it; Erik worked better when less attention was focused upon him.

They went for a simple walk together. It was chilly, and few other people were outside. She glanced up at him and noted that it was difficult to see the mask when the lights were dim. His yellow eyes were the only part of his face that seemed familiar to her.

Most people would probably still be afraid of Erik once they got a closer look at him; many had reason to be. She knew how far he had come in this last year, though. His posture was a little straighter, his eyes held more clarity, and he held her hand without awkwardness.

The walk was an overall success. Over the next few evenings, they took several more strolls without any incidents. Erik never said anything about the mask or the hat, but he always put them in a tidy little pile on the table after they returned home. Sometimes he dusted off the hat with his hand or inspected the mask for cracks. She had the feeling that anyone who tried to touch either object would wind up with a severe injury. They were definitely his now.

Christine finally decided to see if Erik would be comfortable wearing the mask in a more public place. "There's a play I kind of wanted to see," she began over dinner several nights later. Erik glanced up at her, expression unreadable as he chewed a piece of bread. "You might like it. Um…there's this man in it who does away with people so that he can be king…. "

Erik swallowed, and his lip twitched upwards. "Is this man's name Richard?"

She smiled. "Yes!"

Erik chuckled. "Believe me, my dear. When one's childhood is spent locked in a room for hours with nothing but books, one will finally end up reading the majority of Shakespeare's works."

"Oh. I read a few of them in school. So…do you want to see the play with me?"

"If the interior of the building is dark and spacious, I will see the play."

She managed to get tickets for rows near the back of the theater that were away from everybody else. Erik refused to remove his hat, but, luckily, no one sitting behind them. At some point, Christine was able to sit back in the cushioned seat and enjoy the performances. She side-glanced Erik a few times and thought he looked content with the slightly morbid play.

The only moment of tension came at the end as they were following a line of people out of the theater. A middle-aged man was beside them, scowling and looking over the heads of the other people. "Got the time?" the man asked after a moment, squinting up toward Erik in the hallway lights.

A silence passed in which she grew nervous; no one really ever spoke to Erik. By asking her husband for the time, the man had verified that Erik wasn't an invisible ghost. Finally, a soft and even "no" came from behind her husband's mask.

The guy muttered, "Thanks, anyway." Finding a break in the crowd, he quickly walked away. She took Erik's hand and relaxed, taking it as a sign that he could handle certain situations.

"The idiot should purchase a watch."

"I know," she replied, unable to hide her smile. Erik grumbled awhile longer, but she distracted him from the event by asking him if he enjoyed the play. He calmed down and critiqued the actors all the way back to their car. She hoped none of the actors were nearby to hear him….

Overall, he'd handled the evening well. As long as he didn't have to directly interact with people, he could stand being around them.

How would he handle her first rejection letter?

She wondered this several days later as she held the single sheet of paper, feeling a little stinging sensation near her heart. We are sorry to inform you that…There were many qualified applicants this year…Blah blah blah….

It hurt a little, no denying that. Did she tell Erik? On the one hand, keeping secrets from her husband never turned out well. She also sort of wanted a little comfort from him. On the other hand, she didn't want any admissions officials to die.

Christine pondered the matter throughout the evening. In the end, it didn't matter. Erik noticed that something was wrong, and she certainly wasn't going to lie to him.

"Your eyes are sad tonight," he stated. "Who has upset my wife?"

She hesitated. "I was rejected from a school. I got a letter today."

"Let me see it."

She pulled the letter out of her purse and handed it to him. "It's not a big deal," she said, sitting beside him on the sofa. "I didn't think I was going to get into that one anyway."

His fingers crinkled the paper. "They are despicable swine."

"More letters will come," she reassured him.

"Perhaps I should send them a reply."

"No, Erik. I don't want you to do that."

"But they should be aware of what morons they are—and how lucky they are to still have use of their arms and legs after this atrocity."

She was starting to worry. "It's not a big deal. We'll wait for the next one."

"But they should be--"

"No, Erik!" she finally exclaimed. "I-I just…I want a hug!"

He closed his mouth and stared at her before saying, "You may always have that." His voice was softer, and he opened his arms to her. She quickly accepted the embrace. "But I am not sure how this solves the problem…or punishes them for their stupidity."

"It doesn't solve it," she said. "It just feels nice. Let's wait for more letters before we do anything."

He grumbled something that she hoped was an agreement.

She received one more rejection before she got three acceptances. Throughout the process, she managed to prevent Erik from becoming too angry, mainly by controlling her own emotions. Several years ago, she might have sniffled over the rejections and then called Meg for a pity party. If Erik saw her getting upset, though, he'd declare war on the American education system. Plus, it all seemed a little less important now than it had back then. A lot less important, really.

"So," she began once all the colleges had responded, laying the acceptance letters out on the kitchen table "Which one should I choose?"

Erik pointed at the one on the left. "This is the best."

"It's also the most expensive."

"My wife only gets the best. And why did you ask me if you did not want my response?" He answered his own question before she was able to do so. "You asked because you know that your loving husband is always right."

"Oh, Erik."

In the end, she did end up choosing that school. For one thing, it wasn't that much more expensive. It was a decent liberal arts school with a solid music program that included the opportunity to study with professional singers--although it was unlikely that any of them were as good as Erik. The driving distance wasn't unbearable, which would be nice during the winter weather. Erik declared that she wasn't allowed to use the bus system because 'some idiot might try to kidnap her.'

She kissed him on the top of the head and didn't dare state the obvious.

Thanksgiving passed by without any problems. She stayed in the kitchen and prepared the meal for the first time since dining with her father; Raoul had hired a cook to prepare it when they were together. The potatoes, yams, and cranberry sauce were all easy for Erik to eat. And, of course, he had a chocolate pie that he vigilantly guarded all day. Thank God they'd had no unsuspecting dinner guests there to try and take a slice of it.

It was the next day, though, that gave her a surprise. As she climbed out of bed, Christine remembered that it was Black Friday. Erik was still lying down with his head on the pillow, appearing relaxed enough for her to tease him a little. She always had to be careful doing that.

"It's time to get ready for the next holiday," she began. "You're going to have to write me a long Christmas list of everything you want. It'd better be done by the end of this week."

She expected him to give a Scrooge-esque reply or to simply scoff and turn on his side. Instead, Erik didn't say anything for a moment. Not wanting to push it, she shrugged and started to head for the door. And then he spoke. "I do wish for something. It is ridiculous, really."

Christine turned around. "What is it, Erik?" She expected him to ask for something that was related to his music. For the second time, her assumptions were wrong.

It took him another few seconds to speak. "The last sixteen years were very blurry," he began. "A jumble of nothing. I was occasionally given newspapers in prison, but I remember little about them. And I did not care about society after I escaped--unless mankind had destroyed itself in a nuclear war, in which case I would celebrate. My mind resembled that mushy orange dish you cooked last night. You see, I know the world before prison. I vaguely recall the end of the Cold War. But then the world stops, you understand?"

"I can understand that," she murmured. "It'd be like…leaving earth for sixteen years."

"Yes. Something like that. Christine, I want a book that will explain the last two decades. Culture, wars, governments, technology. I did not really care before, but…I feel the need to bring a bit of order to the madness."

"I'd be happy to get you that," she replied, her heart fluttering a little. She loved that Erik was intelligent, that he wanted to know and understand the world even after all mankind had done to him.

"Yes. If you would do that…." He rested his head back onto the pillow; a small yawn escaped his lips. It was painful to think about what he might have accomplished under different circumstances.

She didn't want to wait until Christmas to give him his books. On Monday, after work, she stopped by a medium-sized, non-chain bookstore. The inside was cozy but a little disorganized, and she wandered through the aisles in search of the modern history section. After about ten minutes, she found a couple of books but wasn't sure if they were up to Erik's standards.

If only there were a way that he could browse books for himself.

She realized that there was a way. The Internet! He could learn everything on it--well hopefully not everything, but it'd be a way for him to reconnect with the world. With the new money, they could afford it.

She went ahead and bought one book for Erik, along with a dessert cookbook (for Erik's pleasure) and a novel that she'd wanted to read. Once at home, she told him her idea as she handed him his book. "You've used computers, right?" she asked.

"I have used them for my mission. Not for recreational purposes."

"Well, it'll be useful for school anyway. We won't get a bunch of fancy gadgets or anything. Only a new computer and the Internet."

"If you wish for it, then you will have it." He was looking down at his book.

"I'm sure you'll use it, too, Erik. But…try not to get into fights with people online." She giggled.

"I do not wish to speak to anyone on a computer. People are no less vile over the network than they are in reality." Erik opened his book.

Christine plopped down beside him on the sofa, startling him away from his reading. "Anything you want to do, tell me," she said, feeling excited for no specific reason. "I'm not always sure what you're ready to do. But if you want to go somewhere or take a class or anything—tell me!" Erik stared at her and shifted, appearing uncomfortable. "But you don't have to do anything," she quickly added. "Only when you want to."

He stared at her for several more seconds, his head tilted. Erik then opened his arm so that she could scoot closer to him. After doing so, she rested against his shoulder and read with him. The only brief disturbance occurred when she started softly snickering at a past presidential scandal. Erik grunted and turned the page.


Since the birth of his daughter, life had seemed kinder to Gavin.

It wasn't that all his problems magically disappeared, or that he and his wife completely stopped arguing. Somehow, though, seeing Rosalinda for the first time made him want to stay put. After witnessing some of the horrors in the world, Gavin felt it was his duty to protect his two girls. And he loved them.

Shortly after Rose's birth, he'd taken a fulltime job writing articles for the entertainment and cultural sections of a local newspaper. He'd turned down the jobs that involved traveling and danger, although he didn't count them out forever.

He also continued to put time into his book and was still struggling over what to reveal. It was hard to write Erik out of it, mostly because the notion of Gavin, Christine, and Raoul taking down Falcon by themselves was a little unbelievable. Frankly, the book needed a superhero. But all Gavin had was an ambiguous antihero who could still be tried for murder if too much information ever came out.

When not working or writing, Gavin's time was spent with Marisol and the baby. Rose kept them up at night, but she wasn't too fussy during the day. She'd gotten Marisol's eyes and cheekbones along with his nose and mouth. That week, she'd smiled for the first time.

"She smiled at you first. That's not fair," said Marisol with a fake frown. They were both standing over the crib.

"It's because I look funnier than you," Gavin explained.

Marisol scoffed and wiggled her tongue at the baby, trying to make her smile again. Rose only stared. Gavin puffed out his cheeks and made weird gurgling noises in the back of his throat. Rose smiled. Marisol attempted several more faces.

It was happy and perfect. Two corny parents making faces at the most beautiful baby in the whole wide world. It was wonderful.

It was terrifying how it all nearly fell apart within the course of a day.

In mid-December, Marisol announced that she was going to take Rose and pay a visit to her mother. "Mom's always complaining that she doesn't get to see her granddaughter," Marisol explained, sounding a little exasperated. "We'll be back by tomorrow morning. Unless you want to come?"

"I'll hang out here," replied Gavin. "It'll give you girls some time alone." After she'd left with Rose the following morning, he called Christine. Gavin's interactions with the couple had been limited to a few phone calls over the last few months. Christine had always sounded in good spirits, and so he didn't worry too much. Still, he thought it might be nice to visit them around the holidays.

"You're welcome to come over," Christine said on the phone. "It's been awhile. And bring some baby pictures." She lowered her voice. "I also want to show you something and see what you think."

"Does it have to do with Erik?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Is it scary?"

"Gavin!" she chided. Christine lowered her voice to a whisper. "He's doing really well. But don't tell him I told you that; sometimes he'll get really indignant."

"My lips are sealed," he replied with a laugh. "I'll be over in an hour or so."

Overall, it was a calm and ordinary visit…or at least as ordinary as it could be, considering the circumstances. The big surprise, the one that Christine had hinted at, was Erik's mask. Gavin had blinked up at Erik's face, not quite sure what he was seeing for a few seconds. Erik had glared at him, and Gavin quickly turned his head.

"Doesn't it look nice?" asked Christine, opening the conversation. "We made it together."

"Wow," said Gavin, cautiously and quickly glancing up again. "Yeah. It looks great…really realistic. More comfortable, too. "

Erik silently sat beside Christine, shifting on the sofa cushions. Christine spoke again. "Did you bring pictures of Rose?"

With fatherly pride, he showed them some of the recent baby pictures. Erik didn't say much throughout the visit, but the atmosphere was more relaxed than it had been the previous time. Christine was more open and animated. She hadn't abandoned all caution, but she definitely wasn't tiptoeing over eggshells. Erik didn't twitch, mutter, or glare as often; he mainly sat there and watched his wife. During a conversation about the weather, Erik even said, "Indeed."

Gavin was pleased by the time he left. His fears concerning Christine's safety had nearly disappeared. Was Erik still capable of killing someone? Yeah, probably. Would he ever hurt Christine? That seemed extremely unlikely at this point.

When Gavin got home, he headed for the kitchen to grab a soda, figuring he'd spend the rest of the afternoon watching college football. As he opened the fridge, he heard footsteps and turned around. Marisol was standing there, her arms folded.

He blinked in surprise and then smiled. "Hey. I thought you were going to your mother's."

Marisol was silent for several seconds, looking him in the eye. Finally, she spoke. "Mom called the cell phone and told me that one of her neighbors was having medical problems. She volunteered to watch their children while they went to the hospital. I didn't want to be in the way, so I came back."

"Oh. That's a shame," Gavin replied. "Maybe you can try again next weekend." He turned back to the fridge.

"How was Christine?"

"She was…." Gavin froze, feeling a lump form in his stomach as he slowly turned back around.

The muscles in Marisol's face were strained, and her eyes were narrowed. "Coming back, I saw your car turn off on Blackberry Street and followed you. I thought maybe you were going to lunch or something. Or maybe, deep down, I knew…. Whatever. It doesn't matter. You drove to her apartment. I saw her on the porch, Gavin!"

He swallowed. "Did you see anyone else there?"

"What kind of stupid question is that? I saw you and her there! If Rose hadn't been with me, I would have pounded on the door and let Christine know exactly what I think of her!"

"It's not what you're thinking," he said, stupidly.

She shook her head in disgust. "Sneaking around to see Christine behind my back isn't what I think it is? You've been seeing her all this time, haven't you? Since you've come back, right?"

"I have been visiting her," he admitted. Gavin reached out a hand, but Marisol back away. "But she's only a friend. I was concerned about something. There's nothing there but friendship."

"Then why is it a big secret? Why can't you just tell me you wanted to see your college friend? Why not invite me sometimes?"

"Marisol. Honey. That's…it's very hard to understand." She threw up her hands and turned to walk away. "Marisol!"

"Leave me alone!" she snapped. "I can't even look at you right now."

Months ago, Gavin and Christine had discussed how to explain Erik to other people. Both knew that it would probably be impossible to keep him a secret forever. They also agreed that, with the exception of a few jerks, most people would have enough empathy to accept the idea of a deformed man living amongst them. People would not, however, easily accept a murderer.

With these thoughts in mind, he chased after Marisol in a desperate attempt to explain. It had been his intention to wait a year or so before telling her any of this. But he was afraid she was going to pack a suitcase, take Rose, and leave him. "Listen to me!" he exclaimed. "Please listen to me for a moment."

"Leave me alone." Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she entered their bedroom. "I don't want to talk about it now. I don't even know what to think. All you've been doing this last year is lying!"

"I know. I have. It hasn't been right. But you have to listen to me. This entire thing--it has to do with Christine's husband."

She looked up at him. "Oh. Wonderful, Gavin. Does he participate?"

"No! Jesus. That's not even…No." Gavin ran a hand over his eyes. At least he had her attention now. "He is severely…" Gavin motioned toward his face, "…disfigured and doesn't come out much. It's a very, very delicate situation. I'm trying to help them keep their privacy. I'm being a friend by making sure that they're getting along okay. That's it. That's all that's going on."

Marisol shook her head and stared at the floor. "You're a journalist. You can come up with something better than that."

"No! You have to believe that. I love you; I never meant to hurt you. But this is the truth now. I'm hoping that you'll keep it between us."

"You want me to believe a pretty girl like Christine broke up with an attractive, rich guy to marry a disfigured man who never leaves the house?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, ignoring the shallowness of her statement. "I want you to believe that because it's the truth." He tried to take her hand again, but she pulled away.

"I don't even know what to believe anymore." She sat down on the bed and looked up at him. "Why don't you introduce me to your mysterious friends?"

Gavin hesitated. "I'll introduce you to Christine. Not her husband."

Marisol scowled. "Why not her husband? Let me guess. He's disfigured and invisible."

"Because he doesn't like to be around people. He's been through a lot. He's…not a friendly guy."

"How can I believe anything you're saying?"

His head was beginning to ache, starting in the front and spreading toward the back. "Well, this is why I didn't tell you. You won't even make an effort to understand."

"You're an ass. Leave me alone."

"Marisol…" He tried to put a hand on her shoulder. "I love--"

"Get out! Leave me alone." She turned her back to him and curled up on the bed.

"We need to talk about this later," he stated. Marisol didn't respond, and Gavin retreated from the bedroom and went into the living room.

Even though he would be sleeping on the couch, at least she wasn't leaving...yet. He was even more relieved that Marisol hadn't tried to knock on Christine and Erik's front door that day. Although it might have given her good reason to believe in Erik, the possible consequences of such a confrontation were too chilling to ponder. Gavin realized that he'd been a complete idiot for not considering these things earlier.

Marisol only came out of the bedroom once when their daughter started crying. With Rose in her arms, his wife went back into the room and closed the door. Gavin sat on the couch and buried his face in his hands, trying to figure out how he was going to get out of this one. He didn't have a copy of the photograph of Erik and Christine, but that might not be enough anyway.

After sitting on the couch for several hours, thinking over his situation, Gavin called Christine on his cell phone and told her everything. He kept his voice low, knowing the conversation might get him into even more trouble with his wife.

"God," Christine began in a strained voice. "Gavin, that's awful. I'm so sorry. Do you want me to talk to her? Maybe she'd believe me."

"I'm not sure if she'd believe anything you had to say. She'd probably accuse us of conspiring."

Christine sighed. "This is partly my fault for bringing you into this. Is there anything I can do?"

"Maybe," he murmured.

"What?"

"Marisol asked to see him. If she could see you with Erik…maybe a quick glimpse of him…hear his neat voice once…I think she'd believe it. It's pretty hard to deny his existence after you've seen his height and eyes and all that."

"Oh, Gavin. I don't know. I don't think he'll allow that."

"I didn't think so," he softly replied. "It's fine. I don't want to make this worse than it is."

Several moments of silence passed before she spoke again. "I'll talk to Erik. But I can't make any promises."

"No. Don't force him into it. I mean, that'd be a little dangerous. And I don't want Marisol to be…well…I want everything to stay sane."

"She wouldn't tell anyone about him, would she?" Her voice trembled slightly.

"All she knows is that he's disfigured. I'm going to try to keep it that way for a long time; I don't want her freaking out. But, that aside, Marisol's not the kind to go telling people everything."

"That's good." Someone was speaking in the background. "Erik is looking at me…and insulting you for keeping me up late. I'll give you a call later. Don't expect much."

"Thanks. I won't. "

After hanging up, Gavin reclined on the couch and stared at the ceiling. For some reason, he was reminded of the time he slept in the pews of the London church, waiting for someone to kill him. He was saved that time.

Would he be saved this time?


"No."

"But Erik! Think of all Gavin has done for us."

Her husband sat on the bed with his arms folded and his back straight, glaring. "And I kept him from getting shot several times. We are quite even."

"You don't even have to say anything," Christine replied, sitting beside him. "I'll try to talk to her."

"He should have been more cautious. I wish to torture him for leading her to our home. But you will not let me."

"He didn't mean to lead her here. He's tried to be careful."

"Pity. He failed."

She moaned in exasperation and grabbed onto Erik's arm. "Poor Gavin. He's been so good to us. Don't you care at all?"

"No. And neither should you. You are my wife; you should care about your loving husband." Before she could react, Erik grabbed her and held her tightly with both arms, pressing her against his chest and snuggling against her. "My wife. Not his."

She spoke into Erik's shirt. "I am your wife, and I love you. But Gavin wants his wife, too. You know, Erik? If Gavin loses his wife and baby, he'll probably come over here all the time."

Erik stiffened. "I will not let him inside my house."

"Please help me? Marisol needs to know that Gavin and I aren't…doing anything…."

Erik chortled. "That can be proven by the fact that Mr. Lewis' head is still attached to his body."

"Please? It'd be so sad if Gavin lost his family…."

He grunted. "I do not like women staring at me. Their little eyes always get wide, and then they moan and mutter about my ugliness, as though my existence insults them. And it is rather tiresome."

"Erik. If she says anything offensive, she won't be welcomed anywhere near us ever again. And then we'll come home and and forget about her."

"You are assuming that she would survive such an encounter."

"I know you wouldn't hurt her," Christine stated.

"How do you know what I would do? Only Erik knows what Erik will do!"

Christine sighed. His eyes were sane, though, which led her to believe that he was just being difficult.

"We will sleep now," he said, stroking her hair.

"Will you at least consider helping me? Please?" She pulled her head up and kissed him. "Please?"

He lay down on the bed with her still in his arms. "My wife does not stare at my ugliness. Mine."

She'd try again in the morning.