AN: Just a quick note to let you know that the two dastardly and dashing characters who appear at the end of this chapter belong to me. They are actually two of the main characters in the book I hope to eventually publish, and I love them so much I couldn´t resist dropping them into this story.

Enjoy, and as always, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews. They make me ridiculously happy,and I appreciate each and every one.

Love, Maat


Chapter Eight: April Blurs and Fades

'Just remember to breathe.'

Christine stood backstage and clenched her sweaty hands together, forcing herself to take deep, long breaths. 'Don't hyperventilate, don't worry…what's wrong with me? I've never been this nervous before a show before!'

She knew, in her heart, that it wasn't about the show.

When Christine had returned to Philadelphia after Spring Break the fearful directors pleaded with her to rejoin the production. She wearily accepted, on the condition that she resume her chorus role, though when they anxiously pressed a small solo on her she didn't refuse. Christine didn't understand what was going on, she didn't want to, but she didn't want to be afraid anymore. She wouldn't let anyone dictate her life.

'I'm in this musical because I want to be, not because of anyone else,' she told herself. 'I can't live my life in fear. I will live my life.'

A shadow twitched somewhere in the hot darkness of the backstage and Christine jumped. She normally wasn't afraid of the dark but now she never quite felt safe. She knew he was out there somewhere, this mysterious person who invaded her dreams and tried to control her life, and she didn't know what he was capable of.

A sour note on the stage made Christine's head jerk up sharply, and she realized that she was on in a few lines.

'Here goes,' she thought, taking a deep breath and steeling herself to walk under the harsh stage lights. 'Watch over me, Dad. Protect me in this…and everything.'

Christine knew the moment she stepped in front of the silent audience that he was there. A twinge, something ghostly that rose the hairs on the back of her neck warned her that someone was watching, someone outside of the dark sea of faces in front of her.

"I saw someone walking…" She started her small solo, sounding stronger than she felt, buoyed by her anger and fear. "And maybe it was you…"

When Christine finished she gracefully stepped back as the chorus rose up to join their voices with hers. She even smiled; the hardest part was over and she could stop shaking.

The final performances consumed Christine's life. She had two per day all week, and studying was pushed to the side, only concentrated on during late nights and early mornings. Finals loomed ahead, only two weeks after the end of the production, and the mere thought of them frightened her more than a hundred staring, shadowed eyes.

When the show closed she felt a bitter combination of relief and regret. No more staring eyes, no more walking onto that stage and feeling wrong, no more constant paranoia. But it was back to her normal life, her sad, boring, plain normal life, and she hated that.

'Double-edged sword,' Christine thought bitterly the night after the final performance as she cracked one huge book open and sat at the kitchen table, poised with a yellow highlighter. 'The story of my life.'

She tapped the highlighter on the edge of her book and pondered the last few months. 'I still don't know what any of this means. Who is this person? Maybe he's harmless, I mean he hasn't done anything except try to help me…and scare me half to death in the process. The idea of a stalker is so frightening, like any minute some guy is going to duct tape my mouth shut and throw me in the back of a van, or creep up on me in the shower, or something equally awful. But it's been months, and nothing bad has happened. I hope that maybe it will just go away in time. At least after finals I'll have the whole summer to relax.'

Christine's university let out earlier than most; finals week was the last week in April and allowed the students an early jump on summer jobs. She was going to stay in her small, sad little apartment for the summer to work full time at the same diner she had worked in for the past two years. Meg was spending the summer at her mother's house, but would continue to pay half the rent for the apartment, as she had a habit of popping in unexpectedly with boys or plans for a wild party. Most of the time, Christine would be alone.

'Always alone.'

Time sped up, as it has a habit of doing when one has too little time to study and no real desire for school to let out. Before she could blink it was finals week, and she was once again woken up by Meg in the library.

"Hey!" The small girl shook Christine hard. "Come on, you prat, it's time to go! The library is closing!"

Christine sat up and awkwardly wiped drool from the corner of her mouth. "Oh God, Meg, I'm so sorry for making you search for me again."

"This wouldn't happen if you checked books out like a normal person instead of walling yourself away in this hole!" Meg was fuming that night, her cheeks flushed with righteous anger. "I'm afraid to leave you alone all summer!"

Christine shook her head as she gathered her things. "I'm fine, Meg, I promise, it's just that my most important final – and the last one, thank God—is tomorrow and I can't, can't fail. My whole GPA rides on it. I'm going…"

"Crazy?" Meg snapped, and Christine blushed.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Yeah, a little crazy."

"Well, good luck on your test tomorrow." Meg sighed grumpily. "We're all stressed."

The next morning, with only a few hours of sleep in her, Christine plodded through the brightly green campus and took her seat in the lecture hall. She sat, scribbled, pondered, wrote, erased, and handed in her last final of the year with that forever double-edged bitter relief and trepidation.

"I'm officially a senior now," she muttered to herself as she rode the elevator back to her room and collapsed into bed. "Only one more year left. Too bad this summer will be so boring."

Perhaps it was her imagination, but the music in her head, which had returned mysteriously after weeks of absence, seemed to tell her that would not be so.

After school ended Christine's life fell quickly into routine. She woke up, showered, worked all day, came back, microwaved a quick meal and ate it while watching the news before falling into bed too early. She planned to sing on the weekends to keep her sound strong for the upcoming year, and searched for auditions in her time off. She wasn't able to see much of Raoul, though she missed him; her work and muddled feelings kept him at a safe distance. She planned out her summer exactly, knew how every day would go, and felt a relief in familiar, lonely routine.

Her first week wore down, and Friday came.

It was just after ten o'clock at night, and Christine's shift was finally over. She grabbed her coat off the rack, stuffed her apartment keys in the pocket, and shouted goodnight to her coworkers as she pushed open the smudged glass door and walked into the humid, dark air.

Her worn sneakers made no sound as she crossed the street and hurried to her apartment. The sidewalks were well lit and the diner was just outside of campus; she knew she shouldn't feel nervous walking alone but her recent paranoia made her jumpy even during the day.

Christine's shoulders tensed and her arms immediately locked around her purse as she heard voices up ahead. Two people were coming toward her, talking loudly: a man and a woman, in business suits, ties undone and shirt sleeves rolled up. The sight of their easy banter made her relax a bit, and as they passed the man reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, Miss." His voice was light, and Christine paused and half turned to face him. He was extremely attractive, tall and thin like a model, with soft blond hair and blue eyes. He smiled with very white, even teeth.

"Yes?" she asked, still studying him. The woman to his right spoke.

"We've wandered into the wrong area and are a little lost. Do you think you could help us?" She sounded serious, and looked vaguely Russian, with tanned skin, brown hair, and prematurely lined eyes.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Duncan Street," the man said, smiling dazzlingly at her.

"Of course, just turn left over here…" she turned her back on them to point out the way, but stopped when she felt something cold pressed between her shoulder blades.

"I suggest you keep very quiet, Miss Danes," the woman said in a cold, businesslike tone. "Now turn around, slowly."

Christine turned, feeling such terror that she thought her heart would stop. The scene was exactly the same: the blond smiling casually, the woman stoic; the only difference was the gun in her hand.

"Now stay calm and don't panic, Miss Danes. We're not going to hurt you." The woman's voice sounded anything but soothing, and her hand was steady on the slick black gun. "You're perfectly safe with us, if you're good."

"And you will be good," the man said, dangling handcuffs from one finger, his smile wicked. "Won't you?"

"Wh-wha-what's going on?" Christine whimpered, fear clogging her throat and the fight-or-flight response so strong it was seizing her muscles, making them twitch spasmodically.

"You're just going to meet someone, that's all. Nothing to it." The man's smile turned patronizing. "Look, kid, if you're cool, we won't even have to use the handcuffs. Right, Lina?"

The woman nodded and moved to take Christine's arm.

The movement shook her out of her paralyzing fear and, heedless of the consequences, she began to run. She only made it a few steps before someone grabbed her from behind. She swung out blindly; her fist connected with something hard and she heard a startled cry of pain before a heavy blow cracked down on her skull and everything went black.