AN: Thanks, as usual, to everyone who reviewed, though honestly (and not to sound like a total review whore), I would like to see some new faces on the review board. I know from my stats that this has been read a lot and favorited and alert listed quite a bit, but I'm not hearing from these people. I don't know if asking will help me get any more thoughts from people, but I thought I'd try.

Oh, and PS: the f-word is included in this chapter, so I wanted to give a heads up in case that offends anyone.

I hope you're all enjoying this!

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Chapter Eleven: Conversations and Confrontations

Christine sat there and stared at him, stunned. Tears welled in her eyes despite her efforts to stay calm. She wanted to scream at him to let her go. 'I can't stay here!' She began to curl in her chair, her fists at her mouth like a child. 'Go away!'

His hand swam into view, blurred by her almost-tears, long, bonelike fingers hovering hesitantly over her knee. She realized that he was kneeling in front of her and speaking, begging, and somehow the sheer desperate humility horrified her even more.

"Oh please, please don't cry," he bowed his head, hands drifting close to the worn hem of her dark pants but not touching. "I can't stand to see you cry."

She tried to keep her voice from cracking. "Then let me go."

"I will, I will! That is what you don't understand!" He raised his head to stare at her intently, his yellow eyes strangely vivid in the flat, emotionless stretch of black leather.

Her heart began to pound wildly. What had he just said? She looked for what seemed like the first time and truly saw him: his tall figure hunched birdlike before her, so painfully thin, all sharp edges and protruding joints, long limbs and bone, like a puppet imperfectly fashioned, hung by invisible strings. His hair was black, thick and almost unnaturally stiff, and she had a sudden wild urge to touch it, to see if it was real.

She did not want to touch the mask.

Her eyes traced its black border along the top of his forehead, down the edges of his face, where it raised rigidly across the nose and lay smooth and flat across his cheeks, almost to the jaw. Christine knew that it, more than anything else, was her hope of making it out of here alive. As long as she did not see her captor's identity she might be able to get away, to survive this. She was thankful for the mask; she felt as if it protected her as much as it protected him. She knew that she would never, ever be stupid enough to try and see what was underneath it.

Her gaze finally settled on his eyes, on that feral, unhealthy yellow that burned into her, and as Christine flinched and turned away her voice escaped, too hopeful. "You will?" she asked, weak with relief. His mouth, just barely visible under the swooping curve of the mask, seemed to smile.

"Soon," he promised, his eyes intense. "Soon."

"I…why? Why do I have to stay? Why can't I go now?"

"Because I can't let you go." His hand clenched convulsively, long white fingers curling into a fist, knuckles jaggedly protruding. "Not yet. Not until we talk and I know…not until I know that you will come back."

She drew in a sharp breath. "How…how long?"

He gazed brokenly at her, and there was something reflected in those eerie eyes that she did not want to contemplate. "Long enough," he whispered.

She said nothing so he continued, his heartbreakingly beautiful voice desperate. "But you need to know, know that you have nothing to fear here. Not from me. No one in the world can touch you here. You are free from all pain, all distractions, all…loneliness. I wanted….to give that to you," his voice became quiet. "You were hurting so much," he whispered. "I was afraid that you would break."

He was still on his knees, and Christine drew a deep shuddering breath before forcing herself to look him in the eye. "Why me?" She said, trembling. "Why…all of this? Why am I here, if you don't want to hurt me? I have nothing, no money, no…anything!" Her voice was rising hysterically. "Why the night music, the gifts, everything that you have done for months to intrude on my life? Why was I taken, why don't I have a choice? Why me? What do you want from me?"

He stared at her for a moment, and then let out a laugh that sounded like a cry. "You truly do not know?"

"No!" Christine almost screamed. "No, no, I'm so confused…" her voice trailed off dully. "I'm so confused," she whispered again. "Why me?"

His voice was soft, almost breakable, like the slightest movement could shatter the frail sound. "Because I'm in love with you."

She felt her heart constrict within her chest. "Who are you?"

"I am Erik. Just Erik. Just…a man. I won't hurt you. We will speak, you will get to know me, you will see that I am no one to be feared. Will you…will you stay?" He asked almost as if she had a choice, though they both knew she didn't.

When she bowed her head in acknowledgement, or grief, he bent his head to her feet in supplication and kissed the hem of her pants while she cried softly above him.

He left as quietly as he had come, and when Christine opened her eyes she was alone with her thoughts. She slowly retreated back into the quiet sanctuary of her room, her prison, contemplating all that had happened during that small exchange.

Questions still swirled in her brain. Who was he, really? How did he even find her, notice her? Out of all of the people on earth, why was she the one that this was happening to? Where exactly was she now? How long would she still be there? Did he truly mean not to harm her? And what of his cryptic words that night in Maine? The first step, he had said. One day you will amaze the world. None of that made any sense in the context of her situation.

Or maybe he was just crazy, and there weren't any answers to her questions. Maybe she really would die here, imprisoned for the rest of her days until she slowly faded away.

Christine surveyed her room, trying to resist the urge to destroy its rich beauty. 'When did I stop being in control of my life?' she wondered. 'How long has he been watching me? My first clue was in November, but how long before that? How long has he been manipulating the events of my life to suit him? And how, how does this crazy man have so much power? I think he owns the school, businesses…how?'

And then again the thought came unbidden to her mind. 'Why me?'

The questions would not leave her brain, but they were soon pushed to the side by her overwhelming desire to escape. The captivity felt like claustrophobia.

'I have to get away.'

How exactly she would do it, she would think of later. For now, she only knew that it must be done.

'Can I gain his trust?' Christine gazed warily at her closed door. 'Perhaps…and I still need those questions answered. He promised he wouldn't hurt me, and while I'm not inclined to trust maniacs who kidnap me, I don't think he will…for now. The man kissed the hem of my pants!' She involuntarily shuddered at the thought. 'He seems to only want me to stay. And he said he wanted to talk, so maybe….we'll talk.'

Slightly emboldened by the thought that her imminent death was improbable, she took a deep, swallowing breath and emerged once again from her room.

He was sitting on the long black couch, and eyed her warily, as if nervous or ashamed by his previous show of servility. He seemed stronger now, his shoulders no longer hunched, his height imposing even while sitting. He rose to greet her, his every manner that of a kind, sane gentleman, his feral eyes serious.

"Won't you take a seat, Christine?" He seemed to breathe in sharply and cast her an anxious look, his imposing exterior cracking briefly. "May I…call you Christine?"

'Well you fucking stalked me for months and kidnapped me, so I guess we're on a first name basis, you psychopathic son of a bitch!' The raging anger, previously obscured by her fear rose to the surface, startling in its intensity. For one tense moment the fight or flight response once again pushed adrenaline into her veins, though this time it was fight that won out; she want to leap onto that black clad figure and rend him limb from limb. Christine took a long, calming break, unnerved by the ferocity of her thoughts, and nodded.

"Of course."

She sat rigidly, her hands crossed in her lap, watching as he slowly folded himself back onto the couch. His every movement was compelling to watch: graceful, like a great cat, controlled power and strength, though his body seemed so painfully thin and almost frail. He was staring at her again, waiting for her to speak, so she did.

"I have questions."

He seemed to smile. "I have answers." His response was almost flippant, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. How dare he mock her circumstances!

Christine fought to keep her voice even. "How…I mean…how long has this been going on?"

He sighed deeply. "That is difficult to say." His eyes remained on hers but his left hand began to move rhythmically across the top of the couch. She followed it with her eyes; it seemed a nervous movement, despite its graceful flow. "I first noticed you last July, when you were in that ghastly rendition of 'Guys and Dolls.' Your part was small, but your voice was clear, lovely, and caught my attention immediately."

She blinked, trying to digest the information. "You…you saw 'Guys and Dolls?'"

Again he seemed to smile. "Theater of any kind is my passion, and though I always prefer opera over trifling musicals I sometimes like to test other venues. There is always talent to be discovered in strange places. Should someone catch my attention – which is rarely- I usually help them if I can. Give them contacts, possibilities, jobs…" he trailed off before continuing without breaking his eerie eye contact with her. "Then there was you. While you obviously had talent it was so hidden under pain and sadness that it was almost unnoticeable. I needed to know more about your past before helping you with your future. Your pain…intrigued me. I felt almost…protective as I watched you suffer. You're very strong." His words took her by surprise, but she did not interrupt. He finished so quietly that Christine could barely hear him, and she unconsciously leaned forward to catch his last words. "I did not mean to fall in love with you."

The room was silent for a long moment as they studied each other before he finally broke eye contact and murmured, "Any more questions?"

Christine swallowed her anxiety and phrased her next question delicately as she sifted through all that she had heard and all that he had told her. One large question loomed in her mind and she asked it tentatively.

"Who are you, really? What do you do? You say you have contacts, but…" 'But you're just an insane masked man living in a batshit crazy house with no windows.'

He leaned forward as if hearing her unspoken thoughts. "That is a very important question, and the answer is something that you need to pay close attention to." His eyes were intense, burning. "I am an incredibly powerful man. Though you see only me, here; though you probably hold contempt and fear of me and think that I am crazy, I am indeed a most important person outside of this house. Let me make you understand this clearly. Every company, every business, every university, every theater, every court, every thing in this country is at least partially owned by me. I don't mean to sound condescending, but you have no idea how much power I wield. I may live on the fringes, in the shadows; I may be someone that you will never hear of, even if you spend your life looking, but I am everywhere. Please, Christine, I beg of you, do not underestimate this."

She stood suddenly, her face white. 'Oh God, on top of everything he's a megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur!' she thought. 'He really is crazy!'

"How long will I be here?" she asked wildly. "How long until you let me go?"

"Not long," he answered evasively, but his eyes were still burning. "Christine, Christine, think of what I have told you. To try and escape would be madness." He rose to his feet so that he towered over her and his voice took on a new, beautifully powerful tone. "You can not escape me, Christine, and the moment you put that wish out of your mind the better things will be. Once you forget that wild thought we can concentrate on your music, your future." His words, which should have been so frightening, were tempered by his voice, which was suddenly low and hypnotic, like when he used to sing to her at night. Against her will Christine found herself pulled in by the beauty of that voice, by the sheer peace and the trust it inspired in her. She could feel him drawing closer, but she did not move.

"Trust me," he whispered, his hand rising to linger so close to her face. Her eyes were half closed, that voice stripping her defenses away. She wanted so badly to believe.

"Forget the outside world, with all of its pain and disappointment. I can show you so many things that you've never even dreamed of. Just trust me, my beautiful Christine, and you can have the world." His finger gently traced the curve of her cheek, and the death cold touch jolted her out of her trance, one strong thought rising to the surface of her consciousness.

'Everything but my freedom.'

Christine wrenched herself out of his cold grasp and stared at him, shaking her head frantically. "No!" she screamed. 'Get out of my mind!' "I will get away!" she howled irrationally. "You can't keep me here! You can't!"

She turned on her heel and fled the room, leaving him once again to stare forlornly after her. He dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Damn," he whispered, rubbing his finger where he had touched her against his masked cheek. "I was hoping that I wouldn't have to do this, but she…" He raised his head to stare at her closed door. "She will never stop fighting."

Quietly he left the room through a door that only he knew of, and soon the house stood empty once again, except for the lone girl who sobbed quietly in her room.