AN: I just wanted to leave a little note to thank my reviewers. It made me so happy to read all that you had to say. Thank you! I'm glad that you like my dark Erik; he's difficult to write because he expresses himself through either extreme submission or dominance, he has no internal balance, but I think I'm slowly mastering his personality.

Please Read and Review!

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Chapter Twelve: May Escapes

It was hours before Christine cautiously stuck her head out of her door and scanned the dismal sitting room for signs of life. When none were forthcoming she let out her held breath with a low sound of relief and tiptoed toward the kitchen.

Food was laid out on the small table but there was no note. She searched the area thoroughly, even checked the refrigerator door, but there was nothing to indicate where he had gone or when he would be back. Christine didn't even have to check the other rooms; some stillness, some overarching hollow silence filled the house with the knowledge that she was alone.

And though she hated her captor and felt nothing but fear in his presence, the sudden idea of being in this vast strange house all alone filled her with utter claustrophobic terror.

Stifling the unexpected whimpers that sounded from her mouth, Christine forced herself to sit and eat. She stared at the stark table, one hand propping her head up, and as her thoughts drifted the fingers on her scalp touched the slick feel of oil and grime and reminded her of how filthy she was. How long had she been here? She felt like she hadn't showered in weeks; her hair hung in clumped, ropy strands around her face, and her clothes were grubby and smelled strongly of BO. The inside of her mouth tasted awful, like dirt and old cotton.

After a few bites she stopped eating; her stomach felt too weak to hold any more, and she already felt vaguely queasy. Shakily she stood and began to make her way to her room, her mind focused on the hopeful idea of a shower while the maniac was gone, and perhaps a toothbrush with some strong mouthwash.

She was halfway across the room when she noticed the door.

It was unremarkable, plain and wide and gray, except for the fact that yesterday it had been a blank stretch of wall.

Christine froze in her tracks. Where the hell had that come from? She stared at it for one long moment before approaching it cautiously. It had a large silver doorknob which she fully expected to be locked.

She reached out a hand to touch it and it swung outward in a silent graceful arc.

Christine jerked her hand back as if she had been burned. It was semi dark beyond the door, but even in the dim light Christine could tell what it was.

A hallway.

She took a step back, her hand to her chest, trying to fight the unreasoning hope and excitement that flooded her veins. This couldn't be possible. He couldn't have been so careless as to leave open a way out. He couldn't have been so blind.

Could he?

After a moment she decided not to question her blind luck, and with a swelling surge of optimism she raced out of the door and into the hall.

It stretched long and dark in both directions, but the dim light seemed to emanate from the right and she chose it instinctively, hoping against hope that it led to a window or a door.

She followed the light without reservation. The hallway twisted and turned, split, and gave her glimpses into other halls that were still and dark, but the hallways she chose were always the ones that were lit. The light seemed important somehow, and she tried to put her father's old stories of will-o-wisps out of her mind.

She came upon a cross section where her hall intersected with eight other possibilities, some leading up, some down, some with stairs, some with smooth ramps, some flat. Some were wide as a house or as thin as a person. Christine stared around the labyrinth in awe for a few moments before seeking out the light that led downward and following it once again.

She was getting close. She could feel it, taste freedom.

And then, after many more minutes of running and going down several more floors, she saw true daylight for the first time, and her heart felt like it would burst.

Christine pushed through the small backdoor with one wild motion and partially collapsed on the street. Oh God, was she really outside? Were those really cars that she heard whizzing past on some nearby highway? Could her trials almost be over?

Her moment of elation passed as Christine remembered that she wasn't home free yet. She stood and began to run again, down what seemed to be a driveway and across a small road. Then, struck by curiosity, she turned around to look at her former prison.

It was huge, a hulking, abandoned apartment complex that rose into the sky. Its windows were bordered up, and a sign hanging crookedly on the front door said that it was closed for repairs. There wasn't a soul around, and no cars were in the driveway.

'Does no one know that he lives there?' she thought, amazed. 'But what about those crazy hallways? Was the place built like that?' A thought struck her and she pushed it aside, afraid of its gut wrenching, chilling possibilities. 'Was it never really an apartment complex in the first place?'

Turning her head on the staring abomination, Christine began to run again. She focused her wandering mind on the most important task of her life: finding a police station.

As she jogged down the street and tried to control her breathing and the already painful stitch in her side, Christine noticed that she was still obviously in a city. Buildings were rising around the street she ran on, and occasionally pedestrians ambled by. It wasn't a very rich section of town but it was bright and relatively clean, and the people seemed to be going to work. She realized belatedly that the sun was rising and that she had no idea what day it was, or even what city was she was in.

Frantically she skidded to a stop and grabbed the arm of a passerby. "Excuse me," she gasped, clutching the pain in her side. "Can you tell me what city I'm in?"

The person, a heavyset woman in her mid forties, looked at her as if she were crazy. Christine awkwardly remembered her filthy hair and dilapidated clothing, and removed her hand from the woman's arm.

Slightly mollified though still unnerved, the woman answered primly, "You're in Philadelphia. Pennsylvania," she added for good measure before starting to walk away.

'I'm still in Philly!'

Christine grabbed her arm again. "Please, can you tell me where the nearest police station is? Or…or a pay phone where I can call 911?"

The woman eyed her with a mixture of concern and suspicion. "There's a police station just a few blocks away," she said. "Or if you would like to wait a few minutes I could get someone to drive you."

"No thanks, could you just tell me where it is?" Christine wasn't about to get into anybody's car right now unless it was a policeman's. The woman gave her brief directions and Christine shouted her thanks as she ran off, adrenaline surging through her veins.

She was almost there. Almost free.

Christine ran for about ten more minutes, clutching her side and gasping for breath, pushing herself to her limit. Every shadow made her jump and spurred her speed, and several times she thought that a passerby was going to grab her and drag her away. Once she could have sworn she saw a dark figure watching her from behind a window, but when she twisted her head to look it was gone.

She turned the corner onto Greenleaf Circle and a small sign pointing in the direction of the police station caught her attention. It led her across a highway and down a busy street until she felt completely lost, but then, hidden behind a Laundromat and a coffee house was a squat gray building with black and white cars parked in front of it.

Christine stopped, momentarily amazed. She had done it. She could have kissed that building, those so-safe-seeming cars.

Taking one fortifying, gasping breath she tried to walk calmly into the police station but ended up running wildly, tears streaming down her face.

Several of the officers paused as she flew through the glass doors, a thin, grimy figure with greasy hair, filthy clothes, shining wet eyes and cheeks, and an expression torn between panic and elation.

Christine nearly ran into the main desk and half collapsed upon it. Her mind became hazy; later she could only remember gasping out that she had been kidnapped before sliding on the floor and being surrounded by police officers who looked at her with caring, concerned faces. She remembered her hair being gently pushed away from her face and questions being fired at her by someone with a crisp, official sounding voice.

But most of all she remembered the sheer sensation of being back with humanity, of being protected, and as her mind blurred over only one thought was clear.

It was over. She was finally safe.