Hello there,

Oh boy.. I apparently haven't uploaded anything new in about a month...so sorry to all of my regular followers, however the semester has just ended for me. Which means that I'll have approximately three weeks to get some new content up before I become stressed once again. I promise that I haven't forgotten to update. After that little citrus, it's been a bit difficult to think about where I wanted this story to go.

I'm not sure if FF {dot} com alerts subscribers on chapter edits or not, however, I just wanted to let all of you know that I did add a scene to Chapter Sixteen that is a little important—it also smoothens out Chapter Seventeen and helps add some support to this one. Not as much fluff. I'm planning on backtracking a bit in the upcoming weeks, and adding some more client kills to the previous chapters before all of the drama—I feel as though I got so wrapped up in the tension between Erik and Christine, that I basically forgot about the main plot bit. My apologies for that, and I'll get right to it. Now that the semester is starting to wind down, I'm hoping that I'll be able to get much more writing in. I've edited about 2/3 of what I've written so far, however I haven't had the time to go in and actually make the edit online. Perhaps over this break I can get that done. Anyway, thank you to all of you who have been steadfast in following LDA, despite my choppy chapter submissions. Have a wonderful week!

Ever yours,

Soprano in Shadow


Erik stood up from his bed, grinning at the success of last night. They may not have taken things as far as they would have liked, but Christine seemed to have enjoyed herself. The poor woman had been so tense this past month after everything that had happened, Erik just couldn't help but…melt away the tension.

However, he was still bothered. Despite no new bodies turning up at the precinct, or on the news, Erik's mind was still relentlessly pursuing ways to track down and kill Bouquet. The assassin's eyes gleamed with the anticipation of slowly killing the man who had ruined so much of his life. And hers, Erik quickly reminded himself. Shaking his head in order to clear his lust for blood, Erik knew that he couldn't deny the cold facts any longer: there was something wrong with him. What it was, he wasn't sure. But Erik had questions, and he knew exactly who would have the answers he needed.

Slipping on a pair of clean boxers briefs and then some sweats, Erik couldn't help but lean over and brush away the stray hairs that had somehow climbed onto Christine's face. She always looked so perfect—a sleeping angel who, in his eyes, could do no wrong.

'But the wrongs that you could do to her: why have her begging for more, when you could just have her screaming for mercy? Wouldn't that be much more…pleasurable?' A voice whispered tauntingly in his frowned. That had come out of nowhere this time. This needed to be handled before it became uncontrollable.

Dropping a kiss onto her forehead before slipping on a navy blue sweater, Erik, closing the door behind him, walked down the hallway and knocked softly on the door to Antoinette's room. This threat had gone on long enough, and Erik wanted answers.

"Enter." The frostiness that laced Antoinette's normally calm voice caused Erik to pause for just a moment before entering his boss's master bedroom. The room was painted in cream and mint—dainty colors that seemed to take the edge off of the imposing Madame. A four-poster bed was tastefully made up, and silver accents helped give the room a more regal there, lounging on a day bed by her spectacular view of Manhattan, was Antoinette, dressed in a tailored grey pantsuit, who looked up from the papers that were piled in her lap, pen in hand.

"Ah, Erik. So you finally have the nerve to come and speak with me in private," Antoinette murmured softly, her eyes staring coldly back at his.

"Antoinette, enough. I have more than apologized to Christine for my actions, and I don't believe you deserve any apology after keeping Christine's past…association with Bouquet." The elder woman huffed in response, before looking back at the papers on her lap.

Erik sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration, before plopping down into an armchair facing the older woman. Resting one ankle on his other knee, he leaned back, waiting pointedly for Antoinette to begin speak again. When she still continued to not acknowledge his presence, Erik knew that his current situation would trump his pride—if these lustful thoughts of blood were beginning to shred away his sanity, then it would be best to set his personal feelings aside.

"Fine, I… apologize for my rash actions. However, know that I am doing this because of my concern for Christine."

At the sound of her adopted daughter's name, Antoinette's attention was once more focused on the man sitting before her. "Why? What did you do?" Antoinette asked harshly, demanding to know why the composer was suddenly so concerned about his fiancée.

Erik flinched while attempting to reign in a biting response. Now was not the time to offend Antoinette: he would need all of the help that he could get.

"I haven't done anything…yet. But I'm…concerned about what I may do in the future," Erik said slowly, feeling slightly foolish about going behind Christine's back.

Antoinette arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Erik swallowed, fighting back the desire to pounce on the prim older lady and rip out her windpipe. A voice cackled wickedly in his mind, causing the composer to shake his head hurriedly as if that would alleviate the pain coming from the voice in his head. "I believe I may carry the same symptoms as he did," Erik said shortly, desperate to not speak the hated man's name. "I think I may be slowly going crazy—I don't want Christine to know…not yet. I-in case this is nothing. However, I am…aware that a certain person within the Organization specializes in these cases, and I would like him or her to come and…give me a checkup." Antoinette opened her mouth, as though about to speak, but Erik beat her to it. "However, I am placing rules that must be followed. First, if the Doctor does diagnose me, then I alone choose when I will quietly leave. Second, if there is even a small chance of recovery, I will be allowed to be rehabilitated where I choose. And third, if…when this happens…" Erik trailed off, unsure on how to word the remainder of his request.

"Yes?" Antoinette asked, urging him to continue.

"Christine is not to know about any of this. We will conduct the appointment with the Doctor when she is otherwise engaged, and no matter the turnout, she doesn't find out." Erik felt his heart clench at the thought of keeping so big a secret away from his fiancée. But it needed to be done.

Antoinette paused for a moment, before nodding slowly. "Alright, Erik. If that is what you wish. However if those are the stipulations you are going to require, then I have one of my own." Antoinette sat up, placing her papers on the foot of the day bed, before standing up and looking Erik square in the eye. "You will not marry Christine."

Erik felt as though he was drowning in ice-cold water as he painfully realized Antoinette's reasons behind it. If they were married, Christine would try to use that to save Erik who, if not in his right mind, could attack her. The mental hand on his heart closed painfully tighter, and Erik almost doubled over in pain. This pain was excruciating; the idea of having to emotionally hurt the woman he loved even more was unbearable. Although he knew why Antoinette would ask that of him, Erik couldn't understand how she could ask it. Painfully, Erik nodded—his mind unable to form words into coherent sentences.

"Alright. Now that we have agreed on everything, I'm sure we can find an appropriate time to go in and see the Doctor. Would you prefer to go now, or another day this week?"

"The Doctor is…here?" Erik asked weakly. He didn't think that this would be occurring now—he thought he had at least several days before the good Doctor would arrive.

Antoinette nodded in response. "Oh yes. I contacted the Doctor myself after I realized Christine would not take the initiative," Antoinette said flippantly before returning to her day bed. A few clicks later, and Erik realized that he was being momentarily ignored in order for an email to be sent on her Blackberry. He didn't care; in his mind, all that he could hear in his head was that she had known this whole time. Christine knew. As guilt began to flow through his veins, Erik felt the remainder of his emotions melt away as his sanity drifted into darkness, his mind blocking out the frantic tone of Antoinette's voice.

Christine stretched slowly, relishing the feel of tense muscles loosening as her bones shifted to accommodate the adagio movements. She felt warm and content, but above all, she felt loved in a way she had never been before. Sure she had enjoyed a fling or so throughout her career, but this…this was real. Turning on her side to greet her fiancé, she realized that she was the only one basking under the warmth of the sheets. Erik was nowhere to be seen. Sliding out of bed, Christine's initial thought was to search for a note, however after remember that she was naked as the cold air greeted her sensitive flesh, she decided that dressing herself would be her first act of the day.

Wrapping herself in Erik's bed sheet to create a makeshift toga, Christine opened the door, peering out into the hallway. Seeing no one there, Christine scurried down the hallway, determined to not be embarrassed due to her walk of shame. A soft click alerted her that she was no longer alone, and whirling around instinctively, Christine met her watchers: Andre and Firmin. Sighing in relief that it wasn't Antoinette, Christine bestowed a timid smile onto the two men; however neither of them was able to pay the slightest attention to the soprano. Their attentions were, in fact, solely focused on the resounding silence that was coming from Antoinette's room. Something was wrong—the Madame was never this quiet.

Seeing that the couple was geared in Organization mode, the brunette instinctively crouched into a defense position as she silently drew out two of her needles. Forming a few code motions that Andre and Firmin recognized, Christine crept closer towards Antoinette's door. Twisting the doorknob quietly, Christine braced herself, prepared to make the first move; whoever was inside and thought that it was wise to attack the head of the Organization would surely die tonight.

Forcing the door open, Christine barged into the master suite of the apartment, only to find the room completely empty. Where was Antoinette? As Andre and Firmin followed Christine into the vacant bedroom, her face paled as she took in the scene before her. Papers, presumably belonging to Antoinette, were strewn across the floor as though there had been a struggle. The day bed lay on its side, as though it had been sacrificed as a shield, its fabric pierced in several places by various daggers.

As Christine advanced towards the wounded piece of furniture, she gasped in recognition of one dagger that protruded from the pastel encased day bed. The dagger belonged to Erik…Did that mean that it was Erik who had attacked Antoinette? Had his bloodlust taken over once again? Christine knew that if he had indeed harmed the older woman, then Erik would have to be executed for his betrayal to the Organization. Tears began to flow from in Christine's eyes as the full magnitude of the situation dawned on Christine.

Oh Erik, what have you done?

Erik gasped as his consciousness once more took over. Noticing the chains that prohibited him from making any moves, and seeing Antoinette watching him worriedly, Erik tried to fight against his natural instincts to break free and escape. From his quick analyzation, he was chained to the wall of a basement, perhaps? However, thanks to the slack given by the chains, Erik was able to see that he was in fact being held in an abandoned subway route.

"Antoinette," Erik said her name in greeting, as he tried to remember the reason for his captivity. "May I safely presume that I am currently being held by the Doctor?"

Antoinette merely nodded in response, before glancing down at her phone in order to respond to something. She looked back up, as concern flashed through her eyes…but only for a moment.

"It seems your fiancée has been concerned about your whereabouts. Needless to say, after this afternoon's…shenanigans, I will let her know that it may be some time until your return to my apartment." Erik looked at her in confusion as Antoinette continued to speak, until he began to remember the events that had occurred during the past afternoon.

As Erik's bloodlust began to take over, the masked man smirked at the older woman's face as it slowly began to drain of authority. The old hag knew when she was in trouble. Taking a step forward, the now-crazed Erik took a step forward, relishing in the freedom the usual Erik in charge. Gleefully, bloodlust-Erik realized that the man had armed himself for the day—his everyday daggers and shuriken were firmly braced on his belt. Sliding out the first dagger, Erik flipped it in the air, watching in satisfaction as the woman's face paled even more: he'd show the old bitch how sick he was of her controlling ways.

Suddenly the blade was flying through the air; with a flick of his wrist, the masked man had hurled the dagger with a singular intent: to kill. Instinctively, Antoinette dived over the far side of the day bed she had previously been laying in—with the addition of her weight, the normally stable piece of furniture had toppled on its side, almost groaning at the feel of the dagger's blade embedded in its side.

Smirking, Erik's hands began to automatically feel for the two shuriken that followed next in the line of attack, before sending them whistling through the air—closely following were a pair of daggers. As Erik's hands fluttered between snapping the weapons into the air and gripping the next weapons on his belt, Antoinette closed her eyes in anticipation of feeling the harsh bite from a blade. Sooner or later…

A loud thud followed by silence met the old woman's paranoia, and cautiously Antoinette peered over the topmost edge of the day bed. Seeing that no one was presently standing, Antoinette moved to a crouch, slowly standing up until she could see that the masked assassin had fallen to the ground. Clicking her tongue a few times, Antoinette speed-dialed a number, waiting patiently for a response.

"Doctor? Yes… You can come in now, Erik Destler is down. No, there is no need for extra back up, however we will need a stretcher."

A few minutes after Antoinette had spoken to the person on the other end, two men had come in, with a stretcher between them, followed by a tall young woman. Both women made eye contact, continuing on until the men had rolled an unconscious Erik Destler onto the stretcher. On a mumbled count to three, the men simultaneously lifted up their ends of the stretcher, as they followed the younger woman out of the apartment.

Antoinette huffed as she followed behind the Doctor, men and stretcher between them. She was getting too old for this.

"…Needless to say that I require you in your best state of mind in order to capture Bouquet."

The man's name was like a shot through Erik's body, his mind snapping back to the present as his eyes began to flash angrily at the name of his nemesis. Antoinette stepped back into the shadows as another woman stepped forward. Erik's eyes widened in recognition and horror.

"No…You are supposed to be…How?" The woman merely smiled uncertainly at the masked man's broken protestations, as she began to examine the man held captive before her.

"Anything broken? Hallucinations?" the young Doctor asked quietly, before scrawling down a few notes on her clipboard. Erik shook his head feebly, trying to rid himself of the ghost that stood before him. "Do you remember your name?" The young woman asked.

Erik nodded his head slowly still in shock of who… or what stood before him. "Erik Destler," he responded quietly.

"Good. And do you remember mine?" Another slow nod came from the masked man who was chained to the wall.

"…Luciana."