Hey everyone. Hey is the next installment for your enjoyment. I don't have a ton of stuff to announce this week so this note will be short. Another big thanks to Juliana for her lovely editing skills. Also thanks to all of you who have kept reviewing for me. I really like hearing from you all every week. Some of you suggestions are very helpful!

Finally I would like to say, without being corny or anything, that our thoughts are with those of the Katrina disaster. And I urge everyone who can to help out in anyway they see fit.

That is it. Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 35: Truth is Stranger than Fiction

The blow had come out of nowhere, catching Brielle so off guard that she would have fallen to her knees had it not been for the iron-like grip around her wrist. Raising her free hand up to her burning cheek, she snapped her head up to stare stunned at Andrew's calm face. A flicker of something like surprise flashed behind his dark eyes, as if he were just as surprised by the blow as she was. But the moment was brief and soon passed. The pressure around her wrist tightened.

"I told you the conversation is over," he stated firmly, a vertical line appearing between his dark brows. Waiting a beat Andrew carefully watched Brielle's bone white face, when she did not argue the young lord loosened his grip on her wrist, helping her straighten. Tenderly, he brushed the very tip of one finger along the red welt on Brielle's cheek. Sucking in a pained gasp the white haired woman flinched back a step, her gray eyes large and wary as a cornered animal's.

Concern and regret deepened the frown on Andrew's handsome face at her reaction. He dropped his hand back to his side, the flatness in his black eyes retreating as the guilt swamped his features. "I didn't mean to do that. I am sorry…I didn't mean to do that. The last thing I want is to hurt you."

"You hit me…" Brielle whispered in disbelief as she took several more hasty steps back. "How could you do that?"

Raising a hand to rake through his neatly combed hair, Andrew turned his eyes to the floor in shame. "I am sorry…I don't know what happened. I would never hurt you! I love you, Brielle."

Bumping up against the desk behind her, Brielle halted her retreat. The mind numbing shock slowing her every thought left her nearly paralyzed,(;) she could only stare across the room at Andrew as he turned and leaned a hand on the wall, his head hanging down low. Once again she raised a shaking hand to clutch protectively at her burning face as her eyes followed his every movement. A suffocating silence fell over the room until even the tiniest sounds were amplified to extraordinary levels. The wet hissing of the gas lamps and the metallic clicking of Andrew's pocket watch melded together, creating a sinister background beat to the tension already in the room.

With a curse, Andrew swung around and advanced across the room toward where Brielle stood pressed against the solid form of his desk. The man's cheeks were stained a violent scarlet, his eyes bright as burning coal as he sighed heavily. "This was all just a mistake," he said finally, trying to lighten the tone of his voice. "I have never lost my temper like that before and it will never happen again. I swear! I have loved you since the moment I first saw you. You know that!"

Holding perfectly still Brielle gripped the edge of the desk behind her. She saw Andrew's lips moving in speech, but his words were lost in the buzzing within her head. Though the stinging in her face was fading, the young woman couldn't wrap her brain around the situation happening right before her eyes. She had known Andrew for ten years and in that time he had never spoken an unkind word to her. How could that man, who had supported her after John's death, be the same as the one standing before her now, apologizing for hitting her? They couldn't be the same. It was almost as if the Andrew she knew possessed a completely alien side to him. Or maybe I never really knew him at all.

As Andrew's lengthy and logical apology drew to an end, Brielle found herself wanting to accept everything he said. As she stood there practically able to feel the bruise swelling to life on the side of her face, a cowardly voice in her brain began to whisper seductively in her ear. Look how sheepish he looks now. The poor man is beating himself up over this little mistake. He apologized…he feels terrible. The letters…everything is a misunderstanding. It was a misunderstanding…

Nodding her head slightly in response to her internal monolog Brielle lowered her gaze to the floor. It was impossible to think with her eyes locked with Andrew's imploring stare. It was a mistake…a mistake, forget about it and it will never happen again. It was a mistake.

Slowly opening her mouth, stretching out her jaw, Brielle began to frown, her brain began to clear. The truth of the situation began to sink in. No…that isn't right…this isn't alright…it is not alright…shouted another voice, a stronger voice, one that she was used to. The coward within her withered under the intensity of the old spirit she had been suppressing for months. It didn't take long for fury over what Andrew had done to take hold. Brielle's legendary temper was coming back full force.

As anger swept aside the fuzziness in her head, Brielle brought her eyes back up to Andrew's. He was waiting for a response. And as she pursed her lips pushing away from the desk, the Irish woman was ready to give him one. "It was not a mistake, Andrew. You are an adult! There is no possible reason you can give me which I will accept for you laying your hands upon me like that!"

Shocked by her unexpected display of aggression, Andrew could only blink at his fiancée as she stabbed a finger at him through the air. It was obvious from his blank expression that he had been waiting for quiet acceptance from her. This was the first time since their engagement that her temper had shown through. Andrew didn't seem to know what to make of it. "And I will have you know Andrew that no amount of apologies will sweep this aside!"

"Brielle, why are you acting like this? I said I was sorry. What else do you expect me to do?" Andrew replied, the sheepish expression on his face melting away into a sour glare. The corners of his mouth tensed as he folded his arms across his chest.

Brielle could practically see the wheels turning in his brain. He is wondering right now what odd distemper has overtaken me. I should have stuck up for myself more. I shouldn't have led him to believe that I would always agree with him. He has always said he loves me…but is it really me he loves or the person I have been projecting? Gah! What a fool I have been.

Feeling as if she were acting like herself for the first time in months Brielle allowed her temper to build within her, glad to finally feel something other than the numbness she had been operating under since she had accepted Andrew's proposal. Slowly Brielle fisted her hands upon her hips, feeling strangely giddy from the familiar movement. She was ready for a fight, but was Andrew? "You can tell me what my personal letters to my brother are doing in YOUR desk," she snapped, each word shooting out of her mouth fast and dangerous as a flying bullet.

"Brielle…" Andrew began, his tone easily slipping into a patronizing sigh. "Come on now. Do we have to go into all of that now? It is late and you should get to bed." The annoyance was sneaking back into his dark eyes along with alarm. He had never had to face this side of her before.

"You can answer me when I ask you if you had anything to do with Erik's hasty departure," Brielle continued as if he hadn't even spoken, the color returning to her face as she took another step forward and shook her fist under Andrew's nose. A spark of stark fury flickered like candlelight behind his eyes for the briefest of moments at the mention of Erik's name, but the emotion was tamped down so quickly that Brielle hardly had time to recognize it, or to fear it. "Answer me!"

Crossing his arms over his chest while he regarded Brielle's outburst with coolly irritated eyes, Andrew stood his ground. The momentary crack in his calm demeanor now firmly sealed. "I will not submit to this childishness now Brielle. It is late. You should…"

"Stop telling me what I should do." she hissed. "I am sick of it."

The young lord's eyes narrowed at her uncooperative response. In one swift movement, Andrew had the rebelling woman by the arm and was dragging her out of the office. "You will do as I say. You are my fiancée. You will do as I say and go to bed!"

"No I will not, you arrogant bastard! I have given you free rein up till now because I trusted your judgment, but I refuse to be your silent simpering bride any longer! Listen to me when I talk!" Digging in her bare heels, Brielle tried to pry Andrew's fingers from around her wrist. "Let go. We need to talk about this…tell me the truth!"

Turning to look over his shoulder, Andrew sent her a glare so cold it could have split a tree down the middle. "Sometimes it is better for the truth to remain buried, Brielle," he stated coolly as he barreled onward, dragging her in his wake toward the darkened stairs.

Running now to keep up with his dogged pace, Brielle continued to pull at his grip around her arm. "My father used to say that everything that happens in the dark eventually comes to light. Tell me the truth now or I will find out for myself. This is important to me, Andrew. I turned my brother out of the house because I was defending you!" Her voice echoed eerily loud in the silent blackness of the hallway.

Pausing on the bottom stair, one hand firmly anchored on the railing, Andrew tilted his head to the side in thought. "Did you really?" he murmured to himself, an odd dark pleasure trickling into his eyes. "How deliciously unexpected."

"What did you just say?"

Starting as if he had forgotten she was there, the young lord quickly glanced at her face before turning and starting back up the staircase. The slope of his shoulders suddenly relaxed as she stared at his back, and through the hold he had upon her arm Brielle felt a certain level of tension slide out of his grip. Mysteriously Andrew's mood lightened, he flashed her a brief smile as he slowed his pace.

Releasing Brielle's wrist, Andrew stopped his ascent and turned to gaze down at her. "I suppose I do owe you an explanation," he finally sighed, his attitude now back to the open and patient man she had come to know. The complete turnaround from only moments ago was mystifying. Something must have changed his mind.

"I suppose I should start with why your brother's letters were in my desk." Pursing his lips and jabbing his hands into his pockets, Andrew leaned a hip against the stair railing. "I didn't want to have to tell you this because I was afraid it would hurt your feelings. Those letters were in my possession because they were all sent back. The address on them was wrong, evidently. I figured Conner must have moved without telling you again and I didn't want you to have to worry about it with the wedding coming up in a few weeks." Shrugging his shoulders, Andrew cast his eyes to the ground. "Seeing how upset you are, I know now I should have told you a long time ago. What else can I say other than that I made a mistake?"

Dislodging one hand from his pocket to come up and brush across Brielle's jaw, Andrew flashed a sheepish smile. "Is that truthful enough for you? Is there anything else you need to know about?"

Going over the explanation in her head Brielle remained silent, her eyes searching Andrew's features for any sign of deception only to find none; his dark eyes were fixed steadily upon her face, revealing nothing in the dim light. His reasoning was likewise airtight; there was nothing wrong with a single word he had said.

Conner's occupation required a great deal of moving and he often left a city without telling his little sister. It wasn't that he didn't care or didn't want her to know where he was, but rather that he was an addle-brained musician. He had never really grown up after their father's death, choosing to spend his days dancing through life and chasing skirts. Ignoring the existence of pain in the world was his way of dealing with his own. I shouldn't have called him childish. That was mean of me…he did take care of me as best he could before I married John.

That same cowardly voice in her mind which had wished to disregard Andrew's boorish behavior that evening jumped upon her uncertainty, once again offering the easy way out of all this confusion. That is right. Conner must have forgotten. I don't know why I got so upset, I should have thought of that myself. Besides, why would Andrew want to steal my letters? That is just silly. Andrew has always taken care of me…he has always been kind…

But this time the siren song could not fully penetrate her consciousness; Brielle had caught on to this deceptive whispering. Pushing the simpering voice in her head aside, the white haired woman frowned up at Andrew as he patted her shoulder before turning and continuing up the staircase. He had taken her momentary silence as the end of the conversation.

Picking up the hem of her night dress and following the young lord up the stairs Brielle opened her mouth once again. "Thank you for explaining that to me," she started as she came up behind him on the landing.

Smiling brightly, Andrew shrugged. "I am glad we were able to work this misunderstanding out. It made me very uncomfortable to fight with you but it did teach me I must keep a closer rein on my temper. Things can get back to normal now…only I will try to be more honest with you. When something important happens you will know about it."

Clasping her hands together at her waist, Brielle nodded soberly. "I am glad you feel that way, because I have one more question to ask you."

His teeth flashing bright in the dim light, Andrew smiled benevolently down at her. "Absolutely, feel free to ask me anything," he said lightly.

Without missing a beat, her expression as flat and cool as the winter landscape outside, Brielle voiced the last suspicion flickering through her head. "You did not answer me when I asked you if you had anything to do with the way Erik left. Did you?"

There was a moment of silence following her inflammatory question, even in the darkness Brielle could see the good humor in Andrew's face slip away. The change of the young lord's expression was instantaneous, his mouth pinched shut, his eyebrows came down, and his eyes glittered dangerously. Feeling suddenly ill at ease, Brielle hastily inched back a step until her heel met the edge of the stair behind her.

"That man left of his own free will. I did not throw him out of the house. I was ill at the time if I remember correctly."

Despite the palpable edge floating in the space between them, Brielle did not waver. Doggedly she continued. "Yes, but I remember there was something about a letter which upset him before he left. Funny that it was a letter which upset him and nothing else isn't it? When just today I find out about my letters being in your possession."

Clenching his fists tightly to his sides, Andrew turned sharply away from her. "Erik…Erik…Erik…Why can I never be rid of that blasted name!" he ground out vehemently, his shoulders practically shaking with the force behind each word. "It is just like John…over and over nothing seems to get rid of that blasted name except to just…" The words cut off suddenly then, Andrew straightening slightly as if an insightful thought had just struck him.

Shifting from foot to foot on the cool marble landing Brielle listened intently, her own brows dropping down until she stood glaring at her fiancé's back. Familiar warning bells began to bong to life inside her head. She could feel that she was missing something drastically important. What is he talking about? What is just like John?

Driven to action by the intensity of the trepidation ringing between her ears, Brielle took a step forward and carefully took hold of Andrew's tensed arm. "Andrew, you must tell me. I cannot marry a man who is prone to keeping things from me."

Turning his head toward the sound of her voice Andrew gazed down at the floor, his eyes fixed so sharply that Brielle expected the runner to burst into flames. The angular planes of his profile appeared grayish in the oppressive darkness of the manor as the man continued to stare off into space. "You…cannot…marry me?" came an agonized whisper.

"No, not if you are going to act like…"

Interrupting Brielle, Andrew slowly turned to face her, the blackness of his eyes fading into the night around him, giving his normally handsome face the maniacal eyeless look of a skull. "What more do I have to do for you! You ungrateful little Irish trollop!"

Outraged, Brielle tightened her grip around Andrew's upper arm. "How dare you call me a…"

With a flash of snarling white teeth Andrew brought his arm up, jerking free of Brielle's grip. The very tip of his elbow accidentally caught the Irish woman just above her chin as she hastily released him, effectively splitting her lower lip right down the middle. Startled by both his sudden action and the pain blossoming across her mouth, Brielle hastily stumbled backward a step. She brought both hands up to clutch at the blood now pouring from her face just as her heel came down on nothing but air.

Disoriented and bleeding, the white haired woman felt herself begin to tip backward into the darkness of the open stairway, her foot sliding off the edge of the top stair and down into nothing. Flinging out an arm Brielle desperately grasped at the banister, her nails digging into the smooth surface when the blood on her fingers made any sort of firm grip impossible.

Time slowed until it seemed it would stop as Brielle's hand slid from the banister, her heels fumbling down the stairs until finally losing their footing completely. Slowly, as she felt herself fall, she brought her eyes up to Andrew's. The young lord started, his mouth gaping open as if in a shout, before reaching out toward her and grabbing hold of her sleeve at the wrist. As Brielle's altered sense of time sputtered, then sped up, her sleeve ripped free of Andrew's grasp. She didn't have time to scream before her left hip smashed against the edge of a stair.

In a series of painful collisions Brielle rolled head over heels down the flight of stairs, coming to rest at the bottom with a moan, her head propped up against the bottom stair. Her vision collapsing in upon itself in a graying tunnel, she stared groggily upside down at the seemingly unending number of stairs. Andrew came barreling down toward her, shouting at the top of his lungs, just as the blackness completely overtook her sight. Taking a careful breath through the pain pulsing through every inch of her body, Brielle gave into the comforting embrace of the darkness

Her last conscious thought focused on a long gone happiness. Erik…

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The echo of a daring crescendo coming to an abrupt halt filled the darkest reaches of the vaults under the opera house. Erik's hands remained frozen above the keyboard, letting the sour notes echo away to nothing as he stared unseeing at the candelabra atop his newly repaired organ. Slowly animation returned to his limbs as he turned his head to the side with a frown, his hands slowly sliding from the ivory to his lap. Turning upon the smooth wood of his bench to cast his eyes about the main chamber of his dwelling, Erik searched the shadows where the candle light could not reach.

"Hello?" he called out to the empty room, feeling foolish when only the sad echo of his own voice answered.

Standing shakily Erik ran a hand over the left side of his face, his eyes still flickering about the room. I could have sworn I just heard someone say my name…This solitude must finally be driving me mad. Feeling as if something were crawling under his skin, the masked man vigorously rubbed at his arms. A sense of panicked dread clenched at his gut as he tried to get a hold of himself.

In the last month or so Erik had finally cured himself of the lingering need to be near people and once again retreated to the cool recesses of his underground domain. Down in the darkness of the opera's bottommost cellars he could finally be at peace, he could forget. No longer did he feel the pull of people living and working in the building above him. He was content now, on his own, or so he had thought. It wasn't a good sign if he was hearing voices. And worse yet, he was afraid he recognized the soft lilting way his name was said. He could have sworn a certain Irish woman was standing in the room with him. But thankfully his moment of insanity was brief. Even now as he stood staring out over the black water of the underground lake, his heart rate was returning to normal.

Tapping a finger against the cleft in his chin, Erik turned and snatched up a nearby lamp with his other hand. Feeling the sudden urge to move, the masked man stalked over to the edge of the dark water and jumped into a waiting boat. Poling quickly out into the quiet of the lake, Erik smiled grimly at the familiar burning between his shoulders. Without thinking about it he made his way silently through the shadowy vaults to the opposite edge of the lake. Maybe I have been on my own too long. Perhaps it is time I spent an hour or two aboveground. Just to make sure I am not going completely crazy, he thought as he tied off the boat.

Straightening, Erik plucked the lamp from the bow of the boat. Striding off into the darkness, he wove his way through a complicated series of stairs and corridors. With every flight he ascended he became increasingly aware of the muffled sounds of human life. Careful to stay in the darkest corners of the opera, away from prying eyes, Erik climbed his way upward until he sat perched in his favorite spot high above the stage.

By the relative desertion of the stage, he judged the hour to be rather late at night. Only a pair of cleaning ladies remained awake sweeping up the newly refinished stage. Sighing as he tilted his head to the side, he listened to the woman gossip between themselves. The familiar nasal tones of his native language were oddly therapeutic, relaxing the last vestiges of anxiety within his gut. It isn't weak to need to hear another voice every once in awhile. I was wrong to stay away so long.

One of the working women below him suddenly let out a shocked gasp, distracting him from his musings. Glancing downward, Erik couldn't help but listen in on their conversation, wondering what had startled the woman so.

"Everyone is talking about it. I can't believe you didn't get to see him!" the older of the two exclaimed, tapping her broom against the floor.

Frowning over at her coworker, the younger blonde woman shook her head with a shrug. "I had work to do. I didn't have time to stop and go gape at some man."

"What a foolish thing to say," the older woman chided. "And he wasn't just any man. He was very handsome. Red hair and the most lovely green eyes I have ever seen. Foreign too."

Sitting up straighter high over their heads Erik listened even harder, his interest piqued. Foreigner with red hair and green eyes…that almost sounds like Conner. What a strange coincidence.

"Either way I was busy," the blonde huffed, pushing the dust into a neat pile. "What was some stranger doing wandering about the opera, anyway? We aren't open yet."

"Well what I heard from Maddie is that he came around asking for someone in particular who used to work here."

"There are a lot of people who USED to work here. After the fire half the staff quit. Who was he looking for?"

"You ever hear of some man named Erik who worked here before the fire, 'cause that is who he was asking about. I don't know if…" pausing then both women glanced curiously upward at an odd series of noises issuing from above. "Did you hear that?"

Erik covered his mouth with both hands to muffle the startled yelp from falling out of his mouth. The catwalk under him swayed at his jarring movements, the ropes creaking in protest. Sitting perfectly still, the sounds soon dissipated and the women below him laughed nervously. It has to be a coincidence. Why would Conner come looking for me here? I didn't say I would come back… Cursing silently, Erik remembered that he had once told the blasted man he had used to work at the Opera house. Damn damn damn!

Clearing her throat the older woman went back to her sweeping, lowering her voice slightly she continued where she left off. "He said this Erik character owed him money or something. And that if anyone knows where the man went they should let him know. You should have seen Madam Giry's face at the mention of that name. I thought she was going to faint dead away until the man mentioned about the money part. She seemed to relax after that. I guess the Erik she knew couldn't have owed that Irish man money," she finished with a shrug.

"What a strange story," the young blonde muttered as she bent to sweep a pile of dust into a pan.

A strange story indeed, Erik thought to himself as he quietly stood and stalked down the catwalk to a nearby ladder. What the devil is Conner doing looking for me now, after all these months? I certainly don't owe that man any money. I wasn't stupid enough to ever play poker with him. Dismissing the incident as a one time invasion, Erik decided not to worry about it any longer. Conner didn't know he had returned to the Opera, the man was only catching at straws. The fact that Erik was sure he had heard the redhead's sister's voice that very night was pushed aside as being a strange coincidence, nothing more.

No need to worry about it any further. That part of my life is over. No need to worry…he won't be coming back.

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Pain, bone crushing pain filled her mind as Brielle slowly worked her way toward consciousness. A ringing in her ears drowned out all outside sound except for the rhythmic beating of her own heart, but distantly like a half-formed thought, she heard a man's voice whispering in her ear. Vaguely recognizing the voice, Brielle sighed, enjoying the dream-like state. John…

"Andrew it is good to see you again. I was sure you were posted miles from here. What are you doing here?" murmured the first voice good-naturedly through the darkness.

"I am…" came a hesitant reply, from a likewise familiar voice. "But I figured they could miss me for a few days so I could come down and visit my little brother."

At this point the first voice, John's voice, laughed. "I suppose that is a perk of being a Colonel rather than a lowly Major."

"Hmm…yes. Indeed," Andrew replied vaguely as if he wasn't really paying attention. "Brielle wrote me the other day," he stated suddenly. "She asked me to take care of you. She said she had been having very bad dreams lately. The poor dear. The poor, poor dear." Annoyance crept into Andrew's voice, only to be followed by a weary kind of anger.

"Yes she does worry too much. But I always tell her there is nothing to fret about," John replied slowly, as if he were wondering at his brother's odd tone.

There was a brief rustling of cloth before Andrew spoke again. "I am afraid she does have something to worry about, John."

"What are you talking…" The words cut off when a loud bang exploded in Brielle's ear.

Jerking into consciousness, Brielle gasped aloud. With her heart racing and her stomach rolling with oily waves of sickness, Brielle slowly opened her eyes. Blinking in the bright light streaming through the window, she moved to turn onto her side but stopped when a flash of pain licked up her side. Confused, she raised a hand to press against the throbbing in her head. The echoes of that terrifying dream still bounced around her skull. What happened? What was that? It sounded like John and Andrew when they were in the army together…but that last part…that last part…

"Ah I see you are awake. That is good," a calm voice murmured close to the edge to the bed.

Turning her head sharply, Brielle looked over at an older gentleman with large owl-like spectacles perched on the end of his nose. "Who are you? What happened?" she whispered hoarsely, trying to clear her head as she watched the stranger push his glasses back up his nose.

"It seems you had a tumble down the front stairs last night. Lord Donovan called upon me to see to your needs. I am Doctor Beaumont." Stopping there, the man stood and retrieved a small vial from a leather bag upon the floor. "I imagine you are in a great deal of pain. You cracked a rib and banged up your head fairly badly on your way down. I stitched up your lip and wrapped up your ribs. You are lucky you didn't break your neck."

Sitting in a chair next to the bed, the old doctor smiled over at her. "Open your mouth for a moment and I will give you something for the pain."

Eyeing the vial in his hands with suspicion Brielle wet her lips, wincing at the knotted stitches on her bottom lip. For a moment she considered refusing the offer, but another wave of agony from her ribcage sent every ounce of stubbornness out the window. Meekly she opened mouth and accepted the laudanum without a murmur of protest. Pulling a face at the bitterness of the drug Brielle thanked the old doctor, her gaze flickering fearfully about the room.

"Is Lord Donovan here?" she asked quietly, hoping beyond hope that the answer was no. Shaking his head, the old doctor began gathering his belongings.

As the old man packed up his medical kit, Brielle turned her thoughts to the night before. The exact details were still blurry, but she did remember two very important things. She remembered what had instigated the whole situation in the first place, when he hit her in a fit of fury. Secondly she recalled the dream of only moments ago. Thinking on what it could mean terrified her.

The truth of the dream was monumental, inconceivable even. Warning bells were ringing in a thunderous chorus within her skull every time she recalled the last three seconds of her auditory vision. In her addled state, her brain could not fully wrap around what would have been normally very clear. How can this be true? This can't be right…They were brothers…Andrew would never have hurt John…the coward in her murmured. Besides Andrew wouldn't have a reason to hurt John. He was the heir to the Donovan name after all. He had no reason…

Struggling to sit up against the mountain of pillows behind her, Brielle was grateful for the quick acting drug numbing the pain in her ribs. As Doctor Beaumont bade her goodbye, a terrible thought crept across her brain. But he did have a good reason. He has always had a good reason for everything he has ever done in the last ten years. Me…what if he hurt John for me? What if he was so generous after his death not for his brother's memory but for me!

Glad the good doctor was no longer in the room to see the expression of horrified understanding drain all the color from her features, Brielle raised a hand to cover the trembling beginning in her mouth. He never answered about Erik…what if he was behind that as well? Memories, which at the time had seemed completely innocuous, now loomed darkly on the fringes of her consciousness. There have been so many accidents over the years. The day after John announced our engagement his favorite hunting dog was killed in a hunting accident. Andrew seemed so distraught because it was his gun that misfired. There are hundreds of other situations just like that! He was the one always pushing to have Aria sent away to school…God, how could I have been so blind!

Panic set in. Her heart leapt up into her throat as she pulled her covers further up her chest with shaking hands. The unavoidable truth which had been hanging in front of her face for years finally refused to be explained away any longer. Andrew was not who he seemed to be; there was a darkness under his veneer of stern affection which only now was showing through the cracks. I have to do something! What can I do! I drove Conner off…and Erik is gone. I have no one else to turn to! I can't stay here any longer!

Through the confusion and horror warring within her head, Brielle suddenly knew one thing for certain. She had to get out of the house as soon as possible. She had to get away from Andrew before he lost his temper again.