Erik's fingers flew across the keys as he lost himself in the music. Every so often he would turn his head to see if she was still there, but she never moved. She was sitting in the armchair, her legs pulled to her chest with her chin resting on her knees, her blue eyes watching him intently. Even though she never spoke, his music could usually draw her out of her room.

She was spending more and more time out of her room, though silent as ever. The only time she allowed Erik near was for him to clean and re-bandage her cut. If he grew too close other than that, she would vanish again. But it was progress. Very slow progress, but Erik didn't have anything better to do.

As he played, Erik studied the girl. Now that majority of the bruising had faded away, he could see her beauty. She had a delicate figure and since she was so thin, she looked like she would snap in half if she was handled too roughly. Her hair was down today, framing her face like a golden halo. The way she was sitting gave her the appearance of innocence, like a young child. For a moment her eyes locked with his, allowing him to admire the ocean blue color until she began gazing at the floor again. Erik wondered what on earth was so interesting about it, seeing as she spent so much time staring at it.

He returned his focus back to his organ. It felt right to be playing again after so long. He had missed his music. And since she didn't speak, it was the closest thing they had to communication. He was currently playing one of Mozart's concertos for her. Without realizing it, his fingers shifted to play his own variation of the piece.

Once he finished, he turned around to see her reaction. She was gawking at him, clearly in awe that he could just change the piece without effort. Erik offered her a smile, which after a moment, she hesitantly returned.

She wondered how on earth this man could be so wonderful at playing. He seemed to eat, drink, breathe, and live music. Who had taught him to play like this? How could you teach someone to have passion like this? Her father had played piano when she was young, and she had thought he was the greatest pianist alive, but obviously that wasn't the case.

As his music filled the room, she began to wonder about just exactly who he was. She had so many unanswered questions. Why did he wear the mask? How come he never left here? Didn't someone miss him or wonder where he was? Did they know he was here? And just where exactly was here? It was indoors, but how could the inside of a building have a lake, especially one so big? Why weren't there any windows or doors? Was there a way out besides across the lake?

He turned around and smiled at her. He was extremely handsome, even with the mask. After hesitating and returning it, she could feel her face flush and quickly focused her gaze on the ground. She heard footsteps, and when she looked up, he was standing right over her. Gasping in surprise, she pulled her knees even closer to her chest. "Are you hungry?" he asked. When she remained silent, he held out his hand. Like before, she hesitated but soon took it.

After helping her to her feet, he led her to the kitchen. He offered her some bread and cheese, which she accepted gratefully. As she ate, he spoke again. "I have to go out; otherwise the two of us won't be able to eat anymore. It'll only be a few hours at the most. Will you be alright on your own?" She kept quiet, but lowered her head in an affirmative. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said before disappearing out the door.

Once he had disappeared across the lake, she began to search his music room for some answers. She just needed to know something about where she was or the man she was with or why there was never anybody around.

Stashed away in a drawer, she found a picture of a beautiful young woman, carefully drawn with excellent detail. This girl must have been the wife or daughter that had her room before her. As she dug deeper, she found another, and another, and another, dozens of pictures, all hand drawn and of the same woman. God, just how many were there? Was he in love or just obsessed?

As she rummaged further in the drawer, she began to feel her stomach turn. She found a small figurine of the same woman, in a seductive dress. Beneath that lay a leather-bound music score with the words Don Juan on it. She skimmed through it. Even though she didn't know how to read music notes, she became more and more disturbed by the erotic lyrics.

Her heart pounding, she realized that she was still nothing but a slave to the whims of men. He was letting her stay here and heal so he could abuse her all over again. The score dropped to the floor because her hands were shaking so badly. It fell open to a page labeled The Point of No Return. She backed away as if the book were going to bite her, then whirled around and ran.

She turned a corner too hard, slamming into the edge of a cabinet. A small box fell and opened, revealing white powder and a syringe. Her eyes wide, she glanced behind her. He wasn't back yet, and she refused to be a whore to another man. With almost no hesitation, she grabbed the needle.

Erik walked into the lair and knew instantly that something was very, very wrong. He looked around but couldn't place anything out of the ordinary. His eyes grew wide when he saw his organ was covered in all his old drawings of Christine. How had those gotten there?

When he realized that she was nowhere in sight, he began grow concerned. Why was she rummaging through his stuff? And just how much had she seen? "Uh oh," he whispered when he spotted Don Juan lying on the floor.

He found her motionless on the ground. She had vomited everywhere and her skin was cold and clammy, her breathing was shallow. Erik gasped when he saw his morphine syringe in her hand. Oh God, there was no telling how much she had taken. His heart stopped when he realized what morphine he had when he left was now gone. She had injected herself with everything, but somehow she hadn't killed herself, even though that seemed to have been her intention.

Taking her into his arms, Erik carried her into the bathroom and began to draw a bath to clean her up. He placed her into the warm water, dress and all. It would be better for both of them to deal with the wet fabric than for him to risk taking it off and having her wake up. Not when she obviously wasn't coping well with the trauma she had suffered from Javert.

Once she was clean, Erik carefully lifted her out of her tub and dried her off as best he could. He brought her to her bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment. Erik gently brushed her hair out of her face. She whimpered softly before her eyes drifted shut again. "I'm not letting you give up that easily," Erik murmured, before pulling up a chair to keep watch over her for the night.