Endless thank you's to everyone who is still following this story. I am so sorry for the wait on this chapter. All of your support is what has kept me writing.

I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Please don't hesitate to leave me your thoughts and review.

Nothing But A Lie

Chapter 25

"…If I cannot fly,
Let me sing."

The final, devastatingly powerful note hung in the air of the performance hall for as long as Christine could hold it, and the silence afterward was almost strong enough to touch. Freedom was a word that popped into her head, the world ceasing to exist for the most wonderful of moments. There was nothing but her, the power of her voice, and of course…

Erik.

She felt as if her very soul had been connected to his throughout her song, not needing to even look back at him to feel the strength of their bond. Christine felt his pride, his approval, even though his…voice hadn't said anything more to her since the beginning of the song. At any other time, there might have been a skeptical voice in her head telling her it was all just wishful thinking, but not now. She could feel it.

But did he understand what she had been trying to convey?

When the audience began applauding with a shocked sort of enthusiasm, Christine savored the praise for a brief moment before she snapped back to reality, remembering her need to escape. It overpowered any other instinct, and she smiled breathlessly, sadly, as she left the warmth of the stage lights.

Erik watched with a slightly agape mouth as Christine nearly ran off stage, his mind in a whirl. Had it all been real? Was the mastery that the angel had shown in that unpracticed song been a figment of his imagination? No, he could not have conjured it all up in his head. Her song, her pain, the emotion, the desperation...

The Director of Music making his way back to the microphone to introduce the next performer broke Erik from his thoughts, and he quickly rose from the piano and made his way backstage, mind working fast. He sunk into the nearest chair he could find, wringing his hands together as he thought.

Before Christine had begun singing, he remembered being very annoyed with her; for she had—for some reason—decided to throw away all of their hard work on her original song choice for some boring, awful musical theatre tune that they did not even have time to sing through, let alone practice. But then, the moment she had begun to sing, and how she had sung it...

How is it you sing?
How can you jubilate, sitting in cages, never taking wing?

The longing her voice had held…

Have you decided it's safer in cages,
Singing when you're told?

The pain behind the lyrics…

My cage has many rooms, damask and dark.
Nothing there sings, not even my lark.

The shocking, passionate anger she had conveyed...

Larks never will, you know, when they're captive
Teach me to be more adaptive...

The way she had sung the word captive, as if she were experiencing it firsthand- and then the gut wrenching cadenza and ending that followed...all combined with the strange way she had behaved beforehand…

She had to be trying to tell them all something—no, tell him something.

He began to piece it all together, thinking of the evidence: her discomfort in random moments, her lack of enthusiasm when discussing her "boyfriend", the peculiarity of their entire relationship, the urges Erik'd had to protect her, his instinct to link the story of Anne Giry's daughter's abusive boyfriend to Christine's, the frantic way Christine had acted before the performance, the way she had sung…

Erik rose from the chair, striding from backstage out into the empty hallway. He turned to make his way to her dressing room, his long legs moving swiftly.

If there was one thing he could be positive about, it was that Christine needed help.

She had every intention of locking herself in the girls' dressing room and not coming out until she was positive it was safe, walking as fast as she could down the hallway toward it. Her chest rose and fell quickly with her panicking breaths, praying silently but vigorously that Sky would stay in his seat for the final singer's performance. Surely he wouldn't want to be rude and leave early?

There was no way Sky hadn't picked up on what Christine had communicated through her performance, and she had no idea what he would do now. Even she was surprised by her own power, having expected to be too afraid to properly express it all. But the second she had heard that voice encouraging her, all of the anxiety melted away for a few precious minutes, and it gave her the strength to sing like never before.

Would Erik come find her now? Surely he would want to discuss her performance with her. She prayed that he had picked up on the reason for the song choice. But even if he did, she realized, she wouldn't be able to discuss it openly with him! Sky would be listening to them, no doubt.

Ugh. It was all such a mess. But it had to be over, and fast. What could Sky possibly do once the word was out, anyway?

She shuddered; guessing he would probably do whatever it took, even horrible things she had no idea about. He obviously did not care for the law, what with the kidnapping and molesting and stalking and everything...

Christine shoved the dressing room door open and stopped short once inside, a frightened squeak escaping her throat and her stomach dropping to the floor. Sky stood there, arms crossed, in the center of the empty room, looking terrifyingly calm and calculated. Her heart pounded so fast and hard that it was almost painful, and the automatic slam of the dressing room door closing behind her made her jump.

"Sky?" she gasped. "W-what are you doing in the girls'-"

"Who are the flowers from?" he cut her off, one dark brow cocked upward.

Confused, Christine glanced in the direction he'd gestured to, and she gaped at the sight of two giant bouquets of purple flowers. They were stunning, and she stood there, breathless, for a moment. "I…I have no idea. This is the first time I've seen them…" she stammered, briefly wondering if they were even for her. Maybe someone had them delivered on the wrong day?

"You little liar," Sky said, taking slow, menacing steps toward her. His own calm was shocking him, wanting nothing but to scream at her. But of course he didn't; couldn't risk anyone hearing them. "I should have known that fucking creep wants you for himself. And you had to have given him some sort of sign encouraging him to do it."

Christine stumbled a step backward, the closed dressing room door colliding with her back, as he towered in front of her now, much too close for comfort. Surely Sky couldn't think Erik would get her flowers… He would never.

"Who are you even talking-"

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop playing dumb, baby," Sky warned through clenched teeth, his patience growing extremely thin. Without warning he grasped her cheeks with one hand, hard, ignoring her hiss of pain. "I saw the way he was looking at you as you sang. That disgusting fucker wants his nasty hands all over my baby girl. Oh, also, care to explain that song, Christine? What the fuck were you thinking? Are you actually trying to piss me off?"

"Ow, please," Christine whimpered, trying to get away, but he only squeezed tighter. "I didn't mean anything by it… I j-just liked the song-"

"Bullshit! You are such a liar. I can't trust you, can I? No. Every time I think I can you do some sneaky shit to change my mind again. Why, Christine? Why? Am I that horrible to be around?! Why can't you just accept that you're mine?"

Sky continued to growl angry, accusatory remarks, and Christine began to sob. His fingers dug painfully into her already bruised face, and it only hurt worse when she tried to fight it. However, it wasn't long before he seemed to get annoyed by her tears, muttering that she only did this to herself, while dragging her by the upper arm out of the dressing room.

He seemed nearly insane with rage. Sky blatantly towed her—crying—through the building and toward the parking lot without even checking to make sure no one was around. He paced so fast she nearly had to jog to keep up, stumbling over her heels multiple times. Her tear-blurred eyes searched for someone to meet her eye and help her, but everyone was still in the performance hall, and it was too late in the evening for any other students or faculty to be around.

Worst of all, Erik was no where to be seen.

This was it, then. No one was coming for her. No one could save her.

How fiercely she had hoped tonight would go in her favor, but it looked like all of her hopes, all of her efforts and prayers, were for nothing. Devastation washed through her, and she resigned herself for whatever horror lay ahead, secretly hoping deep down that she wouldn't survive it.

Erik had to fight to remain calm when he found the dressing room empty, flowers still there, untouched. He tried not to let that hurt his feelings too much, figuring that the man very well could have intercepted her before she had even seen them at all. But the sting of rejection was still there, and he had to force himself to stay concentrated on the task at hand.

There was only one thing Erik could think to do now, and it would involve slipping into old patterns that would usually lead to violence and blood and oftentimes… death.

None of it appealed to him anymore, but there was not an ounce of hesitation in him to do it when it came to making sure Christine would be saved. Though he didn't intend on anything leading to murder, Erik briefly wondered what he would do if it came down to just that.

And it disturbed him just a little knowing how quickly he would kill again without a second thought when it came to her.

Gods… what was this girl doing to him?

He raced home, unwilling to do the required research on his work computer. Privacy would be ideal, especially if things somehow did turn bad. He was hasty on the road—though wary of any law enforcement that might be lurking—making it home in record time. After quickly evading a barking Sasha's need for attention, Erik locked himself in his home office, immediately getting to work.

It was almost humorous. He'd never thought to be thankful for his dark past before, until within the hour he was able to track all the information he needed using only the man's license plate number, which—thankfully—Erik had memorized just by the few times he'd seen it. In situations like these, Erik supposed, it was convenient to have a deviant skillset.

Perhaps that horrible time in his life had not been completely for naught.

Unfortunately, the man—named Sky Brenton Payne, aged thirty-five—had a nearly spotless record save for a few traffic tickets here and there. No history of violence, kidnapping, or any other sort of crime. The basic information might have hindered anyone else's suspicion a little, but Erik knew to always keep looking.

Lo and behold, after persistently digging deeper, Erik found the crucial fact that Payne had claimed a dependent on his taxes a few years back: Peyton Danielle Payne.

Anne Giry's stressed voice from last week echoed through his head.

Peyton's father showed up, just as we'd feared.

That was all the information Erik needed to spring into action. After swiftly but effectively shutting down the shady computer sites and wiping the history, he flew out the door and reached for the car keys in the pocket of his slacks, having already memorized the address that would only be a fifteen minute or so drive from his home. Time was of the essence, at this point. There was no telling what Christine had been trying to get help for.

And Erik's instincts had been right all along: the abusive ex-boyfriend of Anne Giry's daughter—Meg, he recalled her name—was the very same man that was in a "relationship" with his Christine. The same man that had caused her to feel so distressed that she had felt the need to send a message by changing her song tonight.

He weaved so fast out of his driveway and neighborhood that his tires squealed, pretending to have a plan as he raced down the road. Though, truthfully, Erik had no clue what he would do whence he arrived, let alone what he would find there.

All he knew was that Christine would leave with him, no matter what, and she would finally be safe.

Christine had stopped crying when they were about halfway home.

Now, she stared blankly out into the darkening twilight, her arms wrapped loosely around herself. Her breath was shaky, and her makeup ran messily down her face. Sky's anger had lessened just a little as he drove, though the crushing disappointment for their evening being ruined was still fresh in his mind. Right now he was trying to decide how he would punish her for her stupidity, her sneakiness, but he wasn't sure what exactly he would do.

He wanted to use the knife on her, badly—hurt her like she had hurt him—but he felt a few nights and days spent in the dark basement might have a more lasting effect on her. He had never kept her in there for longer than an hour or so at a time, but this time she had crossed a line. This time, she would do the time she deserved, no matter how bad it would make him feel.

By the time they made it home, Sky had his mind made up, but he kept silent as he opened her car door and took her hand in his tight grip, leading her inside.

Christine flinched at the way Sky slammed the apartment door shut behind him, her stomach tightening painfully at the locks being put into place. She immediately shoved off her uncomfortable shoes and clutched them in her hands, ready to use them as weapons if need be. Sky looked calm at the moment, but his rage from before was stuck inside her mind, and she watched him warily.

She had been too scared to fight back at the school, but now she felt ready. Tensed. If he wanted to keep ruining her, then she would push him until he snapped. She was no longer afraid.

After all, death seemed like the only safety net she could embrace now.

The second he laid eyes on her stance, however, he laughed, eyes amused and mocking. "And what do you think you're doing, baby?"

"Don't call me that," she spat, though her voice still trembled and barely held any volume, frustrating her to no end. "I am not your 'baby'. Stay away!" Christine's voice rose in volume, for he had taken a step closer. "I swear to God I will scream at the top of my lungs if you come any closer, Sky. I am done with all of this."

He barked out a laugh at that. "What do you mean you're 'done'? That's not how this works."

"I mean I'm done, Sky. I can't take this anymore. You're insane if you honestly think this will ever work. I hate you!" To Christine's dismay, she had begun to cry, making her seem less brave and more childish. But she couldn't help it, tears of rage and hate spilling freely down her cheeks, shaking her so hard her teeth chattered. She continued spluttering, however, unable to hold back anymore and enjoying the discomfort on Sky's face. "I h-hate you, Sky. I despise you. Just let me go, already. I can't take this anymore...j-just let me go and I won't tell anyone. I swear. I can't take it anymore, S-sky…" she trailed off, sobbing.

"Stop it, Christine," Sky grumbled, rubbing his face tiredly with one hand. "You're only getting yourself into more trouble. You only do all if this to yourself. When are you going to get that? God, just grow up."

"Grow up?" she gasped, laughing bitterly through her tears. "That's just rich, coming from you."

His eyes narrowed into slits at that, and he glared at her, teeth clenching.

She went on, her voice growing in strength and volume as she did. "You're the one who forces your unwanted affection on me. I mean, how delusional can you be to think I'd ever want you? It's pathetic. Is that why you have to prey on young, weak girls like me? Because nobody wants you?"

Sky blinked in shock, disguising his hurt by scoffing darkly. "You are really pushing me, aren't you, sweetheart? I would shut the fuck up, if I were you." He reached near his pocket for the knife for emphasis, taking a calculated step toward her.

Christine hid her sudden fright—forgetting for a moment that she wanted the violence, would embrace it—clenching her fists and stamping her foot. "No!" she screamed. "I already told you I'm not taking this anymore. You're a disgusting creep, and I want nothing to do with you. I mean, have you ever thought… what would your daughter think about all of this?"

"Stop it!" Sky roared, his twitching hand reaching for her throat as he closed the distance between them, his other hand smacking her cheek hard. Once her shock from the blow faded, she fought, and he easily avoided her pointless attack, wondering why she even tried. All it did was make it harder for her to breathe. He tightened his grip further, until all she could do was claw uselessly at his hand and arm, audibly desperate for air.

Christine's face was already turning purple when he viciously hissed into her ear, "You're sure going to regret that when you're starving in the basement and sitting in your own piss for the next week."

"At least," she managed to squeak, somehow, choking out the tiniest of breaths around Sky's tight grip, "I won't be...near you."

"Aw," he mocked. "Well, we'll just see about that, won't we, baby girl?"

Christine's relief when he released her neck was brief, as Sky immediately began dragging her by the hair toward the basement after. She coughed and gasped all the while, trying to resist and hit him. Sadly—though unsurprisingly—her useless attempts at defending herself hardly hindered him. But she wouldn't give up yet. She couldn't.

Sky quivered with rage as he towed Christine down the stairs, almost deciding to push her down and let her take a violent tumble to the bottom while he watched. Somehow he refrained, though he couldn't stop himself from throwing her roughly to the hard floor once they were down in the basement. She moaned in pain, trying to pull herself up, and he merely watched for a moment.

Without making the conscious effort to do so, Sky then delivered a brutal kick to her ribs, right where it would hurt the most- where it was still healing from last time. He breathed heavily, watching her writhe on the floor and wail pathetically. Though lost in the red haze of fury, he knew better than to do it again, stopping himself. For he knew if he gave her another blow, he would never be able to stop. It's not like he wanted her dead.

No, he couldn't kill her. No matter how far she pushed him… he would not do that. But he could make her wish for death if she didn't straighten up. And fast.

Sky kneeled to the floor, easily flipping Christine onto her back. Ignoring her whimpering, pained protests, he tangled his fingers into the hair at the base of her scalp, forcing her face so close that her panting breaths were warm on his skin.

"Now," he said calmly, gently, lashing his tongue out to moisten his lips. "Are. You. Done?"

"Never." Her voice was weak with pain and breathlessness, but she felt stronger than she'd ever been as she watched the play of emotion on Sky's face with her next words. "I will fight you every single moment until you let me go, or kill me. I won't accept any other option. I will never feel anything towards you other than hatred and disgust, so stop wasting your time. You might hold me here by force, but you will never have me."

Sky could see that Christine wasn't bluffing in the least, that she believed her own words. But what she didn't understand is that though she may not accept any other option, there were others. And it looked like she was about to seal her fate.

Slowly, so that she could catch every movement, Sky reached into his pocket and produced the knife. He didn't miss her slight jump at the click of it opening, watching her gulp at the gleam of the blade even in the dim basement.

"Last chance, baby," he purred seductively. "Are you sure you're ready for what I have planned for you?"

Christine closed her eyes for a second; trying to think of something she could say to ensure she wouldn't survive his punishment. When she decided what would hurt him—enrage him—the most, she smiled sweetly, her eyes void of any emotion but mockery when she opened them, staring levelly into his.

She shook her head in false pity. "You sure are a sick man, Sky. Way worse than your father; at least he doesn't pretend to be good like you do. Wow… Peyton really does deserve better. What a shame."

The air left his lungs as if someone had forcefully punched him in the stomach, and he flung her away from him, folding his arms around his torso as if that would hold him together.

She lied on the floor lazily, staring up at the ceiling, waiting. For a while all that could be heard in the basement was the sound of their breathing. Hers was even and calm, patiently hoping for the quick end that she craved.

His was labored, shocked, agonized, enraged… Maybe he would give her what she wanted after all.

Sky crawled slowly to where she lay, holding himself over her body until their faces were level with one another. There was no regret in her eyes, and at the look in his, Christine silently thanked the universe.

It looked like this was the end for her.

To reaffirm that thought, Sky deliberately ran the knife along the length of her body, starting from her thigh and up until it was poised at her throat.

She closed her eyes.