Greetings, dear readers, and welcome to my third story!

This story is even more experimental than my first two, since I´m trying to cure my aversion to angst by holding my nose and jumping right into it. I think you´ll see what I mean.

You may or may not like the Erik in this story. This one´s really rather sinister, I´m afraid!

As always, I am grateful for constructive criticism and any feedback you might be inclined to give. Writing is relatively new to me, so there´s a lot of trial and error to my work.

Thanks to all for reading!

8:00 am. Worklife and Family Counseling Services, TriCounty Hospital.

So, this is the woman Julie told me about, thought Joyce Horowitz as she entered her office and glanced at the person awaiting her. Hardly more than a girl, really… Let´s see what this says…Twenty-four years old… Mother dead… father dead…no surviving family, beyond the husband she´s run away from. Well, let´s see what we can accomplish…

"Christine….Smith?" inquired the counsellor sceptically, looking from the clipboard in her hands to the woman near her office window.

"It´s not really my name – you´ve probably guessed that," answered Christine, turning from the window to regard the woman who had just walked in.

"Ah-hah…well, I certainly understand, under the circumstances. Everything you say to me will, of course, be confidential, dear," said Joyce in her most soothing tones. Her smile was practiced, maternal.

Christine glanced out the window once more, then came towards Joyce, uncertain which chair to sit in.

The psychologist continued to smile, but she was noting the younger woman´s every movement. Does she think she´ll offend me if she sits in the wrong chair?

Pretty thing, and graceful, too, Joyce added to herself, and she watched as Christine´s eyes scanned the room quickly before coming to rest on her. But she is nervous and unsure of herself. Joyce´s hand reflexively went to a tray full of hard candy which she kept on her desk and she offered it to Christine, who nearly jumped, then refused, sighing.

"Raoul De Chagny told me to come to you," ventured Christine quietly as she finally sank into a chair. She clasped her hands together on her lap tightly as though they might close the world out.

"Yes, dear, I know. He´s told me a lot about you – a lot of good things, don´t worry! But he tells me you´re having difficulties."

"Yes, Ms. Horowitz –"

"Call me Joyce!"

"Yes, Joyce, but I need to handle this on my own. I tried to tell Raoul that…" She trailed off.

"´I left my husband because he imprisoned me,`" quoted Joyce, ignoring Christine´s last comment and looking at the clipboard. "This is the explanation you´ve provided for fleeing your marriage, but it´s not all, is it? Did he abuse you physically, Christine?"

"No! Never! No, it wasn´t like that…"

"Then what was it like, dear? Raoul says you´re always nervous, always tense – What are you afraid of? You´ve been working for De Chagny and Lunden for three months now. Surely you´ve had time to relax and enjoy your new life!"

"My new life," parroted Christine bitterly. She hesitated. "You´ll keep everything I say secret?"

"Let me put it to you this way – if I don´t, my career´s over and I´m at the mercy of a judge. So you can tell me whatever you want," Joyce said, her voice gentle once more.

Christine looked at Joyce – at her salt-and-pepper hair, at her practical, no-nonsense clothes, down to her sensible shoes. She glanced at her bookshelf and observed books on psychology, on sociology, several feminist titles, and, implausibly, a romance novel. There were several photos of a woman with a baby on her desk. Always the same baby – her first grandbaby.

"I met my husband – Erik – when I was a student," Christine began tentatively.

"Go on."

"I was minoring in voice, and he was my private instructor. He´s more than gifted – he´s a genius, and it was quite an honor. He refused to charge me for my lessons, even though we made incredible progress together."

"He was a professor with the university, then?"

"Yes…well, no. This is going to sound stupid, but I never found out what exact position he held at the university, or why people were so deferential to him. He was doing research – biotech stuff, and it involved chemistry, too. That much I know.

"It´s surprising, I know, but it´s true. Erik´s a true polymath. He´s a genius as a musician, and he´s a genius of the sciences, he´s an architect…. He's a marvellous teacher, but you know something? I think he´s never entered a lecture hall. The university had an understanding with him, and he wasn't required to teach at all, as long as he researched and published.

"So, he never instructed anyone but me, and he sure wasn´t teaching me chemistry. I never knew why he decided to train my voice. I just assume it was a combination thing – he liked my voice, and the possibility that I might abandon it bothered him. I was having problems at the time."

"What kind of problems?"

"My father had been ill, and he went into hospice. The medical bills had just ruined us, you know, and we had to sell our house about the time he went into hospice care. So, I was working part-time, trying to keep up with my studies, and trying to see my father as much as I could."

"Ah. So this Erik felt sympathy for you."

"Sympathy? I think he understood, in his cold way, but I can´t imagine his feeling sympathy for me. He was always all intellect and no feelings!"

"And yet you married him?"

"Yes, I´m getting to that. My father died, which was expected, but I nearly fell apart. I barely handled the funeral and the wrangling with insurance companies. At the end of it all, I was without money and late on my rent. I was halfway through my senior year, and I was going to have to leave school. That´s when Erik proposed marriage."

"Wait! You had been dating him?"

"No, I only saw him during lessons, though he became increasingly present…well, he was always watching me, it seemed."

"So, he did have feelings for you."

Christine snorted. "If you consider a proprietary interest to be a feeling, then he did have feelings for me. At any rate, he proposed marriage. It was to be a marriage of convenience, he said. He needed a wife, and he came very close to tolerating me, so I would do. It was clear I needed financial help, and he would provide me with that. I accepted."

"You accepted? Just like that?"

Christine hesitated. "You don´t know Erik. He can be regal when he wishes, and walk into a room and command everyone´s attention. Or, he can glide in completely unnoticed. It depends on what he wants to do. He has a presence you can feel – a magnetism, both animal and mental…well, you just have to experience it. I was attracted to him, very attracted to him."

A flicker of scepticism in Joyce´s eyes stopped Christine from continuing.

"You don´t believe me," she murmured.

"Of course I believe you, dear!" responded Joyce hastily. "But I would like you to think back on exactly what you´ve just told me. The person you´ve just described is superhuman, quite frankly. You have escaped a person who, to you, is incredibly dominant, and – well, let´s just say it! – alpha-male. You´re nervous, you´re frightened, and so this Erik has become more than human to you, whether you love him or hate him.

"I can see quite clearly what we have to work on, Christine. You have to break free of Erik! You´ve broken free physically, but you have to do it mentally, as well. He does not rule your destiny – you do, and only you."

Christine simply looked at Joyce, her brow knitted. Joyce watched her carefully, and she seemed to be considering what to say next.

"Perhaps I´ve gotten ahead of myself," she finally admitted. "Christine, if you don´t mind, I ´m going to ask you some questions about your marriage itself. I want to know what you´ve been through. Will it be too painful for you?"

"I guess not…not if it´s confidential."

"Very well. Christine, you say you ran away from your husband because he would not let you leave the house. Were things like this from the very beginning of your marriage?"

"No, they weren´t. Erik always seemed to spend a lot of time watching me, it´s true, but he had his professional life, and I had my studies, my recitals, my future career. I had friends and even a social life outside my marriage. My closest friend was Meg, and then there was her boyfriend, Jack…"

Joyce looked at Christine sharply, a touch of suspicion in her demeanor.

"´Her boyfriend, Jack´?" she prompted.

"I´m sorry," said Christine suddenly, and Joyce was surprised to see that she was fighting tears. She fumbled in her purse and extracted a Kleenex. "I´m sorry. There´s so much to this! And I can´t talk anymore right now, okay? I just can´t…"

Joyce approached her and placed a maternal hand on her shoulder. Christine leaned towards her almost imperceptibly, feeling her warmth. She smelled of baby powder and Oscar de la Renta, and it was oddly comforting. She let the tears flow.

"Don´t worry, Christine. I´ll be your shoulder to cry on. Look, our time´s nearly up today, but I´m going to give you my card and personal phone number, so you can call me anytime, okay? I´m here to help. Remember that, dear. In fact, I think we should arrange to meet twice a week – but don´t worry! The first meeting is always the hardest, and you´ve been brave, very brave! Look," -- She left Christine to walk over to her desk and opened her agenda -- "I´ve got an empty hour at eight in the morning on Thursday. Is that too soon for you?"

"I have an appointment with the obstetrician that day," said Christine, who had regained her composure. "Would Friday do?"

"I think I could arrange it. Wait a minute…appointment with an obstetrician?" Joyce inquired, frozen to the spot.

"Yes. You see, I´m pregnant. Four months along."

The silence was what most unnerved her.

She had seen the man arrive, searching the shadows for possible witnesses. Fool! she had berated him mentally as she ducked carefully out of sight. You thought you might trap Erik?

It was clear that they had run out of professionals. This man had looked up at the row houses in front of him, patting at his coat pocket nervously. Why not let the whole world know you´re packing heat? If even I can tell…

He had been inside – with Erik! -- for half an hour now, and she was grateful that she was witness to nothing.

Although Erik always worked alone, there were rumors. There would be rumors about a man so terrifying. His knowledge of chemistry, they said, served him well. His knowledge of human anatomy was the subject of horrified whispers, too – of how exactly the nervous system worked, and where to apply specific substances in order to produce pain of the desired type and magnitude.

She shuddered. The night was still, dark and peaceful, and yet…there was a vacuum to it. Not so much as the chirping of a cricket could be heard. It was as though Erik´s ability to silence had extended to Nature as well, and everything hung suspended until he finished the business at hand.

Suddenly, she heard a soft thud, as though something massive had hit every wall in the house with equal force from the inside out. She looked: the windows, which had glowed with lamplight before, now flickered and glowed with something else. She ducked into the car and turned the key in the ignition. The metal clicked, but nothing happened.

"Going somewhere, Jeanne?"

The angelic voice was calm, amused even, but flames now filled the windows of the house he had just left.

"Of…of course not. Not without you! I wanted to be ready…"

"I believe I stipulated that I would be the one driving." She could see his eyes now. They floated toward her through the darkness, and dim lamplight, mixed with smoke now, hazily framed his tall silhouette.

"Yes, I know, but I thought it might be time to start the car…but it won´t start!"

There was a quick click as the car hood closed. "I shall drive."

She knew better than to question him. Besides, he had come nearer, and his presence, as usual, was overpowering. She slid into the passenger´s side quickly, trying not to betray her fear of him.

"Erik," she ventured, "we should hurry. Someone will see us."

"They are all indoors watching television," Erik sneered, "and I am in no particular hurry. Our man, it seems, has been killed in a gas explosion. He really should have checked the house for leaks!"

"But the fire, Erik…won´t it spread to the other houses?"

"It will not." He glanced at the row houses appreciatively – the loving glance of the architect – then turned his gaze back to Jeanne. His white half-mask reflected the lamplight. "These are older houses with brick walls separating them. In this instance, they will act as efficient firewalls. The fire will only burn at the front of the house, so none of the wooden structures towards the back will be affected. The flames should be spectacular in about five minutes, but the fire department will have no trouble putting them out. You don´t think me completely unscrupulous, do you, Jeanne? After all, I have a wife to think about!" His chuckle was low, beautiful, and humourless.

Jeanne jumped at the sound of the car engine turning over, and she looked at Erik in surprise.

"Why so tense, Jeanne? It´s really quite simple. The car starts quite easily when the battery is connected."

They pulled out just as the sirens of fire engines could be heard in the distance.

Raoul had saved her from killing herself; she was certain of it. He had been a godsend in those early days, and she was so grateful to him for all that he had done for her that when he had insisted on her going to counselling, she had consented, in spite of her misgivings.

When she had abandoned her marriage, she had travelled west instinctively. In the confusion of her hurried departure, she had hardly been able to interpret her own thoughts, but by the time two days had passed, her mind had focused on one name: Raoul. He had been a friend – a very dear friend. She had not seen him since she was fourteen – and that was good, since Erik had no idea of his existence or of what he had meant to her.

Of all the living people in the world besides Raoul, only Meg might possibly remember how close he and Christine had once been. Perhaps not. So many years had passed, after all.

She had had surprisingly little trouble finding him, and his welcome had been warm and his sympathy quick. He had given her a job with the family firm, in spite of her condition, and he had been true to his promise to care for her.

"A little late, aren´t we, Christine?" said Angela, seemingly emerging from a wall as Christine hurried into De Chagny and Lunden´s offices.

Oh, no! Angela!

Angela Fanning was a junior attorney at the De Chagny firm, and she had been dating Raoul for two years. It was an office romance of the worst kind, since Angela was cold, supercilious, and arrogant with her inferiors whenever Raoul was not present. No one was permitted to forget that she was dating the De Chagny scion, and that she fully expected a more permanent relationship with him in due time. She resented Raoul´s friendship with Christine, especially since he refused to divulge anything to her about it.

Christine hurried past Angela, acknowledging her comment with a slight nod, and headed to her office. The woman followed her, however, her red power suit fairly glowing in competition with the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway.

"I suppose it´s okay that you´re late today. I took a peek at your agenda, and I see that you had a counselling session. I suppose that now that you´ve got your head sorted out, you can get to work on the Strickland brief."

"Don´t worry, Angela," Christine said in neutral tones, "I´m getting to it right away."

"Correction, Christine – you won´t be getting to it right away, since you will be preparing my coffee right away. You know how I like it. And don´t let your hand slip on the sugar this time."

"Right," said Christine calmly. Raoul must still be downtown.

"Raoul, of course, is out with a client, and will not be back for another hour at least," added Angela, smiling maliciously as she walked to her office.

Christine sighed. Another long morning.

Nadir Karrubi wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans as he clicked his cell phone shut. He had been lucky again, but he did not know how long his luck would hold out. Erik would find out the truth eventually, and he would never forgive his lying to him. He never forgave anything.

Perhaps I could return to Tehran. But, no, Erik would hunt him down, even there. Besides, there was the question of his role in the assassination of that Indian diplomat there all those years ago. The Iranian government would not have forgotten that so easily.

He cursed the Fates. How could he have lost track of Christine? It seemed so simple – tracking devices in her cell phone and in every suitcase and bag in the house – he had insisted upon it. Christine had flown, as Erik had suspected she would, and Nadir had followed her as closely as he could.

The girl had proven elusive, however. She had ditched the cell phone at a bus station in Omaha, but Nadir had been unperturbed. She may have suspected that she could be tracked via her cell phone, but she would never notice what he had placed so seamlessly into the lining of her suitcase.

Two days after discovering her cell phone in the trash, he discovered Christine´s empty suitcase at another bus station, this time in Chicago. It had travelled without her.

That was when true panic had set in.

Weeks of following every lead had ensued. Weeks of making up stories to tell Erik every day when he called to check with him. Yes, I´ve seen her today – she´s at a small hotel north of Chicago. Yes, I followed her as she went out to buy dinner – nothing fancy. She just dined at a fast-food place. What´s that? Yes, you´ll have to scold her for that. She needs to take better care of herself.

Weeks of lies, and of the immense relief of knowing that Erik was extremely busy right now tying up loose ends. That meant he still had time -- time to find Christine before Erik descended upon him.

Nadir had no doubt that Erik would live through this current situation. It did not matter how formidable his enemies were – he would dispatch them. Then the fateful call would come.

Christine! How I wish I could wring your lovely, long neck! Nadir thought, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

What had Erik seen in her? She was beautiful, it was true, but Erik´s money and prestige could easily have won him a dozen such beauties. The day Erik had announced that he was taking a wife, Nadir had been dumbfounded, but he had understood. Erik was, after all, eccentric. He was as disciplined as a monk, and his lifestyle required peace. His needs were better served by a predictable, monogamous relationship than by taking lovers or whores.

Christine had seemed the perfect mouse for the job. On the few occasions he had seen her, her manners had been exquisite, but she had hardly spoken. Nadir had concluded that she was not very intelligent, but now he cursed himself for underestimating her.

Perhaps Erik would have the good sense to let her go. Was he worried that she would expect alimony in the event of a divorce?

He was certain that Erik did not love Christine. Was he even capable of love? Erik was polite, even considerate, to Christine, but there was nothing in his bearing around her or in his treatment of her which indicated that he might feel love for her. He scarcely seemed affectionate.

Why doesn´t he just divorce her and get another woman? Nadir thought to himself in irritation. Why does he pursue her?

Nadir sighed and put his bag into the trunk of his Corolla. Another lead: someone who looked like Christine had been seen on a bus heading toward the Westfalia. Someone wearing a tie-dyed blouse.