A/N: This chapter has taken me the better part of a year to write, because there is so much at stake here and I just wasn't really satisfied with how it was turning out. Now it is finally finished and I am very pleased with the end result. A very heartfelt "Thank You!" goes out to all those reader who've stuck by this story. This chapter is for you.

Please note that during my "break" from this story, I started writing for another genre (sci-fi), and it's been rather hard to adjust back to writing a period piece again. So if any of the wording seems to be off in this chapter, that would be the reason why. ~J

In the world of dreams time ceases to exist. One can spend minutes or days and even weeks encompassed in that misty realm, surrounded both by visions of wonderfully fantastic things and of terrifying nightmares that never seem to end. I cannot say for certain how long I spent in that oblivion, hovering on the brink of life and death, or when, exactly, I chose to return to reality.

I awoke in a small, dim room illuminated only by a few candles. The faint flickering glow from the orange-yellow flames cast huge black shadows over bare walls that loomed tall and frightening above me. It took me a full minute to realize that I wasn't dead or even dreaming, but that instead that I was lying in a rather comfortable bed. I tried to move but my muscles ached from wildly jerking around to fight off the pair of hands that seemed intent on dragging me down into a watery grave.

My sluggish heart rate began to escalate. Why had I been spared in the end? And where was I now?

In struggling to sit up my movement must have alerted someone to the fact that I was now awake, because I heard heavy footsteps cross the room and stop at the foot of the bed. I slammed my eyes shut, not wanting to see the face of the person who had just brutally tried to kill me.

What happened next was a blur. A cold hand fell upon my clammy forehead and my eyes snapped open to see a massive black shadow standing over me. My hands flew up in front of my face to ward off my attacker, but the screams died hoarsely in my bruised and swollen throat and came out instead as raspy whispers. Still, that didn't stop me from thrashing about. If this shadow was bent on killing me, than I would die fighting.

"Christine!"

His voice sliced through my panic and instantly calmed me, even as he took hold of my flailing hands.

"Erik?"

He let go of me and struck a match, lighting the lamp on the table beside the bed. When he turned back to me I could see his gleaming yellow eyes and the black mask, and I knew a moment of intense relief.

If I had any hopes of being passionately taken into his embrace, they quickly vanished as he folded his arms across his chest and looked down on me scornfully.

"Why have you come back here?" he demanded.

He made no attempt to explain the incident in the boat, but merely stood waiting for my reply. And in the face of such stony coldness I completely lost my nerve and forgot what I had so carefully planned to say.

Sitting up with some effort, all I could do was stare back at him.

His entire body was tense; I could see it in the way he held his shoulders. But what made it even worse was the way he continued to glare at me with undisguised contempt. And it was that single look that ignited an anger in me that I didn't know I was capable of.

"Was that you back at the lake?" I snapped instead of answering. "Was it you who pulled me from the boat and tried to drown me?"

He shrugged nonchalantly and said with decidedly detached calm, "I saw a threat and took the necessary precautions." I sensed his frown deepen. "Now, why are you here?" he repeated, this time with an edge of irritation to his rising voice.

I swallowed hard. How could he talk so callously about taking a life? Especially when that life in question was mine? I tenderly touched the place on my neck where his hands had been. Maybe I had made a terrible mistake in coming here.

"I had to see you," I said softly, looking down at my hands. This wasn't at all how I imagined it would be.

He scoffed. "And where is your young man, Christine? Should I be expecting him as well?"

Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes.

"No, I came alone. I—"

"You were wrong to come back."

My head flew up. "But Erik—"

"It's late," he interjected, holding up a hand to silence my protests. "You may stay here for tonight, but in the morning you need to return to your Vicomte."

My mouth fell open at his harshness. He didn't stay long enough to notice the hurt and pained surprise on my face. He spun around and walked out the door without a backward glance.

I crumpled into a heap and buried my face in the pillow, clutching the blanket tightly to my chest as I sobbed. What had I come back here? What had made me think that Erik would welcome me with open arms? All this time I had kept myself alive with the memory of his kiss, the hope that I could experience that warm embrace once again and that everything would turn out all right. I was so sure that he had felt the same way, that he loved me. But now, staring at the closed door in that dim little room, I was beginning to wonder how I could have been so naïve. I never even stopped to consider that maybe the kiss between us had shown Erik that he wasn't missing out on anything after all, and that maybe I wasn't the one who he wanted to devote his love and affection to.

How could I be so selfish? I'd played with his heart, strung him along with my cowardly indecisiveness. Why should I expect him to fall at my feet after everything I had put him through?

And Raoul! Poor Raoul. By now he had no doubt discovered I was missing, and just imagining the pain and the panic he was experiencing was enough to tear a hole in my already ravaged heart. He would never forgive me once he learned what I had done. How could he? My depression over losing Erik had made it exceptionally clear to Raoul that I didn't want to be with him. Why should he take me back?

I cared about both men, each in their own special way. But because of my reluctance to choose one over the other, I had lost them both. And no amount of feeling sorry for myself was going to change that simple fact.

I couldn't sleep. Not after everything that had happened. No matter how much I tossed and turned, or how hard I tried to convince myself that not sleeping would further endanger my already waning health, the blissful state of forgetfulness would not come. As I lay there, staring into the darkness for what seemed an eternity, I agonized over what I would do and where I would go next.

I could always return to my flat, I supposed. Returning to the Opera was out of the question. I wouldn't be able to set foot in the building, much less sing without thinking of Erik and his cold rejection of me. But perhaps I could find work as a seamstress or a cook. Though I possessed neither of those skills, I was confident in my ability to learn. If I hoped to eat and support myself I would have to do something.

The sound of shuffling in the next room caught my attention and I went rigid, straining to hear any other signs that Erik might be close by. My heart began to pound rapidly as I waited for him to appear and put an end to the tension between us. A minute passed, then two.

He isn't coming, I realized with immense disappointment.

This was getting ridiculous. I couldn't just sit in here, hoping that every creak, every footstep I heard was him changing his mind and that any second now he would burst through that door and take me into his arms, accepting my apology and the love I had to give. If there was one thing I knew about Erik, it was that once he had set his mind on something, nothing was going to change it. He had made that perfectly clear that night he sent me away with Raoul.

Bitterness settled over me as my emotions waged war against each other. I never wanted to go with Raoul. I should never have left with him. But I was tired of fighting, hurt from Erik's dismissal, and confused about what I wanted. I had been afraid to stand up to Erik that night, and my cowardice may have cost me the love of the man I'd repeatedly pushed away.

I had to try, one last time, to tell him how I felt. Then if he rejected me even still, at least I would know and be able to move on. I wouldn't be happy, but I would be free. With this new resolution in my head, I threw back the covers and set my feet gingerly on the ice cold floor beneath me. My legs were weak from disuse, but after a few moments I was able to maintain my balance and carefully found my way to the door. A thin sliver of amber light shone through the crack, confirming my suspicions that Erik was indeed in the room just beyond. My heart firmly planted in my throat, I pushed the door open and walked through it.

The candlelight, far brighter than my eyes were accustomed to, blinded me the moment I set foot in the living room and so I couldn't see immediately if Erik was even still there. Using my forearm, I shielded my eyes so that they might have time to adjust, and warily looked around. He was sitting at the organ, furiously scribbling notes down on paper lined with musical staves. He was in his shirtsleeves, the top button of his collar undone.

"E-Erik?" My voice cracked and I immediately regretted how timid I sounded.

He turned slowly, the eyes behind the mask coldly displaying his annoyance at being interrupted.

"You really should be resting Christine," he said icily. "What is it that you want?"

To my horror, my mouth went completely dry and I was left standing before him, gaping like a fish as I struggled to put the words into place.

"If you have come to discuss your presence in my house and perhaps change my mind about my decision, rest assured that I am through talking about it. You are wasting your breath."

"Erik, please—"

"No, Christine." He rose and placed his hands on the side of the organ. "Now go to bed."

"No!" I asserted. He looked at me then as though he could not believe that I would be so reckless as to contradict him, and my resolve wavered a little bit. "I-I won't. Not until you hear what I have to say."

In an instant he had stepped around the piano bench and had my arm in a vice-like grip. "I do not care to hear what you have to say. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie."

He started to drag me out of the room, but I dug my heels into the Persian rug and refused to move. I could be obstinate as well. When it was clear that I intended to put up a fight, he rounded on me with barely contained rage.

"Do not toy with me, Christine," he warned. "You should know by now that I am not a man who likes to be angered."

Inside I was quaking with fear; it was remarkable that I managed to present a collected demeanor on the outside. "I know that you are a man I have come to care for very much. Why do you think I came all the way back here?"

"Once upon a time, I might have believed that. But you have taken that trust and twisted it into something unrecognizable."

Despite my best efforts, tears pricked at my eyes. I blinked to hold them off but it was too late. Erik had already noticed.

"I see I've hurt you," he said in a low, almost feral tone. "Well know that what you are feeling now cannot even begin to compare to what you've inflicted upon me."

"I didn't mean to hurt you!" I cried, tears now streaming freely down my cheeks.

"Didn't mean to?" He latched on to my other arm with his left hand and pushed me back against the wall as he roared, "You left me! Tell me that you were thinking about me when you made that decision! You weren't. You were thinking about that damned boy!" His anger was swift and rapidly spiraling out of control. "So I gave you what you wanted, I let you leave with him, free to live out the remainder of your life in happiness."

I was sobbing uncontrollably now, but still he did not loosen his grip on me.

"Any yet the pain you exacted on me was not enough, was it? No, you insisted on coming back here to…to what? Were you hoping to taunt me again? To see me beg for your love? Because I will not! I refuse to fall prey to your games again. I do not want you, Christine. Not anymore."

He let go of me abruptly and I stumbled.

"Please," I implored, straightening so that I could look beseechingly into his eyes. "Please, Erik. Forgive me. I-I didn't know what I wanted then."

He halted in his retreat and turned slightly.

"Oh, and I suppose you know what you want now?" His voice was coarse, his every intention to mock my sincerity. I couldn't say that I blamed him after what I had put him through.

"I want you."

A low chuckle was his only answer, its intonation so sinister and dangerous, so completely unnerving that I began to think that perhaps I had gone too far. He pivoted around to face me fully and began advancing with deliberate, dreadful steps. I tried to back away from him but soon enough my back met with the very wall I had just been pressed up against. My heart rose into my throat as he continued toward me.

With exaggerated calm he rested his hands flat against the wall on the outside of each of my shoulders, trapping me within the circle of his arms, and brought his face down to mine. His amber eyes bore into me, threatening me to make a move, and when I didn't he angled his chin so that his mouth brushed up against my ear. His breath shot waves of fear mixed with exhilaration down my neck and arms, making my skin tingle and rise with gooseflesh.

"You do not want my love," he whispered, "for it burns. It consumes with a passion so intense that once I am through there will be nothing left of you."

I swallowed twice in a vain attempt to fill my lungs with air. This close, I could smell the faint scent of spices that lingered on his skin. The masculine aroma permeated my nostrils, making my head spin. I longed to reach out to him, wanted him to touch me. It surprised me a little that my reaction was so visceral, especially where I had no experience in such matters. But apprehension had frozen me to the spot and despite my best efforts to regain control of myself, I could not move.

He exhaled a long breath, trailing it across my chin as he moved to look at me fully. His strange, golden eyes had taken on a predatory glow and I had no doubts about the fire of which he spoke. His gazed dropped to my lips and I held my breath with anticipation.

He withdrew unexpectedly and stepped back, tugging at the bottom of his shirt to straighten it. I reeled, unable to cope with the sudden shift in his demeanor. An aching throb of desire settled into the pit of my stomach, insistent in its demands to be fulfilled.

"I suggest," he said in a slightly strangled voice," that you think long and hard about what it is exactly that you want."

With that, he spun around on his heel and left me standing in the living room alone. The door to his bedroom shut and only after hearing the snick of his lock did I allow myself to breathe. I slid down the length of the wall, my entire body shaking, and buried my face in my hands. My chest felt as if it would explode from the onslaught of my heartbeat, but I knew.

I knew what I had to do.

A/N: So now that this chapter is over, I'm really at a loss as to where to take the story as far as conflict goes. Normally I'm very good at devising twisted plotlines, but I'm afraid of this story sinking into inactivity once again. For that reason, I'm asking you, the readers, to share some of your thoughts and ideas of what you might like to see happen. You can discuss them with me here by PM, in a review, or on my website at www(dot)jamiepage19(dot)com. I would love to hear what you have to say!

Hope you enjoyed this installment! Help me keep it going! ~J