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Chapter Text

It was a bright and sunny day in the California desert. January in my sleepy little town was cool and crisp. There was no sign of life on my street. Being so far apart from your neighbors provides a different sense of peace, especially since I was a transplant from New York.

I sat on our back patio, watching the sun set below the mountains in the distance. My night was planned. Some trash television with a pint of ice cream while my husband went out with his business associates in Los Angeles. It was just me and the cats for tonight. I had been looking forward to this night for the last week. All was well in my calm little corner of the world. My peace was disturbed by the scream of our kitchen phone. With a growl, I got up from my seat and ripped into the kitchen.

“Hello?” I hissed as I picked up the phone.

“Charlie?” a voice whispered on the other side. My brow furrowed, I did not recognize the caller.

“Who is this”?

“Charlie, it’s me, Chris”. My eyes widened in surprise. Christine Daae was my old college roommate. I had gone to NYU for my doctorate and rented a room from her and her friend Meg Giry. I hadn’t heard from either of them since I had gotten married about a year and a half ago.

“Chris. How are you-” I began but was quickly cut off by sobs.

“Oh Charlie, I need help”. A sense of urgency filled my soul. Christine was a sweet girl who had absolutely no backbone. I was the one who dealt with hard situations during our time together. Both Christine and Meg developed a dependence on me, and I couldn’t bring myself to let them be taken advantage of. Especially since I had the means to deal with a lot of their problems.

“What happened?” I cried, letting my rage swell.

“There is a man who is after me, Charlie! He wants me to sing his music. He’s a monster,” Chris spat out at a rapid speed. The only thing that registered in my mind was ‘man’ and ‘monster’.

“Slow down. First where are you”?

“Los Angeles International Airport”.

“Why are you there?” My thoughts were racing. Someone was after Christine, and they were so frightening that she hopped on a plane to California before even checking if I was in the country still.

“I didn’t know where to run, Charlie. He keeps finding me and I don’t know what to do.” My brain jumped into action. I didn’t have the car, we only had one and my husband had it.

“Okay, grab a cab and come to my house. I will pay the driver when you get here,” I sighed. There went my peaceful night.

“Thank you, Charlie” and with a click the phone went dead. I hung up and sighed once more. It would take her about an hour to get here. I had enough time to think before Chris arrived.

A little over an hour later, I heard a knock at my front door. I jumped up from my seat, sending cats flying off my lap, as I ran for the door. I swung it open to see a very disheveled Christine standing before me. Her sleek black hair was in matted knots that splayed from her head. Her winter coat was tattered and dirty. She slammed into my body, hugging me harder than I believed was physically possible for her.

“Charlie. It's so good to see you” Christine cried into my chest. I pulled her off, holding her at arm's length.

“Chris, what’s going on?” before she could respond, a blast from the cab horn grabbed our attention. I saw the cabbie glowering from his seat. “Go inside, I will deal with the cab driver”. Christine nodded as I walked to the curb to pay this man his fare.

I came back in to see Christine sitting on the couch, trying to coax a cat from under our coffee table. I shut the front door, locking both locks, which startled Chris.

“I haven’t seen Fabio in forever” Chris smiled softly. My cat Fabio was her favorite ball of fur. They were inseparable in New York.

“I am sure he is glad to see you,” I replied with a smile. “Chris, what is going on, why are you here”?

“I don’t know what to do. There is a man that is after me,” Chris breathed.

“Who is this man”?

“His name is Erik Destler. He works at a theater in New York. I tried out for his opera, and now he is after me.” Christine had never been a good liar. She was holding something back.

“Why didn’t you call the police”? She stared at the floor silently. I could see the cogs in her mind spinning.

“They can’t do anything”.

“Chris, if he is stalking you, the police need to know” I sighed sitting next to her on the couch.

“Charlie, you are going to think I am crazy. He is not normal” Christine’s eyes filled with tears.

“Not normal?” I questioned. If I had any chance of helping her, she needed to tell me what was going on. With a shutter, she told me the story.

About an hour later, she finished her story, and she was right, I did think she was crazy.

“So let me get this straight, a man has been stalking you for the last 100 years? You found this out because during your opera audition you time traveled” I grumbled, my hand rubbing at my temple.

“Yes! He is a deformed madman who has been stalking me since 1889. He is immortal”.

“And, he wants you to sing his music”? Christine nodded furiously. I sat there, not knowing what to say. I decided I needed some time to process this information, and Christine obviously needed to clean up. “Alright, before we figure out what to do, I think you should get cleaned up. I will show you the shower and feel free to grab whatever you want out of my closet”. Chris nodded, and we walked upstairs.

I sat on the couch once more, listening to the running water from upstairs. This was absolutely insane. Christine was not in her right mind. She was frantic and obviously very sleep deprived. I couldn’t let her leave this house. She would probably hurt herself and end up dead in a ditch somewhere. I rose from the couch and walked to the kitchen telephone. I dialed information and asked to be put through to the restaurant my husband was at. The hostess was prompt in bringing him to the phone.

“What’s wrong, Charlie?” he sounded extremely worried, and he was right to be. The last time I called him at a business meeting, his father had a heart attack.

“Do you remember Christine Daae”?

“That dark-haired ditz from our wedding”? My face went dead, but I would talk to him about his comment later.

“Yes, she showed up at our door and she is pretty frantic. It's not an emergency, but could you come home as soon as you can?” I played with the phone cord nervously. Chills began running up my spine. Fear began to take over. I couldn’t pinpoint the reason as I scanned my kitchen. Maybe Christine was getting to me?

“Of course. We shouldn’t be too much longer” he replied.

“Thank you. I will see you when you get home,” I replied and hung up the phone. I felt slightly calmer now that I knew my husband was coming home. I walked back to the couch just as the shower turned off. About 10 minutes later Christine walked down the stairs in a pair of pink pajamas that I rarely ever wore. “Well, I see you found the one thing in my closet I never wear”.

“I was wondering why you even had these. You hate pink!” Christine giggled sitting on the couch once more. She looked and sounded like a new person.

“I don’t hate pink, I just hate everything my mother buys me” I laughed. We spent the next few moments catching up. Before long Christine drifted off into what I assume to be the first bit of sleep, she had in a while. Fear still wracked my brain, so I went upstairs to work until my husband came home.

It was a little after midnight, and my husband was still nowhere to be seen. I had calmed my fear by doing some paperwork. My panic resumed when I heard Christine calling my name from the living room where I left her. I bounded from my office and down the stairs to see her sitting on the couch, staring into the kitchen. I

“What’s wrong?” I cried, sitting next to her on the couch.

“He’s here” she sobbed. I looked into my darkened kitchen and saw nothing.

“Chris, there is no one here” I sighed, rising from my seat. The fear in her eyes was palpable. The only way to prove this was all in her head was to show her. My reflection glistened on the back porch door as I walked towards it. I had forgotten to close the curtains. She must have seen an animal out there. I flipped on the kitchen light and cried in terror at what I saw. There was a man standing just outside the door. He was tall and lanky, barely a wisp of a person. His long, light brown hair was tied back neatly. His eyes were dark, and despite his smile, were menacing. His thick-framed glasses did little to soften his look.

My heart was racing like a drum. The room became icy as I inched towards the glass door. I frantically wondered if I had remembered to lock the door earlier. I couldn’t remember.

“Hello” his muffled voice came.

“Erik Destler?” I called out. I had never been afraid of much, but I could safely say that this man terrified me. I couldn’t explain it, but it was as if my fear of him was instinctual.

He laughed brightly, shaking his head. “Oh no, my name is David Foster. I work with Christine”. I squinted in disbelief.

“What do you want”?

“I just came to see how Christine was doing”.

“At midnight”? I said crassly.

“Well, Miss Daae had a mental breakdown not too long ago. I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help”. His cheshire grin widened as I stood inches away from him. The only thing standing between us was a sturdy glass door.

“Leave,” I said sternly.

“Just let me talk to Christine” he was becoming agitated.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Now leave before I call the police” I hissed and grabbed for the curtain rod to pull them closed. With a heavy thud, his hand hit the glass door, causing a splintering crack through the glass. My stomach dropped and my blood ran cold.

“Do us both a favor and let me in.” Foster cooed. “Christine is unwell, and I can help her”. That's when I saw his eye flash with an ethereal glow. Everything Christine had told me suddenly clicked into place. She wasn’t mad, and he was definitely something unearthly. Without another thought, I ran for the kitchen phone. I knew I had a second before he found the fuse box. I dialed 911 and screamed my address into the receiver. Then, with a thud, the power went out. I hoped the operator got the information down. There was no time. I blindly rummaged through a kitchen drawer to find a flashlight before sprinting into the living room to find Chris. She was gone. I called for her but no answer came. Like lightning, I bounded up the stairs to my office. I pulled a drawer out to find the tiny revolver I kept. Silently I walked back downstairs. Making sure to turn off my flashlight before I reached the bottom. I could hear frantic pulling at the glass door. I turned the corner and aimed. If he opened that door, I would not hesitate. With a slam, I heard the door screech open. I shot three times into the darkness, illuminating Foster for milliseconds. I heard his cries as I flipped on my flashlight to shoot again. He was gone. I was sure that I had hit him. Nothing but shattered glass welcomed me. I rushed to the kitchen entryway, scanning for signs of him. I saw nothing and backed out of the room.

“That was unexpected” a groan came from behind me. I jumped and turned to point my gun at Foster, who stood in the living room I had just been in. I held my gun in my hand, steady and ready to shoot again.

“Don’t move or I will-” I cried, my fear betraying me.

“Or you will what Carlotta? Shoot me? I can’t kill an immortal” he laughed. His eyes shone wildly.

“Immortal or not, it won't feel pleasant.” I had no idea if this was true, but his laugh confirmed this. I could see his hand over his stomach, covered in thick, black blood. The stench was horrific.

“My how you have changed, Carlotta” he quipped. My eyes widened.

“I don’t know you” I hissed in reply.

“But I know you.” Foster grinned wickedly before he lunged forward, slapping my flashlight from my hand. I shot once more, and he groaned loudly.

“Charlie!” I heard my husband cry as he frantically tried to open the door. Before I could respond, a gloved hand grabbed me by the arm.

“This isn’t over Carlotta. You can’t protect Christine forever. She is mine,” Foster’s wicked voice crooned softly. I turned to face him and as quickly as he was there, he was gone. I stared at the empty space Foster had once occupied, when a horrific realization came to my mind. The name Carlotta was a name I hadn’t used in almost 15 years.

Chapter Text

London at 5 in the morning was a very different place from California. Thick clouds of fog rolled in from the Thames, covering the city. Someone had once told me that the fog used to be thicker. Pea Soupper is what they used to call this fog, but it hadn’t been seen in many years. Still, it was more fog than I was used to.

Christine and I sat in the London airport for a minute, exhausted from our flight. The last few hours had been a haze. I knew we needed to leave the United States, because Foster was going to eventually come back and finish the job he started. I tried to get my husband to come with us, but he was convinced we were having some shared delusion. With this thought I realized that I had promised to call him the moment we landed.

“I am going to call Martin” I groaned, rising from my seat. Christine nodded, relaxing in her chair. I walked to the first empty payphone I saw, and dropped a few coins into it. I dialed, and waited for Martin to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Martin, it’s me,” I breathed.

“I see you landed safely”.

“Yes”. There was a moment of silence before Martin began to talk again.

“I don’t understand this Charlie” his voice trailed off. I had explained very little to him, but like the good husband he was, he let me have my way. Martin was the one that dropped us off at the airport even though he disapproved of my move.

“I know, darling, but trust me. I think we are safer in London” I sighed. There wasn’t much more I could say.

“Just be safe.”

“I will. You too.”

“I love you, call me later”

“I love you too.” With that, I hung up the phone. This was insanity at its finest, but I couldn’t ignore what I saw. I shot a man 4 times, and he survived. I admit I wasn’t the best shot, but I knew how to kill a man. This man was not dead.

I walked back over to Christine, who had fallen asleep on her chair. I gently shook her awake. She shot up, blinking at me for a second, confused.

“Are you ready to go find a hotel?” she said, realizing I was the one who stood over her.

“Hotel? Chris, I have an apartment here. I work in London quite often,” I smirked. Christine smiled before rising from her seat. And so we began our journey to my London apartment.

A cab drive later, we were safely in my apartment. The cabbie was very interested in Christine, but naively Chris didn’t notice. She just believed he was just a nice younger gentleman who talked her ear off the entire ride. It was about 7 in the morning. We were both exhausted and slept the day away. I awoke early the next morning, feeling like I had just downed a bottle of Grappa. Despite my hungover feeling, I had a coherent plan in mind. Walking into my small living room, I picked up a nearby phone and proceeded to dial.

“Restorations” a familiar voice called out cheerily.

“Richy, it's Charlie” a smile overtook my face when I heard his voice.

“Charlie Chaplin! As I live and breathe. I didn’t know you were in town.” he cried with glee. “What can I do for you?”

“I need some information. I was wondering if you could pull it up and bring it to me this afternoon?”

“What do I get?”

“If you don’t mind a tagalong, lunch, ”

“I also want your firstborn,” Richy demanded smugly.

“Fine, Fabio is yours” I sighed. Like Christine, he loved Fabio. Everyone seemed to love Fabio.

“You American girls are so easy to con. What am I pulling up for you?”

“I need information on a man named Erik Destler. Born sometime in the mid-19th century. He was a musician”.

“Got it,” Richy replied.

“I will meet you at the usual spot at 2”.

“Roger that, Madame. Richy Rich, over and out”. I smiled to myself and hung up the phone. Richy always made me feel better about things. He was not only a co-worker, but probably the best friend I had. He was a rich little brat who was in an intern program with me. We were both hired on at the British Museum after, and we were inseparable when I was in London. He even introduced me to Martin. Richy was a class clown who enjoyed pranks and jokes, often playing them on unsuspecting co-workers. I was so wrapped up in thought, I didn’t notice Chris.

“What was that about?” Christine mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“I called a friend. I asked him to get some information for me,” I replied simply. Christine stood in the living room doorway, rocking back and forth on her heels. I cocked my head slightly. It seemed as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

“I am sorry, Charlie. I dragged you into this”.

“Chris, who else could you have gone too? I have told you before, I have your back”.

“And I have yours” Christine’s smile said more than her words could. I smiled in return, walking over to her.

“Now, we should probably make a store run before we have to go meet Richy. I have absolutely nothing to eat in this house.” Chris nodded, before turning back down the hall she came from.

A store run later, my pantry was full, and we were sitting at a table in our usual pub. Christine’s eyes were darting around the room nervously. I sat there, trapped in my own teetering thoughts. I was beginning to doubt this situation. Maybe Martin was right, and there was nothing paranormal about this. Maybe Richy would provide some clarity? He was always so logical about things. Still, something tickled at the back of my mind. A blind fear of this Foster man. I had been taught to never fear men. My parents instilled this into my sister and I from a young age. I feared nothing and no one. Then why was I so afraid of this little theater geek from New York?

“So when is he supposed to get here?” Christine whispered to me. I looked at her, trying to pull from my thoughts before answering.

“Well, Richy is notoriously 15 minutes late to every meeting. So he will be here soon”. As if he could hear my criticisms of his tardiness, Richy walked through the door. He immediately spotted us and sat down with a goofy grin on his face.

“Charlie,” he greeted me warmly.

“Christine, this is my good friend Richard Dutton. He works with me at the museum”, The moment his eyes met hers, I knew he was smitten. I knew that look anywhere.

“Lovely to meet you Christine”. His smile grew wider. If he hadn’t been holding his folders from work, he would have probably kissed her hand. Christine blushed and mumbled a greeting.

“Alright, enough of your flirting. What did you find?” I snapped coyly. His face turned a light red before he handed me a folder at the top of the stack. I snapped it open and scanned the contents.

“Erik Destler, born in 1706 in Whitechapel. He was a musician who played at local bars. In 1747 he had some sort of fit and killed 15 people. After that, he disappeared, never to be seen again.” I growled in displeasure. This isn’t the information I asked for.

“I said mid-19th century. What type of sorry excuse of a historian are you” I mumbled.

“Hold your horses. I wasn’t finished. In 1809, a man named Fredrick Destler was tried and hung for murdering his young apprentice. Apparently the chap stole some architecture drafts from Destler. Now in 1880, Erick Destler pops back up. There isn’t very much information on him. He had one published opera called Don Juan Triumphant. It popped up in our archives, but we only have half of the original”.

“Juilliard Conservatory has the other half” Christine chimed in.

“Exactly. Apparently there has been some dispute over who owns the entire copy. Anyway, he apparently kidnapped and killed a young opera star. He also is assumed to be the reason for the London Opera burning down in 1889. Apparently this chap was a tad bonkers”.

“Why are you giving us all of this information?” I hissed.

“You know how I love a good mystery, Charlie” Richy smiled cunningly. “All three Destler’s have the same physical characteristics. They also have the same temperament.”

“Which is?” I asked, now very intrigued.

“Tall, lanky, with light brown hair. Tempers to put Italians to shame. They could go from 0 to 100 in the blink of an eye.” Richy smiled at us for a second. The looks on our faces must have given away our feelings. His smile dropped as he relayed his last bit of information. “They were also very violent. If that wasn’t obvious”.

“Thanks Richy” I muttered. I had decided to not inform him of our predicament. I was still mulling over this in my own mind, anyway. “Go ahead and order what you want. I told the bar woman to keep my tab open for you”. I got up, beckoning for Christine to follow.

“Wait, where are you going?” Richy cried. He was obviously confused.

“We have some things to do,” I replied.

“Let me tag along, we can catch up”. He winked devilishly at Christine, who reciprocated with a smile. Chris gazed up at me. His charm was doing a number on her. I scoffed, walking out of the pub door without another word. Christine ran to catch me, calling for me as I walked down the street.

“Charlie!” she cried as she reached me. “Maybe we should tell Richy?”

“So he can make fun of us? No, I love Richy, but this is something I don’t think we should drag him into.” Chris bit her bottom lip. She wanted to tell him so badly, but she also knew the possible consequences of dragging someone else in.

“What are you two lovely ladies talking about? I love getting dragged into mischief.” Richy’s voice bellowed from behind us. I jumped halfway out of my skin before turning around.

“Asshole!” I roared, taking a swing at Richy. He easily dodged, giggling maniacally. I could hear Chris’ light giggle from next to me. I was not amused.

“What don’t you want to drag the invincible Richard Dutton into?” Christine looked at me with pleading eyes. She wanted to tell him.

“Invincible my ass. I am not dragging you into this Richy. Either way, you will think we are crazy” I replied through gritted teeth. My nerves were frazzled. Unbeknownst to Christine, the fear I felt in California had been steadily creeping back. It was like I could feel Foster getting closer to us. I had no way to prove this, but I felt it in my soul.

“Try me, Charlie girl” he replied. His tone was serious, more serious than I had ever heard in my three years of knowing him. His eyes scanned us, pleading silently to be let in on our secret. I turned to look at Christine, and her eyes screamed the same. I looked into the sky, and groaned loudly. This was not going to be pleasant.

“FINE! But you better not make fun of us.”

“No promises” Richy grinned.

I glowered, regretting my decision. “We are going to my apartment. Hurry up.” I sniffed before turning on the balls of my feet and continuing the walk to my apartment building.

We returned to my apartment building and got right down to business. Christine explained her side first. Then I chimed in with my side of the story. Explaining the incident in California. At the end, Richy sat on my sofa, next to Christine, for a while. Pondering what we had just said. After a moment or two, he made his first comment.

“I didn’t peg you for a loon, Charlie”. I cried out in rage, burying my face into my hands.

“See! I knew you would do this” I roared.

“Richy, we know what we saw” Chris replied defeated.

“There has to be some logical explanation for this. Maybe this chap is just incredibly strong?”

“And the sky is green! This man doesn’t look like he could hurt a fly, let alone force open a locked door” I roared. This had been a useless endeavour, just as I thought. “And now we have wasted an entire day explaining this to you.”

“Look, I understand the whole incident was unnerving, but there is no possible way for this to be true” Richy retorted.

“I know, but I have no explanation for this” I spat back. “I shot the man four times, Richard. He didn’t die. The only thing that came from four body shots was blood that smelled like we pulled it from Tut’s tomb. How do you explain that!” I was frustrated and couldn’t control my temper. On top of this, the feeling of fear was the strongest I had ever felt in my lifetime. My body was buzzing, and there was no way for me to stop it.

Richy sighed, wringing his hands together. Silence permeated the room as he searched for words to retort my argument. The room was getting cold, despite the heater being on. This thought hit me, and more dread filled my body. My head began to spin. Nothing was making sense. The only thing I wanted to do right now was sleep. I took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, doing my best to remain calm. My wall clock chimed 6 in the evening, breaking the silence.

“Damn, I didn’t realize it was this late” Richy murmured, shooting up from his seat.

“What? Late for dinner at mummy’s?” I hissed.

“No, tonight is the Museum Benefactor Ball. I promised Margret I would be there.” he replied, grabbing his coat from the couch arm. “Do you two want to go? It might do you good to get out and your mind off of this madness”.

“No, thanks Richy” Christine replied before I could think of a mean remark. “You have given us a lot to think about.” Richy nodded, making his way to the door. His hand reached for the knob, stopping before he opened it.

“If you two need me, just give me a call. I am so important, Charlie has me on speed dial 2. I also live in the building next door. If you can’t reach me, come and get me. Apartment 6c.” Chris smiled at him, and he returned it before leaving.

Christine turned to face me. I was pouting in my armchair, now more confused than before. Richy was right, but I had no explanation for what was going on.

“You still have a temper,” Christine murmured.

“Tell me something I don’t know” I scoffed, sitting back in my chair. “I guess we think of a new plan, since Richy was no help”. Christine sighed, and we began another long discussion about what we should do.

The scream of my living room phone woke me. I sat up quickly, blinking my tired eyes a few times before realizing what was happening. My first assumption was that Martin was calling. I blindly reached for the phone, grumbling a sleepy greeting.

“Charlie” Richy’s voice coughed. I sat up, now wide awake. I took a look at my wall clock, it was a little past 3 in the morning.

“What?” I growled.

“I need help” he moaned painfully.

“What happened?” he sounded serious, which is something I didn’t get much from him.

“Him…” was the only reply.

“What do you mean?” The fear from before came shooting back.

“Museum…” The phone went dead. I jumped up, searching for my shoes. I looked to the couch to see Christine still asleep.

“Christine, wake up” I commanded. She jumped up as well, her head darting around the room before settling on me. “Richy is in trouble”.

Chapter Text

The British Museum was always a wonderful sight to see. Its massive stone facade always brought me great joy during the day. It made me feel secure in myself. But now it only filled me with dread as Christine and I approached it.

We walked its perimeter until we found the employee entrance. I punched in my pin, and the door clicked open. We entered a sterile hall. It was something out of a horror movie. I could hear no sound. The party had probably ended hours ago. Our shoes squeaked as we made our way deeper into the bowels of the museum. I had no idea where to begin searching for Richy. He could have been anywhere in this place. Knowing him, he would have run to restorations. It had some of the highest security in the building. I figured that was the best place to start. Christine clung to me as we walked through passage after passage. Hoping our nightmare wasn’t waiting for us around an unsuspecting corner.

As we approached the lab doors, I noticed a bright red stain on a wall. As I examined it closer, I could see someone had smeared it down the hall, and stopped at a nearby restroom. Fingerprints were clearly visible in the sticky sludge. I looked at Christine; her fear had never been so palpable. I took a deep breath before charging into the restroom. My stomach dropped when I saw Richy laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. I grabbed Chris and flung her into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Richy looked pale and gaunt as he sat there trying to stop the bleeding with his bare hands.

“Oh Richy” Christine cried, rushing to his side.

“He... was here” Richy sputtered. Christine pried his hands from his chest and gasped in horror at what she found. A large, jagged wound covered his chest. It oozed bright red through what was once a starch white dress shirt. His coat was flung haplessly on the floor. Chris picked it up and covered his wound, attempting to lessen the bleeding.

“Destler?” I hissed, kneeling in front of my injured friend.

“He called himself Foster. David Foster. He was looking for you, Charlie.”

“Me? Why me?” I received no reply to my question.

“He wanted me to bring him our half of the manuscript” Richy’s breathing was heavy. His words tumbled out disjointedly.

“Did you?” I cried.

“No, so he did this. I got away, I don’t know if he is still here” that is when my mind put the pieces together. I cursed, how could I have been so stupid. This was a trap. He couldn’t find us in this city, so he had us come to him. But how did he know to come after Richy? We couldn’t just sit here and wait for him. I rubbed my eyes, thinking as hard as I could for a solution to this.

“Charlie, what do we do?” Christine shrieked.

“We take Richy back to my apartment. If Foster shows up, just leave him to me.” My will had turned to iron. If I was going to die here, I would die fighting.

“Charlie” Christine’s eyes welled with tears.

“No matter what, run and don’t look back.” My voice was hard. I knew what I needed to do if Foster was still here. “There is no way he got through to the archives. He is probably waiting outside for us”. Christine nodded, helping Richy up. She tucked herself under his arm and nodded at me. She was ready to run. I had never been more proud of her bravery. “When I say run, we run”. I grabbed the lock and the handle of the door. My hands were shaking as I anticipated what was on the other side. “Run!” I roared, flicking the lock and flinging the door open. There was no one there. We raced down the corridors and only stopped when the British Museum was a dot in the distance.

Getting Richy to my home was difficult. We had to stop multiple times to let him breathe. The sense of dread I had been feeling spiked the closer we got to the apartment. After 30 long minutes, we were back. I helped Christine lay Richy on my sofa. My first instinct was to grab a little medical kit I kept. Nothing in there was useful. I bit my lip, this was bad.

“Charlie, we have to get him to a hospital” Christine cried, her tired hands pressing down on his wound.

“No! Don’t take me there. He’s going to get me” Richy replied. His voice was soft, he was fading fast. If we took him to the hospital, we would have needed to explain. We would have probably been committed on the spot for our story. An idea flew through my mind. I knew someone who could help.

“Hang on,” I ran for the apartment door. I bolted down the hall to an apartment at the end of my floor. I knocked on a door furiously. “Edgar! Edgar, open the door”.

Moments later, a scruffy older man opened the door. “What de ya want, lass. It’s 3 in the damn morning”.

“Edgar, I need your help. Come quickly,” I cried.

“What in the world are ye blabbin' about?” he grumbled.

“My friend is hurt. I don’t know where to go.”

“The damn hospital!” he screamed at me.

“Listen, you old dirt bag, my friend is bleeding out on my living room floor. I need someone who will ask no questions. Are you going to help me, or are you going to let him die” I hissed. My face was inches from his. His sour expression eventually gave way to a defeated look.

“Aye, I will be right there” he sighed.

“Quickly”. I turned and ran back to my apartment.

About 5 minutes later, Edgar showed up at my front door. His hair was snow white and sticking up strangely from his scalp. A thick mustache covered his upper lip. A tattered old medic bag was very complimentary to the sweat pants and stained undershirt he wore. The scowl on his face completed the look.

“Edgar Harris, meet your patient Richard Dutton.”

“Good god lass, what did ye do to him” Edgar cried, rushing to his side.

“It was a monster,” Christine cried. She had been sobbing hysterically. While I was gone, Richy had passed out. Her swollen eyes told Edgar all he needed to know for the moment.

“Lemme see lad” he crooned, removing Richy’s hand from his wound.

Suddenly, Christine leapt forward, placing her hands over Richy’s chest.“No, he will die if you do that”

“Sweet, I cannot fix him wit your hands there” Edgar said softly. Christine’s frantic sobs grew louder as Edgar gently removed her bloody hands from his wound. “Now let see what’s going on”. Edgar lifted the tattered portions of Richy’s shirt to see the jagged wound. It still oozed blood, but it had mostly subsided.

“Can you save him?” I asked wearily.

“I dunno. But I can sure as hell try” Edgar growled. He pulled his medical kit to him, taking out sanitary products and instruments. Edgar had been a medic in the war. Which war, that was still up for debate. He constantly bragged about his ability to stitch himself up. This would really put his skills to the test.

He began his operation. Being as gentle as he possibly could. Richy’s wound began to shrink as Edgar’s needle pierced his skin. It was difficult to watch; it was also difficult to think with Chris’ sobs ringing through the house.

A half hour later, Edgar was done. He had patched up the majority of the wound. Richy never woke up, and we chose to leave him that way for a while. For now.

“The lad should be fine, but ya may wanna get him a blood bag” Edgar sat down on an armchair, covered in blood. His hands shook from his tedious task. I had been sitting in the armchair opposite him. I was so tired, I couldn’t think straight. “Now, yer gonna tell me what the fuck is going on”.

“It’s a long story,” I croaked.

“Aye, I got time” Edgar retorted. An agonizing scream came from my intercom. My building was not the fanciest in London, but it had some decent security. A key to the front door or a buzz from the intercom were the only way to get into the building. “You expecting someone?”

“No” came my reply in a quick burst. I rose from my seat, and using the last bits of my strength, I walked to the intercom. I knew I should be dreading this, but I was so worn out. I could muster no emotion. I pressed the button and mumbled a hello.

“Why Miss Charlie, I am surprised to see you up this late” Foster’s voice hummed.

“What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“Christine doesn’t want to talk to you” I hissed.

“And I don’t want to talk to her. I want to talk to you, Charlie. Come down, so we can chat” he emphasized the last word. He wanted to chat. The idea of chatting with him was laughable. The room began to spin. I could feel the life being drained from my body. Fear ripped through me. Something was wrong with me. I began to think about going down there to talk to him. I ran through all the possibly horrific scenarios that would more than likely happen if I went down there. None of them were good.

“What’s wrong?” Edgar whispered. I turned my head and stared at him. His words sounded muffled. He was worried. Suddenly, a clear thought permeated through the fog of panic. There was nothing stopping him from coming up here on his own. If I went down there, it may give the others time to run.

“Alright” I said, releasing the intercom button. I made my way to the door robotically.

“Charlie no! Don’t go. He could kill you” Christine cried. This girl could out sob a child. It was getting irritating.

“Chris, if he wanted to, he could come and get us. A door is not stopping him. Might as well go down and see what he wants.” I replied. Christine’s bottom lip trembled. I didn’t want to tell her what I was thinking exactly. I gazed at Edgar, who silently stared back at me. He understood. Christine saw this interaction and was seconds from a breakdown. “Edgar, try to get them out of here. I will hold him off as long as I can.”

“And ye just expect me to get them out?” Edgar roared, rising from his chair. “If I need to slay me an ogre, I will. I got more experience fighting than you do”. I smiled softly. There was the Edgar I had come to know. The old American hating man from down the hall that once beat the daylights out of my neighbor's abusive husband. He was crass and mean with a heart of pure gold.

“Calm down soldier. Just keep them, safe” I smiled before walking out of my front door. Edgar trusted me enough to let me go.

I reached our pitiful excuse for a lobby. No one was there, which surprised me. I had figured Foster would have broken through the door by now. I crept to the door, looking out in confusion. It was unnaturally dark outside the door. Usually it was pretty bright with the streetlamps, but now it was darker than I had ever seen it in London. I scanned the darkness for signs of life. There was nothing there. I stepped back from the door, contemplating on what to do. Do I go out there, or do I go back upstairs? I looked to the staircase, debating with myself when I heard a soft tap on glass. I looked to the door once more and saw Foster’s cheshire grin. I was frozen in place.

“Hello Charlie” his voice was barely audible from my distance. I willed my legs to move, stepping closer to the door, but not too close.

“What can I do for you?” I spat sarcastically.

“I just want to talk.”

“So talk.” Foster grinned wider, chuckling.

“I have come to find that your museum has a piece of my property,” he began.

“And?” I crossed my arms in defiance, raising an eyebrow.

“I was hoping we could help each other out.” I laughed, unable to control myself.

“I have no desire to help you” my voice was filled with venom.

“Not now, but you will” his smile widened, as he took a few steps closer to the door. I stood my ground. “I have no qualms about just coming in and taking what I want.”

“Then do it.” I replied. He stared at me, his smile long gone. Then he said something that surprised me.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” I blinked at him, confused. I was terrified, or at least I thought it was. “What comes with me is blind terror, Charlie. You are not afraid. Why?”

“I...was?” I questioned. I had been absolutely terrified earlier. It was sheer panic that consumed my body, but the moment I saw him, it disappeared.

“You...were?” he mocked, a snarl crossed his face.

“I was. But now I am not. You aren’t that scary up close” I smirked.

“You do not know what kind of terror I can make you feel” he hissed, his hand banging against the glass of the door.

“So do it” came my swift reply.

“You are taunting the devil girl!”

“I am pretty sure I did that with the four bullets I put into you.” His face was grotesquely contorted. It suddenly snapped back into the cheshire grin.

“You are just trying to get under my skin. I bet you told your little friends to run” he hissed. I shrugged.

“Maybe. Or maybe I have a death wish” I replied haughtily. This was a game of cat and mouse, one I was going to keep going for as long as possible. If Edgar had done his job, they would have been gone by now. There was a second exit. It emptied on the next street over.

“You are a distraction. But I bet they couldn’t have gotten very far with Richy now could they?” with that, Foster slipped back into the unnatural darkness. This was my chance to escape. I ran back upstairs to my apartment and flung the door open. Edgar and Richy were still there.

“I told you to get them out” I hissed.

“Aye lass, but ya think he would come back and look here if he thought we were gone? If ya did your job properly that’s what he thinks!” Edgar sniffed. I sighed, that was an excellent point. I looked around, the terror Foster was talking about was returning.

“Where is Chris?”

“Is she not with you?” Edgar’s voice went cold.

“No, why isn’t she with you?”

“She left. I couldn’t stop her. She said she was going to help you with Foster.” My blood went icy, as I raced back out the door. I knew she wasn’t at the front entrance I had just come from. She must have accidentally taken the back entrance. I ran as fast as I could, down the stairs. I reached the back hallway and didn’t see her. I cursed to myself, she must have thought I actually went out there. I burst through the door, and stood in the street. It was bright out here, which made me feel relatively safe. It was getting closer to working hours for much of London. By 6, there would be enough people around to make Foster think twice. Even now I could see people’s lights turning on in their apartments. I looked around frantically for Christine. I couldn’t see her. I also didn’t see Foster. I went to the door intercom to have Edgar buzz me back into the hall. I prayed that Christine didn’t think she could handle Foster alone. What if she slipped out after I had run back upstairs? I ran to the other side of the building and straight out of the door, with no regard for who might be out there. Abruptly I was grabbed and slammed into the building. Foster held me there with one hand.

“That was a good trick Charlie. I applaud you for that one” he sneered through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t think it would be that easy” I coughed. He pulled me from the wall and slammed me into it again. My head hit the brick and I could feel blood begin to trickle down my scalp. My head throbbed

“Your friends never left. They are still in the building. I can smell their fear” he moaned.

“Where is Christine?” I mumbled.

“I don’t know, you tell me” his face was centimeters from my ear. I could feel his horrid breath drift across my face. “Now, here is my deal. Bring me my manuscript. Tell Christine she will sing it for me, whether she wants to or not.”

“Hey!” a voice rand from the darkness. A man approached us, and Foster dropped me. He was lightning, approaching the man with an unnatural fierceness. I dropped to the floor. My head hurt but I could speak through the pain.

“Leave him alone” was the only thing I could say before Foster attacked. He produced a blade from his coat, stabbing this man more times than I could count. I gasped in horror as Foster finished his work and approached me once more. He lifted me back up, slamming me once more into the wall. I gazed at the man, who lay lifeless on the concrete. I felt so sorry for this kind stranger.

Foster grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him once more. “I have one job for you. Get my manuscript. If you don’t your friends will die.” Being pinned against him filled me with disgust, as I nodded. “Good” he mumbled, “You have 48 hours to get it for me”. With that he dropped me. Foster stood over me for a moment before walking swiftly down the street.

My head throbbed painfully. I couldn’t see. The smell of blood filled my nostrils. I had to get back inside before the police came. I was suddenly being lifted up, and being propped against someone.

“Come on lass, let's get you inside before the pigs show up” Edgar said softly. I nodded, taking slow steps to the entrance of my building.

Chapter Text

I was in a daze for the next 12 hours. My world spun continuously, only ceasing for brief moments. Any type of coherent speech and movement was impossible for the first few hours. All I wanted to do was sleep. Edgar had treated my wounds as well, letting me sleep off most of the pain. The next evening I could walk and talk coherently.

Christine had attempted to help me, but her fear stopped her. Edgar found her hiding in a cleaning closet not long after he grabbed me. Edgar chastised her roundly. She blamed herself for the injured sustained by Richy and I. Which wasn’t wrong, but there were no ill feelings.

Richy had woken up around the time I did. He was weak, but he was alive. That was all that mattered to me. He told us his story. Foster had cornered him as the Ball ended. Chasing him into the archives. He asked him for the manuscript, but Richy was able to get away from him.

“He’s the devil!” Edgar screeched. We had just finished filling him in on everything we had experienced. Like the superstitious old man he was, there were no questions asked.

“What do we do?” Christine asked softly.

“We give him what he wants and get Chris out. He wants both, but if we give him one, we can hopefully distract him long enough to figure out what the next move should be”.

“Ya cannot be serious. You don’t help the devil” Edgar hissed.

“What else can we do?” I sighed. The room went silent for a moment. I knew I was right. There was nothing else we could do. It was the best plan anyone had.

“My family has a villa in France. Chris can stay there.” Richy said, breaking the silence. “I can stay there with her.” Christine blushed.

“How are we going to get the manuscript? I don’t have access to that archive” I bit my lip. Richy and I worked on the Egyptian collection. We could get into the archive, but getting the manuscript out would be difficult.

“Davies owes me a favor. I will have him get it.” Richy hissed.

“I doubt he would be okay giving it to us for an extended period of time”.

“Davies is an idiot. He won’t think about that. It’s not a very commonly requested item. I doubt they will ask for it back”.

“Juilliard has a phony second half. Maybe I could get Meg to switch them out for me?” Chris chimed in. Richy and I looked at each other and shrugged. It may work. I doubted it was an exact replica, but it would get the museum off of Davies if they came knocking.

“Alright, give Meg a call tomorrow morning” I said. Chris nodded, falling back into silence. “Richy, tell Davies I will pick it up from him in three hours outside... The British Library. That seems like a good handoff point”. Richy nodded, reaching for the phone on my sofa end-table. As he dialed, I began thinking about our plan. If this went well, I would probably have to go stay with my parents for a while. I wouldn’t be able to come back to London. There were a few things I needed from my desk. I got up from my seat, reaching for my coat on the rack.

“Where are ye going, lass?” Edgar growled.

“I am going to go get something at the museum. I will be back”.

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Edgar retorted.

“Only Richy and I are allowed down there. Foster needs his manuscript. I am sure he won’t think twice about me walking in there.” I smiled softly. “I will be fine. I am the only person who can even get the manuscript as far as he knows. I doubt he will try anything funny.” Edgar shot me a worried glance before backing down. I put my coat on and headed out the door.

The walk to the museum was quick. Throngs of people flocked around it, making for a terrifying experience. I knew Foster would probably try anything, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t worried. I slipped into the building and walked through the hallways. Co-workers said their pleasant hellos as I walked to my office. I shared the space with 6 others. All the desks were empty, except for one. Margret sat at her desk, scribbling away at a pad of paper. Her lips smacked obnoxiously as she chewed her gum. She looked up at me and smiled pleasantly.

“Hey Charchar, I didn’t know you were back?” Margret grinned.

“Yeah, I am here with a friend. She’s always wanted to see the city” I replied simply, making a beeline for my desk. As I approached, I saw a large manilla folder placed neatly across my things. I picked it up and inspected it. It was addressed to me, but there was no return address.

“That came for you a week ago.” Margret stated simply, continuing with her work. I opened the folder up and tipped its contents out into my hand. Out popped a ring, a bracelet, and a necklace. They looked old, but none of them had any distinct marks that I could see immediately.

“Who sent this?” Margret shrugged, never looking up.

“No idea. Mike just dropped it off”. I looked inside for a note, but found nothing. I pocketed the items and gathered the things I needed to do my work from my parents' house.

“It’s probably from my mother. She’s always sending me useless crap,” I muttered, mostly to comfort myself.

“Aw, that’s so nice. I wish my mother would send me things” Margret laughed. I sighed, biting my tongue. I bid my farewell to her. I began my walk to the library. I had an ulterior motive for wanting to meet there. I wanted to find out more about Erik Destler. There had to be more about him somewhere.

I walked into the library and asked the desk clerk for all the information on him. I retrieved my books and began flipping through them. I read for about an hour, when I found the account of 1706 Destler. He was a piano player at a bar in Shadwell. Destler came in for his usual evening shift. He played for a few hours before taking a break. He was approached by a local man named Caspar Ubel. They conversed for about ten minutes before Destler went back to work. Later that evening, Destler lost his mind and began screaming. He began destroying the piano he was at starting a fire when his lantern was thrown to the floor. Destler killed 15 people before fleeing. Officers were so consumed by the fire, they lost him. This was no help, but it did give me an idea of Foster’s violent tendencies.

I kept reading, coming across 1806 Destler’s trial notes not long after. In 1806 Fredrick Destler was accused and tried for the murder of Andrew Weber. The young man had been selling Destler’s architectural drafts to a rival. Destler decapitated the man. He made no attempt to cover his crime up. He was convicted, and hung in December 1806. His body was supposedly buried outside of Munich. I sighed. Again, this told me nothing.

I finally came upon the London Opera Fire. It was started in 1889 underneath the building. Two casualties were confirmed. A young opera singer and her fiance. The Opera was scorched but relatively okay. My eyes continued to graze the words, but I suddenly stopped. I went cold when I saw the names of the two casualties of the fire. Richard Dutton and Christine Daae. I sat there in disbelief. There was no way this was true. I continued reading. The clipping continued, talking about two other murders. Peter Aspat was a rat catcher and Carlotta Guidicelli, the Prima Donna. Destler was assumed to be The Phantom of the Opera. A specter that supposedly haunted the London Opera House. None of this could be proven, but a prominent inspector had theorized this at the time. Seeing my name written there was chilling. I also recognized the name of the ratcatcher. I knew a Peter Asphat. He worked at a morgue as a cremator. This was all too much for me. I gathered my things and decided to wait outside for Davies. It was cold out, but I didn’t want to be here anymore.

Davies showed up on time, handing me the manuscript. He tried to make some small talk, but I was in no mood. He stalked off, and I quickly made my way home. I walked through the door to see Edgar, still seated in an armchair. Christine and Richy were gone.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, plopping my things down on my coffee table.

“Chrissy and Rich went to his place to pack. They are gonna leave tonight”. I nodded, that was probably the wisest idea. I sighed loudly, not knowing how to process my thoughts. I reached into my coat pocket to warm my hands, when I felt warm metal on my skin. I pulled out the jewelry, throwing it haplessly on the table with the rest of my things. Edgar watched this and scoffed. “Ya went out in that cold from some jewelry?”

I gazed at him, unamused by his comment. “No, I went to pick up some work. That was sent to me a week ago. Probably from my mother.” Edgar leaned forward, picking up one of the pieces. A gold-colored bracelet glinted in his fingers. It was a plain, thick-banded piece, with nothing special about it. I leaned back on the couch, closing my eyes. There was nothing to do but wait for Foster to come pick his music up.

“This wasn’t fer you I gather” Edgar grunted. I opened one eye to see Edgar staring at the bracelet closely.

“What are you talking about?” I hissed. He threw the piece at me, and I caught it with ease.

“The name on the inside, Christine”. I shot up and began looking for the name he spoke of. I found it, “For Christine, 1740” I read.

“Didn’t Rich say that Foster fellow was around then?”

“Yeah, 1747 was when he killed 15 people” I murmured. I was curious now. I put the bangle down, picking up the necklace. It was a single golden pendant on a gold chain. It was in the shape of a stag. Again, nothing was interesting about this piece. I looked at the back of this one. It only had a year. “This one says 1806, when Fredrick Destler was hung.”

“Seems someone was trying to tell you something” Edgar quipped, his hand stretched out. I handed him the necklace and grabbed the ring. This one was interesting. It was a silver ring, with a black stone in its center. A simple etched design encompassed the stone. It was a man’s ring, but this man had very thin fingers. I tried it on, and it fit my thumb. This one had no engraving. I went to take it off, and the ring wouldn't budge. My brow furrowed as I pulled with all my strength. It popped off to my relief. This man had very thin fingers if it was hard to take off of my small thumb. I handed the ring off to Edgar, blinking in confusion. I needed to re-address this package. I reached for my phone, dialing my manager’s home. His gruff voice answered on the first ring.

“Mike, it’s Charlie, sorry to bother you. I am in town, and I stopped by work to grab some things. Margret gave me a package. Do you know anything about it?”

“Not much.” he spat, his Welsh accent thick. “We got it last week. It was mailed in.”

“There was no note, or message that came with it?”

“Yes, the carrier said the sender wanted to thank you anonymously. Probably from Venice, you did a lot of work with them.”

“Alright, thanks Mike” I said. He replied politely before I hung up the phone. “The sender of these wanted to thank me?” I said to myself.

“Thank ye fer what?” Edgar was still examining the ring. His face was twisted into a scowl.

“I don’t know. They came a week ago. This hasn’t been going on for that long” I was stumped. Edgar looked up at me, his face twisted even more.

“Lass I am gonna hang on to these. God knows you got enough hanging on to that Satan music” he rose from his seat, swiftly picking the pieces up and placing them into his pocket. “Imma go back home, I will be back tomorrow”. He quickly walked out of the door. I stared at the place he once stood, deciding not to question him. For now.

I got up. I was nervous again. Walking down the hall, and into my bedroom, I went to retrieve my guilty pleasure. Cigarettes. I reached into the very back of my dresser, grabbing my crumpled pack. I felt guilty; I had promised Martin I would quit years ago, but that was me. I took the pack out onto my living room balcony, lighting one with my blue lighter. It tasted stale. I hadn’t been to London in over a month, so this wasn’t surprising. I took a long drag, letting the nicotine hit me. The lights of the city soothed me as I stood watching from my tower. I thought about the information I had found at the library. I needed to tell Richy and Chris, but it could wait. A gentil knock came at my door. I sighed, assuming it was Edgar again. I put my cigarette down and went to the door. Opening it, I saw nothing but another envelope. I picked it up from the flood, and shut myself in my apartment once more. I opened it. A note was in there. Written in elegant handwriting, it stated; “You have it. Bring it to me”. I was right to be nervous, Foster had been following me. I grabbed the manuscript, putting my coat on and walking out the door. I walked to the main entrance, and out the front. I stood there, looking for Foster’s face in the scattering of people still on the street. I didn’t see him.

“Excellent work, Charlie” Foster’s voice rang out from behind me. I spun to see him leaning against the brick facade of my building. I held the manuscript out to him silently. His gloved hand snatched it from me. The grin on his face as he flipped through the pages was sickening. “Now, tell Christine to come down.”

“I don’t know where she is,” I said matter-of-factly.

“You don’t?” he crooned, his eyes flashing.

“No, she left earlier. She didn’t tell me where she was going.” Foster shrugged, closing the manuscript.

“No matter, I will find her.” I had nothing more to say to him, so I fished my keys from my pocket, aiming for the front door once more. “Charlie”, his voice called out once more. I turned to look at him again. “You said that you felt fear yesterday. What did you mean?”

“What are you talking about?” I hissed.

“You said that you ‘did’ feel fear. Did you not feel fear during our little talk yesterday?”

“No. I felt fear up until I saw your smug smile.”

“Interesting” he murmured, before disappearing down the street. I sighed in relief. It was over for now. I went back to my apartment silently, praying that Chris and Richy were somewhere safe.

My clock read 4 in the morning when I finally looked at it. I had been too anxious to sleep, so I decided to work. I had been working on a new collection for our Egypt wing, and it was going to require a lot of preservation work. I hadn’t even noticed the time fly by. I decided it was time to go to bed. Stretching, I jumped up, heading to the bathroom. I showered, drying my hair as I walked into my room. Stars suddenly crossed my vision as I felt myself lift off my feet. I landed with a thud on the flood, unable to breathe. A pair of hands grabbed me, slamming me against a wall. I looked up to see Foster there, practically foaming at the mouth.

“Where is it?” he cried through gritted teeth. Breath filled my body once more.

“What?” I coughed.

“Where is my manuscript?” he emphasised each word.

“You have it.”

“Do you think this is funny, Charlie?” he laughed, pulling me from the wall and throwing me across the room. My head hit a bedpost with a sickening thud. I felt bile rise up in my throat. I could hear his hard-soled shoes clap across the wood floor, silencing when he reached me. I saw his foot raise before he kicked me. I heard a snap, before waves of pain overtook me. “Does Christine have it?”

I tried to shake my head, but I couldn’t move. My voice refused to come. I had no way to communicate with him, so he continued the assault, grabbing me again and slamming me down on the floor. He finally left me alone long enough for me to regain my composure.

“I gave it to you” I squeaked, holding my ribcage.

“That is not my entire manuscript” he hissed.

“Davies, he must have it.”

“No, he did not,” Foster scoffed. My eyes went wide. Did we have a fake one? What did he do to Davies?

Foster crouched next to me, his breathing hard. “I am missing 2 pages” he breathed. I shook my head again, clutching at my side. “Who has them, Charlie?”

“I don’t know” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes.

“That’s not the correct answer” he spat before kicking me in the ribs again. My head hit the bedpost again and everything went dark.

Chapter Text

I could hear voices all around me. They sounded like multiple people were talking underwater. I tried to move my body, but I couldn’t feel anything. Ribbons of rainbows danced across the darkness. I decided to try and focus on the voices. After a while, they began to come through.

“We have to take her to a hospital,” Richy cried angrily.

“Are ye kidding me lad, they are gonna ask questions” Edgar roared back.

“She hasn’t woken up in two days.”

“She probably won’t wake up at all with her injuries.”

“Which is why we need a hospital!”

“So they can throw us all into the loony bin, bright idea.” The argument between Richy and Edgar was getting more heated with every word. I wanted to shout and tell them to shut up, but nothing came.

“Well, what do you suppose we do?” Richy hissed.

“I don’t know, I cannot think with your insufferable screaming.” Edgar bellowed. “Ye already damned us by calling her insufferable git of a man.”

That did it. My eyes shot open, as I croaked “You did what?” All three sets of eyes stared at me in shock. They were not expecting this.

“Charlie, how do you feel?” Christine knelt next to me.

“Like a train hit me” I whispered. I attempted to lift myself up, which caused spasms to shoot through my body.

“I wouldn’t recommend getting up lass. Ya look like you got yer ass handed to you in a pub brawl” Edgar said somberly.

“What happened?” Richy asked.

“Foster sent me a note, asking for the manuscript. He had been following me” I gazed around wearily. “I gave it to him. He came into my apartment around 3 in the morning. Screaming and yelling that I tricked him. He said that he was missing two pages of his manuscript.”

“Did you take them?” Richy cried.

“No! We had a plan, and I stuck to it” I barked. I immediately grabbed my side, hissing in pain. I made a mental note to not get too riled up. Results would be painful.

“Did Davies take them?” Christine’s voice piped in.

“According to Foster? No.” A worried glance jumped between them. What did he do to Davies? That wasn’t important right now, but the stone in my stomach brewed over the matter.

“So who took them?” Edgar asked.

“I don’t know. I am afraid to go and look at the archive file. I don’t want the museum to trace this back to us.” I put a hand over my eyes, rubbing them. This was getting far too complicated. I suddenly realized Chris and Richy were supposed to be in France. “Wait, what the hell are you two doing here?”

Chris and Richy looked at each other nervously. “He found us before we could get out of the city.”

“How?” I sighed, trying to stay calm.

“He’s always been able to find me, Charlie. I don’t know how” Chris shrugged, defeated. I scoffed, irritated at being backed into a corner. I sat up, pain wracking my side. I pushed through, slipping myself to the edge of the bed.

“Don’t ya dare move. If I have to knock your ass back out myself, I will” Edgar growled. “Ye broke some ribs, and some head damage. Take it easy girl. Your husband will be here soon, anyway. You are gonna have yer hands full there.”

“Fuck! Who turned me in?” I cried. Richy looked at the flood bashfully. I groaned, laying back down on my bed. I was dizzy, anticipating the tongue lashing I was going to get from Martin. “You traitor.”

“What the fuck is going here, Charlie!” Martin screamed. I sat upright in bed, my arms crossed defiantly. He had been yelling at me for about an hour. Screaming about how much danger I put myself in and why I didn’t just stay home with him.

“I wasn’t about to let Christine go at this alone” I replied.

“So you put yourself in danger.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for some insane man to break into my apartment and beat the hell out of me.”

“We are going home, I am done with this nonsense.” Martin was furious. Understandably so.

“No,” I said simply. One thing I made very clear when I agreed to marry him was that I would not let him boss me around like my parents did. I was sick of it.

“I will not accept that answer” he hissed.

“Too bad” now I was just trying to push his buttons. I was irritated, and in pain. I was in no mood to be railroaded into coming home.

“What if he comes back?” Again I shrugged defiantly. Martin roared in anger, “Stop being so childish.”

“I am not being childish. I am a grown woman. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I am looking out for your wellbeing. You are in danger here, and I don’t feel right leaving you alone.”

“You had the option to come here. You didn’t believe me.”

“I was told that a sociopathic, immortal man was chasing your idiot friend. That is insanity.”

“Martin, I am done arguing. You can do what you want, but I am staying.” My mind was made up. I was in too deep. I laid back down in bed. My head was throbbing. Martin plopped down on the bed next to me, fuming.

“This is difficult to comprehend.” he groaned.

“I understand. It is” I mumbled quietly. He abruptly laid down next to me, trying to calm his jagged breathing.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you, Charlie” he stated, grabbing my hand. “I can’t stay. I have three properties closing in the States. I have to go back.”

“So go. I am not going to make you stay.” We were quiet for a minute, basking in the rage from earlier.

“Are you sure you won’t go home?” he pleaded.

“No. And if I hear you berating Christine about this, I am gonna kill you myself.” I hissed.

“I have done no such thing” he huffed.

“Yet.” a small smile formed on my face. Again, the room was quiet. The soft hum of vehicles was the only thing we could hear. Martin squeezed my hand in his as he lay there with me. I felt so bad for him, but my mind had been made up long before this situation. I wasn’t going to let anyone I cared about be preyed upon, never again. After about 15 minutes, I heard the front door open and shut. I was confused. “Who did you call?”

“Bruce” Martin stated simply, getting up and going to our bedroom door. He threw it open to reveal a large, smiling man in a tweed suit.

“Martin! Good to see you” Bruce cried in his thick Ethiopian accent.

“Jesus, you called Bruce” I cried. I couldn’t take that much cheer right now.

“Oh Carlotta, it's been so long” Bruce bounced over to me, a smile still plastered on his face. Dr. Bruce Solomon was a good friend of mine from childhood. We lived near each other as children. He was a large man, with dark, ethereal skin. Bruce was also the happiest person I ever knew. In stark contrast to the rest of his family, who were relatively somber, he was always so sunny. There was always a bright side to life, and Bruce was the human equivalent of that side.

“It’s good to see you too Bruce” I smiled. He sat down on the bed next to me and began taking my pulse.

“Martin told me you had a nasty fall” I nodded, giving Martin a thankful glance. Bruce began his exam. Clicking his tongue with every injury he found. “You should really go to a hospital, Charlie. You had a terrible fall. You have two broken ribs, and possibly a concussion.” Martin glanced at me smugly. I ignored him.

“You know I hate hospitals, Bruce. If I don’t go, will I live?”

“Well, as long as you do not have a brain bleed, you will be fine” he smiled.

“I will take that chance” I smiled in return. Bruce stood up, shaking Martin’s hand.

“Would you like to stay for a cup of tea?” Martin offered. Bruce clapped gleefully.

“Oh yes, there is a very interesting-looking chap out there. I feel he will be very entertaining” Bruce cried before zooming out the bedroom door. I knew in an instant, he was talking about Edgar. Bruce Solomon was right 9 times out of 10 when it came to people. He could read anyone like a book with a large print. That’s probably what made him such a good doctor. Bruce loudly introduced himself to everyone outside. Giving a small personalized greeting to every individual.

I got back up, sliding myself to the edge of the bed. Martin rushed over, scowling. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Did he say I needed to stay in bed?” I flouted.

“No, but-” Martin began. I cut him off quickly.

“Then I am getting out of this damn bed before my legs atrophy.” I gently placed my feet on the floor, standing slowly. Pain ripped through my body, but it was manageable. Martin stayed close behind me, hovering like a parent with a toddler. I finally made it out to the living room, where Bruce and Edgar were engaged in a lively conversation about war.

“Aye, during my time in Italy, I saw some horrid stuff” he grunted.

“Oh yes, my home was also war torn. I was a child, but I still remember. Luckily for me, my mother got us out.” Bruce’s face was somber. This was one of the few topics that put a frown on his face. When we were young, he had broken down crying, explaining his situation in Ethiopia to me. It was very gruesome.

“Was it nice when it wasn’t dangerous?” Christine asked. She leaned forward from her position on the floor, very interested in the topic.

“It is a lovely place. I go once a year to visit my father’s relatives. After he was killed, I promised his family I would stay in touch.” Bruce stared at his hands, reliving his nightmare. His father had been killed when he was 8. His mother packed him and his 6 other siblings up, moving them to Naples, Italy. My hometown.

“How did you two meet.” Richy asked curiously. He stared between Bruce and myself. I sat down in an empty armchair, grateful to be off of my feet. I wouldn’t say it, but walking had been painful.

“Before my parents moved to the US, Bruce and his family moved in down the road. We used to play together as children” I replied.

“You lived in Italy?” Chris asked. I looked at her, confused for a second. My past was not something I talked about much. It made sense that she didn’t know.

“Yes, I was born in Naples. I lived there until I was about 11.”

“Charlie was the one who perfected my Italian” Bruce giggled.

“I also taught you English” I smiled.

“Yes, that is true. But I also got you to learn my language!” Bruce faced Edgar, who sat next to him on the couch and began another conversation about travel. I looked to Christine and Richy, smiling wickedly. Richy sat in an armchair, with Chris on the floor in front of him. Richy played with her hair absently. They were getting closer. This also sparked my memory. Richard Dutton and Christine Daae from 1889 were engaged before they died. These two clicked together like puzzle pieces. Was this fated? Or was this coincidence?

A few hours later, Bruce and Martin had left back to their respective homes. Martin almost missed his flight, highly debating staying with us. It took convincing from Edgar and I for him to finally feel comfortable enough to leave. It was time to get back down to business. I spend the next 30 minutes explaining what I found at the library. I included what I received during my trip to the museum.

“Now that is insane” Richy cried with a grin. He thought I was joking.

“How do you think I feel? They found Carlotta’s head in a soup bowl” I scowled.

“This is one of those Indian soul exchanges” Edgar grumbled. I cocked my head, confused for a second.

“Do you mean reincarnation?” Christine cried.

“With all the shit here, its possible” Edgar replied.

“So what’s the new plan?” Richy sighed. I sat there thinking. We had no idea where Foster’s two other pages were.

“We have to find out where the other two pages went,” I murmured. Richy looked at me knowingly. There was only one way to get more information on this manuscript, and that was to go back to the museum for the archive record.

“One of us has to go back to the archive” Richy stated plainly. “I will go. I think I can get the information without being caught.” I nodded. I had already attracted too much attention to myself. Richy often hung out at the office, so seeing him there wouldn’t attract suspicion.

“See if you can contact that Davies fellow. Maybe he took the pages as security” Edgar ordered. His inner soldier was showing through. Richy nodded, rising from his seat. He left without another word. Leaving the rest of us to wait until he got back.

The hours ticked by slowly as we expected Richy’s return. We all talked very little to one another. Christine tried to get some sleep. Edgar went back to his apartment to retrieve the jewelry I had received. He spent the time examining the pieces for anything suspicious. Finally, he made a comment about the ring.

“Aye lass, this ring is the outlier.” I looked at him from my position on the couch, where I lay reading.

“What do you mean?” I replied, setting my book down.

“This one has no signifier. The other two have dates or names. This is just a ring.” Edgar examined the ring closely. “It makes me nervous.” I slowly sat up, wincing.

“Do you think it means something?”

“I dunno but I know who to ask. Bertha” Edgar eyed me with a smirk on his face. I rolled my eyes. Bertha was the building psychic. She was a large, ruddy woman who often had ‘premonitions’ about her neighbors. She lived in the apartment just below mine.

“I guess there are crazier things to do right now.” I sniffed, picking my book back up. Edgar laughed. He knew I thought she was full of shit, but it didn’t hurt to try. I sighed, waving Edgar off.

A little under 45 minutes later, Edgar came ripping through my door. Richy still had not returned, and I was beginning to get worried. Christine was still sleeping in my back room. I had checked on her a few times.

“Lass, Bertha is a saint!” he screeched. I looked up at him as he slammed down in an armchair. He pulled the ring out of his pocket, holding it out to me. “Ubel.”

I raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Ubel?” I replied.

“Aye, it means evil in German. Didn’t you mention a Caspar Ubel?” I had.

“What about him?”

“According to Bertha, this was his ring. There is a dark energy that encompasses it. This thing is like a radar beacon.” Again I rolled my eyes. Regardless of what happened before, I had a hard time believing this ring was the ancient equivalent to GPS.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well believe it, lass. Bertha is always right” When it came to her premonitions about me, that was beyond false. I played with the ring, letting its warmed surface roll against the skin of my hand. Suddenly, Richy came screaming through the door, slamming it behind him. The look on his face was of sheer terror.

“Davies is dead.” My face went pale.

“Dead?” I stammered.

“He was killed the same night Foster came to see you” Richy sat down on the couch, out of breath.

“What did you find?” Edgar roared, unphased by the unexpected news.

“The manuscript was donated to us by an anonymous patron. It came how it was.” The anonymous patron bit was starting to irritate me now. First my package, now this.

“So we need to find this patron. They must have the two missing pages.” Richy stammered.

“Where do we even begin?” I sighed. There was no way to track this person. I thought, through the pain that was beginning to form in my head. Without any warning, my fear returned. It added to the agony of my body. Foster was close. “He’s coming” I whispered.

Richy and Edgar looked at me wide eyed. “How do you know?” Richy asked.

“I just do. It’s this fear that takes over. I can’t explain it.”

Richy nodded in agreement. “I thought I was crazy, but I feel it too.”

“He’s very close” I stammered, my head falling into my hands. I had no idea what to do.

“He must be coming to give you hell about the pages. Rich, get Chrissy and meet me at my place.” Edgar barked, causing Richy to jump from his chair, rushing to my back room. I looked up at Edgar, his eyes bore into mine. “Lass, listen to me closely. Put that ring on.”

“Are you crazy?” I mumbled.

“Trust me. If you want to protect Chrissy, wear it.” I rolled this around my mind. I didn’t believe Bertha’s idiocy, but I trusted Edgar.

“What do I do?” I cried. I had no idea what I would say to Foster. I was not ready for another beating. Could feel Foster getting closer. The fear was accelerating rapidly. Edgar stood without a reply as Chris and Richy reappeared. Chris looked disheveled, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Come on, ya morons. To my flat” Edgar barked, following them out the door. I was alone again. The fear was too much. I shivered, the heat had been sucked from the room. I couldn’t bring myself to put the ring on, so I put it in my pocket and waited. Minutes ticked by, and Foster made no appearance. I decided to smoke to calm my nerves. I opened my balcony door, searching for the pack I left out previously. It was sitting on a small table I kept out there. I shakily picked one out, and lit it. Waiting was something I was not good at.

“Charlie” Foster’s voice called from behind me. I took a deep breath, wincing as I released it. Turning, I saw Foster leaning on the back of my couch, grinning maliciously. When I saw him, the fear was gone. I took a long drag from my cigarette, spewing smoke from my mouth.

“Come to finish the job?” I hissed. Foster laughed heartily. I didn’t see what was so funny. “At least be a dear and throw me from the balcony. 7 stories should do the trick.” He simply laughed harder. I leaned back on the balcony railing. My eyes never left him as I continued to smoke.

He recovered from his laughing fit. I could see him wiping tears from his eyes. They were a dark brown color. I had to hold back the vomit that was threatening to spill from my throat.

“Those things are bad for you” Foster cackled, gesturing to my guilty pleasure.

“If you haven’t noticed, I have a death wish” I replied, taking another long drag. He simply smiled at me.

“Did you find my pages?” he questioned.

“No. I checked the archive records. It was donated to the museum by an anonymous donor.”

“You have no record of this man?”

“No, whoever donated this didn’t wish to be mentioned. I have no way of figuring out who this person is. You are out of luck.” My tone was cool and even. My strength was building. Foster hummed thoughtfully. His eyes never leaving mine.

“No matter. I will figure it out. Where is Christine?”

“I told you I don’t know.” He rose, inching closer to me. I had the sudden urge to put my cigarette out on his skin. I wasn’t sure what that would do, but I was so angry I didn’t care.

“Don’t lie to me Charlie. I can feel her near” he growled. My eyes were wide. I had to think of something to do and fast. I stuck my hand into my pocket and felt the ring sitting there. I quickly pulled it out, letting his eyes roam to it.

“What is this?” I asked. His eyebrows rose as he stared at it. With lightning speed, his hand shot out, grabbing for the ring. I pulled my hand back, enclosing the ring in my fist.

“Where did you get that?” he bellowed.

“It was left on my desk at work. What is it?” I bellowed back. Foster took a few steps back, baring his teeth at me like a wild dog.

“It's mine! I need that!” My eyes narrowed. He seemed very frantic. I had never seen this before. I pulled the ring to my fingertips. Letting his eyes follow it.

“What if I put it on?” I smirked. I was toying with the devil. I chastised myself for ever doubting Edgar’s idea.

“Don’t you dare” he hissed.

“Why? What will happen?” I grinned devilishly. I took the ring in one hand and held out my thumb. Foster placed a hand out, silently pleading with me to stop.

“That ring is my contract.” he whispered softly. “It belongs to me.”

My eyes continued to stare into his as he inched closer. “What does it do?”

“I gave that to Christine.” he wasn’t answering my questions. So I decided to change topics.

“What is it about Christine that has made you want her for the last 100 years?” I asked. He stopped, puzzled by the question. His hands dropped to his side as he pondered.

“Her voice is beautiful.” came the reply. His eyes were still trained on the ring.

“She’s a ditz,” I laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the girl but she can be dumb as a bag of rocks.” Foster’s brow furrowed as his gaze fixed on me. He backed up even further, going back to his original position, leaning on the couch. He seemingly forgot about the ring, but I was still on guard.

“And you say you are her friend?” Foster quipped. He folded his arms across his chest, a small smile came across his lips.

“I am. I wouldn’t have gone through all of this if I didn’t think of her as a friend. That doesn’t mean I don’t think she can be an idiot sometimes. Her and Meg did some stupid things in New York.”

“Ah yes, Miss Giry.” His demeanor relaxed. We were now just having a pleasant conversation. The man who beat me senseless, caused so much terror and destruction was just chatting with me in my apartment. He had killed 2 people in the last week. What was I doing? “How long did you stay with them?”

“A year and a half.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I got an internship here.”

“What do you do for a living now?”

“I work in museum restorations. I basically clean and prepare artifacts for display.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“I do.” This line of questioning was odd. Why did he care about my life? He pursed his lips.

“The Carlotta I knew itched for fame. She could sing decently but her vanity ruined her voice. You are different.” The tone of his voice changed. His words were soft, almost hypnotic.

“I am not her. She was alive 100 years ago. What makes you think I have anything in common with her?”

“Most times, you are wrong. Christine never changed. You did. Why?” Idea’s rolled around in my mind. Maybe because it was 1990 and not 1890? I had the ability to go off and do what I want without needing the permission of my husband? I could go to school, get a Ph.D., and move to London without anyone standing in my way. Had he not realized this in over 200 years of living?

“Different time, different place” my reply was simple. He chuckled, looking me over. I didn’t like the look in his eyes. It was hungry.

“Now, give me my ring” he hummed hypnotically. I was uncomfortable. Repositioning the ring above my thumb, I gathered my will.

“You didn’t tell me what it would do if I put it on?” I smiled once more.

“Nothing. It binds my desires to me. Christine is my desire. If you put it on, I will simply come and take it from you. But you are welcome to try it on” his laugh intensified this uncomfortable feeling. He seemed to sure now. I raised an eyebrow, slipping it on to my finger with a smirk. I held my thumb out to him.

“Come and get it.” He gracefully rose, taking a few strides towards me. His gloved hand grabbed onto the ring pulling on it gently. It didn’t budge. My mouth dropped, eyes widening with disbelief. My mother always said my messing about would get me in trouble one day. His eyes looked down at me, panicked. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me close to him. I didn’t resist as he held my wrist in one hand and tugged on the ring with the other. It was stuck to my skin, not moving an inch. Recovering from my shock, I ripped away from him, trying to remove the ring myself. I pulled and pulled until my thumb hurt. I frantically looked up at him. He shared my frantic feelings. Foster backed away from me, his face turning from shock to rage. He turned and rushed out of the door, screaming.

“Where is Christine!” I ran after him, watching him stalk down the hall towards Edgar’s. He stopped at the door, pushing it open with one mighty smack. Edgar stood just beyond the debris of the door, pointing a rifle at him. Grimaced, letting out an audible growl. “Move old man.”

“Not bloody likely. You move, and I blow a hole in ye the side of the continent” Edgar laughed menacingly. He had no fear. Foster stood at the doorway, still as stone. His teeth gnashed.

“I swear you will be the first to go” Foster roared, but he still didn’t move. It was like he couldn’t walk into Edgar's apartment.

“Oh finding it hard to come in?” Edgar taunted, lowering his gun so his eyes met Foster’s. “I know me a witch son. You have no power here.”

Foster scoffed dismissively. “You think that old bitch from downstairs can keep me at bay? No, you have something you shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, I got your jewelry” Edgar sneered. Foster simply laughed, his smile twisting into rage once more. That was the moment I realized I was in a bad spot. I was standing to the side of Foster, peering into Edgar’s apartment. I was dangerously close to a dangerous man. Foster’s head turned sharply towards me, his all of his rage now pointed at me. I backed up slowly, as if I was dealing with a wild animal. His hand shot forward, grasping my chin firmly. I expected him to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he released my face, pushing past me, disappearing down the hall.

Chapter Text

“This is bad, this is so very bad” Christine mumbled, pacing around my apartment. We had returned to my place, since it was the closest place with a functioning door. I could hear Christine chanting this as I tried to pull the damn ring off of my thumb. I had tried everything from soap and water to pouring half a bottle of olive oil on my hand. It would not budge.

“Why won’t this fucking thing come off!” I roared, examining my raw thumb.

“It won’t come off until he takes it off or you die” Christine sobbed.

“He tried taking it off!” I screamed. Christine began to cry harder. Her hysterics were on my last nerve now. I held my composure. Tensions were high, and I was not going to let this bastard drive a wedge between everyone. United, we were strong. Divided, we were dead. I could hear Richy trying to calm Chris down. Edgar sat on the couch, pondering what Foster had said. My head was screaming. I began hearing a metallic screeching in my ears. I leaned against the counter, letting my head hang down. Shutting my eyes tight, I willed the screeching away in vain. I needed another cigarette. I walked quickly from the kitchen to the balcony, shutting the doors behind me.

The city was still bustling. People and cars moved about below me. I breathed as deep as my injuries would allow. Exhaling slowly. I heard the balcony doors open behind me. Someone slipped out, closing the glass-paned door behind them.

“So what are we gonna tell the landlord, lass” Edgar said, standing next to me. He looked over the city too. Taking in the relative peace of the outdoors.

“Someone broke in. It happened on floor 2, Jerry should understand,” I said stiffly. He nodded, in agreement.

“That ring means he can find you now.”

“I know.”

“What are ye gonna do.”

“I have no fucking clue” I murmured.

“Aye didn’t ye once tell me yer dad was in The Business?” I looked at Edgar suspiciously.

“Not anymore.”

Edgar laughed heartily. “Thats a lie if I ever heard one. If he's anything like you, he’s still doing shit behind your mum’s back.” He gazed at the cigarette pack that was now in my hand.

I nodded. “Yeah, you have a point.” I turned, going back inside. Richy and Christine were gone, but I could hear them in the back. She was still hysterical. I sat down and picked up the phone. I dialed nervously. As the phone rang, I almost hung up out of anxiety.

“Hello” a gruff voice came in Italian.

“Papa? It’s Lottie,” I replied in my native tongue.

“My gem, what a pleasant surprise” my father bellowed.

“Papa, I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything”

“Can you find a person for me?” My father was silent. I could hear him walking around.

“You know I don’t have that much sway anymore” he replied.

“I know you have been doing deals behind Mom’s back. Please, this is an emergency” I was bluffing. I had no idea what my father’s connections were like, but Edgar hadn’t been wrong yet.

“Fine, but don’t tell your mother. What do you need?” I sighed in relief.

“There is a manuscript at the museum. It’s called Don Juan Triumphant by Erik Destler. I need to know who owned it before it was donated.”

“That’s all?” he laughed. “I thought you were asking me if I could take care of someone.” I thought about mentioning Foster, but I wanted no more blood on my hands.

“Can you find them?”

“I am sure I can find out.” my father replied sweetly. “Lottie, what type of trouble are you in.”

I thought for a second, debating on how much of the truth I should tell him. “The museum wants to honor this donor. The manuscript is a one of a kind.” My father was silent. I cursed inwardly. He knew I was lying.

“You are a poor liar, my gem. I will find your manuscript owner. Give me a day or so.”

“Thank you, Papa.” With that, I hung up the phone. Edgar had reentered the apartment, smiling smugly.

“3 fer 3, eh?” he chuckled. I shook my head. Edgar was always right.

I had gone to sleep around 10 at night. Edgar slept on my couch, while Richy and Christine holed up in my spare room. Every time I drifted off, I heard my name being called. It was faint, but it was there. I wished, more than anything, that this ring would come off. My thoughts whirled around. I had so many questions, but very few answers. Why couldn’t Foster enter Edgar’s apartment? What did he have that he wasn’t supposed to? How were we going to protect Chris? Why couldn’t he get this damn ring off my finger? I wanted to scream or cry. I lay in bed, wide awake. Unable to put my mind to rest.

Eventually the sun rose, and I dragged myself out of bed. I made the strongest pot of coffee I could. Edgar was up when I walked into the living room. He was watching the news on my television. The newscaster talked about Davie’s murder. A pang of guilt stung at me.

“Aye, morning lass. I see ye made coffee.”

“It’s in the kitchen if you want some” I motioned behind me as I leaned against the kitchen door frame. The coffee helped my mood, but I was still exhausted.

“I think I will” Edgar replied, walking into the kitchen. I walked over to my couch and sat down. Watching some story about the USSR. People kept saying it was going to collapse soon. Lots of minor rebellions were happening in the outer Slavic countries. I was unsure, but this newscaster seemed convinced. A scream from my phone shook me from the television. I furrowed my brow before picking up.

“Lottie?” My father’s voice called.

“Papa? You found him already?”

“Yes. He lives in our neighborhood!” I blinked in utter confusion. Edgar walked out to the kitchen, content with his coffee when he saw the look on my face. He sat down next to me on the couch, trying to listen in. We were speaking in Italian, but I let Edgar listen, even if he probably didn’t understand.

“Where?”

“At the end of the block” I searched my thoughts.

“Where Mrs. Dryer used to live?”

“Yes, he just moved in.”

“What’s his name.”

“Caspar Ubel” Papa replied. My blood went cold. The ring on my finger burned for a minute at the sound of his name.

“Alright, I am coming home.”

“You are?” he said excitedly.

“Yes, I will be there in the next day or so.” I said a quick goodbye before hanging up the phone. I looked over at Edgar, who was white as a ghost.

“Lass, I am going with you” he stammered. I looked at him with surprise.

“You understood that?” I questioned.

“Aye, ye can’t expect me to have fought in the Battle of Anzio without knowing Italian.” I shrugged. At least I knew he was a WW2 vet now. I looked around the room, the wheels of my mind were turning.

“If we go to New York. He will follow,” I murmured, thinking about the danger I was putting my parent’s in.

“Aye, but for our sake, we need to talk to Ubel.” I sat back, mentally preparing to go back home.

Later that night, everyone was gone. Edgar went back home to pack. Christine and Richy had gone to his home to do the same. Christine refused to leave his side, fearing Foster would hurt him further. I wasn’t sure what she could do about it, but it was nice to not hear hysterics for a while. We were all exhausted and tired of one another. It was nice to be alone, even though I was nervous. Martin had called, I told him I was going to my parents' house. He approved, and we planned to meet in New York a few days after I arrived. Hearing his voice soothed me. I did not know what I would do without him.

Richy called me later that night, saying That he couldn’t get a flight out of London until the next day. Christine refused to let Richy travel alone, rebooking her ticket for the next day as well. I gave him my parents address and phone number, begging him to call me when they landed in New York. He promised he would, comforting my anxieties about being separated from them.

I still couldn’t sleep. The voices were driving me mad. My name was being called constantly. I paced my apartment, doing little things that required no concentration. Finally, I collapsed on my bed, utterly drained. I stared at my ceiling. I didn’t know where to go from here. Everything was confusing. My ribs ached, and my head spun. I cursed Foster. I hated him. Without warning, the fear crept back. He was close. I closed my eyes, trying to will away the crippling fear. I screamed internally for him to go away. I didn’t want to see him.

“Pleasant evening?” Foster’s voice rang through my room. I jumped, instantly regretting the sharp movements. Foster laughed, his shoes clicking on the floors as he got closer to me. I stood up to face him. I was too tired for his shit.

“What do you want? Breaking and entering is a crime you know” I hissed violently. He came closer, his body inches from mine.

“I want my ring back,” he hissed. His mannerisms were snake like.
“Then take it. I don’t fucking want it” I screamed, holding my hand out to him. The ring glistened malevolently. It burned intensely.

“I-I can’t” he whispered.

“Why not?” I growled. He stayed silent. My eyes widened in horror. This ring bound his desires to him. That meant I was his desire. The thought sent a chill through me. I put my hand back down. I needed to leave. I slowly began walking along the side of my bed. Foster followed me, taking one step towards me for every step I took.

“You are different, Charlie. Something is interesting about you” he spoke softly.

“There is nothing interesting about me.”

“Oh, how wrong you are. You don’t reek of fear like the others. You can feel me. Christine may have the voice I want, but you have everything else.” I was finally parallel with the bedroom door.

“You are absolutely insane.”

“Maybe,” He was speaking hypnotically again. The voices in my head subsided, and my mind was calm for the first time in days. Life drained from me. I was so tired, I could have fallen asleep right there. I couldn’t, I needed to get out of here. I bolted for the door, spilling into the hallway. I ran as fast as I could, but it wasn’t fast enough. As I entered the living room, the front door in sight, I felt Foster’s fingers slide through my hair. With a sharp yank, he pulled me back. I slammed against him, his fingers gripped my hair tightly. I could feel his breath on my neck as he leaned in closer to me. “Going somewhere, my dear?”

“Let me go” I cried, trying to pull away from him. His hand slid around my neck, his fingers gently rubbing around the nape of my neck.

“I should just end you right here. Things will go back to normal” his lips rubbed against my cheek. They felt fake. Like cold plastic was rubbing against my skin. His grip on my hair softened as he immersed himself in the moment. My hands shot to my neck, grabbing his hand defensively. He chuckled, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

“What do you want?” I choked. Suddenly I felt his hand grip my hair. He pulled my blonde curls tighter than before.

“Unfortunately, you,” he growled. I could feel his teeth scrape against my neck before he bit down. I screamed, his teeth tore into the soft flesh of my neck. I could feel blood trickle down my shoulder. He finally released, pushing me away from him. I grabbed at the wound as I turned to him in terror. His lips were drenched in my blood. He laughed once more, his eyes never leaving me. The hungry look was back. I retreated slowly, making sure to never take my eyes off of him.

“Stay away from me” I cried.

“You brought this on yourself, my dear” he cackled. “You put on the ring, you invited a monster into your life. You can’t back out now. I want you, and I always get what I want.” Tears spilled from my eyes. Thoughts of what he was going to do to me pulsed through my mind. “No one can help you.” I was panicking. I began hyperventilating. My legs finally gave out as I crashed into the floor. Our eyes were locked. I was too terrified to look away.

A knock came, followed by Edgar’s voice. “Lass, it's almost time to go.”

Foster looked at me, seething with anger. He walked to me, kneeling down to my level. “Where are you going?” he hissed quietly. I said nothing, staring at him with pure contempt. “Tell me.” Still I said nothing. I hear Edgar take hold of the doorknob. He was going to come in.

“I guess you will have to find out” my reply was soft, but my eyes were hard. Foster grimaced, quickly getting up and walking back down the hallway towards my bedroom just as Edgar's face appeared from behind the door.

I sprang up, not looking away from the hall. “Good god, what happened here?” Edgar rushed to my side, tilting my head to examine the wound.

“He was here again” my voice was quiet. I must have been a sight, standing there looking like a wild bear had mauled me. “Edgar, don’t ever leave me alone again.”

Our flight from London to New York was calm. Most people slept on red eye flights. I finally knew how Chris felt when she came to me that first night. I was paranoid, seeing Foster’s face in every person that walked just a little too close to my person. Unlike Christine, Foster seemed to be enraged by my presence. As far as I was concerned, Foster treated Chris much better than me.

From the moment Edgar and I took our seats on the plane, I sat as still as I could for the entire flight. My body ached, and my love bite, as Edgar affectionately coined it, throbbed. The scarf I used to hide it was soothing against my irritated skin. The flight attendants looked towards me with sorrow after every bump. It must have been very obvious I was in pain. Edgar did his best to keep me loaded with ibuprofen, but it was all in vain.

True to his word, Edgar didn’t leave my side as we made our way from LaGuardia to my parents' home. It was a little after six in the morning when we finally arrived. As I approached my stoop, I noticed two things. I could hear my mother screaming inside. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but my guess was she knew my father was still doing unsavory things behind her back. I also noticed three men sitting on the steps leading to the front door. I knew all of them. They were footmen for my father. Jack, Giovanni and Phillip were three burly men, who looked like they could snap your neck by looking at you.

“Hey Lottie” Gio smiled, rising from his place.

“Hey Gio” I smiled in return. “Did mom find out?”

He rubbed his scruffy black hair in embarrassment. “Yeah, but Franco is handling it.” I scoffed, preparing myself for this new nightmare. Gio and Jack looked over at Edgar, immediately running to him when they saw his luggage. I turned, giving a small introduction.

“Jack, Gio, Phil, this is Edgar Harris. He’s a friend from London.” I let them sort out a more thorough introduction. Moving to the front door, I quietly let myself in just in time to see my mother throw a glass at my father’s head. It shattered against the wall behind him, raining shards on her thick carpet floor. She continued screeching in Italian.

“You liar. You told me you were out!” she roared. My father said nothing, preparing to dodge another cup my mother clutched in her well-manicured fingers. I poked my head into the dining room, looking my mother in the eyes. She lowered her cup, her face changing from anger to disbelief and back to anger in a flash. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too mom” I replied. My mother looked to my father and then back to me before going back to her tirade.

“Don’t tell me you are involved with your stupid father! All that money we spent on your education, and you go into crime.”

“I am not becoming a gangster” I laughed. Even if I wanted to, the work my father did was not too kind to women. My brother was another story. My mother huffed, slamming the cup down on the table. She grimaced at my father, before returning to the kitchen, my mother’s home base. I looked to my father, who sat down wearily in a chair. “What happened Papa?”

“Eh? Your mother caught the call I had made for you.” I felt guilty, but my father did not sound remorseful at all.

“I thought you were done with all of this?” The look he shot me told me, never. The house was calmer now, which prompted Edgar’s entrance. My father immediately stood, his dark eyes glaring at Edgar. I had never told them about Edgar coming with me. Understandably, my father was wary. “Papa, this is Edgar. He’s my friend.”

“Pleasure sir. Edgar Harris reporting fer duty.” The look of bemused delight on his face was warming. Edgar walked directly to my father, shaking his hand firmly.

“I am Franco. My wife is Lucretia.” My father’s English was good, but odd. He spoke very formally. Edgar remedied this by continuing his conversation in Italian, which pleased my father. I winced, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to introduce the two. They seemed too chummy already.

My mother popped her head from the kitchen. Her eyebrow raised in confusion. I knew she heard my introduction of Edgar, but she wasn’t expecting the Scottish accented Italian coming from him.

“You are hungry. I am making food” she sniffed haughtily, before returning to the kitchen. It wasn’t a question. Edgar smiled, obviously delighted with my family. I rolled my eyes, I guess someone had to enjoy their nonsense. Edgar, Papa, and I sat down at the dining room table. My father was not one to beat around the bush. He always got right down to business.

“I have that address for you,” Papa said, pulling a scrap of paper out of his coat pocket. I grabbed it, recognizing the address immediately.

“Thank you.” I replied, stuffing it into my pant pocket. “We will pay him a visit later today.”

“We? No, you.” I looked at him with confusion.

“Me? No Edgar is coming too.”

“No, Ubel said he wanted to just see you. He tried calling but you left before he could make the arrangements.” I looked at Edgar suspiciously. How did he have my phone number?

“Alright, but I am taking Jack with me.” I sputtered. My father glared at me with concern. I had told him nothing, and I planned on keeping him in the dark.

“Call Ubel to confirm when you are coming.”

“Wait what?”

“He called last night asking for you to call him when you arrived.” I shook off my confusion, simply accepting the strangeness of the situation. I rose, going to the living room to make my call. I took the piece of paper my father gave me, locating the phone number under the address. I dialed, pensive at what would answer.

“Charlie, good of you to call” a deep voice called to me.

“Mr. Ubel?” I stammered.

“Please, just Ubel.”

“Alright. I was thinking I could come by around noon?” I didn’t want to walk around outside after the sunset. That seemed to be Foster’s favorite time to strike.

“Unfortunately I have a prior engagement. Stop by around 7 tonight. Edgar must stay with your parents.” I gulped, this man unnerved me. I didn’t think anyone could make me feel more anxiety than Foster, but I was dead wrong.

“I don’t feel comfortable going alone. I am going to take someone.”

There was a pause. With a click of his tongue, his reply came swiftly. “Yes, Jack may come. But he must stay outside.” Suddenly, the phone went dead. I looked at the receiver. My brow furrowed. I walked back into the dining room as my mother slammed down plates in front of Edgar and my father. They were filled to the brim with food. I sat back down, the stone in my stomach churning at the smell of their dishes. My mother looked at me suspiciously, before returning to the kitchen. She returned with another plate, slamming it down in front of me.

As Edgar and my father ate, they talked about my father’s favorite subject, Italy. I shifted the food around my plate with my fork, listening to their reminiscing. Something didn’t feel right. I shoved my feelings deep inside, nibbling on what I could.

“So what business are you in?” Edgar whispered. My father and I stopped, staring at him. My mother’s head poked from the kitchen again.

“He is in the shipping business” she screeched before returning to the kitchen. The banging of dishes showed her displeasure. My father folded his hands on the table, before replying.

“I work in imports. Shipping from Naples to New York.” I rolled my eyes. Just like my father to try and be the mysterious gangster.

“Guns. He imports guns” I hissed. Memories of my childhood came flooding back. My father had been a part of the Mafia in the 60’s and 70’s. He did a lot of unsavory things for them. After his boss was arrested in the early 80’s, his business came to a grinding halt. He must have resumed in the last few years. When I moved out for college, he had promised my mother he was done for good, choosing to import luxuries from that day forward.

Edgar nodded silently. He seemed to resonate with my father’s words. “Aye, I was in a similar business in my youth. Bein’ a youngin’ from a poor neighborhood, ya do what ye can to feed yer family.” I didn’t know much about Edgar’s past. It’s not something we ever really discussed. It was interesting to hear about his life.

The night came quickly. Not uncommon for winter in New York. My anxiety was at its peak. I was highly anticipating this meeting with Ubel. I felt like I was going to my own execution. I also hadn’t heard from Richy or Christine. They should have landed by now. Their flight was only a few hours after mine. Something was horribly, terribly wrong. I had called Richy’s apartment with no answer. The only thing I could do was wait, and pray Foster hadn’t found them.

At 6:45, I mustered enough courage to start on my journey to the address. It was less than a five minute walk, but I would need time to hype myself up enough to even ring the doorbell. I grabbed Jack from his continued position on the stoop, and we were off. Edgar waved me off from a window. I could feel his thoughts wishing me luck as I walked out of his line of sight.

Jack and I walked down the street slowly. The road was beginning to empty out. Children ran into their houses with the call of dinner. Others could be seen coming home after a long day. The windows we passed glowed warmly. Some sense of relief passed through me. This is where I grew up. I felt comfortable in New York. In Italy, there was always a sense of dread. I feared someone would come and kill my father. I knew New York was no different, but I still felt safer here.

Jack walked behind me silently. He was not much of a talker, which was a blessing for me. I didn’t feel like talking. I could see him watching the street closely. I glanced at him, realizing I should probably tell him to look out for Foster.

“Jack, I have something to tell you. Please don’t tell my dad” I began. I could see Ubel’s house coming up quickly. “There is a man who has been following me.” Jack stopped, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong?” His face was dark, looking around more frantically now.

“His name is David Foster. He looks unassuming but he is dangerous” I pulled the scarf covering my wound down to show him. I hadn’t taken it off at all since I left for New York. Jack’s eyes widened in horror. The wound was now swollen and red. Clear teeth marks could be seen in my skin, outlined in purple bruises. I replaced the scarf, wincing as it touched my still open wound. The bleeding had stopped, but the bite was so deep, scabs were having a difficult time forming completely.

“If he comes, I will take care of him,” Jack growled.

“Just be careful. He has killed 2 men so far. I don’t want there to be another.” Jack nodded, and we continued our walk.

We stood in front of the house. It’s windows were covered by thick curtains. No lights emanate from the facade. I looked at Jack, as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a single cigarette, lighting it with a match that came out of nowhere. He took a long drag, nodding his approval for me to go inside. I stared at the front door. Preparing myself for whatever was inside. I walked up to the door, ringing the doorbell once. The dark wood swung open immediately, but I saw no one there to greet me. Mustering all of my courage, I walked into the home. The door slammed behind me, causing me to jump. A lamp glowed dimly on a small end table. A phone and notebook stood proudly next to it. I looked around for any signs of life. There were none. I looked up the dark staircase, into what I assumed to be the living room and dining room. All of these houses had a very similar layout. There was nothing. No light, no sound, no people.

“Good evening, Carlotta” Ubel’s deep voice made me jump. I turned back towards the door, to see him standing there, smiling. I stared at him, I was not expecting this to be Ubel. He was a little person, dressed in a fine black suit. His features were soft, and pleasant. His dark hair was done with an expert’s hand, smoothed back to perfection. His dark eyes twinkled at me, complimenting his smile.

“It’s Charlie now” I replied, grimacing at my old name.

“Short for Charlotte?”

“Yes, but Charlie is preferred.” He walked towards me, gazing at me whimsically.

“I assume you have many questions.”

“More than you know.” His deep laugh made me shutter. He would have been a wonderful radio personality with a voice like that. Ubel beckoned for me to follow, walking past me and into the next room. As he entered, the lights flicked on. The room was very luxurious, with wood furniture, and antiques littering the area. I followed, mimicking his movements as he sat down. He reached over to a small end table next to him. He picked up a green folder with a marbled pattern. Reaching out, he offered it to me silently. I took it, and opened it to see two sheets of music. They were the missing pages from Foster’s manuscript. I looked back up at Ubel, his smile still hadn’t faded.

“You already know some of this story, Charlie” he began. I placed the folder in my lap, listening intently. “I will fill in some more. I was the one who made Destler. All of his power comes from me. I made a deal with him long ago. He wanted his music to be loved, and I gave that to him. In return he needed to pay me. He has yet to do so. I took two pages from his manuscript, to lure him to me. His debts must be paid. Unfortunately he has become infatuated with Miss. Daae. For centuries he has chased her, ignoring his debt.”

I saw Ubel’s soft features twisted into a look of pure spite. The room darkened, as his hands curled into fists. As quickly as his rage began, it ended. The light in the room brightened, as he composed himself.

“Why did you give them to me then?” I was baffled. He seemed to be more than capable enough to handle Foster.

“This is where I have to apologize, Charlie” Ubel said softly. “I am a greedy man. I want him to pay for his transgressions. I also cannot do this myself. I am not allowed to end a contract. The contract must be ended for me. If he cannot perform his end of the contract, there ceases to be a contract...” Ubel stopped, his face turning to the only window in the room. It was covered, but he was definitely noticing something.

The room was getting cold. I suddenly realized I felt intense fear. The fear I only felt when Foster was around. I looked at Ubel, making my fear very known. “He’s here, isn’t he.”

“Of course. He seems to fancy you now. Christine is weak, I couldn’t rely on her. Now that his interests have changed to someone more reliable…” Ubel trailed off again.

“What do you want from me?” I sighed.

“I need you to finish this for me. All you have to do is give him the pages. Wait for him to put it together. Then I need you to destroy it. Completely. No trace of it can be left.”

“How do I do that?”

“You are a smart girl, you will figure it out. I will warn you, destroying the opera does not destroy him. I will deal with that once your end is complete.”

“What if I can’t? What if he kills me before I can destroy the manuscript?” Ubel smiled, and I took that to mean that failure was not an option. My hands shook as fear belted me. This was not going to be pleasant. I looked to the heavily curtained window, thankful I couldn’t see outside. I was safe here, and leaving would be hard.

“How did you meet your husband, Charlie?” My head returned to him. I was going to ask how he knew I was married, but remembered I was basically in the presence of an all-knowing thing.

“Richy introduced us.”

“Explain.” he demanded.

“I was working in London, and Richy invited me to one of his high society parties. Martin was there, but I didn’t pay him much attention. I thought he was boring. After that day I kept conveniently running into him. At the time, my permanent residence was in L.A. I stayed with Richy when I came to London. One night Martin called me in Los Angeles and asked me out. Things went well from there, and a few years later, we got married.” I didn’t understand why this was important.

“Why him?”

“I just love him. He is sweet, caring, stable and he lets me be my stubborn self. I can’t explain it any other way. Why?”

“Different time, different place” Ubel chuckled. “This happens from time to time. One small thing changes, and everything follows. It’s interesting to see what it takes for things to be different.” He rose from his chair, walking past me and towards the front hall. Stopping at the doorway, he stared into the now pitch black hall. “You may stay as long as you like. I know the fear can be paralyzing to humans. But don’t keep him waiting too long.” With that, Ubel disappeared into the blackness, leaving me with my thoughts.

Chapter Text

I stood at the front door, bracing myself for what could be waiting for me outside. I had sat in Ubel’s living room for 15 minutes before gathering the strength to walk to the door. 5 minutes more passed before I grabbed the doorknob and opened the door. I quickly walked outside, letting the door slam behind me. Jack was nowhere to be seen. I began to panic, rushing down the stairs to look for him. It wasn’t like him to leave a post. Looking back towards my parents' house, I saw the flashing red lights of an ambulance parked in the street. A crowd of people surrounded it. I held on to the folder as tightly as I could and began walking towards the commotion. I was suddenly grabbed and turned the opposite direction.

“Easy lass, we are going to go this way” Edgar's voice rang out. I looked, he had a hand on my arm, gently pulling me around the corner. Keeping up with his footsteps was hard. Edgar was not very tall. He was a few inches taller than my 5’4”. But his stride was one of a much taller man.

“What happened?” I cried.

“Foster got a hold of Jack. He’s in bad shape.” A pang of guilt stabbed at me. If Jack died, this would be number 3.

Edgar walked me down the street and into a waiting cab. He bangged on the seat and the driver sped off immediately, dodging through traffic. “Where are we going?” I asked. Gripping the folder tighter.

“Richy’s” came the curt reply. I nodded, relieved to hear that they made it safely. I knew Richy’s parents had a home in New York. Then again, I couldn’t think of a place they didn’t own a home. They were insanely wealthy.

The entire ride took about 25 minutes. There was silence permeating the cab. We pulled up to a lavish building outside of Central Park. Edgar pulled me out of the cab, and into the building. No one questioned us as we walked to an open elevator. Usually, in posh apartments, they wanted everything but a vial of blood in order to walk through the door. Richy must have talked to the staff. We went to the top floor, exiting with lightning speed. Edgar walked to a door, knocking on it exactly four times. Richy opened up, his eyes were swollen and red. He pulled me inside, into a tight embrace. Edgar dashed in, closing and bolting the door behind him.

Richy hugged me for a long while. He released me, his eyes were now flooded with tears. I looked around the apartment. Its exquisite monochomatic interior was missing one thing, Christine.

“Where is Chris?” I stammered.

“She's gone” Richy sputtered.

“Gone?”

“Aye, the monster got her. Richy called not long after you left. He ambushed them at the airport. When Gio found Jack, I dashed ta get ya lass” Edgar hissed. “I ain’t losing anyone else.”

“Richy, what happened?”

“We landed. As we waited for a cab, Foster pulled her into the crowd. I lost her. So easily, ” he moaned. I stared at him, not knowing what to say.

“Did ya get the pages?” Edgar broke through my silence. I held up the marbled folder. He grabbed it, flipping it open.

“Ubel wants me to return them to him.”

“Aye, devil’s work together” Edgar roared, snapping the folder closed again.

“Ubel wants him gone. The only way to break the contract is to destroy the manuscript.”

“Then let’s start with these” Edgar stormed towards the kitchen in a fit of rage. I ran after him, stopping him before he left the room.

“No! The manuscript needs to be put back together. Then we have to destroy it. Nothing can be left.”

“How do we get a hold of the rest of the manuscript?” Richy hiccuped.

“Aye, did the bastard say?”

“No. He said I would figure it out” I murmured. Suddenly, an idea crossed my mind. Meg had the other part of the manuscript. If we could get one part, maybe we could convince Foster to give us the rest? It was a weak plan, but I had nothing else. “We need to get Meg’s part of the manuscript. If we have one part, maybe we can finesse the other part from Foster. She still lives in the same apartment.”

Richy and Edgar looked at one another, contemplating my idea. “Call her,” Richy said, pointing to the phone.

“No, let’s just go. If he hasn’t gotten to Meg already, we don’t have time for phone calls” I hissed, dashing for the door. Richy and Edgar followed.

We were standing in the rundown hall of my old apartment. Soothing memories of a happier time filled my mind as I knocked on the door. As the seconds ticked by, and Meg didn’t come to the door, I filled with worry. As if Meg could hear my thoughts, the door swung open. There she stood, her frizzy curls pulled back into a ponytail. She pushed her wire rimmed glassed up in disbelief. “Charlie?”

I slammed myself into her, hugging all of my worry away. Edgar pushed us all into the apartment, attempting to lock the door behind us.

“Is the damn lock broken?” he roared.

“Y-yes, the landlord won’t fix it” Meg stammered. I released her, trying not to burst into tears.

“Charlie, what are you doing here? Did you hear from Chris?” Now her voice was panicked.

“She stayed with me in California for a while. She said she was being stalked. I haven’t seen her in a few days. I thought she had come home” I lied, but Meg was the last person I wanted involved. I looked around the apartment quickly. It looked the same. A tiny two-bedroom piece of shit that Meg and Christine paid way too much for. I looked back to Meg, who looked up at me confused. “Meg, do you still have Chris’ audition piece?”

“Yeah, I have been doing a report on it.” she smiled softly. Out of the three of us who lived there, Meg was always willing to talk about music. I smiled back, remembering the 4 hour lecture she gave me on some composer. “You know, Faustian works are quite interesting-”

“Not now, girl” Edgar hissed. “Do ye have the manuscript?” Meg nodded, disappearing into her room. She appeared again, the manuscript in hand. Edgar grabbed it, charging for the door. Meg ran to stop him, but I held her back.

“Charlie, I have to bring that back!” she cried. Edgar opened the door, gazing down both ends of the hall. He looked back, signalling we had the all clear.

“Meg, please trust me” I replied. She looked at me with wide eyes. I felt so bad, but we had no other choice.

“Please, just tell me what’s going on?”

“Come with us, we will explain everything,” I said. Richy looked at me warily. I returned the look. I wasn’t about to leave her at the hands of Foster. Meg nodded, running back to her room for her things. She trusted so easily, just like Christine. Moments later she returned, ready to go. I pushed her ahead of me, Richy followed. Edgar led the way down the hall, like a soldier on a battlefield. We reached the stairs and began our descent. After reaching the bottom, Edgar stopped us. He pressed himself against the wall next to the door, motioning for Meg to back up. She complied. He slipped the door open a crack, peering through the slit. Softly closing the door, he looked me dead in the eye.

“Run” he whispered. My eyes widened as he threw me the manuscript and folder. He didn’t need to tell me twice. I grabbed Meg, and we ran. The service entrance was on the other side of the building, one level lower. Through the twisting hallways, we entered the basement. It was filled with old furniture and building scraps. As we waded through to the door, I saw the shiny new padlock.

Richy slammed his fists into the door, in a vain attempt to open it up. I stood back with Meg. This was it. There was no other way out but the way we came.

“Charlie, what’s happening!” Meg was in a blind panic. I stood there, unable to answer her. Fear gripped my body. I gulped, looking back. There was Foster, grinning wildly.

“Richy” I called as I turned.

“A few rats trapped in a corner” he giggled, approaching us. It was like the debris wasn’t even there for him. The snap of wood and tile rang through the silent room. I pushed Meg behind me. Richy sprinted to my side, ready for a fight. “The dashing prince comes to the aid of the princess.”

“Leave them alone” Richy growled. With a single movement, Foster produced a knife, stabbing into Richy one swift movement. He stared in shock, as his hands flew to his stomach. Blood poured from the wound instantly. With a single gasp, he fell to the floor with a thunk. Meg screamed, backing away. I held my ground. I refused to let him near Meg. It was me he wanted.

“Leave her alone. I will go,” I cried, trying to distract Foster with my submission.

“Oh, that’s not how this works, Charlie.” Without thinking, I slammed my body into his. We went tumbling to the floor.

“Run!” I screamed at Meg, as I attempted to pin Foster down. She tried to dash past us. Foster reached out his hand, grabbing her leg. She squeaked as she lost her footing and went tumbling to the ground. I saw her head hit the end of an old table before she landed. The world slowed as she went limp. “Meg...” my voice trailed off.

She didn’t respond. I could see blood beginning to pool around her head. Her eyes were glued open as she lay there. There was no life in her now. Rage filled me. I looked over to Foster and reared back my fist. I punched him in the face with all my might. It terrified me when his face molded to my hand unnaturally. Springing to my feet, I grabbed the manuscript, running for the door. I bolted back through the basement, and to the front entrance. I looked for Edgar on my way out, but he was nowhere to be seen. I hit the street, continuing my sprint. I ran for over two blocks before running out of steam.

I stopped, leaning against a wall, trying to catch my breath. Tears streamed from my eyes. They were dead, all of them. The one I felt the worst about was Meg. Richy, Edgar and I knew what we were getting ourselves into. Death was a possibility, that was a fact. Meg didn’t know anything. There was never a chance to explain what was going on. There was no consent in her fate. Life wasn’t fair, but this was downright cruel. I slammed my fist into the wall. I finally felt the pain my body had been suppressing. My ribs ached, and now my fist did. I had nothing left to give. I hung my head down, smothering my sobs.

“That was quite a fight.” I carefully raised my eyes. Through my tears, I could see Foster standing there. A grin still plastered on his smug face. My rage came roaring back as I threw his manuscript at him, as hard as my body would allow. He dodged it with ease. It landed on the pavement with a thud. Foster moved briskly towards me. With another silky movement, his fist reached for me and I was out like a light.

I was conscious. I knew I was somewhere, inside. I could feel light on me. I cracked open an eye, shutting it quickly when I was accosted with a bright white light. It speared through my head, causing stars to form behind my eyelids. Feeling for my limbs, panic swept over me when I couldn’t move them. After a few moments, I realized I was restrained. I could feel the rope that tied me around my wrists. My legs were also bound. Feeling began to return to my entire body as my awareness grew. I tried opening an eye again. The light wasn’t so bad now. I opened both eyes slightly, trying to steady my vision. I was in a room with cool blue walls and very bright lights. I squeezed my eyes shut. My head did not like the brightness. I could hear paper in the distance. Someone was rifling through papers. I turned my head to the side, looking for the source of the sound. My neck cracked as I moved. Hissing in pain, I closed my eyes again. It felt like I hadn’t moved in days.

“Be easy, you have had a rough week” Foster whispered. He was dangerously close to me, but I couldn’t tell where. Then it hit me. He said a rough week. I opened my eyes once more, still unable to see anything but blobs of color.

I felt Foster's fingers brushing against my body. I shivered in an uncontrolled response. He chuckled softly, obviously amused by my reaction. I swore that from this moment on, I would control my reactions as much as possible.

I parted my lips to say something. My mouth was bone dry as I breathed, “Fuck off.” Another laugh rang through the room. I boiled at the thought of him enjoying this.

“You have fight in you, still. I like that.” Foster cried.

“You have no idea what fight is, yet” I hissed. I finally had my bearings. I turned my head, opening my eyes to see the fuzzy shape of Foster looming over me.

“I plan to find out” a feral smile was plastered on his face. He placed his hand, gently, on my face, caressing my cheek. I could feel his warm flesh on mine. Unbridled fury poured into me. I wanted to break every finger on his goddamn hand. I wished I was stronger in this moment, because it would have been a fight to the death. His hand retracted, now untying the ropes around my wrists. My hands fell, landing with a thud on something soft. He proceeded to do the same for my ankles. Letting each of them drop in place. I brought my hands to my body. They tingled, as blood returned to them. My shoulder joints begging me to stop moving. I turned to my side, bring my legs up so I was in a fetal position. I closed my eyes in agony. I just wanted everything to stop.

“What did you do to me?” tumbled out weakly.

“Ah, well you did put up quite a fight. I thought a blow to the head would do the trick. Alas I was wrong. I had to put you down with something of my own design. I am quite proud of it.” That made my rage subside for a second. Knowing I put up a decent fight soothed my heart but the fact that he drugged me made my anger return. I could hear Foster’s footsteps as he walked to my side. I didn’t have enough energy to move away. He came closer. I could feel his eyes on me, but he didn’t touch me. Instead I heard him fiddling with something. I didn’t want to find out what it was, so I kept my eyes shut.

“Where is Christine?” I breathed. I had almost forgotten about her. I hadn’t even had the active thought before the question came out of my mouth.

“Safe. She is preparing for her performance” he replied.

“You’re still on that?” I mumbled defiantly. I felt his finger twist through my hair, yanking my head upwards. I yelled, grasping at his hand instinctively.

“Watch what you say. I am not in the mood for insolence” his hand released me. I tumbled back down, my joints screaming from the sharp movement. Without another word, Foster walked away. I could hear a door open and shut, before silence set in. I snapped my eyes open, trying to get a clear vision of the room I was in. Everything was still blurry, but I could make out a very sparse room. Next to me was a small table, with a few items scattered on it. I knew one of them was a glass, but I couldn’t make out the rest. I put a hand on what I was laying on. It was some sort of bed. I looked to my feet to see if I could make out what I had been tired too. It was a dark, metal bed frame. It was very old fashioned. Like something a child would have in their bedroom.

My mind screamed at me to get up. Panic was setting in. If I stayed here, I would die. Ubel needed the manuscript destroyed. Summoning all of the strength I could find in my fragile state, I pushed myself up, collapsing back immediately. I cursed to myself, attempting again. It took me four tries before I was sitting on the edge of the bed. A wave of nausea swept through me. It took a few moments for it to subside. I felt proud of myself for making it this far. Now, to walk. I placed a foot on the floor, steadying myself before daring to place the other foot next to it. The moment I stood, I realized this was a bad idea. I felt my legs give out. My head snapped downward, causing my face to hit the floor. I could feel blood pouring from my nose. This was turning out to be far worse than I anticipated. I picked myself up, watching red droplets hit the floor softly.

“My, my, this is unexpected” Foster’s voice cracked with delight. I looked up to see him standing at the open door. I hadn’t even heard him enter the room. He strode towards me, brazenly lifting me up to my feet. I couldn’t hold myself up. He remedied this by leaning me against him. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself too badly.” He sat me down on the bed once more, lifting my face to examine my nose.

“It won’t kill me” I sighed. Foster clicked his tongue, dropping my face. My head lolled forward. Blood was now dripping on my jeans. The room was suddenly cold. I shivered uncontrollably as the world began to spin. The entire exercise drained me dry.

Foster was now fiddling with some of the unknown things on the table. He was silent as he did his task. I sat there trying to regain my composure, a task that was more difficult than I expected. My nose now hurt. I hoped I hadn’t broken it.

“In three days Christine will sing my opera.” he said suddenly. My hands gripped the edge of the bed at the sound of her name. I looked up at him, he was turned away from me, I was just able to see the side of his face. As my vision cleared, I noticed a peak of a smile. He was taunting me. Deriving some sick pleasure from it. “After that, I have no need for either of you.” The laugh that came from his mouth was absolutely evil. I thought for a moment. He was lying. He didn’t need me in the first place. I was some toy he could play with until I broke.

“Well, then I have to think of something before then, won’t I?” I raised my head, glaring at him intensely. I couldn’t help but taunt him back. I was so angry. I was tired of being terrorized. He reached for my chin, gripping it firmly in his fingers. His face was close to mine.

“Don’t you see, stupid girl? It’s over. There is nothing left for you.”

“I won’t stop, not until I am cold and dead.” I snapped. His hand dropped my chin, rearing back before slapping me. My ears rang, but I refused to go down. “I refuse to let a sorry little psychopath like you have the satisfaction of thinking you did anything but slap me around.” His hand reared back, slapping me once more. I stayed still through the pain.

“Shut up” he hissed.

“That’s why you had to make a deal with Ubel. You couldn’t make the world love you music on your own, could you?” That had done it. He slammed me to the ground, kicking me in the ribs. I retched, but nothing came out. He kicked me once more, snapping the last of my unbroken ribs in one great blow. My mouth flew open, but no sound came out as I laid motionless beneath him.

“One more word and I will keep that promise” he hissed. So he had been lying about not needing me. He kicked at me again, landing his foot straight into my chest. All of the air in my lungs went stale. I struggled to breathe. Foster turned away from me, huffing to the door. He slammed it closed as he exited the room. My consciousness didn’t last long. The pain was too great. I ended up passing out, thankful for the momentary relief.

I snapped awake again. My sides hurt like no other. I was back on the thred-bare bed again. Moving ever so slowly, I pushed myself up, working through the pain. I was able to get myself upright, leaning on the metal headboard of the bed.

“Charlie, you are awake” I hear Chris sob. My eyes flew open, looking for her. I felt her hands grasp mine, as she ran to my side.

“Chris” I croaked. Every breath that left my body was agony.

“I am so sorry. I did this to you” she cried.

“If I remember...correctly. Foster did...this.”

“I should have handled this on my own.” Her hands squeezed mine gently, and I returned the squeeze lightly. Her eyes drifted to my thumb, pushing my hand away in horror.

“That ring!” she squealed.

“Yeah. My idiot ass...brought this on...myself” I smiled weakly. My breathing was labored, but talking was a little easier. “How did you get here?”

“Erik brought me in. He told me to take care of you while he was gone.” My mind jumped into action. He was gone. This was an opportunity to escape, but in my condition, I wouldn’t get far.

“Chris listen to me closely. You need to leave. Do you know where the opera is?”

“Yes.” came her weak reply.

“Okay” I sat myself up. Chris jumped up, helping me to the edge of the bed. I sat there for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside before I spoke again. “First, check if the door is locked.” Christine got up, shakily approaching the door. Her hands trembled with fear as she opened the door a crack. I smiled, this idiot thought that fear would keep us here.

“It’s open,” she whispered.

“Grab the manuscript, then come back.” With a nod, she carefully walked out of the door, leaving it slightly open. Moments later, she returned, the manuscript in her tiny hands. “Listen closely. We are going to run, but we can’t stay together. I will slow you down. Take the manuscript and go find Peter Asphat. He works at a morgue in London. Get it to him, and tell him to burn it. Richy knows him. He can help.”

“I won’t leave you!” Chris cried.

“You have too. Once we exit the house, you need to run. Don’t worry about me” I smiled softly. Chris stared, tears welling up in her eyes once more. Once I saw her nod in agreement, I held out my hand, silently asking for help. She got me to my feet, and I wobbled there for a moment. “Go,” I hissed through gritted teeth. Chris put my arm over her shoulder, leading me out of the room. I noticed very few details about the house as we fled. It was very large, and sparse. As we reached the ornate front door, Chris hesitated.

“What if he’s there?” she whispered.

“Then I will deal with it. Just run” I replied. Flashbacks of Meg came roaring to my mind. This time would be very different.

Chris gulped, throwing the door open. No one was there. She pulled me out of the house, and into the dark street. We were in a quaint suburb, somewhere. It still looked like the East coast, but that was all I could recognize. I pushed Chris off of me, standing on my own. I stared at her, as she stared back.

“Go,” I hissed. Instantly she turned and ran down the street. I watched her for a second, contemplating my next move. I wouldn’t make it far. My ribcage was completely broken. Standing was hard, walking would be torture. I looked around, looking for any place to hide. I wasn’t going to make this easy for him. My eyes drifted to a small patch of forest about a hundred feet from me. I turned, hobbling to it. It was dark. I had to move carefully not to trip and hurt myself further. I walked, and walked sending myself deeper into the forest. It was much larger than I had anticipated. I didn’t know how long I was there, but eventually I collapsed in exhaustion. The frosty air bit at me. I was only in jeans, a shirt with absolutely no shoes. Foster had made sure escape would be difficult for me.

I leaned back against a tree, trying to calm my jagged breathing. Ribbons of color returned to my vision. The pain was now excruciating. I hoped someone would find me here before Foster. I closed my eyes, thankful I was out of there, for now.

Chapter Text

I came to life again. I must have fallen asleep. Honestly, I was surprised I hadn’t frozen to death, but it was very warm now. Too warm for winter on the East coast. Too warm, even for Foster’s prison. I opened my eyes to pitch black. My ribcage ached ferociously as I sat up. Where was I? Feeling around, my hands grasped at the sheets I was under. This seemed too caring for Foster. I needed to figure out where I was. If someone had found me, I didn’t want to put them in danger. I made my way to the edge of the bed I was on. There was something familiar about this place. As I attempted to slide myself off, a hand grabbed my arm.

“Don’t” Martin’s voice rang out. I almost cried in happiness. I was home. A light flipped on, blinding me for a second. When my vision returned, I saw him sitting up next to me. I threw myself at him, hissing in pain as I hugged him. He returned the gesture, holding me tightly. After a while, he finally let me go, brushing the hair from my face. I must have looked awful.

I didn’t know where to start. I had no idea what happened from my jaunt through the woods to here. “How?” I sniffed, my voice soft.

“Some kids found you in the forest. You were frozen half to death,” he stated plainly. “Now lay back down. You are in no condition to be up.” I did as I was told, with some help from him.

“What happened?” I asked when I was settled. I wanted to see what he knew. His silence disturbed me. My first instinct was to assume he still didn’t believe something strange was happening.

“When Edgar returned to your parents' house without you, Franco called me. They had some wild story about you being kidnapped by Foster.”

“Edgar is alive?”

“Yes, and so is Richard. Meg didn’t make it,” his words stung me. “Richard was critical for a day or so, but he is fine now. His parents flew him back to London yesterday.”

“What about Christine?” I stammered. The look on his face made my stomach drop.

“No one has heard from her.” I sighed in frustration. I looked to the bed table, picking up the phone thoughtlessly. I needed to at least make sure she destroyed the manuscript. I punched in Peter’s number. It rang a few times before he answered.

“Cremation” his gruff voice huffed. I could hear the bone grinder whirling in the background.

“Peter, it's Charlie.”

“Aye Charlie! How has ye been, girl?” he cried gleefully.

“Has anyone named Christine Daae come to see you recently?”

I could hear him sucking on his teeth in thought before he answered. “Naw, no one by that name.” I groaned, laying back in bed.

“If anyone with that name comes by, call me immediately,” I hissed.

“Alright. Is everything good?” he asked. I was not ready to have this conversation with him, so I gently hung up the phone. I looked over at Martin, a confused look was plastered on his face. I sighed again, feeling it was time to explain myself. I recounted the story of our escape, telling him the instructions I gave to Chris.

“No one has heard from her.” was his meek reply. Anger bubbled back up into me. Foster must have gotten to her. I flung the covers off me, edging myself over the bed. I stood there, making sure I had the ability to walk, before I took my first steps. “Charlie, what are you doing?” Martin roared, quickly getting out of bed.

“I need to find Chris” was my only reply. I made my way to my closet, thinking of all the things I could wear that were comfortable enough for a shattered rib cage. He walked over to me, placing his arm in front of me like a tollbooth arm.

“Charlie, you are in no condition to be roaming around London...” he began, but I quickly cut him off.

“I know you don’t believe this, but I am not leaving her out there alone,” I screamed, trying to push past him.

“Listen to me!” he roared back. I looked at him, my anger threatening to bubble over again. “You are in no condition to be prancing around London. I made some calls. She’s made it to London.” I looked at him warily. This had to be some kind of joke.

“Why would you bother checking on that?” I hissed.

Martin sighed, obviously disappointed in himself. “After your father told me what was going on, I didn’t believe. I thought all of you were bonkers. Sharing some delusion. Then I got a call from the hospital Richard was at. I saw him, and he explained what happened.”

“So you believe Richy, but not me?” his story was only making it harder to keep my rage at bay.

“No, I didn’t believe him either. It wasn’t until they found you. You were taken to a hospital in Middleton. They said you had been drugged and beaten pretty badly. Your rib cage was broken, you had a mild concussion, and a broken collarbone.”

“Get to the point,” I growled.

“When I got there, they also told me you had a ring on your finger that wouldn’t come off. You hate rings. You don’t even wear your wedding ring regularly. When they couldn’t pull it off, they tried cutting it off. The ring still wouldn’t budge.” I looked down at my thumb. There was a sizeable chunk of the ring missing on the underside of my thumb, but the ring stayed firmly planted in its spot. I looked back up at Martin, my look softening.

“So that’s what did it?” He shook his head.

“They checked for scar tissue to see if the ring had fused to your skin. It hadn’t. The doctor told me they couldn’t explain what was keeping it there. I tried to pry it off myself, but it didn’t move an inch. Then I met Caspar,” his voice got low. He was obviously terrified.

“Caspar Ubel?”

“The same. He came to see you in the hospital. I didn’t understand his jabbering, but he was able to pull that ring off your finger with ease. He said he would take it back for good, when you completed your task.”

“Did he explain what my task was?”

“No, but he said you needed to go back to London. Charlie, I am not one to believe in superstitious nonsense, but there was something off about him. He scared me. While I am still not sure about the immortal man coming after you, I definitely believe that Caspar Ubel is something strange. I told Richy that I would take you back when you are well enough to travel.” I was absolutely relieved. He wasn’t ready to jump on the bandwagon, but at least he believed Ubel was something otherworldly. I sighed, my emotions were under control. I turned myself around and went straight back to bed. I would do whatever it took to get to London again, as quickly as I could. Even if it meant caving to Martin’s wishes.

A month went by before I was cleared to go back to London. I still wasn’t 100% but I felt much better. Walking, breathing and talking were now more than possible without extreme pain. I kept tabs on Richy and Edgar, calling them frequently. Foster hadn’t made an appearance in that time. I assumed he was too busy searching for his manuscript. Richy had been grounded in London, his parents refusing to let him travel anywhere for the foreseeable future. Edgar had been invited to stay in New York with my parents. My father loved him so much, he refused to let him leave, citing that if Christine came to New York, they could find her quickly if Edgar was around. In reality, I don’t think my father had a friend like Edgar in a long time. My mother also enjoyed his company.

The day I was cleared, I called Edgar. “Edgar, any news from Chris?”

“Aye” he replied solemnly. My heart skipped a beat, I was ready for the worst. “She contacted Rich yesterday. She’s been hiding out with the manuscript. Richy went to pick her up, she's with him now.” With a sigh of relief, I informed him that I was going to go back to London.

“I need to finish this. I want this bastard gone” I hissed. “I will be in London the day after tomorrow.” Edgar confirmed that he would meet me there. Our spot to convene would be Richy’s apartment. We hung up the phone. Martin had been listening into our conversation, staring at me, unsure of this whole thing.

“When do we leave?” I was surprised.

“We?”

“You don’t think I am staying here do you?” Martin hissed. I shrugged. In reality, I didn’t want him to come. I had already lost Meg and Jack was permanently disabled from his run in with Foster. I wasn’t going to risk my husband as well.

“I don’t want you to go. I can assure myself that he will leave me alive. I can’t say the same for you. It would kill me if you ended up like Meg.” Martin looked at me for a second, contemplating what I had said.

“I will come and visit my parents. If anything happens to you, I at least want to be nearby” he was unsatisfied with this plan, but he knew it was a middle ground I could accept. I nodded, smiling warmly.

“Aye lass, good to see you out and about” Edgar laughed, hugging me tightly. We had run into each other at the airport. His flight had landed minutes before mine. Seeing Edgar looking so well and possibly 10 pounds heavier made me smile. My parents had been treating him well.

“It’s good to see you too Edgar” I replied, returning the hug. Edgar looked over my shoulder, nodding respectfully at Martin.

“Is he in on it now?”

“No, Charlie won’t let me. I am going to be at my parents' house. I will be back up,” Martin sighed. Edgar nodded, sharing in Martin’s worried look.

“I admire yer bravery lass, but I ain’t letting you back in there. The monster is gunnin’ for ya.”

“I know, but this needs to be done.” I replied. Looking to Martin, I nodded reassuringly. He shook his head, still not sure of this whole thing. We made our way to the curbside where cabs waited to take us to our different destination. I said my goodby to Martin, promising that I would be safe. Edgar and I entered our cab, and sped off to Richy’s apartment.

We arrived later, energized and ready to fight. Christine looked good, too good for someone who had been on the run for over a month. When she saw me, she hugged me tightly, rapidly apologizing once more for leaving me alone. The manuscript sat on Richy’s coffee table, bound in paper. As I sat down on Richy’s couch, questions filled my mind.

“How are you Richy?” was my first.

“Well, after they stitched me up, I was bed bound for a while, but I made it. My parents are miffed, but when are they not annoyed with me?” he grinned.

“Ye ask about him? What about Chrissy? She’s looking good for being on the run,” Edgar had read my mind. Christine blushed, looking to the floor.

“Yeah, what happened to you?” I asked.

“I did what you said. I came back to London. Erik must have figured out where I was going, because he ambushed me outside the morgue…” her voice trailed off. She was a poor, college student. There was no way she lasted this long on her own. “I got away. After that I didn’t know where to go. I slept on the street for the first night. Then I met someone, you know them, Charlie.”

I furrowed my brows. Beyond Richy, Edgar and Peter, I didn’t really have many good friends in London. “Who?”

“Please don’t be angry, but I remembered you had a brother living in Italy.” My eyes widened in disbelief.

“You called Franky?”

“No, Franky found me. He said your father asked him to find me and make sure I was alright.” I was flabbergasted. Years ago, my older brother and parents got into a fight. My parent’s, sister and I hadn’t seen him since. The most surprising thing was that my father had talked to Franky. He swore up and down that he didn’t have a son. Their argument meant nothing to my sister and I, but we were young when it happened. I couldn’t have been over 16, my sister 14. Christine reached into her pocket, producing a letter. “Franky asked me to give this to you. He misses you and Victoria.” I took it from her, reading my name and my sister’s name on the envelope. I shoved it into my coat pocket, leaving it for another time.

“Thanks” I grinned, rather excited to have a letter from my brother, regardless of what it might say.

“Franky came to get me. I have no idea how he found me. I stayed with him for the entire month. He wouldn’t let me leave until he got the okay from your father. When he called a couple days ago, Richy came and got me.”

“That’s Franky, he isn’t one to see people taken advantage of.”

“His boyfriend is very sweet. They have a very nice home,” Edgar cocked an eyebrow.

“Boyfriend?” he cried. I glared at him sternly, I was in no mood for judgment. “Easy lass, I was in the military. It was more common than ye think. I ain’t judging, just curious.”

“Anyway,” Richy cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “What do we do?”

“I am going to take the manuscript to Peter. Once it’s destroyed, we will go from there.”

“You are gonna take it alone? Richy cried.

“Yes, Foster is definitely going to be there. I will deal with him. Hopefully Ubel will step in before he kills me.” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Haven’t ye done enough lass? I can take it,” Edgar offered.

“No, I will do it. If Foster is there, he will be too distracted with me to even bother with the rest of you.” My mind was made up. I was asked to start this, and now I was going to finish it. Regardless of the cost. I stood, taking the manuscript in my arms. I needed to do this as quickly as I could.

“You are going now?” Chris mumbled.

“Yes, the faster this is done, the faster we can all go home. Richy, take Chris somewhere else. Martin is at his parents' house, you can try there.” With that, I left. If I stayed any longer, I would have lost the will to do this.

I stood in front of the old mortuary facade. Smoke billowed from its top. That’s how I knew Peter was still there. I walked up to the door, knocking once. There was no answer. It was after 5 in the evening, obviously they were closed. I walked around back, looking for some other entrance. Finally, I found one. I knocked a few times, looking behind me to make sure Foster didn’t have a chance to stop me.

“We’re closed! Go home,” Peter growled.

“Peter, it’s Charlie. Open up” I cried. The door swung open, and gruff little Peter pulled me inside, slamming the door behind me.

“Charlie! You are alive! Our last call made me worry,” his cheeky smile made me forget what I was there to do for a second.

“I am sorry, Peter. I have to ask a favor of you. Can you burn this for me?” I said holding the papered package up.

“Of course!” he giggled, taking it from my grasp. He waddled over to a large metal door, pulling a lever to open it up. Fire spat out of the chamber as Peter tossed the manuscript in, closing the doors once more. A wave of relief washed over me. It was done.

“This will burn it completely?” I asked.

“At 1093.3 centigrade, it has no chance,” he replied with a grin. I nodded. I appreciated Peter so much in this moment, it was unfathomable. He had worked in restorations with me at one point. He hated it. So he quit and became a cremator.

I didn’t want to alarm Peter, but I could feel Foster coming. That familiar fear seeped into the room, causing an icy chill to run through my body.

“Peter, I need to leave. I really appreciate this. We will catch up tomorrow,” I promised him, not knowing if I could keep it.

“Charlie, you are worrying me. Is somethin’ wrong” he approached me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I wasn’t going to lie to him anymore. He deserved some sort of explanation. “Yes, something is horribly wrong. I don’t want to drag you into it. Just know a man has been following me. I need to leave.”

“Ya need me to take care of him” he hissed, slamming his fist into an open palm. I smiled, Peter was about 5’5”, about 250 pounds and just under 50 years old. He smoked and drank daily. There was no way he could take on Foster, even on his best day.

“No, but is there another exit I can take?” Peter nodded, pointing to a door across the massive room.

“Yeh, just there. I can’t leave my fire, so I will say goodbye to you here. Be careful girl,” he hugged me tightly. Peter was such a good person. I felt like I had used him. If I got out of this alive, I was at least buying him dinner.

I walked through the empty morgue. It was very homey, at least to me. Where we kept our dead bodies was more akin to a very old basement. This was open and spacious. Well decorated on top of it. I found an exit, pushing the door open quickly. I looked around for Foster; he was not there. I began walking, searching for cabs along the way. Foster was following me. I could feel him close, but as I moved through the streets, he never approached me. I finally found a cab, warily entering it. I wasn’t expecting this to be so easy.

Arriving at Richy’s apartment was odd. I bolted to the intercom, calling for Richy to let me in. He did so promptly, and I ran up to the apartment. Not stopping until the door was safely locked behind me.

“Aye lass, did it work?” Edgar smirked from his seat on Richy’s couch.

“What?” I questioned.

“Check yer pocket.” I reached into my coat pocket, pulling out what looked like a locket. I held it in my hands, examining its exquisite design.

“What is it?”

“It’s my talisman. I got it off a bloke in Italy. He said it would protect me from danger. Iono what is in it, but that thing got me home.” I finally understood, this is why Foster couldn’t enter Edgar home. It’s why he didn’t come for me. He physically couldn’t. “Keep it lass, you need it more than I do.” I nodded, thanking him. Placing it back in my pocket, I sighed deeply. Hopefully, soon I wouldn’t need it. Ubel would be taking care of Foster soon. I just hoped he would inform me when he did.

I felt tired. There was peace in my mind for the first time in a long while. I sat on the couch next to Edgar, leaning back in my seat. The couch felt so good. Edgar, Chris and Richy were busy chatting away. Their conversation was light, talking about places they wanted to be. On the couch across from me, Richy and Christine were folded together. Their hand locked in a tight embrace. Christine had laid her head on Richy’s shoulder. I smiled, I would talk to Chris about this later. It felt nice to see her happy and in love. I finally let sleep take me.

“Charlie?” Ubel’s voice called to me. I opened my eyes. The only light in the room came spilling from the kitchen. I sat up, blinking the sleep away. Ubel sat on the couch opposite me. His smiled almost glowing in the darkness. “Charlie, you didn’t do what I asked.”

“What? I burned the manuscript,” I whispered. There was no one in the room but us. I didn’t want to wake the rest of them, who probably occupied Richy’s other rooms.

“Yes, you did, but Destler is a tricky man.” Ubel growled. I sat upright, directly in front of him. I thought, what could Foster have done to trick me? Terror gripped me when I realized what he had done.

“He still has a page.” Ubel nodded solemnly. I began to panic. I had to burn the whole manuscript, and I had missed a single page.

“What does this mean?” I cried softly. I cursed myself. It had been too easy.

“It means the only way for you to get rid of him, is to get him to rescind his contract. Get him to destroy his own page, and that will do it.” he replied nonchalantly.

“How the fuck do I do that!”

“Go to him, he wants you. I am sure you can gently persuade him to have some sort of accident?” I looked down at the floor. The thought of going back to that hell made my toes curl in fear.

“No, I will not do that,” I hissed, looking back at Ubel. “You don’t know what hell he put me through. I refuse to be a part of this. I did my job and now I want to go home.” Rage filled my body. I was tired of these endless games.

“Do you realize what he will do to you if this doesn’t happen?” he roared, his voice going at least an octave lower. “He will follow you until you make a mistake. That thing in your pocket can’t protect you forever. When you make that mistake, he will kill the ones you love, before slowly killing you. I have seen him do terrible things, Charlie. Get that damn thing out of your pocket and go to him.” Ubel roared. He finally got up, walking towards the door in a huff.

“Wait” I called. He stopped mid-stride and looked back at me furiously. “How do I find him?”

“He will come to you. Just make sure you give him the chance” with that, Ubel opened the door. Quietly leaving, with no trace left behind.

I sat there for a moment, thinking about the task in front of me. The idea of going to Foster nauseated me. He would do terrible things I didn’t want to think about. I reached into my coat pocket, pulling out Edgar's talisman. It was my only sense of peace now. I got up and walked into the kitchen. There, I found a piece of paper and a pen. I jotted down a quick note, placing the locket next to the pad of paper. I took a deep breath, tears stinging at my eyes. This was the only way to make sure everyone I loved lived to see another day. I quietly walked through the living room to the door. I thought of Martin, Richy, Edgar and Chris. I prayed that my idiocy would keep them all safe. With another deep breath, I reached for the doorknob. I walked out into the hallway. I was ready to deliver myself to the devil.

Chapter Text

I walked the cold, lonely streets of London. Jumping at every sound I heard. I did not know where I was going, but I kept walking. Streetlamps cast shadows on the buildings, making them look like ancient beasts ready to devour me. I was afraid. More than I had ever been. I wanted to sprint back to Richy’s, take that talisman and never let it go. But I couldn’t.

I got further and further away from the apartment. Not even glancing at the streets I was going down. At one point I turned down a particularly dark street. I stopped under a streetlamp. This was it. I could feel it. Foster was waiting for me in the darkness ahead. I could see another streetlamp in the distance. Shining comfortingly, beckoning for me to run to it. I knew I would never make it. With a chill running through my spine, I walked into the shadowy street. I kept my eye fixed on the next light. My fear was almost paralyzing. Then it was gone. I felt Foster grab my shoulders, gently pulling me to a stop. I shook, shutting my eyes, pretending this wasn’t real.

“Did you think I would let you two go so easily?” he whispered in my ear. His hands moved from my shoulders to my upper arms.

I shook my head. I had been too injured to think clearly that day. I beat myself up for it. A dumb mistake. “What do you want?” I stuttered.

“I want you to go back to your apartment, Miss Charlie. It's cold and dark. You shouldn’t be out here alone.” came his sweet reply.

“And if I don’t?” I questioned. His hand suddenly shot to my neck, squeezing the life out of me.

“Then I will start picking off your friends, or maybe your husband? Depends on how I feel,” he snarled. His grip getting tighter around my neck. “Don’t make me wait, Charlie.” I was suddenly released. I sat there in a coughing fit, trying to catch my breath. I glanced at the spot he had been in, and he was gone. I had no choice, I needed to go back home. Composing myself, I headed back.

I walked into my apartment, flipping on the light.. The sight and smell comforted me for a moment, I took off my coat, hanging it on the rack next to the door. I stepped further into my home. I had no idea what to do next. My eyes drifted to my favorite armchair. I walked over, sitting down gently. I wanted to make as little noise as possible. In my delusional mind, if I made no noise, Foster wouldn’t come. Alas, this was never meant to be. I could feel Foster’s thin, boney fingers slid over my shoulders.

“Good choice” he stated, picking his hands up off me. He sat on the couch, smiling wickedly at me. “Well, what should we do first?” I did not reply, I only stared at him. His looked soured comically for a moment, then brightened right back up. “I know. We can play a little question game. I do like knowing my prey before I devour them.” His phrasing made me uncomfortable.

“Alright” I said, my eyes still trained on him.

“I will go first. When were you born?”

“May 1962.”

“Where were you born?”

“Naples, Italy.”

“When did you move to the United States?”

“In 1973, I was 11.”

“Where does this devotion to Christine come from?” I blinked a few times. This was a question I did not expect him to ask. He raised his eyebrows at me, pressuring me to answer the question. I thought for a moment, debating on whether to tell him or not. “Well?”

I shrugged “She’s my friend.”

“That’s all? You are not playing fair, Charlie. There must be more than that.”

I closed my eyes for a minute. I didn’t want to relive this tale. “I did not have the best childhood. Living in Italy with my parents brought a lot of violence to our doorstep. I had a friend who died. She was shot after being taken advantage of by people she trusted. I vowed never to let anyone I knew be taken advantage of again.” It was just vague enough to satisfy me, and just specific enough to please him.

“Your devotion is a childhood promise?” Foster cackled with delight. I shrugged again. He was indeed correct.

“I never said it was a good reason. I have made mistakes in my need to protect those around me. I am here with you,”

Foster’s cackle subsided. He pursed his lips, giving me a sour stare. “That's not fair, Charlie.”

“Fair is not a word I know very well.” Foster looked at me, quietly contemplating what I had just said.

“Have you ever thought about music?” he asked quietly.

“No” was my curt reply.

“Never even a curiosity?” he insisted.

“No. My mother made me take 5 years of music lessons. I hated every moment.”

“What lessons did you take?”

“She wanted me to sing. At 16, I finally told her I had enough.”

“Your passions have always been with ancient artifacts? Interesting,” he crooned. I shrugged once more. “You said you had a doctorate.”

“Yes, I do.”

“That is a lot of education.”

“It is.” Foster’s face twisted into a grimace.

“For all of your education, conversing with you is quite dull.” His jab made me smile. That was the point.

“I thought you enjoyed pleasant conversation?” I quipped. A smirk growing on my face. “As far as I am concerned, this is as pleasant as I get with you.” Foster's face twisted with rage. I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted.

“Your lack of fear is getting on my nerves,” he hissed.

“Oh, I am terrified. But not of you” came tumbling out of my mouth. I instantly regretted what I just said.

“Really? Then what are you terrified of, my dear?” His grimace went soft, curling into another smile. I bit my lip, searching for a satisfactory lie. “Charlie, tell me” he whispered softly, leaning forward. I sighed, there was no point in keeping this from him. He would find out eventually.

“I am terrified of what you are going to me.” His dreadful laugh stung me. It confirmed my worst fears.

“What do you think I am going to do to you?” he pressed. Too eager to hear my response.

“I don’t know,” my voice trailed off. I wrung my hands with anxiety. Foster got up from his seat, walking into the hall behind me. I waited for him to return in silence. Mentally preparing for what was coming next. He returned, carrying a small black pouch. It looked quite old. The sound of glass tinkled from it as he sat down once more. His hungry stare consumed me. I wasn’t ready for this yet, I had to distract him for a little while longer.

“Are you ready?” he hissed gleefully, opening the black pouch slightly.

“Wait. I have a question,” I stammered, raising my hand to emphasize my statement. He stopped, cocking his head slightly.

“Alright” he said quietly, placing the bag in his lap.

“Why me?” A look of surprise crossed his face.

“Why you?”

“Why am I here? You have been chasing Christine for so long. Now you switch over to me. What changed?” He paused, thinking intently. I had stumped him. I wasn’t expecting much of an answer, but it gave me more time. Foster’s eyes suddenly sharpened, giving me a cheshire grin.

“Do you know why I put your head in the soup bowl?” I shook my head in response. “You were a mean spirited bitch. Vain and entitled. I wanted to teach you a lesson, and then you surprised me. There was no fear of me in your eyes. Only fascination. I wanted to experiment more, but that damn inspector came prancing along. I had to end our time together early.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He nodded, continuing to smile menacingly.

“You are vastly different now. There is little you have in common with your previous life. You are educated, and compassionate. But your fire still burns brightly. There is no fear in you, just rage.” he took the black bag in his hands again, opening it wide. His finger reached in and pulled out a syringe. It was filled with a murky, white liquid. The needle glared at me menacingly. I was not a fan of needles.

“That still doesn’t answer my question.” I hissed, more out of fear than rage. Foster chuckled, rising from his seat. In one stride, he was standing at my chair, glowering at me from above. Keeping my gaze, he knelt in front of me. His finger wrapped tightly around my wrist. He broke his gaze for a moment, looking at the ring on my thumb. Turning over my hand, he saw the missing chunk of metal in the ring’s band.

“Someone wanted it to come off, badly” he said softly, as he passed his thumb over the break.

“I answered all of your questions, now you need to answer mine,” My voice quavered.

Foster sighed, gripping my wrist and pulling my arm to him. “Unfortunately, there is no answer. That is the nature of infatuation. It simply exists.” With a swift hand, he stuck the needle into my arm, plunging the liquid into my body. As quickly as he stuck it in, he pulled it out again, pressing his thumb over the injection site. The silence was destroying me. My heart raced as the thought of what this stuff would do pulsed through my mind. I need to say something, anything.

“What is this?”

“Another one of my experiments. After your daring escape the last time, I cannot trust you on your own. Unlike Christine, fear does not keep you immobilized. This is just something to keep you calm.” Seconds passed before I began feeling its effects. My mind was thrown into a deep fog. Thinking was almost impossible. I sat back, my limbs going numb as the drug took fully. My eyelids grew heavy as I struggled to keep my composure.

I could hear Foster talking to me, but nothing he said registered. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to concentrate on his words. I could feel his hand reach around my neck, lifting my head up. “I was a little overzealous with my dose” he chuckled in my ear. He suddenly retreated, walking away quickly.

I lost all sense of time and direction as I sat there. My mind screamed at me to get it together. I needed to move but my limbs refused to move. I had no control. I had no idea how long I had been there when Foster came back. I opened my eyes slightly, trying to focus. He knelt in front of me once more, his hand resting gently on my thigh. I heard him say something about adjusting the dose for me. I focused myself harder. I needed to hear what he was saying.

“Now stay put. I have a few things to finish before we leave,” he chuckled. His hand touched my face briefly, before he left me there alone.

If I could, I would have bolted out the door. This drug kept me completely docile. I could only sit there, like a corpse. The worst part was that I knew what was going on. My brain screamed. Demanding that I do something, and not just sit here waiting for him to come back. More minutes ticked by, and I began to regain my sense of self. I could make slight movements now, but my limbs felt heavy. Opening my eyes once more, I attempted to push myself away from the chair. I sat myself up, barely able to keep my head at an upward angle. This was a good sign, which only fueled me. Unfortunately, this was too good to be true. Foster was back. He slammed into my apartment. I looked up at him and I felt absolute, earth shattering fear. His face was twisted into an unnatural rage. His features deformed like he was made of play-dough. I thought I could see bits of his face melting off. I wanted to scream, but that was impossible.

Foster rushed towards me, screaming “I see you made your own deal with the devil!” He grabbed my throat, picking me up out of my seat. I had no way to fight back, I could only grab at his arms. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Now I am going to have to take extra care of you. I don’t want Caspar popping in for another visit.” My vision was fading fast. He sounded like he was underwater as he ranted and raved. Finally, my instincts to fight gave out, and my mind fell into darkness.

A slap brought me back. I coughed, finally able to breathe. I opened my eyes; I was still at my apartment. He had brought me into one of the backrooms I used for guests. I could smell the must on the carpet. I rarely used this room. Gathering my bearings, I looked up at Foster from my position on the floor. His half-melted face snarling at me. The look on my face must have alerted him to his issue. He turned to look into a vanity mirror tucked in a corner. A smirk flashed across his lips for a second, before he turned to me. “Would you like me to show you what happens when you make deals with the devil?” I sat up slowly, keeping his gaze. The rush of adrenaline from before still coursed through my veins. This negated the fog, at least temporarily. I did my best to try to stand, using the bed to lift myself up. I was able to stand on my own for a few seconds before I had to place a hand back on the bed for support. Foster’s eyes twinkled as he turned back to the mirror. He drew closer to it, removing his black leather gloves. Nails began carefully picking at the edge of his face. I stared on with sick curiosity. I had no idea what he was doing. After a few minutes, the skin of his face fell on the vanity table with a plop. He turned to me, cackling wildly. A hand rose to my mouth, the sight was horrific. His face was a mass of raw, red meat, broken up by rotting brown spots. His lips were nonexistent, instead his teeth protruded out like a corpse. He had two deep, black holes for a nose. I was horrified, but the sight isn’t what did it. I had seen corpses in worse condition. What got me was the smell. The putrid scent of rotting flesh filled the room. I was slightly impressed he managed to keep that smell under wraps as well as he did.

“Ubel did that?” I stammered, finally.

“Yes, Caspar Ubel. One of the prices for my request.”

“One? There is more than one?”

“Oh yes. You see I asked for two things. For immortality and the world to love my music. The immortality took my face.”

“And what did the love take?” Foster laughed at me but refused to answer. That sent a chill down my spine.

“Now if you will excuse me. I have some work to do” with that he closed the door, leaving me alone once more.

Hours passed. I was finally wide awake and in control of my own body. I laid on the bed, mulling over the images of Foster’s face plastered in my mind. It was a sight I couldn’t unsee. Luckily the smell had dissipated hours ago. I stared at the ceiling, contemplating all of the ways I could get out. For a moment I thought I might be able to call for help on the street below, but I was on the 7th floor. Even if I did catch someone's attention, what could they do?

Foster came in abruptly, a brand new face applied. I wasn’t able to unsee the falseness of his face now. It looked too perfect to be real. He said nothing, gazing at me sternly. I raised an eyebrow, sitting up. He held a gloved hand out to me. I immediately got up, and walked to him. I put my hand in his, hoping this wasn’t some trick to kick me around. It wasn’t. He enclosed his fingers around mine, dragging me back to the living room. He dropped my hand as we reached the door.

“Put on your coat,” he snapped. I did as quickly as I could. He turned to me, his face contorted in rage. “We are going on a little ride. If you get any bright ideas I will personally slice your husband to shreds.” I nodded. His threats were getting old. It was hard to have an emotional reaction to him. I knew exactly what he was capable of, and I knew my chance to run would be when his guard was down. Right now was not the time. He grabbed my shoulder, forcing me in front of him. The walk to the base floor was quick with Foster’s constant pushes and demands to go faster. We reached the curb in record time. I could see a shiny black car sitting outside. I looked back at him in confusion, but he pushed me forward. He opened the door to the car, practically throwing me inside. He slid in next to me, still seething.

I sat there silently, watching the street pass by me. Wondering where this car, and its driver came from. I knew the persona I was familiar with was David Foster. A theater producer and writer from New York. His real name was Erik Destler, and I knew about other personas he had in the past. But he had lived for hundreds of years. Assuming each generation came about every 25 years, that was 8 different personas he could have, minimum. That didn’t account for personas like Fredrick Destler, who died early. I could only imagine the wealth he amassed from that time alone. It was no wonder it seemed like he could be anywhere in the blink of an eye.

I could hear the tinkle of glass coming from Foster. My first thought was he was preparing another one of his concoctions to keep me docile. I looked to him trying to fill a syringe while the car bounced around. He was unsuccessful. He threw the syringe and bottle on his lap, growling in anger. He threw his head back in frustration, closing his eyes tightly. I looked back at my window, not acknowledging his little fit. The ride continued in silence. We were leaving London. I sat there, letting my mind empty. I needed to be calm and collected. No fear, just determination. He must have the page on him. I needed to get him to destroy it, somehow.

“You seem to be deep in thought” Foster said. His tone was neutral. I looked over at him. He was in the same position, head back and eyes closed. I noticed his fingers tapping away at his legs, like he was playing an imaginary piano. I kept to myself as I tried to determine what he was playing. There was no way to know, but it seemed complex.

“You seem to be playing an imaginary piano” I replied, turning back to my window.

“Music is soothing.”

“If you say so.”

“You don’t like music?”

“I am fine with music. I am sure most people are. I just don’t take great comfort in it” He chuckled, obviously amused with my ideas.

“My concoction didn’t last long, did it?” he sighed, changing the subject.

“No,”

“Then I have some modifications to make. Until then, I need to use something different.” His hand bangged on the tinted glass separating us from the driver. Immediately, the driver pulled over, parking on the side of the road. My head flipped to Foster. He was now sitting up, fiddling with the items on his lap. Foster took his syringe, filling it from a small glass bottle. This liquid was crystal clear. If I hadn’t seen it move around in the tube, I would have thought he was injecting me with air. His eyes glanced at me as he extracted his dose. I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for this next dose. I had no idea what this one would do, but it looked less menacing than the liquid fog. “Take off your coat” he commanded. I did so, placing it on the floor.

“What does this do?” I asked, as he flicked the syringe. “It’s not like the fog, is it?”

Foster shook his head. “This one will be much more pleasant. Give me your hand.” I hesitated. “Give me your hand,” he said once more. I reached my hand out, grimacing at the thought of another shot. He gently took hold of my wrist, turning it to expose the soft flesh of my arm. I felt myself tense as he looked for a vein. Foster seemed to be very adept at finding places to stick people. He groaned, annoyed. I was shot a frustrated glance as he continued to search.

Finally he cried out, “You are tense and I don’t have a tourniquet. I need you to relax.” He was having a hard time keeping calm.

“I fucking hate needles, excuse me if I am a little tense” I hissed. Foster glared at me for a moment. The both of us in such a heightened state was not good. My rage and his fury collided, causing pain on my part. I didn’t really know what my attitude did to Foster, not that I cared much.

“Lie back and close your eyes” Foster breathed. My eyes narrowed in suspicion. His grip on my wrist tightened. “I am trying to make this easy for you. A swift blow to the face would do the tick as well.”

I sighed, he was right. I needed to make this easier on myself. I had to stay as uninjured as possible. I leaned back in the seat, closing my eyes. I was still tense, so I tried relaxing my muscles. His grip on my wrist softened as I did what he told me. “Now what?”

He shushed me, gently rubbing my wrist. He moved closer to me. I could feel the warmth of him invading my space. Foster was tense, I could feel his muscles twitching. “Just be still” he whispered. I did just that, staying as still as I could. I was tired, drained from the stress of the day. I finally relaxed enough for Foster to plunge the needle into my skin. I breathed in sharply as he removed the metal tip from my arm. His thumb gently pressed on the injection site as I felt him relax next to me. I heard him bang on the tinted glass once more, and we began moving once more. I listened to the roar of the car, letting it lull me into a stupor. This shot was soothing, I could feel warmth invading my body. Suddenly, I didn’t mind Foster’s touch.

“I still want to know why” I slurred. I had no control over my actions again.

“Why?”

“Why me?” I was beginning to lose myself in the warmth of this concoction. This was the best I had felt in a while. A bump in the road sent my flying out of my seat and on to the floor. I laid there for a moment, trying to figure out which way was up. I began to push myself off of the floor when Foster dragged me back to him. I sat there, slumped on the edge of the seat, my head spinning.

“Lay down.” he commanded. I did what I was told without thought, letting my body drape across the seats. Foster directed my head into his lap. I felt a momentary sting of disgust, before simply accepting this seemingly kind gesture. I lay there in absolute silence, letting Foster play absently with my hair. Remembering my question, he finally replied; “I told you before. Infatuation has no reason, it simply exists.” With this unsatisfying answer, I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

I could feel the frigid air pick at my skin as I regained consciousness. The cold was unimaginable. I opened my eyes, picking myself up drowsily. It relieved me to not be in some half awake stupor again. I shivered, it was far too cold. I couldn’t feel my lips. I imagined they were turning a dark shade of blue. Looking around the room, I took in my surroundings. It was basically a large closet with a single bench, on which I was resting. I got up, the old wood floor creaked beneath me. Noticing an old door to my left, I walked to it, gently grasping the brass knob. I turned it and pushed the door open easily. A dimly lit hallway greeted me. I wrapped my arms around myself in a vain attempt to fight the cold as I walked down the corridor. I looked up and down the hallway, seeing if Foster was lurking around a doorway. To my relief, all the doors were shut. I finally stopped at a set of stairs. I looked down, debating if this was my chance to escape. No, I had a job to do, but I was curious. I continued, trying to tiptoe. I reached a living area. A cold fireplace greeted me. There was no furniture or window coverings to be seen. This place looked like it had been abandoned long ago. Finally, I found a door. I opened it up, my moral drained as I looked over a vast, snowy landscape. There was forest to one side and snowy fields on the other. There was no way I could run. I would die. With a sigh, I turned back, closing the door behind me.

I reached the top of the stair again. This time, one door was open. I could hear music coming from the room. I stepped towards its glow. I peaked in to see Foster sitting at a piano. Papers littered the piano and surrounding floor-space. I walked in further, attracted to a fire roaring nearby. Foster was playing an intricate piece, only stopping to write notes on a piece of paper. I watched him do this for a while, drinking in the warmth of the room.

“I imagine your dash for escape was in vain?” he called out to me, continuing his task.

“I wasn’t trying to run. I was just curious,” I mumbled in reply. He stopped playing, turning to face me.

“Curious?”

“I wanted to see where I was.”

“That is not something you should worry about, Charlie. Now, tell me what Caspar asked you to do,” he hissed. I hesitated for a moment. How could he possibly know I had been working with Caspar? I didn’t want to tell him the truth, but he seemed to know already.

“To destroy your manuscript.” I decided to be vague, hoping this wouldn’t enrage him.

“And you did. But you didn’t expect me to have this,” he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, taunting me with it.

“No, I didn't,” I admitted, looking to the floor.

“And now there is no way for you or Caspar to rescind my contract,” he roared, jumping up from his bench, knocking it over. He charged at me, grabbing my arm roughly. “You aren’t here for fun. Now tell me, what did Caspar tell you to do?” My rage came boiling back.

“Bite me” I hissed, pulling myself out of his grasp.

“Oh, I will do more than that” he roared back, leaping for me again. I dodged from his grasp, preparing for a fight. I was not going to back down. A rough plan had formed in my mind. Get him so emotional that he makes a mistake. This was going to hurt, but I had no choice.

“My only goal is to watch you return to the depths of hell where you belong,” I screamed. “And Ubel told me how,”

“Tell me what he said.” he reached for me again. I backed away, but realized I had backed myself into a corner. I braced for his hit. With a swift hand he grabbed my hair, slamming me to the ground with unnatural force. Before I realized I was on the floor, he grabbed me again, pinning me to a wall. “I am going to make you wish you had never picked up the phone that day, Charlie.” Unbeknownst to him, I already wished I hadn’t.

He dragged me from the room, and into another just across from his. I went flying as he threw me onto the floor. I groaned, trying to regain my composure before he could strike again. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough. He stomped to me, pulling me up once more. He grabbed the back of my neck, squeezing as hard as he could. I cried out in pain. I could hear his malevolent chuckle in my ear.

“Oh, the things I am going to do to you,” he breathed. I gritted my teeth as his nails dug into my skin. “I have always wanted a little pet.”

“I am not a pet,” I growled through the pain. My wit had failed me. He laughed, dragging me through the room. He threw me on a bare mattressed bed. With another swift movement, he hit me in the stomach. The air rushed from my lungs as I lay there, motionless. He was suddenly on top of me, straddling my hips. He took my arms and stretched them out above me. I could finally take a deep breath of cold air. The relief I felt quickly dissipated when one of his hands began roaming my body. His icy fingers began at my waist, finding their way under my shirt. I stiffened in shock. I gazed up in fear. Hungry eyes stared back at me. Foster leaned down, his breath tickling my ear.

“I always get what I want, Charlie, and what I want is you,” he moaned, burying his face in my neck. I felt him lightly nip at my skin. I began struggling under him, kicking my legs up and screaming in defiance. He let go of my hands, grabbing my chin. “Do I need to calm you down?”

“I swear to god I will-” I screamed, continuing my struggle. With a firm hand, he reared back, slapping me with so much force, I saw black for a moment. My vision swirled as I felt him get off of me. He slapped me once more, sending me into a daze. The room spun wildly. In a panic, I sat up, holding my head in my hands. My cheek stung, I could feel blood pooling in my mouth. Foster was suddenly on me again, pushing me back down. I struggled weakly as he placed my hands above me again. One more rough slap stung my cheek, effectively ending my rebellion. I could feel his breath on my ear again.

“I will have my way. If you are good, I may even give you something to deal with the pain,” he groaned softly, submerging his face into my neck once more. My world spun, but I was very aware of what was happening. In his lust, he let go of my wrists, grabbing my hair instead. I was lifted off the bed slightly as his teeth made light imprints on my skin. His other hand roamed my body, lifting my shirt up as he inched towards my breasts. “I am going to enjoy this.” his breathing became heavier as his bites turned into kisses. He finally reached my face, kissing me passionately as his hands went for my pants. I closed my eyes, ready for this horror.

I felt nothing, which came as a surprise to me. In movies, after a woman has been raped, she cries and screams. She often drowns herself in sorrow, releasing all of her rage and hurt into the world. I didn’t feel angry, or sad, just nothing. I felt a pinch as Foster injected me with another dose of his new and improved liquid fog. He was completely relaxed, humming softly as his thumb pressed against my injection site. A bubble of anger formed inside at his merry attitude. As the fog took over, my mind wandered away from my body, and I let it. My legs were pressed against me as I sat there, trying to pull away from what just happened. I had a job to do, I couldn’t let this stop me. As I felt the fog seep deeper into my brain, Foster sat next to me, silent. I glanced over to him. His face was morphed into a scowl.

“How does this feel?” he questioned.

“Better.” my voice had no inflection to it. It spilled out in a monotone drone.

“We will see how long this one lasts.” I looked away, disgusted by the sight of him. I felt my limbs become heavy, warmth filling me despite the frigid room. “Now, I will ask you one more time, what did Caspar tell you to do?”

I looked back at him, my face twisted into rage. “To destroy you by whatever means necessary.” I growled. He murmured something before quickly turning and leaving the room. I hear no lock click as he slammed the door behind him.

The fog was in full effect now; I didn’t feel tired, just numb. I slid to the edge of the bed, letting my legs dangle over the side. My face stung. I could feel a bruise forming on my cheek. I sat there thinking. Iron resolve formed. I would take the abuse. I would let him do what he wished until he made a mistake. There was no going back. I would not let him break me.

Days passed, at least I thought they were days. Foster would come in to continue his abuse, trying to pull information from me. I refused to tell him anything, no matter how badly he hurt me.
I stood firm, letting his anger and lust do their damage. In those first few days, he had beaten me pretty badly. He snapped bones and spilled as much blood as he could. One beating resulted in me losing so much blood that it kept Foster at bay for a while. Cuts and scratches littered my body, bruises formed on my face, ribs and fingers were broken. He would always try some new drug on me as a peace offering before starting the cycle all over again. Eventually, his anger slowly faded. Every day, the beatings would lessen, and his carnal desires would increase. This was turning into some sort of warped, one sided romance.

I was never kept locked up. Foster saw no need for it. The frosty landscape kept me from running, and the injuries kept me from fighting back too much. Sleep evaded me most nights, so I began exploring the house, taking care to stay out of Foster’s room. I mostly looked around the bottom floor, trying to piece together where I was. I found USSR propaganda in a broken cabinet, as well as a children's reading books written in Russian. We were somewhere in the USSR, that was a fact. Not that it meant much. We must have been somewhere very desolate. There was no electricity or running water here. Foster paid an older man and his son to bring him supplies from time to time.

One day I was walking around the house, trying to walk off the pain of my now crushed fingers. I had fought back Foster’s advances a little too hard, resulting in my newest injury. I walked in loops, going from the upper hallway, down to the first floor. As I walked back upstairs, I saw Foster leaning against his doorway, watching me closely. I stopped, returning his gaze. I held my hand against my chest, quietly seething. My breathing was shallow from my newest broken rib. Pain didn’t phase me much anymore. I was so used to it.

“Come” he called out to me, before turning back and entering his room again. I stood there for a moment, debating. I was in no mood for his nonsense right now. I just wanted to go back to my prison cell for some peace. I decided to defy his order, walking straight to my open door. Foster caught me at the threshold, placing a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

“What do you want?” I stated flatly.

“Don’t be stubborn.” Sighing, I flipped around, refusing to look him in the eye. He lightly pulled me out of my room and into his. My eyes wandered around his area, noticing the ever-growing stack of papers on his piano. “Go sit down,” he said, pointing at his piano bench. I did so quietly. He stood a few feet from me, looking me over.

“You pulled me in here to stare at me?” I hissed. He said nothing, taking a few steps towards me. He got down on one knee, tenderly turning my head to the side to examine my face. It was so cold, there was no swelling on my bruised face. His tongue clicked as his hand pulled my damaged fingers from my chest. Examining their bruised and broken state. He moved my index finger, causing a painful hiss to slip from my lips. Releasing my hand, it shot back to its resting position on my chest.

“We are at an impasse,” he sighed, his head dropping down. His eyes gazed back to me, defeated. “You will never find that page, and I will never let you leave. This doesn’t have to be difficult.” he crooned. My teeth ground. Was he really doing this? I took as deep of a breath as I could, trying to sooth my rage.

“What do you want?” I asked again.

“I want you to give in. Stop fighting, it is only hurting you.”

“You are hurting me!” I cried, wincing as my detached rib moved. Foster grabbed my shoulders, mumbling soothingly. I pushed him off, standing abruptly as he fell backwards and hit the floor. All the rage, sorrow and pain inflicted on me for god knew how long, came roaring out. I had done a good job of keeping it buried inside me, but now it had unleashed itself. “You have destroyed my life. I was happy before I knew you. Now you expect me to just lie down and take whatever you dole out. I absolutely despise you with every fiber of my being.” I screamed. I doubled over in pain, tears rushing down my face. Foster got up, standing clear of my bout of rage. “Just kill me,” I sobbed. I had never meant for those words to slip out, but what was done was done. The pain and frustration had finally taken their toll on me. I collapsed, my knees landing with a hard thud on the floor.

I could hear Foster’s footsteps approaching me, making sure to stay as quiet as he possibly could. I hung my head, trying to quiet my painful sobbing. I felt his hands grab my arms, lifting me back to my feet. One of his arms snaked around me, pulling me close to him. His other hand rested on the back of my head as he began nuzzling my hair. He was making a valiant attempt to be comforting. In its own twisted way, it was soothing.

I was suddenly pulled away from him. His brow furrowed as a hand flew to my forehead. I gave him a curious look. I had no idea what he was doing. “How long have you had a fever?” he growled.

“Fever?” the words he said didn’t make sense. As far as I was concerned, I never had one. If anything, I was constantly cold.

“Yes, you are burning hot. Why did you neglect to tell me this?” his tone was accusatory.

“I don’t feel sick. I am just in pain” I replied. He was becoming frantic, I could see it in his eyes.

“Damn,” he roared. He pulled me back to the piano bench, “Sit down and do not move.” I did, more out of confusion than compliance. Foster rushed from the room, storming down the hall. I heard him slam a door open.

I took my unbroken hand and felt my face. My skin was clammy, but it did not feel hot. I looked at him warily as he walked back in. In his hand was a brown bottle and a small metal cup. He placed the cup on the piano behind me, opening the brown bottle. He poured some of its contents into the cup. Shoving the cup into my only good hand, he hissed “Drink, all of it.”

I looked into the cup, it just looked like water. In one gulp, I drained the contents, grimacing at the slight bitter flavor. Foster grabbed the cup from me, slamming it back on the piano.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Antibiotics.” came the simple reply. “A marvel of your modern world.” I hoped he was telling me the truth, and not trying to sedate me with some horrid drug. He sat on the piano bench next to me, facing the opposite direction. A hand grabbed my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. “I hope this wasn’t some sly attempt to rid yourself of me.”

“I don’t feel sick. I am just tired and in pain” I cried emphatically. His eyes searched mine. I wasn’t a very good liar, surely he knew that by now. He looked away, his other hand searching between stacks of paper. He finally found what he was looking for, another brown bottle. He removed his hand from my face, opening the bottle and taking out a pill. Placing it in my hand, his eyes told me to take it. I did so, swallowing it as quickly as I could. Satisfied with me, he began playing his piano, occasionally stopping to take notes.

The song he played was sad. Less complex than the others I had heard over the days. He was a very adept musician, I would give him that. His music was unlike anything I had ever come across before. I could see why Meg and Christine took interest in his opera. The thought of those two depressed me. I wondered how Chris was doing, and if she knew Meg’s fate yet? I wrapped an arm around myself, trying to push the sorrow from my mind.

As the minutes ticked by, the pain in my hand began to fade. I removed my hand from its resting place, looking it over curiously. Foster saw this and immediately stopped playing. One of my fingers jutted out strangely, but the others were simply bruised and swollen. In a flash he grabbed the finger, straightening it out with a sharp crack. I gasped in horror. I didn’t feel it, but now all of my fingers looked normal.

He rose from his seat, walking around the bench. “What did you give me?”

“Morphine.” I looked up at him. His voice was soft once more, taking on a comforting tone. Eyes looked me over, as I sat there shivering. I looked out the only window in the room, it was getting dark. The biting cold was beginning to set in. “Come,” he called, holding a hand out to me. I took it, rising from my seat and following him out the door. He led me back to my prison, gently pushing me to the bed. I sat down wearily. The short walk had tired me out. “Lie down.” he commanded. I hesitated. I still didn’t trust him, he was being far too nice to me, for no reason.

“I would rather stay sitting up,” I stammered, ready for his rage at my defiance. Foster shrugged, walking to my door, and leaning on the frame. He watched me closely, a smirk drifting across his face. “What are you so amused by?”

“You cannot make anything easy, can you?”

“Excuse me if I am a little suspicious.”

“You don’t need to be. I am not going to hurt you.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He shrugged again, dropping the subject.

“Did you plan on having children, Charlie?” The question made my eyes go wide.

“I don’t know.” I stuttered. I didn’t like this question.

“You are how old? 28? That is the age when women usually want children.” I didn’t know how to respond.

“I never thought about it much.” Foster raised an eyebrow, pressing for more. “I spent the last ten years trying to get my doctorate and get a job I didn’t hate. Children and families never crossed my mind. Even if it did, I work far too much to be any type of proper mother.”

“That seems to be a trend in this period. Women not wanting children.”

“I never said I didn’t want them, I said I never thought about it.” Foster blurred out of my vision for a minute. I shook my head, regaining my sight. The cold was beginning to get to me.

“So you do want them?”

“I dunno” was the only reply I gave. Foster sat there smiling, amused at my flustered state. My vision blurred out again. I put a hand to my head, trying to shake off the now unbearable cold.

“Are you still sure you don’t want to lie down?” Foster giggled. I gazed back at him, annoyed. I was seeing double, my body beginning to go limp. I slumped forward. I had forgotten about the morphine. Foster came rushing forward, catching me before I hit the floor. He laughed as he placed me back on the bed. His hand touched my forehead as I lay there with my eyes squeezed shut. I was beginning to feel nauseous. “You still feel hot.” he murmured.

“But I feel so cold” I mumbled back. He shushed me, petting my hair.

“Sleep” he whispered. I did as I was told, letting the morphine take me away.

I was so hot. I could feel sweat pouring down my face. I cracked open my eyes. I saw nothing by dim blobs of light. Foster had been right, I was sick. I tried moving, but pain prevented that. I squeezed my eyes shut, opening them again. My vision cleared. I could see Foster’s legs next to mine. Looking up, I could see he was laying there with me, his back propped up on the bed frame. He was jotting something down. I shifted uncomfortably, alerting him to my state of consciousness. His eyes never wandered from his papers. I closed my eyes again, unable to keep them open any longer. Foster’s hand felt my forehead. He sighed, I could hear him placing his papers down.

“You fever refuses to break” his voice held deep concern. “I can’t let you get away that easily, my pet.” He lifted me up, letting my body rest against his. Placing a cup in my hand, he ordered me to drink. I opened my eyes again, to see the familiar mug. I grabbed it weakly, barely having the strength to lift it. Foster helped. I drank it in a few gulps. He took the cup back, letting my hand fall into my lap. This was miserable. I hadn’t been this ill since I was a child. Foster’s arm wrapped around me. I could feel his face pressed into my hair. He was truly infatuated.

“How long have I been out?” I mumbled.

“Two days” he whispered. “I have been keeping a close eye on you.” I took a gulp of air, feeling my ribs shift painfully. “This hand is also concerning me. I may have to bring a doctor.” I looked down at my broken fingers. They were purple, and swollen. “For now, just relax. I don’t want you dying on me.” I don’t think I could have done anything else. Between the aches, pains and searing heat of my body, I was at his mercy.

Pain wracked my body, making sleep impossible. Again, I shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Foster’s arm. I could hear a voice calling my name, but it wasn’t Foster’s. The voice became louder, and louder until my name was being screamed in my ear. I sat up, crying out in pain. I put my hands to my ears, attempting to shut out the furious cries.

“Destroy that page, Charlie” Ubel’s deep voice screamed at me. “Stop wasting time.” This repeated over, and over again, sending sharp pulsed through my head. I doubled over, ignoring the pain from my injuries. Foster attempted to bring me back to him, but my body was completely rigid. I cried out for the voice to stop, but it wouldn’t. My arm was pried from my body. I could feel Foster’s needle pierce my skin. Then, all at once, the voice stopped. I stayed doubled over, sobbing uncontrollably. Without any warning, a high pitched screech penetrated my ears. I sat up, wailing.

“Stop!” I cried out, but it wouldn’t go away. It got louder and louder. My ears felt like they were bleeding. It was like someone was rubbing their nails against a chalkboard. Finally, the room was silent again. I opened my eyes to see Foster. He was cupping my face in his hands as I continued to cry.

“I know, I know, I can hear it too” he murmured. It was maddening, no wonder Foster lost his mind. “He calls to me, always. I have learned to ignore it over the years.” I felt a pang of sympathy for him. It shook me to my very core. How could I feel any type of pleasant emotion towards this man. At one point he must have been human. Right? I pushed the thought from my mind as my sobs dissipated. I could feel my muscles relaxing as Foster’s drug took hold of my body.

“I can’t take this,” I moaned. I had reached my limit. I have never wanted to die before, but now it was all I could think about.

“Charlie, listen to me. You need to calm down. You are safe.” Foster whispered.

“I am not” I shuttered. Foster’s face stayed neutral, not denying my words. His hands dropped from my face, pulling me into a tight embrace.

“Believe it or not, my dear, I wasn’t always like this” he breathed. “My mind has rotted, I cannot help myself anymore. Forgive me.” I squeezed my eyes shut, this wasn’t happening. I couldn’t forgive him for the things he did to me. But in this moment, I let him hold me. He was the only comfort I had right now. I felt a pang of remorse for the monster that held me here against my will.

His embrace relaxed, as I felt his hand reach for my chin. My head was lifted gently. I suddenly felt his lips on mine. I may have felt pity for this horrific creature, but I wasn’t going to sanction his advances. I tried to push him off of me with no success. Regardless of what he was, now he was an absolute madman. He released me, pulling me back into an embrace. I shuttered with relief, he wasn’t going to take this further. I began to feel tired, my body finally responding to the drug he injected me with earlier. I finally fell into a deep sleep, thankful the chaos was over for now.

Chapter Text

It took a few days for my fever to subside. In those few days, I never left Foster’s sight. His abuse completely subsided. If anything, his treatment of me was benevolent. He treated me with a kindness that made me uncomfortable. I had a hard time processing this new treatment. My fury had melted away, giving in to a strange kind of pity. I still didn’t want to be here, but I didn’t want to kill him now. This idea ran circles around my brain. I should have hated him with everything my heart had to offer, but I didn’t. It reminded me of the Patty Hearst incident, where she bonded with her kidnappers, eventually helping them rob a bank. I don’t think I would have robbed a bank for Foster, but the feel was similar. I still kept my distance. He could switch back at any point. I didn’t want to press my luck. My mission had been clearly restated by Ubel, and I feared him far more than Foster.

I needed to get him to destroy his page. He was so paranoid; I didn’t think it would be possible. He knew I could hear Ubel’s calls to action. I had apparently repeated it in my fever ridden stupor. This knowledge only made Foster kinder to me. We shared this. He told me he could hear Ubel constantly. Besides the one time, I could only hear whispers in the silence. Foster’s piano playing gave me something to focus on at night, when the voices were the worst. They constantly called my name, urging me to finish the job I had been tasked too. I felt like I was going mad.

One evening, I was sitting with Foster on his piano bench, listening to him pound on the keys. It sounded like a bunch of distorted notes, none of it fitting together cohesively. The irritating screeches were hard to listen too as I sat there. I did my best to concentrate on the song, but after a while, I couldn’t ignore the voices. Their distorted calls simply added to the music, turning a distorted melody into a horrific song. My hands wrung with anxiety as I sat there. I was so caught up with the ghostly whispers that I didn’t hear him speaking to me. A gentle hand on my shoulder made me jump, as he repeated what he said.

“You shouldn’t focus on them. It will only get worse.” I nodded, attempting to force them from my mind.

“It’s hard not too.”

“After 200 years, I have gained some ability to block them out.”

“I feel like I am going crazy,” I murmured. Foster chuckled, returning to his piano playing. His incoherent music filled the room once more.The horrifying song began again. Chanting my name in soft tones. I could hear Foster’s muffled voice in the distance, but the voices drowned him out once again.

“Charlie” his voice rang out. I finally looked at him, an expression of worry plastered on his face. “Concentrate on the music” he commanded.

“I can’t,” I replied, “It sounds like nonsense.”

“There is a lot of dissonance in this piece.”

“Did you write it?” He nodded.

“It’s what I hear.” It took me a second to fully comprehend what he was saying. I finally understood what drove him to do some of the things he did. If I heard that all day, every day, I would kill too. Ubel had more of a bone to pick with Foster, the screaming in his head was probably much worse.

“It must be torture.” another nod confirmed this.

“Caspar does his best to make my life as miserable as possible.” Foster hissed.

“Like destroying your face.”

“That was a part of my deal.”

“No, I mean when you face...melted.” He gazed at me in confusion, before realizing what I meant. I still couldn’t get the image of his twisted, half-melted facade from my mind.

“He enjoys wasting my time and resources.”

“To be perfectly honest, he seemed pretty pissed off with you when I talked to him.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Silence filled the room again. I stared at the floor. Trying to ease my own fractured mind. “Christine could hear them too.”

“I can believe that.” She had mentioned them to me before. I had ignored her, believing she was just fatigued.

“She couldn’t handle the noise.”

“I can’t fault her.”

“But you can.”

“Can what?”

“Handle the noise.”

“Is that what makes me interesting? My mental elasticity?” My sarcasm went unnoticed by Foster.

“Among other things.” I wasn’t going to press this subject. I didn’t like it when he talked about me. It seemed to drive his infatuation. I could feel his fingers brushing against my arm. I closed my eyes for a second. A weight grew in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want him near me anymore. I got up, mumbling about how tired I was. His hand lurched out, grabbing my wrist. My eyes shot to him as he looked up at me. “You aren’t alone, Charlie. I am the only person on Earth who understands this misery...” His voice trailed off as he stared at me. He seemed to be searching for words.

“Get to the point.” He stood, keeping his firm grasp on my wrist.

“This never gets better. It will never go away until you complete your task. That is something I cannot allow.” he sounded almost apologetic. I tried pulling my wrist from him, but he remained firm as he stepped around his piano bench. “Fighting me won’t make it go away.” I was finally able to wrench my wrist from his grasp. His look was ravenous. I wanted to get away from his unsettling eyes. I turned, leaving the warmth of his room for the frigid chill of mine. I could hear his footsteps following me as I entered my cell. I had enough of this. I turned to face him, ready to yell for him to leave me alone. I didn’t get a syllable out. HIs face was suddenly on mine. Kissing me fiercely. My attempts to push him off were denied. I was still too weak to fight him off like I had once been able too. My illness had taken all of the power I once wielded behind my frame.

I knew exactly what he wanted. For me to give in to him. To accept him and his desires. I couldn’t deny that I thought about it. It was a sick thought, but giving up would have been a great relief. I was so tired of fighting, but I knew no other way to deal with this. His hands tugged at my clothing hungrily. I finally slipped out of his grasp, putting a considerable distance between us.

“Leave me alone” I hissed. “I just want to be alone.” He didn’t move, he simply stared at me. This was a battle of wills I could not win right now. My best chance was to avoid and deflect.

“I’ve told you before, I can take what I want from you, Charlie. I am giving you the chance to give it to me. Accept that this is it. There is no hope of escape for you.” Rage rolled around in my mind. I still had hope. It had been the only thing keeping me from completely losing my mind. But his insistence there was none captured my thoughts. My death wish came screaming back. I could provoke him. Maybe he would just end this here and now. He was far too emotionally unstable to stop once he started. My eyes closed as the voices began screaming at me.

“Fight. Survive. Destroy. Kill.” came the rhythmic chant. I tried to push my suicidal thoughts from me. They weren’t any help, especially since my newfound madness seemed agitated by the idea of my death. The chanting grew louder. I placed a hand on my head, as pressure built behind my eyes.

“You must have wanted this.” I heard Foster murmur. I opened one eye, giving him a glare.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The pressure in my head was growing as the chanting got louder.

“You came to me so willingly. It’s hard to believe that you didn’t have another sneaky idea rolling around in that pretty little head of yours” he ginned.

“I am not a seemingly all-knowing, immortal being with unlimited resources at my disposal. Sorry to disappoint you, but the plans I had were all that was rattling around up there” I laughed. His lips tightened, unamused.

“Why is that funny?”

“You are so absurd. You think of me far too highly if you believe I had any clue what I was doing” my laughter was becoming hysterical. “Just because my ideas were used, doesn’t mean they were good.” I doubled over, not able to control my laughter. My ribs throbbed with pain, but I still couldn’t stop.

“You have lost your mind, girl.”

“Maybe, but I am still light years behind you.” my laughter was subsiding. I wiped tears from my eyes as I regained my composure. Foster’s face gazed at me quizzically, which almost sent me back into fits of laughter. He was right, I had lost my mind.

The voices quieted, leaving me in relative peace for the moment. I still felt pressure behind my eyes. My head throbbed, as I stood there. Foster still hadn't moved. He still seemed concerned about my mental state. He had every right to be.

“Has your laughing fit subsided?”

“For now.”

“And I assume you have given no thought to what I said before?”

“That I should just give in and let you do as you wish with me?” I raised an eyebrow. “That’s not going to happen.” He began walking towards me, slowly. Each step creating a loud crack on the floor.

“That is not what I was inferring” he hissed.

“Then what exactly are you inferring?” I was getting agitated with his games. Everything he said or did was some puzzle I had to figure out. “I am not in the right frame of mind for riddles.” He stopped, less than a foot from me.

“I don’t want to keep you here,” he said softly.

“So let me go.” His eyes closed as he breathed deeply. My comment had infuriated him. I could see his hands fold into fists. My confused stare greeted him when he opened his eyes.

“Shut up and listen” he growled. “I would like to know that I don’t have to keep you locked in here when the snow melts.”

My eyes narrowed, “You want me to stay with you, willingly?”

“Yes.”

“What if I say no?”

“I will keep you locked in here until next winter. We continue our little game as if we didn’t have this conversation.”

“And if I say yes?” This was a loaded question. I almost didn’t want to know the answer.

“That had yet to be determined.” his eyes looked me up and down. My first instinct was to tell him no. I wanted to scream it to the heavens. I didn’t want to be here, at all. Most importantly, I didn’t want to be with him. I stood there, thinking intensely. No meant more abuse, and less freedom, but yes was an unknown. I had no idea if saying yes would really change anything? In his delusion, yes may just mean everything he did from that point on would be consensual.

“I need time. Give me the rest of the night. I will have an answer tomorrow.”

“And if I say no?” he grinned inanely.

“Then my answer is no.” This seemed to shock him. The idea that a night of thinking could change my answer filled his eyes with joy. It was terrifying.

“As you wish” his sly smile made me regret asking for a night. Without another word he turned, walking straight out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

I was finally alone. I sighed, finally able to let my guard down. Days of Foster always being there had taken its toll on me. I went to the bed, sitting down. I basked in the silence of the room for a moment, before Foster’s incessant piano playing began once more.

I laid across the bed, my mind searching for an answer. No, that was my answer, but did I dare tell him that? If I told him yes, I would have to play the part. I had never been much of a manipulator. My mother was a professional, but it seemed to be lost on me. My eyes gazed at the ceiling. I needed help. I wished that Edgar was here to help me figure out my own thoughts. But there was no one but me. I had to figure this out. By myself.

Hours past, and I sat in my room. Contemplating Foster’s words. He admitted to me that he had no idea what was going to happen if I said yes. The unknown was troubling. I defaulted to science. It was something I knew well. I had spent 8 years immersed in it. My mind screamed; unknowns are bad, facts are good. Follow the facts and you have an answer. It was like playing The Price is Right. Do I take the car or the mystery box. The right answer would be the car. I knew the car existed. It had a tangible value I could see. The mystery box could hold something worth more, or much less. The chaos in my mind continued. My thoughts were suddenly pushed to the side by a single voice ringing in my mind. It was soft, but firm.

“Yes,” it whispered.

“I can’t” I replied. That’s when Ubel’s voice pierced through my mind.

“Tell him yes, Charlie. Stay with him.” I repeated my thought, shutting my eyes tightly. “You have a job to do. If that means playing along with his game, you will do it.”

“I am not a good liar. I won’t be able to keep this up for long.”

“He craves love. The only thing he can never have. If you can’t lie, don’t.” I let out an audible laugh, covering my mouth to silence myself. I could hear Foster stop playing for a second, and then return to his music.

“You are asking me to love him.”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“But I don’t. Not in the slightest.”

“Then find something to love.” Ubel’s voice bellowed. I placed my hands over my ears, hissing quietly from the pain.

“Alright, I will try.”

“No, don’t try, do it! I need him to destroy that page. Don’t forget your task, and don’t get caught up in his foolishness. Make him believe in your love. Who knows, you might be able to convince him to destroy the page willingly.” he chuckled. I sighed, I doubted that somehow, but I had accepted this task. I couldn’t lose my focus. No matter the circumstances. Foster would continue his reign of terror for eternity, and I just couldn’t allow that.

Ubel’s voice faded away, leaving me alone one again. I had an answer, now I just needed to figure out what I could love about Foster. This was going to take all of my will. I still had time. So I continued to think. How was I going to love him?

I could see the first rays of dawn creep through my small window. I hadn't slept. All night I had practiced what I would do as a willing partner to this psychopath. I needed to control my rage. Had to speak carefully. I couldn’t let him know of my deception. I still couldn’t think of anything I loved about him. The idea of love had always confused me. I had a hard time expressing my affection. It had been a problem in the early years of my relationship with Martin. A pang of guilt swept over me when I thought of him. I was betraying him. My love belonged to him, and now I had to take it and give it to someone else. I pushed thoughts of my beloved husband out of my mind. I couldn’t think of him. It would destroy me.

As the sun rose higher, I waited for Foster’s footsteps to ring from the hall. When they finally did, I braced myself for the conversation. When his footsteps walked straight past my door, I sat up. He had been far too eager to hear my answer the night before for this to be right. I slid from the bed, tiptoeing to the door. I opened it, poking my head out. His door was wide open, but he was nowhere to be seen. Opening my door wide, I stepped out into the hall, listening for him. I could hear muffled voices coming from downstairs. I silently stepped to the staircase, listening to the voices from the top. Foster was speaking to someone in a language I couldn’t understand. The person speaking to him sounded terrified. The conversation lasted for a few minutes, before I heard Foster’s heavy footsteps trudging back up. I stood back, waiting for him to appear. The scowl on his face concerned me as he noticed my presence.

“What’s going on?” I asked. He continued to walk, ignoring my question. Storming into his room. He knocked over a lone stack of paper, enraged. I continued to stand in the hall. I was not going to become his punching bag. Distance was key.

“We have to leave.” he hissed. I stepped closer to his door, keeping as silent as possible. “This damn country is going to hell. There is a rebellion at the capitol. The government is trying to control the insurrection. They are on their way.”

“Here?”

“Yes, you stupid girl. We are near a town known for housing rebels.” Foster began rifling through the papers on his piano, taking some and pushing others off to the side. “It will be only a matter of time before they find me. I am not exactly a town treasure.”

“When are we leaving?”

“I need a few hours to sort out some things. We will go sometime tonight. Until then, I would prefer if you stayed in your room.” He didn’t need to tell me twice. I turned, going back to my room without a word.

Night fell, and I still hadn’t seen Foster, but I could hear him stomping around in the hallway. He seemed to forget about our conversation the day before. I was grateful for the extra time. I could sort through my thoughts on how to get him to believe I actually wanted to be here with him. I came to a couple conclusions. I needed to control my rage. I had always been a hot head, never dealing with my anger well. That would need to change. I also needed to spend more time with him, willingly. That idea made me shutter. The more access he had to me, the worse this could get. I needed to be able to take his rage and abuse as well. He was volatile when his temper flared. His sexual advances were also something that concerned me. I would have to be a willing participant if I was going to make this believable. I pushed that thought from my mind. I couldn’t handle that right now.

Finally, I heard him outside of my door. Foster pushed open my door, his face weary as he stood in my doorway. I had been laying on the wooden floor of my room when he came in. Jumping up, I stood to face him.

“Sit.” he commanded, pointing at the bed. I did as I was told, my eyes never leaving him. He dragged himself into the room. A syringe glistened in his hand as he stopped in front of me. I held my arm out to him. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he grabbed my wrist. I looked away, as he injected me with whatever this was. “This will work fast.” I nodded, feeling the needle slip from my skin. I felt his fingers roughly grab my chin, jerking my head to him. “I need your answer, Charlie.” he hissed. The look in his eyes was frenzied.

Gently, I pushed his hand off of my face as I said, “Before I answer, I have a request.”

“What?” he snarled.

“No matter what I answer, don’t break any more bones. This hand is very annoying to deal with.” he seemed to find this funny, as a smirk crossed his face.

“No promises, now answer the question.”

I took a deep breath; I was not ready for this, but when would I ever be? “Alright, I will stay.” Foster stepped back, slightly shocked.

“You will-?” he questioned. I don’t think he could believe it, and neither could I.

“As you said, either way, I am not leaving. I might as well make this tolerable. I won’t run, and I will try not to fight.”

“Try?”

“I have my limits.” I smirked. His shocked expression didn’t change. I don’t think he had any idea where to go from here.

My vision became blurry as the drug hit me. It was like being smacking in the face with a brick. I placed my hand on the bed, trying to keep myself up. I felt Foster’s hands grab my shoulders before I was out once more.

I groaned. This was the worst haze I had ever been in after a drugging. I opened my eyes, sitting up to a very dimly lit room. I couldn’t make out much in the darkness. My eyes moved to a dim lamp. It was electric, the first sign of civilization I had seen in a while. It was on a small table, glowing warmly. As my eyes darted around the room, movement caught my eye. I jumped, eventually releaved to see it was my reflection. It was a vanity, sitting in the corner of the room. I looked to my side, eyeing the empty bedside table. I finally felt composed enough to sit on the edge of what I saw laying on. I looked back, seeing a proper bed stare back at me. I was shocked to see it actually had pillows and sheets.

I looked around the room once again, pinpointing the exits. There were two. One sat next to the lamp, its gold-colored knob twinkling at me. The other was draped in shadows next to the vanity. I got up, walking to the door near the lamp. Rattling the knob, I discovered this door was locked. I scowled, even though I had told Foster I wouldn’t run, he felt the need to lock the door. A horrid thought crossed my mind. What if there was something behind it I shouldn’t see? I backed away, making a dash for the other door. I opened it, confronted by another room that was obviously Foster’s. A light shone brightly from the corner, blinding me for a moment. When my vision returned, I studied the room curiously. This room was absolutely littered with papers. They covered tables, chairs, a desk and a piano that stood against a large window. The moon illuminated its black exterior. This room was the direct opposite of the one at the abandoned farmhouse. This was a more modern room that had been kept in excellent condition.

“I didn’t expect to see you up so soon.” Foster’s sleepy voice whispered. His lips pressed against my ear as his hands wrapped around my shoulders. My heart nearly lept out of my chest. I pulled away from him instinctively, almost knocking over a nearby stack of papers. I turned, air finally returning to my lungs.

“I swear to god, was that necessary?” I breathed, trying to steady my heart. He chuckled lightly, standing in the bedroom, just beyond the threshold of the door. He looked exhausted as his eyes stayed trained on me.

“It’s the middle of the night.” he sighed, pulling me back into the bedroom. He shut the door behind me, letting shadows consume us both. “You should be in bed.”

I was still drowsy from the drug, but my curiosity had gotten the better of me. I nodded, letting him lead me back to bed. I sat down, following his movements. I never heard the other door open, and he wasn’t in the other room. Where did he magically appear from? As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw an armchair sitting near a heavily curtained window. It was barely lit, explaining why I never saw him when I woke up. He plopped down, leaning back as far as he could.

“You seem to be the tired one.” I said, watching his head sink back against the chair.

“I am,” he replied. I had never seen him sleep, or even tired. This was a new experience.

“So why don’t you go lie down?”

“I prefer it here,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. I looked around the room again, trying to make out the other pieces of furniture I may have missed. I was drowsy, but not ready to sleep again. The room was silent as I sat there. The voices in my head had subsided, offering me a level of peace I hadn’t had in a while. I basked in it, letting the minutes tick by. Foster’s voice broke through once more, startling me. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“With?”

“With me here?”

“No,” came my swift reply. “I am just concerned.”

“About?”

“You,” his eyes shot open, staring at me from his unmoved position.

“Why?”

“I have never seen you this exhausted.” He paused, not knowing how to respond. I could see his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“The voices are particularly bad tonight.” I sighed. Ubel’s voice plagued me, but it tortured him. My pang of sympathy returned.

“I don’t hear them right now,” I murmured.

“Enjoy it. Those moments never last.” I nodded, my sympathy being replaced by anxiety. Silence returned to the room. I stared at the floor, letting my mind empty. “Does it surprise you to know that I sleep?”

“That’s an odd question, I assumed everyone sleeps at some point. Even immortal beings.” he chuckled, shifting in his chair.

“Sleep seems to be difficult for you.”

“It can be. I am used to long nights at work.” His eyes closed once more, letting the silence consume us. “Are you sure you are comfortable there?” I asked. I sighed when he gave me no answer. He had finally fallen asleep, leaving me with my thoughts.

I woke up once more. I could see orange rays of sunlight peering through the curtains. It was finally morning. I got back up, sitting on the edge of the bed once more. I looked over at Foster. He was still sound asleep in his chair. I looked over at the vanity, finally able to see myself. I looked horrible. My cheek was still bruised. Deep shades of yellow and green against my now ghostly white skin. Dark circles framed my eyes, adding to my hollowed out appearance. I looked like a corpse. My eyes fell back to Foster. His gaze stared blankly at me.

“Are you alright?” he groaned, sitting up in his chair.

“Yes,” came my hoarse reply. He nodded, leaning forward, letting his head bob forward.

“You unsettle me, girl.” I laughed. That was the funniest thing I had heard in years.

“I unsettle you? How am I unsettling?”

“You never sleep, and you are always so quiet.” I laughed harder. Holding onto my side. “You also think the strangest things are comical.”

“You never sleep, you sneak up on me and scare me half to death! I also don’t hear you speak often.”

“Do I unsettle you?”

“Absolutely,”

“And there is that.” I composed myself, shooting him a quizzical look. “You speak with no fear, even when you are afraid.”

“I am what I am,” I shrugged. He rose from his seat, walking straight to the door near the vanity. He opened it wide, dancing through the stacks of papers. I stayed seated, watching him disappear into the room. It was filled with sunlight, and my eyes burned from it. I closed my eyes, unable to take the painful light. I could hear Foster’s footsteps in the room once more. The door closed, and I opened my eyes again. I readjusted to the darkness again, as Foster got closer.

“Let me see your hand.” he asked. I raised my broken hand to him. He grabbed it gently, looking over it. The purple bruises were fading into green and brown. The tips of my fingers were able to move now, but any movement below that hurt. His fingers touched mine, feeling for bits of bone beneath my skin. “They seem to be healing well. I don’t think I need to reset any of them.” I said nothing in reply. He dropped my hand and sat next to me. A weight grew in my stomach. He seemed to be struggling for words. Anxiety bubbled up as I looked at him, so I looked away. Suddenly, he got back up, speeding back to his room. Slamming the door behind him. I looked back to the door, relieved that he didn’t say what he was going to say.

Chapter Text

I sat in the armchair next to the now open window, letting the sunlight shine on my skin. It felt wonderful. After careful prodding around the room, I had found a book. It was some text on French history. It was thick, giving me plenty to leaf through, but it was dull. My interests were in African and Middle Eastern culture. Western Europe bored me. Regardless, I read it.

I hadn’t seen Foster since he stormed out that morning. He had locked me down in this room. I had no idea what had ticked him off so badly, but I wasn’t going to question it. Before finding my book, I had done a thorough investigation of the landscape from my window. It was another snowy set of fields that stretched almost as far as I could see. Deep in the distance, I could see a small town. Beyond that was a stretch of sea. The sight of that town gave me so much hope for escape, that the voices came back. Chastising me for even thinking about leaving. Putting that thought to rest, I went wandering through the room. Ultimately, finding my book and sitting down to read.

As the sun began to set, I heard the door to Foster’s room click open. I glanced up from my book to see the door open. I glanced back down, continuing to read. Foster’s steps roared through the room. My book was knocked from my hands. I cried out in pain as it hit my broken fingers. He was suddenly in my face, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. I leaned back, wondering what I had done to deserve this rage. If I had done anything at all?

“Why did you say yes?” he roared.

My heart leapt up wildly as I spoke. “I told you. I have no chance of escape...”

“I am not an idiot.” he hissed. “You are a sneaky little bitch. There must be something you have come up with.” I gulped, had he figured out my plan? I needed to calm this situation.

“I have no plan. You are constantly watching me. Even if I tried, you would find me in a second.” I cried, holding up my thumb. His ring glistened in the sunset as it sat on my finger. He grabbed my hand. Squeezing hard.

“I don’t believe you.” I didn’t know what to say. I had no way of proving I would stay, and I would not ask him what I could do to prove it. I didn’t want to go down that path. That was a dangerous question. Fear kept me paralyzed as I braced myself for another broken hand. Suddenly, Foster dropped my hand, storming back to his room and locking the door again. I sat in my chair, breathing heavily. This was going to be brutal.

The next morning played out very much like the previous day. I had slept very little, but that was normal now. I sat in my chair, reading my dull book about French history, after staring out the window for an hour. Anxiety pulsed through me. I didn’t know how to fix this. He was convinced I would run. After a while I shut my book and went to lie on my bed, thinking. What was he going to do? This was the nightmare I dreaded. Foster was just going to continue his abuse until I gave out. My breathing was rapid. Maybe I should try to run? If he’s going to kill me, I might as well die fighting. The voices returned, adding to the chaos of my mind. They screamed at me. Unintelligible screaming. Punishment for thinking about death. I put my hands against my ears, trying to quiet them. They could not be placated.

After what seemed like hours of horrific berating, the voices quieted down. I laid in bed, exhausted from the onslaught. The sun had slipped below the sea. I basked in its last warming rays before it disappeared entirely. I laid there in the dark, watching the tiny lights from the town flicker on. I had always loved city skylines. I thought the twinkling lights were beautiful. I closed my eyes, trying to calm the mounting dread. Eventually, exhaustion took over as I drifted off.

I could feel eyes on me as I woke from my fitful sleep. I felt dazed as I opened my eyes. I looked to the chair. Foster was sitting there, his hands neatly folded in his lap. My anxiety came charging back as our eyes met.

“How shall we handle this?” he smirked.

“Handle what?” I croaked, pulling my body up. I sat on the edge of the bed, completely drained.

“How are we going to prove you won’t leave me?”

“Prove?” I questioned. “I don’t know how I can prove it. I won’t leave, I promise”

“Your promises mean nothing,”

“That’s all I can offer!” I cried.
‘
“There are plenty of things you can offer me, Charlie.” His eyes gleamed ravenously. I had no choice. I needed to prove my ‘love’ for him. I hung my head down, gathering the rest of the strength I had left.

“What do you want? How can I prove it?” I murmured in absolute defeat. Foster gently lifted my chin, my eyes meeting his. He was now kneeling in front of me, a wicked smile smeared across his face.

“Show me your love,” he crooned, softly running his thumb over my lips. “Be mine.” His lips crashed into mine. His hands grabbed my hair gently. I weakly placed my hands on his chest, fighting the urge to push him off of me. This seemed to fuel his lust. His lips moved from my lips to my neck, eagerly nipping at my skin. His icy finger roamed the skin under my shirt. I shivered, anxiety filled me to the brim. I didn’t want this, but I had to. He stopped his assault on my neck, his face meeting mine once more.

“What?” I breathed.

“You’re shivering,” he grinned.

“It’s cold” squeaked from my throat. He chuckled at my answer. A hand caressed my cheek as he began kissing me softly. My hands moved to his shoulders, bracing myself for the night ahead.

I stared out the window, watching the waning moon move across the sky. I felt ill, but I had confirmed my answer. I had proven my love for him, and I hated myself for it. In a strange turn of events, the ghostly voices in my head praised me. Whispering sweetly to me. I drew the sheets to me, fighting the bile that gathered in my throat. Foster’s fingers moved from my hair to my waist, wrapping his arm around me. His body practically wrapped around mine. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. The voices became louder, their praise turning into demands. They breathed my task to me. This was torture. I was absolutely drained, physically and emotionally.

“What’s wrong, Charlie?” he asked softly. I tensed, how did he always know?

“It’s the voices,” I stammered, praying that he believed my lie. “They keep getting louder.” I felt him move away from me. I could hear him rustling around by the side of the bed. I closed my eyes again, bringing the covers to my face. Panic slammed into me. He didn’t believe me. I knew it.

I heard him leave the room, returning moments later. He returned to his position next to me. I saw his cupped hand in front of my face. I held my hand out. A familiar pull fell from his hand into mind.

“You need to sleep.” he cooed in my ear. His head rested against mine. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.

I popped the pill into my mouth, swallowing it in a single gulp. I welcomed the morphine into my body. I had to be careful not to become reliant on these drugs. For now, it was the only escape I had.

I woke again late in the day, still under the throes of the drug. The night of sleep had helped. My mind felt clearer. The voices were gone. My anxiety still weighed me down, but I could deal with that on its own. I composed myself, making sure I was prepared to continue my deception. Regardless of how unwilling I was to take part .

Out of sheer curiosity, I went to the door near my dim desk lamp. I turned the knob, and it opened with ease. Last night had obviously worked. I shut the door, going to the chair by the window. I slumped down, shutting my eyes tightly. The shame and guilt that washed over me was intense. Still, I needed to press on. Hopefully, this would get easier as time went on, but I doubted that. I opened my eyes and stared at his door. I should go in there. I should immediately start spending more time with him. I couldn’t bring myself to. Instead, I got back up and went back to the other door, throwing it open.

I stared down a long hall. I was at the end of it. Walking quickly, yet quietly to avoid detection, I reached the opposite end. I practically ran down them until I reached the bottom floor. I stared into a kitchen which obviously hadn’t been used in a while. It was pristine. I walked through the other rooms on the floor. They all looked like they were ready for an open house. It was eerie.

I finally stopped at a large window that sat next to the front door. Peaking through its curtains, I gazed out over the snow. There was no sign that spring was near. Branches of bare trees blew gently in the breeze. It was warm in here, but I felt icy. I wrapped my arms around myself, tugging at my shirt as the curtains fell back into place. I glanced at the door. It would be so easy to just leave. The voices came roaring back. I let them scream, ignoring their demands. I wasn’t planning on running, but the thought did make me feel better. I stared at the curtains, letting their blue finish wash over me. There was nothing down here, at least not for me. I turned and slammed straight into Foster’s chest. I backed up, stifling a scream.

“Jesus Christ!” I roared. “Do you have to keep doing that?”

“You don’t make it hard, my dear,” he smirked.

“What do you want?” I hissed.

“I just wanted to see what you were doing down here?”

“Exploring. I have to pass the time somehow.”

“Fair point,” he murmured. I rolled my eyes. This conversation was going nowhere. “But I do have a question for you.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him as his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What?”

“I am missing a few notes. Do you have them?”

“Why would I have them?”

“I don’t know, that's why I am asking.”

“I have no idea where your notes are. I am surprised you know where your notes are, with all of your papers scattered everywhere.” he gazed at me for a second, reading my face. When he found nothing, he looked away. “Is that all?”

“You seem on edge today?” he questioned. His arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised with suspicion.

“I am,” I admitted, gazing at the floor.

“Why is that?”

“I am bored. I used work to fill my time. I don’t have that anymore.” I was lying through my teeth, but I couldn’t tell him that I felt disgusted with myself. It would ruin the illusion I was trying to create. Foster looked at me, his eyes were soft. It was almost like he felt sorry for me. I couldn’t see that happening. I couldn’t imagine him feeling any type of sympathy for anyone.

“You really enjoyed your work?”

“Yes, it was interesting. I had plenty to do. Plenty to learn and discover.” This seemed to spark something in him. His face lit up as his lips formed into a silky smile. Wordlessly, he grabbed my arm, dragging me back upstairs and into his room.

“Sit at the piano” he commanded.

“Why?” I hissed.

“I am going to teach you how to sing.” he said softly.

“Oh no, I am not a musician of any kind,” I cried, trying to push past him. He caught me, dragging me back into the room.

“You sang for 5 years, and you say you aren’t a musician?”

“I am not. I hated my music lessons. I have no interest in singing! I am not even good. I sound like a dying cat.” I snarled. He leaned down, his lips pressed against my ear.

“You are fighting this, why?”

“Because I am not a musician! I hate music.” I cried. Memories of arguments I had with my mother filled my mind.

“Then explain, why do you hate music?” he probed.

“Because of my mother! She wanted her children to have fame and fortune. When my sister started drawing, she pushed her to be a painter. When my brother fell in love with acting in high school, his new career was going to be as an actor. When I joined choir in primary school, I was suddenly going to be a famous singer. She forced me to take lessons until I was 16. Once I quit, I swore I would never play music again,” I was enraged. I didn’t hate my mother, but she did infuriate me. Always pushing and prodding for success. Going into museum work disappointed her, and I was glad.

Foster began laughing. My little trade had amused him somehow. “And you call me absurd!” he cried.

“It’s not a pleasant memory,” I murmured.

“How about this? Try it, if you still hate it, you can stop and continue prancing through this house aimlessly.” I sat there thinking. I hated music lessons, but this could be a way to get closer with Foster. I would definitely be spending more time with him. The voices in my head pushed for me to accept. I sighed, I did not like this. Not one bit.

“Alright, I will try, but I reserve the right to quit at my whim.” I huffed. Foster smiled, pointing at the piano once more. I turned, going to sit and suffer through this.

I had to admit, this wasn't as bad as I expected it to be. When I was young, music was like a language I couldn’t really grasp. Now, it was much easier. I learned the basics rather quickly. Foster was delighted when I agreed to continue. Night had fallen when I finally returned to my room. I slammed down on my bed. Foster had followed me, sitting in his usual seat.

“So how bad am I?” I murmured.

“Your singing is just fine. A little soulless, but hopefully that will improve with time.” he smiled, leaning back in his seat. I groaned, I had secretly hoped my voice was so bad he wouldn’t want to continue. I rested my broken hand on my stomach, looking up at the ceiling. I could hear wind bouncing off of the house. I glanced at the window. The powerful gusts were whipping tufts of snow around. I could barely see the town lights through it.

“That’s surprising.” I moaned. Foster laughed. He was quiet again as I stared back up at the ceiling. I listened to the wind whip around outside. It was comforting.

“Tell me a story,” I looked at Foster in bewilderment.

“What?” I sat up, giving him a sour look.

“I want to know more about you. You will be here for a while, I would like to get to know my little house guest,” he smirked. Groaning, I plopped back down, trying to think of something to tell him. After a while of thinking, he finally spoke again, “Tell me about your brother.”

“Franky?”

“Yes,” he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the letter Christine had given me. I sprang up, grabbing the letter from his hands.

“I forgot about this,” my voice trailed off as I opened the letter. It was a heartfelt note from my brother, to my sister and I. He apologized for being absent from our lives, inviting us to stay with him in Italy when the weather warmed up. I finished reading it and held the letter to my breast. I should have been angry at Foster for reading my letter, but my joy at hearing from my brother dissolved that rage.

“He seems to care deeply for you, but 12 years is a long time to be absent.” I sat back down on the bed, placing the letter next to me.

“You want to know what happened?” I sighed. Foster nodded, settling in. “Well, to put it bluntly, Franky is gay.”

“I noticed. His partner is named George.” he smiled. I gave him an annoyed look.

“You know, I should be more irritated with you. I don’t appreciate having my letter’s read.”

“But that is neither here nor there, continue.” his wicked grin beamed at me.

“When I was about 16, Franky was 20, he brought home George. My parents hit the ceiling. They called him every slur in the book. It was a huge fight. Franky ended up leaving, and he didn’t come back. I had heard he went back to Italy, but I never received any confirmation until now.”

“And what did you think about George?”

“I don’t particularly care who my brother loves. George seemed like a nice guy, and they seem to be happy together.”

“How did your sister feel?”

“My sister? I don’t know. We never discussed it. She was 14 when Franky left. I haven’t talked to her in a while.”

“Why not?”

“She’s busy with her singing career.” a smiled crossed my lips. ‘

“She’s a singer? What does she sing?”

“Opera, you have probably come across her. Victoria Sterling.” Foster laughed, and I chuckled as well.

“That is ironic.” he snickered.

“It is,” Silence filled the room again. I struggled to keep the conversation going. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I don’t know anything about you that wasn’t written in a newspaper.” Foster pondered for a moment.

“Which me do you wish to know about?”

“Erik Destler, 1706. The original.” I smirked. He returned my playful smile. That was the first time I had ever said his name in his presence.

“Well, as you already know, I was born Erik Destler in 1706. I lived in the slums of London for the first 35 years of my life.” he began. “My mother and father were never around much. They worked until their fingers bled.”

“Did you have any siblings?”

“Yes, 13. 6 of them died in infancy. Common for the time. I had 4 sisters and 2 brothers, not including myself. I was the 5th of the 13.” he paused for a moment.

“Go on.” I prodded.

“There isn’t much to say. I loved music, and that's what I did.”

“Who taught you?”

“My father. He was a wonderful piano player. I worked in taverns, barely scraping by.” his face grew dark as he continued. “After I made my deal with Caspar, I couldn’t stand the thought of returning home with my horrific face. I traveled around for a while. Seeing all the places I had only heard about in bar conversations.” he sighed, standing up from his seat. He approached me, leaning down so his eyes were gazing directly into mine. He kissed me gently, his hand absently playing with my hair. “You pry too much, girl.” he whispered as he pulled away.

“It’s only fair. You read my letter from my brother.” I breathed. He stood up straight, looking to his room

“It’s getting late. You should sleep.” he murmured, walking into his room, shutting the door.

I sighed with relief. There was no rage, no arguments, no beatings. This plan was working. I laid down, content with how the day had turned out. I was getting somewhere.

Chapter Text

My days became more structured as they went on. Between the vocal lessons, reading my dull book and wandering the house aimlessly, I wasn’t as bored. Foster spent most of his days trapped in his room, pounding on his piano. At night, after lessons, we would talk. I hated to say it, but the evenings were the times that interested me the most. I was slowly finding out more about him as he probed about my life. I had found out more about where he had lived, and who he had been. At this point I had found out about 12 different personas he had taken on over the years, and the list still seemed never ending. One day I broached the subject of his time in 1886. His temper hadn’t flared up in a while, and I felt mildly comfortable asking more probing questions. As we sat in my room, in silence for a moment, as I tried to figure out the right wording for my question.

“What happened in 1886?” Foster sighed, rubbing his temples for a second.

“That was a bad year,” he murmured.

“Sounds like it. You burned an entire building.”

“Now that is where you are wrong. I did not start that fire.”

“Who did?”

“Christine did.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“She pushed a candelabra into some curtains. That’s what set the fire. I had little to do with it.”

“Little do to with it?” I repeated.

“Well, I was the one who brought her down there. She tried to fight me and ended up pushing the candelabra down.”

“Why did you focus on her?” Foster went quiet for a moment in thought.

“It was her voice, really. She suited my purpose.” I nodded, unsure where to go from here. “But as I think about it, she was rather dull. So easily taken advantage of.”

“She still is.”

“That year was very difficult. I had a hard time finding sufficient lodging. I had committed a crime. My goal was to live under the Opera House temporarily until I had been forgotten. Law enforcement is hard on murderers. Getting caught is never an option. I learned that the hard way in 1806. I think I was under more stress than I had ever been.”

“Well, you killed a guy. I can see why the police would be on the lookout for you. Murder is one of those ultimate taboos.”

“3,” he murmured.

“Okay, you killed 3 guys. My point still stands,”

“Hearing Christine’s voice was soothing. I felt I was finally getting somewhere with Don Juan. 9 years of hard work were finally paying off.” I shifted uncomfortably. I was the one who destroyed his pride and joy. There were bound to be consequences for that, eventually.

“Is that why you dropped Chris so easily?” I cast my eyes to the floor. That came out unintentionally mean.

“Yes, I suppose that is why. Her antics got old very quickly.”

“And mine are any better?”

“I can’t say they are. But they are certainly more interesting.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” he smirked. The comment made me uncomfortable, so I decided to switch the subject.

“Did you ever find your notes?” I asked.

“No, they seemed to have vanished.”

“Odd,” was the only thing I could really say.

“Quite.” he sat there pondering. His face glazed over with worry. I wished I could see what he was thinking about in these situations. It was obvious this wasn’t the only thing that had happened lately. His paranoia was off the charts, and with each day it only seemed to get worse.

“Is that the only thing that has gone missing?” he shot me a suspicious look.

“No, it’s not,” he snarled. The sudden shift in tone made me jump. I stayed quiet, letting his rage consume him. “I have had quite a few things go missing. It’s driving me mad.” Just as suddenly as he started, he stopped, calming back down. “And there is no way you have any of it. I would have found it by now, if that was the case. I have searched this place up and down.”

Without another word, he got up and went slamming back into his room. I stared after him. He was right; I hadn’t taken any of it. The thought never crossed my mind. It was too risky to invite his rage. Especially since I worked so hard to get him to stop his abuse. I got up, going to my window. I looked out over the frigid landscape. The blizzard had dumped a few more inches of show on the ground. The small town could barely be seen over the mounds. What had happened to his things? Was he completely breaking down? If so, what would happen to me?

Around midnight, Foster came storming back into my room. I had been engaged with my dull book, sleep had still not come for me. I looked up from my place in the chair, watching him slam down on my bed.

“Can’t sleep?” I murmured.

“Like you, sleep escapes me.” he mumbled right back.

“Still worried about your things?”

“Yes. One of those things was my page.” The color drained from my face. The manuscript page was gone. This threw a huge wrench in my plan. I pushed my book to the side, sitting up. “I have been up for days looking for it.”

“Did you need help finding it?”

“No,” he said, beckoning me to him. I got up, inching towards him. Getting impatient, he grabbed my arm, pulling me into him. He hugged me. It was a weird sensation. All of my sympathy for him came storming to the surface. I gingerly wrapped my arms around him, sharing in his embrace. “I don’t know why I even bother anymore.” he whispered. I didn’t understand what he meant. I pulled away, sitting down on the bed with him. He kissed me, before folding his arms around me in another embrace.

At some point during, we both fell asleep. Nothing else happened, which struck me as odd. In the plainest of terms, he just wanted a hug.

The next day went as usual, although my lessons were later than usual. Foster had torn the house apart, screaming about how something else was missing. When he finally calmed down enough to focus, he immediately started the lesson. When it was over, I sat with him on his piano bench. My mind soared through my next moves. Foster didn’t have the page anymore. It was gone. I didn’t need to stay, right? The voices in my head disagreed, continuing to chant their demands to me. Insisting, I find the page and destroy it. I didn’t understand. I had no clue where that page might have gone. I also had no idea where to start looking for it.

“You seem tense.” Foster mumbled. I was getting sick of this phrase. He always seemed to know. Then again, I wasn’t the best liar.

“Voices,” I tapped my head. My tried-and-true line. It was true, but not completely. He nodded, hunching over his piano.

“They are meddlesome.”

“You’re telling me.” I replied. I was starting to panic. The thought of the page being gone filled me with absolute dread. I couldn’t help myself. Anxiety took over, and I did everything in my power to keep my breathing steady. The voices became louder, demanding that I find the page under whatever circumstances. I wanted to get up and go back to my room but I was afraid that would arouse suspicion. Trying to calm myself down, I stared out the window, into the dark. The light from the room faintly illuminated the snowy ground below. I focused on the snow, trying to lose myself. I needed to calm down. Suddenly, something caught my eye. I could see footprints in the snow below. My brow furrowed. Foster hadn’t left the house, and I certainly hadn’t. Was someone here? It was entirely possible. I thought about telling him about what I saw. Foster obviously hadn’t noticed yet. I made up my mind to say something. This could be who had the page, and I needed that back in the house, but he began to speak before I could.

“Do you miss-” his voice stopped abruptly. I looked up and my blood went cold. There was a long butcher knife planted directly into Foster’s skull. Its tip was inches from my face. Foster slumped forward, landing on his keyboard with a dissonant smack. His body was limp, but his eyes gleamed furiously. He wasn’t dead, just incapacitated. I looked past him to see Christine standing there, flanked by Edgar. I thought I was seeing some wonderful apparition. My mind had finally shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, or so I thought.

“Aye lass, good ta see ye ain’t dead.” Edgar smiled. I sprang up, slamming myself into Chris for a hug. My heart raced as I held back tears. “Get yerselves outta here.” Edgar hissed. Christine pulled me away. Grabbing my hand, she raced me to freedom.

There was a small inn at the center of the town. This sleepy little village was in a very northern part of Sweden. The residents of the town kept to themselves. As I found out later, many of the villagers were actually very fond of Foster. Which kept them away from his home when suspicious things happened. When we reached the inn, the owner seemed very familiar with Chris. I would come to know that both Edgar and Christine had been there for 2 weeks, going on 3. Christine pushed me to her small room at the back of the inn. An emergency exit was in sight, just in case Foster got that knife out of his skull. I sat with Christine in her room in absolute bewilderment. Edgar had yet to make an appearance, he was still dealing with Foster.

“Chris…” I croaked, unable to vocalize the numerous questions in my mind.

“After you left, Edgar tracked you down.” she began. Her voice was hard and unmoving. She was almost like a different person. The young, naïve Christine was gone. This was a fighter who had rescued me from the grasp of a monster. “We were going to do this in the USSR but that rebellion squashed that.”

“You have the page?” I stammered. A long trek through the snow without a coat had been difficult. I was chilled to the bone. The warmth of the room was still only skin deep for me.

“Yes. We nabbed it a few days ago. After Erik became comfortable, we started sneaking into the house and taking things.” Christine began pulling papers from her coat pocket. Notes, small objects and pens fell out on the bed next to me. She reached into another pocket and pulled the folded manuscript page from it. “I was surprised it was so easy. He was so wrapped up with you, he didn’t even notice.”

“You could say that again.” I mumbled.

“After his last tantrum, we decided now was the time. He was getting too paranoid, and you were starting to lose nerve. The rest is history,” I nodded, still unable to process this. It was almost like some strange dream. None of it seemed real. The voices in my head had gone. I still felt absolutely mad, but it was a quiet madness now.

“Wait, what do you mean I lost my nerve?” I questioned. Frankly, I was a little insulted. I thought I had done a pretty good job considering the circumstances. Christine smiled wickedly. She was trying to get under my skin, and it was working.

“I heard your nonsense about me starting that fire. I will have you know, I was under a lot of pressure in that moment. If you had to make such a low blow, you must have been losing your nerve.” she began laughing. Like the fire that burnt down the London Opera, her laughter spread infectiously. I began laughing, and before we knew it we were in hysterics. It took us a while to compose ourselves. When we did, we sat in silence for a while. It felt so good not to have to hold myself together. With Foster, I had to watch everything I did and said. It wasn’t like that anymore. That probably frightened me more than anything. I had become so used to living under Foster’s thumb, I had almost forgotten what it was like to live normally. I believed I would die there.

“When are we going home?” I asked. I needed to break out of those thoughts. They were anxiety producing.

“We are leaving in an hour. With or without Edgar. I don’t know where to go yet. I don’t want to put anyone else in danger. I have a few phone calls to make.” Christine replied, as she made her way out of the room. Her words and actions were short now. Straight and to the point with little time between them.

Being alone was frightening. I wanted to hide somewhere. I was so afraid that Foster was on his way; I wanted to make a run for it myself. I had to keep myself calm until Chris came back. When she did, I was urged from my seat. We made our way back to the main entrance of the inn. Ready to leave this awful place.

We left without Edgar. It took us a few hours to travel to a major city where we stopped for a night. We left early the next day, making our way to another major city with an airport. Christine didn’t tell me where we were going until we were leaving Sweden for good. We were going to Italy. My brother had offered his house to hide in. That made me nervous. I wasn’t in the right state of mind to deal with this. I hadn’t seen my brother in 12 years. I didn’t know how he would be. But, I had no choice. If I went home now, I would be a sitting duck. Until Edgar came back, we would stay with Franky.

The journey to Naples was long. After landing in France, we took different modes of transportation in each major city we passed through. Lessening Foster’s chance of finding us, if he was even looking. Finally, after reaching the Italian and Austrian border, we were picked up by George. When we entered his tiny Italian car, I thought I was going to throw up from anxiety. This was the man who Franky had left us for. I didn’t know his thoughts or feelings about me. For all I knew, he hated all of us, and was the reason we hadn’t seen Franky in years. I squeezed my eyes shut. I needed to calm down. I took a few breaths, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I couldn’t make judgments like that. Geroge picked us up, he was helping. That meant he couldn’t hate us, right?

“Are you alright?” George asked. My eyes snapped open, catching his gaze through the rearview mirror.

“No, I am not.” I whispered.

“Yeah, Christine told me you had been through hell.” he murmured.

“That’s selling it short. I am just having a hard time getting out of that mindset. It's like grad school, all over again only this time I get nothing out of it. ” George laughed lightly. I failed to see what was funny.

“Frank said you were funny.” he smiled. I bit my lip, gazing down at the brown carpet floor of the car.

“How is Franky?” George looked at me again, his eyes bright.

“He is happy.” he replied with another smile.

“That’s good.” I mumbled, before retreating into my mind again.

Geroge and Chris talked incessantly through the trip. Chatting about mundane things. It was comforting. I didn’t really pay attention to the conversation. I was still on edge. My mind kept flitting back to Edgar. I wanted to know if he was alive and that Foster was gone. For good.

Eventually we pulled up to a small house near the shore of Naples. My heart raced. This was it, where my brother was. The sun was setting over the sea, and the lights from the house glowed warmly at me. George parked the car, and we all stumbled out of the car. Chris made a dash for the door, opening it up wide. George followed. I stayed on the front steps for a second, admiring the garden for a moment. I took a deep breath before walking through the door. Standing in the front hall was my brother, wide-eyed. We gazed at each other for a moment before he rushed over and embraced me tightly. I embraced him, trying not to sob.

“You look like shit pipsqueak.” Franky whispered. He hadn’t changed one bit.

“Shut up.” I sniffed, as he pulled me away. He looked me over, joy shining from his eyes. He put his arm around my shoulder, leading me into his tiny kitchen.

“I made food. You guys must be starving.” Franky cried, pushing me into a seat at the small kitchen table. A pot on the stove was bubbling away. George and Chris took their seats next to me. “So how did it go?”

“Edgar taking care of it.” Chris said simply.

“Let’s hope this all goes to plan.” George sighed. “Your father seems to have a lot of faith in him.”

“As he should.” I remarked. Franky stared at me, his lips stretched thin. “Charlie, you look like hell. What happened?” George put up a hand, glaring at Franky.

“Not now Franky.” he hissed. “Let he settle in before you go asking her to relive a trauma like that.” Franky immediately went to his pot, lifting the lid and stirring it’s contents awkwardly. I looked at George, who gave me a sly wink. He had put off the inevitable for a little while longer.

We ate in relative silence. Most of the talking came from George and Franky. They talked about normal things, their lives and plans for the next day. Chris and I sat in silence, listening intently. Their normalcy was odd. I felt like those days were gone for us, but I had hope they weren't. After dinner, I was shown around the house. It was much larger than I thought it was going to be. It was two houses that Franky was turning into one. For now, it was two houses, with two different entrances and a single door in the front hall that connected the two from inside. Chris had a room in the second house, while I stayed in a room in the first house with Franky and George. They were obviously worried about me.

I sat in my room with the lights on. I couldn’t sleep. Fear consumed me. I went over all the possible situations that could happen if Foster came through the front door. None of them were pleasant. Around 4 in the morning, Franky came knocking at my door. I opened up and let him in, shutting the door once more.

“I would ask if you were alright, but I know you aren’t” he said in our native tongue.

“I will be fine, Franky. It’s going to take a lot of therapy, but I will make it.” I smiled. Franky smiled in return, sitting himself down on the bed.
“Papa is glad you are okay.”

“You talked to him?” Franky nodded his head and sighed.

“I was surprised he called me. We have a lot to work through, but this is a start.”