Yuku free message boards

Chapter 23

He was forbidden to speak of it…period.

Thirteen-year-old Erik trudged the half-mile distance home from the bus stop, his heart heavy again, as the tragic events of the day before hit him with the force of a freight train. It had been easy not to think about it during school; his mind was occupied with class work and day-to-day activities. But now, with each step, he had time to recall the ugly reality, to realize that life as he knew it was over...and that nothing would ever be the same again.

He hadn't even been able to share this tragedy with Reza, his only friend, but what did it matter now, he thought glumly. In a few days Reza would be headed back to Iran, and Erik would be left behind.

The wind swept westward and Erik bundled up in his coat while the crisp fall leaves swirled and swayed through the autumn air. His feet stepped heavily on the pavement as he recalled coming home the day before.

The whole thing had been odd, and as he stepped inside his house he could feel something was very wrong, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. As usual, Erik's father, Charles had been at work at the promising architectural firm, but when he came home, his mother, Madeline was not in the kitchen preparing dinner as she did, day after day. Indeed it was peculiar, and instead of heading to the music room to practice the piano, Erik had gone in search of her.

Madeline was his mother in nearly every way possible. She had given birth to him, she'd clothed him, and fed him, and seen to his every need. And when he spoke to her, sharing the day's events or his recent compositions, she always had a kind smile on her lovely face. But, as Erik had realized time and time again, the woman he called 'Mother' was like a robot, devoid of any expression of love or emotions. Charles, formidable and stern, had but one weakness- his love for Madeline. With his voice he had used, manipulated, and molded her for many years into the perfect wife and mother. For as long as Erik could remember, she always had a smile on her face, but her ocean blue eyes seemed to be glazed over, and although Erik had known what his father had done to her was wrong, he felt helpless to do anything about it. Although there appeared to be no love or affection behind those eyes, he, like his father was content; Madeline was always a comforting presence in the eye of Charles' stormy moods.

In his mind's eye he could see her, lying in bed as though asleep, when he'd come home from school. It was at that moment, standing at her doorway when Erik knew. Even before he had come to her side and his eyes met the crimson that had leaked onto the bedding and crème colored carpeting, Erik had known.

Desperate to escape her husband's mind control, Madeline had come to long enough to take her own life.

The screams of anguish as Charles found his wife would haunt Erik for years to come. Helpless, Erik confined himself to his room, trying to compose, trying vainly to shut out the horror of what he had found upstairs. Erik knew that they should have called for an ambulance, or the police…or someone, but instead he allowed his father the opportunity to grieve.

That night after Charles finally emerged from his bedroom, his deep blue eyes were tinged with red, and he appeared to have aged twenty years as he growled to his son, "Tell no one."

Erik usually accepted everything his father said, but in the wake of this tragedy found the strength to protest, "But, Father…"

Charles grabbed his son by the shoulders and shoved him hard against the wall. "Tell no one."

He was almost home. Heaving a sigh, Erik's eyes found his father's car in the driveway as he approached their house. His backpack felt like a ton of bricks on his shoulders, and as he opened the front door, he felt another strange sense of foreboding.

Erik hadn't known what to expect or how he would find his father after what had happened the day before. It wasn't unusual that he was home, possibly making the necessary arrangements for a funeral…but as Erik walked in, his father greeted him with an odd smile that made chills run down his spine. His jet-black hair was uncombed, his disheveled clothing was what he had worn the day before, and he had bags under his eyes. The man seemed to be in unusually good spirits, and Erik could tell by the smell of his breath that his father had been drinking.

Silently he was gestured off to practice the piano, and to his horror, found his mother lying in the music room like Sleeping Beauty, dozens of candles lit all around her. It was eerie and beautiful at the same time. A great candelabrum sat atop the glossy surface of the grand piano. His mother had always been very fond of candles… Young Erik's mouth fell open as he approached what appeared to be a shrine sitting atop a pedestal beside the large instrument. In disbelief, his eyes took in the sight of his deceased mother as she lay stiffly in a wooden box that Charles must have fashioned himself, lined with red silk sheets. Her clothes had been changed, and laying there the way she was in a long white dress, she reminded him of an angel. Her long dark wavy hair draped past her shoulders, and her porcelain skin looked pale, her closed eyes sunk in slightly, and to his surprise, a bit of rouge had been applied to her cheeks, and lipstick to her ordinarily rosy lips. If he had not known better, he might have thought her to be sleeping, and his gaze trailed down to her wrists in search of the gashes he found the day before, only to find them covered by several bracelets. Shaking his head, he carefully backed away from the lit candles and the makeshift casket, the thumping of his heart echoing in his ears.

"Play for her."

It was not the first time he had suspected that his father was insane, but now he knew it without a doubt. Erik felt his entire body stiffen. Clearly, it was not a request, as Charles' gruff voice resounded throughout the room like a haunting echo. Fighting back tears, Erik turned weakly to his father who stood threateningly at the doorway.

"But…"

"Play…for…her."

The boy's eyes wandered to the smooth ivory keys that he'd always found so much enjoyment playing. He is insane. Settling himself on the bench, Erik's fingers rose above the keys, but in an instant of hesitation, he shot up from his seated position, and met his father's eyes. "She's dead, Father."

A flicker of fire lit the man's deep blue eyes, and Erik saw a dangerous smile curve at his lips.

"That's ridiculous, Erik. She is sleeping," he told the boy calmly, walking towards him. "Now play for her. You know how much your mother loves to hear you play."

Miserably, he turned back to the box that held the woman who had given him birth. She was dead, Erik knew for certain, because when he had held her yesterday there had been no breath coming from her mouth, no heartbeat, no pulse…

Erik felt like a caged animal; he wanted to run from this place, but there was no escape as his father advanced on him like a madman. His tall frame loomed over Erik, and his eyes were turning angry…

"Play."

The thirteen-year-old boy's brows furrowed as he sat back down on the bench. He shut his eyes for just a moment, biting his lip to keep it from trembling. Taking a breath, he willed himself to play, earnestly hoping that the music would envelop him in its comforting embrace. Automatically his fingers played, and as Erik had hoped he was soon entranced by the notes, losing himself in the calming melody, and for those endless moments he may have been able to ignore the insanity that called to him until his father's voice commanded again.

"Now, sing for your mother, Erik."

His fingers hit a wrong note in response, and suddenly he felt his whole body go limp. Charles had been aware of his son's singing ability. In school, his teachers had likened that voice to an angel's, and rather than being pleased with this compliment, Erik had felt an irrational need to guard it; that it was something very special, and very private, and the one thing that neither his father nor anyone else could command or possess. When asked to sing in the choir, Erik flatly refused. He was determined that his voice would not be forced, and had endured years worth of beatings protecting it. Amongst all the tangible objects that Erik treasured, they paled in comparison to the non-tangible instrument that he had within himself. He needed one thing, this thing to be his very own. But, as his father stood over him, his eyes wild with madness, Erik felt he had no other choice. He cast his eyes sidelong at his mother's body, staring at her lifeless figure, trying uselessly to will her back to life somehow so that she could stop this madness, when the sharp blow of Charles' fist banged on the piano top, nearly knocking over the candelabra.

"Sing!" he demanded.

Erik's eyes fell closed again as he felt dread overcome every bone in his body. For all of his thirteen years he'd managed to refuse his father this demand, and had paid dearly for it, but now, as his lips parted hesitantly, a soft whisper-like tone flowed from his mouth. Each note was perfection, the pitch flawless, and the melodious harmony so beautiful that it may have come from heaven itself…

…and with each note, Erik's spirit fell deeper into the depths of hell. With each measure, his soul was raped and plundered.

"Louder!"

Pure hatred surged through the boy as his eyes met his father's, finding a perverse smile across his hard cruel lips. Erik shook his head wildly in denial and sprang from the piano bench; the loud thud of the wooden bench hitting the tiled floor was the only sound that was heard.

Charles was suddenly behind his son, having moved like a cloud of smoke. He grasped the boy's arms behind his back, forcing his chin to the piano top, his voice insistent. "You will sing louder, Erik."

Erik struggled against the iron of Charles' grip around his wrists, his shoulders and back wriggling furiously to escape, pleading with his father for release. His chin dug painfully into the glossy finish, and with all of his might, his body twisted and pulled, causing the instrument to shake. It happened so quickly, that as the candelabra fell over and the flames from the candles ignited his right cheek, his brain had not yet registered the pain. The awful stench of burning skin penetrated his senses, and his now agonized cries invoked no reaction from his father. The flames spread rapidly, licking furiously and spreading towards his eyelid and forehead like fiery tongues. His right eye shut tightly as he felt the flame singe his lashes, and at that moment, Erik successfully wrestled his right arm free from the madman's grasp, shoving the candelabra away from his face, involuntarily landing it into his mother's makeshift coffin. His other hand was freed as Charles frantically rushed to the flames that threatened his dead mother's feet.

Not wasting any time, Erik seized the opportunity for escape, trying to ignore the blinding hot pain as he ran to the door. His hands seized the doorknob, furiously twisting and turning the locked handle, praying for God to help him, when he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head… and then everything went black.

It could have been minutes, or hours, possibly days that passed while Erik found himself in and out of a drug-induced haze. One moment he could feel the wicked sting from his burns, the next, in a state of semi-consciousness, he could hear the distant remorseful murmuring of his father, his slender fingers tracing the injured flesh. The boy lacked the strength or will to question it, his body too weak to fight, his mind lazy, and at this point the numbness was a great comfort. In another lucid moment as Erik's mind struggled for consciousness, his eyes moved heavily back and forth under closed lids, and his ears registered the quick footsteps of his father. His nose picked up a strange yet familiar smell that seemed very close to his face and small wisps of steam floated across his skin, like smoke from a candle. His brain placed that smell - it was a mixture that Charles had invented himself, and had once shown to Erik. A blend of polymer, rubber, and plaster were boiled in a pot along with some chemicals, then were poured onto the blank face of a mannequin so that a pliable, realistic countenance could be formed. If he had the sense to put two and two together, he might have realized that Charles intended to cover Erik's wounds with this boiling, hot mixture. His mind still fought for consciousness, and to his dismay the fiery stinging returned with a vengeance. His heart was pounding and his breathing became ragged. His whole body came awake, his first impulse to soothe the pain with his hand, only to discover that his hands were tied. His two blue eyes blinked furiously as he looked up at his father, the image clouded, and like it was a bad dream, thick scalding liquid was poured lightly onto his charred flesh, melting it and melding permanently to the raw tissues. Erik cried out in pure agony as the mixture scorched and seared, practically bubbling on his face. His whole body struggled uselessly, as he discovered that his torso was bound tightly to the table on which he lay, and his feet were tied together at the ankles. His head struggled against the painful intrusion of the compound, his eyes meeting the eerie calm of his father's expression as he quickly set the pot down, and grasped a small cloth. In that instant he reminded Erik of Dr. Frankenstein. With one swift movement, his father's gloved hand covered the boy's nostrils and mouth with the cloth, and instantly Erik lost consciousness once again.

He didn't know what time it was when he came to, only that he was in his bed, and he sat up, his heart pounding. It was dark, and the memories flooded back to him, filling his heart with heaviness. He didn't have any feeling on the right side of his face. Maybe it was all a nightmare, he thought. His hand flew to his cheek, again there was no sensation, but oddly, his fingers met the flesh-like substance that covered his cheek and a small part of his forehead just above his eyebrow. He flicked on the lamp on the nightstand, and as quickly as his wobbly legs would carry him, rushed to the bathroom mirror. His eyes met with horror the reflection of himself, in place of the burnt, mangled flesh, was a white mask.

He looked down. "No."

"What happened next?"

Erik breathed a sigh, already emotionally exhausted from his traumatic explanation. "My room was locked, so I jumped from my window, spraining my ankle. From the garbage can, I pulled out one of my father's vodka bottles, and in the garage I located some gasoline, and some matches…" he paused, his eyes distant, as though he was watching the scene play in his head. "I lit the bottle, and tossed it into the front window. The curtains immediately caught fire, and when I limped away, I never looked back."

Lizzie watched with wide eyes, barely able to conceive of these extraordinary experiences from Erik's past. She threw herself into his arms and held tight to him, her fingers caressing his head comfortingly, wishing with all of her heart that she could soothe him.

A thought occurred to her, and she pulled slightly away to face him. "What happened to your father, Erik? Is he ali-"

Shaking his head, his expression was blank as though she were referring to a stranger. "I don't know."

"You were only thirteen years old. How did you survive?"

"Nadir had a friend at the SIS who managed to obtain special clearance for me to travel, and he saw to it that I boarded that plane with Reza…"

"And stayed in Iran," she finished, sitting back on the sofa cushions. There were still questions she wanted to ask, but she held back, seeing the hard set of his jaw, and the sadness in his eyes.

His gaze met Lizzie's, and though he could see the heavy weight he'd placed on her, he forced a smile and took her hands in his. "The rest, Lizzie, I prefer not to share. My past …is not something I care to think about anymore. It has taken years for me to heal from it."

Lizzie couldn't help but feel a pang of unhappiness. His past was his past, and like it or not, she was going to have to deal with the fact that there were things he didn't want her to know. Although, she did have to admit that he had already confided some very painful and tragic memories. His eyes begged for understanding and hesitantly she nodded.

Her fingers trembled as they rose to his mask slowly, her eyes seeking his permission, and she drew a strong breath as his hand guided her to it. Her heart was in her throat, as she realized how difficult this must have been for him. As her fingers met with the fleshy covering, she was amazed at how life-like it felt.

He held his breath in apprehension as her fingers curiously ran up and down the mask, pressing lightly, testing the rubber-like covering. The whole evening had been surreal for Erik, as he suspected that his past might scare her away, but those chocolate brown eyes that he'd come to adore only looked up at him with compassion and affection, and as Lizzie set her sweet lips to that hated part of his face, his heart was filled with joy.

Lizzie felt as light as air. Her feet barely touched the cold stone surface as her eyes roamed the roomy cavern. The dark water that skirted around the edges was like a wide, glassy pool, and swirls of mist floated upward from the lake, spreading inward and embracing her bare legs like a steamy fog. In awe, her gaze met the breathtaking surroundings; she had never seen such a place. Dozens of lighted candles illuminated the lair, twinkling throughout like a clear, starry sky. Various walls were covered with large, red velvet draperies, and the immeasurable space was filled with exotic furnishings, while statues and decorative trinkets danced in her vision. A grand piano sat majestically in open view, large and small candelabras bordered the glossy instrument.

Her masked man was there. He stood tall and devastatingly handsome, dressed in a striking black suit. His cerulean eyes called to her. His black gloved hand took hers as he addressed her solely in song, his ethereal voice reaching into her soul and wrapping itself around her heart. Gently, he led her through his enchanting retreat.

Mesmerized, her body followed him, as though in a trance; her mind was clear, her heart felt blissfully free, and her spirit rejoiced with his every note. His hand tenderly dropped to her waist, and his eyes met hers in a powerful command. As he let his hand travel up the sheer, lacy fabric of her robe to her silky brown tresses, every nerve ending in her body tingled. She exhaled a pleasured sigh at his touch, and her chest rose and fell in breathless anticipation. Her eyes closed, savoring the contact, and as his gloved hand grazed her cheek, she felt her skin flush with heated excitement. His song echoed in a masterful crescendo, and of its own accord, her left arm wrapped around his neck, while her other hand sought the smooth, clean shaven skin of his left cheek. Lost within the intoxication of his gaze, all of her senses were sharpened. Her nose inhaled the fragrance of the smoke from the candles, her ears treasured the ecstasy of his music, and her body yearned for his touch. Erik finally leaned down and claimed her rosy lips, and when his tongue met hers with a fiery longing, it was the closest to heaven that she'd ever been.

As Erik lifted her, he continued to sing to her softly, adoringly, and carried her as though she were a sack of feathers, bringing her to an elegant swan-shaped bed. Effortlessly he laid her down onto the silky red sheets, and as he lowered himself on top of her, and she felt the welcome caress of his tongue on her neck, his lips trailing downward, her body simmered with desire. She wanted him with her mind, and her body, and soul, and as her legs desperately embraced his, she thought that if he didn't take her soon that she might just crumble. The promise was in his eyes, and his lips were curved into a teasing smile. Her hands moved to undress him, his kisses consuming her, as he shed article after article of clothing, and as he sought to satisfy her with his body, she woke up…

"I want you to hypnotize me."

Erik looked at her as though she'd grown two heads. "Well, good morning to you too."

She stood next to the table facing him, her hair mussed, robe tied haphazardly over her flannel pajamas, out of breath. As much as she wanted him at that moment, she just couldn't find the nerve to force herself on him.

As he took her hands in his, her skin began to flush with embarrassment at her request. It was hard enough for her to get the words out, and now she was going to have to repeat it. "Did you hear what I said, Erik? I want you to hypnotize me…tonight."

He stood up and met her gaze, and set a kiss on her cheek. "Yes, I heard what you said, and no."

Her eyebrows furrowed in sheer disappointment. "No?"

"No," he replied simply.

Her mouth fell open as he swept past her into the kitchen. Following behind him, she decided to take a different approach.

Her hands joined around his neck, fingering the black waves of his hair. She stood up on her tip toes, and engaged him in a passionate kiss. Finally she pulled away, and with pleading eyes she met his gaze. "Please?"

His hands had fallen around her waist, and one eyebrow shot up. "No."

Her lips fell into a pout. "Well, why not?"

"Lizzie," he asked, truly concerned. "What is this about?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she looked up at him shyly. "I just thought that if you hypnotize me, I could …overcome my bloody shyness."

After a moment of considerable thought, Erik shook his head as the woman he loved exhaled a breath in protest.

"Oh, come on, please?" she begged.

Erik moved to the cupboard and poured Lizzie a cup of coffee, which judging by the bags under her eyes she definitely needed. "Do you remember what I told you about my mother and father?"

"This is completely different," Lizzie responded quickly. "I want you to hypnotize me."

He stirred some cream into her cup and handed it to her. "Lizzie, I love you, and I would do anything for you, but this…" he paused to reach his own cup. "I don't want to have to use hypnosis ever again."

Her resolve quickly began to falter, but she continued, "But I'll be good, and promise not to leave screaming," she said, her lips curved teasingly.

"No."

"It's just not fair," she complained. "You sang to those other women, and hypnotized them, and didn't make them beg!"

With a sigh, he took the coffee cup from her and set it down, and took her into a strong bear hug. "I didn't love those women," he paused to look into her hurt chocolate eyes. "I love you, and I don't think we need to rush something that will come naturally."

Lizzie breathed a defeated sigh, looking up into his adorable gaze, and despite her feminine urges, wondered how this man, unlike many others, could be so understanding of such an important step.

Her gaze fell disappointedly to the floor. "Fine."

One long finger lifted her chin to meet his eyes. "Can you stay and have breakfast with me?"

"No, I have to work this morning." She pulled from him, and headed towards the door, kissing him once more.

He held her tightly in his arms, rocking her back and forth in a soothing motion. "Come see me before you leave and I'll walk you to the chip shop," he told her, kissing her on the cheek.

With a nod she looked up at him, and pressed her lips to his, cherishing the feel of those sensual lips on her own, not wanting to leave the comfort of his embrace, and certainly not wanting to leave for work.

"I love you, Erik."

Those words tugged at his soul, and as he ran fingers through her hair, he fought the urge to hypnotize her right then and there. He met her eyes, and braced the soft skin of her cheeks gently with his hands. "I love you too."

As he shut the door, he shook his head.

For as long as he lived, he was sure he would never understand women.

Smiling, Patrick looked down at the young blond, and struggled to pull her locked hands from his back. "Aye, Cindy, I have to go."

Her blue eyes shined as she looked up at him. "You could retire from the sea, Patrick," she suggested unashamedly, "and stay with me," she said, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously.

"I don't think your boyfriend would be too happy about that," Patrick reasoned, still trying to separate her hands from his waist.

"The man's made up his mind, so let him go for bloody's sake," Marie told Cindy impatiently, pulling apart the blond's grasp. "And you have a box in the back to unload."

Cindy parted from him finally, her lips forming a pout. "Bye, Patrick," she said, backing away, never leaving his gaze. She blew him a kiss, and then made her way into the back room.

Marie shook her head at her employee. "Sorry about that, Pat, Cindy's always had a crush on you."

He had known this to be true for many years and a small chuckle escaped his lips, giving Marie a nod of acknowledgement.

"I'm also sorry," she began regretfully, her ocean blue eyes filled with sympathy, "that things didn't turn out how you hoped," Marie said, wrapping her arms around her brother.

His arms braced his sister tightly. He didn't know when he was going to see her again. "Me too." Patrick looked at his watch and back to Marie. "My boat leaves in an hour."

He lifted his duffel bag and gave one last hug to his sister. The tinkling sound of the bell on the door signaled his departure from the chip shop, and as he stepped out, he could not resist the urge to look one more time in the direction of Lizzie and Frankie's building.

He was only slightly surprised, with a pang of regret, to see Lizzie there in the arms of the masked musician that Marie had told him about. Her back was against the wall as she smiled and talked to the man, her unforgettable eyes gazing up at him in adoration. Patrick didn't realize that he was staring at the couple, when the masked man suddenly looked over and met his eyes. As Marie had told him, there was a resemblance between the two men, and Patrick couldn't help feeling that if he had sent those letters, maybe things would be different…

With reluctant acceptance, Patrick smiled to the masked man, and swept his index finger upward from his brow in a one-fingered salute. In response, the masked man gave a nod, and a slight smile curved at his lips. Patrick's heart felt a little lighter as he secured his duffel bag over his shoulder and strode away to the harbor.

And there was only one thing she asked of him…She wanted to be hypnotized. It was a simple thing, really, and had it been another woman there would be no hesitation…but this was Lizzie. As much as he desired every inch of her luscious body, he had no wish to claim her will. He wanted her whole and free, and completely lucid.

Erik had never loved anyone more, and now he felt that by not complying with her wishes, that he stood to lose her. How could he live with himself if he lost her for the sole reason of her inability to give herself to him in love? Searching his mind, he shook his head. There had to be a compromise where he didn't have to sacrifice the vow he had made to her that he held so sacred. The solution was there, he felt it, lingering in the air, teasingly, like a fly that never stayed in one place for long, but just long enough to annoy. That's when it hit him like a ton of bricks.

Of course. There was only one answer…It would take time and some careful planning.

Silently, he allowed the ideas to seize his brain, and then a smile tugged at his lips.

When Erik Met Lizzie
Kelsismom

Chapter 29

It had been a long day and Lizzie had found herself in the worst of moods. A rude patron had accused her of giving the wrong change, her feet were killing her, and to her dismay, the influx of customers that entered the chip shop seemed never ending. If she heard that little bell sound one more time, she would surely yank it down herself, and toss the blasted chime into the toilet. After having stayed an hour longer at Marie's request to help diminish the busy queue, she yearned to leave that place and melt into the loving embrace of her dashing masked man. As much as she desperately longed to see Erik, he had already informed her that he would be performing with the band that night. Heaving a depressed sigh, she opened the door to her building. Coming home to an empty flat was extremely unappealing. It seemed that even her son had his own plans, dining with his friend, Catriona, and probably would not be home until late. Her mother and Nadir had been behaving in an oddly secretive manner, making their own plans, and spending time away from the flat. Sadly, all Lizzie had to look forward to was a long, lonely evening, only to wake up early in the morning and do it all over again.

Erik wasn't home, she knew, but still was drawn to his front door like a moth to a flame. She missed the man desperately, despite his stubbornness. No amount of pleading had persuaded him to hypnotize her. To Lizzie, it was downright frustrating. She couldn't help wondering if their relationship would be more intimate if she'd only allowed him to hypnotize her the first time instead of insisting that they were only friends. Already she'd cursed herself about a hundred times. She hated feeling like a schoolgirl, she hated that he refused to help her get past it, and she hated that those other women had experienced the gift of his hypnotism, but above all, she hated that he stubbornly refused to comply with her wishes. The more she thought about it, the more peeved she became. Why, she would have loved to give him an earful of exactly how she felt at that moment, she thought angrily; if only he were there...

Her hand was poised to knock, when a voice took hold of her, gripping her like a heavenly hand.

"Lizzie," the voice whispered, stilling the breath in her throat, sending tingles up and down her body.

Her heart thumped with excitement, and all of her previous hostility seemed to vanish into thin air. Her masked man was there, and every inch of her longed to be near him. "Erik?" she called out uncertainly, looking behind her and toward the direction of the stairwell, not quite sure which direction the sound of his voice came from.

"Lizzie," his voice whispered again.

She could feel a light, intoxicating brush of breath on her ear as he spoke, and she swung around to locate it.

"Follow my voice."

Helplessly compelled by the ethereal, masculine timbre, her feet obeyed, carrying her up the stairs to her front door. It mattered not at that moment where that voice directed her, Lizzie thought, she was certain she would follow it to the ends of the earth. Her eyes were wide as she searched for him, her gaze darting forward and behind her, yearning only to give herself up to those deep blue eyes.

"Erik," she breathed, finding her own voice trapped inside her throat. "Where are you?"

"I'm here, my love."

A small gasp escaped her as she felt him suddenly behind her, the gentle weight of his head touching hers. His hands were feather light as they grasped her arms, rendering her breathless and intoxicated by his touch. Before she could utter one word, his hand strayed to her eyes, effectively shielding them with one elegant palm.

"Close your eyes."

Obediently, she complied, mesmerized by his pure, sensual tone. She imagined that if he had asked her to stand on her head, she would have done it gladly. Her hand rested softly in his as he opened the door and led her inside. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she tried to imagine what he had in store for her; giddy that he had changed his mind after all. His voice certainly had a hypnotic effect, but her mind still felt in control. Step by step, she focused on the sounds of their feet as they walked through the flat, the tempting smell of his cologne that wafted teasingly to her nose, the gentle feel of his thumb as it brushed her knuckles. Eyes still closed, they stopped, and Erik withdrew her hand from his, and the scent of him drifted further and further away.

"Erik?" she asked, puzzled, her eyes longing to open and find him.

There was no reply and her whole body tingled in anticipation. She felt him lift the strap of her purse from her shoulder, exhaling a breath of surprise at the sudden contact.

His melodious voice whispered in her ear again to stand very still and keep her eyes closed.

Her hands balled into fists down at her sides, as she fought the urge to reach for him, not knowing how much longer she could stand there idly. His fingers took hold of one of her coat sleeves, slowly, and then moved to take the other.

As he reached for her scarf, a gentle rush of music filled her ears. The soft strumming of the guitar rung out clear and sweet, and as the soothing sound of the violin joined in, she quickly recognized the tune to be the very memorable one that Erik and the band had played just for her. Though it was the second time she heard the song, it did not fail to capture her, and with her eyes closed, it seemingly caressed her once more with its mesmeric melody.

"Open your eyes."

She felt as though she was in a daze, and her eyes fluttered open finally, drawing a breath at the sight around her. Candles, large and small danced in her vision, showcasing her flat with dozens of twinkling lights. On every shelf and on every table, the tiny torches flickered and sparkled about the room, illuminating the area like a bright moonlit night. Barely able to speak, her eyes found Erik just feet before her dressed sharply in a suit of black. His eyes shone like deep blue orbs and his gaze fell heavily upon her.

Her feet felt as though they were planted to the floor. "Erik," she began weakly. "It's so beau-"

He approached her, his face serious, his eyes commanding, and put two fingers to her lips to silence her. His eyes wandered the length of her body, and his hand gently cupped her cheek.

"You are so beautiful, Lizzie." It came out in a ragged whisper, and his fingers had taken to following the soft contour of her jaw line, and tenderly brushed across her neck. "I have stayed awake nights wanting you, dreaming about the feel of your body…"

Shivers ran down her skin, and she moved to reach for him, but his hands steadied hers once again at her sides. Her chest heaved with excitement as she realized that his game did not allow her to touch him. She forced herself to remain very still, and watched as his hand met the air a half inch from her heart, her body shuddering as he trailed both breasts torturously slow down to her waist without ever making contact.

"I love you more than I've loved anyone, Lizzie," he continued, circling around her now, his hand trailing the back of her shoulders.

Lizzie had never experienced something so erotic. Though she remained fully dressed, her body tingled as Erik's hand seemed to draw the energy from her body, awakening every nerve, arousing her with the sensation.

"I still wonder how it is possible that you could care for a monster like me…"

Her mouth fell open to protest. "You are not-"

His fingers met the softness of her lips once again.

"I want you to say that you love me," he commanded softly, his blue eyes piercing hers.

"I love you, Erik."

Inches before her now, his hand lifted her chin to him. "Say that you want me, Lizzie."

Their lips were a breath apart as she looked up at him, desperate to receive his kiss, her heart racing. "I want you, Erik."

"Say that you need me."

"I need you," she whispered.

Suddenly, he separated from her, and puzzled by his departure, her eyes searched his curiously. Standing four feet away, he raised his arms slowly in a grand gesture, and in time with the music snapped his fingers once, releasing a wondrous drizzle of fragrant crimson rose petals. In awe her eyes watched as the petals fell around and on top of her, drifting downward and dancing in the air like bright red feathers. Her palms opened to catch some and as the last ones made their floaty descent, her eyes fell to the masked man who was now on one knee before her.

"I want you to say that you will marry me." His voice was husky as his soulful cerulean eyes looked up at her, and between his thumb and index finger he held a ring.

Her mouth fell agape once again as her eyes treasured the shiny silver band before her, adorned with a trio of round diamonds. Her breath was caught in her throat as her mind fought to register his request.

The song ended with a powerful crescendo, then faded quietly into silence, and Lizzie was sure he could hear the thumping of her heart.

Tears began to fill her eyes as she bent down to him, and took his face in hers, her thumb running along the white fleshy mask. "I will marry you."

His lips took hers desperately, his body shuddering with relief, embracing her with his heart and soul. He pulled away finally, fighting back tears, and smiled with a happiness he'd never known. Carefully he set the ring upon her finger, admiring its glittering splendor, as though it were made only for her hand.

"There is one thing I want, Erik" she told him, her hand tightly wrapped in his and her eyes were serious as she looked up into his handsome face.

He nodded, his hand falling to the silky softness of her hair. "Anything, my love."

"I want you to..." she began, and took a breath, fixing her gaze on his seductive blue eyes, "take me to my bed and... and make love to me."

A smile curved at his lips and he ran gentle fingers through her silky strands. "I will," he told her tenderly, meeting her chocolate brown gaze, her lovely eyes laced with desire.

He no sooner said that then picked her up, reveling in the blissful realization that this woman would be his forever, and together made their way through the trail of rose petals, past the twinkling candles, and into the sweet haven of her room.