Description: Rebekah McLeod, member of a highly specialized division of law enforcement that polices crimes committed in literary and cinematic realms known as the Fictional Character Response Unit, investigates the events that transpired in the Opera Populaire. Humor (may morph into an outright parody, you never know).

Disclaimer 1 (for the lawyers): I own absolutely nothing! There is no profit being made on this. This PhanPhic is for nothing more than fan appreciation.

Disclaimer 2 (for the readers): Christine, Raoul bashing ahoy! Slight use of language, but nothing you can't say on TV... yet.

A/N: This is my first PotO Phic... so any and all comments are welcome. I always try to take my reviewer's opinions into consideration, so don't be afraid to hit me with some constructive criticism!

"Evenin', Miss Daae."

"Good evening, Detective," she gave me a tired little smile.

I knew the Captain had kept her here for at least two hours now, questioning and re-questioning her. He'd finally given up and passed her on to me because I was the best... that and the Skipper had deemed this one "utterly incomprehensible" and "oblivious." So the whole thing had pretty much been dropped into my lap with very little warning and even less prep time.

"What am I looking at here, Cap'n?" I had asked him when he first informed me of my newest case.

"Well, that's the problem. Our alleged victim's boyfriend has filed charges against a man who he claims kidnapped his gal. Thing is, he's pretty riled up; we aren't getting anything of much use out of him. And we've been trying to hear the girl's side of it, but she's unreachable. I can't get the time of day out of her."

I skimmed over the file he had handed me as he talked; it was thin and sketchy. They certainly hadn't gotten very far with this, in fact they hadn't even identified the supposed 'napper.

"She in shock?" I remember asking him. It wasn't uncommon for people to come in here traumatized, and considering that this girl wasn't even out of her teens, it seemed to be the likely explanation.

"Nope. Actually, she's pretty lucid, all things considered..."

I cocked my head to the side in interest, "So what's the issue, Skip?"

"In a word: she's a ditz."

"Oh?"

"Oh, yeah. Got this look to her like a startled fawn in a searchlight. And for some God-awful reason every time I ask her a question that requires more'n a word or two to answer, she breaks out into song!"

I just about choked on my coffee. "W-what?" I sputtered through desperate little coughs. Surely he was only blowing smoke, wouldn't be the first time either.

The Captain just nodded solemnly at me and waited for my hack attack to subside before confirming, "You heard me right," then he added in a mumble, to no one in particular it seemed, "Damn kid thinks she's in a Disney flick or something."

I gave a little snort. High time you get to deal with one of the weirdos, I thought, sitting in your plush little office all day while the rest of us are out fryin' out brain cells trying to talk with all the crazies that we get in here.

Of course, I harbored no ill will toward my Captain, he'd helped me out of more scrapes than anyone else in this department - plus he lets me get away with much more than I ought to - I was just bustin' his chops. It's kinda our thing.

"I won't argue that it's not strange," I said to him, and couldn't help the smirk that had come to my face, "but certainly it ain't 'God-awful' as you say. Her singing can't be that bad."

An odd look fell over the Captain's face then. His skin whitened, and his eyes seemed far away. It reminded me of the look some of the people in here get when they're recalling something horrid, like a war or a terrible crime they had witnessed.

"No, Mac, it can be that bad. And it is." His words came out low and he sounded as if he were very far off rather than standing right there in front of me. To be perfectly honest, it scared the hell out of me.

"C'mon, Skip," I shot back, hoping to diffuse the odd aura of foreboding that had wrapped around the man, "No one's voice could be so terrible. Stop ribbin' me!"

A flush of color returned to his face then and he smiled at me, "I'm not ribbing ya, kiddo. I tell you this girl has got a set of pipes that can reach frequencies only dogs can hear!"

"Sure, Skip."

"It's true! I'd bet my badge on it. She's got one of those uber-high pitched voices that cuts through you like nails on a chalkboard. Sometimes you can't even understand what it is she's trying to sing, her voice is up so high."

I just rolled my eyes. Of course I knew the kind of voice he was describing, and I've never been all too fond of the type. Hell, it gave me a violent shiver down the spine just to think of one. But no matter how head-splittingly high this chick's voice could get, he still didn't have good reason to zone-out like a vet having a 'Nam flashback and damn near give me a panic attack thinking one of my best friends was on the edge.

"So the kid can't sing," I said, more to myself than the Captain. "And you're dumping her on me so my that ears have a turn to bleed."

"I'm dumping her on you because we need her to talk. Accusations like these can't go uninvestigated. Not to mention, the boyfriend's high society, if we don't do our damnedest on this case he can cause this station major problems. Just go in and work your magic and for your own sake avoiding asking complicated questions at all cost. Unless of course you're in a particularly masochistic mood today. At any rate, I'd suggest wearing ear plugs."

Not five minutes after our pleasant little chat, I found myself here: standing in the dimly lit debrief room face-to-face with Ms. Christine Daae, the clueless wonder.

I don't know what I was expecting to find when I got here, but she definitely wasn't it.

She looked normal. Or, at least as normal as people were around here. She had big, round chocolate colored eyes. Like a puppy dog's, I though idly. I never much liked dogs. Too needy, too trusting. Cats were so much better... Her bouncy, brown curls looked like they belonged in a 1980's music video. I wondered vaguely how many bottles of hairspray the girl must go through a day to keep the big-hair look alive.

"I'm Detective Rebekah McLeod," I told her as I took a seat across from her.

"What happened to Captain Anders?" she asked.

"The Captain doesn't really handle investigations on this level. We were just short staffed when he was in here with you. I've been assigned to your case," I dropped her file onto the table between us.

"Oh, wonderful. We can be BFF's!"

I stared blankly at her. BFF's? Lord give me strength...

"Let's cut to the fat of it, Ms. Daae. You boyfriend, a Mr... de Chagny? Yes? Mr. de Chagny has filed a complaint claiming that you were kidnapped, the evening last. Can you tell me what happened to you the other night at the Opera Populaire?"

"Hm?" she looked at me a moment her face totally devoid of expression. Something in her dull gaze unnerved me, I was more than relieved when she answered. "Oh! I sang. Would you like to hear?"

"Um, no that's quite all right, Ms. Daae. What were-- "

Suddenly my eardrums were bombarded with what was easily one of the most horrible sounds I've ever heard. Something that was like a cross between the sound a stalling car engine makes and the unholy screech of a howler monkey.

"Pa-a-st the point of no return!" Christine sang.

With my hands clamped securely over my throbbing ears, I jumped out of my chair screaming "Stop! Stop! For the love of Andrew Lloyd Webber, stop!!'

Mercifully, the girl fell silent. "What's wrong?" she asked in a small, innocent sounding voice. I suppose that if I had not just been subjugated to a form of torture that put the iron maiden to shame, I would have been more tactful for the obviously naive Daae's benefit. However, my poor ears were still screaming from the assault they had just barely survived moments earlier and I countered harshly "Because you suck."

I saw tears spring to her eyes, "B-but," she spluttered through trembling lips, "but my Angel says I sing beautifully."

For I moment, I was convinced she had done permanent damage to my hearing. "Your what?"

"My Angel," she answered promptly, her voice had stopped shaking and she sat up straighter in her chair.

"Your... angel."

"My Angel," she smiled, "He sings songs in my head."

Well, so much for seeming normal.

"OK," I pulled my cell out of my pocket and punched in an all-too-familiar number. After the second ring I got an answer, "Hey Doc, it's me. Listen, uh, I've got someone here I'd like you to talk to. What? Yeah, she's here at the station. Huh? Uh-huh, yep, she'll be here for awhile. You can? Great, just have me paged when you get here. Thanks." I ended the call and placed the phone back in my jeans.

"Ooh, who's coming to visit?" Christine asked eagerly, her dark eyes shining.

"An associate of mine, Dr. Talbot. I have to call him in a lot to help me with my... BFF's."

"Oh, goody. We can all have a grand old time. OH!" she gave a hugh gasp, then asked, "Can we have tea and cookies?"

"Erm... sure?"

Christine started bouncing up and down in her seat, the biggest smile I've ever seen spread over her face. She was clapping her hands together like an idiot.

"So, Ms. Daae, I'm going to leave you for a little while, and when the doctor gets here you two can have a nice long talk and eat cookies and cupcakes and stuff."

Her goofy smile faded in a flash, and she reminded me of a puppy again, "But... Are you coming back, Rebekah?"

It did not escape my notice that her eyes had begun to water again, quickly I replied, "Of course I am, Ms. Daae. I just have to go and sort some things out right now. When you're done speaking with Dr. Talbot I'll come back in and you and I can talk."

"Oh, OK!" the happy, dufus routine was back in full force, I made a mental note to ask the Doc to test especially for Bipolar disorder.

I was halfway to the door when I turned around purposefully, "Oh, and, Ms. Daae? I'd rather you not call me Rebekah."

"Alright, no problem, Becky!"

My jaw clenched. Becky... does she think I'm five or something?! "No, Ms. Daae, you're not understanding me. I worked my ass off to become a detective, give me my dues will ya?"

"Certainly!" she called in her chipper voice. As the door to the debriefing room closed shut behind me I heard her call, "See you later, Becca!"

My eyes narrowed into dangerous slits; one of the rookie cops puttering around the station had seen my dark expression and backed away from me, her eyes wide. I heaved a sigh, I hate Mondays.

'K, so that's chapter one. Let me know if you think it's worthy of continuing.