Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. Anything copyrighted is not mine.
A big thanks to Musique et Amour for being my beta.
Another big thanks to anyone I consulted with.

Now let us get on with the story...

Chapter 1: Of Mice and Cats

"And in this labyrinth, where night is blind, the Phantom of the Opera is here, inside your mind."

Somewhere in the town of Scarsdale, Christine Daae opened the door to her car and went into the vehicle. After closing the door, she put the key into the ignition and turned on the engine. Then pushing down on the gas pedal, she drove home from work.

While Christine drove out the lot, another car from afar drove out of the lot near the building where she worked and merged into the main road, following the brunette driver.

The two vehicles kept driving. In the little follow the leader game, the black Mercedes never let any car cut in front of him.

As the traffic light turned from yellow to red, Christine stopped at the intersection completely oblivious to the mysterious black Mercedes Benz sedan behind her.

In the car behind her, a man closely watched Christine. She appeared to be singing to something. He turned down Pachelbel's Canon in D major. After turning down the music, he still couldn't hear what she was listening to. Unlike college students, Christine Daee didn't blast music. Whatever she was singing, she appeared to be enjoying it.

Christine turned on the radio as Shania Twain's Man! I Feel Like a Woman came on Lite FM. It was one of her favorite songs to sing along to.

"The best thing about being a woman is the prerogative to have a little fun and..." Christine sang along with the music, engrossed in the song. The light switched back to green, but Christine didn't notice until the car behind her honked.

Stepping upon the gas pedal she continued driving towards her destination, still unaware of her shadow.

Turning right upon a secluded road that cut through the woods, she admired the leaves that had started turning red and orange as the autumn plague spread throughout the woods. The days began to become chilly as October was slowly creeping up.

Though she saw lights of another car behind her, she paid no mind to it. Approaching Artista Lane she made a left, then turned right into Angel Court.

The mysterious car drove into the small development but only passed by Angel Court and driver took note that she lived in the green house on Angel Court.

So this is where she lives.

The black sedan drove down the lane and into the next court on the left turning right and drove down Artista then back into the secluded street before disappearing into the darkness.

Christine parked the car on her smooth driveway and got out of the vehicle. She walked down the driveway towards the black mailbox and took her mail out. After collecting her mail, Christine walked back up the driveway to unlock her front door.

Christine Daae lived alone ever since her father, Charles, died six years ago. Since she gained ownership of the house, she decided to stay there although everything reminded her of her dad. Christine couldn't leave the memories behind. Even if she did sell the house, she knew she would regret it.

She lived in a humble house for a family of four.

Inside the house, there were four bedrooms. One of the four rooms was the master room, which was left untouched ever since Charles passed away. The second room was slightly bigger than the other two rooms, but not as big as the master room albeit it had its own bathroom also. The other two rooms and shared the same bathroom that was located between them.

Besides the four bedrooms, the house had a study where she did some work in and surfed the net. Next, there was the family room, which had memorabilia hanging around on the walls. That was where the upright piano was located along with the violin in its case. The kitchen, which was down the hall from the family room, was modern and clean. It had smooth, dark countertops and an island in the middle and was ideal for someone who liked to cook. After living alone for six years, Christine had learned how to make decent, edible meals. While acquiring cooking skills, she had also developed a fondness for cooking. Next to the kitchen, the small, modest dining room was used for special occasions.

On the outside, the house looked like a simple two-story house. There was nothing extravagant about it; it was painted green with white shutters and black shingles and had a double garage with a U-shaped driveway. A couple of dark emerald pine trees and other evergreen trees surrounded the property.

Christine stepped into the house and took off her shoes. Closing the door behind her, she then locked it. After placing her leather handbag onto the wooden end table, Christine slowly walked over to the kitchen with today's post in her hands.

She sat down in the chair and sorted through her mail. There was junk, phone and cell phone bills, and a letter from a distant cousin. Christine opened the letter from her kin and took out the message then began reading.

Dear Christine,

Thank you so much for your birthday wishes. My birthday was fun. It was a pity you couldn't come. There's always next year. I've been doing fine. How's life? Is the laboratory life treating you right? I have to go now. Sorry for the short letter.

Until next time,

Serena

P.S. Thanks for the birthday gift.

After finishing the letter, Christine folded it up and put it back into the envelope. She organized the pile and left it on the table. Then, she got up and walked towards the fridge. It was time for dinner.

Christine opened the fridge and rumbled through the produce container, deciding to make a healthy salad tonight. She took out her vegetables: romaine lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and broccoli and carried them to the counter. Before working with the greens, she washed her hand with soap and water. She took out the cutting board and started chopping up her vegetables.

After finishing preparing her salad, she carried her meal to the table. She pulled the chair out and sat down going through her other mail as she ate. Once her dinner was finished, she returned to the kitchen to wash her dishes, then turned the lights off and headed towards the study.

Acquiring her work location had been simple.

But what had attracted me was intriguing. I don't know why I was. Was it the possibility that I could train her? That she had potential to be amazing? Maybe because wasn't ordinary. She wasn't someone who just posted a clip of her singing or played some piece by Beethoven on the piano. Either way, I was interested in her.

She had posted a sample clip her playing a composition she had written for viola on the web. Along with her clip, she also posted her first and last name.

I went to Google and entered in "Christine Daae".

I browsed through the results. Clicking on thirteenth result, it led me to the web page of the Franklin Laboratory of Forensic Science. The page showed a list of people currently working there. I scrolled down. There she was.

Miss Christine Daae
Forensic Scientist
Click here for her email address

They even provided a lovely head shot for me. How nice of them. People were completely ignorant how one could find information so easily with just their last name.

I explored the website of the institute. It was located on Hanon Road near Crossing Park. The lab wasn't far away. In fact, it wasn't even out of town.

Her composition was simple. It wasn't too simple to be elementary, but it wasn't as complicated as what I had written in the past. It had a pleasing melody, but it needed more emotions. The vibrato was fine. Overall, it was okay. With a little more tutoring, she could be a lot better, especially if she learned how to convey emotions.

I clicked on her profile on forum website. She used her work email on the forum, which was the same email listed on the site. It only verified that she worked at the Franklin Laboratory of Forensic Science.

After that, I copied her address and sent an email to her.

Yesterday, I had saved the viola clip for future references. If I needed it for any reason, it would be there.

Tomorrow, I would visit 667 Hanon Road.

Christine turned on the computer and waited for it to start up. She logged in, opened up Mozilla Firefox, and went to Musicians United checking for anything new or intriguing. Finding nothing, she minimized the browser.

She got out of her chair, pushed it in, and headed towards the family room.

After entering the room, Christine walked to the bookcase where her music books were organized according to the composer. Christine pulled out a music book and flipped to page 56, The Flight of the Bumblebee. She placed the book onto the stand and opened up her viola case.

Christine plucked the four strings to see if they were in tune. The A string was extremely flat so she turned the wooden knob to make it tighter. Christine plucked the same string again and compared it with the corresponding tone on the piano. Better, she thought.

She placed the viola onto her left shoulder and rested her chin onto the padding. With her right hand, Christine picked up the bow and started the play the piece.

She hadn't practiced in such a long time. Over the summer, she had gone on vacation and she had forgot about practicing. Christine wasn't that bad, but she wasn't playing to her full potential. Her playing was mediocre for her level.

When Christine finished playing the song, she closed her eyes and improvised. She didn't necessarily have the creativity to invent something beautiful, but the little tune she carried was still original.

After improvising for a period of half an hour, Christine eventually became bored of making random tunes up and placed the viola onto the piano stool along with the bow beside it. She opened up the case again and placed the viola back inside it then put the box into its spot. Christine closed the case and put it back next to the piano where it would be ready for the next time she played.

She had played and stood for half an hour straight. In those 30 minutes, anything could have happened.

Christine walked back to the study room where her computer was still turned on. Then, she sat in her comfortable chair shaking the mouse to turn off the screen saver. The black screen gradually switched back to the desktop and she clicked on the already opened Mozilla window. Then, she refreshed the page. Nothing interesting. She decided to check her emails since she hadn't checked her inbox in the last five days.

She entered her password into the query box and logged in as "cdaae".

There were two new emails.

One was from a fellow friend.

The other was from "Silentsolitude".