Note: This has already become the longest thing I've ever written by far--and we've barely gotten started! Sorry it's taking me so long to get to the Phantom parts; believe me, I'm just as anxious as you are to see our favorite masked prodigy slide into the pages. But I've never been one to jump in without proper set up. So please tell me what you think! I appreciate all constructive feedback.

Christine rushed down the stairs, away from Najafi's office, her mind racing. Her professor's intensity had unsettled her, but beneath her apprehension there was a burning knot of suspicion growing in her stomach. He? Who was "he"? And just what were the "proper parts" of the theater that she was supposed to stay in? And, above all, why?

As question upon question whirled around her brain, a slow certainty was emerging in the midst of her confusion: Najafi knew something about the supposed "ghost" that haunted Beaumont's theater. Something that he wasn't saying. Something that frightened him to the point that he would warn her to stay away.

Although the thought of him withholding information from her was infuriating, Christine felt a thrill of excitement race along her spine. If Najafi went to the trouble of warning her away from the theater haunting, then there must be something there to warn her away from.

And she was going to find out just what it was.

So resolved, she reached the bottom of the staircase—and froze in her tracks. Raoul was standing near the door of the building's spacious entrance, engaged in casual conversation with several other boys. Christine's lifting mood evaporated instantly. Fighting the urge to find another way out of the building, she took a deep breath and began walking towards him. When she was halfway across the room he caught sight of her, and his expression lowered into a glare. With a word his friends dispersed, leaving him to walk across the shining tiled floor to meet her. An awkward moment of silence passed between them, as each stared the other down.

"Hey," Christine muttered.

"Hey."

Another awkward pause. Christine tightened her grip on her bag, realizing that she would have to break the silence if they were going to get anywhere.

"Look," she sighed. "I'm not any happier about this than you are, okay? But like Najafi said: our grade depends on this article, and I'm not about to fail an assignment just because we can't get along. So which group do you want to interview—the cast or the crew?"

Raoul regarded her coolly for a moment, as if debating whether or not he would even respond. Christine felt her irritation rise.

"Crew," he finally spat.

"Fine." Christine gritted her teeth. She had wanted to interview the cast anyway. "I'll do the cast and you'll do the crew. We'll gather our information separately during rehearsals, and meet a couple times—briefly—to compile it all together."

An ironic smirk passed over the boy's face. "Well. I suppose now that you've made the top grade in class, you're calling the shots, right?"

She clenched her fists, trying desperately to control the fury she could feel piercing hotly through her veins.

"I'm just trying to be organized," she snapped. "If you have a better plan, by all means, share it."

Raoul glared down at her for a moment, then tore his gaze away. "Whatever," he mumbled. "Let's just get this over with."

"My sentiments exactly." Christine spun away before she found herself saying something she might regret, considering that they were in public. Upon reaching the door, she called out without bothering to turn around. "I'll email you the rehearsal schedule, so we can get started."

Then she brushed through the doorway and into the sunlight, refusing to give the boy behind her a second glance.

***

She reached the theater slightly winded, having walked faster than normal in her anger. Just who did he think he was? First humiliating her in front of the class, and then being incredibly rude when she was trying to be civil! Christine ducked into the theater's side door, still fuming as she made her way past the main stage lobby and towards the downstairs area that housed the classrooms. She decided to spend her break in between classes trying to relax and forget all about this stupid assignment.

As she strode past the doorway of an empty room, she paused, retracing her steps to peer inside. Amid the discarded props and costumes that littered the classroom, Mrs. Giry was standing alone near the far wall, her hands clasped tightly as she stared out the window. Christine hesitated, unsure whether to interrupt her silent, agitated watch. She stepped softly inside the room.

"Mrs. Giry?"

The older woman started, whirling around. She closed her eyes in relief upon seeing Christine. "Oh, thank goodness," she breathed. "It's you. Please, do come in dear."

The girl walked to her side. She had always admired her new guardian's poise and style, the calm self-composure she seemed to carry with her at all times. Now Christine felt a stab of concern as she noted her furrowed brow, her strained expression.

"Are you alright?"

Mrs. Giry pressed a hand to her forehead, flashing Christine an embarrassed smile. "Oh yes, dear, I'm fine. Really, it's not very important." The smile slipped as her gaze returned to the window, her features resuming their distant, worried look. "It's just that… Headmaster Firmin has finally scheduled renovations for the theater. And they'll be happening soon."

Christine faltered, unsure of what the problem was. "But that's a good thing, isn't it? The lobby and the stage will be updated, and I'm sure all of the equipment will be replaced with newer technology. The shows will be better than ever, won't they?"

A bitter smile crossed the woman's face. "I'm sure they will, but it's not just the main stage that is to be updated. The renovations will extend to the entire theater: the stage, the classrooms, the dormitories, everything…including the basements down below," she added softly. "Everything beneath the theater is to be pried open and hauled out."

She paused, rubbing her temples. "I'm afraid that the new Headmaster may have bitten off more than he can chew this time."

Christine stared at her, still unclear where Mrs. Giry's dismay came from, but her pulse quickened at the mention of the spaces below the theater.

"Mrs. Giry," she said quickly, "just how many basements are down there?"

"There are several levels," the woman continued, her eyes still fixed on an invisible point past the glass. "At least three subbasements that I know of extend beyond this building's lowest point, and there may be more that have been abandoned. And then there is the legend that the theater was built more or less on top of an underground cavern…but no one knows if that's true."

"An underground cavern?" Christine's suspicions were building again at the possible lead, filling her with journalistic excitement. "Does anyone ever go down there?"

Mrs. Giry turned at the eagerness in her voice, seeming to focus on her fully for the first time. "No, no one. Not anymore." Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?"

Christine shrugged, but she made a mental note of Mrs. Giry's reaction. "No reason. I was just wondering."

Her guardian continued to watch her, and Christine shifted uncomfortably under her shrewd gaze. Mrs. Giry opened her mouth to ask another question, but at that moment Meg came barreling past the door. Christine heard the squeal of her combat boots as she jolted to a stop, her heavy footsteps as she raced back, and then she was in the doorway, disheveled and out of breath.

"Margaret!" Mrs. Giry exclaimed. "What on earth is going on?"

"I got a callback!" Meg gasped. Her eyes were shining as she skipped towards them. "I got a callback for Lucy! Mr. Lassiter even complimented my singing—he said I've really improved!"

"That's awesome Meg!" Christine grinned at her. "But who's Lucy?"

Meg rolled her eyes at her friend's lack of theater knowledge. "She's practically the main female lead in Jekyll and Hyde, and my favorite character. She's a prostitute who becomes the main love interest for both Dr. Jekyll and for Hyde. The other female lead is Emma, Dr. Jekyll's fiancée, but she's not nearly as interesting." Meg's face fell a little. "Of course, Charlotte got a callback for Lucy too," she added rather dejectedly.

Mrs. Giry slipped an arm around her daughter's shoulders. "Don't worry about Charlotte. Just do the best you can, dear. I know that you'll do splendidly."

Feeling clueless, Christine asked, "Who's Charlotte?"

"She's the best singer in school," Meg explained unhappily, "and she's Mr. Lassiter's favorite. He always casts her in the lead roles. Which is totally unfair because she's a total bit—," Meg reined in her words at the last second, glancing at her mother. "Erm, nasty person."

Mrs. Giry frowned. "Mr. Lassiter will choose whomever he feels is best for the role," she corrected in defense of her professional partner. Meg shrugged, content to keep her own opinions. She grabbed Christine's hand, waving a script in front of her face.

"C'mon! You can help me with my lines," she grinned.

The two started towards the door when Mrs. Giry called them back.

"Girls…do me a favor." She paused as if unsure of her words, one hesitant hand raised. "Stay in the main sections of the theater. Keep to the dormitories, the classrooms, or the stage; all the places where other people are usually present." Mrs. Giry had been addressing them both, but her eyes found Christine as she added, with peculiar emphasis, "Don't go wandering about in secluded areas. Or in places that you're not supposed to be in."

Christine stared back at her, feeling a cold twist of unease in her stomach. Hadn't she had almost the exact same conversation with Najafi that morning?

Her rising deluge of questions was cut off by Meg's flip reply, "Sure Mom. No problem." The girl ushered her through the door, smiling an apology while she twirled a finger next to her head in a "crazy" gesture. Christine chanced a glance backward as Meg tugged her along, catching sight of Mrs. Giry watching them anxiously from the doorway before she was pulled around a corner.

***

That night found Christine curled up in her bed, exhausted from lack of sleep and a long, tedious day. In addition to her other classes, she had spent over an hour rehearsing lines with Meg in the choir room, going over and over the small section of dialogue and its accompanying song until she was certain she knew every bit of it by heart herself. Listening with the slightest bit of envy to her friend's high, clear soprano, Christine felt confident that Meg was perfect for the role, no matter how good that Charlotte person was.

Rolling onto her stomach, she glanced over at Meg's empty bed. A concert by some famous local band was being held at a nearby café, and practically every girl in the dormitory had gone.

"You should come!" Meg had pleaded, straightening her newest outfit. "Everyone will be there, and we've been working all day. You deserve a break."

"Thanks, but I think the break that I really need is right here."

Meg had urged her to go for several more minutes, but when she realized that Christine couldn't be persuaded she gave up and headed out the door. Now it was just a little after 10 PM, but Meg and the others still hadn't come back yet. Christine sighed deeply, enjoying the silence not just of her room but of her entire hall. She loved her roommate, but it wasn't often that she got the room to herself, and she intended to take full advantage of the opportunity.

Stretching out, she buried her head in her pillows, gleefully pulling the covers up to her chin. Several minutes passed. Her body relaxed slowly into a peaceful doze, and soon she was floating somewhere between sleep and consciousness.

She began listening to the music even before she was aware that it was playing.

Nestled in her warm cocoon, Christine could barely hear the notes as they drifted across her mind, teasing and lulling by turns. She smiled softly in her half-sleep, listening as the melody grew from a light lullaby into something stronger. Her eyelids slid open.

It took her several seconds to register that she was actually awake, and several more seconds to become aware that the music was still playing.

Christine's weariness fled in an instant, and she flung the covers back, holding herself desperately still as she listened to the haunting tune. Every nerve in her body was on edge, straining towards the sound that seemed no longer confined by her dreams, but had spilled over into reality. Her first thought was that other girls on the hall must hear it, they must be curious about where it was coming from—but then she remembered that the other girls were all out at the concert. She was completely on her own.

Christine breath caught in her throat, frozen by a moment of terror as half-remembered dream images flooded her mind. A second later the terror melted away, replaced by a warm taste of practicality. So what if she was alone? She would not hide in her room simply because someone was playing the piano.

Setting her jaw with determination, she leapt from the bed, slipped on her shoes, and marched to the door. Peeking around the doorframe, she stepped cautiously into the silent hallway. The music raced along at a whisper, seeming to come from the passage directly ahead of her. After a moment's hesitation Christine strode forward, following the hypnotic melody as it wound echoing through the halls, as if to beckon her on.

Within minutes she was hopelessly lost, having never had a reason to wander through the theater's lower, labyrinthine corridors. She tried to number each twist and turn she took in the hopes of remembering the way back, but her focus on the music made her lose count. Remembering her dream, she first started out in the general direction of the choir room, but after several turns the music waned and she was forced to double back in confusion. The only piano she knew of was located in that room, so if the source of the music wasn't there, then where was it?

Christine paused, eyes closed. The melody wafted around her, tugging her with an almost physical touch. She shivered, then opened her eyes and swerved suddenly down another passage. To her surprise, the music seemed to lead her in the direction of the old dance studios. New ones had been built several years ago, but she seemed to remember hearing that the old studios still existed, empty and unused in some part of the theater. She increased her pace, half jogging as the notes dipped and soared around her. Rounding a corner, Christine found herself in the old dance hallway. The music, although still faint, was definitely stronger here than in any other passage she had encountered so far.

Slowly, she made her way down the eerie, dimly lit corridor, trying doors on her right and left as she passed. Each door was locked. Frustration mounting now that she was so close to her goal, Christine swiped the final door handle at the end of the hall especially hard, and to her surprise the door swung open.

The room beyond was pitch black. Christine paused, fighting down fear as she stared into the impenetrable darkness. Steeling herself, she stepped inside and switched on the nearest light as fast as she could. The room illuminated under the pale glare of florescent bulbs. It was completely deserted, its wooden floors dusty from disuse. She felt a moment of confused disappointment; the music's trilling echo was louder in here, but there was no piano and no musician. She had traveled all this way only to be met with another dead end.

Curious and disconcerted, she wandered towards the massive dingy mirror that served as the studio's right wall. She could see her own pale face in the reflection, her body divided into two halves by the dust-coated bar rail that ran the length of the mirror. Christine stretched out her hand to touch the glass. It was ice cold. Frowning, she pressed her palm fully to it. Was it just her imagination, or was there the slightest vibration trembling over the surface? Grasping the rail, she brought her ear up to the freezing glass. The music. It was as if…as if that soaring, powerful melody lay behind the glass somehow.

Christine stepped back, her hands moving all over the surface now. She slid her fingernails along the border cracks and tugged at the bar rail. She even smacked the glass a couple times, hitting it a little harder with each blow. It seemed like an ordinary mirror. Pressing her ear to the icy glass again, she closed her eyes. Yes. She could still hear it. But how was that possible?

Shaking her head, she stepped away from the mirror. She was getting nowhere this way; she would have to come back with proper tools, or at least with another person. And she would come back; she was confident now that the source of the strange night music was coming from somewhere beyond this room, behind this mirror. She just had to figure out how.

Striding back to the doorway of the dance studio, she took a last look around her before flicking off the lights. Closing the door firmly, she turned around—and smacked straight into the large, dark figure that had been standing behind her. Enormous hands closed around her forearms in a vice-like grip.

Christine screamed.

Thanks for reading! Please tell me what you think so far.