He watched the girl enter the house, wondering if she might be of some use to him. After all, she was born and raised here- why not? He thought about her shy smile and mentally shook himself. "Erik is a foolish man. Look, but never touch- he knows that damned well." He stood wearily and took his violin out of the case, plucking at the strings, before spending a few moments tightening them and putting rosin on the bow. Tucking the instrument beneath his chin, he began playing Pachelbel's Canon in D major.

The kitchen was empty when Christine entered it, Mamma having washed the dishes and gone to bed. The women had their apartment on the first floor toward the back of the house. She hung the leash on its peg, but before she closed the door, she paused and listened. Faint music- a violin, and it was coming from above her, meaning it could only be from Mr. Reauchard's room. Christine listened for a while longer, enchanted.

It was Pachelbel.

Her father had been a very good violinist, but by the sound of it Mr. Reauchard was in a class by himself. She stood there and listened, eyes closed until the piece ended before closing the door. Such a strange man, she thought, but one with loads of talent.

The next morning she overslept, and dashed around getting ready, throwing on a khaki skirt and pink sleeveless blouse. She said goodbye to Mamma and headed for the Avenue Restaurant and breakfast with Meg.

All day business was brisk at the store. Christine worked until five, then went home and changed into some old clothes, helping Elizabeth until it was time to leave for Chagny. Around seven she showered, and armed with a list of things to get at Walmart, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door. She noticed the BMW still parked in the same spot, wondering if it had ever left the driveway today, as she got behind the wheel of her car, and headed back into town toward York St. and Walmart.

It was nearly dusk when she finally noticed the build-up of clouds, making it even darker. "Rain for sure this evening. I'm gonna get drenched," she muttered glumly. She turned into Walmart's parking lot, pulled into a slot and hurried to get her shopping done. She could hear thunder rumbling, realizing she was probably going to get that drenching before she made it back to her car.

She hurriedly turned down an aisle not really looking where she was going, and plowed into a large, red-faced man, knocking the basket of items he was holding out of his hands.

"What the hell, girl! You blind or somethin'?""

Christine, embarrassed, bent down to help him pick up everything spilled on the floor. Over her apologies he continued swearing at her until she'd had enough of him.

"Hey! I said I was sorry, already! Maybe if you hadn't been standing in the aisle blocking it, it wouldn't have happened!"

"Where I stand in this dump is none of your damned business! Why don't you watch where you're goin'?" he snapped.

The man was tall and broad, and coupled with his nastiness, she was getting nervous. No one else had stepped in to help defuse the situation, preferring instead to watch and be entertained. She left him still griping, and walked quickly away. She paid for her items, shaking from the confrontation, and went out the door, relieved to be getting out of there. She reached her car, unlocked it and got in. Christine turned the key over. The engine started...

...then died.

"Damn it! This is just great!" She tried again...nothing. "Shit!" Getting out of the car, she reached into her shoulder bag for her phone- which wasn't there. Thoroughly disgusted with the car, her forgetfulness, and the way her evening was going, she decided not to kick the friggin tires and looked around for a payphone. Did they even have those anymore? She saw who was coming toward her, and with a groan, she realized things were just about to get worse.

"Aww... too bad! Did you forget to put gas in your car? You one of those dumb ass blondes, honey?" The man she'd argued with in the store, sidled up to Christine, more than willing to continue his nastiness in the parking lot.

She looked up at him, fright overtaking anger- she just wanted to get out of there. "Look... I...uh, I don't want any trouble."

He was having fun now; he could sense her fear and it fed his ego. Good, good. He was just revving up. "Save it, sugar. I've seen your kind before. Guys like me don't rate a single fuckin minute. Think you're better..."

"Perhaps you would like to continue this conversation with me," a quiet voice spoke.

Erik had appeared from seemingly nowhere, gliding up to the red-faced man and getting between him and Christine. "If you have a problem maybe I can help you with it," he said smoothly, but the implied threat was clearly there.

The man was startled by what he saw in front of him; he wasn't all that bright, but he had enough sense to realize that this wasn't the same as bitching at the blonde girl.

He couldn't make out much detail; the man was tall- taller than himself, that much he could see, and he appeared relaxed and very much in control of the situation. His clothing was dark and a hat was pulled low over his eyes. Eyes that were truly frightening, and he felt a trickle of fear.

Still, he was if anything full of bluster, and because several people stood nearby watching, he couldn't just let it go, even when every nerve in his body was screaming at him to do just that.

"This has nothing to do with you, so piss off, butt hole."

"How would you enjoy pissing quite painfully into a bedpan for the next month, cretin?"

The man whirled around in a tight circle. "Huh? Who said that?" The voice had spoken softly next to his ear, but looking around at the people standing nearby, he wasn't sure who.

"Apologize to her now before you end up stuffed into one of those garbage dumpsters over there- head first."

The man, very red in the face, chanced a quick look at the skinny dude in front of him. Those infernal eyes regarded him knowingly. "Yes. I am speaking to you, imbecile."

There it was again! The man watched the stranger- his thin mouth unmoving, but he knew it was the tall man speaking in that soft, icy as hell voice.

He had never been the touchy-feely type; had bullied and browbeat his way through many people, including his wife and kids. He was always angry at someone; the night before had left him broke after a late night poker game and too much to drink. He had been in a foul mood all day spoiling for a fight.

The blonde gal fit the bill nicely.

He hadn't expected help to show up in the form of this guy, but one glance at the feral, glowing eyes and he decided to back off.

Quickly.

Looking at the frightened man, Erik tilted his head and regarded him. "Well? Nothing to say for once? You were quite vocal before, weren't you?"

Christine, now more than a little puzzled at this odd tableau, put her hand on his arm. "Um, Mr. Reauchard? It's going to rain any minute."

Erik tensed at her hand on his sleeve, surprised more than anything else, and gave her a faint smile. "Just a moment, if you please." He nodded his head in the direction of the bully. "This gentleman wishes to say something before he departs." He cut his eyes to the man and waited.

He licked his lips and swallowed hard. "S-Sorry, miss." The man thoroughly cowed, turned around, not wanting to look at Erik again, and with rapid steps, walked away from a hospital room. His.

The few spectators slowly dispersed, and she let out her breath, glad the ordeal, whatever the ordeal was, had ended. It was weird, but the man had actually seemed to be listening to something or someone. Mars maybe? She snorted, glancing at her companion. He had done something to that blowhard. It sounded nutty, but she knew it without knowing any of the details.

Christine turned to Erik and looked up at him. "Th- Thanks for showing up when you did, Mr. Reauchard. He was...he was," she felt odd beneath that unblinking regard, "ah, um...do you know anything about...about cars? M-mine won't start."

She dropped her eyes from his, feeling slightly awkward, but he startled Christine when he took her lightly by the elbow, opening her car door, and helping her into the driver's seat. "I will see what I can do. In the meantime, you may as well stay dry- it is beginning to rain." She wound her window down as he walked to the front of the car and popped the hood. Leaning over, one long arm disappeared into the maw of the car.

His head appeared briefly around the edge of the hood. "Try starting it now, Ms. Daae."

"Christine, Mr. Reauchard. I think you've earned the right to be on a first name basis."

She looked at him, and again wondered, not for the first time, where this man came from- what he did for a living. She shivered, not understanding how she could be drawn to him and repelled at the same time.

She tried starting the car- nothing, and leaned her head out the window. "Find anything?"

Erik closed the hood and wiped his hands. "Yes, it is your spark plugs. That is why your car will not work. Allow me to drive you home, Christine; you may call a service truck from there."

She nodded, grabbed her purse and the bag from the store and locked her car. She joined him, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up against the rain which had started to pour. Once home, she would call Raoul and tell him about her crummy evening. Mr. Reauchard showing up when he did was the one bright spot in all of it. For that matter, what was he doing here? He didn't seem the type to shop at a Walmart. He didn't seem the type to shop- period.

It was quiet in the car. The brief storm had ended and the rain was over, the air washed clean and alive with the scents of early summer. Christine looked out her open window at the night sky; the clouds were rapidly dispersing and stars were beginning to show through the overcast. She glanced over at her companion and watched as he fiddled with the radio; soon the strains of a violin concerto were pouring into the air around them, sounding so very sweet, it made her heart to ache.

She nodded toward the dash. "You play beautifully. I heard you last night." She cleared her throat. "My father played the violin...I miss it a lot." She softly sighed. "I miss him. He died two years ago."

Erik looked curiously at her. "You were...close to him, no?"

Christine simply nodded and looked out the window. After a few minutes, she turned to him.

"I really appreciate your help tonight. That man was such a jerk. I don't know what you did back there..."

"Erik." He kept his eyes on the road. "My name is Erik."

Soon they were pulling into the parking lot at the house, and she turned to him before getting out of the car. "If I can be of any help during your stay, please don't hesitate to come to me, Mr...Erik. I owe you one."

He thought a moment, then decided there was no harm in asking. "Perhaps there is. I would like to hire a guide to show me the battlefield. Do you know where I can find such a person?"

She laughed. "Yep. You're looking at her."

"You wouldn't mind spending the day with me?"

Christine thought his eyes fairly gleamed in the dim light. "This is my hometown, Erik. I've been over the battlefield countless times, so yeah, I'd like to show you around."

She watched as he unfolded his long legs and exited the car, coming around to her side. She looked up at him in the soft darkness and smiled. "I'll make a Civil War buff out of you before the day is over. Um, how about tomorrow? It's my day off."

"I look forward to it."

He followed her into the house where they parted.

In his room he called Nadir. "I think an evening walk would be enjoyable. Visit an old friend."

"I went back to Moncharmin's apartment and found something that could be meaningful. It's a date...July 3rd of this year. It was in a notebook, and might or might not be important. It's not much, but that's all I have for now. Mean anything to you?"

"Perhaps. I think I'll go for that walk now."

He pocketed his phone and left the room, quietly slipping from the house, and moving like the ghost for which he was known. He stayed in the darker shadows at the edge of the field, until he came to the de Chagny house. He circled the mansion and disabled the electronic sentry system, then slipped round to the back, and immediately spied the yellow lamplight spilling out the French doors. He crept closer, knowing this might be the very man he was hoping to see.

And it was.

Better still, the doors were cracked open, letting in the cool night air and his means of listening in. Philippe de Chagny and André Moncharmin were seated in the room, a bottle of bourbon between them on the table.

"... told you already. This is quite an honor for the town. It's not everyday the French president visits." Philippe took a sip of his whiskey. "My being on the welcoming committee means I was able to push for my home to be the one chosen for this shindig."

Moncharmin set his glass down and stood up. "I don't suppose the president will be attending?"

"Of course not; he'll only be making an appearance on the 3rd- the anniversary. It's detente you see; makes our country and yours look like the best of friends- which isn't the case, is it?" He laughed. "Besides, the president has a real interest in Pickett's Charge, as you well know."

Moncharmin nodded in agreement and stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "Ah yes, the painting. It should keep him well occupied. From what you've told me, it's quite large. I'm off to bed, Phil. This country air makes me sleepy. Not to mention that excellent bourbon. Bonne nuit."

Philippe bade André good night and walked over to the French doors. Opening them a little further, he stood in the doorway and inhaled the evening air, thinking. It was odd, but a month ago André had called him and insisted on an extended visit with Philippe, citing his interest in the upcoming visit of the French president. What struck Philippe as curious though, was the fact that he hadn't heard from André in a few years, then out of the blue he'd wanted an invitation for a long visit. They had never been close friends, had met when Philippe had attended the opera at the Garnier, where Moncharmin was manager. He didn't necessarily mind André's visit, but he did have a tendency to try and monopolize Philippe's time, and he was fast wearing out his welcome. He yawned and stretched tired muscles, already thinking of how busy his day would be tomorrow.

Erik shrank further back into the darkness, but de Chagny soon turned out the light and left the room. He waited a few minutes before taking care of the lock, and making his way through the now silent house.


Moncharmin came out of the bathroom and got into bed, before plunging the room into darkness. No sooner had he, a cold, bony hand was placed over his mouth, startling him.

"Now, now André, behave yourself. I will remove my hand if you keep quiet."

Moncharmin sat up and pushed back against the headboard, reaching for the lamp.

"Non, the light is much better off, don't you agree? No need for you to actually see the Phantom; you should only listen to him, no? I require your services, paid for quite well of course, per our ongoing agreement. Far more than the paltry amount you are receiving now."

Erik leaned down, eyes glittering and intense. "You don't seem at all surprised to find me in the same town as you. But a question more to the point- why were you having me followed, André? Do not deny it. I recognized him as being in your employ. He was a scene shifter at the Garnier, was he not?"

"W-Was?" he stuttered.

"He no longer works there. His employment was terminated."

Moncharmin could only hope that he remained alive himself after Reauchard finished with him. The creature thought nothing of killing, therefore he had no qualms about speaking. "I...I don't know who hired me, but they left an envelope in my office with instructions to watch your movements. It was merely surveillance." He balled his fists at his sides, bracing for violence from the man, but Erik only chuckled, a sound completely devoid of humor.

"And an envelope containing a significant amount of cash also?"

"It was not personal you understand, merely a business transaction," he weakly replied.

"Indeed."

He really would have enjoyed ending Moncharmin's miserable existence. He was a parasite, and more to the point, a parasite with a deplorable ear for good music. But he always had more use for him alive than dead. Moncharmin was to be his eyes and ears inside this house- while Erik kept his eye on him. He had realized long ago that André Moncharmin was more than just the manager of the Palais Garnier. Managing the opera house was merely a sideline for the mustachioed, rotund man. Due to his proximity to some of the world's most important people, he had been well paid for information supplied to the criminal underbelly of the planet. He was able to keep his own hands relatively clean, relying on a small army of thugs to do the dirty work, but Erik well knew that André worked for the one who paid the most.

He didn't trust him all that much, but Moncharmin had provided him with some very useful information over the years. He could keep him in line with threats and Andre's own greed- he had a lot of that.

"You'll be very adequately paid for your coöperation, just as you always are." The last was said gently, but with more than a hint of steel, leaving André no recourse but to agree. "What can you tell me? With the help of your delightful friends, you usually know a little bit about everything going on. So I ask you, Andre- does this have anything to do with the French president's visit next month?"

He was nervous every single time he dealt with Reauchard; he knew of what the creature was capable. He nodded, suppressing a shiver. Those hideous eyes beaming down at him was enough to send him fleeing back to Paris. Well, if he had that option- which he didn't at the moment.

"I do hear things, you understand," he said weakly. It's set for the 3rd of July- the particulars I don't have as yet. I have no idea what is planned- just ah, vague rumors so far, but I assure you when I know, I will pass it on to...to you." He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a hand which shook slightly, and glanced up at the glowing eyes above him in the dark- eyes that simply regarded him just as a lizard might.

"Of course," and this was said softly. "Just out of curiosity, why are you here, Andre? History or- politics?"

Moncharmin nervously cleared his throat. "Neither actually. I'm visiting my good friend Philippe. He invited me for a long stay, but I see no reason not to get paid for a little work on the side. I...I'll meet with you in a week's time. I'll know much more by then. Can you come back here by Friday at- uh, midnight?"

Erik regarded him a moment longer and finally nodded. "I will however, expect something by then." He leaned closer to the man and smiled when he leaned away from him. "Next time you select someone to keep me under observation, choose wisely. I'm running out of places to dump the bodies."

"That's hardly funny, Reauchard," he sputtered.

"It wasn't meant to be."

Moncharmin waited. And waited some more. But he was alone. He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his disheveled hair, not looking forward at all to another meeting with the creature. He took a deep breath and quickly turned on his lamp. He had known the futility of tailing Reauchard- had warned his employer of the danger involved. He could only hope for his continuing health and well-being that the Phantom would stay unsuspecting.