I won't describe to you every last encounter, every lesson, every shared conversation I had with Christine. If I did, you would fall in love with her as I have, and I cannot allow that. Forgive me then, as I skip ahead a bit.

I enjoyed playing angel to Christine. Along with the title came a certain amount of trust that I craved.

It all goes back to my original plan, you see. Christine's music was lifeless just as she was. I could not help the music unless I helped her, and I could not help her unless I knew her, and I could not know her unless she trusted me.

Do you see my logic?

Well, all that matters is that it made sense to me at the time.

It's not as if she broke down and poured her heart out to me… not like she did that first time. But she did relax around me quite a bit.

I suspect it's something like when you see a monster in your room, but you turn on the light and find out it was only a coat rack… the next time you turn out the light, it's not so frightening anymore… because you have a new understanding of what you are looking at.

It was kind of the same thing with Christine and me. The voice, the invisible pianist… it all made sense to her now that she put it in the context of the Angel of Music stories.

Before we go on, I think I need to take a moment and defend Christine a little.

By the way I am painting this story, one might wonder how a girl like Christine could believe such fantastical tale. To a rational mind… the kind that cares if everything adds up… Christine's acceptance could be chalked up to her age. Children are so ready to believe anything… especially if it helps put order into a turbulent life.

Christine was—is—very naïve, but she is not stupid. The fact that she practically jumped to believe me an angel just shows how desperately she needed a lifeline at the time. The fact that she bought into the lie and embedded it so deeply just shows how desperately she needed some consistency.

I suppose the next question would be, 'Then why did she not begin to question it as she grew older?'

Let me try to explain this… it's like… have you ever believed something out of habit? No one ever bothered to warn me about anything as a boy, so I'll have to use someone else for a proper example.

My assistant, Jules—remember him?—never drinks. Not even a glass of wine on a special evening. I asked him about it once… he said that, as a child, his mother and father had told him that even a sip of alcohol would make him violently ill. And so he went about life, avoiding alcohol completely. It's not that he wasn't smart enough to logically see the context of what his parents had said then… they just wanted to keep their young child out of the alcohol cabinet… but he just never gave it any thought. Rationally, he knew it wouldn't kill him… but the lie was so ingrained in the back of his mind that he never bothered to try.

I hope that helps. I may have just succeeded in making things more confusing. Sorry about that. All I am trying to say is that Christine believed in me because it was easy to do so. By the time she was old enough to wonder what I was about, she had called me 'Angel' for so long that it simply felt natural to continue.

Maybe that was why she was so devastated when…

Well… that's much later…

Anyway… what was I talking about? I hope these detours aren't terribly distracting. But as I was saying…

Christine is an extremely private girl, but as she relaxed around me, I began to gather information about her, bit by bit.

Most of it was small—those insignificant things that do not define Christine but make her all the more endearing.

Like how her favorite color is green...

Or how she hates getting flowers (I tucked that one away for later)…

Or how, when given a choice of all the foods in the world, she'd much rather have a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup…

Or how she could pick a lock before she could read because her father lost his keys so often...

Little things, like that. It was not the information I was looking for… but it made me happy, so I didn't mind. I am a patient man.

I am also the sort of man who picks up on other details. I have spent a good deal of time… well, I guess you might call it people watching… where you study people, learn their habits. I usually know when someone is lying or when they're more afraid than they're trying to look. That sort of thing.

All it meant, in this case, was that I perceived the things that Christine was not telling me.

Her clothes never fit quite right, for one thing. And I noticed, after two or three lessons, that everything she ever wore looked about the same. After a bit of research on my part, I discovered that the girl only had two sets of casual clothes and a hand-me-down school uniform to her name. When that secretary said she had been left with nothing… I had no idea she'd meant it so literally!

Helping Christine was never easy. I tried time and time again to use my 'angel' status to sway her… convince her to let me take care of her. From the beginning, it has always infuriated me that Christine just couldn't see how much she needed me. No one could protect her, no one could provide for her, no one could mold her and teach her and sharpen her like I could. Why could she not see that?

And so I had to be surreptitious about it.

There was another time, for example, before I learned how difficult she could be, when she actually became angry with me for trying to make her happy.

She plays the trombone… have I neglected to mention that? My apologies… I am not accustomed to having to explain myself to anyone. Anyway, she played the trombone in the band at her public school.

This is a very elite music school with very high standards; someone who 'plays for fun', as Christine put it, could never hope to pass the auditions into Concert Band. Still, that didn't stop Christine from trying.

I just… I couldn't bear to see her disappointed. A note was left on the director's desk indicating in no uncertain terms that, should he like to renew his contract, he would admit Christine into his ensemble.

"How was band, Christine?" I asked after her first rehearsal. She should have been all smiles and gratitude. Instead she scowled and flushed, sitting down in the chair with a hard thud.

"Mr. Zimmerman glared at me the whole time. Kept mumbling something about blackmail and made it very clear that he didn't want me there."

I was enraged at the nerve of the man, upsetting Christine like that. "I'll take care of that, Christine. He shall not bother you again."

"You?" She cried, clearly agitated about something, "Is this your doing? Did you make him put me in the band?"

"I thought that was what you wanted."

"I never wanted anyone to—You never even asked me what wanted!"

Now I was getting frustrated. Didn't she realize that I did it all for her? "If you didn't want to be in band, why did you audition?"

"I… I never expected to get in… I just… I didn't want to regret not trying. But you… you ruined it!" She was near screaming at this point, circling the room with her arms gesturing dramatically. I suppose it is disconcerting to be angry and not know which direction to fix your glare.

I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say. How could I have expected my gift to be so violently rejected? I am not sure if anger or shock won out then.

My silence must have been alarming for her because after a few tense moments, she fell to her knees crying for my forgiveness and begging me not to leave her. As if I would abandon her for such a silly thing anyway…

Eventually I forgave her. It was clear she knew she was being irrational and had learned her lesson. And I could never stay angry with her for long.

A day or two later, the world was set back to rights and we continued on as always. She never played again though, which I never understood. I suppose it doesn't really matter; her future is in her voice.

The point is I learned that, if I wanted to spare Christine the embarrassment of making me angry with her absurd accusations, I would need to be more discreet. Eventually she would learn to appreciate all the things I do for her. And then it would not have to be a secret.

A few short calls just after our lesson ensured that a box containing several new uniform sets would be delivered to her doorstep by the time she reached her room. On it she would find a note from Mrs. Valerius wishing her luck with her exams.

I had been sending Mrs. Valerius money for some time and Christine was used to getting little gifts in the mail on occasion.

She'd never suspect.