Hi everybody,

I know, I am a day late, but at least there *is* an update this week! Thank you all for your patience with my irregular updates, for reading, for adding to favorites, putting on alert, and, most of all, for reviewing! From now on the story will deviate even further from canon and the conflict will show more. I hope you will enjoy that part as well!

Anyway, here is the new chapter, and keep in mind that I do not own those characters...

Chapter 10 – To Ensnare Our Clever Friend

As soon as Christine and Mme. Giry had made their way back to Christine's dressing room, they heard voices out in the hallway.

"Mademoiselle Daaé, let us in!" Firmin called. "The performance needs to go on!"

Mme. Giry pointed towards the settee in the corner. "Quick, Christine," she whispered, "lie down, pretend that you are close to fainting from shock!"

Christine slumped down on the sofa. She did not have to act. She was worried sick about Erik and therefore pale and shaking. It would not be hard to make the managers believe that she was under shock. As soon as Christine had settled down, Mme. Giry approached the door and unlocked it.

"Quiet, Monsieur Firmin," she told the manager, as the tall man burst into the room, his shorter partner and the Vicomte in tow. "This … incident was a big shock for Christine!"

"For all of us," Monsieur André informed her, nervously wiping cold sweat from his forehead with a huge handkerchief. "But we need to finish the performance or we'll have to reimburse every single attendee, and Carlotta is, well,... she suffered a nervous breakdown and therefore ..." He looked at Christine meaningfully.

"Me?" Christine whispered. "You want me to... to sing... now?"

Raoul knelt down in front of the settee and pulled his arms around her. "My poor darling," he cooed. "I know we are asking a lot, but it would mean so much to all of us..."

Christine looked over to Mme. Giry for guidance. She did not feel up to singing right now, but could she refuse the managers when so much money was at stake?

Almost imperceptibly, Mme. Giry nodded. "I... I will try,"Christine therefore promised. "I will not be very good, though," she added, "after what has happened..."

"We know that, Little Lotte," Raoul reassured her. "But as long as you manage not to be worse than the rest of the ensemble, you should be fine. After all, everybody is a bit on edge after what has happened tonight."

Christine rose to her feet, shaking off Raoul's arms. "If I have to sing, I will have to change," she informed the managers. "If you would leave me and Mme. Giry alone now and have the costume of the Countess sent to us."

The three men quickly left the dressing room. Once they were gone, Christine faced her foster mother. "Why?" she asked. "Why did you want me to perform? I will hardly be able to get one single note out!"

"You must!" Mme. Giry told her. "Think of Erik. He needs time to get away. As long as there will be a performance, they cannot investigate Buquet's death. Right now, the Vicomte may suspect whatever he wants, but there is no proof that it was anything but an accident. Once the knife will be found, though, and maybe traces of Erik's blood, it will be clear that a second man was involved, and that's when they will start looking for that other man. Therefore you must sing, to stall investigations for as long as possible."

Christine paled even more. "I had not thought about that" she mumbled, "but you are right. I have to do this."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. One of the seamstresses appeared with the gown the Countess should be wearing in the fourth and final act. "I know we have to finish act three first," she said apologetically, "but Madame Carlotta is still wearing that costume, and she is in no condition..."

"This will do nicely," Mme. Giry reassured the woman. "Especially since the audience won't know anyway, that this is the wrong dress for the upcoming scene. Now take these," she pointed at the page's clothes that Christine had taken off in the meantime, "and give them to my daughter, for if Christine is playing the part of the Countess, Meg will have to step in as the page boy."

The next hour or so was a nightmare for Christine. She had to go back on stage and perform in a comedy, while she was worried sick about Erik and deeply depressed at the thought that she might not be seeing him again in a very long time. She was relieved that the two major solo numbers of the Countess had already been in the first two acts. She now only had minor scenes, and of course the final duet with the Count, where the couple made up and both promised to be faithful from now on.

"For you, my Angel," Christine thought, when she opened her mouth to sing the first phrase. She knew it was less than perfect, and that Erik would have a lot to criticize if he were here, but to her relief, she was able to sing at all. "I need to get through this," she kept reminding herself, "I need to buy Erik some time." And she forced herself not to think of the fact that Erik was gone, but to focus on her role instead.

Christine was not the only one who had a hard time concentrating on the performance, though. Pretty much every musician, singer and dancer faced the same problem. Once or twice a false note crept in, somebody was a beat late or early on occasion, but somehow they got through the remaining scenes.

The audience did not seem to notice the imperfections and showered the performers with applause at the end. They were all thrilled at having been witnesses to such a scandalous performance. They had not really paid much attention to the stage after "the accident", most of them already thinking about how they would describe their experience to their friends and acquaintances the next day.

Xxxx

After the performance, a group of policemen was sent up into the rafters to investigate the death of Buquet. Of course they all knew about the rumors that a phantom or ghost of some kind was haunting the Opéra Populaire, who might have caused the death of the scene-shifter, but to them the case looked more like an accident, or maybe even suicide. After all, preliminary interrogations had yielded the result that the dead man had been the senior stagehand in charge of the rafters. It was therefore clear that he had been doing his job up there. He might have slipped and fallen to his death. This explanation seemed the most likely, especially since several colleagues of the dead man had told the police that he liked to drink.

The two policemen that were chosen to go up into the rafters therefore were anything but motivated, until Monniet, who was to show them around, informed them that he had no idea why Buquet had even been up there in the first place. Buquet had not been feeling well in the afternoon, he explained, he had asked him to step in for him tonight, which he had done.

Chief Inspector Barieux frowned. "You were up there?" he asked. "So you must have seen what was going on?"

Monniet shook his head. "No, Monsieur l'Inspecteur," he explained. "There was a long scene that did not require any work on my part. We never stay up the whole performance. At least not out on the catwalks. We go back in, when we are not needed. The ballet was still going on, and it is followed by a lengthy scene with the Countess thanking the dancers and them presenting flowers to her that the page boy collects, while her ladies are expressing their delight at the entertainment. I would not have had to move any piece of scenery for another ten to fifteen minutes."

The Inspector did not seem convinced. The fact that Buquet had had no business up there after all, did change the situation, though. An accident did now seem less likely and a thorough investigation of the crime scene was necessary.

Monniet therefore took the two policemen that had no problems with heights up to the rafters. After he showed them where he would have had to be in order to move the set pieces for that particular production, he also explained the layout of the rafters in general to them and gave them a tour of the place. Once they reached the platform from which Erik had been watching the performance, Buquet's bloody knife and some dark spots that suspiciously looked like blood stains were discovered.

"It is clear that a fight has taken place," the two men reported to the Chief Inspector. "One of them had a knife and obviously used it on his opponent, the second man may or may not have shoved Buquet to his death."

Since it soon became clear that none of the Opéra Populaire's employees had sustained a knife wound, it was therefore likely that no other than the mysterious Opera Ghost must have been the one that made Buquet plunge to his death.

"I am sure he is a man," the Vicomte confirmed the police's suspicion. "After all, he sends notes to the managers, too, and he asks for a salary, which is proof enough that it is not a ghost, but a real person. Whether he had an ax to grind with Buquet or just wanted to demonstrate his power, I cannot say, but it is clear that he must be caught. That man is dangerous!"

The Inspector was not so easily convinced. After all, it seemed as if Buquet had been the one with the knife. The body had sustained many injuries from the fall, but there definitely was no knife wound. The injured man must therefore be the other one, the one that had gotten away. Of course it was still possible that he had shoved Buquet to his death, but had that been murderous intention or self-defense?

"The evidence is inconclusive," Barieux therefore informed the managers and Raoul. "It could have been self-defense. Of course it would be great, if whoever it was that was up there with Buquet stepped forward and told us what really has happened. But I can see, why such a person would be reluctant to do so."

Raoul seethed. Not enough that his great plan to get rid of the Phantom had not succeeded and had cost his ally his life, now that dolt of an officer also refused to issue a warrant for that ugly monster!

"I will hold you personally responsible for any future crimes at this theater!" he screamed at the Inspector. "We are all in danger as long as such a murderous individual is on the loose!"

"I will keep a few gendarmes posted at the Populaire for the next few weeks," the Inspector finally gave in. "Not because I think it may be necessary, but just to be on the safe side." With these words he closed the case on the death of Buquet.

Xxxx

Of course the incident during the opening night of "Il Muto" was the main topic in the newspapers and the parlors of the nobility for the next few weeks. But soon other things happened that caught the public interest and Buquet was forgotten. Not at the Opéra Populaire, though.

The days following the incident, Christine seemed a bit subdued to Raoul. She tried to hide it and pretended to be as carefree and happy as always. There was something at the bottom of her eyes though, that betrayed her true feelings. Raoul knew her well enough to notice this and he suspected that her state of mind must have something to do with the "Buquet-incident". He had no doubts that the man Buquet had been fighting with in the rafters had been the Phantom, and thus Christine's teacher and his rival. It was also clear from the blood stains on the platform that he had been injured during the fight. Was maybe his injury more serious than Raoul suspected? Was Christine worried about her lover?

Days turned into weeks and soon it became obvious that the Phantom was not bothering anybody with his notes anymore. That could mean only one of two things: either he was too sick to write such notes, maybe even dead, or he had left the Opéra Populaire for good.

Raoul began to observe Christine more closely, and about two weeks after the accident, he noticed a certain change in her. She was still more subdued than usually, but her eyes did not look as haunted anymore. There was a hopeful glimmer in them. Raoul thought he knew what this meant: either the fiend was recovering from his injury and would soon be well enough to continue his shenanigans, or, if he had left, then Christine had somehow received word from him.

Raoul grinned. He would soon know which of the two possibilities it was. He went to see the two managers.

"Correct me if I am wrong," he began, "but I understand that all the incoming mail goes through your hands, Messieurs. That is, if one of your employees, living in the dormitories, were to receive a letter from a relative or friend, it would end up on your desk first, am I correct?"

André sighed. "Yes, that is correct. I wish there were an easier way, though, it usually takes us half an hour every day to sort through all that mail and have it then delivered to the employees' personal mailboxes."

"That may be a problem under normal circumstances," Raoul said, grinning. "But it could play into our hands right now. Since nobody has received any notes from our friend, the Ghost, since Buquet's untimely death, I suspect that the criminal has gone into hiding. He may even have left Paris. The Chief Inspector is not helping us any, but..."

Raoul paused for emphasis. "We may have another way of finding out what is going on, and where that monster has gone. Mme. Giry has been rumored to be in contact with him. After all, she did deliver some of his notes on occasion. It is therefore possible that he will contact her. Or, maybe, contact her through one of her two girls, her daughter Meg and her surrogate daughter Christine Daaé. I must therefore ask you to pass any correspondence either one of the three should receive, to me. If it has nothing to do with our problem, I will then make sure that the recipient gets her letter. If not..."

Firmin and André looked at each other, uncertain. "That would be a breach of privacy of correspondence," Firmin weakly objected.

"Not quite," Raoul reassured him. "Remember we are in the middle of an investigation. We need to collect evidence. And I am not asking you to read their letters, only to let me see them first. If there should be any problem, I will be the one shouldering the blame. You will not be held responsible for any consequences, should the ladies notice that their letters have been manipulated."

Firmin looked at André, who shrugged uneasily. Firmin thought about it for a few more minutes and finally nodded. "I will do it," he promised, "but only if you guarantee that we will not have to face charges for doing so."

"Of course not," Raoul told them, glad he had reached his goal. "You are not doing anything dishonorable, you are only helping to get justice for Buquet." He gave them his most charming smile, then added, almost as an afterthought, "the same goes for the outgoing mail of these three ladies. It is possible that they have already been contacted by our opponent and will write to him on their own..."

Firmin and André nodded. That was a bit more difficult, but could be arranged as well. Employees usually dropped off their outgoing mail in some kind of letterbox in the cafeteria, and it was then taken to the post office together with their own official correspondence once a day.

Xxxx

Christine was sitting in Mme. Giry's private parlor. She was holding a piece of paper that her foster mother had secretly passed to her earlier that day, rereading it for the umpteenth time.

"A black stallion and an exhausted, slightly feverish man have safely arrived here," Erik's friend Nadir had written. "The horse is in better shape than the man, but the latter will be as good as new as well after a few days of rest, don't worry. He will write to you soon. In the meantime I am investigating possibilities of employment for our friend. London is a city of theaters, there are many smaller venues here, some of which seem in dire need of an artistic director with the expertise of our acquaintance. Maybe we will know more in a few weeks."

Christine looked up from the note. "Do you believe that Erik will be fine?" she asked, for at least the tenth time. "Is this Monsieur Khan not just trying to sound reassuring?"

"Erik is tough," Mme. Giry replied. "I am sure he will be fine. I am not surprised he is a bit weak at the moment. After all, he had lost a lot of blood, and he had to leave at once, without getting proper rest. But now that he has safely reached his destination and is with his friend, who can take care of him, I am sure he will make a full recovery."

Christine nodded. She was not totally convinced. But at least she knew now that Erik had been able to leave France. He was safe for the moment.

"How about Erik's chances at employment?" Christine asked a while later, after re-reading the letter yet again. "How realistic do you think those are? Will anybody at a theater in London hire my Angel?"

Mme. Giry sighed. "I honestly do not know," she confessed. "But there might be possibilities. I refuse to believe that somebody as talented as our Erik will not be able to find a job. There must be somebody who can overlook his face and appreciate him for his knowledge and expertise. We just have to be patient and give him time to find this person, this employer that will hire him despite his face."