The thunder ceased just as Christine began her recital, but the rain continued unremittingly throughout the evening. Within seconds Erik was soaked to the skin. He didn't care, he only knew he had to get away.

He ran for blocks, dodging carriages in the street and people scurrying, huddled under umbrellas. And all the while he heard her voice in his head. The voice he'd given her from behind the mirror.

His head was hurting worse than before, the pain pounding behind his eyes. He stumbled and would have fallen if not for a lamppost in his path. He clutched at the pole with all his strength, shivering, panting, and looking around. Where was he?

He wasn't sure. The surroundings looked vaguely familiar. He'd been here before, he was certain, but he couldn't remember when. Then he saw a familiar building illuminated by a flash of lightning. He'd been there. He knew that. It was safe, he thought.

The front of the building was too exposed, light poured forth from windows and doors, but the back opened onto an alley. It was dark there. He wouldn't be seen. Clutching the rough bricks, he staggered along the wall until he came to a door.

Reaching in his pocket, he found a key that looked as if it would fit the lock. How did he come by it? The door shouldn't have been there, he thought, it should have been an iron grating. It always was before when he entered via the Rue Scribe. Was this the right place? He stopped, clinging to the bricks as a deep cough rattled through him. It had to be. He had to get to his home where he'd be safe. He had no choice, he had to go through the strange door.

He almost collapsed on the floor. Did he know this place? It looked familiar but he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he had to get away from the crowds and the noise. He looked around and saw another door. Was this the right way? Why couldn't he remember? He'd helped build the place. Why didn't he know?

The noise from the crowd seemed to grow louder. He couldn't let them see him, find him, hunt him down. He had to get back to his home below. Wildly he looked around, finally seeing another door at the end of a long corridor. He knew that door; it had to be the right way.

It seemed to take forever to traverse the corridor. Why was he so dizzy? He had to rest, but he couldn't. Not until he was safe from them. He stumbled against the scarred wooden door, clinging to the knob. It was locked. No! He patted his pockets frantically, finally finding a small ring of keys.

Open, he pleaded silently, using the last of his strength to insert a key in the lock and turn the knob. He wrenched the door open, slipped through, closed it behind him, and fell down into darkness.

He lay stunned for a moment, trying to get his bearings. A dim light shone ahead and he crawled toward it. He was soaking wet. Had he slipped at the edge of the lake? He couldn't remember guiding the boat across but he must have done it. How else could he be here?

He half stumbled, half crawled the short distance to his home. Finally. Finally he could rest, be safe. He pulled himself painfully to his feet and walked into his underground home. Clinging to the walls, he made it to his bedroom and fell across his bed. Safe. Finally, he could let go and sleep.

. . . .

Benjamin Sholokhov grasped Christine's hand, shaking it firmly. "Thank you, Christine, thank you. You were magnificent!"

"I did it all for her. It was as if I could feel her presence." Christine looked around the crowded reception room. She was tired, but happy. Now all she had to do was greet the select few who'd been invited to this private gathering and then she could take a hot bath and sleep.

The few days since they'd arrived in San Francisco were busy ones. She'd spent several hours each day rehearsing for this evening. The accompanist was new to her and some of her music so it took some time for them to adjust to each other. She'd also spent time helping Rebecca Sholokhov look for an apartment for the family and then with putting the finishing touches on the banquet. The hotel staff were competent, but both women wanted the event to be extra special for Lillian.

Now it was done, and the evening was a success. There was only one more thing to do for Lillian, deliver an envelope Sholokhov had given to her as they walked to the reception room. Once that was accomplished, Christine planned to spend a few weeks leisurely touring San Francisco before returning to France. She had contracts to fulfill in Europe and she was coming to the end of her sabbatical.

"Christine." She turned at the touch of Sholokhov's hand on her elbow. "Miss Christine Daaé, I'd like to present Mrs. Muriel Larmore. Mrs. Larmore's been a very generous donor and is a great aficionado of the opera."

Christine pasted on her La Carlotta smile and shook the older woman's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Larmore."

"Oh, Miss Daaé, I never dreamed I'd have the chance to hear you sing, much less meet you in person. You were wonderful."

"Thank you, Mrs. Larmore. I was singing for the Baroness tonight." She noticed Sholokhov craning his neck, looking around the room. "Is something amiss, Mr. Sholokhov?"

"No, sorry." He turned his attention back to the two women. "I was just looking for Mr. Dantes. He should be here. Excuse me." He moved off a few steps to better observe the room.

"Mr. Erik Dantes?" Muriel asked.

"Do you know him, Mrs. Larmore?" Christine said. "I'm supposed to give him something from Baroness Lillian and I was hoping I could do so tonight."

"He was here. I saw him earlier with Mr. Khan." Muriel scanned the room. "But I don't see him now."

"Perhaps he's just hidden in the crowd." Christine offered.

The woman shook her head. "No. He's a tall man, and tends to stand out even in a crowd like this. No. He's definitely not here. Perhaps he had to return to the club."

"Club?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Dantes owns a very popular establishment called Club Incognito." She laughed, "It's quite the thing—most people go masked. It's fun to see what designs they come up with. Mr. Dantes started it, but that's part of his mystique I suppose. He always wears a mask."

Christine caught her breath. "A mask?" No, it can't be. It must be a bizarre coincidence.

"Always, but don't let that put you off. He's really quite a charming man and a great lover of opera." Sholokhov walked up to the women again. "Well, I mustn't keep you, Miss Daaé. It was lovely meeting you and hearing you sing."

Christine smiled and watched Muriel walk back into the crowd, then turned to Sholokhov. "She says Mr. Dantes is not here. I suppose I'll have to track him down."

"That shouldn't be too hard," Benjamin said. "He's the owner of Monte Cristo Design and Construction. We can go to his office first thing Monday morning."

"All right." Christine donned her La Carlotta smile once more and turned to meet the next guest. The evening was turning out to be longer than she'd expected, but at least she had tomorrow to rest. Mr. Dantes could wait until Monday.

. . . .

"Good morning. You must be the Miss Vanucci that Mr. Sholokhov spoke of so highly." Christine walked smoothly through the office front door of Monte Cristo Design and Construction at nine-thirty Monday morning.

"I am," The woman seated at the reception desk nodded. "And you are?"

"My name is Miss Christine Daaé. I'm here on behalf of Baroness Lillian Featherstone of the Danby Foundation, whom I am given to understand was a good friend of Mr. Dantes." Christine met the secretary's frank stare with one of her own.

She knew it was unusual for a single woman to appear at a business office and ask to see the owner, but she was used to doing things on her own and didn't give a fig for propriety. Sholokhov was called away to a last minute medical supply meeting for the new facility and wasn't available to accompany her until the next day and she wanted to meet her obligation to Lillian and then be on her way.

Miss Vanucci consulted a leatherbound book open on her desk. "Do you have an appointment Miss Daaé?"

"I'm afraid not, Miss Vanucci." Christine pulled an envelope from her handbag and held it out. "The Baroness specifically requested that I place this in Mr. Dantes' own hand. Is he in? This will only take a moment."

"Mr. Dantes isn't in this morning. I believe he's at a building site. You're welcome to leave the envelope and I'll see that he gets it."

Christine smiled. "I wish I could, but I made a promise to a dying friend. I'm sure you understand."

Before the secretary could answer, a large dark man in laborer's clothing walked in. "Hey, Miss V. You seen Mr. D. today? He was supposed to meet us at the site an hour ago, but he didn't show."

Miss Vanucci shook her head. "No. I haven't seen him since last Wednesday when he said he'd be at the worksite for the rest of the week. He hasn't telephoned or left me any messages so far today."

"Well that's odd." The man scratched his head of tightly curled black hair. "He's been working with us since we broke ground on Thursday. Said we'd start laying foundation today and he wanted to be there for the first pour."

"I don't know what to tell you, Roman." Miss Vanucci quickly scanned her desk. "He didn't leave me any message."

"Okay. I'd better be getting back to start the pour. We're renting that mixing equipment and I don't want to waste any time."

"That's wise," Miss Vanucci agreed. "You know how he hates waste." The man was pulling the door shut when she spoke again. "Roman, please send me a message when he does arrive."

"Sure thing."

"Is everything all right, Miss Vanucci?" Christine asked.

"I'm not sure." She frowned at her appointment book. "It's not like Mr. Dantes to be out of touch." Before she could speak again, the telephone on her desk rang. "Monte Cristo Design and Construction. Oh, hello Mr. Khan….No…No, I haven't heard from him since Wednesday, but I know he was at the hospital site Thursday and Friday…..No, the foreman at the site just came by looking for him and a Miss Daaé from the Danby Foundation is here to see Mr. Dantes….."Yes, Miss Christine Daaé...Just a moment, I'll ask."

She looked up from the telephone. "Excuse me Miss Daaé, but Mr. Khan, who is Mr. Dantes' business partner in the club, asks if you would speak with him."

Christine nodded and the woman moved aside to allow her to sit at her desk. "Hello?...Yes, Mr. Khan…..No, I didn't have an appointment to see him, but Baroness Lillian Featherstone asked me to personally deliver a gift from her to Mr. Dantes and as we missed him at the reception, I thought I could bring it here." Christine listened intently then hung up the phone and turned to the secretary. "Mr. Khan says he hasn't seen Mr. Dantes since Saturday night and he missed a breakfast meeting they were supposed to have this morning."

"Do you think something's happened to him?"

"I don't know what to think. Mr. Khan asked that I meet him at Club Incognito."

"Do you think you should?" Miss Vanucci asked.

Christine considered for a moment. The man sounded worried on the phone. "Do you know Mr. Khan?"

"Oh, yes. He's a fine gentleman. He and Mr. Dantes have been friends and business partners for years."

"Then I shall go see him." Christine waited while Miss. Vanucci wrote down the club's address. "Mr. Khan also asked that you remain here for your normal business hours in case Mr. Dantes reaches out to you."

"Of course." She nodded and slipped back into her chair. "I'll send word to Roman to continue on the job. Please let me know when you find Mr. Dantes."

Christine nodded and walked out of the office. She intended to catch one of the carriages for hire and go to the club. She didn't know Mr. Dantes, but if he was truly the one Lillian referred to as her Boy, then Christine felt she owed it to her friend to do whatever she could to help find him.

. . . .

Nasir paced anxiously, awaiting the arrival of Christine Daaé. He knew Erik was upset at the banquet when Christine appeared and wasn't surprised that he'd bolted as soon as he could. It did surprise him that Erik hadn't appeared by now, or at least sent a message. For all his emotional upheavals, Erik was a very practical man. He wouldn't have missed a business appointment without good reason.

A knock at the club's main entrance told him his visitor had arrived. He hadn't seen Christine Daaé since the masquerade ball at the opera and they'd never met face-to-face. After Erik's appearance as Red Death, Nasir had confronted him and was warned to stay away if he valued his life. Erik was unstable then, and he knew that, friendship or not, the Phantom was not to be crossed. He hadn't seen Erik again until after the disaster of Don Juan Triumphant.

He pulled open the front door then stepped back into the darkened hallway to allow her entry. "Good morning, Miss Daaé. Thank you for coming."

"You're welcome, Mr.—" Christine turned and looked into a face from the past. "I know you. You're the one they called The Persian."

Khan nodded. "Yes, that is how I was known in those days at the opera."

"And now you're here, in San Francisco, with this Mr. Dantes." She took a step back, her heart suddenly starting to beat faster. "Was Mr. Dantes also associated with the opera?" Nasir nodded. "Do I know him?"

"You do."

She was almost afraid to ask. "How?"

Nasir's voice was gentle. "He was your teacher."

"No! No, that cannot be. He's dead. Raoul told me he was dead." Her heart was beating so fast she thought she'd faint.

He saw her go pale and immediately walked her to a chair in the main gaming room, guiding her into the seat. "I'm sorry this is upsetting to you, but Erik is missing and I hoped you might be able to help find him."

"Erik? His name is Erik? I never knew." Christine shook her head slowly as pieces of a puzzle fell into place. The man called Erik Dantes was Lillian's Boy. The Boy and the Phantom were one and the same. "I always called him my angel."

"Until he became the demon of your nightmares," Nasir said.

"That was a long time ago." Christine stood, looking around the large room. "You said he was missing. That you're worried."

"Yes. He was very upset at the banquet when you were introduced. We had no idea you'd be there. I also think he was feeling unwell. As you finished your final song, he disappeared from the room. I expected he'd get a carriage and return here." He pointed overhead. "He lives on the top floor of this building. "I thought it best to leave him alone. I didn't hear him all day Sunday."

"Hear him?"

"I live on the third floor of this building." He looked at her with a slight grin. "You may remember, he has a temper."

She colored and nodded. "Yes. I remember."

"It's not unusual for me to go several days without seeing him, especially when he starts a new building project. But we had a scheduled meeting this morning and it's not like him to miss a meeting. I went up to his apartment but it was empty. His bed hadn't been slept in. There was no evidence at all that he'd been there after leaving it Saturday evening to go to the banquet."

"And that's when you called his office?"

"Yes, but now I'm at a loss. I don't know where else to look." He couldn't think of anyone Erik trusted enough to seek out when he was in distress. The man had many acquaintances, some to whom he felt closer than others, but other than the Imperialis and Tom Walsh, no one he ever called 'friend' except the Persian. And even with them, only Nasir knew the secrets of Erik's past in France and what he kept hidden behind his mask.

"Did he say anything when he left the banquet?"

Nasir thought back. Erik hadn't been himself that night, but he thought it was just the combined emotional toll of learning about Lillian's death and seeing Christine. But what if it was more? "I remember now. He did say something odd." Nasir locked eyes with Christine. "He said he had to get back to the opera house."

"If he's ill, could he be thinking that he's back in Paris?"

"If he did, and he somehow came back here," Nasir caught on to her thoughts, "he wouldn't go up to his loft, he'd go below." He ran toward the back of the building, stopping before a battered door and searching through his pockets. "I've got to find the key."

"Do you think he would have locked it?"

"The door locks automatically when it's closed. We never use the basement. Erik has an aversion to basements, ever since the earthquake."

"Dear Lord, were you here when that happened?"

"No." Nasir shook his head. "I'd left the day before, but he was here. He was here with her."

Her? Christine looked up sharply. "Lillian?"

He nodded. "He never talks about it. I've heard stories from others who were with them after, but Erik's never said a word." He stepped back from the door, scanning the floor. "There, the keys. He's got to be down there."

Christine snatched up the fallen keys and inserted one in the lock. She was about to open the door and step through when Nasir stopped her.

"Miss Daaé, if he is down there, and he thinks he's in the opera house, there's no telling how he'll react to us." Nasir wasn't sure if they'd find Erik, the opera ghost, or the Phantom.

"I understand." She took a deep breath. "Perhaps its best if I go down first. He won't hurt me." He didn't like the idea, but he knew she was right. Erik wouldn't hesitate to attack him, but he might hold off for a woman, even if he didn't recognize her. He handed her a small lantern and she stepped through into the darkness.