Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution.

Thanks very much to Tailfeather and The Phantom, faithful reviewers. Incidentally, both of you know of my computer problems, so I don't have to explain in detail why this chapter was abysmally late. Suffice it to say that my computer is working again, and PITB lives again! :D

And though I shan't be seeing the Phantom of the Opera movie the day it opens (or perhaps until Christmas is over, depending on how crowded and hectic the rest of the world is until then) I encourage all who haven't seen it yet to go out and do so! That means you, Phantom, although you don't need the encouragement. : )

So…the long-anticipated next chapter!

Above the Trap-Doors

"Uhh..." Wincing, Lance slowly peeled himself off the floor and shakily climbed to his feet. The rock shaker was normally a very steady person, but as of now Lance was feeling slightly woozy. In retrospect, diving headfirst onto a wood floor with only a thin carpet covering had not been his best idea ever.

Rubbing a hand across his forehead, Lance blinked and tried to focus on his surroundings. There was stuff on the floor...and people. People moving.

Lance's eyes were suddenly wide open.

"Fred!" He croaked, voice rough in its sudden urgency. But the Blob had been way ahead of him. The second the two figures on the floor began to stir, Fred had grabbed the dark figure and pinned it to the floor, half kneeling over it.

"I got it." He said to Lance, tilting his head towards the dazed form. "Everything's under control."

Nodding his head, Lance looked over at the other figure. Martha was conscious and moving slightly, but wasn't showing any signs of getting up. And her left arm was still pinned to the side of her neck in an awkward angle. Only now that she was completely in the light, Lance caught several flashes of something silver looped around her arm.

Grimacing, Martha jerked her left arm.

"L-lance." She said, voice shaky. "I n-need your help. The knot's stuck. I'm stuck."

"What?" Lance said, as he walked over and knelt beside her. But she didn't have to explain anything. When he looked closer, he immediately saw what she meant.

There was a loop of thin silver wire caught tight around Martha's neck and arm. There were red marks where the wire was cutting into her flesh, and the knot that had been used to tighten the wire had somehow twisted and become jammed. Hence, Martha's inability to loosen the wire by simply pushing her arm outward.

"Hang on." Lance said, reaching for the knot. Using his fingernails, he picked at the thin wire, and was rewarded as the knot slowly unraveled. Martha gave a relieved sigh as the wire came loose.

"And that." She said to Lance, shrugging the loose wire off as they both climbed to their feet. "Is why you always keep your hand at the level of your eye."

"Bravo, Mademoiselle!"

At the sound of that deadly voice, Lance and Martha turned to look in Fred's direction. The figure on the ground lay prone without resisting, but its contemptuous and manipulative voice was exactly the same as the voice that had spoken so maliciously from the living room ceiling.

"Bravo." The figure said again. "Bravo, Mademoiselle...Martha, was it? I've only recently caught your name. A job well done, I must say! Your knowledge has certainly paid off, for I'm afraid that in my haste I immediately took you for Mademoiselle Tabitha, and I would have punjabbed you to death within an instant had you not raised your hand in time. I apologize for my error. But now I must be going. Monsieur Dukes?"

The last sentence was delivered at a much lower tone, even colder and more neutral than before.

And upon hearing his name called, Freddy had widened his eyes and snapped to attention.

"Monsieur Dukes, let me up." The figure said, voice hard-edged and changeless. "I tire of being trapped like this. You shall let me up."

And to the surprise of everyone (including the Blob himself) Freddy lifted his hands up and released the figure.

Instantly, the figure had climbed to its feet and was rushing towards the attic stairs.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Lance called out:

"Wait!"

The figure paused, halfway up the stairs. Frozen in a graceful and stately pose, it looked down upon the three teens below it.

Lance gulped. He had never read 'The Phantom of the Opera', nor seen any pictures advertising the musical version. But what he saw before him was undoubtedly the person they had been seeking.

The figure was thin, with long legs and spindly fingers wrapped in (now dust-covered) white opera gloves. It wore an old-fashioned black and white tuxedo, mostly concealed by a long black cloak. Its dark, glossy brown hair was slicked back. And covering half of its face was a white mask.

Swallowing the lump of fear in his throat, Lance spoke before the figure could flee.

"Please" He said. "You win. But give us back the Toad! We sent him up to you, it wasn't his fault. Where is he?"

Times seemed to slow down as the figure stayed poised on the steps, staring at Lance with its piercing blue eyes.

Finally, after an eternity, the figure sighed and slumped it shoulders in defeat.

"I suppose there's really no point in continuing this." The figure said, in a voice much different from the one it had previously used. This new voice was softer, less chilling. "But it was fun while it lasted."

With a sweeping flourish, the figure reached up and pulled off its mask...revealing the pale face of a thin, teenage boy.

Everyone was shocked. But it was Freddy who found his voice first.

"Hey...you're just a kid!" He said, pointing up at the figure on the stairs. The apparent Phantom gave Freddy a deadpan look.

"And so are you and everyone else who lives under the roof of this house." He said. "Why should I not be one as well?"

"Well, Martha told us the Phantom was a man. I mean, a grown-up." Freddy said, looking slightly upset as he scratched his head.

"Well he was, during the time he spent in the Paris Opera House." The boy said. Reaching into the coat pocket of his tuxedo, he pulled out a pair of eyeglasses and put them on. "But we are all children at one point or another. And at any rate, I am hardly the Phantom himself. I am simply an admirer of his, one who has seen fit to borrow his name and his tricks in order to get what I want."

"Like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches." Lance said darkly, glaring up at the boy. "What was the big idea, leaving notes and dropping our fan and scaring us all half to death?!"

"If you'd like, I'll explain everything later." The Phantom said. "But right now, I think we should probably go get Todd. I know Freddy can't come up here, but you two are welcome to follow me."

With that, the Phantom turned on his heel and walked up the stairs.

Lance and Martha looked at each other, then trotted up after him.

The attic was just as dark as they had left it, but after several moments a clicking sound was heard, and light shot from a light bulb hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the room.

"There was a light bulb up here?!" Lance said, eyes widening as irony engulfed him.

"Yes." The Phantom said. "I installed it. If you had come up here and had a proper look around you might have noticed, but until today you never even poked your head up into the attic. Which I suppose was unconsciously sensible of you, as I might have punjabbed you if you had gotten too nosy."

The Phantom frowned, looking around the attic. It had been messy before, but now it looked as if...well, as if it had been hit by an earthquake.

Shaking his head and muttering about the mess, the Phantom walked over to a corner of the attic. Righting what looked like a broken coat tree, he unhooked his black cloak and hung it on one of the prongs.

Then, he pushed aside several fallen boxes to reveal a small dustless, niche surrounded by large piles of junk. There was a red sleeping bag on the floor, along with a small black suitcase and a bright blue backpack, both bulging full of stuff. There were several books scattered about, along with sheets of blank paper and a quill with a blood red tip.

"Coool..." Martha said, eyes wide.

"Oh for the love of…!" the Phantom complained, staring at his niche. "Lance you idiot, your earthquake messed up all my stuff! Look, you even broke the plate!"

Lance's gaze followed the Phantom's pointed finger to a scattering of white ceramic shards in the corner...the bigger pieces of which were smudged with what looked like peanut-butter fingerprints.

"Hey!" Lance said. "That's the plate Toad put the sandwiches on! But I thought you put it back!"

"No." The Phantom said. "I left you a clean one I'd stolen from the kitchen shelf awhile ago. I knew switching a clean plate with the sandwich plate would make for a much faster dash up and down the stairs, if ever I needed to do something like that. Which I did."

"It's like the ten thousand notes from the Bank of St. Farce." Martha breathed, amazement and respect visible in her eyes. "You've thought of everything!"

"Mm-hmm." The Phantom smiled, scooping up the remaining pieces of plate off the floor and depositing them atop a heavy oak roll top desk, one of the few things that hadn't been knocked over.

That done, the Phantom brushed off his hands and looked around. "Now...where did that trunk get to?"

"Trunk? What trunk?" Lance asked, his tone suspicious.

"Ah! There it is." The Phantom said cheerily, stepping over to a corner and pushing several objects off an old leather trunk that had toppled on its side.

An old leather trunk with holes drilled into the top.

"You didn't!" Lance said, eyes widening.

"I did." The Phantom responded, gripping the sides of the trunk and attempting to pull it upright. "He invaded my territory. I wasn't going to kill him or anything. He may look like a chain smoker, but he's not a bad guy. No, I just needed to put him out of the way for a little bit, as I rightly suspected the rest of you would soon be coming after me."

"So the dumbwaiter does lead to the attic!" Martha said.

"No, it leads to one of the third floor rooms." The Phantom said. "But that room is directly below the attic, and I cut a hole in the floor over there and made a trapdoor."

Having righted the old trunk, the Phantom pulled a key out of his pants pocket and began opening the locks that held the trunk shut.

"Anyway, I just hauled Todd up by his wrist with a punjab lasso, then knocked him out and brought him here. It's certainly far better than putting him in a torture chamber."

"By far." Martha said.

Having stripped the trunk of all its locks, the Phantom lifted up the lid.

There in the trunk lay Todd, unconscious and bound hand and foot with wire. The handkerchief Martha had given him had been retied around his face to serve as a gag.

"You bastard!" Lance shouted, shoving the Phantom aside and reaching into the trunk to pull Todd's limp form out.

The Phantom dusted himself off, glaring slightly. "I'll pardon your lack of manners, as you are concerned over your friend." He said cordially. "But really, he's perfectly fine. There's no need to be rude."

"Uhhh..." Todd moaned, his eyelids fluttering. As Lance pulled the handkerchief out of his mouth and undid his bonds, the Toad slowly rejoined the world of the living.

"Hey man, 's dark in here." He muttered, sitting up. Blinking sleepily, he looked up at the faces surrounding them.

Upon seeing the Phantom, he reacted understandably.

"EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!" He shrieked, pedaling backwards with his feet. Lance grabbed his shoulders and held him steady.

"It's okay, dude." He said. "He's alright. I think."

"You think?" The Phantom smiled. "Honestly, there's no need for worry. It'd take some vicious work on your part before I'd hurt any of you. Except Tabby. I don't like her."

Grabbing Todd's right hand, the Phantom pulled him to his feet.

"Now, if any of you require explanations, I'll tell you in the kitchen, over sandwiches and soda." The Phantom said.

tbc.