Philippe de Chagny decided to follow his brother to Christine's dressing room as a precaution. He figured the boy might need someone there to block the doorway in case he got cold feet. They made their way quickly down the hall, which wasn't easy, as it was clogged with screaming fans and the few ballet rats who hadn't run off to check out the mangled corpse in the basement.

Raoul's timing was perfect. Christine was just starting to come to as he entered her room. He shoved his way haphazardly through yet another throng of screaming fans. "Am-scray, will you? The woman needs some air, plus I'm not really practiced enough yet to flirt in front of a live audience."

Christine, still a bit drowsy, struggled into a sitting position. "Auntie Em, is that you?"

"No!" Raoul's face turned several interesting shades of red. "Christine, it's me, Raoul."

Christine blinked groggily. "Doesn't ring a bell. Now beat it, blondie."

"Huh? Come on, I'm Raoul de Chagny, remember? We met at the beach when we were kids…look, here comes a flashback scene…"

Little Christine stood crying on the beach, one hand pressed swooningly to her forehead. "Help! Oh, somebody help! My scarf blew away in the wind and I'm way too weak to go get it myself!"

She was about to yell for Superman, when Little Raoul magically appeared on the shore. "Here I come to save the day!" He jumped into the water, swam out to some jagged rocks that the scarf had become tangled in, then grabbed it and splashed back over to Christine with a lot of seaweed hanging from his ears and shoulders.

"My hero!" said little Christine.

"I think I've got swimmer's ear," said little Raoul.

Christine burst out laughing. "Is this supposed to be some kind of come-on? That is soooo pathetic!"

Raoul slumped his shoulders and shuffled dejectedly out of the room. "Dude, that was harsh. I always figured that if she liked me even back when we were still going through the 'cooties' phase, she'd be crazy about me now." He sighed. "Well, what am I going do now? I guess I could just camp here outside her door. She's got to come out sometime." He nods resolutely. "Okay, then. Phil, you go on without me, I'm stay--"

Philippe, who had somehow become handcuffed to La Sorelli and lost his hat in favor of a large punch bowl, was already halfway down the hall. "If you insist!"

Raoul stood there at the door for the next few hours, trying to dredge up the courage to knock. He was idly thumbing through a book Philippe had given him for his birthday, A Thousand and One Pickup Lines for the Awkward Victorian Nobleman, when all of a sudden he heard a man's voice coming from inside the room.

"Say you'll love me every waking moment!" the mysterious voice thundered. "And understand, this is not a request. A simple nod will suffice."

"Hey, what are you getting so bent out of shape about? I just sang myself into a freaking coma for you."

Raoul's heart began to pound about three feet out of his chest in the classic Hanna-Barbara cartoon fashion. "Why that little--! Some strange guy's trying to steal my line! And my girlfriend! Well, okay, she's not technically my girlfriend yet…but I'm still going to beat the snot out of him!"

With that thought in mind, the vicomte reached into a case on the wall and pulled out another conveniently placed fire ax. "Wow, that was handy. Pity they didn't have all these things lying around in the Schumacher film."

Christine left soon after that, leaving the door unlocked behind her. Raoul snuck up and peered into the dark, empty room. "Hehe, you're trapped now, whoever you are! Eat steel, punk!" With that, he lifted the ax, charged into the dark room, and swung furiously at a mysterious dark figure standing in the corner.

"Take that! And that! And a little of that! Heh heh! You ain't pretty no more!" Then, belatedly, he realized it would probably be a good idea to turn on the lights and get a look at what he had been chopping into a million pieces. Sadly, it turned out not to be his mysterious rival; just an unfortunate dressmaker's dummy that was now missing its head and several limbs. Face reddening, Raoul dropped the ax, put his hands behind his back, and walked out of the room while whistling innocently.

He is in such a hurry to leave that, on his way out, he nearly tripped over the mangled corpse of Joseph Buquet, which was being carted off by the coroner and trailed by several ballet girls with Polaroid cameras. The vicomte scratched his head thoughtfully. "Is it just me, or does this look suspiciously like foreshadowing?"

Meanwhile, back at the retirement party, La Sorelli was again innocently running through her speech when…

"AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHH!" she was interrupted by a bunch of screaming ballet rats.

La Sorelli jumped. "What is wrong with you kids! There are other words in this language besides 'AAAAAAAAAAGGGHHH!'"

"It's not our fault! We just saw the Opera Ghost again!" Jammes defended.

Meg was running in circles like a chicken with its head cut off. "Ohmygodweareallgonnadieohmygodheisgonnakillusall…" she shrieked hysterically.

"Calm down, little girl," an old man said, patting Jammes on the head. "And Mme. Giry, maybe you should try to settle your daughter down."

But Mme. Giry was too busy running around in circles like a chicken with its head cut off to hear him. "Ohmygodweareallgonnadieohmygodheisgonnakillusall…" she muttered hysterically.

La Sorelli throws her 3x5 speech cards over her shoulder. "Ugh! This is the last time I ever try to say something nice about any of you people!" She grabs Philippe by the arm. "Come on, Philippe, let's blow this Popsicle stand and go down to Vegas for the weekend!"

Monsieur Debienne stood up to speak without batting an eyelash. This sort of thing also happened more often than you would think, and they had gotten used to it. "Well, bye, everybody, we've got to jet. Good luck with the Opera Ghost, and Bigfoot, and that Vampire Von Krolock, and any other mythical creatures who might turn up around here."

Monsieur Poligny led the new managers, Armand Moncharmin and Firmin Richard, up to the podium. "We've got something for you two that might help you out if you're ever being chased through the halls by one of our resident monsters." He tossed them a key. "This will open every door in the opera house."

Everyone cooed, staring at the key as though hypnotized. "Woah, shiny!"

Meanwhile, an anorexic with a fake nose had taken advantage of this little distraction to slip into the room unnoticed. "Ooooh, you guys have six flavors of ice cream! Gimme gimme gimme!" With that, he snatched the serving bowl off the table, and began to snarf it down using a spoon in each hand.

The entire room stared at him in horror, finally starting to realize that this nut was the Opera Ghost. The mysterious stranger flushed slightly. "Hey, cut me some slack. It's been years since I've had a decent meal. I am a bachelor, after all. I burn eggs, I burn toast, and yesterday, I somehow managed to burn Jell-o."

They just continued to gape. The managers turned white, and several ballet girls fainted. The ghost's eyes lit up with understanding. "Oh, right. The whole 'Opera Ghost' thing. Just give me a second to get into character." He stood up straight and plastered a foreboding look to his face. "Yeah, that's right." His voice dropped an octave, growing sinister. "I killed that little whelp Buquet, and I'd do it again! Better watch your back! Mwahahahahahaha!"

Monsieur Richard blinked. "What the hell was that?"

Monsieur Debienne cleared his throat nervously. "Er, that was the Opera Ghost I told you about earlier."

Monsieur Moncharmin chuckled. "Sure, sure. No, seriously, what is this, some kind of hazing ritual?"

Monsieur Richard burst out laughing. "Hah! Opera Ghost, that's a good one!"

"No, we're really serious. He lives in the opera house, and you're going to have to keep Box Five empty for him during every performance. Oh, and he might pop up and murder an employee or two on occasion. Oh, and one more thing; you'll have to pay him twenty-thousand francs a months."

Richard and Moncharmin immediately stopped laughing.

"Well, it's getting late, and the ghost ate all my ice cream. We'd better jet. Come on, Deb." Poligny led his partner out of the building.

Moncharmin turned to Richard, one eyebrow arched. "Jeez, what do you think they've been smoking?"

TBC…