A/N: I'm glad everyone likes this so far. As I said before this has been fun writing it and it's one of the best pieces I've done so far.

Chapter 3- Hannibal

As soon as the women left, the mirror slid open and a tall shadowy figure stepped from one world into the next.

Erik heard everything and nothing. He spent the entire time, while Christine was sleeping, watching over her like an Angel. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the strange beauty. She was the exact duplicate of his beloved and everything that dear Antoinette told him, completely left his mind. For when he gaze at the sleeping form of the soprano all his mind could comprehend was that this was Christine Daae and not another.

It caused him to further believe in his theory when she woke. She sensed him, a trait that only his Christine could have.

And her chaste appearance!

From her unruly, raven tresses to the creamy white milky skin and those delicious chocolate orbs, she was the same girl he fell in love with. But there was one minor detail that played false to his analysis- her sadden eyes.

They were so much deeper with incredible mourning within their brown depths. What could possibly make this Angel sad?

She did say her father died a year ago. A year ago…

The wound is recent and not quite as healed as his Christine's was after nine years. But there had to be more to make her so depress. What, he did not know nor did she reveal to Madame Giry. Maybe in time she will if not the good Madame, then the "little" Giry girl perhaps.

He closed his eyes and heavily breathed in her scent. The aroma of wild lavenders greeted his nostrils and all coherent thought fled. She even smelled like Christine Daae!

Erik found himself drawn to her like a moth to an everlasting flame despite the true identity of this Christine Dallas, she was in every way the Christine Daae he known and loved. He made a vow that he will continue to watch over her, but not be seen, and maybe she could help lead him to his Christine or (if it might be) become his wife.

He turned on his heel to leave when the corner of his eye caught the slightly opened drawer on the vanity. He couldn't see her expression at the time, but there was something in there that caused her stressed. Curious, his slender fingers gently pulled the drawer out and dipped his hand inside to find a beautiful piece of jewelry.

Why would she toss this away like that? Surely she must have mistaken it as something worthless.

Whatever her reason, he thought it best not to interfere and so Erik put the necklace back, closed the drawer, and once more returned into the never-ending darkness.

By the time the tour was over, the performance was to begin shortly. Christine thought the Opera Populaire was fantastic. The architecture was mind boggling and elegant in its environment. It was obvious the architect took great care in every intricate design and color.

Carlotta returned, sadly, to sing for her audience and not the managers. Messieurs Andre and Firmin were relieved that she had come back and the show could still go on.

Madame Giry had the ballet practice once more before the crowds came. Christine watched from the wings as Meg danced wonderfully and gracefully to make up for the dreadful clumsy chorus girls.

"One two three, one two three," Christine counted softly to herself as the music controlled the dancers swift movements. A few times she caught herself mimicking some minor steps and stopped.

You don't dance anymore. So stop it! Ray is not here to force you to do anything and here's your chance to have the needed break! Her mind scolded her. But it didn't stop the longing to be on the stage with the others. Where is this coming from? She thought. Before I never cared and now all I want to do is dance. Christine, quit it. Think about before. Think about what he'd done. She closed her eyes and saw brief flashes of his beautiful face that stripped all other thoughts away of joining in.

It was her only way for her to gain control of herself by allowing some distant, but pleasurable memory resurface to squash any emotion of being center stage. Though, Christine could admit that there was something about this place, this particular atmosphere of the busy opera house that drove her music senses crazy. Music and gaiety was around every corner that it was hard to deny your inner passions. She felt it during her tour with Madame Giry and when she was alone in her dressing room for the short period of time. This building was dangerous to her health if she wished to remain out of the festivities. That is, if she can find the strength to resist the bliss that music could only bring to her soul.

Christine felt Madame Giry's eyes bore into her and she turned to smile, reassuring she was fine. Despite the predicament she was in, Christine was making the best of it. Though she could do without the itchy material of her dress.

She left the stage and began wandering the halls, familiarizing herself with the terrain. The opera continued to play and she grimaced as Carlotta began singing her aria. One thing for certain was that the prima donna wasn't gentle on the ears.

"Damn dress," she muttered, stopping to pull up the sleeves so her skin could breathe. Since I'm staying here, I should try and make myself some real clothes.

Fashion was Christine's next favorite pastime and she usually designed her own outfits during her tours. She knew how to work any fabric so making pants wouldn't be a problem. She would see this as a double life like in the superhero movies. Christine Daae by day and Christine Dallas by night. No one would know about it and it would help keep some of her sanity intact.

From what Madame Giry told her, Daae was simplistic and charming like any young girl before they become corrupted. But not her. She had a heart of gold and hardly held grudges or poke fun at anyone or cause mayhem. Daae was very modest. She detested all the revealing costumes she had to wear during any performances.

Now, Christine Dallas is far from being innocent as Daae. When she was younger she never was comfortable about showing any skin, but that all changed when she became Angel. Her life and career was all about sex appeal and she pulled it off like an ace. Meg used to say, "If you got the body, then be proud and show it off!" And she did.

Christine worked out all the time so there was no need to hire a personal trainer. She had a good built, a taut and flat stomach, with the arms and legs of a Goddess. She loved to wear clothes that showed her curves and whatnot when she wasn't covered in bruises.

Though, Daae was in every way, the cliché of the girl next door. She had promising talent as a chorus girl and the naivety of a child, a detail not at all found in Christine Dallas. She has been around the block too many times for her taste.

But she was going to be true to Daae. She admired the girl's independency by continuing her life when her father died, especially when she was so much younger than Christine Dallas, and not taking part in the simple-minded and idiotic play of the ballet rats. She kept to herself and to Christine; Daae had a quiet sense of strength that many would deem as no importance. And she would continue that.

Her acting skills were mediocre apart from the cameo appearances she made on some television shows. But she managed to wing it. So far no one seemed to notice the difference so it helped improve her confidence. She felt good for once. She had no burdens or worries about her old life and there was no Ray Chandler in sight to hurt her. But it didn't prevent her homesickness for Meg, Mrs. Gary, and her deceased father. She wanted the real deal, not some coincidental look-alike. But beggars can't be choosers.

She stopped at her dressing room when she heard a faint sonorous voice singing. The melody was hauntingly sad that the singer seemed to convey his entire being into the words. But as soon as it started it was over and Christine found herself retracing her steps to find the mysterious singer but to no avail. She was alone.

Maybe it was the Phantom. She laughed aloud and shook her head. Phantoms don't exist.

"Christine! Could you come and help me fix my hair?" Meg came running up to her and grabbed her hand. "Come on! Maman told me you weren't going to perform at the moment and that you could use Box Five to sit at for tonight. The usual occupant is not attending."

"Isn't that the Ghost's?" she asked, recalling Madame Giry's earlier words to the managers.

Meg nodded. "Yes but you should have no trouble. Maman corresponds with him. She delivers his notes to the managers and is Box Five's box keeper. He left a note saying he will not go to the show on account that he cannot bear to spend another evening listening to that snobbish of a woman sing. You're lucky Christine. I would love to sit there and see if the Phantom makes an appearance."

"Meg, I highly doubt it."

Within the walls, Erik heard the conversation and smiled. He wasn't really missing the performance. He just wasn't going to sit in his usual seat that's all. At least his box is in good hands with Christine. He hoped that this would help renew her passion for music. Erik knew it was a long shot, but if she's anything like his Christine, her soul will call for it and he will answer.

Hannibal was about to begin while Antoinette made sure that Christine was situated. She didn't like the idea of Erik giving his box up like this, but thought it best not to say anything. She had a feeling he was up to something, but what he was after she did not know and knowing him it probably wasn't anything good. Though, Erik always held a soft spot for Christine and maybe with this girl he was only doing the same to keep his battered mind together. Still, she didn't like it.

"Now, child, if you need anything or anything happens then don't hesitate and leave."

"Aren't you staying? You have a wonderful view of below," Christine remarked.

The ballet mistress shook her head. "I'm needed down at the stage. Those girls need strict discipline and I know they're not warming up if I'm not there."

"All right. I understand. Um, Madame Giry?"

"Yes?"

"Does Christine believe in this so-called Opera Ghost?"

An amused grin tugged on her lips. "No, I don't believe she does."

Christine let out a sigh of relief. "Good. I don't think I could pretend I do. Wish Meg luck for me!"

Antoinette nodded and left silently, leaving Christine to herself.

Christine decided to wear a dark navy blue gown that cut low in the front, but not too much. The sleeves went down to her elbow and lingered down with white lace. Christine let her hair down and put in a few matching barrettes to pull back the sides so her curls wouldn't get in her face. She still the held the picture of modesty and the slightest sense of womanly pride. No corset was underneath since she already had a small waistline and no one seemed to notice the difference. Goes to show you can get away without the whalebone, she thought gleefully.

She heard that the new patron, the Vicomte de Chagny, was also attending the opera. Christine had yet to meet him let alone see him. She pictured a short, heavily overweight older man with a face covered in wrinkles and pimples and thin wisps of snowy white hair. She scanned the crowd looking for any possible candidates and then up to the managers' box where he was supposed to sit. So far the mysterious Vicomte hasn't appeared. He could be sick or simply forgot. Most likely he did.

The loud voices that filled the area fell to a murmur as the crimson curtain rose and the show went underway.

Christine leaned back in her seat and watched with great interest. She had her fair share of musicals and some opera viewings, but this was amazing. From rehearsals it looked more like a mess than an actual professional production. But it came together nicely, despite the screeching La Carlotta.

Halfway through Act II, Christine was completely absorbed in the performance that she began to absent-minded hum along to the music. It wasn't until the beginning of the third Act when she realized she wasn't alone any more. Chills went down her spine, and trying to remain cool, she turned her head to look around. To her dismay, she was the only person in the box. Damn overreacting imagination, she scolded herself.

She returned her attention to the stage as Carlotta began to sing Elise's aria, but it didn't last long. Once more, those chills arose and this time she could hear the ragged breathing of another. There's no one there. There's no one there, she kept repeating over and over.

As soon as the back of her neck felt a warm breath washing over, she clutched the armrests willing her trembling body to cease. She tried focusing on the song, hoping this would ease the foreboding fear that was rapidly coursing through her skin. Sweat gathered at her temples but she dared not turn around to see whom it was that was hovering behind her. The breathing came in short gasps, almost pain like but she did not give into her overwhelming erratic mind's whims to run as fast as she can.

Then so torturously slow, the goose bumps that crept across her back, moved up to her right ear, the skin being tickled by the ghostly panting.

"You cannot forget the music."

Christine let out a shrill shriek and whirled around to come face-to-face with a giggling Meg.

"Oh Christine! You should have seen your face!" she laughed.

"That was not funny Meg," Christine growled, her porcelain face adopting a new crimson hue. "Were you trying to give me a heart attack!"

"No. I couldn't help it." The blonde plopped down in the seat next to her and gaze at the stage. "Wow! Now I know why the Opera Ghost likes it here," she commented. She turned towards her friend, smirking. "Has he shown up yet?"

"Aren't you supposed to be down there?" the brunette snorted.

"Not yet. This is Carlotta's spotlight," Meg answered. "I can spare a few minutes to be here with you. Maman doesn't know I'm here and besides she'll never lets me come into this box. This is my only opportunity thanks to you, ma amie."

"She probably had her reasons," she muttered. "For your information the 'Phantom' never granted me with his grace. Meg, darling, ghosts don't exist and neither does your Phantom."

"Christine! Hush or you'll anger him!" Meg scolded. "He does too exist! And if he doesn't, then how does your Angel exist?"

"Angel?" Daae has an angel? Christine never believed in the supernatural, but she did believe in miracles and angels. How else can certain situations be explained? She wondered. Daae must share the same belief as her and maybe her "Angel" is her father, looking out for her. It's a sweet thought.

"Angels are easy to believe in. They do things in mysterious ways. Why would a spirit spend its time scaring the living when there's much good for them to do?"

Meg shrugged. "Well, I believe in him." She grinned. "So have you seen the Vicomte? I know you were a bit upset when he didn't recognize you. But once you two speak, I'm sure, he'll remember. Who can forget their 'childhood sweetheart'?"

"Oh." What could she say? Apparently the Vicomte isn't an old man like she thought.

"He's sitting with the managers," Meg added. "There he is!"

Christine looked to where Meg was pointing and squinted to get a better look. There was Andre and Firmin and next to them was obviously a younger man, around Christine's age. It was too dark to make out his features, but all she could see from the ill lighted candles, was his shoulder-length flaxen locks.

"He's going to be at the gala afterwards. You can talk to him then," the ballet dancer said. "Oh! I have to get ready. Bye Christine. Happy hauntings."

Christine rolled her eyes. "Bye Meg."

She didn't watch her leave and settled back into the comfortable chaise. She continued to stare at the patron. Why do I have the strangest feeling I know him from somewhere?

Erik was lucky that the Giry girl came in the way she did, otherwise he wouldn't know how to explain his presence being there to Christine. Well, it's not like she can see me now, he thought grimly, referring to his well-hidden abilities in the darkest of shadows.

Simply observing her actions made him more determine to give her the music back. Just as he predicted, her soul was already calling for it and he could hear its pleas. He was the only person who could bring it back.

He had clenched his fists when the girls talked about the Vicomte. It was all news to him that the boy and Christine had a history. And it did not suit him well.

Of course the boy will remember her. Who couldn't forget an angel such as Christine? he thought bitterly.

But his own selfish needs hoped that in this case, he would have no recollection so he could have his way. But if, Heaven forbid, something should spark, Erik knew he would surely die.

Erik wasn't quite ready to lose her to a foolish aristocrat and he will put up a fight for her until he draws his last breath. There was no question about it.

Christine made her way through the crowds searching for Meg. The opera was splendid, but she could have done without Carlotta. A hand grabbed hers and Meg began tugging Christine to another direction.

"Follow me! I found him!"

Him? Who's him? Christine wondered, and then mentally slapped herself. Oh yeah. The childhood sweetheart.

She didn't know why she was feeling so bitter towards this boy. So, Daae had a childhood sweetheart? What did she care? Christine, herself, never had one and she wouldn't consider Ray under that label. But Meg was being so insisted that she see him. So the guy didn't remember Daae… apparently he isn't much to sought after if he can't remember an old friend. But this was Daae's life and not her own, which she had to remind herself.

So if talking to this guy for a few minutes is what Daae wanted, then she'll be more than happy to.

They were making their way when Christine suddenly paled when she caught sight of the Vicomte. She stared, wide-eyed, at none other than Ray Chandler. Or at least the face of Ray. No! Oh God no! Anything but this!

"Christine?" Meg questioningly looked at her friend. "Is everything all right?"

Christine didn't say anything. Her voice wasn't working at the moment and if it did she wasn't sure what to say. "Oh yes, the Vicomte? Well, guess what Meg dearest, he's my abusive boyfriend from the future. That's right I'm not Christine Daae." Is that what she should say? No, she thought wryly. But seeing him after she just left him filled Christine with dread and undeniable hatred.

And he was in every way, the exact pigment of Ray down to the boyish charms she once adored to his aquamarine eyes that lit up whenever he greeted someone. The two-timing bastard, she thought angrily. Why must Daae know you? Why couldn't you be fat, old, and ugly?

At her silence, Meg shrugged and quickly strode over to the Vicomte. By the time Christine realized her friend's disappearance, the Vicomte raised his up and looked straight at her.

Christine's sudden malevolence drained away and replaced by panic. Her legs went numb and as he began moving towards her, Christine amazingly found the control she needed and ran off. Please! Don't let him follow me!

There was no way she was going to let him trick her twice. She had enough of him and his "charms" for the past several months of Hell that she secretly wished the floors would open up and its fiery pull will take Ray or the Vicomte away for good. She quickened her pace trying hard not to let her panic arise in her visage. If she made one slip then all will be lost, but she will not stop and chat with him. To Hell to her old love. It would never work out and if it did then she would wish it didn't.

"Christine!" a voice called out. It sounded like Ray, but she knew it was the Vicomte.

"CHRISTINE!"

She ignored him, running blindly now, until she found herself at a dead end. Christine pressed herself against the wall, tears streaming down her pallid face. "No!" she moaned and before she could realize what was happening, the wall spun taking her with it.

Christine found herself in a dark, cold passage but none of it seemed to bother her. At least she was safe from him for the time being.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she turned around and found a tiny peephole. She bent a bit to look through and watched a confused Vicomte running past with Meg at his heels.

That was a close one, she thought. "Thank you. Whoever Daae's angel is, I'm glad you're on my side as well."

When the coast was cleared, Christine pushed on the wall again to take her back to the other side.

Erik had his breath held the entire time. Christine stood in the same vicinity as him, a fact Erik never thought possible to happen! He exhaled happily as her rose scent overwhelmed his senses. It could only be described as the smell of Heaven that Christine could procure in the darkest of places.

Erik stepped forward and once he was able to focus and looked through the same hole just as Christine's back disappeared around a corner. She was obviously running from something, but what? He wondered.

"Such an interesting creature," he murmured. There was so much more to the girl that Erik never suspected one to possess.

His stance stiffened when the new patron came into view with young Giry beside him.

"Where could have she gone?" he asked, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Is she ill?"

"No, Monsieur. Though, earlier today she did have a fainting spell, but she is fine I assure you! I do not understand why she ran. She was looking forward in seeing you."

"Perhaps. If you see her then tell her I do remember Little Lotte and the house by the sea," he spoke softly with a tinge of sadness. "I'll be back later."

They both left leaving Erik to his utmost joy. So that's why she ran off! He does have a chance with Christine now that it appears she doesn't like the Vicomte!

He wanted to go on his knees and pray, but restrained himself from allowing such an act. Erik didn't believe in God, for why should he follow a being that had shown him nothing but revolt and cruelty?

Erik placed a hand on the cool surface and in a hush whisper, he vowed:

"Don't worry Christine. I'll make sure the Vicomte won't bother you."

TBC…