My head was so heavy, and in so much pain, that the noise of the highway and the rattling parts of the taxi couldn't even get to my brain. I clutched the handle of my bag where it crossed over my chest as if it were a lifeline, and I refused to let go of it. It held information about the medicines that my father was going to be taking, and my options should…

I couldn't even think about that. The little axe murderer in my head was chopping away, and I think he'd just hurt something sensitive. I felt my eyes misting over, and I dashed the tears impatiently away. Just a few more minutes, and I'd be home. I didn't quite feel like collapsing into a tear-stained mess in front of the burly taxi-driver who was driving. I was so tired that I just wanted to make it home dry-eyed and awake.

The car lurched as we edged off the highway and onto the quiet main street. It was sometime past 9:00 in the evening, and I was vaguely aware of being starving. It seemed odd to want to eat at this moment in time, though. I had been so nauseated in the hospital, not only by the sight of my father but the antiseptic stench of the hospital that food was repulsive to me. My mind screamed against it, but my body craved it beyond all reason. It was an odd state to be in.

We pulled over to my driveway, and I got out, thanking the man and paying my exorbitant fair. As I entered my house, I was conscious of the little sounds there, such as the sound of the wind blowing through the windows that had been left open, and cars driving down the road behind me. I felt like collapsing right there, but I knew that I had to get something in me. I filled a glass of water and popped something in a Tupperware into the microwave. The rich scent of Italian food filled the house, and my eyes clouded over again. I could remember the evening when we'd eaten that, and I finally let myself go. The only thing that I could reach to staunch my tears was a paper towel, so, for the next ten minutes, I sobbed and blew my nose into it, until, when I finally finished, the thing was so wet that it came apart in my hands. I sighed in disgust, the tears over and the anger kicking in, and I tossed it away, pulling the container out of the microwave and stuffing pasta into my mouth.

When I'd finished eating, I called the school's attendance office. Of course, everyone was long gone, but I left a message on the machine saying that I would not be in school the following day. If they thought that I shouldn't get a day off because I and not a legal guardian had called me out, I was past caring. I could deal with an unexcused absence.

I was tired, so tired that I thought I could just lean against the counter and fall asleep standing up, but I didn't want to, knowing that I would just see him again, with the tube down his throat and the machines slowly marking the beating of his heart…

I shuddered. It was something out of a horror story, and I refused to let it just rattle around in my skull. Going into the living room, I turned on the TV and tried to find a movie to watch. Unfortunately, Monday evening programming had always been dry, and tonight was no exception. I thought of my movies, but they were all the way upstairs, and I was so tired, I knew I'd never make it up there…

…when I woke up again, it was eleven that night. Someone was pounding on my door. I felt a momentary jerk of fear in my heart. Who could be here at this time at night? I approached the door cautiously, and looked through the window at the side. When I saw who it was, I yanked the door open and stared at him in absolute wonder.

"M Chagny?" I gasped, stepping backwards. He took that motion as an invitation, came in, slammed the door behind him and locked it. I noticed that his appearance was remarkably disheveled, and that he clutched two pieces of paper in his hands, almost as if he wanted to tear them to shreds. "What's wrong?"

He stared at me, and his eyes filled me with a cold sense of dread. This was about Erik, I knew. I was put in mind so strongly of last Friday, when he'd spoken to me about that man. I was sure that only Erik could terrify and infuriate him like this. His eyes however, now held a sneaking sort of suspicion, as if he wanted to gauge my reaction to whatever he had to say. But he took hold of himself, remembering that he was first, and foremost, a gentleman.

"I am very sorry to intrude on you like this, Christine," he said, "but I believe that you are in very great danger."

It was the same tune that he had sung several days ago, but his voice was more urgent now.

"From Erik?" I gasped out the name as if I too were afraid of it, but I was possessed with too much curiosity to be really terrified. Maybe he heard this edge in my voice, for he looked at me with an expression of even greater suspicion.

"Yes," he said shortly. "He has left me these notes. Would you be so kind as to read them?"

I took them from his hands and quickly swept my eyes over them. If I had been suspecting any kind of practical joke from Raoul, all thoughts of this were quickly swept away. Cold chills ran down my spine. Again, if I had not come face to face with this man, if I hadn't looked into his eyes…

He had killed Raoul's brother. And now, for some reason, he wanted Raoul away from me…

Apparently, the shock in my face was enough to convince him that I was completely unaware of Erik and the threat that he posed. Either way, he relaxed (if you could call him relaxed) and spoke again.

"I suppose you really don't know him, do you?" he only waited long enough for me to give a shocked head shake. "I told you he murdered my brother?" Again, all I could manage was to shake my head.

"What does this mean?" I whispered, my voice trembling from excitement and terror. "What does he want with me?"

Of all people, why me?

"Erik is…" Raoul stopped to consider his words, "insane, to say the very least. He is an assassin, a murderer for hire. I know that he was hired by someone much higher up, in a foreign government, to kill my brother. And I had heard, when I was investigating, that the name of Erik is well known in other countries." He took my hand, as if he felt me to be in need of some kind of comfort. I barely felt the contact of his skin with mine. "Christine, I don't think it's safe for you to stay alone."

My belligerent nature kicked in. "I'm not alone…" I began to deny, but he interrupted me.

"Meg Tabin called me and told me about your father. I am sorry for you."

I was going to kill her. When I'd call her to tell her, I was panicking in the library and I wanted someone else to know so that she could at least think and pray for me. I hadn't wanted her to pass along the information!

Unfortunately, even though Raoul probably made sense at this point, I was angry. And when I was angry I did stupid things.

"You don't have to worry about me, M Chagny," why I kept referring to him as 'monsieur', I had no idea, "but I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I'm sure your 'Erik' knows that kidnapping is illegal in the United States?" I knew that I was being ridiculous, but I could hardly stop myself, "Well then. I will be fine."

He stared at me the way one might stare at a very presumptuous stranger. It was obvious that he considered me to be completely incomprehensible. But I had made my stand now, and I was not going to budge. Why I was making this stand was something that didn't occur to me, but I knew that I couldn't change my mind now.

"Christine," he tried again, patiently, "I do not know what Erik wants from you. But I know that he means some harm to you. Do not ask me to tell you why. But having had personal contact with him, I know that you are in some danger."

I turned away from him so he couldn't see the look on my face. I was frightened now, and that was what he had intended, but at the same time, I couldn't help but think that this Erik meant no harm to me. He'd been nothing but kind when we'd met, and I didn't even know if this man and the one Raoul was speaking of were even the same. Of course, deep down, I knew they were. But at the moment, I was in no mood to budge on guesses. Had God himself come down to tell me that I was in danger from Erik, I'm not sure I would have reacted right away. I heard Raoul sigh behind me.

"If you will not believe me Christine, in this regard," he said, solemnly, "I still don't think you should stay in your house by yourself. I would hardly think that your father would want it either. I offer my own home for you to stay in while you wait for him to recover. I have an extra bedroom, and I would be more than happy to drive you to the hospital whenever you would like to go."

I felt the kindness of his offer, and I also felt the melting of a little of my pride and a lot of my reserve. I turned to him with a small smile.

"Thank you, Raoul. But you've got to understand that it isn't in my nature to accept that kind of help."

"Christine," his eyes bored into mine, "as a favor to a friend?"

How could I resist his obvious concern? "I…I'll think about it."

He nodded, evidently satisfied. "Will you be at school tomorrow?"

I shook my head. "I don't think I could manage."

"Then, might I come to your house after school for your decision?"

I saw no reason to see why not. I intended to go to the hospital the next morning, but I should be back before three. "All right. But I don't think I will."

He sighed, folding the letters back up into his hand. "Then I will see you here tomorrow after school. Sleep well Christine, and I am sorry to have woken you." The door shut behind him with startling finality. I flinched, almost as if waking out of a dream.

I wandered upstairs, not bothering to turn on any lights, and puzzled over what had just happened. My life had gone from 'normal' to 'sitcom' in such a short span of days that the change had left me reeling. I realized that I had forgotten to ask him several sensible questions, questions that would have occurred to me if I'd actually been thinking clearly. Questions like "why can't you tell the police," or "why exactly would a paid assassin be living in my town," had gone unasked. Why would Erik be after me? Unless my parents had had more extra-curricular activities than I'd known about (i.e. secret agents) there could be no reason for a European government to want me dead.

I lay down on my bed and pulled the covers up under my chin, feeling oddly out-of-control, just like a child again. This whole situation was screwing with my brain, and I was so glad that I didn't have to go anywhere for the whole of tomorrow. Maybe I wouldn't visit the hospital again. The doctors had warned me that I had to take care of myself. There was no point in me exhausting myself, now was there? Maybe I'd just sleep late and head to the library in the morning to catch up on a little 'me' time. I smiled and rolled over. That sounded good.

It must have been eleven when I woke the next morning, after a night full of strange dreams. I stared at the ceiling for a few moments, reliving the same dream I had in the few moments before I woke.

It had been very dark, where I had been. Contrary to most of my usual dreams, I could see or sense nothing of my surroundings. I felt suspended in space, alone…and it was so quiet that I felt like nothing more than a stone, or a pillar, solid and yet silent. There was no one there, but I felt no loneliness. In fact, had the voice not broken into my dreams, I might not have assumed it was a dream at all.

I had rested, very quietly, in this state of nonexistence for quite some time. And yet, that time may have been hours or minutes, I had no sense of it. And then…oh! That voice!

I had never heard such a wonderful male voice. It was strong, and yet soft, quiet, and yet…it held the promise of being louder than thunder! I felt my stony limbs soften at the accents of his voice, even though I could not distinguish a single word. A beautiful rhythm and music pervaded every moment in which he spoke, and I felt my arms reaching up to it, as if it were a light in the darkness.

The voice approached, talking…and yet the talking was so close to singing that I wanted to start dancing. And then…it was gone. I heard a much clearer, and unfortunately less lyrical voice talking. The words were still muffled, but they were much more clear than I had heard from the other voice. I wanted now, very badly, to hear what they were saying, but there was nothing familiar in either of the voices or in the words.

The dream ended as quietly as it had begun, with both the voices, which had been in argument, retreating into the distance.

It was so odd! It was almost as if my mind had placed the two men who had been so lately in my life a voice, but no substance, and had put them into strife and opposition together. And I was nothing more than a silent observer, able to do nothing without the one voice to bring me to life. But I did not think the voice that had made me able to move was the voice of Raoul. I puzzled over that for a few minutes while I lay in bed. I knew there was some significance to it, but a block lay in front of me, and I just could not see it yet. I was terrified that something enormous would happen before I could find the importance of it. Things seemed in such a way.

But, with a return of my old energy, I heaved myself out of bed and went downstairs to check the answering machine. The doctors had called me to tell me that my father was in good, stable condition, and they were again advising me to get some rest and take care of myself before I worried about him. They told me what visiting hours were, telling me that I should have no need to come during any other time, but that they also had some paperwork to have me fill out and look over.

I went upstairs again to shower and take care of some other things. My room had gotten to a state where it was approaching the looks of being a pigsty. I had to clean something, in order to straighten up a path between the door and the bed. By the time I was finished with this, it was approaching noon, and after I ate lunch, I went to the library.

There was so much peace there for me! It had been the one place in the whole town that reminded me of the city from which I had come. Founded several hundred years ago, the library housed a very good collection of old books. I loved it. And since my town was not one that cared too much for books, I was often alone in whichever room I chose. And recently, I had been using his room more often. I thought of it as his room, as much as I thought of it as my library. It was the way I had first seen him in the room, like an emperor on his throne.

But it was by far the most quiet of the rooms. There was almost no sound to reach me from the road, and none of the librarians ever came up to this room. Usually, no one ever borrowed books from this section either. It was the one place that I had found outside my home to be perfect for studying. I felt my heart beat faster as I walked up the stairs…what would I do if he happened to be there? Especially now that I knew him for what he was? Would I look him in the eyes? He would certainly know that I knew then.

I hesitated just below the level where anyone in the room would see the top of my head; and then I took my courage in my hands and charged right up.

I saw him! After all my fears and hopes, I didn't think that he would actually be there. I had some odd idea of a shadow evaporating, a phantom disappearing, as I walked into the room, but I did not expect a flesh-and-blood man.

He was standing in the corner of the room, and for a moment, I let my eyes just wander over him. His trousers were gray, expensive, and very well shaped for him. I refused to allow my eyes to rest on his bottom, but the temptation was very hard to resist. He was wearing a gray sweater, odd for this time of year, and his shoes were plain and black. His dark brown hair was thick and rich, smoothed back from the top of his head, it was perfectly clipped to hang just below his ears. I knew the moment he turned around, I would be drawn to his beautiful eyes, those shockingly green eyes. I waited, leaning against the doorjamb, for a moment, while I considered what in the world I was going to say. The idea of just turning around and walking back down the stairs didn't even occur to me.

"I read the book."

A disembodied voice would have shocked me, I know. But he took it in stride. With one graceful move, he turned to face me, and the smile on his face was striking. I had only seen him smirk before, but the way his face looked with a smile was absolutely unbelievable. Just the strength of it was enough to warm me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, and I smiled back.

Funny how he knew exactly who I was and to what I was referring without any clarifications necessary.

"I hope you enjoyed it as much as I knew you would."

I recognized his voice. Immediately. And it was so shocking to me that I could hardly speak. He was the singer from my dream. I felt that if I let myself go to that voice, I would never bring my head back to the surface of the wonderful ocean that I would drown in.

But I knew enough to know that he would consider silence odd. "I did. Thank you so much for it. It was particularly useful for what I was writing too." I wanted to bite my tongue. I never mentioned my writing to other people! What possessed me to even hint at it?

He seemed to notice that I was very upset at what I had just said, and he merely acknowledged what I said with a slight inclination of his head.

"I hope it answered all your questions concerning the staging and writing of operas? As well as their performance?"

I stared at him in wonder, barely giving myself the time to school my countenance. Was he a mind-reader? It seemed that there was nothing that lay beyond his ability to see. I smiled, though, for his eyes were so kind that I felt no qualms about giving away my secrets. I met his eyes and smiled.

"It was very useful." I was sorry to have nothing to say but a repetition.

For a while, I simply looked at his face. It was so odd, that with his mask, I still thought of him as having a face. For the first time since I had met him, I was very curious as to what lay beneath his mask, and I was possessed with a powerful curiosity. I had been content before to just listen to him, and think of him, but now…all of a sudden, looking upon that blank white shell, I wanted to know, morbidly, what was worth concealing.

I was so preoccupied with his visage that I bypassed his eyes entirely. But during the time I was looking at his mask, his eyes were fixed on my face. I might have been nervous at this scrupulous examination, but somehow, I felt that his looks were filled with more approbation than criticism. In fact, I felt calmer under his eyes than I felt under anyone else's. And yet, I remembered the feeling of unease when I had met with him before. I recalled feeling in emotional turmoil after speaking to him.

A sudden move on his part jolted me out of my thoughts. He replaced his book on the shelves and drew out another. With not another word, he walked out of the room and down the stairs. I only caught his eyes at the last moment, and I was overwhelmed by the look I saw in them. The kindness was there, yes, but it was mixed with…with…I couldn't even say.

I went home very soon after that. When I got home, I threw some clothes into my suitcase and waited anxiously for three. When Raoul came, I went with him eagerly.

I watched the road behind me surreptitiously as we drove away. I half expected to see the black car following us, but if he had followed me home, he must have left me behind. I had been so convinced of his goodness in the library, and now…I was terrified. I was suddenly in mind of all the things that Raoul had said of him. Even though I could believe them, and even though I had to believe them, something in me still rebelled. I was afraid, and yet, I was still curious. Dangerously curious.

Raoul's home was comfortable and clean, as far away from my little country cottage as I was used to being. I unpacked in his very…white…spare room, and spent the rest of the night in warm conversation with him. We had a good deal that we were able to talk about, as we shared a lot of interests. He talked about Paris, and I described New York. I felt nothing but peace with him, and that night, I slept well. The next day, he drove me to school.

I thought that Meg was going to faint.