My bags were already packed by the time the two letters came to my door in the afternoon mail. For a moment, I was aggravated, because I had made certain to stop at the post office the day before and have all my mail forwarded back to my apartment in Paris. It had never entered my mind not to go after Christine. I had lost my brother to that monster, and if he was doing all this to torture me, I could hardly leave her to him. I had to save her.

I had no desire to read the mail, but as I was putting my suitcases into my car, I caught a glimpse of a linen-fiber envelope (very expensive) that had been run over by at least one car. My heart leaped. Perhaps it was from Christine! I had only the highest respect for her intelligence and drive; I knew that she could find some way to contact me were she still alive.

I tore the envelope in half in my eagerness to read her letter, and upon seeing her first word, I longed to do nothing but destroy that monster and get to her as soon as possible. She was clever! She had managed to send me the address, which might have taken a while to track down with no foreknowledge of the assassin's actual name. I knew that he went by 'Erik'. But other than that, no research I had done ever revealed to me his actual identity.

I sent her a silent prayer as I folded the letter and tucked it into my jacket. Again, I was just about to close the mailbox when another letter caught my eye. It was also on expensive stationary, and the return address, from another apartment in Paris, held no significance for me. I would have bypassed it entirely, assuming that it was from some university group or other seeking funding, but the name on the letter was 'Nadir Khan'. An odd name, to be sure. Instinct told me that he also had to do with Christine. I tore open the envelope and read the following words.

Raoul de Chagny;

My name is Nadir Khan. I am currently in the employ of Erik Troche, the man whom you have been seeking as responsible for the murder of your brother and the kidnapping of Christine Day. I can offer you valuable assistance in this matter, for I was against both of these actions on the part of my employer. I know that you will be unlikely to trust me, M Chagny, but understand; Erik will be impossible for you to catch without extensive knowledge of his character and habits. I can provide those. If you would appreciate my help, please send me word by the e-mail address that follows. I do not believe Miss Day to be in any danger at the moment, but time is always precious. I know that he no longer trusts me with his plans. If they leave Paris, it could take years to find them again. Immediate action is crucial.

If you intend to come to France, tell me the date of your arrival and I shall arrange to meet you.

It seemed too convenient. I was loathe to trust this man, as he said, but I also knew that what he said was true. I would never find him again if he did not want me to. Any information I knew about him was information that he did not mind being known. My brother had had government connections that could have helped me, but now I was on my own, and I needed someone to help me. He had said that Christine was in no danger, but I could never trust anyone I loved in the hands of that monster.

For I did love Christine. Her gentle, sarcastic humor, her quick smile that seemed to bring light and warmth to a room. She was a miracle in every way. But it almost seemed impossible for anyone not to love her, once they caught a glimpse of who she really was. I know I had been shocked at the discovery, especially after such a short period of acquaintance. Afterwards though, it seemed perfectly natural. I loved and admired her, from the bottom of my heart, and I would help her if I could. I decided to accept the help of this Mr. Khan.

My computer was already packed for the movers to take care of. I knew that hunting Erik would essentially take all the time left in my internship, and I had to face the professors at the university and think of any excuse for leaving in the middle of a job. I knew that it would cost my reputation among my peers, but any regret I felt for that was swept away when I thought of another of my loved ones being lost to his cruel greed. I would contact Nadir from the airport terminal, before I boarded the plane.

Just as I was putting the last of my bags in the trunk and preparing to leave the house for the movers, Meg Tabin drove up in her little Neon, taking up the exit route from my driveway. She jumped out of the car, leaving the engine running, and ran up to me. The desperate fear on her face was unmistakable.

"Where's Christine?" her voice was rough, "I went to her house, and she wasn't there. She told me that she would leave your house today. But she's obviously not here either. I went to the hospital, and they told me that her father died last night, and they can't reach her on her home phone to tell her. Where is she?"

I felt the rough jolt of fear when I heard about her father. "Mr. Day is dead?"

Meg looked furious at being put aside, but she planted her hands on her hips and said, "Yes. He's dead. He had a relapse in his heart attacks. The doctors say that's normal, but they tried to reach Christine and they can't! Do you know where she is?"

It was absolutely necessary to calm her hysteria, even if it meant telling her the truth. "Yes, Meg. I know."

She made a gesture with her arm as if to say 'it's-about-bloody-time'.

I took a deep breath, looked up and down the street, and said, "Before I tell you, turn off your engine and come inside. This will take quite a bit of explanation."

To forestall any of her questions, I turned my back and marched into the house, collecting the two notes that Erik had left me, Christine's letter, Nadir Khan's letter, and the photo of my brother, and brought them all into the living room. Hospitality made me wish that I had not packed away the coffeepot yet, but I knew that Meg Tabin was not one to appreciate that sort of thing when she was upset.

When she came into the living room, she seemed to have collected herself. She sat on the sofa and waited expectantly for my explanation.

Never having been one to mince words, I let her hear all of my speculations, all of my history with Erik. I told her about his visits to my home, Christine's abduction, and Phillippe's murder. I told her of what other assassinations I believed him responsible for, and finally, laid out Christine's probable situation. I held off in talking about Nadir's letter, for something else was bothering me about the new, and disturbing piece of information she had leaked.

"And now that you mention Mr. Day's death…it does not seem to me to be impossible that he killed him, to sever Christine's connections from humanity. Without her father, what has she to come back for?" I mused.

Meg, who had been growing paler with every second I spoke, seemed aggravated by this remark. "She has me, of course." She stood up and started to pace, slapping her car keys in her hands. "Now, what are we going to do about this?"

"I," I emphasized, "am going to Paris to track him down. You, mademoiselle, are going to stay right here and finish your high school degree. Christine might not receive hers, but there is no excuse for you to do likewise."

Meg turned to me, and slowly strode forwards. "My best friend of all time is in the hands of a homicidal maniac who has some sort of twisted obsession with her and you think that I am going to stay here for the sake of attending the last six days of the school year! No way." She concluded, having quite intimidated me. "I am going with you. We're going to get…Christine…back."

I was stunned. "How do you plan on doing that, Meg?" I dropped the formality, "If you want to get to Paris, you have to buy your own plane ticket and make excuses with your family. I cannot be responsible for you."

Meg smiled and said, "When are you leaving?"

I saw no harm in telling her. "Six o'clock tonight."

She smiled even broader and pulled out her cellular phone. "I'll make the flight." She said. This time, I had no desire to argue with her. Technically speaking, she was eighteen, and could do whatever she felt like doing. I did not want to be responsible for her, which, no matter what I said, I would end up being anyway, but should Christine be further under Erik's powerful influence when we found her, Meg's help could come in very useful. I might love her, but Meg had known her longer and was her best friend. I would always be second place to her influence.

Meg had wandered into the living room and I caught scraps of her conversation as she argued with the flight attendant. I had been brought up not to eavesdrop, however, and though I was painfully curious, I solved the problem by stacking boxes in the bedroom. A totally superfluous task, of course, but it took my mind off of anxiety for a few moments.

Several minutes later, Meg flounced into my bedroom, her bank card flashing in her hand.

"Mission accomplished," she smiled at me. "Should I leave my car here, or is someone else moving in?"

I was confused. "You cannot leave it at your house?"

"Well, I could, but then I'd have to tell Mom where I'm going, and first, I don't think she'd believe me, and second, this isn't a Nancy Drew. She'd never let me go. I think it's best all around if she doesn't know where I am. Oh!" she exclaimed, "Duh, I'll just leave it at the airport. It can be towed for all I care."

"Meg, do you really know what it is you are doing?" I asked her, concerned over her airy behavior. "Your parents will be worried. You could loose credit in school. Going after Erik is going to be extremely dangerous. You could be harmed physically or even worse."

She looked at me, and suddenly her eyes were full of tears. "I know." She whispered. "I know. But you have to understand. Christine is my best friend. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her, and vice versa. It's not just that she would go if our roles were reversed. It's that I want to go, because that is what best friends do for each other. And fuck it if that sounds corny!"

I admired her grit and bravery. I held out my hand to her. "I will appreciate your help, Meg. You might be the only one who can get Christine away from him, in the end."

She shook my outstretched palm. "Why? I thought you said he's a homicidal maniac. That's definitely not Christine's type. Where's the danger of Stockholm Syndrome here?"

I shook my head. "He is much more than that, Meg. So very much more."

Several long, anxious hours later, we were on the plane, noses pointed towards Paris. I showed her Nadir's letter, and we agreed that we could accept his help, but we always had to be careful to use caution. There were so many things that could go wrong on this chance that we were taking. I would have been cautious enough with my own life on the line. But now, I had to be careful of Meg's. Though she assured me time and time again, I knew that I was too much afraid to have the death of another on my hands. I did not believe that Erik could kill a woman, but he had murdered Christine's own flesh and blood—I was now certain of that—so his obsession and cruelty really did know no bounds.

Meg, for the most part, had maintained the same bravado that had carried her through our first harrowing conversation. But now, as our plans for the future seemed nebulously set, she was lapsing into a brooding silence. She stared out the window for a while, and fiddled with the strap of the handbag that she held on her lap. I wanted to say something, to calm her nerves, but I was nervous as well, and hardly felt up to the task.

"You don't think he'll hurt her, do you?"

Her words startled me out of a black gloom of my own, and I replied quickly. "No. I think that she is safe. But, disgusting as this may seem, I believe he is in love with her."

Meg shook her head, looking to be on the verge of tears. "I feel ridiculous. Like none of this should be happening to me. More importantly, none of this should be happening to Christine." She shook her head and attempted a smile again. "But it is. And actually, an adventure like this was something that the both of us were looking for, so I guess we should be grateful, right?"

I did not know how to look at a declaration like that. She caught my confusion with amusement and continued.

"Come on, I'm just kidding. If you get too serious, you'll go insane before we even get there."

We both lapsed into silence for a few minutes, before she spoke again.

"What is he like?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean," she was impatient, "what does he look like? What does he do? Where does he come from? Do you know anything about him besides his connection with your brother and Christine? You said he was an assassin. Tell me everything you know."

At that moment, I would rather have laid on a bed of nails than discuss the man whom I had hated for years. I felt my blood burn as I thought of him. I had purposely glossed over what I knew of his history because to think of it made me physically sick. But Meg had noticed that. And she was probably right in that respect. We would need to know his personality to know how to get Christine back.

I sighed, and started to explain. Everything I knew about Erik, his past in Turkey, Iran, and Russia, the evolution of his rose symbol, and the reason why he was nicknamed 'The Phantom'.

Meg commented and questioned, but by the time I had finished the long and gruesome history, I noticed that her insertions had become fewer and fewer. And finally she stopped questioning altogether.

Meg was asleep, and had been for the past several hours by the time we reached Paris. I could not sleep; my restless mind would not permit it. I could not stop myself from thinking of Christine. What was happening to her at this very moment? How could I have prevented this from happening? Questions of that nature plagued me until I wanted to scream from the helpless agony I was feeling.

But at last the opportunity for answers was here. We had finally touched down in the terminal in Paris, where Nadir Khan was supposed to meet us. I had sent him an e-mail from the terminal in Connecticut from which we had departed, and had received a response that told us to meet him at the restaurant directly across from Gate 17. Stroke of good fortune, we landed at Gate 18.

Meg and I both staggered a bit as we came into the waiting room. Several hours on a plane will do that to a person, as I knew well. Crossing the Atlantic was not new to me, but it never failed to be utterly exhausting.

She insisted on carrying one of my bags; I had three, but she had not had the opportunity of taking anything from her home before we had left. I warned her that clothes were expensive in Paris, but she, not being in a good mood, had simply said, in a tone that brooked no argument, that she would wash her current outfit every day if necessary, if only it would get us off the ground sooner. Arguing with Meg Tabin was never a profitable situation, especially once her mind was fixed on something, so I, in American vernacular, had 'let it drop'.

Even with so few bags to carry between us, our legs were so weak that we could barely stagger over to the restaurant, where we collapsed near one of the tables. Nadir Khan was a Persian name, but I saw no one of that race in sight. I was irritated. I had told him the exact time of our arrival, but he might not have seen fit to meet us in any case.

Meg, still very tired, was now sitting with her head sandwiched between her head. I wanted to say something to lift her spirits, but I could not think of anything encouraging to say. My own morale was hanging by a thread; I felt all at once the enormity of the task we had set ourselves to, and though my resolve did not falter, I began to doubt whether we could accomplish it at all.

Suddenly, a short, rather stocky man pushed another chair up against our table, and three steaming paper cups of tea were plopped right into the middle of our folded arms. I started up, intending to tell the man that we were a private party, but the words stopped on my lips when I looked up into the dark face of an unmistakably Persian man.

Meg too, understood the need for privacy, and, with an inventiveness that I admired and envied, cried out, in a tone of delighted recognition, "Nadir! We were beginning to wonder if you would ever join us. How nice to see you again!"

The two of them embraced like old friends, and behind her back, the man winked at me. I too, greeted him, though in a less genuine voice, and consented to have my hands shaken, most warmly, by this extraordinary gentleman.

"I assumed that after your long flight, you would welcome tea." The man said, in a rather stilted, and accented voice. He gestured to the cups, and Meg took one immediately, sugaring hers heavily and thanking him for the thought. I took mine more for the appearance of things than anything else. I felt no desire for food or drink, not until I had heard more news of Christine. But now did not seem the time for business talk.

Nadir smiled and said, in a tone of conversational politeness, "I hope you will not mind waiting for ten minutes more. I arranged to have a car meet us here, but the traffic today…" he trailed off, leaving a careless wave of his hand to convey the rest of his meaning.

Meg seemed to be taking all the initiative. "Of course. This gives us much more time to catch up. How is our mutual friend? You know," she said, diminishing the importance of her meaning by taking a long sip of tea, "the one we spoke of before we left America?"

"Ah," Nadir also shared a sip of tea, "She is quite well, when I last heard from her. Yes, quite well," he directed his eyes towards me with his unspoken meaning, "and as long as she remains in Paris, is likely to remain so."

I took my first jump into this game, saying, in what I hoped would be a nonchalant voice, "Does she go out much? I wonder that her caretaker allows it."

"Oh, he believes it to be good for her." Nadir smiled as he noticed I had caught on to the method of communication. Meg also gave me a delighted smile. "Yes, she has been just recently to the last performance at the Grand Opera. I believe she wrote you about it?"

How he knew that Christine had managed to get a line across the ocean to me was incredible. I was stunned into silence, and Meg had to take up the conversation again.

"Yes, she did, but we still worry about her. I think it's the house she's in that really causes her all the trouble." Meg looked worried as she said so, but she was trying to hide it under friendly auspices.

"I know that you are concerned for her, but we will speak of that later," the flow of our counterfeit conversation was interrupted when a message came through on his cellular phone, "as a matter of fact," he continued, "we can discuss it after I have you comfortably settled in my home. Come," he said, gallantly taking the empty paper mugs from us and disposing of them, "my driver is ready."

When we were comfortably seated in his limousine, which then pulled smoothly away from the curb, I allowed my anger to come through. I did not often allow myself to swear, but my patience was worn to shreds.

"What the hell was the purpose of that?" I snarled, shoving my finger under the Persian's round nose. "Talk straight, damn it! I want to know where she is!"

Meg took hold of my arm and forced it down to my side.

"She is fine. She's been to a show at the Opera, which means that as long as she plays it cool, which she is certain to, he will let her out again. We will be able to talk about actual rescue ideas later, but only after we've both rested and are perfectly calm again."

The Persian looked surprised at the flow of words from Meg, but he shrugged, implying that that was exactly what he had meant to communicate.

Meg stared at me, and I at her. She relented, only to fold her arms angrily across her chest and mutter, "Honestly."

Nadir Khan, obviously hoping to placate us both, assured us that the situation would seem much more hopeful when we were both rested. We allowed ourselves to be herded into his comfortable apartments, were the bedroom had been reserved for Meg and the living room had been cleared for use by both of us.

I, who had not been able to sleep at all on the plane and who was in desperate need of a nap, curled up immediately on the sleeper-sofa and drifted off soon after I heard Meg making plans to visit a local shopping-center with Nadir. My mind, though certainly not calm, was placated enough for sleep. But I dreamed of wrestling a great, implacable shadow, and woke up in the middle of the night to Nadir's gentle snores, my heart pounding and my muscles aching, and certainly not rested at all.