Here I come to save the day!

I hope all my favorite readers and writers are enjoying my story thus far. After reading a review by Faith's melody and having a caffeine-fueled brain storm, I've managed to come up with an even better plot than the one originally intended. Don't worry, it'll still fit in.

I also see that a lot of people were surprised by my addition of the Opera Ghost into my story. Although not the intended effect, I'm still pleased!

I did some research into all the versions of the Phantom, and have made up my own version; a combination of the characters created by Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, and Andrew Lloyd Webber. I hope you like him!

Also, earlier in the summer, I read Thomas Harris' Hannibal (I strongly recommend it to crime, horror, and gothic novel fans), which inspired my usage of Dr. Spectra in this story.

As for Jazz, she will play a much larger role in this new plot. As you said, Ultimate TH, the possibilities are endless!

Thanks for all your help, people! A double thanks to you, Faith's melody! Let us begin!

Chapter Four: Spectra's Return

Spectra stared down at Danny for a moment with her eager green eyes. Her expression was not scornful, but eager and lively, as though she were looking at a newborn baby. Upon this, Danny felt angry, depressed, and embarrassed all at the same time.

"What are you doing here?" he near-yelled.

The woman maintained her innocent expression. "Why are you yelling at me, Danny?" she asked softly.

"You know why!" he snapped. His eyes were glowing green at this point.

"Daniel Fenton! I will not have yelling in my school!"

Mr. Lancer, an imposing, bald man in his mid-forties and the Vice Principal of Casper High, stepped out from behind Spectra. A look of sheer disdain was on his face. It had been he who had yelled at Danny.

"May I ask what that outburst was for, Mr. Fenton?" he asked coldly.

"I – uh – I..." Danny stammered. How could he come up with a believable explanation? After all, nobody but he and his friends knew that Spectra was a ghost.

"He was...uh...just so surprised that Dr. Spectra is back, is all!" Tucker finished.

"Oh," replied Lancer. "Well then, I believe you are all owed an explanation: Dr. Spectra tells me that she has been in the hospital recovering from injuries she sustained on her vacation to Aspen. When I ran into her again at the bookstore, I offered her the chance to be reinstated to the empty teen therapist position."

"Needless to say, I accepted!" said Spectra enthusiastically. "Now I get to see all my favorite faces again!"

The three teens stood in place, puzzled looks on their faces.

"I look forward to talking to all of you again. Ciao!" The red-haired woman proceeded to walk past Danny and his friends, to where her old office had been.

"You had better get going," stated Lancer. "Class starts in two minutes." And with that, he walked away.

It was all incredibly hard to digest at once. Not only had a disfigured opera ghost ruined the bal masque that had been held in Danny's honor, but now one of his most unforgiving and sadistic enemies was back in a place of power over his life. And the worst part was that Danny couldn't do a thing about it, lest he be thought of a malevolent criminal again.

It was all just a dirty, confusing mess...

Dr. Spectra's office reflected the general mood of her patients: cold, bleak, and depressing. On the walls were various photos of her with her various student subjects, who were a sad contrast to her peppy and eager smiles in all of them. Her psychiatrist's degree hung in an expensive silver plaque right behind her desk. A file cabinet and a bookshelf containing various psychology publications dominated the far side of the room, and two school-issue seats sat across from her own personal office chair. Most of all, the thermostat read the room's temperature as ice-cold; a very accurate reading.

The doctor herself sat in her chair, breathing in a thin, green mist that surrounded her head. Almost immediately, the crow's feet that had formed near her eyes disappeared, leaving flawless, pristine skin. She sighed with contentment as she looked herself over in a compact mirror. In the aftermath of Pariah Dark's invasion, misery had pervaded much of the students.

Misery was her fountain of youth.

Penelope glanced at the clock radio on her desk; it read 4:37 P.M.

Her assistant should have been back by now...

As if to read her previous thoughts, a short, stout middle-aged man burst through her door. He wore a fancy suit-jacket over a red sweater-vest and white dress shirt, complete with a black bow-tie. His eyes were wide-set and green, his hair gray with age, as was his brush-like moustache. Finally, he was breathing as though he had just ran a marathon.

"Bertrand, you're over five hours late." The childish innocence had not left her voice.

He did not reply for a few moments to catch his breath. "I lost my ride back here! I had to claw onto the wing of a 747! Don't blame me!" There was an unmistakable snippy, biting quality to his voice.

"Now, now, you don't have to yell. I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason he wasn't there," she stated simply. He sat down at one of the chairs, patting his forehead with a handkerchief he kept in his pocket.

"Oh really? Name one."

"Did you wait for him where he asked you to?"

"Yes. All I did was go a few blocks over to look at the La Madeleine. He automatically assumed that I had abandoned him!"

A blue mist started to fill the room, condensing into a cloaked, hooded figure.

"I gave you clear instructions to wait in the Café de la Paix until 11:00," said the figure ubiquitously. "I am not a man to suffer fools, nor wait around endlessly for one!"

"And I suppose it's my fault too that the ghost-boy nearly socked your face in?" Bertrand shot back.

"You never told me he wouldn't aid us willingly!"

"You should never have told him you were going to kill someone!"

Spectra got up from her desk. "THAT"S ENOUGH!" she yelled with sudden, terrifying fury. For a split second, her eyes flashed like fiery coals. Both men sat down, quaking in fear at the woman's display.

"Now Erik," her voice went back to normal tone, "is everything progressing smoothly?"

"Relatively so, Madam," replied the cloaked man. "We're still having trouble locating the piece. I've turned all of Paris upside-down and come up with nothing. From what the old man told me, he gave it to his second cousin. Someone named Jeremy Manson who lived in this city."

Spectra's eyes widened at the mention of that name. She walked over to her file cabinet, opening the drawer that held letters H through N. Thumbing through with lightning speed, she pulled out a file labeled Manson, Samantha. Spectra tossed the file over to Erik, where it landed in his lap.

"I believe that's who you're looking for," said the doctor in a matter-of-factly voice.

The cloaked man thumbed through the pages, quickly finding the information he was looking for:

"Father: Jeremy Manson... We've found it!"

He lifted his hood down from his head, revealing his slick, black hair, his pale, sickly skin, and his vertical half-mask across his face. A smile spread across his bloodless, malformed lips; a gleam shone in his odd blue eyes. His voice was now somewhat reverent and awestruck.

"I've found it."

Sam's room was incredibly quiet at this hour. The sun had completely disappeared over the outlying hills, the waxing moon was in full view, and her parents had finally turned in for the night. This was the time when she could immerse herself in all that she loved until she drifted off into slumber.

Tonight, however, she was wide awake, pacing frantically around her room as though on a sugar binge. The knowledge that one of Danny's worst foes was back working at her school kept her ever alert, as though she expected Spectra to swoop down from the night sky and wreak her vengeance upon them all.

"I have to get to sleep..." Her voice was slightly manic from the stress. She went over to her dresser, where her music box sat silently, and opened the top. The haunting, soothing tune chimed out of it once again.

As Sam relaxed on her bed, she admired the red plush velvet lining on the inside of the box. It was truly remarkable how something that old could be so beautiful. She ran her hand through the inside...until she came upon a tear in the lining. Further examination revealed a piece of ancient paper jutting out of the orifice.

Delicately, Sam detached the square of velvet from the box, temporarily distorting the tune. She withdrew an ancient stack of folded paper that looked as though it were decades old.

Sam replaced the velvet, correcting the music, and unfolded the parchment. On it were various faded musical notes lined in their respective bridges, written in red ink.

"What the..." she whispered as her amethyst eyes wandered up the paper. At the top was the title of the piece, the same color as the notes, written in lofty, whimsical script:

Don Juan Triumphant

by Erik

There you have it! My plot is finally taking a bit more shape, and I have all of you to thank for it! Once again, thanks for all your reviews, and please send in more of your ideas. With my writer's block kicking in, I could sure use them.

Au revoir!

Your sincerest regards,

Monsieur Caracal.