As I stoically trailed like a black shadow behind Madame Giry toward where she had last seen Christine, I was somewhat amazed at my inner composure. No fury, wrath, indignation or anguish tightened my stomach muscles. No unyielding band constricted around my heart and left me paralyzed with fear. If anything, the unruffled calm was what concerned me. The only other occasion that I had felt such ruthless, unemotional self-possession was long before in Persia.........after I had killed for the amusement of the Khanum.

The clarity of my reasoning was more unnerving than Meg's agitated barely repressed sobs. Curiously, I observed myself as though outside my body and absently reflected that I should be more upset or distressed. The odd removal of my sensibilities in the face of losing the one person more dear to me than my very life could not be explained. Instead of focusing inquisitively upon this strange phenomenon, my analytical mind raced with all the plausible possibilities.........

Surprisingly, the apprehension that Christine would leave me of her own accord never crossed my mind. For I knew that I would have observed some sort of uneasy or nervous behavior in her demeanor should she be planning such a strategy. No, I theorized, while my hands clenched into fists. Christine loved me. I would cleave to that conviction until it was proved otherwise. Or I would go mad.

Plots with random degrees of sinister schemes were intellectually hypothesized and summarily dismissed as I coldly followed Madame Giry. The only constant theme in all of my distasteful theories revolved around that damn boy......................de Chagny. In my heart of hearts, I was convinced he had absconded with my Christine. It was this terrible, unwavering perception that caused me the most trepidation. For I was absolutely and confidently certain I would find her. I would not rest until I did so......but as well, I was sure that I would kill her foolish childhood friend without a thought for such an outrage. No other outcome or possibility was possible. My brow furrowed when I anticipated Christine's reaction........would she ever forgive me for such a deed?

Realizing that Madame Giry had halted and watched me fretfully, I also stopped to determine our location. We were on the stage of the empty auditorium. I stepped out into the darkness and held the lantern I carried aloft.

"She was standing there, Monsieur. Speaking with Meg and one of the other dancers. I only saw her briefly before I went backstage." Madame Giry pointed to the right side of the stage while Meg remained cowering behind her mother.

I strode over to where Madame Giry had indicated and knelt down to look for any trace or suggestion of foul play. Standing, I took the light over to the stairs leading down just adjoining the stage. Nothing. Turning, I faced Madame Giry and I was rather surprised at the removed, composed sounding voice which emitted from my lips. "Who was the last one to see her?"

Madame Giry glanced briefly away while unwittingly putting a protective arm behind her and I understood instantly. Meg knew. She knew where Christine was. Attempting to reign in my desire to shake the information from her sniveling, frightened form, I instead walked evenly to just in front of Madame Giry.

Endeavoring to soften my tone, I addressed the young dancer patiently. "Meg.....you know where Christine is, do you not? Come, Child, tell me. I must know."

Madame Giry stepped aside and nodded once at her timorous daughter. Meg's eyes were as large as saucers as she gazed up at me and trembled. Sniffing, her eyes spilled over with great tears while she nodded frantically. In a shaky whisper, she stuttered, "Yesss....Monsieur. I.......I saw...ttthe llast pperson she sspoke tto."

Instantly, I took a step forward and grasped her arm firmly but gently. "Tell me.", I demanded and resisted the urge to raise my voice.

Meg stared stupidly at my hand on her arm and I immediately dropped my hold on her. Looking up at me with huge eyes, her mouth opened but no words came forth. Madame Giry must have sensed my intense annoyance surge and ordered Meg to speak, and speak quickly. With a distressed glance at her mother, Meg stared down at the flooring and sobbed quietly, "The Vicomte."

Madame Giry gasped audibly before gazing towards me in fear. Obviously and rightfully concerned about the inevitable fate of de Chagny, she put her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Meg, are you absolutely certain?" My expression remained frozen as I waited for her daughter to continue.

Meg nodded miserably as she wiped her eyes. "Yes. Yes. He wwas here and aasked to ssppeak with her. I.....I ttold Christine but she became anxious and told me to ttell him no. When I did, hhe became angry and, as Christine saw him become upset, she came over and ttold me she would talk to him." Meg swallowed hard before continuing as she squeezed her mother's hand for support. "I....I was exiting the stage, bbut I looked bback before leaving. They spoke in fervent whispers for many moments until he ssaid something about......about.....a ring. On her finger. He....he led her by the hand saying they must converse privately. Christine....Christine pulled her arm and attempted to break free of his ggrasp but he insisted." Tears welled up again and Meg covered her face with her quivering hands as she sobbed, "I didn't know! I didn't know he would....he would take her! But sshe never ccame bback after tthat!"

Madame Giry embraced her overcome daughter and looked pointedly at me over Meg's head. Our eyes locked while I wrestled with my next course of action as hers pleaded with me to spare Raoul his life. Without a word, I turned on my heel. Madame Giry's steps echoed behind me as she inquired anxiously, "Monsieur, what will you do?"

Pausing briefly, I did not meet her eyes as I snarled over my shoulder, "Whatever I must."

Swiftly riding one of the Opera steeds through the twilight of a blood red sunset, the calm which had possessed me prevailed over the unconditional rage which steamed inside me. I had visited Christine's dressing room to look for possible clues and I was reassured by her handbag still beside her dressing table. Obviously, she had not planned to leave with Raoul. Meg's words comforted me more than I had visibly acknowledged when she relayed how Christine had resisted leaving with that damn boy. The mere thought that he had forced her to leave with him made my blood boil but such distracting emotions were heartlessly put aside. I needed to think clearly if I were to accomplish my pursuit.

Already outside of Paris, I urged my mount towards the de Chagny mansion located on the French countryside. Several months ago, I had followed the accursed boy home to determine where my enemy resided. That had been before Christine had kissed me....... Christine!, my heart cried out, but the sorrowful, silent plea was ruthlessly squelched. What if.....what if she did leave of her own accord? What if.........she changed her mind? Willfully, I brutally severed such destructive thoughts as I sped through the countryside. With a cry of rage, I determined I could not, would not, allow such weak, shattering pensiveness. For my very life weighed in the balance of such a possible atrocity.

It would do Christine's safety little good if I were to assume such a devastating outcome. I stringently advised myself to concentrate on finding Christine. First and foremost.

The sun had set when I reached the outskirts of the de Chagny estate. The opulent chateau rose from behind the ornate iron gates which were shut and locked. Locked? At such an early hour? A wry smile made my lips upturn as the powerful stallion pranced and snorted. With a challenging smirk towards the chateau, I whispered coldly, "You have sealed your death, de Chagny. No lock in this world could keep me from getting to you now. "

In a grove of trees, I secured my mount to a sturdy tree out of sight. Taking a deep breath, I turned to stealthily tread towards the chateau. There was a large oak tree that had a sturdy limb hanging just over the wall near the house. I had been here before and subsequently determined the quickest way to get inside. My senses attuned to the slightest sound, I silently proceeded until I reached the oak. Nimbly climbing the tree, I lowered my Fedora on my brow and peered over the wall. There was no one in sight but the gas lights were shining from the second floor. I could see no trace of a carriage nor any sign of horse tracks.

Agilely leaping from the 10 foot wall, I remained motionless and crouched low while gazing about me. Discerning that there was no one about, I stood with determination. With a glance up towards the second story, I whispered quietly, "I am here, Christine."