A/N: The tiny snippet of lyrics is from some Irish folk song.

Just a note: You should probably start paying attention to flashbacks, though the portion in this particular chapter is obviously a dream. Anyway, they'll play a big role in the plot in the future. K? K.

la M.R


Stand and Watch It Burn: Angel, I Hear You!

"Is something wrong, Christine? You seem...not at all here."

Christine glanced up over her supper at Annette Giry, who studied her carefully with a raised eyebrow. She nodded distractedly. "Everything's fine, Aunt Annette. I'm..." Having nightmares again? Emotionally depressed? Hearing voices? "...just overwhelmed with school." She quickly looked back down at her plate in order to avoid her aunt's scrutinizing gaze. She had always been told that she was absolutely atrocious at lying. To her immense relief, Annette seemed to leave the subject alone, despite the casting of frequent concerned looks over the dinner table.

"How's the production coming along?" the woman asked, suddenly.

The change of subject nearly caused Christine to release a loud sigh. "Pretty well," she answered truthfully. "Carlotta is...well, she's not bad, when she wants to be. The directors love her. They do whatever they can to keep her happy. Although, I can't believe it slipped my mind, but a backdrop fell on her recently."

Annette's head snapped up in concern. "What? She isn't hurt, is she?"

Christine shook her head and the woman sighed in relief. "Liam thinks its the Ghost."

Her aunt remained silent as if contemplating her statement, and Christine shrugged and continued. "Unfortunately, it didn't knock any sense into her." Christine's face scrunched into a grimace. "I personally think she's just loud, and can't understand what her allure is that makes everyone gush over her. I guess I'm the only one there who sees through her."

"I'm sure you're wrong about that," her aunt replied with uncharacteristic nonchalance as she caught her eye and stood up to wash her plate.

Christine opened her mouth, as if to protest or question, but shut it wordlessly. After thanking her aunt for cooking, she hastily departed from the kitchen to start on her homework.


"How long?"

Seven-year old Christine winced as her father's normally strong, steady voice broke with pain. She knelt at the top of the stairs and could only get a glimpse of her father's crouching figure on the armchair, his head buried in his hands. The other man, a tall and lanky detective apparently by the name of Mr. Andrews, stood several feet away.

"How...long?" Charles DaaƩ growled out again, through clenched teeth.

"A...a long time now, Charles. At least half a year, if not longer."

Charles groaned angrily before standing up and sending an empty glass hurling towards the wall where the crash nearly caused young Christine to yelp.

Moments of tense silence seemed to pass as Christine stared unblinkingly at her father, who was breathing heavily.

"I'll kill him," he murmured darkly, his normally warm eyes flashing dangerously.

"Charles, we'll find him. We've come this far..." Mr. Andrew took a cautious step forward. "We'll find him."

"You'll find him..." Charles echoed faintly, seemingly in some other world. A short moment later his eyes locked with Mr. Andrews's. Christine watched as his broad forehead slowly crumpled as if he was coming to some sort of realization. "Months, you say? Months? All this time...and I had no idea. That...monster...was after her for months. How could I not see? All those nights with her trembling and false smiles and...letters. I saw those letters! I saw a few of them in her drawer, and I was going to open them! Isn't that funny, James? I was going to invade her privacy because of my jealousy. Oh, I wish I had! Isn't it funny how my jealousy could have saved us both?"

Mr. Andrews silently walked forward and lay a comforting hand on Charles's shoulder. Confused at her father's anger and utter despair, Christine quietly crept back up the stairs to her room and put her hands over her ears to muffle the low groans of her father's suffering.


"You heard...what!"

Oh...this was a marvelous idea. "Forget it!"

"Forget it? Forget it? I won't. Why? Well, because I don't want to be the guilty one when you're rocking back and forth in a dark corner somewhere muttering to yourself about hearing voices!"

Christine groaned in exasperation. Perhaps she had been very, very foolish in telling Liam of her...worries. "I told you, I probably imagined it."

Liam gaped. "Uh...I hate to break it to you doll. Imagining things that aren't there isn't any better than actually hearing them."

Despite herself, Christine's spine straightened and she looked at him with indignation. "You're the one who believes in a ghost! I don't! And...well, how do you know that it wasn't there? You weren't even there!"

"So you've gone from telling me you heard voices, to telling me you aren't crazy, to telling me you probably imagined all of it, to getting defensive. Tell me, Chrissy, do you even know what you're talking about?"

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Liam O'Neil. I'm telling you that I was upset and thought I heard someone saying my name and singing when I was alone in a dark auditorium. I'm incredibly sorry if my uncertainty about the whole thing bothers my best friend, who I thought would help me figure it out!" Christine huffed angrily.

There was a pause as silence lingered in the empty hallway. Liam looked at the floor and Christine at her scattered books. There was no doubt that she regretted coming to her friend with her ailments. But when he approached her as she was sitting alone in the hall doing her work, he knew something was wrong. And he was just so damn persistent.

"You were upset?" Liam asked suddenly after a moment.

Christine hesitated, not quite willing to recount her entire breakdown in the auditorium that day. "No...I was just...thinking about my dad. I was fine. But I wasn't in the best frame of mind, so when I heard...well, I was startled and confused."

For the first time, Liam seemed to get a more understanding look in his eye rather than the 'my best friend's insane' look he had been sporting for the past fifteen minutes.

Suddenly he frowned. "He sang to you?"

"Do you process the words I say, like, two minutes after I say them?"

"You said you heard him sing to you?" Liam asked again, ignoring her remark.

"Yes. I...think so. Oh, I don't know! Liam, I was probably just dreaming." She sighed. It was the truth. Maybe she had hit her head when she fell off the seats. Maybe she had just dreamed the beautiful voice that had placated her cries with his voice.

Liam fell unusually silent in thought as Christine suddenly felt interested in a tiny spot on the floor. When she did finally meet his eye, he surprised her with a mischievous grin. "Looks like someone's charmed the Theatre Ghost himself!"

Christine rolled her eyes, but was unable to stop the smile that spread on her face in response. "Can we not make light of my apparent insanity, please? And keep your voice down!" Liam laughed and she decided to play along. "The last thing I need right now is for people to think I spend my after-school hours being lulled to sleep by a ghost."

"Lulled to sleep, eh?" Liam smirked, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Leave it to you to charm the infamous ghost of the school's theatre. I'm not surprised. I've always known you're voice could charm the devil himself!"

Christine's smile wavered a bit until it disappeared off her face entirely and her expression morphed into a serious one. Liam had usually been careful not to mention Christine's singing unless it was she who brought it up; it tended to make her drift off into a rather melancholy mood. But this time his smile remained on his face as he did not seem to catch his mistake. "I was dreaming. There is no such thing as ghosts," Christine stated seriously. "Sometimes you worry me with your imagination."

"Yes, yes, I know," he shrugged, throwing on his coat and bag around his shoulder. "Damn this cursed creativity! I'll talk to you later. Try to stay out of trouble, hmm? Don't talk to strangers?"

"Shut up."

Liam whistled jauntily as he walked down the long corridor, whistling some tune, as his voice rang out boisterously through the halls.

"When Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, 'tis like the morn in Spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter..."

As his voice faded away, Christine softly and beautifully finished the tune before she could stop herself.

"You can hear the angels sing."

She let out a sigh and closed her eyes briefly before gathering her books. For once, she hadn't had much homework. Maybe she could suffer through the cold winds outside and wait for her aunt. Accidentally, her pencil case slipped out of her hand and the contents spilled out onto the floor. Just as she knelt to gather the scattered materials, the soft whisper of her name caressed her ears.

Freezing, she stilled her hands and barely breathed as she listened to only the silence that greeted her. Shutting her eyes tightly for less than a second, she took a deep breath and placed the spilled materials back into her case. Just as she zipped it up, she heard it again. It was quiet, barely a whisper...but there was no mistaking it. And she most definitely was not dreaming.

Quickly fumbling with her bag and books, she stood up and nearly stumbled as she walked down the hallway. "No. This is not happening," she hissed to no one but herself. She pushed open the doors to the corridor and raced down the stairs and through another long hallway.

"Christine..."

Her feet picked up the pace a bit as she looked wildly around her for the source of the voice, which was not as whispery as it had been before. It was deep and enchanting, beckoning her. But only dark walls and doors surrounded her.

"Christine!"

"I'm not...hearing this," she desperately whispered to herself. She realized with frustration that in her panic she had not gone the way that would lead outside. She recognized a few of the signs on the classroom and understood she was in the science wing. If she could just go down the stairs at the end and take a left she'd be able to exit out of the back entrance.

Please, leave me alone! Her mind begged as she picked up speed and she nearly ran down the hall toward the stairs.

She was almost there. She would go down the stairs and never hear that beautiful...cursed voice again. She just needed to get outside...

"Stop."

She was both horrified and amazed that the powerful command caused her feet to instantly stop their flee, mid-way down the corridor. She shut her eyes, her breath coming out in short bursts. The silence might have stretched on forever, but she didn't notice it. There was a presence surrounding her, a lingering sense of comfort that coiled around her trembling and tired form like a vine.

"Open your eyes, child. You have no reason to fear me."

Her eyes seemed to flutter open involuntarily at the order. Her breathing almost returned to its normal pace as his soothing voice seem to warm her into comfort. "I...what...do you want?" She stammered, turning around only to face the dark path she had run through.

There was a lengthy pause, and Christine wondered if maybe she had truly gone insane.

"I want to know why you sing only when no one else can hear you."

Christine opened her mouth, only to clamp it shut again. That certainly hadn't been what she was expecting. Then again, what exactly had she been expecting to hear from a disembodied voice?

"I...don't know," she answered dumbly, her eyes fearfully searching the ceiling.

"You're gift is precious, Christine. With proper training, you could bless the heavens with your voice."

She barely realized a small shadow of a smile show on her face at the complement, not remembering another time she had reacted pleasantly to a complement regarding her singing since her father was alive. It disappeared as quickly as it came, however.

Training? All these years she had not bothered; she had not the passion or interest to improve her voice. That passion had been stolen from her. No, she would not bless the heavens with her voice. That feat, she thought fondly, belonged to another.

"I..." don't want anyone to hear my voice. I don't want training, she finished in her head. Why was her ability to speak rendered useless? She found herself unable to find her voice.

"In only a short time I can make your voice a thing of perfection. You will outshine everyone around you. Your voice could make the angels themselves weep, if you only let it."

Christine shook her head; her mind was reeling. "I...I can't. I..."

"Christine..." The voice paused, almost out of some hesitation. "He wants you to let your voice soar. You were born for it."

"My...who? Father?" Christine's eyes searched through the darkness again, desperately wanting to see this mysterious...being...that spoke to her of her father. He wants me to let my voice soar?

There was a pause. "Yes, Christine. I was sent to awaken your music."

Sent? He was sent? A million questions seemed to run through Christine's mind as she struggled to make sense of the situation. It was impossible. Who was this being?

"Are...Are you an...angel?" The part of her mind that told her come to her senses screamed at her. Why was she still standing here, listening to something she couldn't even see? There were no such thing as ghosts. There were no such thing as angels, right? Someone was playing a trick on her.

Have you forgotten my promise?

But there was the part of her that didn't care. It was the part of her that made her heart cry out just to hear her father's voice again, and at the prospect of having him pleased with her.

"Yes, Christine. You can make your father proud. Shall I show you?"

Christine hesitated, the two conflicting parts of her mind battling. She could make her father proud. An angel would help her. Had her father fulfilled his promise as she had always dreamed? It didn't make sense, because angels couldn't exist, could they? Yet, here she was talking to a being with the voice of an angel, who spoke of her beloved father. How could he know?

Her heart and hopes disregarded any of the logical arguments of her mind as she replied softly:

"Yes."


A/N: Review! And you get virtual brownies!