No one entered the bandroom after nightfall anymore, but Brandon knew he had too. He had convinced Crispy to have a night off, and he forgot to turn the camera on for her. He reached up to the shelf where the camera sat to push the record button, but felt nothing but air. He looked to see if he had perhaps misjudged the distance, but saw that there was no distance to judge. The camera was gone.
He searched the band room, including each individual cubby, in hopes that some one had taken it down to play with it. He stood up after checking the last of the tuba cubbies in despair. He said aloud, "Damn. That camera belonged to the school. Now I'm gonna have to pay for it."
"Don't worry, love. You'll have it back."
Brandon spun around to see the blood red eyes of the phantom smiling at him.
"What are you doing? Going to kill me for getting in your way?"
"Why should I do that, love? Your camera is only a minor annoyance."
"Don't call me that," Brandon growled. The phantom's smile faded to a dark scowl.
"Ah, Crispy. She is stepping closer and closer to the fire." Brandon looked questioningly at these words. "She will die by the time this ends, and you know it. She will look into my eyes and feel death taking her hand. Do you want that on your conscience?"
Brandon stared defiantly back. He wasn't about to let the phantom know that she had struck a nerve. If something happened to Crispy, had he done all he could? "I won't let you do anyhting to her."
"Don't be so silly, love."
"Don't call me that!" Brandon shouted so menacingly that even the phantom was taken aback. She quickly regained her normal temperment.
"A challenge? What fun!" She dashed into the dark expanse of the band room and disappeared.
Brandon paused for a moment. Did he dare leave the brass room? He poked his head out the door and try to make out anything in the darkness. The shadows were inpalpable. He felt his way along the wall, making his way for the secret french horn entrance. He wasn't sure if staying against a wall would do him any good, but at this point it didn't really matter. He felt his way past the drum room, the director's office and the woodwind room. Finally he found the open vent in the wall that he had entered through. The lid slammed shut immediately, narrowly missing his fingers.
"Not getting out that way, love. That would be too easy." The phantom laughed from somewhere in the shadows. Brandon would have to find another way. Wasn't the door in the drum room sometimes left open? He had to try.
He made it to the drum room, faster this time, but to no avail. The door was locked. He wondered if he could break through the window. He picked up a chime mallet, but when he swung it, his empty fist made a bloody hole in the window. He faced the phantom, holding his hand. As she twirled the mallet playfully she said, "How about a deal, love. You look so pathetic that way. You get to choose. Her life... or yours." She looked positively gleeful as she glided back into the band room.
The drum room door suddenly opened by itself. Brandon looked out at the moonlit night, and then back into the band room. How could he possibly explain this to Crispy? Then there was the fact that the phantom looked and sounded so familiar...