Thank you for your well wishes! I wish it was a cooler story, but I sliced my hand on the knife when I was unloading the dishwasher. My fiance, bless his heart, had decided to be helpful and loaded up the washer...forgetting to put the knives in BLADE DOWN. When I reached into the basket, I wrapped my hand around the blade of a particularly sharp knife...the one on tv that cuts cans...and cut through my palm. I have full movement of all of myfingers (not my thumb)and luckily these chapters were already written so posting hasn't been too painful. I apologize for typos.

In any event, here's the next twist in our story!

Thanks again!

-Nico

Christine might as well have been blind as she stumbled through the dark passageways of the Opera Populaire, her hand locked in a death grip around Erik's. Vaguely, she had the sensation of moving upwards, but the constant stumble of her feet against rubble and piping disoriented her.

She dared not speak, too afraid of being heard by anyone who may be looking for them. Several times, Erik squeezed her small hand in reassurance.

Eventually, a dim light could be seen at the end of one particularly narrow passage. Erik led her until the stopped before a two-way mirror, revealing Christine's dressing room.

"What are we doing here?" Christine whispered anxiously. "Surely they'll come look here!"

Erik nodded. "I would think so," he agreed. "But there is something inside of your room we need."

Christine looked up at him, confused.

"Do you see the far wall there?" He asked, pointing at the room.

"The wall with the Monet hanging? Yes, I see it."

"Behind that painting is a safe," Erik whispered. "Inside of that safe is enough money to keep us living comfortably for many years to come."

Christine gasped. "Money?" She squeaked. "But where did it come from?"

"I am paid a salary as the resident Opera Ghost," he explained quickly. "Anything I've ever needed has either been stolen…or borrowed…so I have never spent a dime. There's more than a decade's worth of monthly wages in a trunk inside the safe. I must get it and then we'll go back into the passageways."

"But how will we get out of the Opera?" Christine asked, her mind swimming.

"It will be difficult," Erik admitted. "We will have to wait in a secluded place until they take the search to the streets."

Christine nodded.

"Christine," Erik continued, taking off his vest and rolling up his sleeves. "You must come help me move the trunk. It's rather heavy. Do you think you can do this?"

"Yes," Christine said enthusiastically. "I can do anything you need."

Erik's lips twitched in an uncharacteristic moment of uncharacteristic immaturity. "Anything?" He whispered.

Despite the desperate situation, Christine swatted Erik's arm playfully. "Within reason," she amended.

"We'll have to be fast," Erik said, getting back to business.

Christine nodded. "I'm ready."

Erik quickly pulled the lever that gained them access to Christine's quarters.

"Gather anything you absolutely cannot live without while I work the lock," Erik whispered, already taking down the Monet.

Christine hurried to her vanity table, quickly gathering up her more expensive jewelry, a handful of carefully folded bills she had been saving, her birth certificate, and lastly, a photograph of her father. These items were shoved quickly into a small bag along with a fresh shirt and skirt, just in case.

Erik watched as she quickly packed. "You should change out of your costume," he said suddenly. "You don't even have any shoes on."

Christine looked down at herself, still dressed as a seductive gypsy. Nodding, she quickly pulled off the layers of silk and lace, despite the fact that Erik was watching with a thoroughlydistracted expression.

"Pay attention to what you're doing," Christine admonished gently.

Once she was clothed again, she pulled her hair into a tight bun, watching as Erik finally unlocked the safe.

True to his word, a medium-sized trunk could be seen inside. And also true was the fact that it was indeed very heavy.

Erik managed to pull the trunk from the safe himself…however he misjudged the weight and it landed with a loud thud on the floor.

Christine winced at the sound.

For a moment, neither moved.

Until a knock was heard at the door.

"Christine? Christine are you in there?" A voice called from the other side of Christine's room.

"Oh God!" Christine whispered. "It's M. Firmin…quickly Erik!"

Erik nodded, ignoring the pesky manager's calls for help.

"Take the other side," Erik commanded, pointing at the trunk. "I'll do my best to support most of the weight."

Christine took grasp of the trunk and was surprised by how easy it was to lift when two people attacked the task.

Wordlessly, the two walked back through the passageway, quickly closing the mirror entryway behind them.

No sooner had the mirror closed than the front door to Christine's suite opened, revealing Monsieur Andre and Firmin, along with several members of the theater staff and several armed guards.

The room was completely empty.

"She was here," M. Firmin insisted. "I heard a loud noise and then whispering…I'm sure I heard Christine…and a man!"

"They are not here now," an officer pointed out, starting to tire of searching for someone who may in fact be a ghost.

"But they were!" Firmin insisted. "I heard them!"

The small group walked around the room, inspecting each corner and crevice.

"Gentlemen?"

A woman's voice caused everyone to turn. There, standing in the entryway to Christine's rooms was a small woman dressed in a red hooded cape which hid most of her face from the curious group.

"If you'll permit me, I believe I might be some of some assistance."

The woman spoke with a slight accent, her red lips moving fluidly as the words were formed.

M. Firmin approached the woman. "And just who are you, my dear?"

The woman slowly took off her hood, revealing dark locks and mysterious eyes.

"My name is Athena Mansart," she said, her lips curving into a smile. "And I think I may know where you can find your precious Opera Ghost."