Disclaimer: This version of POTO belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber.

"You know her, don't you!"

Madam Giry shook her head, but there was fear in her eyes. "I know nothing, Countess! The Phantom has haunted this theatre since…"

"She's no ghost; she's a living, breathing human being," Rebecca said, standing over her, hands on hips. "You know where she came from, don't you?"

"I know nothing!" Madam Giry said, almost in a hiss. "All I know is that when Christian arrived, he had a guardian watching over him everywhere he went."

"A guardian angel," Rebecca said, almost bitterly, "Who now appears to be a tormenting demon."

Meg Giry sat in the corner, her head bowed over a handful of string she was weaving into a cat's cradle. She seemed to be ignoring the conversation between Rebecca and her mother, but her face was white as a shroud.

"Where did she come from?" Rebecca asked, throwing up her hands. "You know something, Madam Giry, even if you don't want to admit it." She looked the dance teacher dead in the eye. "If you don't help me, Madam, Christian's life could be in grave danger."

"No more so than you own," Madam Giry shrugged. "I wish I could help you, mademoiselle, but I cannot. I know little about where…"

"So you do know something!" Rebecca said, pouncing on the woman's slip of the tongue. "Tell me everything. And I mean everything, madam."

Madam Giry's lips tightened. "I only know rumours and hearsay. But if it will help you, then I will speak." She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "About ten years ago, there was a travelling circus passing through Paris. Gypsies. The Opera troupe went down to see them. Including Meg here."

Madam Giry's daughter jumped at the mention of her name, but did not look up from her cat's cradle.

"I alone did not go." Madam Giry fixed the countess with a steely gaze. "But I later heard that there was a murder. One of the gypsies was killed by one of the exhibits, who escaped soon after."

"Exhibits?" Rebecca stared in horror.

Madam Giry nodded. "Yes. The Devil's Child. Or, as I believe she is now known…"

"The Phantom of the Opera." Rebecca finished, a chill creeping down her spine.

Madam Giry nodded. "However, mademoiselle," she added, "That is what I believe happened. However, I have no proof of this."

"I do."

Rebecca and Madam Giry turned to face Meg. The slender ballerina bit her lip and kept her eyes down.

"Meg?" Rebecca frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"When I was younger… She was in a cage," Meg whispered. "A girl wearing a bag over her head. He hit her… then took off the mask." Meg's hands trembled. "She was crying, and her face was all torn. She looked at me, and I had to look away."

Madam Giry stared in horror at her daughter.

"I stayed behind when everyone had left. She took a rope…" Meg choked on her words. "She got out of the cage, and looked at me. She was crying. She'd just killed a man to free herself, and she was crying. I couldn't just leave her…"

"You brought her into the Opera House?" Madam Giry gaped at her daughter. "Meg, do you realise what you have done!"

Meg looked up from her cat's cradle; her hands were shaking. "If it were one of the dancers in that cage, Mama, would you have left her in there? If it were me, would you just walk away?" Madam Giry closed her mouth. Meg continued, "I saved her life, and I hid her from the people who hurt her. I didn't know… I didn't know she was so bitter." Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "I was young then. Too young. I did what any child would do for another child who was locked in a cage. I saved her life. I set her free."

"And she made the Opera House her home." Rebecca looked at Meg. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

She shrugged, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "Who'd believe me? And even if someone did believe me… what good would that do her?" Meg sighed. "She may look a monster, but she's a genius. All the operas we perform, the music we sing and dance to, the designs of the costumes and sets… they're all her works. She's a genius."

"But she has turned into a tormented madwoman." Madam Giry sighed. She looked suddenly much older, as though Meg's announcement had burdened her more than she could bear. "So she was the girl you talked about."

Meg nodded. "The girl you thought was my invisible friend." Meg untangled her hands and put the string aside. "Mama, I'm sorry…"

"No, don't be," Madam Giry sighed again. "You did what was right at the time. Now we must deal with the consequences." Her eyes were hooded. "We must exorcise this ghost before any more harm comes to those we know and love."

Rebecca's hands clenched and unclenched. Christian… "What should we do?"

"There's nothing we can do," Madam Giry said, putting a hand on Rebecca's arm to calm her. "For now." She took a breath. "The only thing we can do is prepare. She wrote this new opera, no? We must act as though nothing has happened. We must act as though we mean not to stop her. We don't want to arouse the Phantom's suspicion too soon."

Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "Until we strike."

Meg, who had her head buried in her hands, looked up. "I'm going to talk to her. I have to." The ballet dancer took a breath. "If I could find out what she intends… what her designs for the opera house and Christian are… well, forewarned is forearmed." Her eyes were steel, but there was pity in them. Pity for her friend who had become a monster. "We must put an end to her reign of terror."

Madam Giry's face twisted. She didn't want to put her daughter in danger, but there seemed to be no other choice. She turned to face the countess. "Find Christian. If we are to put a stop to the Phantom, then we must have his help." She sighed. "Though, I fear, this will not end well."

But the two girls were already gone, too intent on their plan to heed the warnings of the one woman who had lived through the worst. And expected to see much worse come their way.

Christian stared at the single flickering candle, his entire focus on that single nervous flame. His face was blank, unreadable. That was how Rebecca found him; staring into nothingness, seeing beyond the candle.

"Christian," the countess whispered, "I must speak to you."

"About the Phantom?" Christian's voice was bitter. Rebecca frowned. Christian did not sound like himself.

"Yes," She said, cautiously, "About the Phantom."

"What about her?" Christian said, his eyes dead. "How to get to her lair? How to find her? Her weaknesses, her fears?" He turned to face Rebecca. "How much I loved her? What? What do you want to talk about?"

Rebecca frowned. "Christian, what's gotten into you?"

Christian turned back to the candle, and buried his head in his hands. "Nothing's gotten into me, Rebecca. It's just always been there. Lurking under the surface, like some creature of the deep. Waiting…" Christian composed himself. "It's like… she's in my blood. No, more than that. My mind. My soul. She's right; I cannot escape her. She is in me; she is part of me. She'll be with me no matter where I go."

Rebecca tried to put a hand on his shoulder, to comfort him, but he shrugged her away. Rebecca drew back, wounded. Since they were young, he had never turned her away like this. They had always shared each other's pain, easing each other's suffering by their closeness. Now, it was as if he had cut himself off from her.

"Christian…"

"She'll kill you." Christian stood up, facing her, his eyes wide like a madman's. "She'll kill you." He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close, as though by holding her he could stop her death. "I won't let that happen, Rebecca. I'll protect you."

Rebecca pushed herself out of his arms; this time it was Christian who looked wounded.

"That's enough, Christian," Rebecca said, trying to calm him down. "She won't kill me. She wouldn't dare."

"She killed Joseph Buquet." Christian said. "And all he did was mock her."

Christian's fear was infectious. "Then we escape from her," Rebecca shook her head. "We don't have to stay here, Christian," she said, her voice calm despite the dread she felt. "We could leave. Leave Paris. Leave France, if we must. I have a villa in Italy where we…"

"She'd follow us," Christian said sharply. "She'd never let us rest, never let us be at peace. If something doesn't stop her tonight, nothing ever will."

Rebecca stared. When had the youthful boy of her dreams turned into such a hardened man, full of bitterness and pain? Was this the Phantom's poison, infecting him, or was it something more?

"Something, Christian?"

"Or someone." The man moved away. Rebecca saw the glint of a dagger in his hand, and gasped. Christian turned, and the dagger was gone. Rebecca, it was not real.

Was it? Had it been an illusion? Or was Christian really carrying a knife?

"What's wrong?" He asked, wary, casting his eyes about, as though looking for the Phantom.

But Rebecca shook her head at Christian. "You're letting your fear get the best of you, Christian Daae," she said, forcing ice into her words. "Outside the Opera House, she cannot harm you. She cannot even find you."

Christian paused, reason striving to push through his madness. His Angel of Music would never leave the Opera House, would she? No, of course she wouldn't - she was afraid of her face. She was ashamed of herself. She would not venture out into the light of day. She lived in the catacombs. She was a monster. She would not follow him if he ran.

But he would not run. He would make his stand and fight for the woman he loved.

Rebecca saw a glint in Christian's eyes she couldn't ignore. And she was afraid. She reached out to Christian, putting a hand on his arm. "Christian?" He didn't turn to look at her - he only stared out the window, at the deepening darkness that heralded the sunset.

"It ends tonight," He said, glowering at the shadows, his hands clenching into fists. "One way or another."

A/N: Getting' a little creepy now, isn't it?