I was so excited about this chapter that I started it right after posting the last one. It was the most fun so far, I think. I love the new character! Thanks for reviewing, thanks for reading, and I hope you love it!

Dani Blues: I'm glad you like her. I do, too. Thanks for reviewing and for putting my story on your favorites. It makes me so happy when someone does that! Keep reading!

Kissbangx3: Sorry it was too short. I don't do long chapters very well. Maybe this one will be a little longer than the last one. I was tempted to stop writing and leave it at a cliffhanger at a few points, but I didn't want it to be too short, so I kept writing. Hope you like!

I'llTryMyBestToBeGlindaTheGood: I'm glad you liked the teacher part. I did, too! I wrote that while I was working, just out of a burst of random inspiration. I do it to my least favorite teachers sometimes. And to our garbageman. He always leaves the cans lying halfway down the road. And I always want to Punjab him for it. I love your title for the story! It's better than mine. I think I'll use it. Who knows? Lol. Thanks for reviewing! Hope you like the story! I'll be sure and leave as many updates as I can for you so you won't be disappointed!

I stood completely still and stared down at my fingers, which were still hovering over the harp.

Touch that harp and you'll be dead before you turn around.

The words echoed in my ears. I stood there, shocked and slightly afraid. The voice sounded the same as that of the guy I had met my first time down here, but it couldn't be. He was kind and sweet, not to mention lonely. He wouldn't say something like that.

It must be a different voice, a different guy.

Realization struck me. At the same time, something the boy had once told me rang through my mind. 'He'll be angry if you touch his harp. He's always angry when someone touches his harp.'

This wasn't my Phantom of the Fox.

It was him.

And from the sound of his voice, laced with hidden threats and a dark warning of danger, I could tell that he was seriously pissed off. From what I'd heard from the boy I met, a pissed off him was not a good thing to run in to.

Very, very slowly, I turned around, almost afraid of what I might find. Was this the real Phantom of the Fox, while the boy I had met before was just a reflection of the Persian? What would I find lurking behind me? I had asked over and over about 'him', but never had the young boy given me a description. How would I even know him if I saw him?

With these thoughts racing through my head, I laid my eyes on the person who had snuck up on me.

My eyes widened.

What?

Standing right behind me was the same boy I had met the last time I had been here. No kidding. He was just standing there as though nothing was wrong, as though he didn't find it weird that he was threatening to kill me for touching an instrument after being so nice to me before.

"Um… hi?" I said hesitantly, wondering if this was some kind of joke.

His eyes hardened. I could immediately tell that I wasn't talking to the same person as before. He stood straighter and had more pride and disdain in his glare. His eyes were ice-cold, even though they were the same color as before. His fists were clenched and he seriously did look like he wanted nothing more than to wring my neck with his bare hands. Forget the lasso.

When he didn't answer me, I felt the nervousness in my stomach build. "Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked quietly, referring to his angry, fiery glare that burned into my frightened eyes.

"You are an intruder," he growled – like, literally growled. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I felt an overwhelming urge to flee from that basement as quickly as my legs could carry me. I still had a feeling he'd catch up. "What am I supposed to do, smile at you?"

Okay, this definitely isn't the person I met down here before. They must be twins. Yeah, that's it.

"Hey," I said carefully, "is your brother around? I want to talk to him."

He narrowed his eyes. "I have no family. I live alone."

"No," I protested. I was so adamant about finding that nice young boy, the one I knew existed, that I didn't stop to think that maybe arguing wasn't the best idea. "I came here a week ago and he found me, right here, just like you did. I talked to him."

"I have no family," he repeated, looking furious that I dared talk back to him.

I wouldn't let myself be intimidated. "I know he's down here, and I want to talk to him!"

"There is no one else here," the strange young man said, his voice quaking with the weight of his anger. "So stop acting like a madman and leave my home, right now, or I'll throw you out myself!"

I spun on my heel and marched away. However, instead of going back out through the trapdoor, I crossed the room and started for the many doors I saw lining the walls. I knew that the boy I had met was down here, and nothing this creep could say was going to stop me from finding him. I had waited far too long for this opportunity just to waste it now.

I yanked on the first door. It swung open to show me a closet full of simple tools – a shovel, an iron, other random household items. I swung the door shut again and moved on.

The next was a bare room with a single bed in one corner and a sink in the other. It was old and dusty, but I could tell it was well-used. One of the boys spent his nights in here. But was it the kind boy I knew, or the cold one that still stood outside.

I suddenly heard his laughter. It was dark and cold, reminding me of the Phantom's when he was angry. But I had never been afraid of the Phantom. I knew some beauty lurked underneath, even when he was yelling his heart out at Christine, maskless. With this boy… I wasn't sure. He could be a cold-hearted murderer, through and through, and I wouldn't have any way of knowing.

I stalked back out into the hallway and glared down into the harp room. The boy was leaning against the wall next to the instrument, gazing at me with amusement in his eyes. It was the sort of amusement that plainly said, 'I know something you don't, and I'm laughing at your ignorance.'

"What?" I snapped, thoroughly confused and angry.

He slowly shook his head at me, seeming to finally realize why I was here and refusing to leave. "You're looking for him, aren't you?" he asked, his eyes glittering with a mixture of mirth and disgust.

I groaned. Him again. "I thought you were him."

He laughed darkly again and shook his head at me. "I am."

I stood there, staring at him, waiting for an explanation.

He didn't move away from the wall, but crossed his arms. "How much about this place did he tell you, girl?" His voice told me what he expected my answer to be, and as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Not enough.

I was silent. He already knew what I was going to say, after all.

"You're lucky you met him and not me. If you had, you never would have come back at all." His eyes flashed. "In fact, you might not have ever even come out in the first place. That would have made things much easier."

"You're sick," I said in disgust.

He didn't reply to my statement, but continued to speak nevertheless. "He didn't tell you who I am, did he?"

I hesitated. "He told me you lived down here with him, and that the harp was yours. He said that you went up into the theater to watch the shows, and that sometimes you'd let him watch with you. I think… I got the impression he's afraid of you."

"He has no reason to be," he said with a slight shrug. "I can't hurt him."

I was even more confused. "You can't?"

He answered me with another question. "You really don't understand, do you?"

"Would you quit rubbing that in and explain it, then?" I shot back, frustrated.

I could tell he was a little taken aback by how unafraid I was. I wasn't about to tell him that I was still wary of him, but at the moment, my anger and confusion outweighed my fear.

"I have no twin brother," the guy said. It was annoying, how he wouldn't just come out and say it like it was. "There is no one else living in these basements with me. You have to understand that before you can understand what's going on, kid."

"Don't call me that," I said shortly. He was only a few years older than me, by the look of him. "And what do you mean, there's no one else? You were just talking about him a minute ago."

"Yes, I was."

"Then there is someone else."

"Yes, but not in the sense that you are trying to imply."

I stared at him. "Huh?"

He snorted. I admit, that wasn't a very eloquent reponse, but still… given the circumstances, it was as good as he'd get from me. "It's true, he's down here a lot," the guy said, looking resentful. "I wish there was some way I could get rid of him, but I can't control it. Never could."

"Dude," I interrupted, "just say what you're trying to say. One sentence. It can't be that hard."

"I could," he said with a shrug, "but I like to see you tortured by an answer you can't guess."

I wanted to scream at him, but I knew that wouldn't make him tell me the answer. More likely than not, he'd just stand there and watch me, laughing all the while. He really was infuriating.

"Let me talk to him."

"You still don't get it, do you?"

"I would if you'd tell me!"

"He isn't here," he said in a firm voice, and I knew he wasn't lying. "You can check all the rooms, all the hallways, the entire theater. You won't find him. Take my word for it."

"Why?" I pressed.

"Because I'm here."

"Oh, so he is afraid of you," I guessed. "And since you're here, he won't come down. Is that what you mean? So when you go away, he'll show up?"

"Yes," he said, and I swelled with pride at knowing the answer – "and no."

I deflated. "What do you mean, yes and no?"

"He may be afraid of me," the young man said with a slight shrug. "I wouldn't know. I've never spoken with him face to face. But when I go away, as sure as anything, he'll show up."

"Go away," I said, "as in leave the theater?"

"I never leave the theater."

"Then what do you mean, he'll show up when you go away?"

"Exactly what I said."

"Does he leave the theater?"

"No."

"Agh!" I couldn't hold back my scream of frustration. "You're not making any sense!"

"You're just not understanding."

"Then explain!"

"Figure it out." He marched up to me and seized my forearm, making no effort to be gentle. I yelped as he yanked me through the harp room and back to the crack-torch room. "And while you're at it, get out. And don't bother coming back. There's a fifty-fifty chance it'll be me you'll meet down here next time, and you don't want to risk me getting mad at you a second time."

I yanked my arm free and saw a bruise start to rise. I raised my furious eyes to his. "Oh, really?"

His eyes shut me up. They blazed with such intense fire that I didn't even need him to speak to understand his answer. I was suddenly aware that I was dealing with real danger here – this was a person who wouldn't have any qualms about killing me. He'd already threatened to once, for Pete's sake.

"I still don't understand," I complained as he dragged a piece of wood out from a corner of the room and dropped it under the trapdoor.

"Like I said," he retorted, shoving me towards it, "figure it out."

I turned my back on him, stepped onto the wooden block, and managed to hook my arms over the edge of the trapdoor. I hesitated, wondering whether I dared risk it, but then I made my mind up. As payback for how aggravating he had been, I kicked out and felt my shoe connnect with the side of his face. I quickly scrambled up over the edge of the trapdoor and swung it shut, but not before his voice drifted up from the room below and reached my ears.

"You'll pay for that, kid."

I turned and ran.

My mind was still trying to figure out the incredibly confusing mystery that had presented itself to me. Well, it hadn't presented itself – that JERK had presented it to me. Honestly, even Jill had never been that insufferable.

I slowed down when I neared the theater. The musical had started up again, I could tell.

I crept into the theater, past the cranky old usher, and managed to slink back into my seat without too many people noticing my late entrance. My parents gave me disapproving looks, but didn't speak. They were used to my tardiness and tired of berating me for it.

Jill noticed me and whispered, "Where were you? Look, Roger changed clothes – he's got a silver shirt now, with a leather bomber jacket! Isn't that awesome?" she turned back and started to hum along with Roger as he sang. I didn't even listen to her. I didn't listen to Roger, either.

I stared into space and tried to organize my thoughts.

It was no use. They were chasing one another around my head like little Golden Snitches. They drifted until I found myself imagining the room with all the flying keys in Harry Potter, where he's trying to find the right key. Then I imagined the Phantom in his place.

Swish. The Punjab lashed out. The right key was caught in an instant. The broomstick sat by the door, unused and unneeded, alone. The Phantom held the key tightly in his gloved hand and looked down at it.

"Hand at the level of your eyes," he said grandly, and unlocked the door.

I blinked out of my daydream and snorted at myself. Keys don't have hands or eyes, idiot.

My mind argued with itself again. All the better to lasso them, of course.

As Roger's character burst into song again and Jill squealed softly in delight, I turned my attention back to the play. There was nothing I could do about my situation right now. I wouldn't get any thinking done in this crowded theater with awesome music pounding in my ears. I'd wait until I got home to try and figure this all out.

I did my best to enjoy the rest of the musical. When it ended, I got up with everyone else and started to leave. Jill was gushing about Roger and I wasn't really paying her any attention. She got in line for the bathroom and I followed her, still in a daze.

She looked at me strangely. "Why are you in line? You just went to the bathroom during intermission, remember? And you were late because of it."

"Oh," I said vaguely, nodding. "Right." And I walked away.

My eyes drifted to the dark corner of the room. Just down that corridor and to the right was the hall that would lead me to the trapdoor. I was so close. I could just run down there, visit the strange room one last time, and be back before Jill got out of the bathroom. What did I have to lose?

I could figure out this whole mystery.

But was it worth it? After all, the guy I had just met would be furious to see me back so soon – and like he had warned, I may not make it out alive this time. I bit my lip. Big words for a kid who was just a couple years older than me. Could he really go through with it?

If I don't risk it and go down there now, I told myself firmly, I will regret it. I won't be coming back here anytime soon. I got lucky just coming twice in the same month. Chances are I won't get to come back for years.

I made up my mind.

The dark hallway enveloped me like the arms of a mother that has been waiting for her child to return. I breathed in its familiarity and relaxed a little. Maybe the guy would be gone and I could talk to the nice boy. Maybe.

That 'maybe' kept me going. It danced in front of me and led me down the dark hallway to the trapdoor. It frolicked around me as I stood there, trembling with hesitation, and it was thanks to that 'maybe' that I finally knelt, gripped the handle, and pried the trapdoor open with a burst of determination. I was going to solve this weird, deranged mystery, and no creepy teenage kid living under the Fox was going to stop me.

I dropped into the crack-torch room.

And came face to face with him again.

I flinched, but when he reached out to steady me, I realized that I had found the kind boy, not the angry, cold one. I breathed a sigh of relief. "Where were you?" I demanded, staring at him. He was looking at me in shock. "I just met him, and he said you weren't here – he said some really insane stuff―"

The words died in my mouth.

The boy's eyes had widened when he heard that I had met 'him'. He gripped my shoulders, surprised and horrified, and leaned towards me ever so slightly. It was enough. The light of the nearest crack-torch illuminated his face, both sides of it, leaving no shadows to fool my eyes.

Right there, on the side of his cheek, was a yellowish bruise.

It was round. It had a faint zig-zag pattern to it. It was fresh and obviously painful.

I stared at it and tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. They still lay on my tongue, refusing to budge, and I gave up all hope of speech altogether. There were no words that could describe how shocked I was.

The bruise was in the shape of the toe of my shoe.

The pattern was the same as the zig-zags on the sole.

I had kicked the angry, cold boy not an hour ago.

And now the nice boy had the same bruise.

They weren't twins.

The wooden block was still there. I leaped on it, made a wild jump for the trapdoor, pulled myself out, and slammed it shut behind me. I was gone in an instant. I could hear my foosteps echo through the deserted hallway, and I ran faster, trying to escape them. My mind was shooting along the hallway at speeds faster than I could ever outrun.

They weren't twins.

I burst back out into the lobby and tried to stop my heart from racing. I walked up to the entrance and stood a few feet away from my parents. Jill joined us a moment later and we went outside, starting the long walk towards the car. I don't remember the walk. I was racing through thought after thought, a mile a minute, and not even a meteor striking the ground an inch away from my face would have brought me out of the state of shock I was in.

They weren't twins.

They were the same person.