That Friday, to her shock and amazement, Starling found herself dressing to go see The Phantom Of The Opera. A musical she had never imagined Dr. Lecter to be seen at, let alone herself.

And yet, as she zipped up her black, tea length dress, she knew she couldn't back out now. She knew that even if she might want to turn back, she found herself eerily pulled forward. She would never admit it to herself, but deep in the back of her mind she wanted to go. She was excited to see what lay in store for her. But again, she would never admit this to herself.

After quickly checking herself in the mirror (Starling never used a mirror) she threw her hair up in an easy, yet elegant, bun. Around her neck she hung a string of pearls, the earrings that matched already dangling from her ears. Now she felt as though she had done enough. Dressing up had never really been her cup of tea. Dr. Lecter was lucky enough to have gotten this much out of her in the primping department.

She reached behind her door and grabbed her purse. As she was about to sling it around her arm, she had an interesting thought. She stared down at her purse and noticed that it was a brown color, one that certainly clashed with her dress. On any other occasion, she wouldn't care about using her trusty hunky, mismatched purse. But tonight, as she thought about who would be there, she had a change of heart. After all, what was it Dr. Lecter had called her so many years before? A rube with a little taste. Hmm. Was she so driven by a memory and a man that she would change her appearance simply for his sake? It seemed so as she rummaged through her cluttered drawers in order to find a small black clutch that matched her dress.

After transferring the few things she would need for this evening into her clutch, she thought about her switch for a moment, wondering when exactly in time she had cared what a serial killer thought about her appearance. But before she could answer her own question, she dismissed it and didn't return to her thoughts.

She glanced at the clock, saw she had only thirty minutes to make a twenty five minute drive, and ran out the door, barely remembering to snatch her ticket off the table and lock her front door.

Twenty six minutes later she was parking in the large parking lot of a supermarket across the street from the theater. She complained about the theater's parking lot already being filled, but she knew it was no one's fault but her own for arriving so late.

So, grumbling and cursing herself, she arrived at the door to the theater. She handed her ticket to the man at the front, who, after looking her over skeptically, (possibly for being so late, or without an escort) waved her through.

Inside the lights were already dimming, and conversation died down to a hush across the room. Clarice fumbled along, searching for her seat. She found it in the fifth row from the front. Quite a fantastic seat, actually. She was not to close that she had to crane her neck to see the performance, and not to far away that she had to squint to see. She had to admit, other than his choice of tonight's entertainment, Dr. Lecter still retained his impeccable tastes.

As the performance started, she looked around the theater in an attempt to locate the doctor, but her attempts were in vain. He must be very well blended into the crowd, or perhaps he was occupying one of the boxes high above her. She thought the latter was more likely, seeing as it gave him a good view of her, but she could not see him. She didn't think he was looking at her at the moment, though, because she would have been able to feel his evil eye washing over her.

Her head snapped to the stage and away from her searching at the sound of the horrible screeching of Carlotta, the vain Prima Donna of the musical. Starling had read the book, had seen the new reproduction of the movie, yet she still winced at the sound of the woman's required terrible singing. She smiled secretly when she imagined the same reaction from Dr. Lecter, but she soon was directed to the beautiful singing of the actress playing the young Christine Daae, the Phantom Erik's obsession.

And so, in the dark of the theater, Clarice Starling watched the events of musical unfold. It almost scared her how eerily similar some of the events of the play sounded to her. She watched and felt a stab of pain as Christine Daae mourned for her father, knowing how the character must feel. The scene made her miss her father for a few beats. Then she wondered if that was how she seemed from an outside viewpoint. She wondered if Dr. Lecter thought of her as a young Christine. But if she was Christine, who was the obsessed Phantom that killed on a whim?

As she watched she slowly began to unravel more similarities. The Phantom was much older than Christine. Much like herself and Dr. Lecter. Christine was an orphan. So was Starling. Both Dr. Lecter and the Phantom coached the younger women, helping them along and push their limits. Starling didn't like this. She didn't like all the similarities she was finding. Now, she could deny a few of them as vehemently as she could, but when the songs ran through her head, she couldn't help but be convinced.

Sing once again for me our strange duet. My power over you grows stronger yet. And though you turn from me, to glance behind the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind….

Starling pushed herself back in her chair and tried to watch the musical as the people around her did, but she couldn't. Everything about the performance seemed strangely real to her. Was this why Dr. Lecter had her come? It certainly seemed like him. The power the Phantom had over Christine was one she had felt pull at herself many times before, down in the dungeon, Dr. Chilton secretly taping each session…

Christine was alone on the stage, singing her heart out about wanting her father back. Starling wished she could do that. She wished that it was her on stage, imploring her father to come home. Yet another secret hidden hint.

Starling surprised herself that she was able to sit through the entire thing. She had sat through the sword fights, the stage deaths, the romance between Raul and Christine, and the dark attraction of the Phantom and Christine. Yet the worst part was still to come. Slowly the curtain was rising for one of the last scenes, and the song she had been dreading.

You have come here
in pursuit of
your deepest urge,
in pursuit of
that wish,
which till now
has been silent,
silent . . .

I have brought you,
that our passions
may fuse and merge -
in your mind
you've already
succumbed to me
dropped all defenses
completely succumbed to me -
now you are here with me:
no second thoughts,
you've decided,
decided . . .

Starling glanced around the theater, searching desperately for the one who had brought her here. It frightened her. These words, this song so coincided with her deepest secret thoughts that she could hardly take it. She was a strong individual. She hated to be demeaned by anyone, proven wrong by anyone. Even herself.

The Phantom's words rang so true, so dangerously true. She took a breath, once again tried to put herself in the place of another and enjoy the song, but it was too hard at this point. Too hard as the dark, deadly dance of Good and Evil took place on stage. The seduction of Danger and Innocence, something so near to her heart that she was blinded to the meaning hidden in the words. Blinded, or overlooked by choice?

Past the point
of no return -
no backward glances:
the games we've played
till now are at
an end . . .
Past all thought
of "if" or "when" -
no use resisting:
abandon thought,
and let the dream
descend . . .

What raging fire
shall flood the soul?
What rich desire
unlocks its door?
What sweet seduction
lies before
us . . .?

Past the point
of no return,
the final threshold -
what warm,
unspoken secrets
will we learn?
Beyond the point
of no return . . .

The Phantom's verse ran through her head over and over. Along with the words were memories of her chase games with Dr. Lecter. The dangers of even being here made known to her, yet she did not think of the dangers. The Phantom's questions in his song sounded for a moment as though they had come from Dr. Lecter's mouth itself.

She shook her head to clear it and prepared for Christine's reply.

You have brought me
to that moment
where words run dry,
to that moment
where speech
disappears
into silence,
silence . . .

I have come here,
hardly knowing
the reason why . . .
In my mind,
I've already
imagined our
bodies entwining
defenseless and silent -
and now I am
here with you:
no second thoughts,

No second thoughts, that was right. So defenseless in the darkness of this space, unable to move, to fight. Starling didn't know the reason she had come. She had come only because…because…why? She couldn't remember now.

I've decided,
decided . . .

Decided…Decided what? What secret door had she opened by coming here? What Pandora's box had she unknowingly unlocked upon herself?

Past the point
of no return -
no going back now:
our passion-play
has now, at last,
begun . . .
Past all thought
of right or wrong -
one final question:
how long should we
two wait, before
we're one . . .?

When will the blood
begin to race
the sleeping bud
burst into bloom?
When will the flames,
at last, consume
us . . .?

The flames….the flames so dangerously close. Once again she turned her head to look for him, not finding him, and resigning herself to watch the stage again. Right and wrong…the lines were so horribly distorted now. She nearly found herself wincing when the Phantom and Christine snag together the final verse of that retched, frighteningly familiar song.

Past the point
of no return
the final threshold -
the bridge
is crossed, so stand
and watch it burn . . .
We've passed the point
of no return . . .

Unconsciously Starling looked back, making sure the exit was still in place. Making sure her way back was not barred. And yet, even though the door was still open, she could not help but feel a much larger door slamming in the back of her mind. A door that could never be opened again. She had passed the point of no return.

And then, like that, the play was over. People around her stood up and clapped at the actors' performances as they took a bow. The spell over her broken, Starling stood and clapped with them, smiling, not quite sure why.

As the clapping thundered around her, Starling felt a cold shiver roll up her spine. She turned quickly and caught a familiar silhouette tipping his hat in her direction. Time and sound seemed to stop around her as she watched the figure turn and vanish from the box above her.

A split second for her mind to react, and she was pushing past the slow stream of people exiting the room. In her haste and disorientation she nearly shouted, "Out of the way, F.B.I!"

She was out of the door, running up the stairs to the boxes. She looked in them all, frantically searching. Searching…

In the last box, the one she should have found him in, was an empty chair, a half empty glass of a fine red wine, and a single rose on the red and gold satin chair.

She heaved a sigh of frustration before seizing the rose from the chair. Beneath it she found a single not, white as her pearls and written with blood red ink.

Tsk, tsk. And you were so close, Clarice. Have we passed the point of no return?

H.