Author's Note: Thanks to steelelf (double thanks), Rose of Night, jtbwriter, Busanda (double thanks), CarolROI (double thanks), scarletghost13, jeevesandwooster (double thanks), spectralprincess (double thanks), montaquecat (doublethanks) and mikabronxgirl (yes, I did get the PM and I'm counting it as a review) for their latest reviews.

Once again, apologies for the delay (I seem to be apologising a lot lately (and using a lot of brackets!)). I know I said I'd try and get back to daily updates, but I managed to land myself with more craziness. Hopefully we're in the cleaer now. Thanks again for bearing with me, and enjoy! Nedjmet.

Disclaimer: The characters and plotline of the Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Nor do I own any of the songs or music used or referred to within this story. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.

Chapter 54

When Luciana had told her daughter about the first performance, she had tried to illustrate out all the flaws and make Carlotta feel superior to her rival, seeing as the girl had gotten away with far too many insults against the Guidacelli name. But Carlotta knew her mother, and could see that she had been impressed. The two women had exulted together over the errors that had been listed, but the elder felt somewhat empty as she laughed and the younger was seething in a fresh earnest. Her own mother had favoured the little upstart!

She had sent one of her friends from another school to get a ticket for her for the last performance, and after pulling a few strings, had made sure there was one waiting at the box office. Obviously, she couldn't go herself, seeing as everyone knew her and the ensuing gossip would only add insult to the terrible injury she already bore because of that thieving little tramp. When she saw her rival on stage performing the lovers' duet with her Ubaldo, receiving the praise and admiration that was rightfully hers, she had stormed out of the place, boiling with rage. Her cheeks were flushed to the point of matching her hair and in spite of her rather public location; she was just about ready to unleash her fury by screaming at the injustice of it all.

Until Joe Buquet had sidled up to her.

The disgusting little man had been giving her greetings and the occasional wink ever since their Halloween jaunt, acknowledging the little conspiracy they had been a part of. Were it not for the many pieces of information he'd fed her in her quest to belittle Miss Daaë, he would have been annoying. As it was, he just tended to be somewhat tiresome.

"Should've been you up there. A slip of a girl like that ain't never gonna know how to handle a stage."

"I don't need to be reminded of that, Mr. Buquet." Carlotta answered disdainfully.

"I bet I can think of something you do need reminding of." He grinned. She looked at him, seriously doubting he could think at all.

"Really?"

"How's about which house little Miss Priss lives in. All alone, mind, seeing as no one else'd live in the Ghost's house. At least, no one else'd be allowed to live there." He replied, his voice heavily laden with meaning.

"Mr. Buquet-"

"Joe."

"Mr. Buquet, I believe we had a similar conversation to this last year, and I distinctly remember the outcome. What makes you think I'm going to bother with your stupid little ghost hunts now?"

"Only the fact that it's expected at Halloween. Now, though . . ." She turned to him, her interest captured once more.

"Now, though, no one will be expecting it and the house won't be empty." She answered, grinning maliciously, savouring the opportunity to get back at her rival. Joe matched her grin, savouring the opportunity to get back at the Ghost. That thing had been pulling the strings for too long and the grief he'd received for that stunt at the dress rehearsal was just begging for some retribution.

So it was they found themselves drawing near to the gothic house once more, accompanied with a few stage hands who were not quite so drunk as last time. Like last time, Joe clumsily managed to pick the lock, but unlike last time, they made their way inside quietly, and seeing as there was only about half a dozen, they managed to keep together.

After quietly searching around the ground floor for a while and finding nothing and no-one, Carlotta took control and led the group up the stairs to the first floor. Being somewhat more sober, they tried each door, looking to see what was in them and finding very little. Except for one door that refused to open. Carlotta and Joe grinned to each other triumphantly. All the others had been open. Why would there be a closed door in the ghost's house? What, or who, was hidden behind it? Joe set to work on what he assumed to be the lock, much as he had with the front door. The group were all focussed intently on his work, waiting with bated breath for the click that would unlock one of the ghost's mysteries.

At least until one of the stage hands looked around to see a shadow disappearing down the stairs.

She had climbed the stairs in a daze. Whilst she made those trips to the cemetery out of love, she always dreaded them, knowing how hard they would be. Actually, hard didn't come close to covering it. But this visit . . .

Her angel had been a tower of strength, allowing her to complete her little ritual without interference, yet always there. His presence had given her the support she needed and the knowledge that she wasn't alone had provided some comfort for the pain. As ever, he had been all that she needed and more. Smiling, she thought once again that he really was her angel. And being a man made him all the more wonderful.

She hadn't bothered checking the curtains and locks when she came in – not that she'd have been able to think of that, her head was so far up in the clouds – seeing as she'd locked them all before she left and had only needed one to get back in. Instead, she had simply gotten ready for bed, anticipating yet another glorious night of sleep thanks to her angel's magic.

Until she heard someone moving around downstairs.

Fleetingly, she thought it might be her angel, but then realised he would never make so much noise. Almost on a reflex, she reached for a jacket, having just taken off her make-up. Fastening it, she pulled on a pair of slippers and quietly made her way out of her room and down the stairs. Having spent so much time in silence when she first moved in, she knew exactly which floorboards creaked and so remained stealthy as she crept around the corner that revealed the first floor to her.

She had to stifle a gasp of shock and a few choice words of insult when she saw who was in the house, trying to break into the room that had always been shut. Resisting the temptation to wait and see if they would be successful in getting in, she took the opportunity the distraction provided and slipped past them down the stairs.

About to make her way to the front door, she was stopped and turned at the sound of footsteps coming down after her. That was when her eyes fell on the dark passageway that led past the other side of the stairs to the back of the house. Disregarding being seen, she ran down the dark little corridor frantically checked that the door to her parents' shrine was still locked. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief as she found this to be the case. The relief was short lived as those footsteps began slowly, tauntingly making their way towards her.

"Come on out, Miss Daaë. Ain't nowhere for you to run. We just want to have a little chat." She could practically hear the leer written over Joe Buquet's face. It was well-known that he liked to spy on the ballet girls. That's why most of them kept their costumes on underneath their clothes to avoid changing too much whilst in the theatre. The thought of being alone in the house with him, his cohorts and Carlotta sent her into a panic. The thought of them finding the room devoted to her parents and doing anything to it turned the panic into a frenzy. She took hold of the dresser that was near the room and started shoving it, trying to conceal the door. It hardly budged, and she could not push harder without making noise that would attract more attention. Buquet's voice hadn't been strong enough for him to be looking in the right place for her, but she knew there wasn't much time.

Miraculously, the dresser suddenly began to slide easily into place. It was finally positioned when a torch beam fell on her.

"She's down her, Joe!" Someone called. She jumped out of the light as the boy's head was turned, hiding on the other side of the dresser. There was no way out! And they were coming. Her breathing grew rapid. She hadn't had a panic attack since her voice had come back, but one was definitely coming now. The torches lit up the crew making their way ever so slowly down the corridor, shining only a few feet in front of them. They were tormenting her. And it was working. They were about to light up the area near where she was stood when she felt a vise-like grip clamp around her waist and over her mouth, silencing the scream that immediately rose.

The mysterious force pulled her from behind, across the corridor and then she was swallowed by the darkness.

Her fear was complete.

(Ducks oncoming missiles) I know, I'm evil. I WILL post tomorrow. Promise. Until then, you'll just have to grin and bear it. (Grins) Nedjmet.