Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. I also don't own Otello--the opera by Guiseppe Verdi that the duet in this chapter comes from.

Dear Journal,

Is there a time when music is too much? When it becomes too real… too painful?

Something happened today that has made me very afraid. The Voice is no longer the gentle instructor he was yesterday.

"You are tired today, Christine." His voice rang with forced calm. Christine could tell he was tense, he had been frighteningly cold since she arrived.

At first, she found it amusing. What kind of angel gets cranky in the morning? But it only took a few moments for her to realize that this was very serious, indeed. He is not an angel. He is a man. A man who's power I can't estimate--I can't see him, but he can see me. Is his temper dangerous? She realized that, in all these months of practice, she had never truly seen him angry. Stern, frustrated… never angry. The thought made her apprehensive. Is this a calm before the storm?

"Maybe a little," she said noncommittally. She could not understand what had upset him and didn't want to unknowingly confess to something she didn't do.

"Out late, perhaps?" Still that eerie restraint.

"Not especially… Is there something wrong, Angel?"

"Do you remember what I told you when you agreed to train with me?"

"Yes, Angel, of course I do" Oh no, what is he getting at? Think… what did you do? What didn't you do?

"Then why, my dear, would you disobey me?" he spat, the words 'my dear' issued like a curse.

Christine went pale. She honestly had no idea what she had done. Just find out what he wants and use it. Come on, Christine, everybody wants something. You can do this! No… I can't…. how can I read someone I can't see? She began to panic.

"Do you wish for me to sing for you, Angel?" she offered, hoping it might buy her some time.

The Voice considered this a moment before answering, "Yes, my dear, only this time I shall sing with you."

He made me to sing with him--a song of violence and betrayal.

That suggestion startled her for just a moment. In her many lessons with the Voice, he had very seldom offered to sing for her and never tried to sing with her. She shook off the odd though as she heard the accompaniment begin. She recognized this piece… a duet from Otello.

His voice, beautiful and terrible in one, began as Othello…

Did you say your prayers this evening?

As if by some uncontrollable force, Christine responded as Desdemona…

I prayed…

If you remember some sin that awaits Forgiveness from Heaven, implore it at once.

Why?

Make haste! I don't want to kill your soul.

You speak of killing?

Yes.

Have pity on me, God!

Amen.

And you, too, have pity.

Think of your sins.

My sin is love.

For that you die

You kill me because I love you?…

You love Cassio.

No! not on my soul!

You gave him that handkerchief I gave you.

That is not true

I saw it in his hand

I am not guilty

Confess!

I swear!

Beware of your perjury… think, you are on your deathbed.

Never before have I understood Desdemona's terror. Never before had I heard such unrestrained rage. I am beginning to realize what kind of man I am dealing with… and it terrifies me.

They finished their song and the room fell uncomfortably silent. Christine stood, trembling, cheeks flushed, lips parted, panting slightly. She is beautiful, thought the Voice, how can I blame this poor child that men desire her. NO! She must learn to be faithful to you. She must learn who she belongs to!

"Tell me about the man you were with last night, Christine," he said softly… dangerously.

He accused me. I cannot begin to comprehend all of what was going on in his mind. I have spent much of today trying to think of what man he was referring to.

"Angel?"

"The man, Christine, who was he?"

Last night Joseph, one of the scene shifters, asked me to dinner after rehearsal. I politely declined, but I did allow him to walk me home. He is nice enough, but we don't really have much in common. His claim to fame is that he, supposedly, has actually seen the Opera Ghost. I daresay it is all he talks about. Anyway, I am not one for ghost stories. Besides that, I think he drinks behind stage. I hadn't really given it another thought until He brought it up this morning.

"Enough games, Christine! What is his name?"

"J-J-Joseph. Joseph Buquet" she stammered… each minute this conversation continued she grew more uncomfortable.

"What were you thinking? Did I not tell you to put aside thoughts of young men? Did I not tell you that you must concentrate on your music? You must spend your time with me with music… not prostituting yourself out to any dirty swine to look your direction!" He was yelling now. Christine felt her face grow hot, her fear temporarily overshadowed by anger and embarrassment.

"I did no such thing!"

"I saw you walking with him!"

"Yes but that's… were you following me?"

"ENOUGH OF THIS!" he roared. Christine could feel the vibrations in the floor. "I WILL NOT BE DISOBEYED!"

Christine flinched. I am out of my league, here. What should I do. Give him what he wants. Keep the peace… buy time to think of a plan.

"Yes, Angel. I'm sorry. I didn't realize…" She folded her hands contritely and looked to the floor.

"Of course you didn't, child," his voice was suddenly gentle again, "You are too innocent for your own good. You must trust your Angel to do what is best for you."

Yea, I'm sure you have only my best interests at heart. "Yes, Angel."

"You must obey me, Christine. If you cannot do that, I shall have to leave and you will never hear me again. Is that what you want?"

Yes! Yes! Oh, goodness, yes! If only you would leave! I never meant for it to come to this! "No, Angel. That is not what I want. Please forgive me."

I am such a fool. How have I been so naïve? I thought the worst that would happen would be that he would leave me. That is what I wanted, isn't it? I am very confused. As odd as it sounds, I may have been becoming friends with this man. But that doesn't change the fact that I have underestimated who or what I am dealing with.

"Christine…" the voice murmured so softly she barely heard it, "Christine, you must love me."

Oh, God, what have I done? What have I gotten myself into? "Of course I do, Angel."

This seemed to please the Voice. He spoke again, back to his normal, controlled volume level.

"You are forgiven, my child." Then, suddenly excited, he continued, "I have a surprise for you, my dear."

"A surprise?" A surprise? What does that mean… somebody please help me.

"Yes, of course. You, my beauty, will be playing Marguerite at the performance this weekend."

"But Carlotta--"

"THAT WOMAN IS NOTHING COMPARED TO YOU!" Then, seeing Christine recoil, he immediately softened and added, "Christine, dear Christine… you will be perfect. There is nothing for you to worry about. Just concentrate on your music and I will take care of the rest."

What is that supposed to mean? What happened to Carlotta? I can't imagine she's just going to give up to role to me. "As you wish, Angel."

He says I will be playing Marguerite. That makes me nervous on many levels. How could I ever play a lead part? Am I good enough? What about Carlotta? Will she blame me? How is He going to arrange this?

Later that night, the shadow watched as Christine headed up the steps into her tiny flat… alone. He smiled gently. She is a good girl.

On the short walk home, he thought over the days events. I never should have doubted her. Such an innocent child. I know she never meant to disobey me. She loves me. She is just so naïve, I must protect her. She needs me.

He reached the opera house and began the dissent into the cellars… gracefully he maneuvered the corridors. Pull this rope here… drop down that trap door… through the tunnel… up another rope. It was so much like the elegant dance one might see on the stage of the same opera house… and he could do it all in the pitch blackness, almost without thinking… which was good because his mind was still turning over in murderous thoughts. It is not her fault… it is his. That filthy man that would aspire to put his hands on what is mine. Tomorrow I must deal with Carlotta. She will not upstage my angel on her big debut. But, not tonight. Tonight I must have a little chat with Joseph Buquet. All must know that Christine belongs to me.

Just then, as if someone had read his mind, he saw the very scene shifter he was looking for. There he is, trespassing where he doesn't belong. Oh, M. Buquet, don't you realize that these cellars are mine? The man had been drinking and had fallen asleep.

He smiled a terrifying smile and his yellow eyes blazed in the darkness. Fingering the thin rope hidden in his sleeve, he called out in a chillingly gentle voice, "Hello, M. Buquet… you are just the one I have been looking for. Wake up, please. We need to have a little talk about you keeping away from that which does not belong to you…"

I admit it. I am afraid. I am in this over my head. Never in my life have I felt so alone. Who can I turn to? I need help. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.

For now, I must try to sleep. There is nothing to be done tonight. Tonight I will rest, tomorrow I will think of a plan.

Lovingly,

Christine