Journal,

I am remembering more, making more connections. His name is Erik. I think I have a better chance than I originally thought.

I see that I am not making sense. I will start from the beginning.

After I finished writing last, I went back into the bathroom to wash up. It was full of everything I a woman could possibly want in a washroom--bath salts, oils, perfumed soaps--all new and clearly expensive.

The closet was found in a similar state. Dresses of the finest quality, in every conceivable color, with matching shoes, accessories and (dare I say it?) undergarments lined the closet walls. Even the most humble of these dresses put my Sunday best to shame. Everything fit me perfectly.

Actually, I had to wonder what he could have forgotten that he would have to leave me to go shopping.

As I cleaned up, I was able to clear my head a little more and reflect.

Christine sunk further down into the fragrant bath water. She knew she shouldn't be able to relax so much in this strange place and dangerous situation, but she was confident in the four locks on the door. Actually, she had to admit that she felt safer here locked in the bathroom than anywhere else she could be. She had decided that this was the one place He could not reach her.

Who was 'He' anyway?

She went over the past series of events mentally as she had just done on paper, still trying to connect her fragmented memories and draw some sort of helpful conclusion.

Why hadn't The Voice rescued her?

That thought worried her more than anything else. Her teacher always knew what was going on with his student. It seemed that nothing could escape him. If she didn't know better, she might have truly begun to think of him as an angel… or a ghost. But he couldn't be totally incorporeal if he had killed Joseph Buquet, right?

Maybe the Opera Ghost has taken me!

She meant the thought as a joke at first, but then her mind started to fire off signals and build bridges, linking her thoughts. Everything became suddenly and frighteningly clear.

Who else is like a ghost?

The Voice and the Opera Ghost--are they the same?

He loves me, he always hears me, he would have rescued me…

Unless…

The Voice, the Opera Ghost, and my kidnapper--they are the same!

I realized just who my captor is. Angel of Music, indeed! I am very put out by all of this.

She groaned and covered her face. How could I have been so stupid? Why couldn't I see it? Christine had never been particularly slow in making observations. Actually quite the contrary, as the observation of others was one of her most developed defense technique.

For some reason, though, this seemingly obvious connection had not even crossed her mind before now.

I have got to get more sleep! She thought, bitterly.

However, as irritated as I am, I am not so blind as not to see what a fortunate position this puts me in.

After this difficult realization, the rest of the puzzle pieces fell into place. She began to remember the intimidating figure who had crouched humbly before her feet when she first arrived. She also had a vague recollection that it was this same figure who had cared for her in her illness.

He has brought me here.

I do not believe I am in any immediate danger.

He has taken the time to prepare this place--the clothes, the perfume, everything was meant for me.

It looks as if he intends to keep me here for some time.

He cared for me when I was ill.

He says he loves me.

Christine smiled to herself when she thought about what this meant for her.

I have more control here than one might think. He needs something from me. As long as I have something he needs, I might have some power over him.

The trick is--how do I manipulate this power to make him let me go?

She stepped out of the bath, feeling greatly refreshed, and began to dry off.

At first, she had merely wanted to make herself decent. However, with this newfound strength, she decided on a change of course. She took her time selecting a dress. When he returned, Christine wanted to look stunning.

As she prepared herself for her captor's return, she gave herself a mental pep-talk, steeling her emotions for whatever was going to happen next.

She had no doubt that he would soon come looking for her, though she did wonder how he would get in if there was no door.

Everything about him was unusual, she remembered that much, and so she realized that she had to make a conscious choice not to be surprised by the unexpected. Christine decided, no matter what, she would not let herself appear flustered.

Christine had practiced masking her emotions for years and today would be no different. She was determined not to show anything but cool indifference and control.

It is only a matter of time until I learn that trick.

As she went to set down the mirror, she squealed and jumped, finding a little white mouse wandering across the dresser. Her shriek seemed to have little effect on the rodent as it curiously poked about her hair clips and pins.

"Well, that was unexpected," she said to herself after the initial shock wore off.

"Hello, little one, you gave me quite a shock there." She noticed that this mouse was nothing like the normal wild mice that roamed the rest of the empty building. This one was pure white with bright pink eyes and a kink about halfway down its tail.

"You don't look like you belong here. Do you have a home? Don't be afraid, little mouse, I'm not going to hurt you," She set her hand quietly on the dresser and let the mouse sniff her, then she scooped it up and held it gently in the palm of her hand. "You see, I knew you wouldn't bite me. Are you hungry? Let's see if I can find some crumbs for you. I wonder where you came from…"

"You don't really expect him to answer, do you?" a deep voice laced with a hint of amusement came from behind her. She took a deep breath, reminding herself of her resolve before she turned. It's time. You can do this. Breathe. Good. Now turn around.

Only a matter of time before I discover the right way to touch him to make him do what I want.

She saw a dark figure standing in the frame of a door she had not noticed before. Why didn't I see that door…

As if he knew her thoughts, he answered, "You did not see the door because I did not wish for you to see it. You see, I am the worlds greatest magician! I can make anything disappear."

The tone in which he said those words alarmed Christine and she tensed instantly. He must have noticed her unease because, before she could respond, he abruptly changed the subject.

"I thought women were afraid of mice?"

And it would appear that I have all the time in the world.

Is he going to play this game again? Ignore the obvious? Pretend that there is nothing out of place about kidnapping a woman he's been stalking for months?

What does he think I'm going to do? Does he expect me to scream and attack him? Does he expect me to cry? She remembered their last encounter and the futility of her screams and tears as well as the almost comical quelling of her furious attack.

Nope. None of that this time! She smirked inwardly, feeling the same familiar sense of power wash over her that she felt when she broke up the fight between the sailors. I have missed this. After feeling so helpless for so many months, she closed her eyes and welcomed this renewed strength like an old friend.

I will play along for now, but sooner or later I am going to get some answers.

"Most are…" she sighed, "I suppose I should be. I guess I just never had any reason to be. Spiders are one thing--as a child I got a nasty spider bite that made me very sick. But… mice… well, they've never done anything to me… so I don't really have a good reason to hate them, I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt."

He cocked an unseen eyebrow at this.

"Especially this little guy," she continued, turning her attention to the white mouse still in her hand, "I can tell he his not your typical cellar mouse, and he looks clean enough… so I'm relatively certain he's not carrying some disease…"

"Looks can be deceiving, my dear. But, yes, he's quite safe." She is so trusting, how can I be doing this? But, how can I not? No, there is no other way. I should let her go… I can't… I can't do it… I need her…

"Where did you get him?"

"He escaped… he escaped and I found him… his tail was broken… but I saved him…"

"Escaped from where?"

"I do not wish to speak of these things,"

"Does he have a name?"

"No… he never needed one… you could say he is one of a kind"

"Do you have a name?"

He paused. What do I tell her? You could say I am also one of a kind! He inwardly laughed at his own joke. Angel of Music? No, I am no angel, and she wouldn't believe me anyway… Angel of Doom? Living Corpse? No, that would frighten her… Opera Ghost? HA, absolutely not… I had a name once… what was it? It's been so long… if I could only remember… my mother knew--poor unhappy woman that she was. What was it she always used to say to me? "Erik, don't you ever take your mask off in my presence again!" Erik! Yes, that is it… I remember… I wish I could forget... but for Christine I will remember...

"Erik… my name is Erik"

And so, Erik, let the games begin!

-Christine