Raoul accosted her the moment she walked in.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, somewhat frantically. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for hours!"

She looked at him and stared, clutching a paper bag in her hands. She was still very shaken up.

"I—I just…went for a walk," she whispered. She held up the bag. "I got dinner, too."

"What?" He looked angry and upset. "Why didn't you answer my calls? Christine! I was so worried!"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry."

He sighed heavily and rubbed his face, then leaned over and pulled her into a crushing hug, resting his chin on her head.

"Please don't do that again," he said. "You have no idea how worried I was. I was about to call the police. Answer my calls—or text me…or leave a note or something…"

"I'm sorry," she repeated into his chest. The bag crinkled against him, and he pulled away at last. He forced himself to smile and then kissed her lightly.

"You sure you're okay? You're a little white."

She nodded. "I'm fine. Can we…eat now? I'm hungry."

In truth, her stomach was twisting, but she didn't want him to ask her anymore questions. They ate at the table quietly. She chewed her sandwich mechanically, not paying attention to the taste or texture. The food was just a cover-up. The night's events had truly startled her.

She had followed the old man's advice and had gone to the bar on Chesterfield Avenue. It was horrible and dirty-looking, and loud music and raucous laughter was booming out of the windows and door. She had dressed as conservatively as possible, not wanting to attract any attention at all. Luckily, there wasn't anyone at the door scanning for I.D. The bar looked like its patrons wouldn't have cared anyway if she was underage and would have served her regardless.

Taking a steeling breath and thinking of her father, she walked inside, instantly overwhelmed. It smelled like dirt and cheap cologne and smoke and alcohol with an overpowering scent of body odor. She covered her nose for a minute, grimacing. People were everywhere, drinking in the booths, playing pool at the green-covered tables, dancing…suggestively to the awful heavy metal music. It grated on her ears. This was not a place she would ever feel comfortable in.

Skirting around the large crowds, she scurried over to the bar and sat on a stool in the corner, pressing her hands over her eyes and taking a few deep, calming breaths. The worst that could happen here was no one would know where to find the Phantom—that was it. She repeated that to herself a few times.

"You gonna order something or what?"

She looked up. The bartender was scowling at her a little, his broad belly nearly touching the counter.

"Oh, hi," she said breathlessly. Then she felt stupid and cleared her throat. "Uh…actually, can I just have some ice water?"

"What?" he shouted. He hadn't heard her over the music and talk.

"Water!" she hollered back. His expression darkened instantly.

"You think you're funny or something?" he growled.

"No—no!" She pushed her curls away from her face nervously. "I'm just…thirsty right now. I'll order something else later. Please?"

He glared at her for a few more moments, as if trying to decipher her true intentions.

"Get her her water, Ed," said a voice next to her, and Christine looked, startled to see that a man had slipped into the seat next to her.

The bartender rolled his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh, his belly sticking out and then deflating. Then he turned away, grabbed a smudged glass, filled it up with tap water from the filthy sink, and shoved it at her.

"Thank you," Christine said, clutching it tightly.

He rolled his eyes again and shuffled off.

"Thank you," Christine repeated to the man next to her. He grinned at her. His teeth were stained, probably from years of smoking, chewing, and drinking.

"No problem," he said, and he leaned closer to her. "Name's Joe."

"Christine," she said automatically—and then mentally berated herself. She should have made up a name.

"I've never seen you here before," he said. "You here meeting someone?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

"Oh, good." He was a broad man. His red plaid shirt stretched tightly over his wide shoulders. It was unbuttoned a little, and she could see dark hair on his chest. His hair was cropped close, and he had dark stubble on his face. His hands were huge and hairy, and his eyes were dark. His overall appearance reminded her of a lumberjack.

"Yeah," she said, unsure of what else to say, and she took a sip of water. She choked a little at the taste, and the man—Joe—laughed at her.

"Yep, the beer here is better than that horse swill," he said. "Let me buy you a drink, Christine."

A woman near her shrieked with laughter, her voice shrill and piercing, and a headache began to throb in Christine's brain. The metal music was nearly hurting her, and the shouting that was required to be heard wasn't helping anything. She just wanted to get out and run back to the safety of Raoul's apartment. It was quiet there.

"Actually, I'm looking for someone," she shouted.

"Oh." His face crumpled in angry disappointment, and he looked like he was getting ready to leave, but she reached out and grabbed his flannel sleeve.

"Wait—I just—I was wondering if you could help me find him." She wondered if she was going to be laughed at when she asked him. Raoul had laughed at her—maybe the people she needed to talk to weren't here that night.

He pulled his arm away, but he stayed. "Sure," he said grudgingly. "Who you looking for?"

"Uh…" She trailed off and looked around, as if the Phantom would be there. Then she leaned closer to Joe, not wanting to be overheard. "Someone told me to come here to ask about…um…the Phantom…"

Instead of laughing, Joe's untamed, bushy eyebrows pulled up and then down. "The Phantom? Girly, do you even know what you're talking about?"

"Yes…" she said hesitatingly. "I need—I need to talk to him. And someone told me to come here…"

"Look," he said shortly. "You seem like a nice girl. You don't know what you're saying. You don't want to talk to the Phantom."

"Yes, I need to!" she said urgently. "Please—please, I need to. He's my only hope." It came out sounding rather melodramatic, but it felt true to her. Raoul had told her yesterday that the police had no new leads. Christine knew that if his disappearance went on too long, he might be declared dead, and the search would end. That could not happen.

"What are you talking about?" Joe snapped. "You want someone killed? Who? Some boyfriend of yours?"

"No!" she said. "I just need him to find someone for me—someone who went missing."

Joe looked at her up and down, his eyebrows still furrowed in doubt. They nearly met, making him look even duller—almost like a caveman lumberjack.

"Please," she tried again, giving up. "It's my father. Please, please help me. He was taken nearly ten days ago. I need him found. He's my entire world. He's all that I have. He's my only family left. Please."

Joe raised his hands in surrender. "All right, just don't start crying all over me," he said gruffly. "I get it. But missy, if you're looking for the Phantom, then you really are desperate. Maybe it would be better if you called the cops and got them to sort all of it out…"

"No, they haven't done anything!" she said. "The longer he goes missing…I'm just afraid that…" She couldn't finish the sentence.

Joe rubbed his cropped hair in agitation. "Okay," he said shortly. "Okay, girly. I'm going to do this for you, but don't go blaming me when the Phantom screws you over, all right? I gave you fair warning."

Christine nodded instantly, feeling more hope burst in her heart. She was another step closer.

"Stay here," Joe commanded shortly, and he heaved himself up and pushed through the crowds. Christine awkwardly sat there, staring at the scratched, dirty bar top. A few people had carved their initials into the old wood. A.S. H.G. B.P. She briefly wondered who they were, why they were at this awful place taking the time to cut into the wood beneath them.

Something buzzed in her pocket, and she realized it was her cell phone. She pulled it out and looked at the screen. Raoul. He was calling her. She ignored it and then saw that he had called her four other times. He had also texted her several times, asking where she was.

I'm getting really worried, Christine. Call me back ASAP.

She bit her lip, and she was just about to text him back and say she was out for a walk when Joe returned. Quickly, she pushed the phone back into her pocket and watched. He had another man in tow. The new man sat down by her, and Joe stood next to him. They had formed a semi-circle around her, as if they had trapped her in this dark corner.

"So," the new man said. He had a long cigarette between his fingers, and he took a drag. "Joe says you're looking for someone."

Christine nodded, watching him. He seemed to be the polar opposite of Joe—with long, greasy hair tied back at the base of his neck, a clean-shaven face, a tall, lean frame…He was dressed in casual jeans and a horribly-matched jean jacket.

He blew the smoke at her, and she resisted gagging.

The man smiled widely, like some lecherous snake, and he said, "You look like a nice girl, so I'm gonna help you out. The Phantom's got some business with a couple…buddies of mine. He'll be there to talk to them in a few days."

"Where?" she said, her heart beating in her throat.

"Just a few streets away from here. Jackson Street. It's arranged for him to come on Tuesday night."

"What time?"

The man shrugged, taking another drag and expelling the smoke through his nostrils, clearly relishing the taste of the cigarette. "He never arranges real times. He just shows up, 'cause he's some freakish ghost. I swear, that thing is not human. I saw him once—with my own eyes, I swear it. There's a reason people pay him to do the stuff they won't. He'll do it, and he doesn't even care. He'll never get caught, either. He's a freak—he comes straight from Hell, let me tell you."

Christine shivered a little, and the man grinned again when he saw.

"You're right to be scared," he said. "You sure you still up for this?"

"I…have to do it," she said weakly, convincing herself as well. "I have to."

"All right, whatever, it's your funeral," he said. Joe nodded at his side. "Just make sure to bring loads of cash to get him interested. Or…any other way you can." He looked her up and down suggestively, and Christine blushed brightly.

Then he smirked at her blush, stood, stretched, and said, "Have fun tonight, you two." Joe clapped him on the shoulder and muttered, "Thanks, man," before sitting back down by Christine.

Christine's heart was racing with a mixture of emotions—hope, joy, terror, dismay…She didn't know what to feel.

"So, got everything you needed to know?" Joe said. His knee was pushing against her thigh. She inched away from him.

She nodded. "Yeah, thank you so much. I…I have to go now."

"What?" His expression darkened. "You just got here! And I told you what you wanted to know…Don't I deserve a little thanks? Come on, babe. I have a car out back…" To her horror, he reached out and slid one of his heavy hands between her legs. She flinched away. His face only grew more upset.

"Stop being such a prude," he snapped. "You come here, and I get you your stupid water and get someone to tell you what you wanna know—and what you wanted to know was pretty secret, right? But I helped you! It's the least you can do." He shoved his hand back down to her inner thigh and pushed his fingers upward.

"Don't touch me!" Christine gasped, literally shoving him away. She stumbled off the barstool, nearly tripping, and she pushed past people, blinded by tears. People shouted after her, but she ignored their words, reaching the door and bursting out into the cold night air. She broke into a run, not even glancing behind her. She needed to get away—as far away from that place as she could.

When she was several blocks away, she caught a bus and rode it back near Raoul's apartment, trying to control herself. She couldn't let him know what had happened, ever. The bus ride managed to calm her down somewhat. The creaking and swaying and smelly heaters were familiar, and she leaned against the window and stared at the passing streets, forcing her breathing to slow and her heart rate to become calm again. She had looked behind when climbing on the bus. No one had followed her. Apparently Joe didn't think she was worth chasing. That was a relief.

Before going back to Raoul's apartment, she bought some sandwiches at a nearby deli to cover for her absence. The entire night had been full of too many emotions, and she was exhausted.

Together, they watched a movie, and it helped her unwind. She lay on his chest, feeling his heartbeat and smelling him. The cold night air had helped blow away the smell of smoke and alcohol that had clung to her hair, and she had changed into pajamas after dinner, shoving her clothes out of sight.

Raoul was playing with her curls, pulling on them absentmindedly and stroking them. She relaxed into him, feeling comforted by his strong, warm body. He talked to her quietly about work, about the funny joke one of his coworkers told him, about the problems he had had to solve and how he had done it. It was all so very normal. It was crazy to think that only a few hours ago she had been listening to someone tell her about a Phantom…And she had believed him. She had to. She knew that she was going to be at the right street on the right night. She had to take the chance.

She tried not to think of this spectral over the next few days. She did not know anything about this man. She did not know if the Phantom had ever simply found someone before. Apparently the people he was required to find were all people he was also required to kill. But if she told him that she did not, under any circumstances, want him to kill who he found, then surely that would be acceptable? It would be one less thing to do for the same price.

Another thing she did not know was the question of just how much she would be required to pay. She couldn't simply ask someone on the streets. She would just have to do her best and hope that would be enough. Her father hadn't saved up very much, as his paycheck had always been rather small and he had spent most of it on groceries and bills. She couldn't ask Raoul for money. And so she just had to withdraw everything from the bank account and pray that it would be sufficient. Her apartment still demanded rent, and she paid it reluctantly. If her father would indeed be found in a matter of days, then they would just return to the apartment, and so she couldn't simply move out.

Then there was Raoul. He was always worried about her, and she knew that he wouldn't let her just leave the apartment and not tell him where she was going. She was touched by his concern but also faintly annoyed at how she was always forced to work around him. He had taken to calling her during his lunch breaks as well, just to check up on her and make sure that she was "doing okay." She always told him that she was fine, and he told her to call him if she ever needed anything.

Still, he was a very good man. She hated living off of his charity and pity. He bought all the groceries and paid all the bills. She burned with shame whenever he made her meals or bought her necessities like soaps and shampoos. She told herself that it was only for a few more days. Once her father was found, it would stop, and she would find a job, and she and her father would have enough to get by once again.

The plan to leave had been done sloppily. It wasn't a good lie—but she couldn't think of any other way. At dinner the day before, she said nervously,

"Guess what?"

"What?" he said, looking up from his pasta.

"One of my friends from high school called me this morning. She's going to be in town tomorrow for a convention, and she wants to have dinner with me."

"Really? What convention? I didn't know anything was going on."

"Oh—oh. I don't know. I didn't ask." She was furiously fighting a telling blush. "It's for her company. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know…Yeah. I'm going to dinner with her, and then we'll probably see a movie or something. So I'll be back…late."

"That sounds fun," he said easily. "I didn't know you were still in touch with any of your friends from high school."

"Yeah," she said evasively. "We were good friends, but she moved…away to go to school." She tried to tease to get herself to relax. "I haven't been out of high school that long, Raoul. Only a few years…I think you like to make me seem older than I really am."

He grinned at her and said jokingly, "Anything to help me sleep at night. I'm an old man, you know, and all my friends are jealous of my hot young girlfriend…"

She threw her napkin at him. "Gross. Five years isn't that much."

Thankfully, the lie was accepted, and Christine somehow felt relieved yet anxious. Apparently Raoul did not sense anything was amiss, because he was his usual wonderful self. He helped her clean up the mess from their meal and talked to her about a fancy new restaurant that was opening and how they needed to go sometime soon. To her amusement and faint embarrassment, he spent the rest of the evening making joking comments about how young she was and how he was a cradle-robber.

She had had some reservations about their age difference when they had started dating. He was her first boyfriend, and that was strange enough, but the five-year difference was also a bit challenging for her. It was strange to her to think that the handsome young sixteen year-old she had first seen when she was eleven was romantically interested in her. However, Raoul had quickly proven to be the most wonderful of men. He was never intentionally condescending—he had never used his age against her, and he had never used her age against her. So far, the only time it had ever gotten them into a bit of hot water was during that awful party with the old senior associate. Even Gustave had been surprisingly-accepting of her relationship with Raoul. She had been sure that he would take issue with their gap in age, but once he had been introduced to Raoul, Gustave had been adamant that Raoul was the perfect man for her.

As the night progressed, Raoul's good humor and comments helped her keep her mind off of what would be required of her in a matter of days, yet when she went to sleep, her dreams were full of shadowy figures and her father's violin music.