"It was so amazing, Pappa!" Christine said excitedly, carefully rubbing cream onto his hands and arms. "It was—I'd never sung like that before. It was like I was singing with the angels! And I could tell that my teacher was pleased that I had found that in myself. I hadn't thought that I could do it. It seemed so hard. But I did it, and it was incredible!"

Gustave smiled at her, listening quietly. She had told him about her voice lessons, and he had been nothing but happy for her. Of course, she hadn't mentioned just who gave her lessons or the real reasonsshe had started taking them. She had told him the same story that she had told Raoul: that a professional had heard her singing in the parks, had approached her, and had offered lessons and a chance to audition at the Opera House. Gustave had not questioned her, though she suspected that was most likely because he was still too tired to do so. He merely nodded or softly prompted her with short questions.

"I'm happy for you, prinsessa," he said. "You deserve this."

"Thanks, Pappa," she said, smiling widely and continuing to rub his hand. The cream was thick, and she worked it into his skin. After feeling useless, she had asked the doctor if there was anything that she could do to help with his recovery. The doctor had given her a small jar of cream and told her that it would help against infection and scarring, as his arms and hands were covered with small, numerous cuts and scrapes.

He was looking a little better, and it was making her heart slowly swell with joy. He was still fatigued most of the time, but she knew that the sleep was helping him recover and was probably a respite from the pain. His foot was in a heavy cast, held up on a little hook that hung from the ceiling, and there were still numerous bandages covering him. However, his face had filled out just a little, and the dark shadows under his eyes weren't as prominent. He was able to speak to her for longer periods of time without having to pause so much to catch his breath, and she was even beginning to help him manage more solid foods. He was recovering—slowly but surely.

"Where is Raoul?" Gustave then asked, craning his head slowly to look around the room.

"Oh." Christine shrugged a little. "I don't know. Work, probably."

"It's seven o' clock," Gustave said. "He is usually here at this time, no?"

"Yeah," Christine said. "But maybe he couldn't come tonight. He's probably busy with something."

"You should call him and…find out," Gustave said, sounding as firm as he could with his hoarse, tired voice.

"Pappa, I don't want to bother him," Christine said embarrassedly.

"Call him," Gustave repeated, frowning just a little.

Christine watched him, completely confused, but she nevertheless pulled out her phone and dialed Raoul's number as Gustave said. She listened to it ring nervously. What if Raoul got annoyed at her? She was like a pestering little child, always demanding his attention. She didn't really want to call, but she didn't want to agitate her father and make him upset.

It rang four times, and she was just beginning to become hopeful that he wouldn't pick it up when she heard a soft click and Raoul's voice.

"Hey, Christine!"

"Hi," she said, looking at Gustave, who nodded fractionally in approval.

"What's up?"

He didn't sound annoyed—that was a good sign, wasn't it? Christine nervously tucked a few stray curls behind her ear and said, "Nothing…I was just—um, wondering where you…were. Are you still at work?"

"Nope," Raoul said easily. "I got off a couple hours ago."

"Oh." She felt her heart begin to sink slightly. She hadn't wanted to call because she didn't want to know if he was purposefully avoiding her. Was it okay if she asked him where he was? Was that in her rights as his girlfriend? Maybe it wasn't—he was always taking care of her, so maybe she should just be grateful that he was still with her.

"You're at the hospital, right? Do you want me to come down?"

"Oh—no. Not if you don't want to," she said hurriedly, awkwardly. "I'm…fine."

There was a pause, and then Raoul said gently, "I will if you want me to, Christine." He paused again and then said slowly, "Honestly…I didn't come down today because I feel like you're never glad that I'm there…I mean, I love being there with you and your dad, but I don't want to if you don't want me there, and that's kinda the vibe I've been getting from you…Heh." He laughed awkwardly.

"I didn't mean to do that," Christine said shamefacedly. "I…I really love it when you're here. I'm sorry that you felt that way. But—but I know that it's probably boring for you. I won't ask you to come here if you don't want to. You probably want to hang out with your…friends and stuff…"

"Actually, I'd rather hang out with my girlfriend. I like her a lot."

The comment made her blush with pleasure, and a small smile crept onto her lips. She was glad that he couldn't see it. She glanced at Gustave and then blushed even deeper at his knowing expression and twinkling eyes. Even if he didn't understand the English that well, it was obvious that he understood her pleased expression.

"Well…whatever you want," she then said vaguely.

"I'll be down in fifteen minutes, okay?"

Her smile grew a little, and she put her phone away and took Gustave's hand again.

"He's on his way, Pappa,"

Gustave nodded a little and then closed his eyes with a soft, tired sigh. She traced a long scar on the back of his hand that went from his middle knuckle to the side of his wrist. It had healed over somewhat, but it left a long, permanent red mark, and she wished that she could kiss it and make it disappear. She hadn't asked again about the reason why he was taken. It had agitated him so much before. She wondered if it would be better for them to wait until he was fully healed before pestering him with questions again.

Two days before, the police had arrived, and Raoul had tried to get her to leave the room, but Gustave had had so much trouble with the English being spoken that Christine was required to stay and translate. His English skills had deteriorated an incredible amount over his absence—and it was painful to see him grow frustrated as he tried to remember specific words or grammar rules. He never spoke English to her, and she never tried. His answers to the police were terrible: he didn't know the men, didn't know why they had taken him, didn't know where he was taken or held…He knew nothing. The police had been disappointed and suspicious about his answers, but he never changed his statement, even under their warning that lying to them was against the law. So they were still left without any rhyme or reason as to why the terrible thing had happened.

When Raoul arrived, he gave Christine a warm hug and then persuaded her to go to dinner with him.

"It won't be anything fancy," he promised. "C'mon, Christine. You need to get away from this hospital for at least a couple hours. You need real food. Let me take you out."

She protested for a while, but then she conceded with a little sigh, knowing that he was probably right. She kissed Gustave's forehead, promised to return as soon as she could, and allowed Raoul to take her hand and lead her out of the hospital and to his car.

"This is nice," he said to her as they drove. "We haven't had time to ourselves in a while."

Christine felt guilty about that. She hadn't tried to make time to spend with Raoul. She knew that it would be good for their relationship if she tried harder with him—but oftentimes it just felt so difficult. Now she was trying to focus on her lessons as well as ensure that her Pappa was being taken care of…And she was constantly worried about her relationship withRaoul. He was such a good man. It was still hard to believe that they were together.

At the restaurant, she told him about her lesson, feeling a burst of enthusiasm when she began talking about it.

"It was incredible," she said, feeling rare joy bloom in her chest as she spoke about it. "It just made me realize how important singing was to me. I've always loved to sing before, but this…Today I just realized that I had to sing. It's the only thing I want to do."

He smiled a little at her, and then he said, "But just remember that the music business is…extremely competitive, Christine. I was thinking about you today, you know. I was thinking that maybe it would be a good idea for you to try to go to school once your dad was out of the hospital."

"Oh…yeah," she said vaguely. She didn't want to reject the idea outright—he would think that she was lazy and stupid and didn't want to pursue a higher education.

"Yeah, I think it would be good for you," he continued earnestly. "I mean, maybe just part-time in the beginning, so you can work or something. I could help you get a loan—I know some guys who would be happy to give you one if you were using the money to go to school. And this way, if the whole singing thing doesn't work out, you'd have a degree to fall back on. What do you think?"

It sounded logical, but she knew that the Phantom—Erik—would probably not exactly agree to such a proposal. He had made her swear that she would completely devote herself to music. She wouldn't have time to go to school if she sang at the Opera House. And she had a flickering hope that she would pass her auditions. With the Phantom teaching her like he was, she already felt good about her chances.

"I'll look into it," she lied, forcing a smile. He grinned back at her, and she realized, with some sense of shame and depression, just how much she was keeping from Raoul. He was one of the last people in the world she would ever want to lie to, but…he didn't understand music like she did. He would never understand what had happened to her during that lesson. Raoul enjoyed music, yes, but he would much rather go to a sports game than to a symphony or an opera. She knew it, and she knew she would never be able to explain it to him.

At her lesson the next day, she confessed to the Phantom what Raoul had said.

"My boyfriend thinks that I should go to school once my dad's out of the hospital," she said, staring at the sheet music in her hands.

The Phantom looked up at her and glared a little. "Absurd," he said shortly. "You shall not have enough time to attend."

"Yeah, I know. But he said that the music industry is too competitive and that I should at least have a degree to fall back on if this doesn't work out. Don't you think so?"

He reacted just as she had predicted he would: with outrage.

"You dare doubt your own abilities?" he demanded. "You dare to think that I will not lead you to success?"

"No!" she whispered hurriedly. "It's just—it's scary, you know, to think like that…Raoul said—"

"You will not listen to the drivel that comes from that boy's mouth," the Phantom interrupted coldly. "He knows nothing. He knows nothing about our music. Pay him no mind—he is only upsetting you and distracting you."

Christine nodded immediately.

"You will trust the plan that I have laid for you," the Phantom continued, looking a little calmer at her ready consent. "I have told you before: your potential is seemingly limitless. You will thrive under my tutelage."

"Okay…Erik," she said, saying his name out loud for the second time. He stared at her then for a while, and she resisted visibly squirming. It made her feel better knowing that he had a name. He had a simple, normal name. He had a name. He wasn't a real ghost or Phantom—he was a man…a strange, awful, genius, passionate man.

"I do not wish for my…name to be known to others," the Phantom then said. "Have you told anyone about me?"

Grateful that she could be honest about it, she said: "I told my dad and boyfriend that I was taking voice lessons. That's all, I swear. I didn't tell them who you were or anything else."

"And it will remain that way," he said firmly. "For…apparent reasons, I am sure."

She laughed nervously and then blushed at how stupid the laugh came out sounding. "Yeah," she said, her voice sounding a little choked. "Um, hey…Erik?"

He sighed forcefully, a sign of annoyance. "What?"

"The police talked to my dad about his—his disappearance. My dad says that he doesn't know anything about the people who took him. He says that there wasn't any reason. I've tried to talk to him about it, but he keeps saying that I should just forget it. Are you sure…? I mean, do you really think that he was taken…because of the reasons you said?"

"I knowhe was," the Phantom said shortly. "And who am I to care about your dealings with your father? It means nothing to me. Enough of this. You will sing for me now."

Christine was hurt by his consistently-indifferent attitude. He didn't care about anything except the music, and it was hard for her. He had been the one who had found her father…but he was unwilling to discuss it with her. He must have considered his part of the bargain completely finished: her father returned, no more questions asked.

The Phantom sighed again. "Christine."

Her head snapped up in surprise. It was the first time he had said her name aloud, and somehow it made her feel infinitesimally better—as if he had acknowledged her as a real person, just as his name somehow made him seem more like a real person.

"I am certain that your father has his reasons for lying to you—presumably not to question your trust in him, as you seem to exhibit a childlike dependency upon him. While I do not agree with the methods he is using, it is clear that he is simply attempting to mend a gross mistake in judgment. He does not wish for you to think differently about him."

Christine nearly took a step backward. She felt a little sick, but she tried to fight it. No—that was all a lie. Gustave had never lied to her before. He had never had any reason to lie to her. The Phantom was making it all up, but she didn't know why.

"Tomorrow I shall bring you proof," the Phantom then said, sounding somewhat tired. "I can see it has come down to that. After that, I will hear no more of it. Understood?"

She nodded at once, but she wondered if that was what she really wanted. The Phantom's proof would surely be indisputable. Did she really want to know? Or did she want to content herself to forever doubting that her father had truly done something like this?

Late that night, she watched her sleeping father, afraid that he had done it and afraid of what her feelings would be if she found out that he did. Could she forgive him for his lies? Would she even tell him that she knew? And…would she even want to know when the time came?

The Phantom had papers for her—records for her to examine. He spread out several sheets on top of the piano, and she stood by him (not too close) and listened in despair as he spoke and pointed out the evidence that was beginning to become incontrovertible.

Some months ago, a very large sum of money had unexpectedly been deposited into his bank account. Christine had not known of anything special that had occurred. He hadn't sold anything or been given money or anything of the sort. She looked at the dates and the sum of the money that coincided with them. The sum remained, but when she had lost her job, she could see that the account began to dwindle a little. Twice a month, a small sum of money was deposited, and Erik told her that it was his paychecks from the theater orchestra. He pulled out a small stack of long, rectangular papers, and Christine realized that they were a collection of his paycheck stubs, which Gustave had kept on file—just in case, he had said. She had never looked at them.

The amount of money on the paycheck and the amount deposited never added up. Even if the money used for food and bills was accounted for, there was still some missing. As her father was not a spendthrift or wasted his money in any way, Christine began to see the truth of it all. It suffocated her, and she could hardly stand to listen as the Phantom finished up his explanations. He then looked at her seriously and said,

"I found your father in a basement, just as I had told you before. The men keeping him there were the men he had unwisely borrowed money from."

She sniffled tearfully and looked over the records, not really reading the numbers at all. "I don't understand," she whispered. "Why…why did he do this to us? Why didn't he just…go to the bank for a loan?"

"He has virtually no credit score," the Phantom said. "He must have known that he would be refused for a loan—assuming he didn't try before and was denied. Now, are you satisfied? You are falling behind on your lessons. Your audition is mere weeks away."

The Phantom was expecting her to absorb this information quietly and emotionlessly. But how could she? She had just seen proof of her father's actions before her very eyes. She had just been told awful truths that she had attempted to deny. It felt like betrayal, and it stung fiercely.

However, she didn't want the Phantom to yell at her, and so she sang dutifully for an hour or so, her mind far away from the actual music, still dwelling on the papers and the numbers and the details. She sought desperately for an alternative story, but she couldn't invent one that would account for all of the things that had happened.

Finally, the Phantom stopped, obviously frustrated by her. "If you cannot make yourself focus, then there is no point in holding a lesson today. Be warned, girl—my patience is growing thin, and I've never had much to begin with. You will practice and be focused tomorrow, else I shall find an…alternative way to make you so."

Christine shuddered a little, nodded, and left the theater, trying to control all the feelings that were riling up inside of her.

Before she went back to the hospital, Christine hurried to her old apartment to pick up the mail. As she rode the bus, she opened the bills in despair. Her rent was due soon, and the hospital had sent her its first bill of what was sure to be a long line of them. She turned pale as she stared at the figure. She did not have enough money—in no way did she have enough. She needed money for rent and food, but she had to keep her father in the hospital. Their insurance had been…minimal, and she knew that she would be required to pay most of the money required.

Feeling despair sink deeper into her stomach, she shoved the bills in her bag and got off the bus to walk the few blocks to the hospital. Winter was still prominent in the air, and Christine shivered a little as she hurried to the warm, large brick building.

Her father was sleeping quietly, and she sat in the chair next to him, wiping away some stray tears with trembling fingers. She was alone and terrified. She couldn't ask Raoul for money—he was her boyfriend, not her benefactor. Quietly, she picked up Gustave's cold hand and pressed it fervently, trying to think of a solution to get out of the horrid mess she was in. If Gustave had truly done what the Phantom told her he had, then she knew that she forgave him. Gustave was undoubtedly acting in what he thought was her best interest. Things had simply…gotten out of hand. It had almost cost him his life.

She had emptied her bank account weeks ago when she had first tried to contact Erik, and she doubted that they would be eager to give her a loan if she asked for one. Like the Phantom had said, they had virtually no credit. They had pretty much lived paycheck to paycheck.

Gustave woke in the late afternoon, and Christine helped him as he struggled to eat what the hospital had given to him. She said nothing about what the Phantom had told her, and she had a sad feeling that she would never ask him about it.

She knew the answer, and she didn't want to hear it.