By the time opening night arrived, Christine felt like a preened, perfected instrument. Her hours of hard work had paid off, and she could tell that Erik was pleased with what she had accomplished. She had no big solos, no show-stopping arias or beautiful vocal pieces, but she loved what she did have. Christine never allowed herself to think that she was better than she really was, that she somehow deserved this role. She was lucky, and she always reminded herself of that. There were other girls in the ensemble who deserved the small role more than she did, and Christine wouldn't let herself take it for granted. She would love and cherish every role she was given, no matter the size. This had been her unspoken dream for her entire life, and she was here at last.

She had asked Erik to warm her up before anything started, and he had agreed. Carefully, she crept through the back hallways and into the practice room, feeling her heart flutter a little at the thought that she would be performing tonight.

Erik was waiting for her, and she smiled nervously as she entered. As they were preparing for warm-ups, Christine looked at him and said hesitantly,

"Hey, Erik?"

He glanced at her, his usual sign to show that he was listening.

"I know that this might sound stupid, but…I was wondering. Will you warm up with me?"

"Why would I do that?" he said, stretching out his long, thin fingers. She had never seen him without his gloves on.

"I—um." She laughed anxiously. "I just want to hear you sing a little, honestly. It'll make me feel better. More relaxed, I think."

He paused, and then he said, "Very well. After you warm up, I shall sing for you."

The prospect of hearing his voice again energized her, and she worked hard and was focused during her warm-ups. When she finished, Erik shifted a little on the piano bench, and Christine sat down on the stage near him, knowing that she would have fallen over anyway.

She was right; listening to him made her feel better in every single way. She had thought about her father for most of the day, but Erik's voice softly cushioned the grief. His voice also lessened the pain that she felt because Raoul wouldn't be seeing her perform. All of her sadness and sorrows seemed to be softened by his unworldly voice.

After he was finished, Christine sat there for another moment, her eyes closed, simply drinking in the overtones and the music that still hung in the air. She sighed contentedly.

"Thanks," she said, smiling and getting to her feet. "That was…amazing. Like always." As she stood there, she suddenly felt awkward again, and she blushed and stumbled over her words as she said, "Um—yeah. Hey. So, I guess all the performers get a free ticket to…give away. You know. And I was just thinking…Well." She pulled it out of her pocket and held it out to him, resolutely staring at his collar.

She had had no one else to give it to, but she was a little shocked when she realized that she wanted to give it to Erik anyway. She wanted him there, watching her. The last time she had sung had been for him, and she had done wonderfully. If he was there this time…

Erik took it from her, and she felt the tips of his fingers brush hers lightly. She resisted shivering—or, even worse, pushing her hand closer to his.

"Will you come?" she then asked nervously.

"Of course I shall be in attendance," Erik said, tucking the ticket away into his baggy suit. "I would not miss my ingénue's debut performance."

Christine felt a smile break out in relief, and she laughed breathily. "Okay. Good. Cool. Great. Um…yeah." She tucked some of her hair behind her ear and took a few backward steps. "I guess I'll go get into costume and everything. Thanks for…the warm-up. And stuff. See you later."

She darted from the room and headed for the dressing room, feeling oddly light. It was opening night, and Erik was going to be there, and she was going to do really well. She could feel it in her bones. Things were going to go perfectly.

When she entered the dressing room, she was met with a flurry of activity as all the girls rushed about, complaining about last-minute costume changes or looking for small accessories and other such things. Christine pushed through them all and went to her spot, shocked to see that there was a bouquet of red flowers by her costume. Christine picked it up; there was no note left, and she looked around.

"Do you know who put these here?" she asked one of the girls next to her.

The girl shook her head, busy trying to get her costume unzipped. "Maybe the Ghost," the girl said offhandedly, giving her costume another yank. A few girls laughed at the comment.

Christine was nonplussed. "The Ghost?" she repeated.

Another girl turned to look at her. "Yeah, the Ghost. Oh—wait, that's right. You're new." The girl grinned suddenly. "Okay, so the Opera House is completely haunted! It has this creepy Ghost that is always messing stuff up. One time a hundred years ago a singer was killed onstage during the middle of a performance. And now his Ghost haunts the building. He does weird stuff, like messing up scenery or changing music. And if you walk through the building after hours, you might see him, and then he'll kill you! Because one time one of our stage managers did that. He was here late at night, and then they found him dead the next morning."

Christine shivered.

One of the older women turned and rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to them, sweetie," the woman said. "They're just stupid stories. There's no Ghost. The Opera House isn't even a hundred years old. And that stage manager died of a heart attack."

"A heart attack because he had seen the Ghost!" the girl whispered, giggling a little.

"That's not something to laugh about," the woman snapped, and she turned back to her costume.

Christine looked at the flowers and then shook her head. No. The last thing she needed was to get worked up with some dumb Ghost story that wasn't even true. She set the flowers aside, making a note to ask Erik if he had gotten them for her. The thought made her smile just a little.

When she opened the small, long cupboard where her costume hung, she paused.

It wasn't there.

Panic immediately rushed over her, and she took a deep breath and looked back to the girl.

"Hey. Do you know if someone grabbed my costume?" she asked.

The girl shrugged, pulling on her shoes. "The seamstresses, probably. They're always making last-minute adjustments."

She nodded. "Thanks." Trying not to run, she left the dressing room and made her way through the crowded backstage. Different groups were warming up their voices, and she could hear Carlotta's loud voice ringing from her private dressing room. The dancers were stretching, and several more performers were looking over librettos.

After sidling around a group of male dancers, she entered into the room where the seamstresses were, and her heart nearly stopped.

Her costume was being worn by a different girl. There were three seamstresses around her, pinning things up and making small adjustments to make it fit.

"That's my costume," Christine stated blankly.

"Hmm?" the girl said, looking up from a ribbon she was holding in place for the seamstress to pin. "Oh. I'm sorry. Mr. Gabriel is looking for you. He has to…talk to you." There was that tone in her voice, the one that wanted to pass on the bad news to someone else. Christine felt her mouth go dry, and she left the room, not wanting to see her costume on someone else.

For a few minutes, she wandered along backstage, looking for Mr. Gabriel and trying to calm herself down. It was probably just a misunderstanding, a miscommunication…something…

"Miss Daae!"

She heard her name being called, and she turned to see Mr. Gabriel pushing past a group of ballerinas. He looked haggard and stressed, though he tried visibly to soften his features into sorrowful compassion when he approached her.

"Someone else has my costume on," she said.

"Yes. I know." There was a pause, and a group of giggly chorus girls rushed past, getting in place for the opening scene.

"Am I going to wear a different one?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, Miss Daae, but…" He rubbed his left eye, his lips tight in a frown. "It looks like there's been a last-minute change. You're not going to be playing Barbarina."

For a moment, it felt like time stopped. Christine stared at him and then looked around at all the excited, happy performers scurrying around, preparing themselves for the show. The stage manager was pointing at someone, and the stage crew was putting last-minute touches on the set. This was what she had wanted, to be surrounded by this, but…

"Why not?" she said, trying to keep her voice under control. "I was…You told me I was."

"I know," Mr. Gabriel said, sounding very sorry. "It wasn't my decision. It was…Well. The managers apparently got involved in it all, and this was made without my approval. And I'm really sorry. I know how hard you worked for this. But if it's the managers' direct decision, then…well, we can't really override it. I'm sorry."

She looked at him silently, unbelieving that this was happening.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "In a couple weeks, after you learn all the blocking for the chorus, you're going to join them. And you can try again next production. You're brand new. You'll have tons of chances. It'll be fine, okay?"

She nodded. "Okay," she said hurriedly. It sounded like a gasp. She was trying to control her emotions.

"You're free to go home," Mr. Gabriel said. "Or…if you want to watch the—no, I guess you can't. Sorry. It's a full house tonight."

"I'll go home," she whispered. He nodded, gave her one last apologetic look, and then rushed off. The orchestra had started tuning. She continued to stand there, in the middle of the backstage rush, and people were still hurrying by her, loud whispers of excitement and opening-night nerves filling the stale backstage air. The set crew rushed offstage to their respective positions, and Christine could faintly see Carlotta walking to her spot in the wing and smoothing out her wig and costume. The man playing Figaro rushed out and took his spot center stage. The overture started.

For a moment, she felt completely lost. She clutched her right arm with her left hand and looked around, as if someone would come up and tell her where to go. However, the only person who approached her was her new friend, Meg.

"Hi!" Meg whispered. She looked her up and down. "Why don't you have your costume on? The opera's started!"

"I know," Christine said. "I'm…um. Yeah. My role was switched. I'm in the chorus now, but I don't know the blocking, so I have to learn it before I can go on."

Meg's face scrunched up. "What? That's awful! That—why would they do that to you? Did you talk to…um, what's-his-name…the guy over the chorus?"

"Mr. Gabriel? Yeah. He was the one who told me. I guess the managers decided it, so…yep. That's all there is to it." She tried to shrug it off with a laugh.

Another ballerina quickly ran up to them. "Meg, Jaime's shoe strap broke, and she needs to borrow another pair. Do you have extra?"

"Yeah, in a sec," Meg snapped. She looked back to Christine. "Christine, I'm so sorry. That's awful. Talk to the managers tomorrow and see if they'll sort it all out, okay? I gotta go. Sorry." She leaned over and hugged her tightly before turning and running off.

The overture then ended, and the curtain rose. Christine turned and hurried away, unable to bear being there anymore. She just wanted to run home and curl up in her bed and sob.

As she was making her way back to the now-empty dressing room to grab her things, a long hand suddenly grabbed her arm, and she felt Erik taking her away quickly. He pulled her into Carlotta's private dressing room and locked the door securely behind them.

"What is happening?" he hissed. "You are not in costume! What are you doing?"

She watched him. "Erik, they gave my part away."

His frame seized up, and his eyes flashed. She nearly recoiled.

"What?" he said, his voice low and rasping and horrible. "Who told you? Who did this? Who has your part now? I will rip out their throats for ordering such things!"

She had begun to cry at last. "Mr. Gabriel told me that the managers got—got involved and made the decision. I don't…know the name of the girl who's p-playing Barbarina now. Mr. Gabriel said th-that I was going to be put in the chorus once I know the b-blocking."

In an instant, Erik had seized the closest object—a glass vase full of wilting roses—and hurled it at the wall. The glass was the thick, cheap kind, and so the vase didn't break, but there was a loud thud, and the roses and water spilled down the wall and onto the floor. Christine jumped at the sound and stared at him, tears spilling out of her eyes.

"You will stay here," he breathed. "Do you understand me? You will remain right there until I fetch you."

She nodded instantly, and with the click of the door, he had disappeared. Her mind was swirling, and she slumped onto the nearby sofa, still feeling sick and exhausted. She gave a shuddering, gasping breath and buried her face into her hands, rubbing at her sore eyes, feeling her makeup smear.

The minutes ticked away, and she put her head on the armrest and bawled. It hurt. Badly. She had wanted that part. She had wanted to play it more than anything, and she had felt prepared to play it. She had wanted Erik to see her on the stage as a strong, confident performer. And although she didn't even know the girl who replaced her, Christine viciously told herself that there was no way that the new girl would play it as well as she could. Christine had lived and breathed that role for weeks. It was all she and Erik had done, and now she wasn't going to be playing it at all.

With several heaving, pathetic-sounding gasps, she managed to reign in her sobs a little, and she wiped at her streaming eyes, looking around. The dressing room was a good size and was very pretty. A huge vanity dominated one wall, and a large mirror stood proudly on the other side. It stretched from the floor to the ceiling, and its frame was gilded and shiny. Erik had promised her all…this. But what if no one made it possible for her? What if this happened every time?

Why would anyone do that to her? Had she unknowingly offended someone so much that they wanted her out of the production and had resorted talking to the managers?

As she was sitting and trying to compose herself, she could still hear the music from the opera. Carlotta's voice drifted to her as well, and Christine sighed tiredly. Soon she would have to get up and leave, because Carlotta had a costume change coming up soon, and she didn't want to explain why or how she had gotten into the room.

Suddenly, an extremely loud, sharp bang echoed through and to the dressing room. Christine jumped and squeaked a little, and she could hear several people scream. There was a seemingly-universal stillness, and then the music started back up again.

Christine put a hand over her heart and massaged it a little before leaning her head back onto the armrest. A set piece had probably tipped backstage.

She wiped at her eyes and nose again, wondering what Erik was doing. The thought of him somehow comforted her a little. He would make sure that she was taken care of. He knew it wasn't her fault—he knew she had been ready. He probably already had some mysterious plan, and he'd make it happen, and everything would be fine.

As she was vaguely wondering if she would fall asleep right there on the dressing room sofa, more screams erupted from the distant audience. Christine sat straight up, staring at the door. The screams didn't stop this time, however—they only grew louder and more frantic. Terrified already, she immediately hunched down into the corner of the couch, not wanting to leave the apparent safety of the dressing room but wanting to know what was happening.

Footsteps began to rush past the door, and she felt her chest begin to heave. Sweat began to form again along her forehead. She wondered if she was going to be sick.

The door suddenly clicked, and she looked up, giving a small, strangled cry of relief when she saw Erik.

"Erik—" she started, but he merely reached out and grabbed her arm, very roughly. His hand was bony hand dug into her flesh. She yelped a little in pain as he yanked her up, and she stumbled forward as he pulled her out of the room.

A smell instantly met her nose, and she covered it quickly with her free hand. Smoke!

As if in an answer to her question, a loud, shrieking, piercing alarm began to ring all throughout the building, and there was another chorus of fresh shrieks. Erik ignored it and continued to pull her along backstage. There was complete chaos, people running every which way. Erik led her over to a corner that held a huge mass of ropes for the flies, and Christine looked around, noting that anybody who was still backstage wasn't paying the least bit of attention to them—they were all rushing offstage and into the back hallways. Some of the girls were sobbing hysterically.

When Christine looked back, she saw that Erik had opened a door she had never noticed before. It was small and looked like it opened up to…nothingness. He pulled, and she resisted a little.

When he looked back at her, she said, "Erik, I'm…"

With a loud snarl, he leaned over and then swept her up into his arms. She shrieked a little in alarm, clutching his neck tightly. It was a long way to the ground.

He hurried through the doorway and kicked it shut with his foot. The scary sounds and the panicked atmosphere were instantly and severely muffled. He shifted her a little in his arms, and she felt his bony ribcage dig into her side. Then he set off, his shoes tapping lightly as he walked.

She sensed that he was thinking hard. His eyes were glowing and distracted, and his mouth was tight and clenched. Christine continued to hold onto his neck, and she could feel the top of his spine through his shirt collar. Every spot her body was pressing into was thin and bony and hard.

They were walking along small and dark hallways. The sounds were muffled, and Christine looked around, noting the dim light. There didn't even seem to be a light source anywhere, and it felt like any of the light that was in the hallways was unwelcome. She had never been in this part of the Opera House before.

The noises were getting quieter, and after several long minutes, they stopped completely. Still, Erik continued to walk, briskly and with a constant rhythm. She hoped that she wasn't getting heavy in his arms. She was more than capable of walking to…

Where was she going? What was he doing with her?

"Where are—?" she at last tried to ask.

"You will not speak now," he interrupted shortly. He continued along, and she thought that he was going to take her out of the Opera House using a back doorway. However, he never paused, walking down endless dark passageways and through doors. There was even one trapdoor that they had to cross, and it was somewhat awkward to get through. Erik put her down, pulled open the heavy wooden door, jumped through, and reached up through the trapdoor with his long hands. He seized her waist and dragged her down. She screamed in surprise as she fell, but his hands were still on her waist, and he ensured that she didn't hit the ground.

The air was stale and musty, and it felt dank and damp.

"Was there a fire, Erik?" she asked at length, unable to stand the deafening silence. "I could smell smoke!" It felt as if they had completely left the Opera House, yet they hadn't emerged outside at all.

He stopped short, and then he looked down at her, his eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. "Perhaps you should rest," he said. "You are obviously distressed."

She frowned and squirmed in his tight grasp. "I'm fine," she insisted faintly. "I just want to know what happened."

"You will rest here." He carefully pushed her down, and she leaned against a cold, dirty wall, shivering a little and staring. Crouching down in front of her, he met her gaze steadily.

"I'm scared," she admitted in a whisper. "What happened?"

"You are safe," he said, his voice a gentle, soothing hum. "You simply need rest."

"Maybe I should go home…" she muttered. "I can sleep there."

"Rest now," he said. His voice was coaxing her to obey. It was entreating and cooing at her, and she closed her eyes tiredly, leaning back. Maybe she could just close her eyes for a couple minutes—just a little rest until she felt less queasy.

An entrancing sound met her ears, and she realized that Erik was singing softly again. It made her body heavy, and she let her head droop. She was so tired…so tired…and Erik's voice was telling her that it was okay to be tired and to rest. Tomorrow would be the time to figure everything out. But for now, she just wanted to rest.

With a floppy, heavy arm, she reached up and brushed at her cheek, as it felt as if something had been touching it. Oddly enough, the thought of spiders and bugs and rats and other creepy-crawly things didn't bother her too much right now…Erik's voice was wrapping a protective cocoon around her, and she would be safe forever in it. With a long yawn, she tried to say something, but it came out as a garbled moan. Then she resigned herself, yawned again, and fell asleep.