A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, you guys! They brought a smile to my face (and to my heart)! I recently got done with testing for almost two hours (school beforehand) so we'll see how long this chapter is before my brain slows to a stop. :)

This is also going to be a chapter without Erik and Christine (sorry!) Just wanted to get into Raoul's foppish little head. (Be warned, Raoul lovers should step away now. I can assure you upfront that his future is quite...foreboding).

Chapter Three

Raoul's fist throbbed with an insatiable pain. Minutes of pounding upon Christine's door proved fruitless, and moments expunging his last energy to holler for management did nothing to abate his worry.

He pivoted to face the door, left hand lounging on the brass doorknob of the dressing room, right fingers splaying haphazardly through his flaxen locks.

He had such an extravagant—albeit nostalgic for Christine's sake— evening prepared, before Christine's recent vanishing had severed the matter. All gone to dross! He thudded his head against the door. Damn! He was so close.

Raoul closed his eyes, sighing. Where had that furtive singer gone to?

He contemplated, then, of their more recent encounter. He was, to be candid, stunned at what his eyes had fallen upon. No longer was Christine the gawking, clumsy, and plaintive child from their past. No, she had matured into quite a bewitchingly beautiful girl. She couldn't be more than sixteen, and there she was, sporting the aesthetics of a woman in their twenties.

Yet with quite the air of meekness.

And that was what troubled him so. He couldn't have a dull play thing, now, could he?

By the time Raoul's brooding ceased, the crowd had thinned. So when Firmin and Andre came barreling toward the young socialite, it was of no shock to hear their rapid, sloppy footfall across the tile.

"Monsieur Vicomte! " they gasped as they approached.

Raoul's eyes shuddered open.

Andre panted out, "We came as quickly as we could—"

"—trampled performers to arrive here!" came Firmin.

"—almost fell down a flight of stairs on the way!" Andre shouted.

"Gentlemen!" Raoul chastised, startling both managers to jolt. "Enough."

"W—what seems to be the trouble?" Firmin sputtered.

"Miss Daae is missing," Raoul informed curtly.

Andre's eyes bugged from his skull. "Missing? When?"

"I returned to her room to collect her, yet the door was locked. Through it, I could hear some commotion—voices, singing! I called for the young lady, but she didn't respond. I fear she's been harmed, and I deduce she's been taken," Raoul said.

"Taken? Impossible! The door was locked the whole time. Do you believe someone else was present with her, as well?" Andre mused.

"Let's not stand here! Mademoiselle Daae is the very key to raking in revenue as of late. We shall not have her missing," Firmin proclaimed. He turned about himself, then, in time to see Madame Giry passing in the shadows. "Madame Giry! Come here immediately!"

The older woman did as instructed, her solemn skirts whisking stiffly behind her. "Yes?"

"Mademoiselle Daae is gone! Do you know where she went?" Andre inquired, his weathered face taut in consternation.

"No," Madame Giry said, icily. "Why would I know where she is?"

"She is one of your ballet girls, is she not?" Firmin asked, somewhat accusatory.

"She was, until tonight," Madame Giry replied, cool.

"The door is locked, do you have a key?" Raoul questioned, having his full of hysterics and biding of time. Agitation tugged at his fingertips. They twitched.

"I had one, sir. It appears that it, too, is missing," Madame Giry's thin lips flickered into a semblance of a smirk.

Raoul examined her. What did she know? Instead of further interrogation, he exhaled sharply. "Well, let's not waste anymore time, then. Help me, I'm going to force the door."

The three men occupying the vicinity took position at the sealed threshold. Raoul braced his hands against the wood, applying his utter weight to the barrier.

Madame Giry looked on with an amused gaze.

As if on cue, the three gentlemen exerted their energy, barreling in. They heard the definitive crack of wood as the doorway cleaved and they encroached upon the dressing room.

"Mademoiselle Daae?" the two managers called, probing about the room.

Raoul crossed the elaborate carpet to the vanity table, and spied a single rose amongst the myriad of flowers. He lifted it, testing the weight in his hands. "Peculiar..."

"What? What is it?" Andre squawked, coming to stand beside Raoul.

"It's a rose," Raoul muttered. "Tied with a black ribbon. I've never seen the habit beforehand."

"Perhaps it's a trend," Firmin brushed this off. "The matter is, we still have not located Mademoiselle Daae! And rehearsals are not far away."

Raoul fixated his focused stare on the pair of bumbling managers. "I want you two to interview as many people as you can around the Opera House. See if you can obtain information about Mademoiselle Daae, and her recent disappearance. Be discreet, however, in your endeavors. We wouldn't wish to stir a scandal."

"Of course," Andre assured. "We shall get on that, monsieur."

The young eyed them both.

"Posthaste," Raoul reprimanded when they did not move, voice tinged with frustration. In answer, Andre and Firmin exchanged looks, gasps, and then promptly hurried from the room in pursuit of their order.

Raoul strode slowly across the room, rose in hand. With an ever-deepening scowl, he squinted into the full length mirror adorning one of the walls. He released the cardinal bloom from his hand. "I will find you, Christine Daae."

Little did he know that vow would be difficult to upkeep.

Especially with the Opera Ghost's sly confidante in the wings.