So...college happened. It's sophomore year and I've got an internship and decided to adopt a dog. She's a blessing, but definitely a lot of work. This chapter has been written, but not edited and I did want to add more...but I figured I'll just end it there so the next chapter can have some E/C interaction.

Yes, ladies and gents, Erik and Christine will be meeting in the next chapter.

On a side note, I'm going to see Phantom of the Opera on broadway for the very first time this weekend and I am practically shaking with excitement! I'll let you all know how it is with the next update!

Maestro

CHAPTER 3

Christine was finding herself more exhausted than usual. Those glowing eyes she had saw the other night continued to haunt her in her dreams. Every now and then she found herself peering out her windows when she could have sworn those eyes had been staring at her in the reflection. It felt like they were everywhere, in the mirror, outside, and she always had that prickling sensation at the back of her neck whenever she was alone in her office.

A pen stayed clenched in her hand as she stared down at the blank parchment. Christine was tired of imaging those eyes, and deemed it necessary to see them once more, to reassure herself that it was no trick of her mind. That those glowing eyes had been in box five and she did see the composer. It plagued her thoughts every moment of the day, almost ushering her to mention it to at least someone in hopes that she wasn't the only one who saw them. Yet, her lips were frozen in silence, something compelling her to not include anyone else in her scavenger hunt.

She glanced at the notch in her wall, wondering if she should go down the hallway once more. Christine was positive that the composer resided within the walls of the opera. The important matter at hand, however, was whether or not she continued contact with him. She had not replied to his proposition, nor has he tried to contact her through his magical parchment again. Her days had gotten a bit bland, considering the opera house had been under some repairs from a prior performance. A piece of the set had fallen on the lead soprano during the closing show. She appeared to be well, but rather shaken up by the ordeal, claiming there was a ghost in the landings above.

Of course, everyone thought her mad, but Christine wondered if their "ghost" had been the composer himself. But those eyes had never left box five, appearing every night in the same place. She would need to inspect the box herself, maybe there was a picture like the one in the manager's office as well. Her pen connected with the parchment and she began to write.

E,

Forgive me for my curt introduction, but since I have no title for you, I will simply continue with the nickname you have given yourself. Perhaps I may even guess it one day.

I have given much consideration to your proposal…

After rehearsals for the new opera, Christine made her way to box five. The letter she had written earlier was grasped in her hand and she checked behind her to ensure her solitude. The opera house had a habit of making everything their business and Christine abhorred the idea of anyone intruding on her secret. With the way many of them acted, she feared they would dispose of her on the spot when they discovered her communication with the elusive composer.

The box came into view and she found herself hovering at the curtain. Her limbs felt heavy with fear and uncertainty, who knew what kind of man she was about to make a deal with. By god, what if he was in there right now, waiting to strike her? Her eyes began to burn with water as she took a hesitant step back. No, she would do this. Pushing the curtain open to step inside, she was greeted with darkness, the lights in the auditorium had been vanquished an hour ago. She instantly regretted forgoing a flashlight that evening, her fear of the darkness becoming apparent to the goosebumps raising on her arms.

She took a few steps forward and bumped into a chair. Gasping in pain, she dropped the letter and clutched her knee. Her mouth filling with curses, she moved to the ground and began to feel for her letter. Her fingers connected with paper and she let out a sigh in relief. The idea of remaining in this box made her throat contract. Christine moved to stand up and instantly bumped her head on a table, a few contents fell to the floor in her folly and she mumbled more curses. This box seemed to shrink in size within only a few moments. Annoyed and beyond caring, she through the envelope on the ground and left the box.

Christine made it a point to bring a flashlight up later and place it within the folds of the curtain.

Rehearsals were going rather splendid today. Raoul was doing quite well with the current number they were working on. Today, the orchestra would be performing with the cast for the upcoming performance of Il Muto. Christine was rather excited for the next opera, this one being a particular favorite of hers. Her arms move with fluid motions as she executed subliminal cues to the wind section. She couldn't help but sing along to the opening number, this one reminding her particularly of her father and her childhood. Her voice came out rather shrill in her quiet tone- it being a struggle to sing so quietly to an opera.

Her eyes lit up with amusement as three bystanders came out in their power white wigs and painted skin. Their costumes were loud with color as they lined up on stage right and began to first aria. Christine twiddled her head to the music and Raoul let out a loud laugh. Her eyes instantly flickered to his and he turned red with shame and began his cue to play.

A curtain pulled back to show La Carlotta dressed in all her glory with a frilly countess costume on a wig that appeared to touch the ceiling. The pageboy ran his hands precariously up her waist as she snapped her fan shut and gasped in shock. Christine found herself smiling in delight as the husband entered the room and one of the maids flitted around the stage humoring the visitors in the room.

La Carlotta stood up and began to belt out her lines. Christine felt herself flinch at her harsh tones and wish the woman would soften up her vowels every now and then. Carlotta was indeed a good opera singer, but there wasn't anything very special about her voice and her vibrato was exhausting. Christine wondered why the managers never picked a new lead for their performances. Most opera houses held auditions for every show, in case a hidden talent lurked within the street of Paris. Were the manager's frightened of a new prima donna?

Her mind found itself in a void until a shrill scream pierced over the sounds of the orchestra. She cut their music and looked up towards the stage to see what caused the sudden commotion. Another stage piece had fallen on Carlotta and she lied face down into the floor, her limbs flailing as she panicked under its weight. Christine let out a small laugh at the sight. The set piece didn't appear to be heavy and most of it rested on the petticoat of her dress. She would be just fine.

"You all are a bunch of idiots!" Her accent was still corrupting most of her words and Christine tilted her head misunderstanding.

"Alyssa! Please, these things do happen!" The managers pleaded with the prima donna. The woman would not have it. Her voice ringing through the rafters in exasperation.

"These things do happen? Well until you stop these things from happening, this thing does not happen." Her arms were thrown into the air as she hustled her entourage together and quickly vacated the premises. Christine inwardly rejoiced, hoping rehearsals would go much smoother from now on with the spoiled wench gone.

The managers began to yell at each other grabbing things and ripping them apart.

"We have no understudy! We shall have to refund a full house!"

"Perhaps we can have one of the chorus girls sing?" A woman dressed in black came out from the curtains and approached the growing commotion.

"Ah, Madame Giry. I don't believe we have any sopranos in our chorus." Andre explained, gesturing to the company before him. The man's cheeks pinched in disappointment, his hands irately pulling at his bowtie. "Oh, for heaven's sake. What are we do to? Damn that prima donna of your's!"

"Mousier, if you please." Madam Giry gestured for him to step aside before swiftly moving towards center stage to address the company. She straightened her stance, her feet comfortably falling into first position. "Attention, attention. If you wish to have a chance at being the star of this show, I suggest you step forward so the manager's and the maestro can select one of you."

"No ballerina's are to audition!" Her voice rang out, cutting the few girls who went to step forward. "You all come with me, we must practice!" Her staff finalized her command and the ballet rats immediately fell into place behind her.

Andre turned towards Christine, wiping at the sweat collecting at his forehead. "Maestro, if you do not mind, I think I will retire for my office for a much needed drink. I'll leave you to decide the fate of this opera." Christine nodded absentmindedly, her eyes staring ahead, lost in thought.

Silence curtained around the company members, waiting anxiously for Christine's cue. But frankly, she wasn't exactly sure of what to do. Grant it she has experience with vocal training, but to put a chorus girl as the lead with less than 48-hours to go? It was positively mad.

Christine's lips slowly pulled into a smirk, her arms coming to cross over her chest. She did love challenges an awful lot, and who was she to deny her manager's wishes?

"Those of you who would like to sing for me, step forward."

XXX

Later that evening, Christine sat on her couch with a salad in her hands as her eyes watched the television screen. Her mouth chewed the lettuce thoughtfully as she searched around for the remote, uninterested in the current channel. Her fingers made contact with a piece of parchment and she tugged at it from between the cushions. A crumpled up letter sat in her palm, and she began to unfold it.

You have been holding out on this opera house, haven't you, Christine?

I must say how pleased I am with your current standings in our deal and I will happily oblige with the commands you have made. However, I would like to add one more to my side of the deal.

Earlier this evening, I was walking through the cellars when I heard to most intriguing voice. Yes, an orchestra drowned it out quite well, but my ears do not deceive me for I had heard an angel. And believe me when I say that to my surprise, it was our opera house's own little maestro ushering out such soft notes. A bit pitchy, I say so myself, but understandable considering the decimal level you were singing at.

With this new information, let me present my latest command. Allow me to take you under my tutelage. I am confident that I could make you a star and rescue you from that lowly orchestra pit. Your voice deserves to be heard by the entire world and together we can accomplish this.

In regards to that, please meet me in the chapel tomorrow night at a quarter past 9 and not a minute later. You will find my patience lacking.

Until then,

E.

Christine choked on a piece of green as her eyes scanned the last paragraph once more. Was her mind deceiving her? Did the composer truly believe her voice to be that of an angel? She scoffed at herself, remembering that last time she attempted to sing Il Muto. The man was daft is he truly thought she was the woman he heard in the cellars. Although, the idea of singing once more had her smiling with glee. She knew deep down she longed to sing, but it was too painful without her father near.

Letting out a sigh, she pushed her hair back away from her face and reread the letter once more. She half expected it to start writing on itself again, but nothing appeared and the ink felt dry and cold. IT hadn't escaped her thoughts that he had once again entered her apartment without a trace. Inwardly, she knew she should be afraid, but it was becoming such a routine she wasn't sure she cared anymore. She figured he would have taken advantage of the situation by now and harmed her in some way, but undoubtedly, he's proven her wrong.

She ran her fingers over the manuscript, trying to memorize the curves and shapes. Christine smiled to herself. After many nights pondering about her sanity, she would have physical proof before her in merely 24 hours. The elusive composer would finally let himself be known to her and end her curiosity. Suddenly, her bed looked at her with longing and she almost tripped over herself in her haste to join it. The quicker she fell into a slumber, the sooner she would see the man called E.

The next morning, Christine was bewildered. Every single moment of her day had been nothing short of irksome. Her shower had been cold and the power went out, living her with sopping wet hair and ripped jeans. Most of her clothes sat wet in the washing machine leaving her with lounge clothes on her back and a tank top. Her briefcase was a mess and her purse had fallen over spilling its contents in the car as she slammed on her brakes to withhold from running a red light.

By the time she had reached the opera house, her hair had dried into a rat's nest and her clothing wrinkled. Christine had twenty minutes to set up and begin rehearsals and she couldn't seem to find her composition book. Panicking, she emptied her purse onto the floor and began to sort out its contents.

"Maestro? May I be of some assistance?"

Christine looked up to see a frilly black dress hanging in her face. A small woman stood in front of her with a hand held out and a humored smile rested on her face. Christine traced her eyes over the woman's figure and realized it was Madam Giry.

"Ah, hello. Please excuse me, today has been nothing but trouble for me." Christine let out a laugh as the woman helped her to her feet.

"Wee all have those dayz." Madame Giry added as she brushed off the Christine's shoulders. "You must be more careful, my dear."

Christine found herself in awe of the woman. Madame Giry was most likely in her 40s and here she stood strong as a teenager. Yet her mothering attitude proved her years. Christine felt like she could trust her, even the composer had recommended her for guidance.

"Moi vey! Have you never seen such a wonderful dancer?" Madame Giry stomped her staff and pointed towards the young blonde pirouetting on the stage.

"I can't say I have, madame. I'm not well-versed in dance." Christine shrank a little under the woman's stern gaze.

"That there dancer is my lovely Meg. You both share equal years and should get to know one another." Her cheeks pinched into a smile, yet Christine felt unnerved by the underlying words echoing within her eyes.

"I shall, Madam." Christine affirmed, straightening her back a bit more. The woman nodded, shifting a bit on her feet. Her eyes never left Christine, seeming to be lost in deep thought. "If there is nothing else, Madam. I must be going-" Her shoulder was suddenly clenched within Madam Giry's grip, her fingers pressing into the bones and Christine locked eyes with her.

"You're a smart girl- that much I can see. But you are much too curious for this opera house. Stop your nonsense now, before you get someone hurt." Madam Giry released Christine's shoulder, sweeping away in her skirts towards the stage and her daughter.

Christine simply stood, unable to register exactly what she was feeling. Grant it, a bit startled, yet truly not unexpected. After all, the composer had told her Madam Giry was one to trust. And hell, maybe it was about time Christine allowed herself to make a friend.