Iiiii forgot it was posting day! Usually this begins much later on but... apparently not! (So if I'm ever late, feel free to start sending the disgruntled messages. Sometimes I need a little prompting).

Anyway, let's introduce a certain someone, shall we?

Onward!

iii

Christine was certain she would go mad when she was forbidden from leaving her apartment the next three days. She had attempted to do so the next morning, the food dwindling in her cupboards—her regular shopping day making a quick venture a necessity. But a new officer had stopped her at the front door of her building, requesting firmly that she return inside.

She had argued steadily, but he merely gave her a weary glance and pulled her slightly to the side when one of her neighbors tiredly mounted the steps, giving them both a suspicious glance as they continued into the building beyond.

"Ma'am, I don't want to alarm you, but Officer Grady saw a suspicious person on the fire escape last night." Christine paled, all argument leaving her.

True to her earlier intention, a hot bath had been drawn. Her apartment did not boast a very large tub, only a narrow offering that doubled as a shower. When she'd first been shown it as a potential living space, it was in a sad need of a good scrubbing, making the landlord rather dubious at her enthusiasm for it at all. But Christine had always been fond of baths, and most of the places she could afford had only small stand up showers. She'd worked hard to clean it, using a numerous amount of powders and bleaches until it was ready to receive an actual occupant, but the result was well worth it.

It was not the first time she had thought so, but as she sank into the hot water, a large, soothing cup of tea held safely between her hands, she welcomed these small luxuries after her harrowing day. And while she liked to think she only wept a very little bit as the horror and the fear settled over her once more, her tears and the relative exhaustion of the day had made her sleep sound when she at last went to bed.

Only now to discover that an unknown someone—or perhaps not so very unknown at all, she realized with a shiver—had come very close to hurting her after all.

"You caught him?" she asked, hopeful but not expectant that they'd done so.

The officer shook his head. "When he approached, the man disappeared." Christine frowned in disappointment, but the man pressed on. "Just give Detective Nadir a few more days to get things sorted with the marshals. Even if they refuse, the attempt last night will probably grant you temporary protection within the department." His expression turned firm. "You're going to be safe, ma'am. He's not going to get to you."

Christine wished she believed him.

She'd called the choir director, worried that she was missing work and they would think her derelict in her responsibilities, but he dismissed her concerns. "The whole place is in an uproar. Joseph Buquet is the man dead you know—the scene changer? Useless wretch of one, in any case, but with all the police and crime scene tape about the place, you'd think the president himself had been murdered downstairs."

Christine smiled softly. "What about rehearsals?"

The choir master snorted. "If you think I can wrangle all these nitwits when they're busy trying to catch glimpses of the body, you think too highly of me. Call me again in a couple days and we'll set it right." His voice softened. "Just rest. You've been through a lot, okay? But your place here is secure, even if you need to take the week off." He sighed deeply, his attention already drifting. "It's not like we can have another performance until all this mess gets cleared up in any case."

After assuring him that she would, Christine hung up, feeling slightly better for having spoken to him. But a queasiness in her stomach had come from the conversation, one that did not settle as she huddled on her couch, curled toward the end of it. She could easily imagine the excitement there. More experienced members finding the hidden nooks and passages so they could watch the police in their work, trying to find a bit of news that could further stimulate their fellow members.

But she had lived it. And she found no pleasure in the entire experience.

She wondered what Raoul would say when at last she was allowed to return. In some of her daydreams he would apologize profusely for his denseness, before telling her that she was the girl he had always loved. But in reality, she wondered if she would be lucky enough for a smile from him, perhaps a bit more familiarity given their past history.

He'd been about to kiss her once, she remembered sadly. It was fairly soon before he had stopped coming to see her altogether, and her heart had sped and she had smiled at him encouragingly. But then the moment was broken as he had laughed nervously, running a hand through his then longer hair, claiming he had somewhere he simply had to be.

She had seen him only a few more times after that. And each time he was a little more distant, and with it, seeing him caused a little more pain.

Food had appeared on her doorstep a few days before. Not the usual brands she would purchase, but she was grateful when she looked out the window, and Officer Grady waved as he returned to his vehicle. Evidently he was the unfortunate soul who was charged with watching her at night, but her sympathy did not negate her gratitude.

Not when he had been the one to spot her would-be intruder.

But four days in her apartment was growing to be too much for her, even with her food and hot baths and generous cups of tea. Not when nightmares plagued her sleep, and worries troubled her waking hours so thoroughly that at times she nearly trembled with them.

She did not expect the knock upon the door. The officers typically called before they came up, so as not to worry her they'd said. They also called at regular intervals to ensure she was well.

She frowned. Detective Nadir was arranging to have her brought to the station tomorrow to finish giving her statement and meet with a sketch artist—although she had been vehement that he would get nothing more from her on that front—but perhaps plans had changed.

However, she was not so foolish as to open the door without first ascertaining who was behind it.

"Who's there?" she called, going on tiptoe to peer through the peephole. Instead of a view of a man's face, an unfamiliar badge obstructed her view. "United States Marshal Service. Open the door."

Christine frowned, but obeyed. Detective Nadir could have at least called and told her that his attempt at securing their assistance was successful.

And that she needed to pack.

She swung the door open and was immediately struck by the great height of the man in her doorway. His features were perfectly plain, and he tucked his badge back onto the belt of his black suit. He waited patiently as she had not given him leave to enter, and she was heartened to see that despite his brusque command, he was capable of some gentlemanly behavior. "Do you want to come in?"

He nodded, she thought somewhat awkwardly, his head ducking as he seemed to shy away from her perusal and stood in the midst of her tiny kitchen, shutting and locking the door behind him. Christine settled on the couch. "I don't meet with Detective Nadir until tomorrow, so I didn't know you were coming."

The man grimaced at that and leaned against the counter. "Things tend to proceed quickly in this field. I am... sorry that you were not given adequate time to prepare."

Christine sighed, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "Can I be honest with you?"

The... marshal? Was that what they were called? merely blinked at her, but she took his silence as permission to continue. "I don't know if I want to go. I love the theatre and to leave..." Leaving meant giving up one of the last things she had shared with her papa, and to abandon it so readily...

But if her father knew that she held a building—a job—above her safety, he would scowl and call her a ridiculous girl and insist she do whatever was necessary to ensure her that she was protected.

He shifted, his arms crossing over his chest. "Do you think that the Phantom would forget you so easily?"

Christine nibbled at her lip. "If he even was the Phantom," she reminded him without any great force. "Or if the Phantom really did all those things the detective said."

The man seemed rather surprised at that. "You think otherwise?"

Christine shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that I saw some horrific things four nights ago—first in the lower levels and then on the detective's phone. It's not my job to determine whether it was the same man who committed such horrible crimes."

"No," he agreed. "It is your job to be safe. Which is why I am here."

Christine regarded him again. He was thin, but held an intimidating aura that could not be ignored. Yet his overall build did not suggest a particular ability towards protection. Perhaps it was rude though to doubt him in his work.

"Where would we be going? And would I... would I actually be going with you? Or is there a team of people? Detective Nadir didn't explain many of the details and I'm afraid I didn't think to research anything."

"Nor should you have to," the marshal confirmed. "You will be traveling with me, and I will escort you out of the city. Our exact location has yet to be selected, so I'm afraid that we may be relegated to a series of temporary dwellings for the time being, until you may be more permanently settled."

Christine eyed him quizzically. "Temporary dwellings?"

He smiled ever so slightly. She much preferred it to his grim visage. "Hotels."

"Oh." She gave another little sigh. "I always liked hotels..."

Not that she had chance to be in many. But the idea... the novelty of them had always appealed to her, and perhaps if she looked at all of this as a kind of adventure, she just might find it bearable.

"What about all my things?"

The man cast a dubious glance about her apartment. "Whatever you do not wish to take will be placed in storage until after you testify. I am afraid that your lease here will have to default." His expression clearly indicated that he thought such a happening was no great pity.

Christine looked around, before slowly rising from the couch. She would not argue with him as to the merits of her living space, but instead knelt beside the bed and pulled out her largest suitcase from the depths beneath.

It was a distinctly odd experience, packing all her most treasured possessions and having to leave behind the rest. She took clothing of course, quizzing the marshal now and again regarding climates and necessities, which he would answer to the best of his ability—which to Christine was sorely lacking.

Men.

Evidently a badge did not automatically improve their descriptive abilities. "I take it you will have nothing but suits to wear," she finally grumbled in frustration, shoving in a pair of boots in case the weather turned sooner than expected.

The marshal made no reply.

When at last she was satisfied—or as satisfied as she could manage under the circumstances—Christine surveyed the apartment, a lump forming in her throat as she thought of leaving. Really leaving.

An adventure. Where things will be new and different, and she will not have to be a prisoner to these walls because she will be safe. And no masked figure would live in the darkness ready to pounce.

"I think I'm ready," she told him, hoping she was speaking truthfully.

He nodded once, his hand delving into his pocket. "I was... I believe this belongs to you."

Any composure she had managed to achieve dissolved when she saw the beloved keepsake resting in his palm. Her papa's ring.

She gasped and took it with trembling fingers. "Where did you..."

The man shifted again, his eyes looking rather alarmed at the few tears that managed to escape. "I believe it was discovered at the crime scene. One of the fool stagehands must have delivered it there unthinkingly. I thought you would not wish to leave without it, and it would do no good to anyone in an evidence locker."

"Thank you," she breathed, smoothing her thumb over the gold before nearly slipping it onto her thumb. But only nearly.

She hurried back to her suitcase and pulled out her small container full of jewelry—most of it her mother's. She had only one chain, but it would serve well enough. She would not lose it again.

"Now I'm really ready."

He took her suitcase from her as he escorted her downstairs, a dark SUV parked in front of her apartment, the familiar police car a little ways away. She waved at Officer Grady, wishing she could say goodbye to him properly, but the marshal was looking about the night with thorough awareness, and she realized it could be dangerous to remain out of doors too long. So she climbed into the passenger side, her heart pounding rapidly as her nerves began to build.

He situated her suitcase in the back before taking his place in the front, and she asked the question that she should have long before.

"What should I call you? Marshal?"

He glanced at her briefly, starting the car and pulling out into the night.

"You may call me Erik."

Sooo... looks like our Erik has arrived! Or is it our Erik? Suspicious with that perfectly normal face of his. Hmmm...

Anybody confused yet? Or do you have it all worked out?