"I repeat, M. Vicomte, no one has seen Christine inside this building since the performance of Don Juan Triumphant was interrupted by the gendarmes." M. Andre wrings his hands as the two men walk from the Managers' office toward the abandoned dressing room. "My partner is still deeply upset over the damage caused to the Opera House, he suffered a spell affecting his heart and continues to be bedridden as we speak. Did you see what the mob did to the stage and the passageways beneath the building?"

"No one expected him to be on stage."

"Life is full of unexpected events, if I might say," M. Andre replies, pointing a finger at the young noble. "Your insistence on capturing him during the performance caused more chaos and financial destruction in one night than he did in all the time he was here – including the payments made to him for his…um…mentorship."

"Mentorship – you mean blackmail," Raoul retorts, increasing his pace, tugging at his already loosened cravat.

"Whatever you want to call it – it was still cheaper and the government is not pleased, demanding we pay all the replacement costs since we approved the ambush or whatever you wish to call the debacle."

"So there you are – it was your fault."

"M. Vicomte, your patronage will always be welcome here, however, I believe your infatuation with the young soprano overrode your common sense," replies, putting his arm out to stop what has turned into a foot race. "In addition to everything else, my partner fired Madame Giry leaving me quite at my limits in dealing with more insanity. Can you not be happy the Opera Ghost is dead?"

"I am. I just want to be certain she is safe," Raoul says.

"And why would she not be safe – theman is dead."

"What I think is the police just want to brush this incident away."

"You think he is still alive?"

"I would not put it past him to kill someone and throw the body into the Seine, if that is what you are suggesting." Raoul cocks his head and snorts lightly, a smirk curving his full lips.

"I assume you posited your idea to Inspector Favreau?"

"As far as the police are concerned, M. Vicomte, the Opera Ghost is dead," the Inspector said, "I will not expend any more resources on this determination of yours to eliminate a man who, for all intents and purposes, did little more than live beneath the Opera House and toyed with people's emotions – frightening them certainly, but what is an opera house without spirits?"

"So you will not continue to look for him?"

"We found him. He is dead. That is the official record."

"You will forgive me if I do not understand one significant part of your concern."

"What now?" Raoul starts walking again, taking the manager's elbow to move him along.

"Christine went with you. People saw you leave together," the manager replies. "Why are you looking for her? Here? Or anywhere, for that matter?"

"She went for a walk his afternoon after learning about the death and did not return when expected."

"So you believe the Phantom kidnapped her yet again?" the older man sneers. "I am beginning to see a pattern here and it does not favor you, sir, if you forgive my observation."

"I do not," Raoul growls. "your attitude is quite offensive, I must say. You seem to forget my financial interest in this opera house."

"As noted earlier, your contribution to this theater is nothing compared to the extent of the damage you caused. I wish your brother had been in the country when you embarked on your scheme."

"Leave Phillippe out of this."

"Ah, so the Comte is unaware of this business," Andre chuckles. "Well, he is bound to find out when our solicitors contact your estate manager."

"I forbid you to take any steps in that direction."

"You have no say in the matter, we are only waiting for M. Firmin to regain his health," M. Andre stops in front of the oak door marked with a brass plate noted with the number one. "Well, here we are, the fabled dressing room." M. Andre, winded by their rapid pace, bends over, clutching his knees to take a deep breath. "Why do you suppose she will be here?"

"This is where he first abducted her. A criminal always returns to the scene of the crime, I understand."

"And here you are."

"You are most insolent, Monsieur."

"And you are trying my patience." M. Andre pulls a key out of his pocket and attempts to insert it into the keyhole. "Odd."

"What?"

"The hole is blocked, likely with another key – locked from within."

"There. You see," Raoul says, rattling the doorknob. "Christine! Christine are you in there? Open the door, please. I must speak with you."

"Hush," Erik whispers. "I can hear voices."

"Cast members, perhaps?"

"There are no performances – all the workmen have been discharged for the day," he replies. "I make sure I am the last to leave."

"Then who?"

"I told you he would never stop," Erik says, getting up the from the chaise to light the oil lamp.

"Why are you doing that? You said the light could be seen beneath the door."

"Whoever is approaching will not notice and I need to see clearly if this persecution is to be ended," he says, removing the garrote from the pocket of his jacket.

"What are you doing?" Christine stands, taking his arm, turning him around to face her. "Oh, dear."

"Damn it, Christine." Erik raises his hand over his face. "I told you not to look at me."

"I am looking at whatever you call that thing in your hand."

"A garrote, sometimes called a Punjab lasso," he grunts. "I should never have let him go. The noose was just to frighten him…both of you. Using this would have been his end."

"Then you made a wise decision." Pressing her hand against her heart, she takes a step back from him, lifting her chin. "In any event, you let him go because I chose you. I still choose you, but I will not allow you to hurt anyone." Slowly reaching her hand toward him, she snatches the weapon from him before he can pull away. "Besides, you said you heard voices, so if it is Raoul, someone is with him."

Dumbstruck, Erik can only stare at her – not only is she looking at him with what he can only call affection but had the audacity to unarm him. Moreover, he allowed the deed. Whatever was going on?

"My face." Holding his now empty hand in front of the crude disguise.

"Your face is fine – as you said, you look like any other ugly man walking about," she says, taking his hand, pressing it to her lips. "I happen to love you."

"Oh." So this is love? Their roles have oddly reversed since those precious kisses.

"Since I cannot seem to avoid seeing Raoul again, let it be here," she says. "You need to hide. You are supposed to be dead."

The door knob rattles. "Christine! Christine are you in there? Open the door, please. I must speak with you."

"Quickly…the mirror."

"What are you going to say?"

"If he is with who I think he has called upon for assistance, I have an idea." Lifting up on tiptoes, she kisses him lightly and pushes him toward the secret passage. Returning the weapon to him, she says, "Put this away and keep it there."

"What if…?"

"Hush…a moment, please," she calls out. Kicking off her shoes, she musses her hair and wraps the Hannibal scarf around her shoulders. "I have been napping and must gather myself." Checking to see that the mirror is securely closed, she opens the door.

"Raoul…and M. Andre, please come in. I did not expect anyone to be here." Stepping back, she allows both men to walk past her, then closes the door behind her. "I hope you do not mind my returning to the Palais – I felt a need to be someplace familiar after the news of the death of the opera ghost."

"You might have left a note," Raoul grumbles. "I have been worried sick."

"Yes, well, I was feeling rather ill myself and did not realize I had to report my whereabouts to you," she says, sitting down, her arms folded, head cocked to one side.

The manager clears his throat. "Your trauma must have been quite great, Mademoiselle, I wish you had let me know you were here."

"Please do sit down." Offering him a smile, she nods to the bench at the vanity as she lifts her legs onto the sofa. "I apologize, Monsieur, I was only thinking of myself and knew this room would be empty and someplace I could mourn alone."

"Mourn?" Raoul asks. "You are grieving? He almost killed me."

"If he wanted to kill you, he likely would have done," she counters. "He was my teacher. I cared for him. So, yes I am in mourning."

"We shall not be staying." Taking Raoul by the arm, M. Andre gently directs him back toward the door. "Stay as long as you like."

"No," Raoul pulls his arm away, reaching for Christine. "You are coming home with me."

The reflection of the lamp shifts slightly in the mirror. Widening her eyes, shaking her head almost imperceptibly, she returns to Raoul. "Your home is not mine," she says, avoiding his grasp. "If Monsieur does not object, I would like to stay here until I can find lodging. Madame Giry has been most kind, but their flat is too small for the three of us."

"Well, I suppose that would be workable." Turning away from Raoul, he frowns for a moment before a bright smile crosses his angular face. "Do you think…and please take your time to think about what I ask, but would you consider returning? This last event was, alas, too great a strain on Carlotta and she has returned to Italy. We sorely need a Prima Donna."

"No! Absolutely not," Raoul says. "This is insanity. We are to be married, it simply will not do. Bad enough I found you performing at all."

Ignoring his outburst, Christine says, "Monsieur, what an honor. I do believe I should like to consider your offer. If you would not mind, speaking to Madame Giry would be most helpful to me, as she has been acting as my guardian. She knows more about contracts and such things."

"Um, well, I would…"

"Firmin fired her – even though I gave him the money to continue paying them," Raoul says. "She and Meg both – they are going somewhere but would not tell me where."

The mirror rattles ever so slightly, but enough for M. Andre's high color to pale and for him to jerk and look behind him at his reflection.

"At one time, I might have thought it was a ghost, but only workmen leaving, no doubt," Christine says. "I saw some of the damages the police and some of the citizenry did to the theater."

The manager's naturally flushed skin returns as he turns to scowl at Raoul. "Yes, some very costly damage," he says. "As for Madame Giry, I shall contact her to invite her and Meg back. Friends of the Phantom or not, that woman is the only person who can manage this place and anyone who objects can leave."

"If that is all," Christine says, feigning a yawn.

"Of course, Mademoiselle," M. Andre says, turning to Raoul with a quirked eyebrow.

"Christine?"

"I am quite exhausted with this discussion, Raoul."

"M. Vicomte, shall we allow Mlle. Daae some time to herself?" Andre says taking Raoul's arm, leading him to the door. "Please lock the door behind us. I have no doubt you will be safe here, but it never hurts to take precautions."

"Thank you, M. Andre…for everything."

"My pleasure," he replies. "Come now, Vicomte."

For the moment resigned to the current situation and with one last pleading look, Raoul lowers his head as he exits the room.

Jumping to her feet, Christine rushes to the door, turning the key once again. Pressing her back against the door, she covers her mouth to muffle the giggles rising up, afraid the two men might be able to hear her amusement.

Erik triggers the mechanism to open the mirror, stepping back into the room. "It would seem Gilles has developed a sense of his own manhood. Richard rather runs roughshod over him and everyone else. The financial loss must be greater than I assumed – challenging a patron in such a way."

"So, what do you think?" She runs to him, slipping her arms around his waist, pressing her head against his chest.

"Is this what you want?"

"To sing here?" she says, stepping back. "I thought you would be pleased."

"Hearing you sing always pleases me – you know that."

"But not here?"

"I truly had not thought this a possibility," Erik says, moving back to the chaise. "Just a few hours ago, I believed I must move on, that you were gone from my life. Living here would be impossible. Now, I am not certain of anything."

Sashaying slightly as she follows him, she settles herself onto his lap and removes the felt hat pulled over half of his face. "I love you, you can be certain of that."

"I love you as well – however, our love may not be enough to deal with the challenges your singing as Prima Donna of the Opera Populaire might bring about."

"Did you already have plans made – about leaving Paris?" she asks.

"Nothing definite, but, yes, I had some ideas."

Getting up, she turns to face him, hands on her hips. "Alone?"

Bowing his head, he says, "Adele lost her job – Meg is her child."

"You were going to run away with Madame Giry."

He shakes his head. "Not exactly."

"Meg!"

"No – good lord, no." Standing up, he takes her by the shoulders, and pulls her toward him, wrapping his arms around her. "Adele became a pariah over me. We believed traveling as a family was safer for all concerned."

"Well, now M. Andre is going to offer their jobs back…here."

"Yes, I heard."

"Then we must all talk."

"So it would seem."