A blood-curdling scream cut through my dreams and ripped me from sleep. My eyes flew open and I bolted upright, instantly awake, goosebumps breaking out on my skin as I searched for the source of the screaming.

It was Giselle.

The first thing I thought was that someone else had died. Been killed. The red face of Monsieur Buquet flashed through my mind. But there was no body. No human body, at least.

As she flung the covers back to leap out of her bed something dark fell out from under the covers. Squinting at it I realized it was a rat. A dead rat.

Giselle's screaming turned hysterical. She could not get out of the bed fast enough. Eloise was immediately at her elbow, but didn't help much as she too screamed at the sight of the dead rodent. Rodents. For now that she had thrown the covers back, I could see that there had been several dead rats in the bed. And one (one that had most likely prompted the initial scream) was on her pillow.

Madame Giry was there in an instant. A hand flew to her mouth as she beheld the sight. A smattering of screams and gasps went up from the rest of the girls who had rushed over to see what the matter was.

Giselle remained standing, staring at her bed, still trying to scream through the hysterical sobs that now wracked her body. If I had not been so shocked I would have laughed at her.

"You did this, didn't you?"

At the accusing tone I lifted my eyes to observe dark-haired Catherine glaring at me from under her thick lashes.

"What?" I asked stupidly. "How could I have done this?" I gestured at the bed full of rats.

She continued to glare at me, but gave no answer.

Madame Giry was at a loss for words too, it seemed. She spoke soothingly to Giselle to calm her, but I noticed her giving me an uncertain glance out of the corner of her eye. Deciding it was best to skip practice for today, she bid everyone get dressed and suggested they go out and enjoy the city; get some fresh air. But before I could grab my clothes she called to me, asking me to follow her. Exchanging glances with Christine and Meg, I obeyed. We were only just out of earshot before Madame Giry spun around to confront me.

"Do you know how they got there?"

Her question, the intensity of her tone, threw me off balance and my mouth fumbled for an answer, while I raised my eyebrows.

"Tell me the truth, please," she said, softer this time.

"I had nothing to do with the rats, Madame Giry, I promise you."

She studied me a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. Looking upset and confused, she told me that she thought it best if I remained behind in the opera house. Numbly, I nodded. I did not have the heart to argue with her, though I did insist she let me help her clean up the rats. After all, I think I had prayed for them.

/

The rat situation, unbelievably, did seem to squelch Giselle's heartless attitude. During the next day's rehearsal she hardly said anything mean to me. She hardly said anything at all. However, this did not really relieve me, as I felt she was mulling over some evil plan to get revenge on me for the prank, even though I had not done it. If that happened to be the case, then I decided I would strike first.

When break-time came around I was positively aching to bring her even lower. When the right moment came, I laid my carefully timed trap.

Most of the girls, including myself, Meg, and Christine, had sat down in our places on the stage when Madame Giry called for a break. Giselle must have been in a stupor when she chose her place because she sat close to me; only two people between us. Other girls were chatting and laughing so I had to speak loud enough to be heard over them, yet quiet enough so as not to be heard by Madame Giry.

Leaning back on my hands, I became the picture of nonchalance. "I cannot believe it. Six rats in the bed! I wonder where they all came from."

My false musing had the desired effect. Giselle narrowed her eyes at me. Meg and Christine merely blinked at me, astonishment evident in their faces.

"Can't you count, Jacqueline?" Giselle sneered. "Or are you just playing dumb to throw the blame off? There were only five rats."

"Oh, no, I counted correctly," I said. "Five small ones and a really big one." I gave her a sly grin.

Meg let out a loud ha! before covering her mouth with her hand. Christine smiled and even a few of the girls immediately around us snickered. Giselle turned a marvelous shade of pink and when she pursed her lips, I thought about how she appeared ready to explode. My insult wasn't much; wasn't as horrible as some of the things she had said about me. But the fact that she did not instantly have a retort told me it got under her skin and that was good enough for me.

Before she could explode at me, Madame Giry bid us all rise to our feet. My grin grew even wider as my perfect timing worked just the way I had planned.

/

The following morning, Giselle did not scream. The rats had been cleared from her bed, the sheets changed. But another unexpected and unwanted surprise awaited her when she awoke.

Madame Giry came to wake us, shouting for us to move our lazy bones, when she suddenly stopped. I don't know about the other girls, but this made me wake up faster than her continued yelling. Curiously, I looked at her from under half-awake eyelids. She was staring at the foot of Giselle's bed. So was Giselle. For a moment, everyone was silent, a strange sort of reverent fear hanging in the air and then, with a shaky hand, Giselle reached out to pick up an envelope. Even from my bed I could see the giant red seal that held the flap closed; a grotesque red skull. Hesitantly, Giselle broke the seal and began to read the letter.

Seeing her turn red at my heckling had been fun. And if I'd known what words the letter contained, maybe I would have enjoyed watching her turn white too. But knowing who the letter came from only made me feel anxious as the color drained from Giselle's face. When she finished reading she looked up — directly at me. I could not read the emotions there, but it seemed to be a blend of many.

A lump formed in my stomach. Whatever was in that letter, it said something about me and I could not imagine what. This fact was confirmed when Madame Giry took the letter and read it for herself, giving me a furtive glance as she handed it back to Giselle. She did not pale, but instead looked rather smug. I did not dare ask what it said; was not sure I wanted to know. What about me could The Phantom possibly have to tell Giselle?

This time Madame Giry did not let Giselle or any others escape practice. It was our last practice before our first dress rehearsal and nobody was going to miss it — Phantom threats notwithstanding.

I was not sure whether to feel satisfied or not about the glum looks I continued getting from Giselle. I kept waiting for something dreadful to befall her all through our practice and all through dress rehearsal the next day. And all through the opera the following night.

But nothing happened.

I was not sure whether to feel satisfied about that either.

/

A few days later found me dusting the gilded statues in the Grand Foyer alongside five other cleaning staff members, who were either scrubbing the tan and black floor or wiping fingerprints from the thick, tan, marble banister. There was not a lot of conversation, which suited me; I was still musing over the letter given to Giselle and her attitude after receiving it.

She had not bothered me since then and, in fact, seemed to be avoiding me as best as she could. It disturbed me to think that the letter had anything to do with me and yet it brought a certain joy knowing that it was likely the reason she left me alone. I was supremely curious about the whole thing and wished I could get my hands on that letter. But Giselle had tucked it away quickly and would let no one look at it.

One set of front doors opened as I began wiping the statue base at the foot of the grand staircase. Expecting it to be one of the managers or the vicomte, I did a double take as the recognition sank in.

Benoit!

He had come. He had finally come for me. I stood transfixed to the spot, gaping at him. His smile as he caught sight of me was honey-sweet and utterly poisonous.

"Jacqueline," he said and both the honey and poison could be heard in his voice. He had taken all of three steps toward me when I dropped my rag and bolted.

Blinding terror, like I felt the night of Il Muto, held me in its grasp once again; once again I ran without knowing where I was going. Past shocked staff, down through the auditorium, into the back rooms. A man had been carrying a freshly carved plaster prop — until I pushed him out of my way, knocking it from his hands. His curses at me were barely registered as blood pounded in my ears and I sought for a place to hide.

No, my conscience seemed to say, find Meg and Christine! Despite the fact that there were plenty of people working around me, I did not feel safe here. These people did not know Benoit or what he would do to me. Christine's promise to protect me rang strong in my mind. I had to find her or Meg. So I kept running. And while logic would have suggested I run upstairs, I found myself looping around and ending up back in the dark auditorium. We had not yet begun to clean in there and none of the lights had been lit, although someone had propped open the entry doors, allowing pale, watery, daylight to filter in.

I ran up onto the stage and stopped. As if the act of suddenly halting had turned my legs to lead, I found I couldn't move again. The huge curtains had been drawn back and I stood center stage, as still as the statues I'd been dusting, staring at the open doors. Move! I shrieked inwardly. Move your legs!

But instead of running I burst into tears.

"Well, that was unnecessary."

I spun around to face the source of that smooth yet irritated voice.

I should have run, but a different kind of fear had taken over and I was frozen in place. Ironically, this is when running would have helped me. The last time I ran I put myself in danger, placing myself in a murderer's path; this time I should have ran to escape it.

"Such a shame," Benoit said, treading cautiously as though not to set me running again. He shook his head. "What a disgrace you've come to be, Lina." I hated hearing my name on his tongue. I wanted to yell at him and tell him never to say my name again. But a wracking sob was all that came out.

"So you will understand why I have to do it. I cannot allow you to go on like this." His gaze was full of pity as he came ever nearer. "And you were so pretty."

His hand shot out to grab me by the throat. I gasped and instinctively reached up to pull his hand away, but too late. Both of his strong hands wrapped around my neck and I tried to cry out, but could not as I started to choke. Desperately, I clawed at his hands, to loosen his grasp, but failed at that too.

My vision began to black out. He was going to choke me to death. I had escaped this fate once, but knew that this time there would be no escape. The man that had ruined my life, the same man who I had to blame (or thank) for making me run away to the opera house, would now end it. I knew this, yet still made a feeble attempt to pull his hands away. My lungs burned with an intense pain and I finally gave up and willed it to all be over now.

Air rushed into my lungs as Benoit's grip on my throat was unexpectedly removed. As painful as it had been suffocating, the sudden breath was almost as painful. Gasping huge gulps of air, I dropped to the stage with a loud thump. Putting my own hand to my throat to try and ease the pain, I realized I was free. Without looking up, I scuttled backwards from him as fast as I could. My vision returned to me, albeit a bit slowly, and I was able to make out the form of Benoit in the darkness even through the sea of tears pouring out of my eyes. Then I noticed the reason Benoit had released me. I couldn't see the rope around his neck very well, but I knew it was there. His hands at his throat told me that.

And there he stood. A Phantom, indeed! He was certainly solid enough, though the only thing I could make out was the solemn face of his white mask. But my eyes were drawn to the tortured face of Benoit.

His eyes bulged out of his head and even in the darkness I could see his face changing colors. It was so horrible I knew I should look away and I wanted to. Yet I gaped at him from my rumpled position on the floor until the stench of urine reached my nose and his gurgling ceased. When he had stilled completely the Phantom lowered his body to the floor, none too gently, I noticed.

All I could do was stare. After a few seconds, in which I'm sure the Phantom had been staring back at me, he reached down and loosened the noose from Benoit's neck. He let his head drop to the stage without care. The dull thud did not bother me.

At a noise from the entryway the Phantom whirled and all but vanished in the darkness. Someone called my name and the cleaners, bearing candles, appeared along with the managers. My flight through the opera house had obviously had more impact than I'd realized. A few women ran to me asking if I was all right, to which I could only shake my head. The rest stopped at the sight of Benoit's body lying unmoving on the floor. Several of them, including Monsieur André, looked like they might be sick. A couple men went to him, confirming that he was dead.

"What happened here?" Monsieur Firmin asked me, bewildered.

I tried to answer, but started coughing. When I was finally able to answer, my voice was rough. "He saved me."

Everyone exchanged confused glances.

"How…?" Monsieur André's preposterous question died on his lips as he peered at Benoit.

Vigorously I shook my head. "Not him. He tried to kill me. It was… the phantom. The Phantom saved my life by killing him." I motioned to Benoit. At this Firmin and André went positively rigid. Gasps went up from the others followed by a lot of whispering.

"Miss Devoreaux," Monsieur Firmin said starchily, "I thought we had discussed this alr—"

"We had, sir, but you are wrong," I interrupted.

Clearly upset by my statement, and looking slightly murderous himself, Firmin marched over to me and half-helped, half-dragged me to my feet.

"Do you know what I think, Miss Devoreaux?" he hissed in my ear as he pulled me to the side-stage. "I think you just killed a man in my theatre and the 'Phantom' has become a very convenient scape-goat for you. This is now the second death we will have to cover for!"

Monsieur André was frowning, nodding in agreement. "However will we cover this? He is not even a cast member!"

Firmin straightened, releasing the grip on my arm, and smoothed the front of his wine-colored jacket. "Bribes. We will have to bribe them all."

"Who?" asked Monsieur André.

"Whoever we need to." Firmin turned a glare my direction. "I have half a mind to throw you out of this opera house, Miss Devoreaux. If you can prove your worth here and stop all this Phantom nonsense we will allow you to stay. But I never want to hear the words 'Opera Ghost' or 'Phantom' from your mouth again. Do you understand?"

A look at Monsieur André and I saw that he shared Monsieur Firmin's sentiment. What could I do but agree?

"Good," said Firmin as I nodded.

Madame Giry appeared seconds later. After a brief scrutiny of Benoit's prone form, she embraced me tightly. Cradling my face in her hands, she asked if I was all right. After a good long cry, soothing words, and more hugs, I finally felt I could give her an answer.

"I don't honestly know."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but had some technical difficulties (again!). Sorry about that! Please all you awesome readers! DO tell me what you think! Is Giselle properly punished? Or will the Phantom take it even further? How will Benoit's death affect Lina? Thank you Followers and Favoriters for your support of my story :)