Chapter 2

Christine barely made it through the doorway before she was sprinting down the corridor—Only to slam straight into a solid chest.

The impact jolted her, knocking the breath from her lungs. Panic still clawed at her as she staggered back, eyes wide, her apology tumbling out in a breathless rush.

"S-Sorry—!"

She had to keep moving. Get out of this damn basement. Now.

But a hand caught her shoulder. Steady, though not harsh. Firm enough to stop her in her tracks.

"Nurse Daaé?"

Christine froze, looking up into the familiar, bewildered face of Dr. Nadir Khan.

"What on earth are you doing down here?" he asked, brow creased in concern.

"I... I don't know," Christine stammered, her heart pounding in her ears. "I was just trying to get to Engineering, and I wasn't paying attention, and I must've gotten on the wrong floor, and—"

"Miss… Nurse… Christine!" Dr. Khan interrupted, raising a hand to calm her. "Slow down."

Her mouth snapped shut as Dr. Khan studied her, eyes narrowed. It wasn't anger, just confusion

"You shouldn't even be able to enter this floor. How did you...?" His voice faded as the realization hit, and he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "The access codes."

Christine could only nod, unable to look at him. Her eyes stayed fixed on the laces of her shoes.

"But… why were you running?"

The question struck her. What could she say?

The dead, mummified body down the hall came back to life and started talking to me? Her throat tightened at the absurdity of the truth. She suddenly wondered what the food was like at the local psychiatric hospital.

"I… I don't know… I—"

"Christine," Dr. Khan said again, his voice gentler this time. "Take a breath. You're not in trouble here."

His expression softened as he studied her face. "Are you alright? You look positively ill."

Christine didn't know what to say to that. She probably did look like she'd seen a ghost.

Had she truly just seen a dead man come to life? The rational part of her mind screamed for a logical explanation. But the image of the bandaged face and the low, resonant voice was seared into her memory.

She glanced up at Dr. Khan. If there was anyone she could trust to keep this quiet, it was him. He was cautious. Careful. Discreet.

And right now, she needed someone to believe her.

"I…" she began, her voice catching. "I think I may have seen something I wasn't supposed to." The words tumbled out faster than she could control them. "Just down the hall. I thought it was a cadaver, but then that didn't make sense. It was one unlike I'd ever seen before… like a mummy… and then I saw it breathing, and it spoke, and—"

"Erik," Dr. Khan mumbled, so softly that Christine almost missed it.

"What?"

He blinked, as if he hadn't meant to say it aloud. His expression shifted, tension replacing concern. "Oh. It's… it's a life-size, simulation model. Something we're developing for medical training."

Christine stared. "And it talks?"

His eyes flickered—just barely— before he smiled. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "We're… testing new features."

"But—"

"Christine," he said, cutting her off. His voice was firm now, though not unkind. "I need you to go home and forget what you saw here tonight."

"I don't—"

"Nurse Daaé," he said again, sharper this time. The authority in his tone left no room for argument. "This is the last we will speak of it."

The sudden demand silenced her. Christine blinked, stunned. Dr. Khan had never spoken to her like that. He was always kind. Always careful.

Now there was steel in his voice. A wall.

She stared at him, her fear giving way to a gnawing sense of confusion. None of this made any sense.

Then, as if he realized how deeply he'd unsettled her, Dr. Khan straightened and smoothed the edge from his voice. When he spoke again, it was with his usual calm, measured cadence.

"It's late. You should go home."

Christine nodded, although she barely heard him, still reeling by the uncharacteristic shift, that glimpse of someone she didn't quite recognize. But she didn't dare protest.

"O... Okay"

She turned away, moving on autopilot, and pushed open the heavy door leading to the stairwell.

Dr. Khan didn't follow.

Halfway up the stairs, Christine remembered she'd meant to stop by Engineering. But by now, they'd almost certainly gone home for the night. And even if they hadn't… she wasn't sure she wanted to face anyone like this.

It was dark by the time she opened the door to her car.

She drove home in silence, thoughts churning. She drove home in silence, her thoughts churning. For once, she activated Auto. She didn't trust herself to navigate traffic, not with her hands still trembling.

The image of that body—that man—played over and over in her mind in an endless loop, each pass more surreal than the last.

Nothing she could come up with, and certainly not Dr. Khan's explanation, felt convincing.

Nothing that looked like that could be alive.

Could it?

When she finally reached her apartment, Christine tossed her keys onto the cardboard box that had served as a makeshift coat rack since she'd moved in.

Dinner was thoughtless and familiar: reheated white rice, topped with leftover rotisserie chicken and microwaved broccoli.

She turned on the television, desperate for a distraction.

"cal city representative Joseph Bucker was found deceased at his downtown townhouse early this morning. Investigations are still underway, and though it is currently unclear if foul play was involved, police have stated there is no threat to the general public. We will keep you updated as the situation unfolds. Mr. Bucker is survived by his—"

Nope.

Christine changed the channel immediately, settling on some mindless game show. She didn't need a reminder of how terrible the world could be. Not tonight.

She just wanted something, anything, to drown out the thoughts still cycling through her mind.

But as the minutes dragged on, she realized it wasn't her thoughts that she was trying to escape.

It was that voice.

She could almost believe the body had been animatronic. The skin had looked wrong. The proportions were off. And she hadn't even seen the lips move.

But the voice...

The voice had been anything but artificial.

Low. Haunting. Beautiful .

And so very alive.

And then, amid the fog of questions and self-doubt, one thought surfaced with startling clarity:

Dr. Khan wasn't supposed to be at the hospital today.

…..

It was 4:47 on a Friday evening, and Christine was stuck staring at her phone.

Raoul's number sat neatly saved in her contacts. She'd meant to text him, to let him know she couldn't make it tonight with some excuse that he would probably see right through.

Something had come up. Work was too busy. She'd found a sick baby turtle on the side of the road and was nursing it back to health.

Ugh. Why did it have to feel so complicated?

He shouldn't even want to go on a date with her, she reasoned. He should cancel the reservations. Or better yet, take someone else. Someone more... not her.

But the text box stayed empty.

Every excuse she tried to type felt hollow. So instead, she ignored it.

Raoul would understand.

Work had been disheartening the past several days. The young boy, Alex, was still deteriorating, and there was nothing left to do but manage his pain. The helplessness gnawed at Christine, tearing at her heart in ways she wasn't prepared to face.

Ever since Christine had run into him in the basement, Dr. Khan had seemed unusually tense. He'd sent her home early today. Offered her tomorrow off entirely.

Christine had wanted to ask him again about what she'd seen in the basement—that body, that voice—but each time she'd opened her mouth, the moment had slipped away. The tension was just too sharp, and she'd never described herself as brave.

Some things cannot be unseen.

The words echoed in her head. She replayed them again and again. The cadence. The tone. It haunted her so vividly that she was no longer sure what was real and what was imagined.

Whatever—or whoever—she had seen down there, it hadn't been a model. She knew that. No matter what Dr. Khan claimed, she'd felt it. Heard it.

That presence had been alive.

And if that was true… it meant someone was being kept down there. Someone Dr. Khan didn't want her to know about.

God, maybe she should go on that date with Raoul. Just to get her mind off all of this. Just to feel normal again.

But she didn't.

Instead, she sat alone, the weight of the evening stretching ahead of her.

Maybe tomorrow she'd finally take a day for herself. There was that little café with the open mic she passed sometimes. It might be nice to sing again. Just for fun. To shake the dust off her voice. To let her mind go somewhere, anywhere,else for a while. Maybe she was finally ready for that.

Suddenly, a knock at the door wrested her from her thoughts, dragging her attention away from the blank text message on her phone. She wasn't expecting anyone. Maybe she was just hearing sounds from the hallway. Maybe if she was quiet, they'd go away.

Another knock followed. Louder this time. Firmer.

Christine groaned as she pushed herself off the couch, tossing her phone onto the coffee table. It was only a few short steps to the front door, which she opened without much thought.

"Off early today?" said the visitor, striding inside without so much as an invitation.

Marguerite Giry—Meg, as she was more affectionately known—brushed past Christine and made a beeline for the couch. She dropped onto it like she owned it and immediately snatched Christine's phone off the table.

"Got a hot date tonight?"

Christine almost let out an indignant No! Before realizing it might not be entirely true. And that Meg would only get more suspicious if she denied it outright. Instead, she opted for deflection.

"How did you even know I'd be home? That's a long way to go for a maybe."

"I've been tracking your location since middle school. Thought you knew that," Meg replied nonchalantly, already tapping in the correct code combination into Christine's phone like it was hers.

"Hey that's—!"

"Why do you have Raoul Chagny pulled up in your messages, Chrissie!?" Meg exclaimed.

"It's nothing!" Christine could feel the heat rising up her neck. Why did her skin always betray her like this, flushing that perfectly mortifying shade of strawberry pink the moment she got even slightly embarrassed? "You know he works at—"

"You do! You do have a date! With Raoul Chagny!"

"No, it's not like that," Christine said quickly, sheepish. Then, without warning, she lunged across Meg, reaching for her phone.

"And you weren't going to tell me?" Meg gasped, holding the phone high above her head, effortlessly fending Christine off with one forearm. "I had to traipse halfway across town to find out? What a best friend you are."

"I'm not going on a date with Raoul Chagny." Christine insisted, making another grab for the phone. But Meg was taller. And had much longer arms. And a lifetime of experience in outrunning Christine's flustered defenses.

"But he did ask you."

"Well—"

"Spill it, Daaé."

Christine sighed, realizing there was no way out of this. "He told me to let him know by five. He has reservations at Shigeru's at seven."

"And it's—" Meg's eyes lit up as she glanced at the time on Christine's phone. "It's 4:55!"

A wicked grin spread across her face. The kind that always made Christine a little nervous.

"Meg…"

"I don't care who the man is! It's Shigeru's! You'll thank me later!"

Before Christine could react, Meg leaped off the couch, clutching the phone high above her head as she typed furiously. Christine didn't even try to stop her this time and just shook her head in resignation. She really needed to change her phone's passcode.

"I thought you'd fight more." Meg's sighed dramatically, shoulders slumping. "How disappointing."

Christine opened her mouth to reply, but the almost immediate ding of her phone cut her off.

"You're welcome!" Meg declared, tossing the phone at her. Christine barely managed to catch it, fumbling with both hands.

The taller brunette was already sauntering toward the fridge.

"Got anything good in here?"

"You're going to be disappointed," Christine muttered, unlocking her phone. "I didn't plan to cater for a prying prima ballerina."

Better to see what damage Meg had done.

She scrolled to the most recent message .

Of course! I'll pick you up at 6:40, if you're comfortable sending me your address. If not, I'd be happy to meet you there.

Christine winced. Then scrolled up.

Heyyyy! It's Christine. Still have those reservations for 7:00?

"I would never use that many y's," Christine grumbled. "It feels... forward."

"Yeah," Meg replied, rooting through the fridge. She pulled out a half-eaten Chinese takeout box and held it up. "And you need to get laid."

"Meg!"

Her friend sniffed the box's contents and grimaced, scrunching up her nose with an exaggerated shudder. "Or at least get a decent meal in you." She dumped the old food into the trash with a dramatic flourish.

"Meg…" Christine repeated, more warning this time.

"What? It's true," Meg said with a shrug. "It'll be easy, too. Chagny was so into you back in school. Don't know why you didn't just go through with it. He's gorgeous. And loaded."

Christine groaned. "Meg, it's not that simple."

Meg waved her off, "Don't give me that. All men are simple. Then she pointed at the phone still in Christine's hand. "Send him your address!"

"But—"

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Meg snatched the phone and typed out the message herself.

Another ding.

"Awesome. I'll see you soon. Winky face." Meg recited dramatically, adding her own exaggerated wink for effect.

It was Christine's turn to roll her eyes, watching as Meg resumed her overzealous exploration of the fridge.

"Maybe I just wanted to binge the night away with one of those trashy romance shows," Christine muttered. "And I don't even like sushi."

Meg didn't even glance back. "If you can name one past Bachelor, Chris, I'll text Raoul right now and say it was all a joke. Or maybe I'll meet him at Shigeru's myself. And how can you not like sushi?"

Christine hesitated, her brain scrambling. "I, uh... that one. With the, um... hair. And the, uh..." She made a vague gesture at her chest.

"Wow." Meg turned, entirely unimpressed. "There've been seventy-three Bachelors, and the best you've got is 'the one with hair.'"

Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Meg held up a hand. "Honestly, if you'd just said something like 'James' or 'Kyle,' you'd probably have been right at least three times."

Triumphant, she finally emerged from the fridge, clutching a can of hard seltzer—likely leftover from her last visit. "Clearly, you were so looking forward to your binge-watch marathon tonight. What a fantastic reason to pass up a date with a hot, smart, rich man who obviously adores you."

"Fine, fine!" Christine threw up her hands in mock defeat, heading toward the hall. "I'll go get ready."

"Not without my help!" Meg chirped, prancing after her, clearly delighted. "And if you were talking about Samuel, then yes. His pecs were amazing."

Christine cast a glance over her shoulder. "I just thought they were a little... excessive."

Christine, teetering on the edge of panic, realized she had absolutely no idea what to wear.

Sure, she owned nicer clothes. Somewhere. But she hadn't gotten around to unpacking much beyond her boxes of scrubs and sleepwear.

Not my fault, she reasoned. Her last earnings statement showed she was clocking over seventy hours a week. When, exactly, was she supposed to unpack?

Fortunately, Meg made quick work of the first box she tore into, triumphantly pulling out a pair of dark, skinny-cut jeans. They were a little looser than Christine remembered, but with a pair of boots, some jewelry, and a slim, gray turtleneck, the ensemble came together.

It was simple. Polished. Just reserved enough to say: non-committal dinner- date.

Christine paused, staring at her reflection.

Date.

She was going on a date.

With Raoul Chagny.

"Are you going on a date or a job interview?" Meg's dry remark snapped Christine out of her thoughts.

"Well, he did recommend me for my job," Christine replied, adjusting the turtleneck with a faint wince.

"Gotta love a lil' cup of nepotism in the morning," Meg quipped, her voice muffled as she rummaged through another bo

Christine snorted but didn't argue. She was well aware of how she'd landed her job. She was also well aware that OSSAM had been her best option by far. Between student loans and her father's lingering medical debt, she hadn't had much choice. The company's benefits helped with the loans, and her steady salary chipped away at the rest.

But she also knew she'd nailed her interview. The hiring panel had been impressed, and she'd more than proven herself since. Raoul may have opened the door, but Christine had earned her spot.

Despite what she'd told the receptionist earlier that week, she knew she was good at her job.

"It's this or sorting through another half dozen boxes until we can find something you approve of," she said as she fastened the clasp of the gold necklace. It matched nicely with her earrings.

"Yeah, yeah," Meg replied, waving her off. "Only you could actually make a turtleneck look good, though."

"Aww, Meg, you think I'm pretty?"

Meg snatched a shirt from the pile she was folding and tossed it squarely at Christine's face.

Christine ducked, laughing softly.

Turning back to the mirror, she worked on taming her auburn-blonde curls before applying a subtle layer of makeup. The blush helped add a little color to her tired complexion, and the concealer did an adequate job hiding the dark circles that had taken up permanent residence beneath her eyes.

"Uh-uh," Meg interrupted, digging through Christine's makeup bag. She pulled out an eyeliner, lash curler, and mascara, holding them up triumphantly. "If you're gonna dress like my mom, you're at least gonna let me do this."

Christine reached for the items, trying to snatch them back. "I can do it myself."

"No can do, sister." Meg tucked them behind her back, grinning. "My turn."

Christine sighed, finally relenting.

Meg set to work with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times. She leaned in close, her fingers steady as she applied a thin line of eyeliner to Christine's upper lids.

"God, were you always this pretty, Chris?"

"Come say that again when I'm covered in blood or vomit, please."

Meg chuckled. Christine couldn't help but be reminded of their childhood. Breaking into Mrs. Giry's makeup drawer before they were even teenagers. Meg's mom had never scolded them. Years later, Meg had told Christine that her mom had always felt bad, knowing Christine didn't have a mom of her own.

Christine had just shrugged. She hadn't really known the woman anyway.

"Blink twice," Meg instructed, holding up the lash curler. Christine obeyed without complaint, squeezing her eyes shut as Meg clamped the curler gently over her lashes.

"Almost done," Meg announced as she unscrewed the mascara tube, brushing it over Christine's lashes with a flourish. "Voila! Perfect."

Christine leaned closer to the mirror to examine Meg's handiwork. Her lashes looked fuller, her eyes brighter. Combined with the subtle blush and concealer she'd applied earlier, she felt more... awake. Alive.

"Now, earrings," Meg announced, stepping back to survey her work with a critical eye.

"These are fine—" Christine started, but at Meg's expression, she rolled her eyes and complied, swapping her usual studs for a pair of tasteful gold hoops.

She studied her reflection for a moment longer.

She looked… nice.

More than that, she looked like herself—like the person she'd almost forgotten. Someone who had existed before late shifts, constant stress, and the endless churn of OSSAM.

Without her consent, she was thinking of the basement again. Why couldn't she get it out of her head? She tried to push it away, but it lingered.

Suddenly, her reflection in the mirror didn't look like her anymore. The flicker of recognition slipped away, and all that remained was a stranger.

Jeez, the exhaustion must be really catching up to her.

The smack of fabric against her face startled her out of her thoughts.

"Hey!" she yelped, yanking the shirt off her head and glaring at Meg, who stood grinning triumphantly by the open box.

"Welcome back to reality," Meg said, hands on her hips. "Look, whatever's in your head, you can overthink it tomorrow. Tonight, you've got a date with Raoul freaking Chagny, and you're rocking that turtleneck like nobody's business."

Christine smirked, shaking her head. Meg always had a way of overplaying things, but that didn't stop the compliment from settling somewhere warm in her chest.

For years, Meg had been the only reason Christine had any confidence at all.

She tapped the screen of her phone. It lit up with the time. Ten more minutes before Raoul was supposed to pick her up. Her gaze softened as she glanced at her phone's wallpaper. It was an old photo of her as a little girl, dolled up for her first recital. Her father, young and healthy, stood behind her, arms wrapped around her small frame. His face radiated pride

He probably would have liked Raoul.

"Can I borrow this?"

Meg's voice snapped her out of the memory. Christine looked up to see her friend holding up a maroon, deep-cut blouse.

"Keep it," Christine said with a shrug. "If I haven't thought of it in six months, I doubt I'll miss it."

"Nice." Meg glanced at her watch. "Raoul should be here soon, which means I should not be here soon. Where's your purse?"

"By the front door," Christine said, distracted, her eyes still lingering on the photo.

"Okay, thanks!"

"Meg!" Christine called after her, suddenly suspicious. "What do you want with my purse?"

"Oh, nothing!" Meg's singsong voice carried from the kitchen.

Christine bolted in just in time to catch her mid-rifle. A twenty-dollar bill dangled from Meg's fingers.

"I came here to have dinner with my best friend," Meg said sweetly. "Since you're ditching me for your hot date, I figured the least you could do is buy me dinner."

"I… Meg!" Christine sputtered. "I'm only going on this date because of you!"

"Details, details." Meg waved her off, slipping the cash into her pocket with a smirk.

A knock at the door startled Christine. She jumped.

Raoul was early.

Before Christine could even move, Meg was already at the door, swinging it open. Beyond it stood Raoul Chagny—wide-eyed and a little caught off guard, dressed neatly in a sport coat and jeans. He offered a polite smile, clearly not expecting Meg.

"Oh hey, buddy!" Meg greeted, casually leaning against the frame. She eyed the blonde man up and down, appraising him like a product in a storefront window. "Long time, no see. I like the new haircut. Makes you look a little less like you've got money coming out of your—"

"Oh hey, buddy!" Meg greeted as she swung the door open, casually leaning against the frame. She eyed the blonde man up and down, appraising him like a product in a storefront window. "Long time, no see. I like the new haircut. Makes you look a little less like you've got money coming out of your—"

"Meg!" Christine hissed from behind the kitchen island.

"Hello, Marguerite," Raoul said smoothly, his tone warm and amused. He pulled her into a friendly hug, which Meg returned. "You haven't changed a bit. I take it I have you to thank for my date tonight?"

"What gave it away?" Meg quipped, pushing away playfully from Raoul.

"I don't believe I've ever known Christine to use such an excessive number of y's in a message. Or anyone, really."

"Damn," Meg replied, shrugging. "Sounds boring. People should learn to live a little."

"Perhaps," Raoul chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. "But in that case, I suppose I owe you my thanks. I imagine I'd have been quite lonely tonight otherwise."

"No probs, Chagny!" Meg grinned before glancing back toward Christine, who was half-hidden behind the quartz counter of the kitchen island.

Christine felt her cheeks burn, but her irritation with Meg was tempered by gratitude. As always, her friend had an uncanny ability to make an awkward situation seem effortlessly easy.

"Well, that's my cue!" Meg chirped, twirling toward the door with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Have fun! And remember, kids—practice safe sex!"

She winked dramatically, then vanished out the door.

Christine froze, cheeks burning. She forced herself to glance at Raoul, trying to ignore the blush creeping up her neck. Forcing a shy wave, she stepped out from behind the counter.

She hesitated. Should she hug him? Shake his hand? Was there some other protocol for dates with someone you kind of knew, but not really?

It felt… messy. Complicated.

"Just moved in?" Raoul asked, his gaze shifting to the piles of unopened boxes lining the walls.

"Uh, no," Christine admitted, flustered. "It's just that with work and all that, I—"

"I could speak with management," Raoul offered, cutting in smoothly. "You're on salary. You shouldn't have to—"

"No! Please," The words came out more forcefully than she intended. She cringed inwardly but pushed through. "I'm fine. Really. I want to work. I'll probably get to it tomorrow anyway, since I started with Meg today. Dr. Khan is forcing me to take a full day off. Didn't even let me argue."

Raoul's smile softened as he moved to the door, holding it open for her. "Well, then, I think we may have time for my surprise after all."

"Wait—Raoul, surprise?" Christine asked, grabbing her purse as she followed.

"I shan't spoil it," he said with an enigmatic smile, gently guiding her through the doorway.

Christine raised an eyebrow but allowed herself to be herded.

"Shall we?"

12