"Christine!"

Christine, having finished a rehearsal and had been going to her dressing room, turned to see Raoul dashing down a hallway towards her, a grin displaying on his face.

He stopped in front of her, panting slightly.

"How are you?" Christine asked politely.

"Missing the sea." Raoul said wistfully. "That's where you see the best sunsets."

Christine nodded, pulling the edges if her costume up.

"Anyway, I was wondering-"

"No." Christine said shortly. "I will not go to dinner with you."

"Nooo. No no. Not to dinner." He shrugged. "I just want a tour of the Opera House."

"A tour? Surely you've had one already."

He flashed a wide grin, his arm reaching sheepishly to his neck. "Well, yeah." His blue stared intently at her. "Only the official one, and I bet you know where all the good spots are. The ones they don't show us." He gestured to himself. "The viscounts and things."

"Hmm." Christine watched him softly for a moment, then smiled gently. "Very well. However, I would be careful, they say there is a ghost."

Raoul chuckled warmly. "I've been hearing about him ever since I first came here." He glanced at Christine. "Do you think he's real?"

"I doubt it." Christine laughed. "Honestly, spirits coming from the grave to haunt an Opera House. This is a modern age of science, not legends and myths."

"Everyone seems quite convinced that he exists." Raoul said seriously. "They even say the new opera is his, what's it called, Don Yuan's trident?" He winked.

"Don Yuan Triumphant." Christine correct him. "Careful Monsieur, the Opera Ghost does not like insults."

"Ah yes." Raoul shrugged. "May we start the tour now?"

Christine schooled her face seriously. "First, we must visit the basements."

"The managers won't show me those." Raoul scowled. "Little twits, I bet they're just scared."

"Everyone is." Christine informed him. "I hear the seamstresses draw straws to gather the costumes down there."

"You don't seem afraid." He observed as they began walking down the hallway.

Christine shrugged. "As I said, I don't believe in ghosts. Especially the Opera kind."

"Fair point."

They turned down the stairs, Christine ignored the stares of a few actors and ballet girls, the lead singer accompanying patrons was nothing new.

"Do you know everyone here?" Raoul asked as they continued down.

Christine nodded. "Almost, but mostly everyone. And I don't, someone I know will."

"Do you know a chap named Boquet?" He asked, waving to a passing actor. "I've heard he's the man to talk to if you want information."

"No one knows where he is." Christine said smoothly. "He's been missing for weeks."

"Really?" They turned down another stairway and began down another hallway. "Has no one filed a report to the police?"

"No one liked him very much." Christine said grimly. "He was a very disagreeable man."

"I see." Raoul stared thoughtfully into the distance. "Do you think that anyone will ever look for him?"

"I doubt it." Christine smiled. "Monsieur, we are on the first basement."

"The first?" He looked around curiously. "How many basements are there?"

"Five." Christine smiled primly. "I will only be showing you three."

"Three?" Raoul looked at her. "What's wrong with the last two?"

Christine looked away. "Strange things happen when people visit those." She murmured. "Most prefer to remain on the higher levels."

"I thought you didn't believe in the ghost." Raoul said accusingly.

"I don't." Christine said. "But even I can admit that something strange happens on the lower levels."

"Very well." Raoul said. "Let's see those three basements."

She showed him the furnaces, the winding tunnels and the racks and racks of costumes. Raoul actually shouted with delight as he found an old sailor's cap.

He donned it and began swaggering around the racks, pausing to stare at a trunk. "What's this now?" He said in a gruff sound quite unlike his usual voice. "Treasure hmm? We'll be rich!" He declared, kneeling to throw open the trunk.

It was empty, a prop for the stage, never meant to be really used.

Not to be disappointed, Raoul grasped thin air and held it out to Christine. "Look at that!" He pulled an imaginary pipe out of his mouth. "Well what do you know? I've never seen anything like it, it's almost like nothin."

Christine smiled, taking the air from him she set it back into the trunk. "Best leave it for the next explorers to find." She said seriously. "There's little enough treasure as is, Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock who?" Raoul stuck his pipe back in. "Another man? Hmm. Shall I duel him for your hand?"

"Heavens no. I'll decide whom I'll marry." Christine said, standing and slamming the trunk shut.

"Course course. Twas only a suggestion." Raoul said, sweeping off his hat gracefully and setting it were he had found it.

They moved on to the second basement, then the third. He didn't argue when she told him to climb back up all the stairs.

Then they visited the dressing rooms, the halls of sets behind the stage and climbed the winding riggings that managed the curtains and backdrops.

"It's like being at sea again." Raoul said. "We'd have ropes just about everywhere there too."

"I imagine, having to manage all those sails." Christine smiled and stared down at the stage, realizing that this must have been near where Erik had been during the audition. "It's quite the view." She commented.

"I bet the roof has an even better one!" Raoul said brightly. "Want to go there next? I haven't seen the view there yet."

Christine closed her eyes, squeezing them shut she forced back a sudden onslaught of tears. "No." She said. "I can't take you on the roof."

Raoul turned to her, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Chris, is something wrong?"

"Not anymore." She smiled. "The roof.... is painful for me to visit. I'm sorry."

Raoul nodded. "I understand, we don't have too." Absently he pulled a pocket watch out of his jacket, silently he cursed. "Chris, I gotta go. Thanks for the tour, I had a great time." He tucked the watch back in the folds of silk.

Christine felt her lips press together tightly, she grasped his shoulder, turning him to face her. "What did you call me?" She asked, staring at him intently.

"Aaaaah. Chris. Sorry, I just..." Raoul shrugged. "I like nicknames, all the sailors used em. I used to be Richy, as in, I'm rich. I hope you don't mind."

Christine shook her head slowly. "No. No I don't." Playfully she pushed him away. "Come now Richy." She chastised. "Best get to your next appointment."

Raoul nodded. "Thanks again Chris. Have a good day."

"You what?" Meg shouted at the next day at the Sunday dinner. "You gave him a tour? Why didn't you bring me?"

Christine looked down at her chicken, some sauce oozed out as she cut herself another piece. "I didn't think of it. I'm sorry."

"Really Meg." Madame Giry said. "Christine cannot be expected to invite you to every event you find mildly amusing."

Meg blushed and looked down at her chicken. "Sorry mamam."

Christine smiled gently. "It's quite alright, I don't mind."

"Well other people will." Madame Giry snapped. "She'd best learn her manners now rather than later."

Nadir looked up from his own chicken, his third helping. "How was your day, Annoittete?"

"Annoying." Madame Giry stabbed her food with her fork. "Really, that Opera Ghost better shut up about poor Mary being too slow I swear I'll climb down those cellars and kill him myself." She shoved her fork in her mouth and began resolutely chewing.

"Mother, he is right." Meg said meekly.

"Well she sprained her ankle, she can't help it." Madame Giry glared at Meg. "He told her to hurry up five times, she's thinking of leaving the corps and she's my best pointe dancer. I can't lose her."

Christine pressed her lips together in frustration. "He is being awfully particular."

"I declare I don't know what's gotten in him!" Madame Giry cried, throwing her fork on her plate. "It's like he's suddenly turned on the world. The managers are looking like they haven't slept in weeks. I wouldn't either with all he's been piling on them."

Nadir frowned, giving Christine a look, then turned to Madame Giry. "It's your best production yet." He said gently. "You have to admit, all that criticism has forced a large amount of improvement."

"Well I feel the the same effect could be had with a more tactful hand." Madame Giry snapped.

"He's been getting worse." Christine murmured.

"Our first performance is next week." Meg said. "I'm so excited, it's going to be wonderful."

Christine set her spoon on her plate, she pushed out her chair and picked up her dishes.

"Where are you going?" Meg asked.

"To bed." Christine said, her hands trembling as she placed her cup on her plate.

"But we haven't had desert yet?" Meg argued.

"I'm not hungry." Christine answered, walking away into the kitchen.

Her hands shook as she washed the dishes, she almost broke a bowl while drying them.

Twelve officers, each on poised to kill him.

He always watched the performances from box five. Always, one of them was bound to hit him.

"There have been some rather bad threats."

But if he was truly threatening them, and if he had ever intended to follow through, perhaps it was for the best. Christine thought as she climbed up the stairs. Erik's moral compass had never been good.

"It's like he's suddenly turned on the world."

Instead of hiding away to die, he had become worse than ever. Become what she had always feared, that what was inside him, what she had feared when he had talked of Boqout had taken over.

Christine sat on her bed, a tear slipped down her cheek.

"The first performance is next week."

Tears slid from her eyes as she slid under her covers.

Oh Erik. She begged silently. Please be careful, please don't turn into what people fear you have.

When Meg slipped into her own bed, Christine was still awake, contemplating. Meg's breaths soon became even and deep, signaling that she had fallen asleep just a few minutes afterwards.

Christine didn't sleep until it was almost dawn.