I'm back! heck yes...anyway, this is just a random idea i've been toying with for a while, but just now got a chance to put it on paper. hope you enjoy.

btw, this story is set in Leroux's universe...Raoul is in character (egad!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera in any way; we have Monsieur Leroux to thank for that.


"Let me get this straight, Monsieur," said the man patiently, readjusting his round spectacles that sat on the bridge of his rather large and pointy nose. "You saw a pair of eyes?"

Raoul nodded feverishly, sitting up quickly from where he'd been lying down on the plush couch. "Yes, eyes. They were glowing red, and I saw them looking at me! So I pulled out the pistol I had under my pillow and—"

"You have a pistol under your pillow? Monsieur, I'm sure that a man such as you could afford the best security measures—"

"Then tell me how those eyes managed to get into my bedroom, Doctor!"

The doctor scrawled something down on his notepad. "Monsieur, tell me something about, ah…" he consulted his notes, "this Mademoiselle Daae. You say she…disappeared?"

Raoul felt tears of anger welling up in his eyes. "Yes! She was taken by that beast Erik! It's a good thing that she managed to escape—"

"Ah, so she isn't missing. I was getting worried I'd have to file a police report."

He glared at the doctor. "This isn't a laughing matter, Monsieur," he said coldly. "Christine and I are in grave danger."

"Tell me about Erik. Now, who exactly did you say he was?"

"He's the Angel of Music! Christine told me about him, and then I heard him sing for myself in the graveyard one night—"

"I don't understand what the danger is, then. If, as you say, he is truly an angel, then—"

"He isn't an Angel," said Raoul suspiciously, his fanatical glance roving around the small office. "He wants Christine to himself. Tell me, what kind of an angel would want that?"

The doctor wrote something along the lines of 'frantic and contradictory statements…cause?' down on his notepad. "And, how old is Mademoiselle Daae?"

"Oh, I dunno…sixteen or seventeen; she's very mature for her age, though."

"Hmm…" The notepad now read: 'significantly younger woman. EW!' "Monsieur, your account leads me to wonder…"

"What is it, Doctor?"

"Are you using?"

"I beg your pardon…?"

"Snuff. I read in the papers today that England is doing outrageously well with the opium trade, what with having India and all…and I was wondering if you perhaps had invested, and they sent you a sample…?"

"That's preposterous, Doctor!" said Raoul angrily. "I'd never do such I thing in my life!"

"I see…" The doctor consulted his expensive pocket watch. "Well, Monsieur, it seems that our time is up. I shall see you next week, then?"

Raoul nodded, his expression blank, which wasn't particularly surprising.

"Very well," said the doctor, handing Raoul a slip of paper.

Raoul paled when he saw the price of the visit, but fished out his purse and handed over the money. "Thank you, Doctor," he said quietly, leaving the room.

"Any time, my boy. See you next week!" he called after the retreating form of the Vicomte de Chagny. He stood, then, making for his desk.

The door closed softly behind him. He looked up, smiling.

"Well done!" said the masked man that now stood before him. "I didn't expect it to go so well…what do I owe you for your services?"

"Nothing at all, Monsieur Erik," said the doctor. "It was my pleasure to see the Vicomte…especially as confused and frustrated as he was. Quite a treat, I assure you."

Erik chuckled. "Excellent. Thank you, Doctor; I am in your debt," he said, bowing grandly before stealthily leaving the office, his dark cape billowing behind him.