I helped Cécile the best I could while still keeping my presence a secret. Most people who spent any time in the lower cellars knew that they shouldn't cross any cloaked persons down there, in case it was the Opera Ghost or me, but most of their quiet whispers about the entities below the opera were kept between them; I wouldn't want it known to the whole opera house that my existence was real. I suspected the Ghost felt the same way.

Cécile appreciated my help, of that I was sure. At times I observed her as she opened the envelopes I'd left with my own earnings; her smile was almost as beautiful as my sister's had been. I hoped she saved her money to help herself and her mother survive without having to degrade herself by going with a patron. Many girls did not mind, but Cécile did. She was mocked by the other girls and the rumor spread that Little Jammes was a prude, but this only helped my cause; most patrons stopped paying attention to her and if one didn't, I would make sure that the message was clear: she was not to be touched.

I admit that my interest in Cécile's welfare became somewhat of an obsession to me and I found myself observing her more often than not. It was what became my downfall.

I ignored other events at the opera that should've been a priority to me: I didn't alert the new managers of my presence and I blatantly disregarded Joseph Buquet's strange death, letting the police rule it an accident, though knowing well that the stagehand had been wandering too far into the cellars and had been punished by the Ghost.

But I didn't think it mattered. After all it proved that the Ghost kept the catacombs safe enough from intruders, despite the drastic measures he took.

One occurence I did care about was the arrival of Vicomte Raoul de Chagny - the much younger brother of Comte Philippe de Chagny. I began to fear for little Cécile's safety. The young man would wear a mild, but determined expression as he stalked through the third cellar where the dressing rooms were. At first it seemed like the Vicomte was interested in a little chorus girl. I'd heard the ballet rats make a fuss over her, something about her improved voice, but I didn't pay much attention to these things. However, even at times when the soprano wasn't there, the Vicomte would roam past the dressing rooms, bothering the cast.

Two times he came up to Cécile and though his manner was somewhat docile, he was insistent in such a way that made the poor girl uncomfortable. I could not hear their conversations, but it wasn't necessary; I'd seen the way his brother, the Comte, seemed to think he owned the ballet girls and apparently, the Vicomte had a similar attitude.

I was certain that he was bad news and indeed that was what he turned out to be. Not because he was after Cécile, but because he had angered the Opera Ghost, had interfered with the Ghost's plans, and we were all going to pay the price. But I didn't understand this until it was too late.

One night I watched Cécile Jammes go on stage with the other ballet girls and I waited patiently until the dressing room was empty before planting my envelope among her things, well hidden. She'd kept our little secret - bless her heart - and no one in the opera knew that I left money for her.

However, as I covered the envelope with the large, lush skirt of her day dress, a violent commotion sounded from above, followed by screams. I hurried to reach the 1st floor where chaos was erupting; the chandelier had crashed into the audience, injuring several audience members. However, my focus was only on finding Cécile.

After pushing through the crowds, thankfully ignored by them despite my attire that concealed the most of me, I discovered the girl cowering in the left wing by the stage. She was frantic and crying, talking about Carlotta sounding like a toad and the Phantom of the Opera attempting to kill them all. I found a cloak to cover her in - the ballet dress was neither warm or appropriate - and followed the poor girl home where her mother could take care of her.

I knew I had to find a way to deal with the Opera Ghost now that his pranks on the opera had gotten so serious, but I was reluctant to act. If I was killed, Cécile would have no one to turn to, and it was certain that I would just be replaced by another dumbwitted man who the Ghost would quickly dispose of.

In the end I left a letter on the bank of the underground river where I'd once caught sight of a boat. In the letter I informed him that I would take action against him, should he repeat such serious activity. The note I received in return was not only frightening because of its contents, but also because I found it among Cécile's things when I was placing the envelope with money for her. The letter was short and cryptic, but effective enough to scare me:

Dear Monsieur Man in the Felt Hat

I do not know what activity you're referring to, but I assure you that my deeds are for the greater good of the opera house. If you interfere with my plans in the future, I will find it necessary to pay Mlle Jammes a visit.

I trust your judgement in how to proceed.

Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,

OPERA GHOST.

The threat to Cécile's safety was a potent weapon against me and it had the desired effect: I nearly convinced myself that the chandelier was an accident, no matter what pointed to otherwise. Worse yet, I ignored taking real notice of the more frequent footsteps in the catacombs, more than one set of them passing by when I hid in the tunnels. When I encountered one of the stable's horses down in the deepest part of the catacombs, wandering about aimlessly, I merely took it back to the stable. And when I received a note from my superiors that the opera managers were requesting my help, I burned it with every intention of forgetting it.

It was ridiculous how easily I'd become passive in regards to the increasing activities of the Ghost, but his awareness of my affection towards Cécile had made me so. I truly understood now why a man in my position was supposed to live without connections to the rest of the world; I was at war with myself, needing to do my duty, but at the same time wanting to keep Cécile safe.

At least the barrels of gunpowder weren't in danger. The Opera Ghost made sure of that and I found the thought comforting; the most important part of my job was being fulfilled, even though I wasn't the one directly fulfilling it. I didn't know that something sinister was underway.

An evening on my way to the ballet rats' dressing room I heard screams coming from the auditorium once again. Cursing myself for closing my eyes to the increasing danger of the Ghost's actions, I made my way to the right wing of the stage, keeping in the shadows.

To my immense relief I found Cécile was safe, though I knew that I could not risk her life a third time. Unseen, I pulled her into the shadows, frightening her unnecessarily in my hast. Several minutes were wasted by trying to calm her, but I couldn't stand to see her cry.

"Dear child, you must leave the opera," I commanded when her sobs had subsided. "Here's the last of my money. You now have enough to provide for you and your mother for a year, perhaps two." I thrusted the envelope into her trembling hands. It wasn't really the very last of my earnings, but I would send her the rest. There was no time to waste now.

"Furthermore, I will ensure a position for you as a governess at the house of Maria Amélie of Orléans, the daughter of the Comte of Paris. She's to be married to the Prince Royal of Portugal. You and your mother will leave France," at this she attempted to interrupt me, so I held a finger to her lips; a knot twisted in my gut as I remembered doing this often with my dear sister.

"You're a bright girl, Cécile, and I know you will serve well as a governess," I concluded with no room for argument. However, it wasn't herself she was worried about when I lifted my finger from her lips.

"But what of you, Monsieur? What will you do?" Tears had filled her eyes and I realized they were for me. A beautiful young girl crying for a man who did not exist.

"I have to meet the Ghost," I tried to hide the fear I felt as I spoke the words. "He has to be stopped."

"He has Christine Daaé, Monsieur. Will you save her?" To my embarrassment it wasn't until Cécile told me this that I connected all the dots: the Vicomte asking for the little soprano, the Ghost targeting the Prima Donna la Carlotta, the singing in the dressing room and double set of footsteps in the cellars; the Opera Ghost had become obsessed with a girl, much like myself, but his intentions and methods were more wicked.

It was not of my concern, but could I leave the young woman to the fate in store for her at the hands of the Ghost when it was my failure to keep the cellars safe that led her there? I knew what I had to do.

I sent Cécile home with strict instructions not to go back to the opera house. The Comte of Paris would send for her and prepare her for the position as governess in a royal house; it was likely that she would marry well enough and lead a comfortable life in Portugal.

It was with haste I fled through the cellars to get the last of the money I had stored in my hidden room and the letter from Prince Philippe, Comte of Paris, who owed me a favor. I was in such a hurry that I ignored the Persian and the Vicomte as I passed them. I briefly considered blocking their way and sending them away, but they were heading away from the Commune's passage in the catacombs; it was not my responsibility if they were caught by the Ghost.

I gathered the last of my savings and wrote a letter to the Comte of Paris, explaining Cécile's situation in detail and my expectation that he would treat her well as an employer until his daughter was married and sent to Portugal with Cécile.

There was no doubt the Comte would find this favor a relief; he owed me much more, but I didn't wish for anything more than a good future for Cécile. That was enough for me.

With the money and the letter I left my room for the last time. I brought a few weapons, including my pistol, knowing well enough that the Ghost was clever and deadly; every asset I had was needed.

I was not sure what drove me all the way down to the catacombs. My priority was to get the money and the letter sent to their rightful recipients, yet I found it imperative that I checked the Commune's dungeon to make sure the barrels were safe; it was my job after all, one that I'd shirked in my fear of the Ghost.

To my horror I discovered the worst possible outcome, one I had not taken into account: someone had prepared a fuse between the barrels, connecting each and every one to a cord leading into the ceiling. A simple spark was all that was needed to demolish the entire opera house and a great deal of the city.

A catastrophe beyond imagination was imminent and I was the one at fault.

In a state of panic I started pulling at the cord in the ceiling, only to find it firmly stuck. It triggered some sort of alarm, deafening me, but I was too busy disarming the barrels to care. My actions did not make sense. A spark to the gunpowder inside one barrel would set them all off; the fuses between them were only there to ensure a simultaneous explosion, but I wasn't thinking clearly. Never had I acted so unprofessionally.

What happened after, I do not remember. One moment I was futilely disarming the barrels, the next I found myself waking up somewhere else. My head was aching, leading me to quickly surmise that I'd been struck unconscious.

At first I credited my inability to move to the head injury, but as minutes passed I realized that I was utterly paralyzed. None of my limbs were able to move and my mouth was unable to call for help. I started to find it harder to breathe.

I was in the catacombs not far from the Commune's dungeon, of that I was certain, recognizing the tunnels even in the complete darkness. Somewhere in the distance I heard metal striking stone as if someone was carving something into the stone walls, and I heard the sound of water sloshing, though at times I swore it sounded like a woman crying softly.

How much time passed before I saw movement in the dark, I do not know. But what I saw terrified me beyond reason: it was the Ghost himself, uncovered. If he hadn't been moving, I would've thought him long dead; his face was that of a rotting corpse with a hole where there should've been a nose. I understood now why he hid among the rats.

His eyes glowed yellow as I knew well, but the devilish glare in them was new to me. He smiled at me like a madman, for that is what he was. I should've known that the Commune's barrels weren't safe with such a spectre stalking the opera, yet I hadn't imagined how crazy he was. But even a man you can reason with can be unpredictable - a lesson I learned too late.

I willed myself to move, but I wasn't able to; only my eyes could move enough to watch him coming towards me. He must've noticed the fear and confusion in my eyes.

"I apologize for the poison which causes your paralysis," he leered with a voice too beautiful for such a creature, "it's simply the plant Conium maculatum that has you in such a state and you will not get better. Soon, your organs will be unable to move and you will likely die of inability to breathe."

I'd never feared death before. In my line of work it had always been a given that I would die before my time, but I had expected my demise to be from a gunshot or a stabbing; never had I imagined that I would suffocate silently in my own body. I fought to shout, beg for his mercy, but no words would come. And I knew that it was useless, for this was a monster in front of me and he held no mercy.

"I have a last purpose for you. My intention had never been to harm you; you proved to be useful in disposing of the Daroga often, but then you started meddling in my affairs. It would not do. Luckily, you being here has not been fruitless."

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a simple gold ring. Kneeling in front of me, he slipped the ring on my ring finger without any resistance from me, no matter how I tried. I couldn't even feel his touch on my skin.

Still on his knees, he reached into his pocket again and dug out a few letters. I recognized them as the letter to the Comte of Paris, as well as the letter with money for Cécile. In my mind I screamed in desperation.

"I found these letters as I disposed of your clothing," I strained my eyes to look down my body and discovered that my own clothes had been replaced with fine evening wear - the Ghost's own clothing. Little by little I began to understand his intent. "I do not believe I owe you any favors, but I do have a soft spot for the little ballet rats. After all it isn't their fault how hopeless the choreography is. Therefore I will send these letters for you, securing your little Jammes' future."

For an unfathomable reason I found peace with these words. My death was imminent, the Ghost had won, but Cécile would be safe. Even in this horrific state, I found myself grateful for the creature's kindness.

"I know what it means to love," the Ghost murmured, reaching for my hand and tracing the golden ring. "I will take your life, but not the proof of your love for her. If you truly care for her, I know you will be satisfied with that." He was right; I was.

He pulled me up, throwing me over his shoulder as though I weighed nothing. Despite his appearance as a walking corpse, he carried me down the tunnel, passing the Commune's dungeon where a small lantern was lit and various stone mason tools lay scattered. I'd passed this place many times and instantly noticed the new addition to the initials of the dead inside: R C.

I remembered the young Vicomte asking for the soprano and later wandering in the cellars with the Persian. Could it be… Raoul de Chagny.

The Ghost carried me to the little well in the fifth cellar and eased me down, so I leaned against the well, arranging my hands in a way that made the ring easy to see.

"The rats will find you eventually," he said almost apologetic, "but you will have stopped breathing by then." I knew the truth in his words as I was already fighting to fill my lungs with air.

"I did not use the barrels as intended, therefore your mission was a success. They're now flooded with water from the underground lake, the gunpowder forever ruined." I knew my superiors wouldn't view this as success because they had plans to use the gunpowder the next time there was a war, but I couldn't find it in me to care.

"I'm sorry you won't live to lead a happy life as I am now destined to, but I'm certain your afterlife will be more pleasant than mine. I apologize for making you meet it much sooner than me."

With those words the Ghost left me to my fate, slowly suffocating, forced to die in the cellars where we'd both lived. I knew he would find another place to dwell and wondered if Christine Daaé was forced to join him or if he had been kind enough to kill her. I wasn't naive enough to believe that he would let her go.

Yet, I felt no doubt that this man - this corpse - would keep his word and post the letters to ensure that Cécile would have a bright future. While I wasn't sure this was enough to earn me a place in Heaven, it allowed me to let the guilt about my sister go.

I could finally be free. There was no longer a need for the Man in a Felt Hat.